The tribes and castes of the North-western Provinces and Oudh
Portraying the Castes and Exhibiting the Race
331
Portraying the 'Castes' and Displaying the 'Race' The paintings of Carlos Julião and colonial discourse in the Portuguese Empire 1 by Maria Manuela Tenreiro 1 PhD manuscript kept at Senate House, University of London under the title: Military Encounters in the 18 th Century, Racial Representations in the work of Carlos Julião and Colonial Discourse in the Portuguese Empire (PhD Dissertation in History of Art, Department of Art and Humanities, School of Oriental and African Studies, University of London, 2008). 1
Transcript of Portraying the Castes and Exhibiting the Race
Portraying the 'Castes' and Displaying
the 'Race'
The paintings of Carlos Julião and
colonial discourse in the Portuguese Empire1
by
Maria Manuela Tenreiro
1 PhD manuscript kept at Senate House, University of London under the title: Military Encounters in the 18th Century, Racial Representations in the work of Carlos Julião and Colonial Discourse in the Portuguese Empire (PhD Dissertation in History of Art, Department of Art and Humanities, School of Oriental and African Studies, University of London, 2008).
1
Table of Contents
List of Images 3
Glossary 8
Acknowledgements 10
Introduction 12
Chapter 1 - A man of 'small lights' and 'week talents' 25
Chapter 2 - Panoramas of Empire 57
I - Salvador of the Bay of All Saints
58
a) A City of Fortresses 59 b) A City of Castes 60
II - Four Ports, a Portuguese presence
66
a) Whites, blacks and mulatos 68 b) Savages, heathens and mestiços
73
Chapter 3 - Figurinhos of the Royal Roads 83
I - The Troops 88 II - The Natives 95 III - The Carriers 9 IV - The Masters and the 100
2
Bureaucrats V - 'Lighter' women 103 VI - Black women 107 VII - Street Vendors 111 VIII - Queens and Kings of Kongo 114 IX- The Miners 121
Chapter 4 - Castes of the Atlantic Triangle128
I – Castes of the South Atlantic 130 II - Castes of Portugal 139
Chapter 5 - Displaying the Luso-Tropical Empire 155
Conclusion 184
Images 194
Bibliography 219
Images
Image 1 Carlos Julião. Salvador Panorama. 1779, watercolour on paper, 0,855 x 0,530.In Lisbon: Gabinete de Estudos Arqueológicos deEngenharia Militar/Direcção de Infra-Estruturas (Reg.8756, cota 4756-3-38-52).
Image 2 Carlos Julião. Four Ports Panorama. 18th Century, watercolour on paper, 0,828 x 0,504.In Lisbon: Gabinete de Estudos Arqueológicos de Engenharia Militar/Direcção de Infra-Estruturas (Reg.8757, cota 4757-3-38-52).
Image 3 Carlos Julião. Allegory. Brazil, 18th Century, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscosilluminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio deJaneiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: Biblioteca Nacional(plate I).
Image 4 Carlos Julião. Officer of the Terço of São José and Officer of the Auxiliary Cavalry of Rio de Janeiro. Brazil, 18th Century, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscos
3
illuminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio deJaneiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: Biblioteca Nacional(plate II).
Image 5 Carlos Julião. Officer of the Auxiliary Terço of Santa Rita. Brazil, 18th Century, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscos illuminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: Biblioteca Nacional (plate III).
Image 6 Carlos Julião. Officer of the Terço of Pardos and Officer of the Auxiliary Terço of Free Blacks . Brazil, 18thCentury, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscos illuminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: Biblioteca Nacional (plate IV).
Image 7 Carlos Julião. Officer of Cavalry, Guard of the Viceroy in uniform and on horseback. Brazil, 18th Century, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscos illuminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: Biblioteca Nacional (plate V).
Image 8 Carlos Julião. Officers of Cavalry, Guard of the Viceroy. Brazil, 18th Century, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscos illuminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: Biblioteca Nacional (plate VI).
Image 9 Carlos Julião. Romantic scene: Soldier of the Infantry Regiment of Moura saying farewell to a crying young lady. Brazil, 18th Century, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscos illuminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: Biblioteca Nacional ((plate VII).
Image 10 Carlos Julião. Hunting scene with Natives. Brazil, 18th Century, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscos illuminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: Biblioteca Nacional (plate VIII).
Image 11 Carlos Julião. Native couple dressed in feathers.
4
Brazil, 18th Century, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscos illuminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: Biblioteca Nacional (IX).
Image 12 Carlos Julião. Native couple holding plants. Brazil, 18th Century, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscos illuminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: Biblioteca Nacional (plate X).
Image 13 Carlos Julião. 'Civilised' native couple. Brazil, 18th Century, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscos illuminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: Biblioteca Nacional (plate XI).
Image 14 Carlos Julião. Native Carriers. Brazil, 18th Century,watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscos illuminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: Biblioteca Nacional (plate XII).
Image 15 Carlos Julião. Lady carried in litter and followed byher slaves. Brazil, 18th Century, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscos illuminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: Biblioteca Nacional (plate XIII).
Image 16 Carlos Julião. 'High Category' Lady being carried by slaves. Brazil, 18th Century, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscos illuminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: Biblioteca Nacional (plate XIV).
Image 17 Carlos Julião. White couple. Brazil, 18th Century, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscosilluminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio deJaneiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: Biblioteca Nacional(plate XV).
Image 18 Carlos Julião. White couple. Brazil, 18th Century, watercolour on paper.
5
In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscosilluminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio deJaneiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: Biblioteca Nacional(plate XVI).
Image 19 Carlos Julião. White couple. Brazil, 18th Century, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscosilluminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio deJaneiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: Biblioteca Nacional(plate XVII).
Image 20 Carlos Julião. Street scene. Brazil, 18th Century, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscosilluminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio deJaneiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: Biblioteca Nacional(plate XVIII).
Image 21 Carlos Julião. White couple hunting. Brazil, 18th Century, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscosilluminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio deJaneiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: Biblioteca Nacional(plate XIX).
Image 22 Carlos Julião. 'Lighter' women. Brazil, 18th Century,watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscos illuminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: Biblioteca Nacional (plate XX).
Image 23 Carlos Julião. 'Lighter' women. Brazil, 18th Century,watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscos illuminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: Biblioteca Nacional (plate XXI).
Image 24 Carlos Julião. 'Lighter' women. Brazil, 18th Century,watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscos illuminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: Biblioteca Nacional (plate XXII).
Image 25 Carlos Julião. Woman receiving letter from old man. Brazil, 18th Century, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscosilluminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio deJaneiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: Biblioteca Nacional
6
(plate XXIII).
Image 26 Carlos Julião. Dramatic romantic scene. Brazil, 18th Century, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscosilluminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio deJaneiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: Biblioteca Nacional(plate XXIV).
Image 27 Carlos Julião. Mulatas. Brazil, 18th Century, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscos illuminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: Biblioteca Nacional (plate XXV).
Image 28 Carlos Julião. African women. Brazil, 18th Century, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscos illuminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: Biblioteca Nacional (plate XXVI).
Image 29 Carlos Julião. Afro-Brazilian woman. Brazil, 18th Century, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscos illuminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: Biblioteca Nacional (plate XXVII).
Image 30 Carlos Julião. Black Brazilian women. Brazil, 18th Century, watercolour on paper, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscos illuminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: Biblioteca Nacional (plate XXVIII).
Image 31 Carlos Julião. Black Brazilian women. Brazil, 18th Century, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscos illuminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: Biblioteca Nacional (plate XXIX).
Image 32 Carlos Julião. Black Brazilian women. Brazil, 18th Century, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscos illuminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: Biblioteca Nacional (plate XXX).
7
Image 33 Carlos Julião. Street sellers. Brazil, 18th Century, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscos illuminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: Biblioteca Nacional (plate XXXI).
Image 34 Carlos Julião. Street sellers. Brazil, 18th Century, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscos illuminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: Biblioteca Nacional (plate XXXII).
Image 35 Carlos Julião. Street sellers. Brazil, 18th Century, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscos illuminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: Biblioteca Nacional (plate XXXIII).
Image 36 Carlos Julião. Street sellers. Brazil, 18th Century, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscos illuminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: Biblioteca Nacional (plate XXXIV).
Image 37 Carlos Julião. Slave beggars in the Festival of theRosary. Brazil, 18th Century, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscos illuminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: Biblioteca Nacional (plate XXXV).
Image 38 Carlos Julião. Procession of the black Queen in the Festival of the Kings of Kongo. Brazil, 18th Century,watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscos illuminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: Biblioteca Nacional (plate XXXVI).
Image 39 Carlos Julião. Coronation of the Queen. Brazil, 18th Century, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscos illuminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: Biblioteca Nacional (plate XXXVII).
Image 40 Carlos Julião. Royal Kongo couple. Brazil, 18th Century, watercolour on paper.
8
In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscos illuminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: Biblioteca Nacional (plate XXXVIII).
Image 41 Carlos Julião. Coronation of the King of Kongo. Brazil, 18th Century, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscos illuminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: Biblioteca Nacional (plate XXXIX).
Image 42 Carlos Julião. Miners. Brazil, 18th Century, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscos illuminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: Biblioteca Nacional (plate XL).
Image 43 Carlos Julião. Slaves mining. Brazil, 18th Century, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscos illuminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: Biblioteca Nacional (plate XLI).
Image 44 Carlos Julião. Diamond washing. Brazil, 18th Century,watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscos illuminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: Biblioteca Nacional (plate XLII).
Image 45 Carlos Julião. Bush captains searching slave. Brazil,18th Century, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscos illuminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: Biblioteca Nacional (plate XLIII)
Image 46 Carlos Julião. Castes of the South Atlantic. 1779, oil on canvas, 71.8 x 142.9 cm.In Recife, Brazil: Instituto Ricardo Brennand (catalogued under the title Notícias do Gentilismo). Published in Sothebys. 28/01/1999. Old Master Paintings. New York issue, p.302/303.
Image 47 Carlos Julião. Castes of Portugal. 1779 (?), oil on canvas (pendant to image 73), oil on canvas, 71.8 x 142.9 cm.In Recife, Brazil: Instituto Ricardo Brennand
9
(catalogued under the title Notícias do Gentilismo). Published in Sothebys. 28/01/1999. Old Master Paintings. New York issue, p.302/303.
Image 48 Unknown. Casta Painting. c.1750, oil on canvas, oil on canvas, 67 x 56.2 cm. Private Collection.In: Katzew, Ilona. 2004. Casta Painting: Images of Race in Eighteenth Century Mexico. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, fig.61.
Image 49 Johann Moritz Rugendas. Capitão do Mato (Bush Captain). 19th century.In Rugendas, Johann Moritz. 1940. Viagem Pitoresca Através do Brasil. São Paulo: Livraria Martins.In: http://pt.wikipedia.org/wiki/Imagem:Capitao-mato.jpg
GLOSSARY
Baye – Hindu lady of the highest castes, in the region of Goa.
Bolsa de Mandinga - Medicinal pouch used in central Africa for protection.
Brahman – Highest caste in the Hindu society of Goa.
Canarim – Inhabitants of Kanara, outside the city of Goa, and pejorative term used in Goa to refer to Hindus.
Castiços - born in Asia of Portuguese parents.
Chardos – Second highest caste in the Hindu society of Goa. Cuya - Pottery flask for drinking; associated with the'gentiles' of Brazil.
Desembargador - Court judge.
Faras or Faraz – Lowest caste in the Hindu society of Goa.
Fidalga - Nobility woman.
Frialeira - Street seller
Gentio – Pagan or non-believer in monogamist religions.
10
Henriques - Troop regiments made of freed black Brazilians duringthe colonial period.
Lundú – Dance of African influence, considered in colonial timesto have Iberian roots.
Mancilla – Same as machila, a litter or palanquin used by thePortuguese as a form of transport, in which carriers supportedthe weight on their heads.
Mariola - Delivery boy.
Meirinho - Top city official.
Mestiço/a – Term used to denominate individuals born of aPortuguese and a native.
Mina – Refers to the provenance of slaves from the port of El-Mina in West Africa, not necessarily to the geographical provenance of those people.
Mocamba - Domestic female slave.
Mulato/a - Term used to denominate individuals born of aPortuguese and an African native. Derives from mule.
Nhonha – Young lady in Macanese, the hybrid language of Macao,that developed from the mixing of local languages with thePortuguese.
Pardo - Term originated in Brazil in the eighteenth-century to name a non-white free person and distinguish him/her from mulato.
Preto - Word applied to Africans implying a condition of slavery in colonial Brazil. After abolition, it became a pejorative termequated with the English word 'nigger'.
Regateira - Retailer
Reinol - Portuguese born living in the colonies.
Saloio/Saloia - People of Moorish ancestry, who stayed in Lisbon's surrounding region after the Christian conquest.
11
Serpentina - Luxury litter or palanquin, decorated with serpent heads, from where the name derives
Tapuya – Ethnic group indigenous to Brazil which compriseddifferent cultural sub groups and which came to be perceived asthe "most brave and barbarous gentiles" (Bluteau, 1912).
Acknowledgements
First I would like to express my gratitude to the
University of London Central Research Fund for the grant made
available to me to conduct field research in Portugal and Brazil
during the academic year of 2006-2007. I must also thank the
12
Arts and Humanities Research Council for their financial support
during the year 2007-2008 when I completed writing my
dissertation. Without their help, it would not have been
possible for me to complete this work in the time span in which
I did, and for that I must also thank Pam Radford and Alicia
Fernandez from the School of Oriental and African Studies
registry, whose competence was extremely helpful in obtaining
the above mentioned financial support.
Various individuals and institutions in Portugal and
Brazil offered their help in facilitating my research. I must
thank first of all to the institutions that provided me with
Carlos Julião’s illustrations. In Lisbon, the Gabinete de Estudos
Arqueológicos de Engenharia Militar, where the two Panoramas are kept
kindly provided high quality images of these works. In Brazil,
the Department of Iconography at the National Library in Rio de
Janeiro generously gave me permission to photograph the 43
watercolours in the Figurinhos album. Finally, my gratitude goes to
the Instituto Ricardo Brennand, particularly D. Verônica Gomes,
who very kindly trusted me with the positives of the two images
I named Castes of the Atlantic, so that I could scan them and keep good
quality copies. I also wish to thank former Brazilian ambassador
Mário Calábria, who very kindly provided me with the information
as to the location of the canvas.
In academic departments at various universities I met
historians, who generously shared their knowledge and took an
interest in my work: Silvia Hunold Lara from the University of
Campinas in the state of São Paulo, Beatriz Bueno from the
University of São Paulo and Teotónio R. de Souza from University
Lusófona in Lisbon, all gave me precious help and information
and became an important reference to me. Also to Gilda Santos,
Vice-president of the Real Gabinete Português de Leitura, I must thank
13
for her friendship and warm welcome during my visit to Rio de
Janeiro. Maria Helena Tourinho from CEDIM, an organisation
working to raise awareness for women and racial issues, and
Suelli Araújo from the National Archives, also pointed me in
useful directions and became good friends in the process. I also
owe my gratitude to Silvia Escorel who introduced me to a
photocopy of the Sotheby's catalogue where I first saw the two
Castes canvases and who shared one of my many trips to Morro da
Conceição. And to the ladies there, D.Vera, D.Duda who took the
time to show me around their beautiful historical morro.
A special thank you goes also to all the friends who
facilitated my stay in Brazil and welcomed me to their homes:
Milena and Rogério, Júnior, Débora, Isabel, João, Joana and
Luís. And I must also express my gratitude to all those involved
in helping with proofreading, editing, image scanning and
Italian translation: Helen, Sarah, Naomi, Aimee, Gloria, Kathy,
Ciran, Michelli, Giulia and Teresa. I am grateful to Chris Tribe
for his help with editing one of chapters when I first wrote it
for an article published last year; and to Maria Lúcia Palhares-
Burke (Centre for Latin-American Studies, Cambridge University),
Hebe Maria Mattos (Universidade Federal Fluminense, Brazil) and
Nancy Naro (King’s College London, Department of Portuguese and
Brazilian Studies) for their comments and support. At the School
of Oriental and African Studies I thank professors Charles Gore
and Charlotte Horlyck for their help and guidance in my first
years at that University. To my supervisor Tania Tribe goes my
deepest gratitude for the best guidance and support I could have
hoped for, and also for her friendship and trust in my ability
to complete this task. Lastly, a huge thank you must go to my
family, particularly to my parents, for their support and help
throughout the years.
14
Introduction
The secular history of encounters and misencounters
between European and non-European cultures produced texts and
images that reveal more about the belief system of the society
that produced them, than of the people they portray. We are
accustomed to think of the past as a sequence of events that can
be proved through the reading of documents or the observation of
images, and which unravelled slowly to 'evolve' society into
progress. While populations identify aspects of the past as part
of their national heritage and something to be proud of and
celebrate, other aspects are relegated to times gone when
another 'mentality' was in place. Texts and images, as tools of
historical discourse, have the ability to provide new meanings
and interpretations. They do not, however, provide definite
historical ‘truths’, because both their production and their
consumption are subjected to particular views, ideologies and
interpretations. Texts and images can therefore serve as tools
to constantly reformulate perceptions of history and national
identity.
Perhaps nowhere this is more evident than in
representations of race where the Other was constructed and
presented as inferior to Europeans, in the context of
colonisation and as a justification for it. Seen from an
'anticolonial' perspective such images acquire new meanings and
are interpreted under postcolonial discourses. This text
addresses how race and representation related to colonial
discourse in the context of the Portuguese empire, taking as a
15
tool the body of work of Carlos Julião, an eighteenth-century
Italian artist, who had an interest in science and who served
the Portuguese military from 1763 to his death in 1811. His work
served the colonial discourse of his own time and re-emerged in
the twentieth century as a visual statement of historical
discourse, when Portugal was living its last days as a colonial
nation. This is the 'life story' of Julião's figures up to the
moment when they were introduced to public viewing in 1960.
Born Carlo Juliani in Torino, this artist produced a vast
amount of illustrations depicting the peoples that inhabited the
colonised lands of Brazil. In his travels throughout the empire,
in Angola, Macao and Goa, Julião also depicted many figures,
aligned horizontally in the compositional space. But it is the
Brazilian figures that constitute the majority of what is known
of his body of work and the human 'types' represented are a
visual record of colonial society, whites and blacks, masters
and slaves, men and women, some engaged in human activities,
others displaying their upper class condition. While these
figures show manners of dress and social customs pertaining to
racial and cultural specificities, the ways in which they reveal
a racially hierarchical society are more subtle. Using pictorial
strategies defined by coordinates of race, gender and social
rank, the illustrations also reflect the artist’s own acceptance
of the colonial social structure, which as a military man he was
responsible for keeping. The images can be analysed, firstly
within the context of the colonial discourse informing the
artist in his time, and lastly within the context of the
colonial discourse of twentieth-century imperial Portugal, when
they were exhibited for the first time to a public indoctrinated
into the 'historical truth' of a beneficial colonising mission,
where racist attitudes were proclaimed to be inexistent by the
16
fascist dictatorship in power.
The European, Asian, African and Native-Brazilian figures
that populate Julião’s display of human figures carry signifiers
that reveal their condition and place within Portuguese colonial
society. From the existing documentation, we know that Carlos
Julião visited the various places where he encountered these
peoples. Therefore direct observation was certainly involved in
the illustrations he produced. However, in representing the
figures, the compositional choices made by the artist were
informed by the discursive knowledges orienting the mentality of
the ruling classes whom he served. Julião's work blends his
experience of encountering foreign lands and peoples with the
eighteenth-century Enlightenment worldview by incorporating its
scientific methodologies to create a classificatory system that
reflected the social and racial structure of the Portuguese
empire.
In the twentieth-century, his images were inserted in the
discourse of racial diversity and encounters of civilisations
that the mobility of the Portuguese 'brought together'. In doing
so, other aspects of colonisation such as racism and slavery
were silenced by the mythmakers and superficially addressed by
the historiography dominating that period in Portugal. Even
after the end of Portuguese colonialism, Portuguese political
discourse is yet to articulate properly the issue of racism and
colonisation, persisting in 'historical truths' of idyllic
encounters between Us and Them, as to assert a historical role to
Portugal in the making of the modern world. The split of
identities, between Us and the more culturally diverse grouping
of Them however, is the first indicator to how the difference
constructed in the colonial period still informs contemporary
perceptions, in which the ‘Other’ is grouped in its whole and in
17
direct opposition to the collective ‘Self’.
The imperial discourse of the eighteenth century, marked
by the philosophy of Enlightenment, constitutes the background
to first part of this story. The triumph of science over all
other areas of human action created new possibilities and yet,
this was not a time that was radically discontinued from its
past. Old ideas, signs and concepts prevailed in many ways. The
birth of the human sciences, which took human beings themselves
as an object of study, observation and interpretation followed
the scientific models of the natural sciences building a
classificatory hierarchical system measured by a Western ratio.2
European control of the world was consolidated with a sense of
superiority built on perceptions of the Other as uncivilised,
backward and godless. Whether they were viewed with sympathy or
hostility, the European Others were observed, classified and
portrayed as their territories were being mapped and their
riches reported back. Texts and images signalled how distant
peoples differed from Europeans turning colonisation into a way
of 'improving the souls of others'. In addition, ideals of
freedom and equality, developing throughout the eighteenth-
century, and more often associated with the French Revolution,
were not extended to the European colonies where 'natives'
continued to be enslaved and denied right to freedom and to
their own cultural values.
For all its importance in the formation of the modern
world, the European eighteenth century retained much of what had
been established in the past. To the “old cartographic tradition
of illuminating maps with human allegories”,3 the new science
developed by the Enlightenment offered the methodological
2 Foucault, 2002b, p.378.3 Lara, 2002a, p.129
18
framework for a classification of the figures represented by
Carlos Julião. The early days of what could now be termed visual
ethnography adopted in many ways the signs of the past but for
the first time attempted to classify its subjects according to
specific coordinates that translated the discourses on knowledge
formed within the Enlightenment worldview. The formation of
knowledge - or rather what we came to know or think we know -
built around other lands and peoples was shaped in a European
colonial political context, which used European cultural
coordinates and therefore limited knowledge to a Eurocentric
discourse. Knowledge, while formulated in 'scientific' terms by
eighteenth-century Europe, created fixed truths and the episteme
where discourses were formed and materialised in the attitudes
of Europeans. In that manner, 'knowledge' influenced how power
was exercised through the mentality of a social body creating
the base for a genealogy of how we came to 'know' the world we
inhabit today.
Using the coordinates of race, gender, and social rank,
eighteenth century visual representations such as Carlos
Julião's reflect and simultaneously create European perceptions
of colonial society according to the viewers' own referents and
socio-cultural context. In his figures I see the emerging
identities of the modern world and the episteme of both the
discursive knowledges of nineteenth-century scientific racism
and twentieth-century multicultural societies. Because the
latter emerged in the context of opposition to the former, both
are positioned in dialectic continuity, spiralling across time
but departing from the same categories created in the
Enlightenment. At that time and from the military institution
where he served, Julião accessed the lands and peoples portrayed
in his illustrations but could not dissociate himself or his
19
compositional choices from the mentality of his patrons. Carlos
Julião produced a great enough body of work to provide a case
study for an iconological analysis of the racial ordering
process that took place at the time of the Enlightenment in the
Portuguese colonial world.
But I feel that this analysis would be incomplete if it
only addressed the function of these illustrations in the
context of the Enlightenment and the eighteenth-century
Portuguese empire. I will therefore follow the history of
Julião's figures into the twentieth-century when they were re-
discovered and displayed as one of the many statements used by a
Portuguese colonial discourse constructed as a reaction to anti-
colonialist movements around the world. I am interested here in
uncovering how Julião's illustrations can be 'read' against the
discourse operating at the time to understand why they were
selected among many others to be exhibited in a national
commemoration. Particularly, in the context of the theory of
Luso-Tropicalismo put forward in the second half of the twentieth-
century by Brazilian intellectual Gilberto Freyre and used by
the Portuguese fascist dictatorship (1933-1974) for propaganda
purposes, in face of international condemnation of Portugal's
colonial practices. What the premises of Luso-Tropicalismo were will
be addressed later but here it is sufficient to say that it
projected the idea of the Portuguese empire as one culture
characterized by the absence of racism and harmonious social
relationships. An idea, which as we shall see, was not expressed
in the governmental policies towards 'natives', nor experienced
by the colonised peoples of the empire.
There are three sets of figurative illustrations
constituting Carlos Julião's body of work uncovered so far. The
first set of images are two large works produced for the
20
Portuguese military, where Julião combines views of overseas
ports with plans of existing fortresses and human figures
aligned in horizontal registers. These images I call Panoramas
because by definition of the word itself, their pictorial
arrangement suggests "the unbroken view of a surrounding
region". In the Panoramas this is reflected in the views of
ports, fortresses and peoples represented in continuity while
belonging to different colonial spaces, a strategy used to
convey the idea of one Portuguese colonial world (images 1 and
2).4 Similarly the illustrations constitute the "complete survey
of a subject", the colonial subject in this case, and a
"continuous passing scene" of land and people.5
The second set of images constitute an ensemble of 43
watercolours (images 3 to 45) under the original title Riscos
Iluminados de Figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do
Frio.6 These illustrations I will simply call Figurinhos, because
that was the original title of the collection, although I cannot
be certain that such title was given to the group of
watercolours by the artist himself. The images are precious
visual tools to historians of Brazil. They belong to the
geography of the 'royal roads' in the southeast of the country,
a region of an extraordinary importance in the world economy of
the eighteenth-century, for this was the mining area providing
the fuel for the industrialisation of the North, built on slave
labour in the South.
Finally, the third set of images, which make that link4 See definition of the word Panorama in the American Century Dictionary (OxfordUniversity Press, 1996) or at http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/panorama. ThePanoramas are preserved at the Gabinete de Estudos de Arqueologia e Engenharia Militar,Lisboa.5 See definition of the word Panorama in the American Century Dictionary (OxfordUniversity Press, 1996) or at http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/panorama.6 Illustrations of Figures of Whites and Blacks and the customs of Rio de Janeiro andSerro Frio (my translation). The album is kept in the Department of Iconography at theNational Library in Rio de Janeiro.
21
between North and South evident, is composed by two canvases, of
which one is described as a pendant to the other (images 46 and
47).7 Over fifty figures aligned in horizontal registers are
representative of the peoples inhabiting the Atlantic triangle
made up by Lisbon, Angola and Rio de Janeiro. These two works on
canvas I call Castes of the Atlantic because they represent a social
hierarchy clearly marked by gradations of skin colour. The
figures connect to the Panoramas and the Figurinhos in the socio-
economic relationships formed in the Atlantic world of the
eighteenth-century and are often complete or partial repetitions
of the same human types portrayed in the two other sets of
images.
The work of Carlos Julião offers the possibility to go
beyond the mere observation of formalistic art qualities and
artistic ability. The iconography displayed in the illustrations
permits the leap to an iconological analysis of Julião's entire
body of work, contrasting and comparing, and finding the deeper
meanings and socio-political interpretations. Erwin Panofsky
attributed to iconology the possibility to uncover hidden
symbolisms and underlining socio-cultural meanings that,
although present in the iconographic elements composing a visual
text, are not made immediately obvious by simple iconographic
reading of any given image.8 Whether it is the costumes, the
objects, the colour of a figure's skin or the activity she or he
performs, Julião's drawings offer the elements from which it is
possible to depart to place his figures in their ampler social-
economic, geo-political and cultural context, opening up the
intrinsic meanings that Panofsky referred to.
7 It was Silvia Escorel, author of a master's thesis on the black female figurinesportrayed by Julião (see bibliography), who showed me a copy of this third set of imagesfrom a Sotheby's catalogue. The works were purchased in 1999 by the Instituto RicardoBrennand in Recife, Pernambuco, Brazil. See bibliography, catalogue section.8
22
The figures can also be placed in the various socio-
cultural contexts in which they lived revealing themselves as
‘real characters’ represented by the artist. Because whether the
figures were real people who posed for the artist or simply
passed by him, and whether he met them or not, is not so much
the point. These figures are real in the same sense that
archetypes are real. They are aspects of individuals who did in
fact inhabit the spaces assigned to them in Julião’s
watercolours. They reveal those aspects that can be socially and
culturally interpreted within the context in which we place
them. The beautiful way and the technical dexterity, with which
they were drawn, on the other hand, are revealing of the artist,
his education and the artistic traditions of his time. Aspects
that reveal less of the colonial discourse informing Carlos
Julião than the sequence of the figures, their group
representations or their compositional arrangement. Thus, these
are the coordinates I will use in my approach, because I am
mainly interested in how colonial discourse operates through the
choices made by the artist.
The analysis will operate like a zoom lens, departing from
a larger picture and increasingly focusing on the detailed
histories, geographies and figures represented in the work of
Carlos Julião. The secondary sources that are listed in the
bibliography include the macro-histories of empires and
countries as well as the micro-histories of specific locations
and their peoples. While consulting primary sources I focused
mainly on finding references to Carlos Julião, and I did find
many scattered in time that point to a life of travels with
large periods spent in Brazil and India. I also found that
often, while reading a document in a local archive, I would
visualize the text as a frozen image that could be one of
23
Julião’s watercolours. The experience of directing the gaze
towards a colonial subject/object can be expressed visually or
textually but a connection of both modes of expression
reinforces the existence of certain aspects of the colonial
experience, such as the emergence of new identities and social
relationships.
In order to situate these images in their historical
context I will begin by setting the background against which
they came to life. Chapter one unfolds around the artist's life
and the time and place that informed him, in the context of the
Enlightenment and of Iberian socio-cultural traditions. Carlos
Julião's military career embodied the versatile range of
interests and activities that characterised the institution he
served. The military in fact participated in all activities from
policing to scientific expeditions. Military men became artists
and scientists encouraged by a worldview obsessed with
accumulating data as part of an Enlightenment project set on
gathering scientific knowledge. Julião's life can be
reconstructed by piecing together fragmented information
uncovered in the Portuguese historical archives. Furthermore,
interpretations of his experience are greatly enhanced when the
information available on his life is contextualised in the
Enlightenment episteme.
Chapter two addresses the two Panorama works, analysing
both the individual figures there represented and the
compositional whole where they acquire additional meanings.
Chapter three will be the most extensive as I will be dealing
with the 43 watercolours that are kept in the National Library
in Rio de Janeiro under the full title Riscos Iluminados de Figurinhos
24
de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio.9 I will deal with
these images in sub-sections that I named: Troops, Natives, Carriers,
Masters and Bureaucrats, ‘Lighter’ women, Black women, Street Vendors, Queens and
Kings of Kongo and Miners. These figures are often repetitions of the
other two sets of images but in this chapter they will be
inserted in the socio-economic context of the mining regions of
the eighteenth-century exposing the cultures that emerged in
that one corner of the empire. Chapter four will look at the two
canvas I am identifying here as Castes of the Atlantic, the images
which show the population of Portugal, Brazil and Angola in the
eighteenth-century. Only one of the Panoramas in chapter two and
the Castes of the Atlantic canvas in chapter four are dated to
1779. The Figurinhos of the royal roads, addressed in chapter
three, date possibly from around the same time or a few years
earlier.
Finally, chapter five will turn to the way in which these
images were used in the political discourse occurring at the
time they were introduced to the public in the twentieth-
century. The rediscovery of the Panoramas in Lisbon and the
Figurinhos in Rio de Janeiro was followed by their public display
during the commemorations of the 500th anniversary of the death
of Prince Henry, the Navigator. The event took place in 1960, on
the eve of the colonial war in Africa when Portugal was among
the European nations under pressure by anti-colonial movements
around the world. The formulation of a historical discourse that
responded to such political climate was enhanced by the theory
of Luso-Tropicalismo mentioned above, and the peculiar proximity
between Salazar's fascist dictatorship in Portugal and
Kubitchek's apparent 'racial democracy' in Brazil. Julião's
9 "Illustrations of Figurines showing the customs of whites and blacks in Rio deJaneiro e Serro do Frio" (my translation). See bibliography, catalogue section.
25
illustrations reflected the racial hierarchical structure of the
Portuguese empire built upon notions of privilege and
subalternity attached to skin colour. But in the twentieth-
century the Castes were displayed in the context of discourses
that articulated a unified identity in terms of miscegenation in
Brazil and of a Portuguese Race in the Portuguese empire.
As a theoretical framework my main reference is the work
of Michel Foucault, particularly The Order of Things, Power/Knowledge
and the Archaeology of Knowledge. Foucault’s work was not directed to
studying the colonised areas of the world. However, his analysis
of the structures of power, the birth of modern science and the
formation of discourse can be applied to an analysis of colonial
society, because the existence of such a society was based on
the same structures of power; because it could be classified and
gazed upon for the enrichment of western knowledge; and because
there too, Europe found the 'raw material' for the formation of
discursive knowledges on the Other. Foucault's notion of
discourse, in particular, is pertinent to the colonial space
because it unites power and knowledge as producers of the Other.
What Foucault lacked in analysis of the colonial Other, he
compensated with the study of the European 'insider Others',
those upon whom bodies of knowledge were also constructed, such
as the mentally ill and the criminals.10 What is central to
Foucault's argument is the concept of discourse, which brings an
epistemological and hermeneutical approach to any given topic.
It is in discourse that what we know is articulated and passed
on. To trace back how such knowledges came about implies an
investigation of discursive formations through the analysis of
texts and images.
10 On this subject see for example Foucault Madness and Civilization: a History of Insanity in the Ageof Reason, 1965 and Discipline and Punish, the Birth of the Prison, 1991 (1975).
26
It is in their relationship to discourse that Julião's
representations of race can be analysed as 'bodies of
knowledge', each figure a statement replicated in later works
and reinterpreted at different points in history. Foucault
offers visual history the tools with which to create an
"archaeology of the visible"11 that interrogates the "relation
between the figurative and the discursive".12 Foucaultian thought
therefore calls for an analysis of the ways, in which
representational strategies denote bodies of knowledge that can
be identified in the colonial discourse informing the artist's
time. Representations of race also offer the possibility to
uncover the making of modern societies. They go beyond
illustrations of customs because they are based on social
structures and racial discourses at the roots of the modern
world. In the same manner Julião's figures can be interpreted in
relation to the meanings given to them by the race discourses
constructed as knowledge about the peoples inhabiting their
colonial spaces.
Other theoretical frameworks that I will use are
influenced by the work of Edward Said and Stuart Hall, where
Foucault's discourse theory can also be identified. Said in
particular is very important for my interpretation of the images
depicted by Carlos Julião. His concept of Orientalism (1978) laid
out in the book by the same name and expanded in Culture and
Imperialism (1993), points the direction to the discursive
mechanisms in texts and images that characterised the discourse
of the European empires in their colonial ventures in the Middle
East region. Orientalism being a group of statements made about
the Orient that supposedly defined it, finds a cousin in Luso-
11 Shapiro, 2003, p.270.12 Shapiro, 2003, p.209.
27
Tropicalismo, a theory which constructed the Portuguese empire for
the public conveying an image of beneficial colonialism that too
often did not match the experience of the colonised.
Stuart Hall's analysis of the visual discourse on race and
the formation of stereotyping, as a mechanism in the
construction of such as discourse, have equally contributed to
my understanding of Julião's images. Hall draws from Antonio
Gramsci's use of the concept of hegemony to illustrate how the
dominant social group, manufacturing various fields of knowledge
such as representation, was able to impose a Eurocentric
worldview that won public consent because it was perceived as
‘truth’ or ‘fact’. In the colonial world, where new social
relationships formed and new identities emerged, the dominant
culture was also able to impose its values, permeating its
worldview to a population of natives and settlers, who accepted
the existing order. A patriarchal and hierarchical order that,
in the case of the Portuguese empire, is detectable in the modes
of representation selected by Carlos Julião.
Still in relation to structures of power, but in the
context of Brazil, Raymundo Faoro’s Os Donos do Poder13, remains an
important source, because it analyses the colonial institutions
through which imperial power was exercised, tracing back its
roots to the kingdom of Portugal in Iberia. Many Brazilian
historians and foreign Brazilianists have built upon Faoro's
work. Their research is extremely diversified, but in their
writings I was able to build the puzzle that slowly created a
clearer picture of Carlos Julião, his life and times and his
objects of observation. The work of Laura de Mello e Souza14, for
13 Masters of Power (my translation). See bibliography for Faoro, 1965.14 Laura de Mello e Souza’s work has been also extremely influential for a newgeneration of Brazilian historians who picked on her lines of research and havecontinued working on topics related to the dispossessed in the mining regions ofcolonial Brazil. See bibliography for a list of books by this author.
28
instance, is extremely valuable in trying to understand colonial
life in the mining region and along the royal roads where the
gold was transported. Silvia Hunold Lara15 is obviously a very
important source to this dissertation, as she more than anyone
has been able to read and decipher Julião’s images. The work of
Charles Boxer also remains an extremely important reference to
me.16 He was very active when the Panoramas and the Figurinhos were
presented to the public and still held at the time the trust of
the Portuguese authorities. A few years later, the publication
of Race Relations in the Portuguese Empire (1964) closed the doors of the
Portuguese Archives to him, but he was already a well
established and a highly regarded historian of the Portuguese
empire. His extensive bibliography and a life dedicated to the
study of the European seaborne empires must be acknowledged in
that so much of the primary source work has been done for future
generations.
In terms of racial representations and colonial discourse
applied to the Portuguese contexts, I found in the recent work
of Patricia Ferraz de Matos and Claudia Castelo, two important
sources of information and inspiration. Patricia Ferraz de
Matos’ As Cores do Império17 deals with illustrations and photographs
that took the colonial subject and space as objects of the
coloniser's gaze during the twentieth-century, when the fascist
regime was in power (1933-1974). They often reinforce the same
concepts, ideas and stereotypes that were present in Julião’s
15 Particularly her article Customs and Costumes, where she makes a strong analysis ofthe Portuguese imperial gaze through the eyes of Carlos Julião. See bibliography for alist of her work.16 Charles Boxer wrote extensively about the history of the Portuguese Empire,pioneering much of the documental primary research, focusing on the Portuguese imperialadministration and on the relations between the colonial power and the colonised peoples(see bibliography).17 The Colours of the Empire (my translation). Unfortunately this book has not beentranslated into English yet.
29
time. Claudia Castelo’s O Modo Português de Estar no Mundo18 shows how
the colonial discourse of Salazar’s regime, appropriated partial
ideas from Luso-Tropicalismo, creating the myth of a 'Portuguese
world' free of racism and prejudice where a humanitarian form of
colonisation was practiced.
My research took me to Portugal and Brazil where I
searched local archives in Lisbon, Rio de Janeiro, Minas Gerais
and São Paulo.19 In Lisbon, I found numerous references to Carlos
Julião at the Military Historical Archive, the Overseas
Historical Archive (former colonial archives), the National
Archives and the National Library.20 Most of the information
there shown is contained in chapter one, which relates to the
life and work of Carlos Julião. The documentation provides a
clear picture of his functions within the Portuguese military
organisation and provides proof of his mobility within the
Portuguese colonial space, particularly in relation to his
ventures in Brazil. I also looked for documentation connected to
the commemorations of the 500th anniversary of the death of
Prince Henry, the Navigator (1394-1460), when the Panoramas were
exhibited in Portugal and the Figurinhos published in Brazil, to
understand how the images could serve as statements in the
discourse of Luso-Tropicalismo. Formulated through the preceding
decades it was at this commemoration that Gilberto Freyre's
theory was finally named and presented in its maturity. One year
later, the work O Luso e o Trópico (The Portuguese and the Tropics)
was published, laying out Freyre's full maturation of the topic.
In Rio de Janeiro I researched the National Archives, the18 The Portuguese way of being in the world (my translation).The title is after a phrase thatwas used in the colonial discourse of the Salazar regime, implying the ‘benign nature’of the civilising mission that the empire was carrying overseas.19 My research trip was partially funded by the Central Research Fund at theUniversity of London. 20 Respectively: Arquivo Histórico Militar, Arquivo Histórico Ultramarino, ArquivoNacional da Torre do Tombo and National Library of Lisbon (see bibliography).
30
Brazilian Historical and Geographical Institute, the Royal
Cabinet of Portuguese Literature, the City Archives and the
National Library.21 I looked not only for references to Julião,
but also for documentation that allowed me to get a better sense
of the larger picture in which to insert Julião’s Brazilian
figures. In addition I consulted the unpublished graduate theses
and dissertations at the Federal University of Rio de Janeiro
and studied the original images contained in the Figurinhos album
at the National Library of Rio de Janeiro. There, and at the
Royal Cabinet of Portuguese Literature, I also consulted
publications related to the political relationship between the
Portuguese and Brazilian governments, in order to understand how
the publication and exhibition of the Figurinhos and the Panoramas,
respectively, were woven together to illustrate the theoretical
framework provided by Luso-Tropicalismo.
Also in the Southeast of Brazil, in the states of Minas
Gerais and São Paulo, I looked for documentation pertaining to
the exploration of the gold and diamond mines of the region,
portrayed in the Figurinhos, and the military ventures in the
area. The purpose was to insert Julião's images in that
particular context and understand his role in the area as an
army professional. With that in mind I visited the State Public
Archives in Minas Gerais,22 and consulted the graduate
dissertations at UFMG and USP.23 I also visited many places where
the memory of the strong past colonial presence has been
preserved in the local traditions and architecture. For instance
in the old colonial villages that dot the state of Minas Gerais;
21 Respectively: Arquivo Nacional do Rio de Janeiro, Instituto Histórico e GeograficoBrasileiro, Real Gabinete Português de Leitura, Arquivo Geral da Cidade do Rio deJaneiro and Biblioteca Nacional (see bibliography for primary sources).22 Arquivo Público Mineiro (see bibliography).23 Respectively: Federal University of Minas Gerais at Belo Horizonte and FederalUniversity of São Paulo.
31
in the colonial centre of the city of Salvador, crowded with
churches built by slaves, and in the old Morro da Conceicão in
Rio de Janeiro. The latter epitomises colonial Rio. Its
eighteenth-century fortress, today home to the Military
Geographical Division, stands high on the hill as a symbol of
colonial power, in contrast to the Pedra do Sal at the bottom, where
ships used to come to drop salt and slaves, and which is today
denominated as an Urban Quilombo.24
I hope to contribute to a greater interest in the meanings
of this type of representations, not only in Portugal and
Brazil, but also in the colonial archives around the world,
where such iconographic records can often be found. I suspect
other images by Carlos Julião may be scattered around private
and public collections waiting to be recognised as part of his
oeuvre. Many more exist by other such artists and are also
waiting to come to light. Art history remains largely a
discipline focused on great masters, although new theoretical
frameworks have now opened the field beyond what could be
expected forty years ago. I hope this dissertation brings the
topic of ethnographic representation and colonial discourse
further into the field of art history, so that more studies in
the area can surface and a large enough body of works on the
subject may constitute itself as an entirely new
interdisciplinary field. Because in studying these figures we
also learn about them, we are bound to decode them in terms of
their cultural meanings. In doing so, the researcher touches a
variety of academic fields and worldviews breaking with the
disciplinary divisions created by the Enlightenment. As our
24 Quilombos in colonial times were communities of runaway slaves. Today, thisdenomination is a consequence of current Brazilian legislation that aims to protect thelivelihoods of African descendents whose presence contributed to Brazilian culture ingeneral and to the local culture of thousands of urban and rural areas. Such legislationis viewed as an important acknowledgement of that contribution.
32
understanding of these representations grows, the categories in
which they were fixed slowly open up, liberating these figures
from their colonial condition and creating a space where at some
degree they can finally 'speak'.
33
Chapter 1
A Man of “Small Lights” and “Weak Talents”
"For all your arrows tipped with poison,The curved daggers you bear as arms,Amorous Malays and valiant Javanese
All will be subject to the Portuguese"
Luís Vaz de Camões The Lusíadas, 1572.25
Luís Vaz de Camões' epic Os Lusíadas (The Lusiads) tells the
story of the Portuguese 'discoveries' or 'expansion', both terms
often used interchangeably in Portuguese historiography. The
epic is a manifest destiny dedicated to the invincibility and
greatness of a people, the Portuguese people, or the Lusitanos, so
named after the pre-Roman tribes of present day Portugal. The
myth of the greatness of a people, distinct from all other
peoples, who dared to set sail into the unknown and conquered
'new worlds to the world' in the words of the poet Camões
himself, became an affirmation of identity that by the
sixteenth-century clearly distanced the Portuguese from all
their Others encountered beyond the oceans. To the resistance of
the latter, as implied in the verses above, the Portuguese were
prepared to respond with aggression until the Other was
subjected to their will. Resulting from an already well
25 Camões, translated by White, 1997, p.205 (Chapter X, verse 44).
34
established sense of superiority in relation to the non-
Christian population of the Iberian Peninsula, the myth
anticipated the eighteenth-century Enlightenment attitudes that
constructed and institutionalised 'scientific truths' about non-
European socio-cultural groups.
Eighteenth-century Enlightenment introduced a new era of
'rationality' and scientific thought which can be defined as an
ensemble of statements from various areas or disciplines,
constituting the basis of a Eurocentric discourse at the time.
Enlightenment thinkers placed emphasis on reason and knowing the
universe through observation, debunking what was perceived as
the pessimism and superstition of previous ages and calling for
a project of classification involving all fields of knowledge.
The result was an extensive bibliography on scientific
knowledge, human knowledge, geographical knowledge and all
knowledges reason envisioned which formed the base to the
genealogy of the modern sciences with the various disciplines,
beliefs and assumptions of the modern societies that inform us
today. However, Enlightenment enquiries were not completely
detached from previous beliefs and assumptions, but rather
provided the framework in which to insert them. The visual work
produced by Italian artist Carlos Julião (1740-1811) for the
Portuguese imperial military of the time can be better
understood under that light. The 'human types' that he
represented reflect a classificatory hierarchy of the human race
oriented by gradations of skin colour. As I will demonstrate,
the ordering of the figures obeys, simultaneously, a
classification project informed by Enlightenment values and to
the sense of superiority in relation to the Other, already
established in the Iberian Peninsula.
Carlos Julião (1740-1811) was a man of his time, a man of
35
the Enlightenment, which in the words of Norma Hampson was above
all “an attitude of the mind”.26 While his visual work was
informed by the military training he received in the Portuguese
academy, it was also the result of an epistemological approach
oriented by the Eurocentric discourse on the Other. A discourse
that the Enlightenment consolidated in a "western historical
perspective of modernity rather than its other perspective - the
colonial".27 Carlos Julião participated in the making of the
modern world and the range of topics that his scientific,
written and artistic work show, testify to a man of many
interests and curiosities. The images he created are a
reflection of a scientific-like power of observation informed by
a colonial discourse which was filtered by the military
instruction he acquired.
The current information on Carlos Julião is scarce and yet
surprising, as fragmented pieces offer increasingly more clues
into his life and mind. What becomes clear is that this was a
man of the Enlightenment; not a major figure that one could
easily find in a dictionary of ‘great men’, but one of the
thousands of anonymous contributors to the actual practice of an
European worldview that ambiguously combined philosophical
notions of freedom and equality with the political practice of
slavery and world colonisation. In trying to administer and make
sense of the vast world presented under their eyes, European
rulers of the eighteenth-century promoted the training of public
servants, with rewards for good services translated into social
status and material rewards. The practice made possible for
European nations to delegate authority and effectively control
26 Hampson, 1990, p.146.27 Teles dos Santos, 2005, p.15.
36
distant lands.28
Power began therefore to be exercised at different levels
of the hierarchy, allowed to circulate through a social body
constituted by settlers, priests, bureaucrats and army officers,
who shared the European worldview and therefore served as its
“tools of surveillance and control over the colonised peoples”.29
As Stuart Hall observed, power "seduces, solicits, induces, wins
consent"30, and in doing so, it is often exercised by those
subjugated to it. By creating new and recreating old hierarchies
of authority and through an emphasis on differences between
social groups, European rulers ensured that power was filtered
from the crowns of Europe to the imperial servants on the field.
Thus the modern concept of the bureaucratic nation state, with
its hierarchies of authority was born. Carlos Julião, as a
military servant of the Portuguese empire at a time of major
military reorganisation in European nations, was one such peon
in the social order. He was an activator of what Edward Said
called the mechanisms designed to control populations and
territories in lands distant from Europe, in order to secure the
management of their human and natural resources to the benefit
of the European metropolitan centres.31
Carlos Julião was born in 1740 in the city of Turin, in
the then independent Kingdom of Piedmont in modern day northern
Italy. The largest amount of information found so far about this
man is related to his career in the Portuguese army and his name
is often written in the Italian form of Carlo Juliani. In the
images that bear his name, as well as in the written works he
signed as an author, and once as a translator from Italian to
28 Hampson, 1971, p.49.29 Foucault, 1980, p.17.30 Hall, 1997, p.261.31 Said, 1993, p.8.
37
Portuguese, he wrote his name in the Portuguese form, Carlos
Julião. In a way it seems that Julião used the Portuguese
version of his name as an identity marker that linked him
deliberately to the country he served. The plausible chance that
Julião’s father was Portuguese, as I will explain further on,
may have influenced such a decision, or perhaps Julião arrived
in Portugal at such an early age that he always considered
himself to be Portuguese. The reason may not be important, but
the consistency with which Julião signed his name in its
Portuguese form, as opposed to the inconsistency with which the
institution where he served did, reveals his preoccupation with
well defined identities that allocate individuals to specific
groups. The same consistency seems also to fit into a
personality that, as we shall see, seems to have been extremely
methodical and detail-oriented.
His career in the Portuguese military establishment is
practically summed up in one letter dated March 180032, in which
Julião seeks a promotion, laying out his professional
achievements as an officer in coastal ports controlled by the
Portuguese, and during his voyages to the “Brazis”, India and
China when on duty.33 Only twice does this document specify the
nature of his work; once in regards to Macao in China, where he
was sent for a topographic study of the city under the orders of
Martinho de Melo e Castro, the Portuguese Minister of State and
Overseas; and another time in Portugal, where he inspected the
fortresses of the Estremadura province, where the capital,
Lisbon, is situated. In the 1800 letter however, there is no
mention of the precise dates in which he travelled or performed
the mentioned activities. But Julião surprisingly appears in
32 Arquivo Histórico Militar, No. AHM/DIV/3/7/329. 33 Arquivo Histórico Militar, No. AHM/DIV/3/7/329
38
unrelated sources, here and there, often crossing or touching
the events stated in the 1800 letter. Where such intersections
occur it is possible to reconstitute a sketchy chronology of his
life.
According to his military record, the file where the March
1800 letter is archived, Julião incorporated the Royal Artillery
Regiment as a second-Lieutenant on 31st October 1763, becoming
Captain, with the expertise of mining, on 9th July, 1781. Major
in 1795, he entered the Royal Army Arsenal and was again
promoted, in 1805, to the rank of Colonel. His military record
also includes de date of his death on the 18th November 1811.34
These dates serve as markers, while I try to fit the other
information I found about Carlos Julião into the chronological
spaces that separate them.
From 1740 to 1763 Julião had his formative years. At what
age he left Italy or how and why he joined the Portuguese
military is not known. There was a long tradition of exchanging
artists and engineers between Portugal and Italy, particularly
in the early seventeenth century when many Italians, then
considered the best architects and engineers in Europe, went to
Portugal.35 After the mid-eighteenth-century military engineers
were often contracted from Italy to work in the Portuguese
imperial possessions.36 But that was perhaps not the reason that
brought Julião to Portugal if we assume that his father may have
been Portuguese. In a later letter signed by Queen Maria I, in
1792, Julião is mentioned as the son of a certain João
Baptista.37 Although the spelling of his father’s name is
Portuguese, the form of names was not indicative of an
34 Arquivo Histórico Militar, No. AHM/DIV/3/7/329.35 Catalogue: A Engenharia Militar, 1960, p.XI.36 Reis, 2000, p.1037 Torre do Tombo, Livro 9 f142, 1792.
39
individual's place of birth and it could be used
interchangeably, as in the Juliani/Julião example. It is
therefore not easy to establish the links that associated Julião
to Portugal, prior to his military career.
The Portugal he encountered ruled over an empire built
upon the manifest destiny that Camões' The Lusiads foresaw. The
subjection of the Other to Portuguese rule was affirmed in the
official documents where the royals of Portugal entitled
themselves "rulers of Portugal and the Algarve, overseas, in
Africa, in Guinea, in the conquests, in navigation and in the
trade of Ethiopia, Arabia, Persia and India".38 The title was a
political imposition on the places mentioned and worked as a
marking of territory for the other nations of Europe. The
'conquests', as the Portuguese referred to where that marking of
territory occurred, implied the self perception of being in
charge of those territories and it is perhaps no coincidence
that in Portuguese the word explore, from where Portuguese
explorers obtained their historical 'title', translates as both
to explore and to exploit.
The enterprise of the 'discoveries' resulted in an
unprecedented encounter between the many cultures of the world.
New power relations were created in the process and with them
existing hierarchies unfolded into the new ones that, as we
shall see, Julião skilfully portrayed. After circumnavigating
Africa to reach India in 1498, the Portuguese landed in Brazil
in 1500 bringing with them the insignias of power and
Catholicism. The process of ‘discovery’ may have laid out the
foundation for the making of the modern world, but at these
early stages it was “medieval in character”.39 The Iberian
38 Several documents I have consulted begin in this manner. See for instance AHM-DIV-3-7-329 (Carlos Julião) and 4-1-10-15 (Escola e Academia Militares), 1790.39 Lourenco, 1989, p.26.
40
society of the time was characterised by religious intolerance,
misogyny and contempt for different cultures, although, as James
Sweet observed, to speak in terms of racial intolerance in the
sixteenth-century may be problematic since race as a biological
label was an invention of the eighteenth-century.40 Nevertheless
the inevitable attitude of superiority and intolerance that is
contained in the racist mentality was very much present at the
time that the Portuguese set to explore/exploit the world.
In addition, concepts of 'purity of blood' reminiscent of
much later 'scientific' racist thought were present in medieval
Iberia. Forced conversion of Muslims and Jews left them and
their descendants with a 'stain' of impure blood, which would
earn them the title of 'infected races' that constantly appears
in official documents of the colonial period.41 A famous case is
that of medical doctor Garcia d’Orta who in the sixteenth-
century was forced to convert from Judaism to Catholicism, and
who left to India where he conducted the scientific work he
became known for. The idea of race as lineage established a
natural fixity of inferiority to non-Christians and their
descendants contextualised in terms of 'stained' blood. This
terminology anticipated the 'biological' concept of race and
constituted the roots of the rationale to scientific racism,
which in turn was accentuated by centuries of conquest, slavery
and demonising of non-European peoples.
The compulsive Catholic fervour that characterised state
policy was properly legislated to limit the privileges of non-
Christians or 'new' Christians forced o convert. First by the
Ordenações Afonsinas in the fifteenth-century, which limited the
privileges of those free but 'stained' by Muslim or Jewish
40 Sweet, 1997, p.14441 Boxer, 1977, p.249-272.
41
ancestry; secondly by the Ordenações Manuelinas in the sixteenth-
century, which extended the intolerance and persecution to the
Brazilian natives and to the gipsies; and, finally, the
Ordenações Filipinas in the seventeenth-century, under Spanish rule,
which legislated limitations of free blacks and mulattos.42 In a
similar way to the Nazi demand that Jews carried the star of
David in their coats, so were the Jews and Moors in Iberia
forced to identify themselves through symbols in their clothes -
a yellow hat for Jews and a red crescent on the sleeve of those
descending from the Moors.43 Given this customary differentiation
between old Christians and all Others, it appears fair to assume
that the Portuguese would not behave differently overseas.
Slavery, intolerance, war, characterised the birth of the
Iberian nations and were carried on across the oceans, while
simultaneously creating the indicators that would orient
scientific racism in the western world, from the Enlightenment
to World War II and beyond. And yet, the epic of the poet
remains in the public mind as a sign of the national greatness
and ‘genius’ of the Portuguese enterprise.
Similarly, attitudes towards women revealed a degree of
intolerance that was noted by visitors "from Huighen van
Linschoten in sixteenth-century Goa to Maria Graham in
nineteenth-century Bahia."44. Twentieth-century colonial
discourse would come to emphasize miscegenation as the proof of
the absence of racism in the Portuguese empire refined through
centuries of encounters with the Moorish women in Iberia, and
reflected overseas in the Portuguese male 'inclination' for
black, mulatta or native Brazilian women. Such discourse, which
42 Mattos, 2006, p.44.43 Lara, 2007, p.90., quoting Ordenações Filipinas.44 Boxer, 1969, p.137.
42
aimed to differentiate Portuguese colonisation from other
European powers in face of twentieth-century anti-colonial
movements around the world, did not take into account the nature
of gender and power relations in a colonial context of conquest.
Just as the Portuguese male could hardly be expected to engage
with the Other in a different manner than he did at home with
Jews, Muslims, Gypsies and African captives, so he would
certainly not treat women abroad in equal terms, considering the
treatment women were given at home.
In the eighteenth-century, European travellers in Lisbon
spoke of the seclusion of Portuguese women and how, in the upper
classes, they left the house solely to attend church, followed
by their servants and slaves.45 They did not usually accompany
their husbands or fathers in their ventures overseas and not
even the wives of governors resided abroad.46 More white women
went to Brazil, a settler colony, then to other places in the
empire, but often their fathers preferred to send them to a
convent in the capital or in Lisbon than to marry them off in
Brazil.47 The few white women living in the colony were mostly
coastal residents, and as their secluded sisters in Europe, here
too white women were kept away from sight, particularly from
African and native Brazilian men.48 In spite of twentieth-century
discursive interpretations on miscegenation, seclusion of women
in the colony was due precisely to the fear of miscegenation and
contamination of the "white man's reproductive unit",49 composed
of the white woman and available native women and African slaves
with whom miscegenation was encouraged as a means of improving
45 Chaves, 1983, p.6046 Boxer, 1975, p.54. 47 Boxer, 1969, p.164.48 Silva, 2002.49 Alcinda Ramos quoted in Silva, 2002, p.5.
43
the stock of slaves. Miscegenation was therefore not a sign of
the absence of racism but rather what Afro-Brazilian Abdias do
Nascimento called "a process of mullatisation, through the sexual
exploitation of the African woman, a phenomenon of pure and
simple genocide”.50
In Asia, miscegenation was frowned upon in spite of the
general myth that marital relationships were established from
early on. In regards to India, even when the higher castes, with
which the Portuguese soon sought alliance, became Catholics,
conversion did not break the complexity of the Indian caste
system and individuals continued to favour marriages within
their own caste rather then with the Portuguese.51 When such
relationships occurred, the condition of mestiços created a class
that desperately tried to equal itself with continental
Portugal, but who were disdained by both the Portuguese and the
higher Indian castes. Although it was a policy of the crown that
miscegenation should occur to assert the Portuguese presence,52
the church and the local authorities were quick to attach a
stigma to the mestiço population in colonial society.53 Few
Portuguese women accompanied their husbands to India, and as for
women travelling alone, the few exceptions were the 'orphans of
the king', sent annually with royal dowries that would permit
them to find a ‘suitable’ husband.54
T. S. Silva observed that in the Portuguese language
adventure has a sexual connotation.55 The same happens with the
word conquest, which may imply successful sexual contact or
50 Nascimento, 1978, p.69. On the sexual exploitation of the African woman see alsoNascimento's chapter 3.51 Boxer, 1988, p.79.52 Boxer, 1988, p.66.53 Boxer, 1988, p.62-65.54 Boxer, 1975, p.66.55 Silva, 2003, p.33.
44
territorial claim. Women came, so to speak, with the territory.
Explorations, adventures and conquests referred to the ownership
of land and people without distinction. Furthermore, the
availability of the black, mulatta or native woman did not
necessarily imply marriage and the status of legitimacy to her
children. In the eighteenth-century, with a few exceptions, men
who married a non-white woman, including a Jewish woman, would
be blocked from further socio-economic privileges in the complex
hierarchical public service.56 Bureaucrats or military men were
therefore hardly expected to wed their sexual conquests and
these remained farther away from the possibility of moving up
towards a greater acceptance in the society they were born or
forced into. Of course even without marriage women could, and
did, achieve their own small conquests towards a freer life, or
were at least 'protected' under the wing of a master/lover. But
even then it must be considered that they may not have had other
or better choices, making therefore the best of what they had
and could achieve. Such was the mentality of the Portuguese male
sense of superiority that Carlos Julião encountered in Portugal
and which permeated through the compositional choices he made
when executing his figures. As I will demonstrate in the
chapters that follow, the military artist illustrated the
various gradations of colour that occurred through the
miscegenation process in the Portuguese empire.
It is probable that in the immediate years after 1763,
when Julião joined the then recently created Royal Artillery
Regiment, he received military training in Engineering. This was
a time of major reforms within the military institution, carried
out by the Marquis of Pombal, prime-minister to absolutist
monarch José I, who sought to design a military establishment
56 Boxer, 1975, p.56.
45
fit for the modern nation-state. With the administration of a
vast empire in mind, Pombal had to rely on loyal governors and a
body of servants that complied with his policies. He therefore
created the College of the Nobles in 1761, which would "provide
the children of the nobility with professional skills needed in
government or in the military service".57 Military reforms were
similarly implemented with disciplinary expertises that were
taught by expert foreigners in Portugal and Brazil.58 Whether
Julião was one of the foreign experts called or not is unknown
but if that was the case it would probably be stated in his
military record. What is relevant here for Julião is that these
reforms marked his early years in the Portuguese military and
therefore informed his knowledge of the empire and of how
Portuguese rule was to be exercised.
Science played an important role in the formation of
military men at this time, particularly mathematics and
geometry, which were essential in learning about both
fortification and navigation.59 The disciplinary training of
military men included “construction work, fortification,
cartography, hydrography, topography, cosmography, territorial
reconnaissance, communications, etc”.60 Military art was not just
linked to maritime activity but also to geography and science.
Until Pombal came to power, the teaching of those disciplines
was in the hands of the Jesuits.61 Décio Escobar even offered an
idyllic view of military engineers working hand in hand with the
Jesuits.62 But the manner in which the Enlightenment was
57 Maxwell, 1995, p.106.58 Mendonca, 1960, p.15.59 Lyra Tavares, 1965, p.15.60 Catalogue: A Engenharia Militar, 1960, p.XIII.61 Lyra Tavares, 1965, p.31.62 Lyra Tavares, 1965, p.3-4 (Preface by Decio Escobar).
46
manifested in Pombal's reforms was through the creation of
institutions as places for the formation of scientific bodies of
knowledge and the Jesuits' “humanistic approach”63 practiced
since the sixteenth-century was not inclusive of the new born
natural sciences. It was therefore logistically inadequate to
the practicalities of colonial governance. Pombal sought to end
the monopoly of the Jesuits in education so that he himself
could control it and shape the worldview of Portuguese
Enlightenment, which would serve the interests of the crown from
then on, even after the Marquis' fall from power in 1777,
following King José I's death. Pombal did away with the Jesuits,
expelling the order from Portugal in 1759 and reforming the
educational system,64 particularly the University of Coimbra,
which after the expulsion of the Jesuits, became the most
important secular institution of higher education and an
important centre for the study of the sciences.65
The Royal Artillery Regiment was from the beginning
divided into two expertises - that of crafts and that of mining66
- and Julião’s choice was the latter. He became an inspector of
fortresses and in order to perform his function, Julião also
learnt technical skills in strategy and tactics as part of what
Lyra Tavares called the Artillery-Engineering binary, where the
engineer-soldier is presented as the crown’s response to all
problems faced overseas.67 Among the thesis of military
architecture, from as early as the seventeenth century, are
titles such as “1 - There is no art in a republic more necessary
then a fortification, 2-Without it, a Prince can’t secure his
63 Tribe, 1994, p.126.64 Maxwell, 1995, p.12-13.65 Tribe, 1994, p.157-158.66 Lyra Tavares, 1965, p.20-21.67 Lyra Tavares, 1965, p.16.
47
state”.68 Military engineers were well aware of the importance of
their activities in securing the Portuguese state and its
possessions, and such title clearly suggests that they were
acquainted with the political theory of their time as stated in
Maquiavel’s “The Prince”.69 The combination of bodies of
knowledge - weaponry, architecture, science - and the political
power that designed them can hardly be discarded as
characteristics of military men, such as Carlos Julião. His
training certainly combined the science of war technology with
that of pre-existent structures such as the fortresses located
in strategic geographical locations.70
Military schools during the eighteenth century also taught
drawing classes to train officers to collect visual information
that facilitated the functionality of the colonial possessions.71
The classes of military and civil architecture were, at Julião’s
time, taught at Colégio dos Nobres in Lisbon, where there was a
drawing class taught by an Italian.72 Military artists were
taught to draw the human body from plaster copies. The use of
live models had been violently opposed by the popular classes
the first time it was tried, with protests resulting in broken
windows, according to José Augusto França.73 The figurative
training of military artists was therefore not oriented to a
'realistic' portrayal of human beings. Instead, its main goal
was to collect visual information that facilitated the
functionality of colonial possessions.74
Such methods employed by military art training in the68 Lyra Tavares, 1965, p.47.69 Maquiavel, 1990.70 Lyra Tavares, 1965, p.23.71 Smith, 1992, p.28.72 Franca, 1983, p.259.73 Franca, 1983, p.260.74 Smith, 1992, p.28.
48
drawing of the human body emphasised ‘ethnographic'
representations based on stereotypical figures, in which common
features were applied to ethnic groups without distinction of
any individuality. Stuart Hall observed that stereotyping is one
tool of the discourse formed by the power/knowledge in place
over subaltern groups, implying the existence of strong social
inequalities where power circulates through a set regime of
representational reductionist practices.75 When analysing images
of Africans and their diasporean descendants, the author
referred to a visual tradition practising 'ritualised
degradation' - slaves being punished, humiliated and put in a
position of permanent servitude - without raising much
criticism.76 Such attitude was possible through a normalisation
of slavery and the ‘inferiority’ of the ‘black race’ that
colonial discourse was able to communicate to European
audiences. Although Julião’s images are deprived of physical
violence, he indicates it in some of his illustrations of slaves
in the context of the control exercised over them in the mining
region (chapter 3) or the Angolan slave trade (chapter 4). As we
will see his visual ‘ethnographic’ methodology followed a scale
of difference that de-individualised colonised peoples assigning
them to categories where immutable characteristics defined them
as part of a particular group.
After his military training and between 1763 and 1781,
when he became officially Captain, Julião must have travelled to
a few, if not all, of the places mentioned in the 1800 letter.
According to it Julião was at some point in time in Morocco, in
the city of Mazagan, saving people from the precinct of the
75 Hall, 1997, p.258.76 Hall, 1997, p.245.
49
Portuguese fortress, under fire and “to great risk of his
life”.77 This could have happened anytime before 1769, when the
Portuguese were forced out of their last coastal port in
northern Africa.78 Two facts converge here: Julião was a soldier
serving in a hostile coastal port and his career was from early
on connected to the overseas possessions of the Portuguese
empire. Colonel Julião was not just capable of producing
attractive pictorial compositions; he was trained in combat and
was probably involved in battle situations as it appears from
his record at Mazagan.79 He was both a subject and a servant of
the empire, in the forefront of its military ventures, informed
and trained by a militaristic and centralised institution, which
supported and made viable the grip of the Portuguese nation-
state over its empire.
As for his stay in Macao, China, it certainly occurred
after 1770, because that was the year that Martinho de Melo e
Castro became the Secretary of State and Minister of the
Overseas Territories. According to the March 1800 letter, it was
the minister who sent Julião on a topographic surveillance
mission to Macao,80 but that could have happened in any of the 25
years during which Melo e Castro served as minister. After 1773,
Melo e Castro took an interest in Macao, laying out a plan of
reforms, which would be undertaken for a period of ten years.81
Julião could have taken part in that project, but the precise
nature of his duties and how long he spent in China has yet to
come to light.
The letter also mentions an 'important' period of six
77 Arquivo Histórico Militar, No. AHM/DIV/3/7/329.78 Boxer, 1988, p.10. 79 Arquivo Historico Militar, No. AHM/DIV/3/7/329.80 Arquivo Histórico Militar, No. AHM/DIV/3/7/329.81 http://cham.fcsh.unl.pt/engl/anais1_e.htm#top.
50
years, which may have occurred anytime after 1763, in which
Julião served in India. However, it does not state the nature of
his service there. Both the National Libraries of Lisbon and Rio
de Janeiro keep a manuscript under the title of 'Summary News on
the Gentiles of Asia' (my translation).82 The illustrations that
are kept in the National Library in Rio de Janeiro were
attributed to Carlos Julião and were purchased together with the
Figurinhos images. They are composed of ten images accompanied by
108 chapters, which describe Hindu beliefs of Brahman
tradition.83 The Lisbon manuscript contains a total of 11 similar
images and 107 chapters on the same topic.84 Curiously enough,
the title of these Hindu illustrations, which is clearly
assigned to Asia, is repeated in the official title that
accompanied the two canvases kept in Pernambuco, when the
Instituto Ricardo Brennand acquired the works from a Sotheby’s
auction, which will be analysed in chapter 4.
However, the two sets of illustrations bare no
relationship to each other and to the canvases that I call Castes
of the Atlantic. Entitled simply as “News of the Gentiles” (my
translation), or Noticias do Gentilismo, the canvases include the
people of Portugal, who would not be referred to as gentiles.
However it may well be that in the context of the empire, the
phrase took on an ampler meaning. As we will see in chapter
four, Raphael Bluteau in his eighteenth-century 'Portuguese
Vocabulary’ expanded the term gentio to include people of low
social condition.85 Either way, the illustrations representing
Hindu tradition bear no relationship to the Pernambuco canvases
which represent the peoples of the Atlantic triangle made up by
82 Biblioteca Nacional de Portugal, Notícia Summária do Gentilismo na Ásia.83 Catalogue: Riscos Iluminados de Figurinhos, 1960, p.X.84 Biblioteca Nacional de Portugal, Noticia Summária do Gentilismo na Ásia.85 Bluteau, 1712.
51
Portugal, Brazil and Angola.
In addition to 11 images representing Hindu tradition and
bearing the same title as the Brazilian set, the publication
kept by the National Library of Portugal includes a compilation
of three texts, one bearing the date of 1778 and clearly written
by an observer from within the army. Signed by an ‘impartial
curious’ the text is an extremely detailed description of the
events leading to the making and positioning of a statue
honouring King José I, in the capital city of Lisbon. It is most
of all a criticism of the unnecessary expense that the
enterprise involved in terms of money and human force, including
military resources. The statue was produced in the army arsenal
in Lisbon and transported during three days in a structure made
of Brazilian woods86 and pushed by human labour across the city
to its final destination where it stands today in the centre of
Praça do Comércio (Commercial Square), between the river and a
new Lisbon, rebuilt on top of the destruction caused by the
great earthquake of 1755.87
The text is extremely detailed as if the author had been
present at every single step of the process. It includes an
itemized list of the cost of food and beverage for the banquet
that followed the event, cost of production of the statue, wages
paid to those involved and even a list of the wines served at
the banquet.88 The author is highly critical of the Marquis of
Pombal, attributing such extraordinary expense to the Marquis’
wishes "to make himself eternal in the world".89 In 1777, the
King died and the Marquis fell by order of Queen Maria I. One
year later this text could be and was finally published.
86 Biblioteca Nacional de Portugal, Relação histórica, p.76.87 Biblioteca Nacional de Portugal, Relação histórica, p.79-84.88 Biblioteca Nacional de Portugal, Relação histórica, p.118.89 Biblioteca Nacional de Portugal, Relação histórica, p.69.
52
Minister Martinho de Melo e Castro, remained on his post;
whether he was friend or foe to Pombal is debatable among
historians, but the predominant perception is that they diverged
in their opinions. The name of Julião remains connected to that
of Melo e Castro in at least two documents and in that context
he could have been the ‘impartial curious’ author of this text
criticising Pombal. Whether he was is not clear, but the text
demonstrates the political debate going on from within the
military institution, which worked in close connection with the
Portuguese administration in the preparation of the festivities.
Fragmented pieces of information indicate Carlos Julião’s
long presence in Portugal, Brazil, Africa and Asia, where he
made contacts at the highest levels of the colonial
administration. But the strongest link yet that Julião seems to
have had with any of the Portuguese colonial possessions of the
time was with Brazil. The album of the Figurinhos illustrations
that I will be analysing in chapter two is entirely dedicated to
the human diversity of the land.90 Julião certainly spent a large
amount of time in Brazil where he elaborated this set of 43
watercolours, depicting similar, and often the same, human
figures as the ones portrayed in the Panoramas (chapter two) and
the Castes of the Atlantic (chapter four). The Figurinhos of the
'Royal Roads' (chapter 3) show portraits of indigenous peoples,
military uniforms, slaves and their activities, costumes and
customs – to use the fortunate title of Silvia Lara’s article91 –
and testify to the diversity of the Brazilian population, which
confronted Julião and obviously urged him to record it.
The figures are positioned in the region of Rio de Janeiro
and Serro Frio, two localities connected by the 'Royal Roads',
90 Catalogue: Riscos Iluminados de Figurinhos, 1960.91 Lara, 2002a.
53
positioning Julião in the Southeast region and in the context of
the mining region of Brazil. As a military man, Julião was
inevitably linked to the practices of control exercised in the
region by the Portuguese Crown, whose main concern was to avoid
gold and diamond smuggling to maximise its profit over the
region. After diamonds were discovered in the first quarter of
the eighteenth-century, the crown decreed its monopoly over the
land resources reinforced in 1771 in the regulations that became
known as the Livro da Capa Verde translated as Book of the Green Cape
because of its appearance.92 Through the royal fifth, the crown
taxed 20% of all gold encountered in the mining region, a
"tyrannical ruling"93 that provoked local elites into
conspiracies, such as that of Tiradentes (teeth puller) whose
rebellious activities ended with his death by hanging followed
by the public exposure of his body parts in the public town
centres of the mining region as a warning to future rebels.
Unlike the Figurinhos, which represents portraits of the
various ethnicities populating the royal roads region, the
composition of the two Castes works (chapter four) is similar to
the Panoramas (chapter two) in that it combines a series of
figures arranged in horizontal registers, rather then in
isolated portraits. What is also common to the Atlantic Castes and
the Panorama of Salvador is the date of 1779, which raises an
interesting question. In Queen Maria's letter dated of 1792, in
which she mentions the name of Julião’s father, it is also
stated that the military artist became a Captain of mining at
the Royal Artillery Regiment on the 20th August 1780.94 Julião’s
military record sets the date in 1781. And yet, in the Salvador
92 Furtado, 1996.93 Cruls, 1952, p.174.94 Torre do Tombo, Livro 9 f142, 1792.
54
Panorama, he signs his name and the title of captain in 1779.
That he knew of his promotion before it was made official is not
surprising, but that he put it in writing in a work related to
the fortresses of Bahia may mean that his work in the area was
connected to his promotion to Captain. It is in a way a symbolic
work, in that it includes a port, signifying his missions to
coastal ports and several fortress plans that were related to
his activity as an inspector. It is therefore plausible to
conclude that Julião may have spent sometime in the Brazilian
northeast.
As an inspector of fortresses Julião was contributing with
his expertise, which constituted a military body of knowledge,
to secure the inland territories of Brazil while maintaining the
coastal flank in guard against possible European invaders.
Michel Foucault considered studying the fortress as a means to
address the role of the army “as a matrix of organisation and
knowledge” created as a tool of European geopolitical power.95 In
Portuguese imperial geopolitics, the fortress was one of the
three insignias of power occupying the locations where the
Portuguese landed. The cross marked the arrival and the fortress
signalled the permanence, while the column named Pelourinho,
decorated with royal symbols, was placed at the centre of
Brazilian colonial towns to mark the place from where the wishes
of the King were proclaimed and where those who broke the rules
were punished.96 The city centre of Salvador, the city portrayed
in the top register of image 1, is today known by the name
Pelourinho and major tourism area of the city. Implied in the
name is its history as a place where colonial impositions on the
population were administered and executed.
95 Foucault, 1980, p.77.96 Lara, 2007, p.31; Schwartz, 2003, p.75.
55
In addition the coastal view, Julião's Panorama of Salvador
(image 1) is illustrated with the plans of ten fortresses
located around the city, which was the first capital of Brazil
until it lost that status to Rio de Janeiro in 1763. His role as
an inspector of fortresses placed him directly in the position
of contributor to the formation of a body of knowledge that
served as a tool for Portuguese geopolitical power, in Brazil
and elsewhere. In the same manner that the Portuguese asserted
their military presence through the fortress, the cross
symbolised the imposition of Christianity and the pelourinho the
practice of colonialism with the impositions and punishments
that accompanied it. From whichever perspective, the fortress,
the cross and the pelourinho remain at the heart of Portuguese
colonial discourse as a visible territorial mark that provided
encounters, in which new power relations were established, and
which functioned as a “tool of surveillance and control over the
colonised peoples”.97 From the fortifications to the cartographic
maps the empire was legitimated. Through the physical existence
of buildings, which marked the territories conquered, forever
changing their landscape, and by the production of territorial
knowledge, the empire was put into practice by men like Carlos
Julião.
These practices of mapping the land for the purpose of
territorial entitlement together with the
explorative/exploitative action of pioneers, slave-hunters,
Jesuit priests, and the military was framed by the context of
scientific enquiry that accompanied the Enlightenment. As a
result of the foundation of the Academy of Sciences in 1779, the
empire's territorial recognisance was institutionalised with the
participation of bureaucrats, the military, the intellectuals
97 Foucault, 1980, p.17.
56
and the natural scientists.98 The scientific expedition led by
Brazilian born Alexandre Rodrigues Ferreira, who studied at the
University of Coimbra, lasted from 1783 to 1793 and was executed
in this context; in a close relationship between the makers of
'fields of knowledge' and the military establishment. While it
carried a survey of the land's natural resources, it also worked
as a tool of surveillance over the indigenous communities.99
Knowledge is power and therefore it was a thin line between the
imperial functions of scientists and military men.
The role of the military included the execution of visual
works to collect information that facilitated the functionality
of the colonial possessions.100 The draftsmen accompanying the
expedition were themselves military artists like Carlos Julião.
One of them, José Joaquim Freire recorded images of natives in
their social and natural environment, engaged in their daily
activities.101 Ronaldo Raminelli analysed the visual production of
Ferreira’s philosophical expedition, so named after the natural
philosophy that preceded the concept of science. The author
noticed a formula structured as physiognomy/body/artefact that
characterised these technical drawings and was often accompanied
by text aids.102 As we shall see in chapters two and four,
Julião's military art training also reflect a methodology where
the iconography that permits a visual identification of the
figures is reinforced by text.
Julião's work also includes the execution of the artefact,
the last part of the triple formula analysed by Raminelli.
Together with the Figurinhos and the images representing Hindu98 Munteal Filho, 1999, p.86.99 Belluzo, 1995, p.49. 100 Smith, 1992, p.28.101 See Silva, 2003; account of the Philosophical Voyage taken by Alexandre RodriguesFerreira. 102 Raminelli, 2001, p.970-990.
57
mythology, the National Library in Rio, also purchased a set of
33 illustrations of Peruvian Indigenous artefacts entitled Dittos
de Vasos e Tecidos Peruvianos.103 These images are accompanied by an
original statement, which is not signed but may have been
written by the artist himself, stating that the images were
taken from Peruvian ceramics and textiles "confiscated from a
Spanish galleon, which landed on the Portuguese coast, in the
village of Peniche, during the reign of Queen Maria I of
Portugal, which began in 1777".104 Peniche is situated in the
province of Estremadura, where the capital Lisbon is located and
according to Julião's military he did in fact find himself
working in that province, under the orders of the Duke of Lafões
and performing his function as a inspector of fortresses. The
verse of these Peruvian drawings is illustrated with delicate
watercolours representing local people from the central plains
of Portugal, but whether these can be attributed to Julião or
were posterior additions is open for debate. They are sketches
of rural people and of what seems to be a religious event inside
a church. They are not executed with the technical detailing of
the Figurinhos and the Peruvian artefacts.
Both the Salvador Panorama (image 1) and the Atlantic Castes
(images 46 and 47) were executed in 1779, the same date of the
founding of the Academy of Sciences in Lisbon. Both present
iconographic and textual clues that point to an attempt to
communicate 'knowledge' about Brazil to a European audience. In
terms of ‘ethnographic representation’, Julião's work followed
the tendency to produce stereotypical figures, in which elements
could be arranged and re-arranged to portray variants of the
same emergent racial identities that colonisation and
103 “Peruvian vases and textiles” (my translation)104 Catalogue: Riscos Iluminados de Figurinhos, 1960, p.XI.
58
miscegenation produced. In the case of the Salvador Panorama the
figures were further inserted in the territorial space to which
they belonged together with the insignias of colonial permanence
symbolised in the fortresses. What the military artists recorded
were codified messages about lands and peoples, with clues
providing information in regards to their customs, social
organisation, natural resources and place in society.105
Gathering samples and recording visual information allowed
the involvement of all the imperial institutions in the
scientific enterprise, in straight connection with their
representatives in Brazil and with Brazilian born 'natural
philosophers' educated in Portugal. The discourse behind a Luso-
Brazilian empire began to emerge reflecting the need to unite
the elites across the Atlantic in a common colonial project. The
Palace of Queluz, home to the royal family, became a tropical
zoo with samples from all corners of the empire. Endless
specimens and lists of samples were carefully sent by a zealous
class of bureaucrats who served as the link between the
fieldworkers and the court. The men of the academy, with their
expertise, would then analyse all these natural items building
the knowledge on colonial lands and people. Oswaldo Munteal
Filho analysed the Academy under this light, crediting to the
Marquis of Pombal the creation of a political space where the
principles of the Academy could be articulated.106 In spite of the
criticism given to Pombal’s by his successors, the state did not
exactly put an end to his vision, but it managed to squeeze into
the institutional reforms started by Pombal a whole range of
previously destitute nobles and enlightened exiles with a
colonial function that intrusion of foreign lands perpetuating
105 Raminelli,2001, p.980; see also Silvia Escorel, 2001; and Silvia Lara, 2007.106 Munteal Filho, 1999, p.94.
59
in that manner the genocide of indigenous communities and their
descendants.107
Julião's role in the exploitation of the Brazilian land
resources that accompanied Portuguese colonisation is documented
at a time when the venture was a well established systematic
practice. His presence in the Northeast of Brazil is reinforced
by the fact that it was there, in Pernambuco, that the main
export port of Brazilian wood was located. Since the first trip
commanded by Pedro Alvares Cabral in 1500 that pau-brasil, meaning
red wood, was valued as a precious good providing red dye to
European courts.108 The venture continued well into the
eighteenth-century, when the Marquis of Pombal himself insisted
that Governors looked for 'neglected resources, particularly
fibers, dyestuffs, and cereals' and kept 'a sharp eye for
promising flora'.109 This policy continued after the Marquis left
power (1777) since in 1783 the then Governor of Pernambuco, José
Sousa de Meneses, sent a letter to Minister Melo e Castro giving
notice of a collection of woods transported in 5 ships,110
including the Nossa Senhora Madre de Deus, mentioned in image 1
as the place from where the view of Salvador in the Brazilian
Northeast was taken. The Pernambuco company, founded by Pombal,
controlled commerce in the region, particularly wood, tobacco
and slaves. The region was a vortex of the trade in the
'Portuguese' Atlantic and the company's fleet circulated between
Lisbon, the African ports of Mina, Benguela and Angola, and the
Brazilian ports of Maranhão, Rio de Janeiro and Pernambuco.111
These links formed a true transatlantic economic area where the
107 Munteal Filho, 1999, p.94.108 Hemming, 1978, p.8; brasile translates as red in latin.109 Lang, 1979, p.169.110 Arquivo Histórico Ultramarino, AHU_ACL_CU_015, Cx. 147, D. 10734, 1783.111 Carreira, 1969.
60
human Castes drawn by Julião can be positioned, as we will see in
chapter four.
In the search for dyes, fuel and to clear the way for the
slave labour based sugar plantations of the Brazilian Northeast,
the Portuguese colonial government quickly destroyed the fifty
mile wide forest between São Paulo and Pernambuco.112 And Julião
worked in close connection with at least the governor of
Pernambuco in the collection of Brazilian specimens, at the time
of Pombal. He formed relationships that were to be everlasting
since in a letter dated 1788 and sent by Tomás José de Melo, the
Governor of Pernambuco, to Martinho de Melo e Castro, Minister
of Overseas Possessions, he was requested to be nominated
Lieutenant-Colonel and to lead the Captaincy’s regiment. The
Governor was praising of Julião, whose good skills, he said to
remember well.113 Symbolically it is significant that Carlos
Julião’s Castes of the Atlantic have now returned to Pernambuco
where his services were noted in the official documentation.
Julião's interest in this scientific project followed the
Enlightenment tendency to assemble and classify the natural
world and was consolidated in the sole known scientific work
that he signed. Following a clue I first encountered in Carlo
Burdet’s article about Julião,114 I found a manuscript in the
National Library in Lisbon entitled Dicionário de Árvores e Arbustos
(Dictionary of Trees and Bushes), printed in 1801 and authored by a
Carlos Valentim Julião.115 Over 150 pages describe a variety of
flora natural to Portuguese America, with the names for each one
written in Portuguese, French and Latin. It includes a list of
some of the 5008 specimens of woods sent in 1784 by Governor
112 Hemming, 1978, p.70.113 Arquivo Histórico Ultramarino, AHU_ACL_CU_015, Cx. 166, D. 11832, 1788.114 Burdet, 1962.115 Biblioteca Nacional de Portugal, Julião, COD.10748, 1801.
61
Luiz de Vasconcelos e Souza,116 - possibly one of the first
shipments sent by the Governor in a major project that from that
year on aimed to collect, preliminarily classify and ship the
natural products from Brazil "to the Real Museu da Ajuda (Royal
Museum of Ajuda) in Portugal".117
In a small introduction that precedes the list, Julião
makes a philosophical reference to the creator and "his
beautiful works", worth admiring by “the men who think”.118 He
refers to the list of wood specimens saying that they would be
examined by “intelligent people who have built many great
works”.119 His references to intelligent men, and men who think,
show a somewhat submissive attitude and respect towards
‘greater’ men. In contrast, Julião describes himself as a man of
“weak talents” and “small lights”; a self image that, according
to him, left his encyclopaedic enterprise quite incomplete. As
Immanuel Kant put it in 1784,120 the lights were the result of men
using their own understanding to make sense of the world around
them. As many young men, educated under a European worldview,
Julião seems to have found such lights inspirational, gathering
information about the human and natural world he inhabited. In
doing so, he incorporated the attitudes, concepts and discourses
of the institutions he represented, becoming simultaneously an
instrument and an executor of power, as well as a follower of
the Enlightenment scientific project.
The call for such project was initiated by Carl Von Linné
or Linnaeus, in the often used latinisation of his name. A
Swedish naturalist, Linnaeus wrote System of Nature (1735) inciting
116 Biblioteca Nacional de Portugal, Julião, COD.10748, 1801, p.159.117 Figueroa and Silva, 2001, p.177.118 Biblioteca Nacional de Portugal, Julião, COD.10748, 1801. 119 Biblioteca Nacional de Portugal, Julião, COD.10748, 1801, p.159.120 Kant, 1784.
62
scientists to explore and classify nature, contributing to the
knowledge of a natural order for all things assigned by God.121
First to name Homo Sapiens,122 Linnaeus also divided the human
races into four coloured categories: white (european Albus), red
(americanus rubesceus) yellow (asiaticus luridus) and black (afer niger),
thus setting the first ‘scientific’ differentiation between
human beings.123 Linnaeus mentored many scientists encouraging
explorations worldwide, advocating the taming of foreign crops
in Europe, and creating what Marie Louise Pratt has called a
'planetary consciousness'.124 But in spite of the fact that he
encouraged his students to study “local people’s knowledge of
the natural world”, because he believed “new natural knowledges
could form by way of a cross cultural mediation", the reality is
that relations between Europeans and the local peoples
encountered did not translate in mutual knowledges being shared
equally. On the contrary, as Europeans intruded into their
lands, natives were quickly subdued.125
As Edward Said observed imperialism, as an ideological
force, was “the practice, the theory, and the attitudes of a
dominating metropolitan centre ruling a distant territory”.126
Those attitudes were applied by the servants of the state
through who flew the ideological force of imperial power and the
scientific discourse on the Other. In order to build such new
scientific knowledge a new scientific language was invented in
the eighteenth-century; one that was descriptive of an existent
world which only became real when named and classified.127 This is121 Eze, 1997. p.10-13.122 Koerner, 2000, p.147.123 Goldner, 1998.124 Pratt, 1992, p.15.125 Koerner, 2000, p.152.126 Said, 1993, p.8 (my emphasis).127 Pratt, 1992, p.30.
63
what is implied in the word 'discovery': the notion that nothing
existed until encountered by Europeans. In opposition to the
‘discovery’ of the 'natural world', the colonial discourse
invented the word civilisation in the eighteenth-century as a
cultural differentiator between Europe and the rest of the
world, thus creating the ‘rationale’ for the colonial project.128
Towards the end of the century the term culture itself
began to be used interchangeably with civilization.129 Implied in
this idea was the immediate rejection of the Other as civilised
or cultured and if not viewed like enemy savage, then talked of
as a child who needed to be protected and brought into
civilisation. The same people that were to administer and
control overseas territories throughout the eighteenth-century,
were born into this hegemonic discourse, carried it and put it
into practice overseas, becoming an instrument of what Michel
Foucault called the ‘synaptic regime of power’, an eighteenth
century ‘invention’ that allowed power to be exercised from
within the social body.130 Power allied to knowledge communicated
to European civil servants, at home and abroad, that they were
superior because they were part of a civilisation that could
rule and name the world. European culture became increasingly
identified with scientific progress differentiating itself from
nature while simultaneously attempting to know the natural
world. The conceptualisation of race was, in this manner, formed
within the opposition between European civilisation and nature -
where the European Other was located. As a result, the Other was
conceptualised and presented to Europeans in opposition to
themselves.
128 Danaher, 2000, p.66/67.129 Bennett, 2005, p.65.130 Foucault, 1980, p.39.
64
The human diversity encountered by Europeans around the
globe was compulsively classified using stereotypical traits in
order to build a hierarchical scale of difference. German
philosopher Immanuel Kant referred to the 'races of mankind' in
observations on the Feeling of the beautiful and sublime (1764)131 and
Enlightenment philosophers in general participated in a
discourse of hierarchies that opposed ‘civilised’ to ‘barbarian’
peoples, a split reminiscent of the Iberian division between
individuals possessing 'purity of blood' and those belonging to
the 'infected races'. Although classification of human groups
was not an innovation of the Enlightenment, for the first time
rigid divisions became scientifically established as 'truth' and
humankind was split into races that were differentiated by skin
colour and to whom reductionist personality aspects were
attached. Before the eighteenth-century, race had a biblical
connotation and was a term applied to lineage - the stock of
Abraham for instance meaning him and his descendents.132 It was in
that context that in the Iberian Peninsula 'old Christians' were
differentiated from the 'infected races'. The stock of Ham,
servants of servants, attributed to black people, became also in
this context a different race, and as Africans became the race
of Ham, their servitude was justified. In addition, black skin
was associated with the devil and biblical characters that had
been punished by God, for whatever reason, were perceived as the
ancestors of Africans.133 Black people – much like women, as
daughters of sinful Eve – became the scapegoat for a sort of
‘biblical’ legitimacy for slavery.
True enough, slavery as a practice had existed in Europe
131 Kant, 1997, p.38-48; Ashcroft, 2000, p.200.132 Wade, 1997, p.9133 Saunders, 1982, p.167; Samson, 2005, p.20.
65
and elsewhere for centuries and regardless of skin colour.
African slavery may not have been initiated by European action
but the Atlantic slave trade reached an unprecedented scale in
the 1700's, when the number of captives surpassed that of the
previous centuries. As a consequence of racist European attitude
the growth of the slave trade was also the consequence of greed.
This pattern of greed and racism, which can be found in all
European colonial powers of the eighteenth-century and beyond,
increased the search for slaves that could work the plantations
and mines of the new world. The Portuguese, who held the
monopoly of the Atlantic slave trade until the seventeenth-
century, were quickly challenged and surpassed by the Dutch, the
French and the English.134 Slaves destined to the sugar
plantations of Brazil in the past, were now in great demand by
their rising counterparts in the Caribbean and the cotton fields
of the American South. Thus, although slavery had existed
throughout history, the structural relationship between the
Atlantic slave trade and the plantation system in the Atlantic
islands and the ‘new world’ was an European invention that
served the purposes of an emerging capitalistic system that via
the colonial enterprise came to impose itself on the rest of the
world.135
In Brazil, the exploration of the gold and diamond mines
discovered in the late seventeenth-century added to the demand
for slaves.136 As more men and women were taken from Africa, more
men and women in Europe got wealthy. Merchants, businessmen,
bankers, slave traders and those who taxed them, all profited
from the traffic. The fuel for the industrial revolution and
134 Klein, 1999, p.76-77.135 Samson, 2005, p. 19.136 Klein, 1999, p.35-46
66
western economic progress - the same progress that conferred
self-proclaimed superiority to the white man - was provided by
slave labour and the great divide that from then on separated
the wealthy nations from the poor ones is yet to be tackled.
Progress and industrialisation in Europe were thus possible
through the exploitation of other lands and peoples and, as we
shall see in the next chapters, Julião incorporated visually
both the activities of mining and trafficking of Africans in the
socio-economic regions that were profitable to his masters and
the empire that he served.
The racial basis that justified slavery was clearly
embedded in the minds of Europeans and very much present during
the Enlightenment, when theories of race began to be
'rationalised' so as to create a hierarchical system of the
human, similar to the classificatory system of the animal and
vegetal realms. In this human hierarchy, fit the imperial social
structures of medieval Iberia. To the white male placed at the
top of the ladder137, scientists opposed the black male, therefore
‘proving’ him to be the "natural slave" that ancient Greek
philosopher Aristotle had defined as an “animate possession” and
a “productive instrument” of the "natural master".138 During the
Enlightenment, Europeans were redefined as the 'natural' masters
and the reasoning for slavery was in this manner legitimated by
the Greek classical tradition, becoming the 'natural' state of
things. Until the end on the sixteenth century, most slaves were
taken from the region of Upper Guinea in Northwest Africa, many
of whom were of Muslim religion, and enslaved in the context of
the mentality informed by the Iberian crusades against the
‘moors’. From the end of the sixteenth to the early nineteenth
137 Eze, 1997, p.5.138 Aristotle, 1984, p.39-40.
67
century, the bulk of enslaved people were taken from Central
Africa where Portuguese presence had been felt since the 1400’s.
During the eighteenth century, the Portuguese added to these
slaves numerous others from the Mina coast in present day Ghana.
Finally from the late 1700’s, the West African Yoruba came to
form the majority of imported human cargo used in the Brazilian
plantations, mines and cities.139
The conceptualisation of race formed within the opposition
between civilisation and nature placed the 'white race' at the
top of the ladder. While Europe was capable of progressive
change, the races positioned in the lower steps were perceived
as fixed in a permanent 'natural state'. Natural became quickly
equated with stagnation in contrast to the 'progress' of the
white race articulated in terms of the sequence of historical
events that brought European culture into 'Enlightenment'. In
opposition to historical Europe the Other was defined as
uncivilised and without the ability for historical progressive
change, which is to say he or she was in a 'natural state'.
Racial identities became in this manner also labelled in a scale
of civilisation, a mechanism devised by a very small urban and
socially privileged group of males in Europe constituting the
'civilised' top of the ladder. The discourse they constructed,
based on divisions and difference, asserted itself as universal
and did not account for the voices of others outside of it.
Scientific statements gradually became the legitimate force
behind the discourses of the European rulers, quickly permeating
the increasingly 'well educated' middle and upper classes of
Europe.
Julião interest in the assemblage and classification of
Brazilian woods can be paralleled to his art work where the
139 Sweet, 2003, p.3.
68
various 'races of mankind' were portrayed and properly assigned
a category that can be read via an iconological analysis. In the
early eighteenth-century representations of the Other followed a
descriptive tradition of customs and manners, interpreted
through the use of visual elements such as clothing and objects
indicative of the figure's social position and activity area.140
Theories of history, such as Vico’s New Science (1725), presented
the idea that the historical study of a given society had to be
approached through an analysis of its components, such as
language, myth and folklore.141 Visual representation emerged in
the eighteenth-century as a tool of history and of ethnology,
the science providing the "study of societies without history"142;
societies in a 'natural state' that were distinct from
'historical civilisations'.
The most well known example of a visual classification of
people, according to skin colour and degrees of miscegenation,
is the genre of Casta painting in Mexico, practised throughout
the colonial period and reaching its peak in the eighteenth-
century. The genre consisted of presenting a family of father,
mother and child, with all figures identified by a number and a
caption indicative of the Spanish term used for the racial
category, in which each figure could be inserted. Artists had at
their disposal the three primary racial ‘colours’ of the
European, the African and the Indigenous. As their offspring
produced other human ‘colours’, new identities emerged, new
names were invented and the Casta painting system became more
elaborate, resulting in works composed by groups of smaller
portraits, each illustrating a trinity of parents and child,
140 Hodgen, 1971, p.481.141 Hampson, 1990, p.235.142 Foucault, 2002b, p.379.
69
each belonging to a different racial category (image 48).
Following Mexico's independence in 1820, Casta painting nearly
disappeared as a consequence of a legal ban on casta
designations.143 However, it survived in the popular arts144 and in
the "regulatory associations of casta references" made in the
art academies.145
In reference to Casta painting in Mexico, Llona Katzew
observed the western obsession with human categorisations was
already in place at the eve of Columbus arrival in the ‘west
Indies’.146 As mentioned before practices of discrimination
existed in Iberian society as a legacy of secular rivalry
between Christians, Muslims and Jews. The creation of
stereotypes and the launching of religious crusades was
transported to the Americas, in an attempt to indoctrinate
indigenous peoples into Catholicism.147 In addition, the
indigenous peoples there encountered were equated to archetypes
of mythological medieval beings, heathens and cannibals, an
image used for purposes of their subjugation to Europe.148 Thus,
the image of the Other became mentally equated with the
stereotypes that formed in previous decades and centuries, and
the 'savage' continued to be represented within those mental
associations to reach the Enlightenment as an epistemological
truth that was presented as scientific knowledge.
An example of these regulatory associations in the
Portuguese empire is visible in Julião's work. His illustrations
of native Brazilians are clearly informed by epistemological
143 Carrera, 2003, p.137.144 Barnitz, 2001, p.6.145 Carrera, 2003, p.147.146 Katzew, 2004, p.64.147 Samson, 2005, p.19.148 Bucher, 1981.
70
truths that had been constructed in the past. A god example of
this is the use he makes of the dichotomy between Tapuya and
Tupi peoples established by Gabriel Soares de Souza in the
sixteenth-century.149 The former belonged to the Gê speaking
groups and were fierce enemies of the Tupi. These, inhabited the
coastal areas and were the first native Brazilians encountered
by the Portuguese. Quickly subdued and assimilated into early
colonial society, their negative observations about the Tapuyas
informed Gabriel Soares de Souza who did not conduct any direct
observations and therefore formed a stereotypical and biased
idea of them and their culture. Tapuya as a term became
throughout the colonial period equated with savagery,
cannibalism and the image of the ‘bad indian’ who would not
subjugate to the civilised empire. However, as we will see in
chapter three, the Tapuya could be represented in its
'eligibility for domestication'.
Indeed, it may be argued that Portuguese Enlightenment, as
Enlightenment elsewhere, merely tried to make sense of the world
in anthropological terms by applying a taxonomical methodology
to describe the human variety encountered during world
colonisation.150 And it is also true that often rulers attempted
to implement laws in the colonies, which prevented
discrimination of colonised peoples creating resentment among
the local elites, who refused to comply with such demands.151 But
there was definitely a clear distinction made among the
different peoples encountered, which formed the European
perceptions about its ‘others’ and which run through early
contacts, the Enlightenment and beyond. Distinctions of human
149 Monteiro, 2000, p.703.150 Goldner, 1998, p.3.151 Samson, 2005, p.16.
71
castes, such as those visually described by Julião – the heathen
savages, the mulattos, the slaves, the mestiços – were common
place, whether economic issues, such as control over trade and
slavery, came before racism or not. Such terms functioned as
differentiators of purity of blood attributed to old Christian
Iberians and only rarely opened to the ‘impure’ subaltern
classes. One notorious exception was the case of former black
slave Henrique Dias, who fought the Dutch in Pernambuco, Brazil,
therefore ascending in the military ladder for services to the
Portuguese crown.152 As we will see in chapter four, Julião also
illustrated the possibility that few Afro-Brazilians had of
incorporating the imperial power structures in place.
Julião did not produce the illustrative genre of Casta
painting as it was structured in Mexico - following a formula of
representation that included mother, father and offspring. But
the empire that he served certainly produced the linguistic
terms that registered the miscegenated condition of individuals
departing from the same ‘primary skin colours’ of the European,
the African and the Indigenous. In that sense, European and
African produced the mulato, European and Indigenous produced
caboclo or mameluco and, African and Indigenous originated the
cafuso.153 As these new categories unfolded into others, they were
joined by other emergent identities of social rather than
biological character. An example of this as I will address in
chapter three was the pardo, a term invented in both Portuguese
and Spanish America to distance a miscegenated individual from
the mulato, who was inevitably linked with an African captive
ancestry that closed doors to privileges in the socio-economic
152 Mattos, 2006, p.45-48.153 Vasconcelos, 2007.
72
limited possibilities that the empire offered its subjects.154
Among the ethnicities of Africa, the Portuguese formed
their own perceptions as to their abilities and character. Bantu
slaves from the Kongo region for instance were considered “less
independent, more submissive, more reserved in behaviour and
loquacious in speech, and more adaptable”.155 Such reductionist
labels formed stereotypes attached to particular ethnicities.
Slaves were “poorly fed, housed and clothed”, but compassion was
usually reduced to an idea that their misfortunes would be
compensated in the afterlife and that they were lucky to have an
opportunity to redeem themselves and embrace the Christian
faith.156 Punishment of slaves was sadistic and frequent enough
for the crown to intervene, although cautiously to avoid
resentment from the masters.157 Resistance was manifested both
culturally and in the many Quilombo settlements formed by
communities of run-away slaves, the most famous being that of
Palmares led by legendary Zumbi. In 1740, these communities were
defined by the colonial government as “any home to more than 5
run-away slaves in deserted areas“.158 During the colonial period,
the military participated in many punitive expeditions and often
played the different subaltern races against each other, by for
instance using native Brazilians in the search for the self-
freed communities of African slaves.159
Cultural resistance implied a degree of creativity in the
recreation of African social models. Conversion to Catholicism
was compulsory but it was in the religious brotherhoods that
154 On the invention of this distinction between Mulatto and Pardo in Brazil see Mattos,2006. In Mexico see Katzew, 2004, p.44.155 Rodrigues, 1965, p.44.156 Tribe, 1996, p.68.157 Boxer, 1969, p.9.158 Wagner, 2002, p.4.159 Mello e Souza, 1999, p.193; Boxer, 1969, p.172.
73
Africans were able to re-create their cultural ancestry. In the
mining region, where the Crown prohibited the settlement of any
religious orders, the brotherhoods were sanctioned by the
monarch and therefore entered the chain of the imperial
hierarchical system where varying combinations of race and/or
social class asserted conditions of membership.160 The Black
Brotherhood of Our Lady of the Rosary, which also existed in
Portugal since the late fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries,
included coronations of black kings and queens, to which
Julião's dedicated the five illustrations that will be analysed
in chapter three (images 37 to 41).
The majority of Julião's figures belong to colonial
Brazil, a land that, like Mexico, provided a perfect environment
for such categorization of peoples as reflected in the
astonishment of the Marquis of Lavradio when facing the
diversity of blacks and mulattos in Rio in 1768.161 Julião
encountered the same diversity and he was obviously urged to
record it. Similarly to Julião’s illustrations, Casta Painting
can be interpreted as a record of customs and of the racial
diversity of colonial Mexico, but as Llona Katzew pointed out,
the practice was a reminder that “Mexico was still an ordered,
hierarchical society in which each group occupied a specific
socioeconomic niche defined largely by race".162 As we will see,
the same can be said of Julião’s work, which illustrated an
imperial hierarchy suitable to the mentality of Iberia and the
project of the Enlightenment.
Towards the end of the eighteenth-century, Julião was
rewarded for his services to the crown, a clue offered by the
160 Santos, Eneida, 2001, p.56.161 Lara, 2002a, p.125.162 Katzew, 2004, p.39.
74
'Dictionary of Trees and Bushes' where below his name is
inscribed the title “Knight, profess at the Royal Military-Order
of Saint Bento of Avis”.163 Derived from the crusader Order of
Calatrava, which was created in the 12th century to fight against
the Moors, the Order of São Bento de Avis was reformed and
secularised in 1789 by Queen Maria I. Carlos Julião became a
knight by letter of the Queen on the 10th of March 1791.164 He was
granted 45 000 annual reys, the currency of the time. One year
later, in a letter dated from the 10th May, the Queen allowed him
– “Carlos Julião, born in Turin, son of João Baptista” – to
renounce 33 000 reys of his annual income in favour of a certain
Anna Apolónia de Vilhena Abreu Soares.165 Who this lady may have
been to Carlos Julião remains a mystery.
After joining the military order, Julião continued his
military career. In 1795 he was made Major and in 1800 and 1801,
he requested a promotion to Lieutenant-Colonel, publishing his
Dictionary and befriending another Italian in Portugal, Colonel
Carlo Napione. Author of Essays About Some of the Physical Properties of
Different Woods, Napione acknowledged Julião’s expertise in
Brazilian woods and contribution to the book, in the
introductory note to the work.166 In April of 1805 Julião became
Colonel and two years later, by order of the Prince Regent Joao
VI, he replaced Carlo Napione as Inspector Deputy of the Army
Arsenal. Such an important position could have meant that he
either left with or followed the Royal family when in 1808
Napoleon’s troops invaded Portugal, pushing the Crown across the
Atlantic to set the capital of the empire in Brazil. In fact,
163 Biblioteca Nacional de Portugal, Julião, COD.10748, 1801, title page (mytranslation). In Portuguese the Order is known as Ordem Militar de São Bento de Avis. 164 Torre do Tombo, Livro 8 f199, 1791.165 Torre do Tombo, Livro 9 f142, 1792.166 Napione, 1801.
75
from the variety of human types that Julião portrayed, and
following Carlo Burdet’s interpretation,167 it would appear that
Carlos Julião had indeed an important role in Rio de Janeiro.
The reason for this is an uphill winding street, leading
to the beautiful Morro da Conceição, with a history centred on a
palace, a fortress, a port and a strong African presence. The
Travessa Coronel Julião, as the street is called, was according to
Burdet, named after the same Carlos Julião. Indeed, he became a
Coronel in 1805 and the article led researchers, myself
included, to the assumption that this street was indeed named
after him. Further investigation calls for a word of caution,
however. The street does not include the first name Carlos and
although the article clearly states that both the Coronel and the
street are mentioned in the Lisbon Almanac of 1807, that is only
true of Carlos Julião, who at the time served at Campo de Santa
Clara in Lisbon, curiously, where the engineering works archive
of the army is presently located.168 Furthermore according to the
records kept at Rio de Janeiro’s City Hall it is not probable
that this street even existed in 1807. Much confusion existed
about the name of the streets in Rio, which residents did not
always call by the official name. In 1917, the Brazilian
government published a law aimed at correcting such
inconsistencies.169 Since according to the same record the list of
streets in this situation included the Travessa Coronel Julião, then
this was the name by which the street was already known to local
residents. It is obviously impossible to know for how long was
this street known by this name, but in the official records the
name Julião, refers to a first name: that of Julião Augusto
167 Burdet, 1962, p.197.168 Biblioteca Nacional de Portugal, Almanach, 1807.169 Arquivo da Cidade Boletim da Prefeitura, out/dez 1917 – 93-1-15.
76
Serra Martins, who served the Brazilian republican army and died
in 1897.170
It would appear logical to link Julião to this part of the
city, and his passage through Brazil inevitably led him to these
parts. The Morro da Conceição, where the street is situated is
symbolic of a micro-location where all the elements of empire
come together. Named after Our Lady of Conception, patron saint
of Portugal since 1646, the morro is one of Rio de Janeiro’s
best kept secrets. Situated in the northern part of the city, it
overlooks on one side the busy commercial area of the city
centre, and on the other, Guanabara Bay, where the modern port
area developed. The Morro da Conceição possesses all the insignias
of imperial power and subjugation. At the top, the old palace of
the bishops was complemented in the early eighteenth-century by
a Portuguese fortress, where coincidently the Military
Geographical Service is housed today. Here were held
incommunicado some of the Inconfidentes, the rebels from the mining
region who attempted to gain independence from Portugal in the
late eighteenth-century.171 At the bottom of the hill stands the
Pedra do Sal, so named after a staircase carved by African slaves
in the solid natural rock of the terrain, which leads up to the
fortress and the palace.172
The sea, now land filled by modern engineering, used to
brush the morro here and along its coastal strip, called
Valongo, the Portuguese developed the port area where captured
Africans were brought from Bahia and Africa to be incarcerated,
chained, put up for sale and sent to the homes, plantations and
mines of Brazil. Here too, the then Governor of Rio de Janeiro,
170 Dc.1,165-31/10/1917. This information was checked by Captain Correa Martins of theBrazilian Army Historical Archive.171 Arquivo Nacional do Rio de Janeiro, Cx 499, pct.2 D9 – Vice Reinado.172 Pedra do Sal means literally Rock of Salt.
77
Marquis of Lavradio, created the cemetery of the 'new blacks',
meaning new arrivals, who did not make the Atlantic passage and
whose bodies he was eager to dispose of outside the city walls.173
The recent discovery of a large quantity of human bones in the
Valongo also uncovered the horrible reality that many bodies
were thrown here without a proper burial by the slave traders
who merely wanted to get rid of such undesirable cargo.174
The Morro da Conceição, Pedra do Sal and Valongo are here put in
opposition to the Rio de Janeiro of the Viceroys, first as
capital of the colony, and later as capital of the Empire, when
the court fled the French invaders. Beyond suffering, here took
place the first manifestations of the African cultural presence
in Rio de Janeiro, much earlier than the European 'high culture'
of the court arrived. Parallel to the palaces, the libraries,
the theatres, the botanical gardens celebrated in the 2008
bicentenary of the arrival of the court in Rio - grew the
'little Africa' outside the city walls. The area slowly broke
in, bringing into the city the Afro-Brazilian culture of Rio de
Janeiro, which today symbolises most of what outsiders identify
as Brazilian national culture.175 During the nineteenth-century,
the area later developed into the birthplace of the port workers
movement, mostly black Brazilians who descended from slaves and
inherited the lower position of their ancestors in the
hierarchical structure of society even after independence,
abolition and successive republican governments. The
significance of Pedra do Sal, to the collective patrimony of
Brazil, was recently recognised by the government, after the
area was given the status of Urban Quilombo, hopefully preventing
173 Pereira, 2006, p.10.174 Pereira, 2006.175 The expression 'little Africa' was coined in 1889, after the abolition of slaveryin Brazil, and testifies to the large black presence that characterised the area.
78
processes of gentrification, which would imply the removal of
the local working class inhabitants.176 At the Pedra do Sal, in the
nineteenth-century, took place the first Candomblé rituals, the
first circles of Capoeira and, according to oral tradition, it was
also here that samba was born. The area received influences from
various African cultures but also from the African derived
cultures of Brazil.
By the turn of the century, Brazil was in actuality the
centre of the empire. Seat of the vice-royalty, Rio de Janeiro
was the mirror image of the bureaucratic reformism of the
Portuguese state and the capital of what Emanoel Araújo called
the ‘society of appearances’, where what mattered was the social
status of the individual and where work was associated with the
subaltern condition.177 More recently Silvia Lara analysed the
urban space as a theatre where power was played and displayed
through the use of insignias and accoutrements and in public
demonstrations.178 The elite classes of Portugal had their eyes
focused in South America recognising there the centrality of
Brazil in the world’s economy of the time. By the early
nineteenth-century, Rio de Janeiro finally received the
Portuguese royal family escaping the Napoleon forces, and
settling there the new capital of the Luso Brazilian Empire.
The coming of the Portuguese court was a curious episode
for the inhabitants of Rio de Janeiro, but it was not a new idea
for the Portuguese court. Since the early eighteenth-century
that the king's advisors argued that it was better to rule from
where the wealth was based.179 Although the arrival of the
Portuguese court in 1808, brought enormous changes to the city,
176 Centro Pelo Direito à Moradia, 2005.177 Araujo,1993, p.84-85.178 Lara, 2007. See chapter 1.179 Maxwell, 1968, p.611.
79
the Morro da Conceição and its historical surroundings remain
remarkably embedded within this early colonial history. The
court fled Portugal as the French were invading the country,
escorted by the English and accompanied by hundreds of servants
and governmental officials. Julião did not accompany them. His
replacement of Carlo Napione in the army arsenal of Lisbon was
due to the departure of the latter to Brazil. A letter in his
military record places him in Portugal in May 1809, preparing
the artillery defence of Lisbon, under the command of English
Marshall Beresford, during the second French invasion of the
country. The retirement plea he made to the crown sadly arrived
after his death. He passed away one evening in November 1811,
"an honourable and loyal vassal of his majesty, who would be
greatly missed".180
The scarce information that I was able to piece together
about Carlos Julião seems to build the image of a man inspired
by the physical world and deeply ingrained in the scientific
discourse that was taking place in Europe. As a loyal imperial
servant, rewarded by his good services, he incorporated the
European mentality that united the exercise of power with the
search for knowledge. He held a great deal of respect for the
men of science, who he perceived as interpreters of God’s
nature, but his curiosity went beyond the natural world and was
extended to the ethnic diversity emerging in the early modern
world that he inhabited. In attempting to explain it, he
contributed to its construction and in the process invented
himself as a man fit for the European mentality of his time.
Like the figures in his watercolours, Julião becomes himself
part of a category; one where the eighteenth century European
executor of the Enlightenment worldview belongs. A man of many
180 Arquivo Histórico Militar, No. AHM/DIV/3/7/329.
80
interests, "week talents" and “small lights”; a man certain of
where intelligence lay, certain of his world, his masters and
his God.
Chapter 2
Panoramas of Empire181
The Portuguese Military Archive of Engineering and
181 This chapter is mostly based on an article I published in Portuguese Studies. See Tenreiro, 2007.
81
Archaeology works is the guardian of the two Panorama
illustrations to which this chapter is devoted (images 1 and 2).
Situated in the Campo de Santa Clara, in the old part of Eastern
Lisbon, the archive is housed in the Palace of the Marquis of
Lavradio, an aristocratic lineage to which belonged the Viceroy
of Brazil, ruling from 1769 to 1779; the same who wrote of the
racial diversity of the city and who created the cemetery of the
'new blacks' in that city (see chapter 1). It is interesting how
all the characters and institutions remain linked; the palace of
a top colonial bureaucrat sheltering the Military archives where
the visual discourse that legitimated colonisation, and
therefore his social position, is kept. Here was located the
army arsenal, where the statue of King José I was made, raising
much criticism, as told in chapter one. Furthermore, it was also
at the army arsenal, where his works are now preserved, that
Carlos Julião was stationed in 1807.182 Coincidently, that same
year, it was there that the then new Marquis of Lavradio
exercised the function of deputy.183 Again the characters in this
history repeatedly encounter each other through the exercise of
their functions within the empire and its institutions. Such
'coincidences' reinforce a network of centralised power from
where emanated the rules and procedures of colonial governance.
The Panoramas are illustrated by coastal views, fortresses
and by rows of figures, or 'human types', displaying
accoutrements that reveal their social position and who are
identified by captions. Each figure stands by itself as a
category but it can also be analysed in relationship to the
other figures. It is in that relationship and in the whole of
the composition that the figures acquire wider meanings and can
182 F5501 – Almanaque de Lisboa, 1807, p.120 and p.355.183 F5501 – Almanaque de Lisboa, 1807, p.293.
82
therefore be contextualise in local histories and in the
European perceptions of them. What such analysis reveals is not
so much an ‘encounter of civilisations’, but rather of ‘mis-
encounters’. Underlying the artist's compositional choices the
"discourse produced for Europe about non Europe"184 can be read.
Therefore, both Panoramas represent the Portuguese territorial
and human 'conquests' at both a micro and a macro scale. First,
we are offered a panorama of the fortified city of Salvador of
Bahia in the Brazilian Northeast, an important port of entry to
Portuguese America and the first capital of the colony, before
it was moved to Rio de Janeiro in 1763. Last, we are given the
whole of the empire signified in land and people, through the
depiction of four ports of call in Brazil, Africa and India, and
of a parade of figures providing clues to the racial and social
hierarchisation of the empire.
I - Salvador of the Bay of All Saints
The curators of the 1960 military exhibition in Lisbon,
when the Panoramas were displayed and a topic to which I will
return in chapter 5, chose to entitle this work (image 1) after
the inscription written in the centre of the lower register of
the illustration. It reads: “Elevation and façade showing the prospect in aseascape185 of the city of Salvador of the Bay ofAll Saints in South America at 13 degrees oflatitude and 345 degrees and 36 minutes oflongitude, followed by the plans and prospects, ofall the fortifications defending this city. This prospect was taken by Carlos Julião Cap. M ofMining at the royal artillery regiment, during theoccasion he boarded the ship Nossa Senhora Madre de
184 Hulme, 1986, p.2.185 Carlos Julião used the term marinha which translates as navy, but in art is applied to the genre painting of seascape. See Enciclopédia Artes Visuais in http://www.itaucultural.org.br/aplicExternas/enciclopedia_IC/index.cfm?fuseaction=termos_texto&cd_verbete=330
83
Deus in May 1779”.186
The composition is orderly and methodically arranged,
organised in what can be termed a grid of specification187
arranged in a system dividing people and territory while
circumscribing all in the same geopolitical discourse. The
pictorial composition is divided into four horizontal registers,
each produced separately and then cut and pasted on common paper
against a plain background.188 At the top is a view of the
colonial port of Salvador, which as mentioned before was the
first colonial capital in the country. The artist offers the
clue of his disciplined military training when he takes more
care in the representation of some of the buildings, using
detailed devices as if to make the territory recognisable by
those who had access to these images. Not visible to the eye,
but perceptible through the use of a magnifying glass, are the
numbers inscribed in the image of the city, next to landmarks,
and which are identified in the lower register while framing the
long title inscribed in the work.
a) A City of Fortresses
At eye level is the city port and Julião incorporates the
water from the bay distancing himself from what is being
represented and looking over the water from a ship like the
others that he depicts sailing in the bay. Standing out of the186 “Elevasam, Fasada, que mostra em prospeto pela marinha a Cidade de Salvador Bahiade Todos of Santos na América Meridional aos 13 graos de latitude, e 345 graos, e 33 minutosde longitude com as plantas e prospetos embaixo em ponto maior de toda a fortificação que defende a ditta cidade. Este prospeto foi tirado por Carlos Julião Cap.M de Mineiros de Reg.to de Artt.a da corte, na ocasião que foi na Nao Nossa Senhora Madre De Deus em Maio de 1779.187 Foucault, 2002a, p.46. Foucault used the example of different kinds of mental illnesses, classified, compared and contrasted but simultaneously inscribed as objects of the same discourse. 188 Silvia Hunold Lara was who first called my attention to the fact that Julião had not directly applied the paint to the paper, but rather executed each section of each register in isolation, cutting and pasting them together afterwards.
84
water between the artist and the city is the circular plan of
Fortaleza do Mar (Sea Fortress),189 one of the many insignias of
military power and presence in Brazil. This city view in a
seascape is a copy of another image, done by Brazilian born
military engineer José António Caldas in 1759.190 Similarly, the
same repetitive representation appears in the work of João
Francisco de Souza e Almeida.191 In both Caldas’ and Julião’s
images, the landmarks are numbered. Under number sixty-six,
stands out the city's cathedral with both towers still erect,
although in 1779 they were demolished after a landslide in the
area.192 But the repetition of these illustrations raises a
question. Could Julião have produced this work outside the
location in which we, as viewers, assume him to be positioned?
In that case this would just be a copy of Caldas' work, not
necessarily requiring Julião's presence in the city. However,
the letter soliciting his services, signed by the Governor of
Pernambuco (see chapter 1), places Julião in the Brazilian
Northeast. Furthermore the artist's early career as a military
engineer did certainly send him to colonial urban centres and to
other parts of Brazil to carry out field surveys and to inspect
fortifications.193
However, Julião adds to Caldas’ depiction of Salvador by
adding the area which circumscribes it. In the register below
this view of Salvador, Julião applies his technical engineering
skills and in nine subsections he draws the plans of ten
military buildings that at this time guarded the bay of All
Saints. At least three of these plans are also taken from
189 Known today as Fortress of São Marcelo.190 Lara, 2002a, p.127.191 Reis, 2000, p.40-41.192 Reis, 2000, p.316.193 Boxer, 1969, p.297-298.
85
drawings by José António Caldas, who built their corresponding
three fortresses.194 Methodically balanced, each subsection
contains: on top, the façade of the fortress; in the middle, its
plan; and, below a caption identifying the fortress and briefly
describing its geographical and defense position, as well as the
caliber of its artillery. The plans therefore reflect the
Artillery-Engineering binary that characterised the engineer-
soldier of the eighteenth-century (see chapter 1). The
subsection in the middle of this second register is an exception
in that it contains the facades, plans and captions of not one
fortress, but of two batteries, defined as resting on a
parallelogram and smaller than a fortress.195
The fortresses represented are (left to right): Montserrate,
Santo Alberto, São Francisco, Fortaleza do Mar (today Forte de São Marcelo),
Bateria de São Paulo (now destroyed), Bateria da Ribeira, Fortaleza de São
Diogo, Santa Maria, Santo António da Barra da Cidade da Bahia and São
Bartolomeu da Passagem. Some of these fortresses do not appear in
the artist’s visual field; they are located around the bay and
not just in the city of Salvador. Julião includes what he knows
exists - not just what is in sight - inserting in the Portuguese
colonial port the overall result of the Portuguese colonial
presence. He followed a tradition of territorial surveying in
order to accumulate information about the 'conquests'
facilitating its administration. The composition presents the
empire beyond the visible; the fortresses and batteries
symbolising the affirmation of Portuguese hegemony in the
region.
b) A City of Castes
194 http://www.dochis.arq.br/htm/numero/num08.html195 Fortes, 1728, p.16.
86
Below, in the third register, Julião represents five
groups of colourful human figures, where predominant blues stand
out of the composition, contrasting with the earthy tones of the
technical drawings of the city and its military architecture.
Each figure, or group of figures, is isolated by frames, which
were cut and pasted side by side, echoing those that separate
each fortress plan and each group of the numbered list of
landmarks below. Such divisions create a feeling of crowded
space in heavy contrast with the serenity of the horizontal view
of the port of Salvador. But they are also carefully arranged
with mathematical precision creating a relationship between the
three lower registers and then linking the lowest to the view of
Salvador by its function of identifying the numbered landmarks.
The central group of figures is the largest image, mirroring the
frame of the long inscription below them, and roughly matching
those of the fortresses above marked as VII, VI, V and IV. To
each side of this central group, two other isolated human
figures gaze back at the viewer, occupying almost as much space
in width as the landmark captions and the plans of the remaining
fortresses. Mostly blue and subtle earth colours fill these
images, largely contributing to the embellishment of this
detailed-oriented work.
The iconic figures embody colonial ‘human types’, which
can be circumscribed in the same discourse as the fortress and
the land. They are identified by the following captions (from
left to right): The manner of dress of the mulatto women in the city of Bahia,
Black man selling milk in Bahia, Carriage or litter that the ladies in the city of
Salvador of the Bay of All Saints use to go around, Woman dancing ‘lundú de bunda á
cinta’, Dress of Black Mina Woman of Bahia Street Vendor. The figures are
largely connected with the geographical location of the city and
the fortresses around it. They are related to Salvador and
87
constitute, together with the fortresses and the colonial city,
the possessions of the Portuguese empire. As mentioned before in
chapter 1, the colonial city centre of Salvador is still called
Pelourinho today, signalling the history of administrative and
punitive imposition by the Portuguese colonial administration.
The hilly streets are filled with beautiful churches, built by
slaves, although not always for slaves. The presence of the
bureaucrats, the priests and the military is signalled in these
images by the use of their insignias in opposition to the
population represented under the sign of racial and social
difference, revealing the hierarchies formed in the urban
development of Salvador. The military gaze directed by Julião
circumscribed colonised land and people in the same space, but
placed them in different categories, separated by a sectioning
of the registers. What unifies these different categories into a
broader one is the colonial discourse that simultaneously
informs and is expressed by the artist.
Immediately noticeable in these figures is the difference
in skin colour. Julião registered a variety of subjects/objects
that illustrate the diversity of the city of Salvador. His
depiction also reflects his knowledge of the social conditions
and inequalities in Brazilian colonial society; seen as natural
and placed in a colour scale by the political discourse that the
artist incorporated. One in particular among the female figures
is identifiable as a slave woman by elements such as her
barefoot appearance and dark skin, both features of the place
she occupied in a slave-based economy. I am referring to the
woman on the right, who is also portrayed among the Figurinhos
album (image 35) that I will analyse in chapter three, and which
refer to the population of royal roads, and which are kept in
the National Library at Rio de Janeiro.
88
The image of this Black Mina Woman of Bahia is identified in
the caption as a native of the Mina Coast and, as Silvia Lara
noted, being from Mina but of Bahia implies a crossing of the
Atlantic that points to her slave condition in Brazil.196 Her
connection to Africa is noted in the bolsa de mandinga, hanging
from the low belt. James Sweet has dedicated an entire chapter
of his book Recreating Africa to the use of what Europeans perceived
as witchcraft in colonial Brazil.197 The author puts such objects
in the context of black cultural resistance against the empire
that enslaved them. As an example, James Sweet offers the bolsa de
mandinga, a sort of portable pouch of natural herbs and
substances with the function of the minkisi;198 a talisman worn
around the waist or neck and used throughout the Portuguese
empire.199 In the Figurinhos, as we will see in the next chapter,
such objects were not just worn by slaves or African
descendants. Julião also depicted lighter skin women wearing
these pouches, revealing perhaps not just the incorporation of
African practices among different ethnicities, but also the use
of syncretic objects resulting from the meeting of pagan
practices common to the pre-Christian cultures of Europe,
Africa, and the Americas, united in their subjugation to the
Church in the colonial setting.200
In both the Figurinhos (image 35) and the Panorama of Salvador,
this Mina woman presents scarification marks, which were
associated with African cultures the Mina coastal region.
Induced body marks like these were cultural features that
signalled difference, separating Europeans from others.196 Lara, 2002a, p.137.197 Sweet, 2003, chapter 8.198 Medicinal pouch used in central Africa for protection against misfortunes. See Sweet, 2003, chapter 5.199 Sweet, 2003, p.179-188.200 On this subject see Mello e Souza, 2002.
89
Nineteenth century artists such as Jean Baptiste Debret would
pay a great degree of attention to the different African ethnic
groups and their physiognomy, portraying individuals who
displayed such body marks. In the eighteenth-century, such
portraits constituted the first stage in the
physiognomy/body/artifact method of representation, mentioned in
the previous chapter and part of the military art training.201
Similarly to his Mina Woman of Bahia, the other figures
represented on this register find their counterparts in the
Figurinhos album. The female figure on the left bears the title of
The Manner of Dress of the Mulatto Women in the City of Bahia. She is a figure
belonging in the same category as the Mocambas house slaves that
fill the middle register of image 46, and which will be
addressed in chapter four. As Julião indicates, the woman in the
Salvador Panorama is a mulata, a racially mixed woman and one of
the categories that emerged from colonial society. The term
mulato/mulata reveals the construction of a negative connotation
deriving from the word mule, which is a cross of a horse and a
donkey.202 Dalgado’s definition says that a mulato is a
‘descendent of European father and black mother or vice-versa. But
he also adds that mules derive from a cavalo (masculine form for
horse in Portuguese) and a burra (feminine form for donkey or
‘ass’ in Portuguese),203 there implying the gender components in
the human mixing to be of European father and black mother.
Similarly to the case of the United States, where racism
became based on notions of genotype rather than phenotype, mulato
women were more likely to be house slaves and therefore achieve
a greater degree of closeness to the white masters.204 Being
201 Raminelli, 2001, p.985. See also chapter III.202 Dalgado, 1921, p.78.; Katzew, 2004, p.43-44.203 Dalgado, 1921, p.78.204 Bennett, 2001, p.232.
90
themselves the result of a mixed relationship, whatever its
nature, mulato women became stereotyped as sexual objects while
simultaneously being perceived as the temptress of male
‘virtue‘. Brazilian literature of the twentieth-century
reinforced a, "hierarchy of raced gender, where white women
occupied the hegemonic top, the mulatas (morenas, mestiças) the
desirable lovers, an intermediary position and black women,
physical workers, the base."205; a hierarchy that Julião's
illustrations already reflected in the eighteenth-century.
As we will see in the next chapter, although the female
figures in the Figurinhos belong to the geography of the royal
roads, many dress in a manner associated with the Bahianas - the
women of Bahia. The costumes are variants of the mulata portrayed
in the Salvador Panorama and the Mocambas mentioned above and
portrayed in the South Atlantic Castes canvas (image 46). What is
represented then is the perception of a form of dress worn by
non white women - mulatas, mocambas, bahianas - a marker of the
racial difference that separated the general female population
between those associated with the African presence, and those of
European descent. The costume, as the scarification marks,
signals difference becoming an important device in constituting
a body of knowledge on the mosaic of colonial human types.
The third female racial type shown in this Salvador
Panorama represents what can be termed as a third caste of
woman; the white woman signifying the European presence in the
city. This figure, the fourth one from the left, is identified
as Woman dancing ‘lundú de bunda á cinta’. The German Johann Moritz
Rugendas described the lundú as having Iberian origin; a subclass
205 Miskolci, 2006, in http://www.ufscar.br/richardmiskolci/paginas/academico/cientificos/talequal.htm#_edn1. The authors discusses the following Brazilian novels: Escrava Isaura, Gabriela Cravo e Canela e O Cortiço.
91
of the Fandango dance from the central region of Ribatejo in
Portugal.206 Rugendas illustrated the dance in his book showing
the female figure with hands on the hips and one foot leaping
forward indicating dance movement. Nearly one century before
Rugendas registered the local customs of the Brazilian people,
we find this military servant arranging categories of people
that provided indicators to which future artists could look when
searching for the exotic in the Brazilian people-scape. Rugendas
was certainly informed by a discourse that still ignored the
contribution of African traditions to new emerging Brazilian
cultures. According to the Luso-Brazilian encyclopedia, the
origins of the Lundú are much more complex and connected to
Africa207, while Fandango remains in the realm of the Iberian
Peninsula and disassociated from Lundú.208 What is codified in
this image of the white woman is the presence of African culture
permeating in all castes of Brazilian society, and forming what
would later be called a Brazilian identity. All these women –
the black, the white and the mulatta – are an index of the
African presence, while they symbolise the Castes that Julião
encountered in Brazil and categorised in his mind.
The second figure on the left, entitled Black man selling milk in
Bahia must have fascinated Julião. The artist represented the
milk seller three times in the Figurinhos (chapter 3, image 20, 34
and 36) and once in the South Atlantic Castes (chapter four,
image 46). In this Salvador Panorama, the milk seller receives a
more realistic treatment of the body, showing more muscular legs
and arms than in any of his counterparts in the album from Rio
and the Pernambuco canvases. Always representing this figure in
206 Rugendas, 1940, p. 197.207 Enciclopédia Luso Brasileira de Cultura, 1971, vol. 12 (Lundum).208 Enciclopédia Luso Brasileira de Cultura, 1971, vol. 8 (Fandango).
92
white trousers and a blue top, Julião plays with the theme of
the black milk seller by placing him in different contexts and
situations. Together with the Mina woman, Julião chose to
portray, consciously or not, two black figures engaged in
commercial activities that belonged both in the urban sphere of
the city represented, away from the plantation, and in the
social condition to which the colour of their skin had doomed
them. The condition of slavery is indicated by the use of the
word preto in Black man selling milk in Bahia, which was intimately
connected with captivity in the Brazilian context. Another clue
to the probable fact that this figure represents a slave is
offered by the Figurinhos. In one of the versions of the milk
seller in the Rio album, Julião adds to the figure the metal
collar associated with runaway slaves as their punishment for
attempting to escape the condition forced upon them (image 36).
Collars like this functioned as a surveillance tool since they
were used to send out a message to the population that this was
a runaway slave, implying the duty of people to supervise such
individuals and encouraging any subversive activity to be
reported to the authorities. In this manner the upper ranks
encouraged the circulation and exercise of power through the
social body.
Finally, and still in regards to the issue of social
condition and racial difference, the central image offers
another indicator as to the reality of life in colonial Brazil.
It provides a setting, which Julião seems to make sense of by
representing the steps of the social ladder according to
gradations of skin colour in a manner that would have been
easily understood by a European audience. Julião was, however,
not ignorant of the social fluidity and complexities of
Brazilian society. The image bearing the name Carriage or litter that
93
the ladies in the city of Salvador of the Bay of All Saints use to go around is also
part of the Figurinhos (image 16). The main difference is the man
leading the group: a white man in the Figurinhos but portrayed
with darker skin in the Panoramas, although not as dark as the
slaves carrying the litter from where a white woman gazes back
at the viewer. The leading man of Salvador has some autonomy
over the slaves, whom he commands. The image of the mulato
appears here again in the context of the relationship between
colour and social status, and of how power was allowed to
trickle down the various Castes separating from each other the
subaltern condition they had in common. Similarly to Spanish
rule in colonial Mexico, and as mentioned in chapter 1, the
Portuguese ‘caste system’ was created by an obsession with
‘purity of blood’ classifying individuals according to the
colour of their skin and assigning each one to a particular Casta
which determined their social status in colonial society and
prevented them from seeing what they had in common.209
The condition of slavery expressed by the bare foot
carriers, contrasts with the well dressed privileged woman, who
timidly looks back at the viewer from behind the litter's
curtain. But as seen in chapter 1, to be privileged was not
necessarily to be free given the position of women in Portuguese
society documented in many accounts as the most secluded of
Europe. This white woman's cautious gaze reflects less her
curiosity for life unravelling in the streets of Salvador, than
her sense of 'discretion', of preserving herself from the male
gaze, following the strict codes of behaviour that oriented
Iberian patriarchal society. Particularly because not to be seen
would protect her from the male touch, considered a ‘dishonour’
to her and her father's family name. Seclusion and appropriate
209 Katzew, 2004, p.39
94
behaviour meant, as Silvia Lara puts it, the honour of the
masters210 and this mentality was carried from Iberia to Brazilian
colonial society. In Salvador, the Covent of Desterro was a
segregated refuge exclusive to white upper-class women, like the
one portrayed in this image. Following the Iberian Caste system,
the convent turned down the 'slightly coloured daughters' of a
Bahian man on suspicion that the girls might possess 'new
Christian blood' being therefore unworthy of gaining entrance to
a convent where 'purity of blood’ was an important admission
requirement.211
Salvador represented a colonial space where all the powers
– the military, the bureaucrats and the church – played a role
in territorial and population control. It grew, like any
Portuguese colonial city, from a hilltop down facilitating the
implementation of those control strategies and the defence of
territorial possessions.212 In many ways it mirrored Lisbon, with
its defensive positioning from the top overlooking the water
entry to the city. Although the Portuguese had established many
colonial ports along the coasts of Africa and Asia, Salvador was
the first experiment on a large colonial scale to completely
modify the landscape, to bring in settlers, and an entirely new
culture, as well as alien slaves, causing the emergence of
multiple subaltern resistance cultures. The social complexity
that resulted is summarised in Julião’s representational
strategies and forms the socio-economic region of the first
capital of Portuguese America. The empire however could be
represented in its units as well as its whole. Next I analyse
how Carlos Julião incorporated the main ideas of the colonial
210 Lara, 2007, p.114.211 Boxer, 1975, p.57-58.212 Bicalho, 2003, p.166.
95
discourse of his time, in the representational choices he made
when illustrating the whole of the empire.
II – Four Ports, a Portuguese presence
The Four Ports Panorama (image 2) goes beyond the
geographical specificity of the Salvador Panorama. It embodies a
discourse about the existence of a Portuguese world made of
ports and their peoples, who were perceived to be part of the
empire but hardly seen as equals by the Portuguese. The image
illustrates the existence of far distant geographies united by
conquest and the imperial discourse of dominance over
subjects/objects and landscapes. And yet, it also portrays
difference, between the figures represented in terms of the
geographical areas to which they belong and which is symbolised
in the ports and the accoutrements composing the human figures.
It is a beautiful illustration and the figures represented
convey the underlying statements about colonised peoples, formed
by Portuguese administrative rule and by the colonial elite that
informed the mind of the artist.
Each figure stands by itself as the sign of a place often
identified by the captions. Yet, each figure also belongs to the
larger groups of ‘human types’ that, constituted racial and
social categories arranged in the mind of the artist according
to the Portuguese colonial discourse operating in the
eighteenth-century. Such categories overlap and were surely not
contained in isolation from each other, but the figures are
deliberately arranged in a way that is trying to make sense of
such variety, of what linked these figures and of what separated
them, as if the artist was mentally arranging them in a way they
could be understood. In doing so, Julião made figurative choices
that approximated the figures standing close to each other
96
leaving out other elements that could differentiate them. As we
shall see, his choices were not based on an observation of
reality but they reflect typologies assigned to individuals
according to the perceptions formed by the metropolitan centre
and informed by the Iberian tradition of a Caste system and
racial categorisation practiced under the Enlightenment
worldview. A worldview carried by a mobile military as well as
by the local elites formed by Portuguese-born administrators
local elites.
Thus, these figures stand as signs of locations; as
landmarks like the fortress and the colonial city. Unlike the
Salvador Panorama, there are no frames separating these figures.
The same happens in the views of the coastal ports, which,
although separated by many miles, appear in a continuous visual
field as if geographically connected. Both the figures and the
city ports have, as in the Salvador Panorama, been separately
produced and then pasted together on to a plain paper
background. The ports represented the Portuguese world as seen
by Lisbon and as experienced by those who visited the colonies.
These were call ports and destinations; safety domains after
long and often difficult sea journeys. They were not simply
conquered lands; they were seen as an extension of Portugal
itself. Like the Salvador Panorama, the captions on this work
include the name of fortress sites, although no plans of the
buildings are shown in the composition. In the upper register,
Julião captures the sea view of two of the Portuguese
possessions in India, the ports of Goa and Diu, where the
Portuguese presence was constant after 1498, when Vasco da Gama
first sailed out to trace the maritime route to the Orient
around the African continent. As mentioned before, Julião spent
six years in India and must have known these ports, the most
97
important ones for the Portuguese. The lower register, smaller
in height, presents two more views: one of the city of Rio de
Janeiro, the most important port of Brazil at the time and its
capital since 1763; and that of Mozambique Island, a port of
call for merchants and administrators en route to India,
situated off the coast of Northern Mozambique and later a point
of departure for the captured East Africans on the way to
slavery in Brazil.213 Situated around five kilometres from the
coast, the island was dominated by a fortress guarded by mostly
mestiço soldiers from India.214
The figures occupy the largest part of the illustration.
They are attributed an identity by the artist in the captions
that he inscribed below each one. The upper register is solely
occupied by human types representative of the Brazilian colony.
In contrast with the largest panoramic register, which
represents the ports of India on the top, the Brazilian figures
assume greater importance for their positioning above all
others. And yet, this is not a geographical category for there
are no native Brazilians represented in this register. The human
figures of the Four Ports Panorama are an attempt to construct
the socio-racial system of castes, which composed the mosaic of
conquered peoples and which have been previously categorised in
the minds and the writings of the colonisers. What Julião chose
to do here, as we shall see next, was to produce a visual
categorisation based on racial difference – a human genealogy of
the Portuguese empire.
a) Whites, blacks and mulatos
The upper register is populated with figure types that are
213 Boxer, 1984, 95-132.214 Hoppe, 1970, p.68.
98
similar, and in many cases the same, to the ones on the Figurinhos
album, the Castes canvases and the Salvador Panorama. The captions
read from left to right: Hermit begging, Black woman with tray of sweets
and bottle of water, Black women of the Rosary, Litter in which Americans are
transported to their estates or farms, Black woman carrying dinner in a cuya, Young
woman dancing ‘lundú de bunda á cinta’ and Mulatta receiving a letter from her
mistress. Julião created a balance by situating a group of two
figures on the left and the right and by placing the larger
groups in the centre. The Hermit begging image is strikingly
similar to image 25, which was part of the Figurinhos and was
termed by Lygia Fonseca as a romantic one.215 Julião’s figures are
archetypes; they sprang from the same visual idea and one look
identifies the similarities and reveals the small differences.
It is almost impossible not to immediately categorise them
through this immediate perception of difference and similarity.
Although Julião may have wanted to portray a romantic
scene in this Panorama, he was probably compelled, due to the
military patronage of the work, to state for the record that
this Hermit was merely begging. If we consider the expression of
the girl however, it does not seem that whatever he was begging
for was welcome. There is a sort of humorous relationship that
is constant in Julião’s work, the way in which he uses the same
figures over and over again without making them exact copies of
one another, while making a social comment on particular
situations. It was a common observation, that priests had too
much ease of access to the secluded Iberian women, which could
lead to the occurrence of "certain liberties".216 This image seems
to indicate an aspect of Portuguese society that was commented
upon and certainly caused all sorts of anecdotes.
215 Catalogue: Riscos Iluminados de Figurinhos, 1960, p.X.216 Chaves, 1983, p.183.
99
Just as the ensemble of the old man and young woman in
Hermit begging can be matched by a similar pair in the Figurinhos, so
can the female figure when isolated from the man. Her style of
dress belongs in a group of its own, one of female figures of
‘lighter’ skin, extensively treated in the Figurinhos album,
varying in the way that their sleeves were worn, or the hair, or
scarf, or in the positioning of their body, the way their arms
were arranged, or even in the direction of their gaze (see
images 22-27). The woman being ‘romanced’ by the hermit is also
a variant of the fourth woman in the Salvador Panorama (image 1),
a popular woman, not from the upper classes, but also distanced
from a condition of slavery, singled out in a caste and
stereotyped in a category of her own. As for the South Atlantic
Castes canvas (image 46) this female figure could be inserted in
the middle register joining the line of Mocambas illustrated
there.
Similarly, Black woman with tray of sweets and bottle of water, the
second figure on the left, belongs in a category of street
sellers, to whom Julião dedicated several illustrations in the
Figurinhos (images 33 to 36). We also see two of these figures in
the Panorama of Salvador (image 1) entitled Black man selling milk and
Black Mina woman from Bahia. The black majority circulating around
the public areas presented a security risk to the authorities
and many feared slave revolts. Nevertheless, the masters often
sent their slaves out to trade and bring the profits home.
Similarly, black females who sold goods on the streets were
often linked to prostitution, which caused further
discrimination by the government and the Church. Both black
female street vendors, in each of the Panoramas, are represented
with similar scarification marks, cultural trait of their (same)
ethnic background in Africa. But while the one in Salvador is
100
identified with Mina, the one in the Four Ports Panorama is not.
Silvia Lara has noted in her article Customs and Costumes that “the
notion of colonial space (…) conceived from the point of view of
political domination imposed a degree of uniformity that
smoothed differences and allowed for the same figures to be used
in different geographical contexts at the same time.”217 Although
that is less true in the lower register, where most figures can
be placed in specific and relatively narrower geographies, in
the upper register all figures are circumscribed within the
larger context of Brazil, to which Lara was referring.
Black women of the Rosary, the group of figures following the
sweets' seller, is a good example of Lara’s observation. The
image is part of another topic, another category to which Julião
dedicated five illustrations in the Figurinhos (images 37-41),
which represents an event that occurred in all corners of the
empire where there were African slaves or black freedmen. The
festivities were celebrated from within the Brotherhoods of Our
Lady of the Rosary, patron saint of slaves, and included the
theatrical coronation of the King and Queen of Kongo. The
celebrations were an act of faith in the political structures
that reported back to the Kongo, and their ritualistic re-
creation in different areas of the Portuguese empire makes this
event an example of Kongo cultural resistance outside Africa.
The political significance of the event was connected with the
cultural transformation brought about by the fifteenth-century
encounters between the Portuguese and the people of the south
central African kingdom of Kongo. Throughout the Portuguese
empire, the event became a manifestation of an African
Catholicism developed in Africa and from there transcultured
elsewhere to be performed in the context of the black
217 Lara, 2002a, p.132.
101
brotherhoods and the Baroque festival.
The appearance of religious lay brotherhoods in medieval
Europe responded to pilgrims’ need for food and healthcare along
the roads they travelled. Later they developed in the urban
centres rapidly populated as a consequence of the plague-
devastated country areas. The brotherhoods were often created by
religious orders that provided charity, and as a result of their
missionary influence, they were soon in existence in the Spanish
and Portuguese colonies.218 José Ramos Tinhorão traces the birth
of the Cult of Our Lady of the Rosary of the Blacks in Portugal
to the late fifteenth and early sixteenth-centuries, and the
first coronation to the mid sixteenth-century.219 Marina Mello e
Souza and Silvia Lara described several celebrations of Our Lady
of the Rosary of the Blacks in Portugal during the colonial
period, including the crowning of Queens and Kings of Kongo, up
until the 1860’s when, according to Mello e Souza, a Portuguese
journalist named Ribeiro de Guimarães described one such
occasion in the newspaper Jornal do Comércio de Lisboa.220
Our Lady of the Rosary of the black men was created and
protected by the Dominican order in Lisbon, who, “promoted
devotion to the rosary during the later middle ages.”221 Because
of the charitable and protective nature of the brotherhoods,
Africans were able to find, in both Portugal and Brazil, a place
in which to socialise and exercise a much needed search for
identity, robbed from them by their forced relocation outside
their African roots.222 By the eighteenth-century, most towns in
Brazil had their own black brotherhoods dedicated to Our Lady of
218 Russell-Wood, 1982, p.128-129.219 Tinhorão, 1988, p.126.220 Mello e Souza, 2002, p.304. See also Saunders, 1982 and Lara, 2002b.221 Saunders, 1982, p.152.222 Russell-Wood, 1982, p.130.
102
the Rosary.223 In Portugal, it was at the Chapel of the Rosary, in
the Dominican Church located behind the Rossio plaza in Lisbon,
that the brotherhood met and the first ‘theatricalisation’ of
of a “Coronation of the King of Kongo”224 took place. In fact, the
same church was home to two Brotherhoods of the Rosary: that of
the whites and that of the blacks. In an undated letter, the
Priest of the Church of the Dominicans in Lisbon refers to both
the brotherhoods of Our Lady of the Rosary of the Blacks in
Oporto and Lisbon.225 The letter, which mentions disagreements
between the brotherhoods of the whites and that of the blacks,
also complains about lack of money for the brotherhood’s
festivities and highlights the role of the Dominican order in
the conversion of the “black souls”.226
Such lack of money appears reflected in image 37 of
Julião's Figurinhos where he illustrates the brotherhood slave
beggars as similar figure types to the Black women of the Rosary in
the Four Ports Panorama. There is no mention of slave and beggar
in the caption of the Panorama, except for the use of the word
pretas, which may indicate the slave condition. Furthermore, the
woman wearing the turban and holding a plate is very much the
same as the two women on the left side in illustration 37 of the
Figurinhos, who are collecting money. As for the other two black
women in the group, they are also a repetition of the same women
on the slave beggars' image of the Figurinhos album, with their
large square hats, round skirts and cloaks and holding long
sticks. In the next chapter, I will return to the role of the
brotherhood of the Rosary and to the coronations of Kongo kings
and queens, particularly in the mining region of Brazil, to
223 Russell-Wood, 1982, p.135.224 Tinhorao, 1988, p.138.225 Lisbon, Arquivo da Torre do Tombo, Privilegios da Irmandade do Rosario Concedidos a Religiao.226 Lisbon, Arquivo da Torre do Tombo, Privilegios da Irmandade do Rosario Concedidos a Religiao.
103
where images 37 to 41 belong. The Black women of the Rosary in the
Four Ports Panorama, however, can be inserted in any geography
contained in the Portuguese empire, because their brotherhood
and the traditions they therein developed could occur anywhere
in the Portuguese 'conquests'.
Like in the Salvador Panorama, the centre of the
composition is occupied by one of the settlers’ mode of
transportation: hammocks carried by African slaves. Other
representations of this practice show that it occurred
throughout the Portuguese empire. In the Figurinhos, there are
three such images, one even similar to this particular one in
terms of the style of transportation and the design of the
blanket used as a cover (image 14). However, the image of the
hammock in the Figurinhos is carried by native Brazilians rather
then African slaves. The caption below the image in the Panorama
reads Litter in which Americans are transported to their estates or farms. Julião
specifies the location of the image through its identification
with America, therefore offering the clue as to the particular
geography that unites the figures in the upper register. The use
of the expression “in which Americans are transported to their
homes” serves only that purpose, in spite of the fact that the
same practice was used in Asia, and having lived in India for
six years, Julião was certainly aware of that.
Julião completes the upper register with similar female
images as those in the Salvador panorama. These women, one black,
one white and one mulata, remain composite figures of others
found in his visual work. Take for instance the Mulata receiving a
letter from her mistress. Her engagement with the young boy, who comes
to deliver the letter, may present this image as separate from
Dress of the Mulattas of Bahia, the first figure in the Salvador
Panorama, but the way in which she wears the turban, the type of
104
skirt, the shawl, even the necklace closed tight around her
neck, leave little doubt as to her place in the human taxonomy
represented. Furthermore both women are identified as mulatas
although only one is stated to be from Bahia. And like the mulata
in the Salvador Panorama, this figure is also close to the group
of mocambas portrayed in the middle register of image 46, which
I will analyse in chapter four. In a similar way, Black woman
carrying dinner in a cuya and Young woman dancing ‘lundú de bunda a cinta’,
echo the black and white women of the Salvador Panorama. The
word cuya was defined as 'a vase used by the gentiles to
drink',227 therefore indicating the condition of slavery of the
black woman carrying it, a condition perceived as natural to
non-Christians.
In the Four Ports Panorama, none of the figures is
connected to a specific geographical area; but they are placed
in a broader context of the Americas, the Portuguese American
possessions, and represent the ‘exotic’ that America signified
for Europeans. These are human types that could be examined and
classified in a scientific-like manner that built up knowledge
about the empire. They constitute the castes composed by the
settlers, the black slaves and the mulatos. Castes particular to
- and understood as signifiers of - the socio-economic context
of the Brazilian colonised space.
b) Savages, heathens and mestiços
The lower register is much broader in terms of the variety
of ‘human types’ representing locations circumscribed in the
empire - the so called Portuguese Conquistas, the conquests. The
captions below these figures identify them as follows: Dress of
savage women, Dress of the ‘Nhonhas’ of Macao, ‘Gentio’ of Goa in gala dress,
227 Bluteau, 1712-21, v.2, p.648
105
‘Baye’ of Goa in Brahman dress, ‘Gentio’ of Goa in ordinary dress, ‘Baye’ of Goa
from the Chardos caste, ‘Faras de Mancilla’ showing the Indian sun, tamed
Tapuyas, Mestiça woman administering chicken soup, Dress of the Macao ‘Chinas’,
‘Baye’ carrying two gallons of water and ‘Canarim’ climbing to get coconuts. The
human types range from Brazil to the Far East and, s we shall
see, Julião chose to frame the figures with two examples of
‘savages’ - figures in direct opposition to the civilised
historical white European, as explained in chapter 1.
On the left, a female native Brazilian holds a bow and
arrow; a figure similar to another one, portrayed in the
Figurinhos, in a hunting scene placed in the geographical context
of the Brazilian forest (image 10). On the right side, a Canarim,
perhaps an inhabitant of Karnatak, the region situated south of
Goa and the ancient reign of Canara. However, the term Canarim
was not necessarily indicative of someone from that area, as I
will demonstrate further on. Both of these figures frame a
parade of human ‘types’ that belong to a wider space than that
of the register above. Their location is usually specified and
Brazil is not excluded since three figures of native Brazilians
are included: the Savage woman and the Tamed Tapuyas. As in the
upper register, this is not a geographical categorisation, but a
division that separates those who comprised a Brazil perceived
as predominantly black or white, made up of settlers and slaves
- with a distinct economy based on a slave system - and the rest
of the ‘Portuguese world’; the Others, depicted as subjects of
the empire who inhabited both Brazil and Asia. It may be that
Julião reveals here a more acute curiosity for the variety that
he encountered in Brazil, or that he simply organised his own
categories according to other racial considerations. What is
particularly interesting in this division is that, in the case
of Brazil, Julião could not separate the white presence from
106
that of the ‘mulatto’ and the black, while in the lower register
the figures are arranged in a division that includes the
‘gentiles’ and the mixed raced, with the exclusion of the
African element.
The female ‘savage’, as mentioned before, is also
portrayed in the Figurinhos album, although in a more aggressive
fashion. She symbolises the resistance of the indigenous
Brazilian against slavery, a sedentary lifestyle and a foreign
religion. A resistance that remains to this day the struggle of
native Americans who have been pushed further away from the
coast, into the back lands and the rainforest by the intrusion
of Europeans or Brazilian born slave hunters, and by the
devastation of their environment and natural resources, carried
on in enterprises such as those which collected the Brazilian
woods to be shipped off to Lisbon, in which Carlos Julião
participated. And while these Indigenous peoples suffered
tremendously the impact of colonisation, their retreat allowed
them to survive, to adjust to new circumstances and to retain to
this day some of the cultural aspects that still define their
identity as native Brazilians. That they have managed to do so
in the face of so many adversities is, to put it mildly,
extraordinary. Such is the symbolic charge of this image that
was neglected by colonial discourse. Quite the contrary, this
figure entered colonial discourse as a perceived inferior being,
to be assimilated and civilised by the superior white race at
the top ofthe hierarchy of the 'human castes'.
The Canarim, positioned on the right in the lower register,
is the other figure charged with the symbolism of resistance.
The term was indicative of a people confined in a geographical
space, close to Goa, inhabited by a Hindu population that
distinguished itself from the castes who had embraced
107
Catholicism.228 They were also defined as servants in low rank
jobs in both the rural and urban areas.229 However, the Portuguese
always used the word Canarim to refer to the citizens of Goa,
whether they had converted or not to Catholicism, revealing a
disregard for specific ethnic, cultural and spiritual
differences.230 On the other hand, the elaborate socio-economic
fabric of the Indian caste system itself, in which inequality
was already established and embedded in the local culture, was
maintained whether there was an actual conversion to the
Catholic doctrine or not. The Brahmans, the highest of all
castes in Goa, remained high in the ladder, but in general the
Portuguese either ignored or failed to recognise differences
among the local population, often using the terms ‘Gentile’ and
‘Canarim’ interchangeably, when referring to the people of Goa.231
This disregard for the Other's identity clearly marked a
distinction between Us and Them which included everyone else
apart from Portuguese born old Christians. Furthermore it
established a perception of the Other based on phenotypes. The
figurative framing of this register being that of a female
native of Brazil and a male native of India, may even reflect a
choice based on simplistic observations about certain physical
characteristics. Examining the question of how skin colour could
determine one's possibility of falling in and out of a slave
condition, Silvia Lara reminds us of a story first told by
Russell-Wood.232 One male Canarim from Goa, who was thrown into
slavery when travelling to the mining region, was only able to
regain his freedom forty years later, after an inspection where
228 Enciclopédia Luso Brasileira de Cultura, 1971, vol. 4 (Canarim).229 Bluteau, 1712-21, v.2, p.93. 230 Boxer, 1988, p.85.231 Enciclopédia Luso Brasileira de Cultura, 1971, vol. 4 (Canarim).232 Russel-Wood, 1982. Lara, 2007, p.146.
108
the governor considered him to have the straight hair of
Brazilian natives and therefore entitled him to the same rights.
The scientific methodology of question-observation-conclusion
was applied in this case by the Governor in person. A sort of
infantile 'logical' conclusion that time and science would
perfect into adulthood with careful measurements and
observations of the Other physical traits during the nineteenth-
century when racism was 'scientifically' established. The
conclusion of the governor, however, is an example of how the
Other, whether in Asia or America, could be identified and
grouped according to different physical characteristics and, on
that base, be perceived as of a certain 'same nature', in
opposition to the civilised European. The artist's positioning
of the two figures framing this register appears to have
reflected his perceptions of the proximity of the two rather
than their geographical distance.
The term Canarim seems to have acquired political overtones
when used with prejudice by a Goan elite of Portuguese
descendants who were, nevertheless, themselves labelled by the
Iberian Portuguese as mestiços, indicating the off-spring of
Portuguese and natives – another caste in the empire, considered
inferior to the European Portuguese. The use of the term Canarim
became pejorative in the eighteenth century leading to a
prohibition of its use by a Royal decree dated 1774, while
Pombal was still in power.233 And yet, Julião uses it. While the
Salvador Panorama bears the date of 1779, there is no indication
that this Four Ports Panorama is dated from before or after the
decree was published. However, even if the law only applied to
residents of Goa, Julião had lived in India and certainly
understood the implications of using the term. Dalgado defined
233 Enciclopédia Luso Brasileira de Cultura, 1971, vol. 4 (Canarim).
109
the word as being erroneously applied to the inhabitants of Goa,
emphasizing the negative connotation of the term, which was used
in reference to ‘gentiles or indigenous Christians’.234 Perhaps
then, the term Canarim became equated with that of ‘savage’ and
pagan, or at least revealed the same level of disdain, becoming
categorised as such in the mental classification of observers
like Carlos Julião.
On the other hand we must keep in mind that he was perhaps
referring to an inhabitant of Kanara, in which case the figure
remains equated with the heathen on the margin of the urban
context and on the frontier of the empire. Whether this figure
represents a Goan or a ‘real’ Canarim, choosing to frame the
lower register with two such figures indicates not merely a
connection made by Julião between these two ‘human types’ as
phenotypes that is, for their perceived physical commonalities,
but also as being pagans and 'uncivilised'. Apart from all the
comparisons between the Savage Woman and the Canarim, as a
military man Julião was certainly very much aware that although
they belonged in different geographical categories, they
overlapped in an intersection of political dimension continuing
to constitute a problem in the settlement and effective control
of the subjugated territories. These figures are archetypes of
the nomad who resists settlement and domestication and whose
existence is a continuous threat to the guardians of the empire.
Between these two figures Julião portrayed an array of
human types, which apart from the couple of Tamed Tapuyas’, belong
in the realm of the ‘exotic Orient’, where the Portuguese
presence was long felt. The first figure to the right of the
American ‘savage’ is a Nhonha of Macao meaning ‘young lady’, a
234 Dalgado, 1921, p.197.
110
word derived from Nhom – the Portuguese-Macanese language.235 The
attire is wonderfully detailed in the variety of patterns it
contains, in the vertical lapels of the shawl and in the ream of
the skirt. Julião had first hand experience of the peoples of
Macao, since he travelled to that city to do a topographic study
under the orders of Minister Martinho de Melo e Castro, as
mentioned in chapter three. If anything else, we know he learnt
the local term for a young lady and observed carefully the local
‘types’ using them to illustrate the diversity of the empire.
His depiction is accurate, judging from a 1637 drawing by Peter
Mundy, where it is shown how the shawl could be worn over the
head or around the shoulders, as a long coat.236
Opposite to this beautiful Nhonha, two figures to the left
of the Canarim, Julião portrays a male figure identifying him as
a China (Chinese) from Macao. The absence of a Macanese term,
separates this figure from a possible condition of Portuguese
ancestry; an indigenous man to the area in question, dressing in
the specific costume of the Chinese of Macao, as specified by
the artist in the caption. In that sense, this figure is closer,
and positioned as such, to that of the indigenous ‘Canarim’, in
opposition to a female counterpart who is symbolised as mestiça
by the use of the term Nhonha. The word mestiça or mestiço was not
just used in India. It was indicative of a person of mixed
Portuguese and Indigenous blood, whether that meant a native of
India, China or Brazil.237 It implied a racial mixing and,
similarly to the mulato term, defined a new category, which was
articulated within the imperial frontiers. To the left of the
Chinese man, Julião portrayed a mestiça, or miftiffa written in its
235 Dalgado, 1921, p.107. The Macanese language was developed after the settlement of the Portuguese in 1557 by their descendants and is now an endangered language.236 Boxer, 1948, plate VIII.237 Dalgado, 1921, p.51-52.
111
older form. Her style of dress suggests India, for its
similarity with the pano-palo worn by the baye of Goa of Chardos caste’ on
the left.238 But there was mobility between the residents of India
and Macao, so her location remains irrelevant in the sense that
this figure occupies one of the many racial categories contained
in the larger one that was the Portuguese non-Iberian world.
The mestiça administering chicken soup suggests that her image was
extracted from a family life scene, or a charity activity,
perhaps related to the practice of religion. She is certainly
separated from the image of the nhonha of Macao or any of the
posing bayes that precede her, but closer to the baye with two gallons
of water to the right of the China man. Both are engaged in an
activity, like the Chinese man himself, carrying his manuscripts
on the way somewhere, and the Canarim climbing the coconut tree.
According to Dr. Teotónio R. de Souza, the word Baye is how the
high castes, particularly the Brahman, refer to their wives.239
This is compatible with Dalgado’s definition, which disagrees
with Bluteau’s notion that the term only applied to Christian
women.240 There are several identities at play in the figures of
the baye of Goa in Brahman dress and the baye of Goa from the Chardos caste,
positioned on the left side of the register in between three
Indian castes depicted as gentio of Goa in gala dress, gentio of Goa in
ordinary dress and Faras de mancilla showing the Indian sun. As in the case
of the nhonha, Julião uses a local terminology to refer to the
women of Goa. He chooses the two higher castes, the Brahman and
the Chardos, positioning them closer to the gentios, or the
heathens or pagans. The caste in which one found himself would
not stop a conversion to Christianity. These bayes may have been238 Dalgado, 1921, p.163.239 Dr. Teotónio R. de Souza, Professor at the University Lusofona of Lisbonpovided information about the meaning of the word Baye as well as of the expression ‘Faras de Mancilla’. 06/02/2006240 Dalgado, 1921, p.79.
112
gentias, but neither their Indian caste nor their identification
with Goa, can determine whether they embraced Catholicism or
not. The term gentio, which derives from the old testament to
denominate those who did not follow Judaism,241 came to signify
the non-Muslim and non-Christians, a third category as John
Monteiro put it, and one of the names for followers of
polytheist religions such as Hinduism.242 In the eighteenth-
century the term appears extended to the popular and low classes
implying its use in reference to a broader category of
subalterns.243
The women are identified in relation to their gender,
caste and place of residence; an identity signified in the
manner of their dress. The men on the other hand are simply
labelled as gentios from Goa, separated solely by the type of
dress they wear: one is a gala costume, and the other is simply
described as ordinary dress. Julião plays here with an
alternation of figures, grouping them in a geographical category
by naming them and stating that they are from Goa. Once the
illustrations are identified geographically, Julião simply has
to offer the clue as to the location of the figure carrying
water, by using the term baye, while also positioning her in a
category of human action, which characterises the right side of
the lower register. Both Goa bayes are, as in the case of the
nhonha, standard depictions of local Goan ‘human types’.
Nineteenth century photographs of a ‘Christian woman’ and a
‘Hindu woman’ are practically identical as far as their costumes
are concerned, including the type of pattern of their dress.244
Such later illustrations denote the role of Julião's images as
241 Enciclopédia Luso Brasileira de Cultura, 1971, vol. 9 (Gentio).242 Monteiro, 2000, p.704.243 Bluteau, 1712-21, vol.4, p.57.244 Pereira, 1940, p.77 and p.81.
113
part of a process of inter-visuality, where they work as
referents to later visual works. These often reflected their
author's same perceptions about the human races, not because
they were directly influenced by Julião whose images they
probably did not even ever see, but because they were also
informed by aspects of the same mentality and inquiry and
therefore looked for the same coordinates with which to portray
the Other. This inter-visuality, in turn, worked in conjunction
with an inter-textuality of materials which is consistent with
the scenes described by artists in their works.
To the left of the miftiffa, the mestiça who could belong in
China or India judging solely by the label put on her, we find a
couple which echoes the image of the Chinese man, appearing to
approach him from the opposite direction. The sense of movement
that these figures convey parallels the direction that the savage
woman on the left seems to be taking. Their gazes diverge and
both the savage woman and the couple of tamed Tapuyas are
intentionally denied a common category to which all of them
belong: that of Brazil represented in the upper register. Unlike
the Goans, grouped together according to geography, the native
Brazilians are separated by a condition of ‘savagery’ or
‘domestication’.
As addressed in chapter 1, the construction of a dichotomy
between the ‘good’ and the ‘bad’ native was established in the
early stages of colonisation. Shortly before Cabral's arrival in
Brazil, the Tupi had waged war on the coastal Gê speaking group
forcing many to flee and then remaining the most vulnerable of
all indigenous groups, exposed to the Portuguese coastal
occupation that characterised the early colonial period.245 They
were quickly forced into Christianity and slavery, and others
245 Hemming, 1978, p.54.
114
pushed into the interior, establishing the frontier that
eighteenth-century Enlightenment men, such as Carlos Julião,
were determined to cross. Among the “heathen castes”,246 which
incorporated both the Tupis and the Tapuyas, perceptions of the
latter were therefore informed from the early days of
colonisation and in the aftermath of their wars with the Tupi.247
Under that light it is curious that the Tapuyas, perceived
negatively by Brazilian settlers, are depicted by Julião as
tamed. Whatever the ethnic group that the ‘savage’ woman may
belong to is not suggested but the stereotype created seems to
place her in the broader Tapuya category. The presence of two
tamed Tapuyas is an indication that ‘domestication’ was possible
for all subjects of the empire, even for the “most brave and
barbarous gentiles” as Bluteau defined them.248 The couple of
domesticated Tapuyas therefore reflect the possibility of the savage
woman to be assimilated into colonial society.
Like the image of the savage woman, the two Tapuyas have
their own place in one of the illustrations of the Figurinhos
(image 13). They are shown in the same manner, walking across a
path, dressed in simple white attire, the woman carrying a
container carved out of coconut and the man carrying a load
hanging from a stick that he holds over his shoulder while
gazing over to his partner. It is a romantic vision of the
Christianised Indian, who left behind a pre-genesis innocence,
'stepping up' towards civilisation; one of the victories of the
empire that trained and informed the artist. It belongs in this
visual ensemble of the imperial subjects, as another object, to
be classified and reclassified according to skin colour,
246 The term was coined by Monteiro, 2000, p.702.247 Monteiro, 2000, p.703.248 Bluteau, 1912, v.8, p.47.
115
religious beliefs, costumes, manner of dress, social position
and degree of subjugation. At the same time, these two figures
have been removed from the state of ‘savagery’ of the indigenous
woman on the left hand side. The Tapuya couple constitute a
particular South American caste constructed by years of
‘ethnographic’ chronicles written by the Portuguese and other
Europeans.249
The lower register is divided by stylistic choices that
are significant. The size of the figures depicted on the left
side is far larger than that of those on the right. They are
framed by figures that embody a political concept. On the left,
Julião places a row of five figures standing posed, gazing back
at the viewer and functioning as archetypes of the exotism of
Macao and Goa. On the right, five other figures, belonging to
the same geographies, are displayed engaged in activities that
determine their racial and social status in the overall social
fabric of the empire. And finally in the middle, separating
these two broad categories, which embody many other intersecting
ones, stands one figure, with his back to the viewer, perhaps in
the moment when turning his back to the artist, he showed him
the Indian sun.
This central figure is entitled Faras de Mancilla showing the
Indian sun. Julião did have an interest in Hinduism beliefs as
shown in the illustrations representing the Brahman tradition
that he produced, and which are kept in the Rio de Janeiro and
Lisbon National Libraries as I mentioned in chapter 1. The scene
is perhaps connected to that interest in that it may be a
reference to ancient sun worshipping in India, practiced to this
day, and mentioned in the ancient Vedic scriptures.250 Faras or
249 Monteiro, 2000.250 See http://www.templenet.com/suntemple.html, 15/1/08.
116
Faraz, is the name given to a low caste of ‘untouchables’ – so
called by the repulsion they caused to the upper Indian castes,
who believed that direct contact with the Faraz would
contaminate them.251 These ‘untouchables’ served the elite by
performing functions no-one else would undertake such as grave
digging and the disposal of dead animals.252 In fact, and
according in a recent documentary on British channel 4, the
plight of untouchability continues to plague 170 million people
in India today.253
The Faraz were also carriers of a sort of palanquin, known
as machila or mancilla, which may have been a misspell form by the
artist.254 In that case this figure would be identified by his
caste - Faraz – and his function in colonial society – mancilla.
One indicator to that function is the cloth around his head,
which litter carriers wore, because they often supported the
weight on the heads, as shown in photographs taken in Goa in the
nineteenth century.255 Similarly to the Portuguese castes, Julião
offers a view of the Indian social hierarchies representing
here: the Brahman sacerdotal caste, the Chardos military caste
and finally, the lowest of all castes, the ‘untouchables’ Faraz.
As in Brazil, all categories follow a hierarchisation of empire,
which Julião understood fully as a representative of the
Portuguese worldview in the eighteenth-century, reinforced by an
Iberian tradition that distinguished those possessing 'purity of
blood' from he others termed as 'infected races'.
Just as the figures to the left and right of the Faraz seem
to converge to him, distancing themselves from the border251 Feio, 1979, p.103.252 Dalgado, 1921, p.390.253 Unreported World, Channel 4, 21/09/2007, 19h30-20h00.254 Again Dr. Teotónio R. de Souza, Professor at the University Lusofona of Lisbon, was most helpful in regards to the meaning of the words Faras de Mancilla. 06/02/2006. 255 Mendes, 1886, p.59-60.
117
‘savage figures’, it is from the centre of the lower register
that Julião finds a link to the upper one. The activity of the
Faraz man, as a carrier is not portrayed visually in the lower
register, but its reference lies in the upper register where two
slaves carry the hammock. There is a clear identification
between the type of labour exercised by the black slaves in
Brazil and the condition of the 'untouchables', the lower castes
of India. Both were utilized as animals to carry human loads and
their belongings throughout the colonial period.
**************
Notorious in the Panoramas is the absence of Iberian
figures, a strategy denoting the rigid division between Old
Christians and all Others. Reinforcing historical documents,
such as the Ordenações, Julião's Panoramas make use of certain
representational strategies that define racial categories and
show that race did matter in the overall socio-economic matrix
of the Portuguese empire. Such visual strategies go against the
historical discourse of Luso-Tropicalismo formed in the twentieth-
century, which contributed to a Portuguese historiography that
emphasised the absence of racism in the Portuguese empire. As we
will see later in chapter 5, the ‘body of knowledge’ that Luso-
Tropicalismo represented informed the speeches and rhetoric behind
the commemorations of the death of Prince Henry in 1960 when
Julião’s Panoramas were exhibited. Because the ‘conquests’ were
made up of different socio-economic contexts, which overlapped
in the imperial whole, I will now analyse the Figurinhos
illustrations that were positioned in the colonial space of the
mining region of Brazil and the capital Rio de Janeiro - a space
made of ‘royal roads’, also called ‘gold trails’, travelled by
118
the castes and the valuables that fuelled the imperial economies
of eighteenth-century Europe.
Chapter 3
Figurinhos of the 'Royal Roads’
The title of Riscos Iluminados de Figurinhos de brancos e negros dos
uzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio256 offers the coordinates that
oriented the execution of the 43 watercolours included in the
256 Illustrations of Figures of Whites and Blacks and the customs of Rio de Janeiro and Serro Frio (my translation). The album is kept in the Department of Iconography at the National Library in Rio de Janeiro.
119
album. Implied in the long name of the ensemble are the elements
of race and geography; a clear rigid division between whites and
blacks in the localities of Rio de Janeiro and Serro do Frio
separated by over 1500 kilometres. In the reference to the
colonial capital and the northernmost corner of the diamond
mining region is implied the notion of the geographical limits
of a region that held an extraordinary importance in eighteenth-
century world economy, by providing the wealth that permitted
industrialisation in the Northern countries. In the reference to
the rigid division of whiteness and blackness that characterise
the figures illustrated is implied both the same mentality that
placed 'purity of blood' in opposition to the 'infected races'
and the racial gap accentuated by the economic activity of that
period. Thus, the industrialisation that conferred self-
proclaimed progress to 'white civilisation', permitting it to
differentiate itself from the non-European and non-white
'uncivilised' Other, was possible through the exploitative
nature of colonisation and above all the use of African slave
labour.
Carlos Julião's figures however reveal gradations of
colour positioned between black and white, which establish
indicators of one's place in colonial society.
Similarly, the mention of Rio de Janeiro and Serro do Frio
constitute solely the geographical limits in which to insert the
figures. I argue here that these figures can be inserted in the
whole of the southeast region of Brazil, comprised by the
capital and the mines, rather than exclusively in the city of
Rio de Janeiro and the town of Serro do Frio. They belong in the
trails that became known as the royal roads or gold trails,
which connected the mining centres to the coastal cities; the
roads through which gold and diamonds were carried and taxed
120
until they reached the port of Rio de Janeiro to be shipped off
to Europe. In the Panoramas, Julião composed the empire in its
micro-regional specificities (image 1, Salvador Panorama) and
its whole (image 2, Four Ports Panorama). The Figurinhos can be
positioned in a macro-regional area of economic activity, larger
than the Bay of All Saints and an important part of the whole
that formed the Portuguese empire. Unlike the Panoramas however,
the Figurinhos were composed in isolation or in small groups,
rather then in registers on the same plain paper. They could
have been executed in isolation and then cut and pasted side by
side as in the Panoramas. Instead, Julião chose to declare the
races and geographies as portraits of uzos - customs - making
obvious that the representation of the figures constitute what
Silvia Lara called generic types, “recognised by their dress and
other material details, such as the attributes of a particular
trade, adornments and so on”.257
Lygia Fonseca suggested in the introduction to the Figurinhos
album that Julião could have intended to present it as a gift to
a superior.258 Fonseca’s remark was due to the image that opens
the album; the sole illustration with a caption inscribed in
pencil which reads: “Victory achieved by Pinto Bandeira of Minas
Gerais against the Spaniards, probably in the Southern war in
1762” (image 3). Rafael Pinto Bandeira came out of the gaúcho
culture of the Southern Pampas and pursued a military career
fighting against the Spanish over the South American frontier.
Son of a Portuguese military man, he was born and raised in Rio
Grande do Sul, the most Southern state of Brazil, bordering
contemporary Uruguay and Argentina. The question of territory in
South America dominated the geopolitics of the Iberian South
257 Lara, 2000a, p.130.258 Catalogue: Riscos Iluminados de Figurinhos, 1960, p.X.
121
American possessions of the eighteenth-century. The agreement
reached in 1750 in the Treaty of Madrid, preceded the Marquis of
Pombal's rule and reforms, and it was annulled in 1761 causing
further wars in which to insert Rafael Pinto Bandeira, according
to the inscription written in image 3.
The early 1760’s were indeed marked by intense military
activity in the South American border. Although constant
squirmishes between Spanish and Portuguese took place, the two
Iberian colonial powers occasionally joined forces to fight
Indigenous local resistances of Guarani peoples backed by the
Jesuits' that the Marquis of Pombal so hated. When in 1763
Pombal moved the capital of Brazil from Salvador to Rio de
Janeiro, he sent to that destination the regiments of Portuguese
troops from the cities of Bragança, Elvas, Moura and Estremoz,
all defensive locations in the Iberian border of Portugal and
Spain.259 Accustomed to defend the border at home, these troops
were now given the task of fighting for Portuguese interests in
its other ‘Iberian’ border: that of South America. But the
government in Lisbon also counted with the Brazilian militias
who operated in the region since the early colonial period. From
this regiments stood out the military hero Rafael Pinto
Bandeira, whose notoriety was consolidated by his victory at the
Fortress Santa Tecla in 1776, one year before the borders were finally
established and peace finally signed at the Treaty of Saint
Ildefonso, signed in 1777.260
In spite of his birthplace and consequent connection to
the South, the inscription in the illustration refers to Pinto
Bandeira of Minas Gerais. In terms of military strategy and in
spite of the enormous distance between the two regions however,
259 Bento, 1976, p.54.260 Catalogue: Riscos Iluminados de Figurinhos, 1960, p.XI.
122
Minas Gerais and the South were connected. The mines - the main
source of wealth anywhere in the Portuguese colonised world -
would be easily accessible to whoever was in control of the
Plata river. From early on, like in the South, local militias
formed in the mining areas, but throughout the eighteenth-
century, when the population of the region went from 300.000 to
3.000.000261, there too, more troops started to arrive from
Portugal. As the population grew, so did smugglers and the
possibility of tax evasion. The Crown made sure that the wealth
that sustained the colonial power in Lisbon was well protected,
using manpower from both Iberia and Brazil to oversee the vast
mining region, while employing African slave labour to exploit
it.
Among these Portuguese troops were the Dragoon regiments
who, as early as 1719, had been shipped from Portugal to the
mines, the capital Rio de Janeiro and the southern border,
becoming the regular troops of the colony. With the Company of
Maranhão-Pará and Pernambuco in the North and Northeast
extending their economic interests into the Amazon and with the
capital of the viceroyalty securing the mines in the Southeast,
Pombal only needed to control the South and the access to the
Plata river in order to secure Brazil from potential invaders.
In Minas Gerais, this meant that the troops had to be stationed
in the interior to protect the wealth of the mines and access to
it. In the South, where traditionally the population was armed
and local militias patrolled the region, society was made up
mostly of cattle rangers - cowboys living their own far-west
lifestyle. Pinto Bandeira came from such an environment and like
his father started his military career as a Dragoon.262 Born in
261 Sodré, 1965, p.47.262 Sodré, 1965, p.55.
123
1740, the same year as Julião, his mobility in the military may
have taken him to the mining region at some point, and the
wording of Minas Gerais seems to suggest that an encounter between
the two men took place in that area.
Julião's depiction of Rafael Pinto Bandeira was recognised
by Lygia Fonseca through similar representations of the Southern
hero.263 But Julião's version has all the components of a
classical visual tradition rooted in Europe and was perhaps for
that reason rightly entitled Allegory by Lygia Fonseca. It is
charged with the symbolism of the victorious horseman riding
through a triumphal arch where the insignias of the victor are
inscribed on the top with Portugal's coat of arms. The opposite
wall is obviously part of the enemy structure, now in ruins. At
the bottom, an old man and a woman carry a child, and reach out
to the victorious Pinto Bandeira, while his men depart in an
organised military column towards the horizon, where the sky
appears clear and sunny in opposition to the dark clouds over
the battle field. The landscape filling the background of the
composition symbolises the Rio Grande do Sul area, as indicated
by the herd of cattle - an allusion to the cowboy lifestyle that
characterised the southern pampas. While the viewer is not shown
the faces of the soldiers that served under Pinto Bandeira and
the Portuguese empire in the southern battles, it is known that
both freed and slave black men fought the Spanish in that
Brazilian region. In 1778 after peace was established, a Spanish
sergeant referred to Pinto Bandeira’s “valiant blacks who knew
no fear,” and according to Claudio Bento, at least 80 black
slaves served in Pinto Bandeira’s acclaimed victory over the
enemy at Santa Tecla.264 The illustration is indeed an allegory to
263 Catalogue: Riscos Iluminados de Figurinhos, 1960.264 Bento, 1976, p.77-84.
124
Rafael Pinto Bandeira's victorious battles in the South.
The inclusion of a southern theme in the opening of an
album dedicated to the mining region can only be explained
through the identification of a common link between these
regions. That link was military, political and economic. The
southern lands were seen as essential to the security of the
mining region and the image of Rafael Pinto Bandeira can be
inserted in this context. The river systems of central South
America led to the region of São Paulo and into the mining
areas. Adventurers had travelled to both North and South,
settling these areas long before the Portuguese administration
and the military did. As more people travelled to the mining
region, there was an increasing demand for produce and goods to
feed and clothe the growing population. The transportation of
these products proved difficult and the southern plains became a
desirable market to provide livestock that could feed the
population and carry merchandise along the vast extension of
territory that covered the mining and surrounding regions.265 The
representation of cattle in the illustration depicting the
victory of Rafael Pinto Bandeira and his troops is also charged
with that economic connotation.
The discovery of gold led to an unprecedented rush to the
mining region by those seeking wealth. With the economic shift
from the Northeast plantations to the Southeast mines, the royal
government in Lisbon moved the capital from Salvador to Rio de
Janeiro in 1763, although perhaps a little later in the day
since that was also the year that the mines’ profit started to
decline.266 The fast population growth was swiftly placed under
the control of the state and access to the land’s riches was
265 Zemella, 1990, p.137; Sodré, 1979, p.52.266 Couto, 1994, p.13.
125
restricted to those who worked or had a concession to use slave
labour in the digs. Street vendors were prevented from
approaching the mining areas and military regiments were placed
in the region to oversee that the wealth was secured. The most
hated law of all was the ‘fifth’, the parcel of tax representing
20% of the total weight of precious gold and stones found, which
went straight into the metropolitan safes. The collection of
these taxes was executed by officers supposedly loyal to the
King and gold became the only currency allowed in the region, a
measure prompted by the government to prevent diggers from
exchanging gold and diamonds before the Crown could get a hold
on its ‘royal fifth.’ This was important, particularly after the
administration’s astonishment at finding a factory that produced
fake currency and fake seals confirming tax payment.267
The region of the mines became widely travelled,
especially after the discovery of gold and diamonds. The
official routes, known as Royal Roads or Gold Trails, were
adapted from the old trails previously travelled by the
Indigenous groups.268 These became the paths through which the
gold and diamonds were transported, controlled and taxed by the
officers of the state. In fact, all roads led to the mines with
the original trails coming from the captaincies of Bahia, Rio de
Janeiro and São Paulo, and meeting at the centre of the region.
The so-called old trail led to the coastal town of Paraty, but
the gold still had to be transported to Rio de Janeiro by sea,
which could be dangerous due to the constant activity of pirates
around the Ilha Grande area, between Paraty and Rio de Janeiro.269
The authorities set therefore a new trail, moving the route to
267 Zemella, 1990.268 For a history of the Royal roads see Santos, 2001 and Zemella, 1990, p.115.269 Zemella, 1990, p.120.
126
Rio de Janeiro and developing the Fluminense region between the
city and the Mines. Along the new route, towns and villages
began to grow. By the mid eighteenth-century, when the mining
business reached its peak, the official gold trail ran from the
capital to the diamond district of Serro do Frio – so-called
after the indigenous term Ivituruí which alluded to the cold winds
that flogged the area.270 Halfway on this main royal road was the
city of Vila Rica, now Ouro Preto, the most important city in
the mines region during the eighteenth-century, and the centre
of the Mineiro baroque art works by the famous Brazilian mulato
artist Aleijadinho (1738-1814).
The illustrations that make up the Figurinhos album are
placed in the entire region crossed by the royal roads. The
peoples depicted by Carlos Julião could be found in the rural
areas and the cities along these trails, between the capital,
perceived as a pole of civilisation, and the ‘wild’ frontier in
the Midwest of the colony perceived as such for its proximity to
the indigenous world of the 'savage.' The diversity of peoples
encapsulated in the region constituted the subjects of a
Portuguese dominated socio-economic area that needed
geopolitical strategies involving the deployment of troops to
better control the population and the wealth of the mines.
Julião's illustrations reflect that diversity and can be divided
in groups corresponding to an ethnicity/activity fitting the
socio-economic importance of the region. I have used that
division for the purpose of ordering this chapter into groups of
illustrations. I will call them: the Troops, the Natives, the
Carriers, the Masters and Bureaucrats, 'Lighter' women, Black
women, Street Vendors, Queens and Kings of Kongo, and the
Miners.
270 Barbosa, 1971, entry: Serro do Frio.
127
I - The Troops
As mentioned, the allegory to the victory in the South was
directly connected with the successful outcome of the mining
region as a central source of wealth for the empire.
Furthermore, it introduced the first set of images that
corresponded to the military regiments, the vehicles through
which that wealth was secured. In order to identify the
different regiments and their correspondent uniforms, Lygia
Fonseca consulted Brazilian military historian José Wasth
Rodrigues271 and Carlo Burdet referred to Julião’s illustrations
as “impressive” in the diversity of military uniforms portrayed
and therefore of great use to what he called “scholars of
uniformology”.272 Julião's artistic tendency to depict
sociological and racial types in Brazil turned his work into a
historical source, as important as any written document. As we
will see next, the set of illustrations of colonial troops
reveals how the military regiments were organised on the basis
of skin colour or on the perception of it.
The uniform was created to end the “creative impulses” of
the troops, as far as their sense of style was concerned. The
obsession with ordering the world that characterised the
Enlightenment enterprise was extended to uniformity in the
clothing of the military regiments. The main reason was that
soldiers did not properly clean their uniforms and often mixed
their army clothes with civilian ones.273 The Pragmática of 1749274
was a body of legislation that attempted to put everyone in
their 'proper' place, and it was in that context that the
271 Catalogue: Riscos Iluminados de Figurinhos, 1960, p.XI.272 Burdet, 1962, p.197.273 Rodrigues, 1999, p.85.274 See bibliography for Portugal, 1749.
128
government saw fit to differentiate the army from the civilian
population by establishing uniformity in army clothes and
prohibiting luxury accessories or the use of swords by people of
'inferior condition.'275 From then on troops were clean, shaved,
and disciplined, beginning to give shape to the modern armies of
our contemporary world.
What other imperial institution would better promote the
Enlightenment views than the military, controlled and
strengthened by the Marquis of Pombal, to overthrow the long
rule and influence of the church in the Portuguese colonies? As
shown in chapter 1, Pombal proceeded to a vast number of
administrative reforms both in Portugal and Brazil. These
included the delegation of power in the colonised territories to
the Ministry of Navy and Overseas Territories, leaving this
administrative body in charge of all colonial government. The
administrative re-organisation of the empire, in which Pombal
sought to centralise power by weakening local aristocracies and
the clergy in Brazil, was well under way and constituted the
historical context in which Carlos Julião became an officer of
the Portuguese army. The military was therefore reformed to
serve the Marquis' policies and to 'order' the colonial
hierarchical system.
To effectively proceed with the reorganisation of the
military institution, colour coding ranks, regiments and
expertise, the King of Portugal and his minister the Marquis of
Pombal sought to bring in the expert on the subject. There
entered Count Wilheim Schaumberg-Lippe, who resided in Portugal
from 1762 to 1768, when he brought the Enlightenment to the
Portuguese army by recommending, among other things, the
creation of a military library and even suggesting the titles
275 Rodrigues, 1999, p.82-85.
129
such library should contain.276 He also wrote the most interesting
Regulation for the Exercise and Discipline of the Infantry Regiments Serving his Most
Loyal Magesty.277 Printed at the ministry of state in 1763, the
manual enumerates the elements of a soldier's uniform: the
jacket, the vest, the linen trousers, the hat and the ties, the
hair laces and the shoes. Lippe got into details such as “short
jackets, a palm above the knee when a man is standing straight“.
He established that the tricorn hat had to be worn pointing up
and forward and that it was the responsibility of army officials
that these rules were enforced in their columns.278 In addition to
establishing army uniformity in Portugal, Lippe also reinforced
in this manner the hierarchical authority that would allow
surveillance to be exercised from the top officers to the lower
ranks at the forefront of the imperial wars.
Lippe's suggestions in the manual were used in a piece of
legislation entitled Regulation of Uniforms (March 24, 1764). The
results were perfectly ordered troops differentiated through the
colours of their cuffs, neck ties, vests and so on, obtained
from the uniform warehouse located at the army arsenal in
Lisbon, where Julião was stationed at the end of his career. The
military uniform was yet another hot topic dominating military
life in the eighteenth-century, and the subject itself later
became a topic of study by historians, as mentioned before.279
Julião joined the Portuguese army at this time of change, and
from the beginning the uniform regulations of 1764 were enforced
on him. Being a military man with a talent for the visual arts,
he certainly found the topic interesting, particularly when he
travelled to Brazil, where a variety of ethnicities and emerging
276 Peregrino, 1967, p.94.277 Lippe, 1763.278 Lippe, 1763, p.173-176.279 Burdet, 1962, p.197.
130
identities showed off the colours of the new military uniforms.
Six images in the Figurinhos album belong to this category of
military troops and their uniforms. Illustrations 4, 5 and 6
represent terço officers or standing infantry regiments.280 These
would later become the colony’s militias, after Queen Maria I
ascended the throne in 1777.281 During the preceding decade, the
Marquis of Lavradio, then Vice-Roy of Brazil (1769-1778),
commented on the character of the ‘Americans,’ stating that they
had to be subordinated to good officers in order to receive good
examples.282 Illustrations 7 and 8 show the Calvary uniform worn
by the Viceroys’ guards. Finally, image 9 shows a dramatic
romantic scene, where a soldier wearing the uniform of the above
mentioned Regiment of Moura says farewell to a desolated young
woman. The artist starts the album with a set of military
uniforms following the portrait of a military leader. This was
Julião's own category, the group to which he belonged, the
institution that informed his knowledge of the empire and its
peoples. The military institution allowed Julião to encounter
such peoples and to practice activities pertaining to the fields
of science, art and war. It rewarded him with promotions and the
Order of São Bento de Avis. He served his masters, the monarch
and the military, but he was undoubtedly in a position of power
in the colonies.
Illustration 4 depicts an officer of Terço de São José, one of
the regiments stationed in Rio de Janeiro and a city Ordenança.
Illustration 5 represents an officer of the Terço de Santa Rita. The
officers of the Terço and the Ordenança represent two types of
colonial policing which came about at different stages of the
280 Boxer, 1977, p.311.281 Pereira, 1995, p.228282 Lara, 2007, p.165.
131
colonisation of Brazil. The Ordenanças were the earliest colonial
police in Brazil. They were made up of local individuals and
reflected the less centralised militia born out of an 'armed
population' that felt the need to protect itself at times where
the presence of the distant state was weaker in the Brazilian
territory.283 This type of militia prevailed for a longer time in
the South and in the non-mining areas, where life was remote
from the colonial centres and the sources of wealth that
enriched the state.
In areas where control was tighter, the Ordenanças were
gradually replaced by the Terços and the Portuguese regiments sent
by Lisbon after 1767. What this image seems to suggest, however,
is that the care put into the uniformity of the army was
extended to a military category, which was outdated in its de-
centralised structural tradition. At least in the Southeast
region, where the grip of the metropolitan hand was tighter, it
appears from this illustration that the government in Lisbon
attempted to incorporate the Ordenanças in the new centralised
military structure. Here the viewer is presented with two
military traditions in harmony with each other, both men
standing as giants in the minimalist landscape, where strangely
the artist depicts what appears to be a small tree in between
the men’s feet. Unlike the native Brazilians, who as we will see
next, were depicted close to nature as an indication of their
‘savage’ status, the officers in illustration 4, as well as the
officer in illustration 5, are in control of nature and
represented as superior to it. The three officers display the
same visual elements composing their uniform and represent the
intermediary category within the army, perhaps the same that
Julião could be assigned to. They are not like the individuals
283 Sodré, 1979, p.55.
132
on image 6, who, as we shall see, belong in the subaltern racial
categories of the Portuguese colonial social structure or the
ones on illustration 7 and 8, which are identified with the
nobility.
The Terços created in Brazil were made up by the despised
Americans to whom Lavradio referred during his period as
viceroy. They had military training but were by the nature of
their provenance the cannon fodder sent to the most remote and
dangerous areas of the colony.284 The way in which these men were
perceived by the metropolitan power and their colonial
representatives, as untrustworthy Americans, led the state to
send Portuguese officers to command them. Many however,
particularly in the mining region, were part of a growing middle
class population, who slowly came into friction with the
metropolitan power. A well-known case was Tiradentes, mentioned in
chapter 1, and one of the instigators of the revolt that
occurred in the mining region in 1791.285 However subaltern
themselves, Americans who served in the militias exercised some
power over the wider population guarding the empire and its
wealth. Their role often opposed the goals of those travelling
to the mines in search of wealth and they pestered the lives of
slaves who worked on the sites, having powers to stop and search
in the attempt to capture smugglers of gold and diamonds. They
escorted the precious goods along the royal roads and guarded
both the administrators and the registries obtained from
taxation. They themselves enforced taxation payments and policed
the mines and the frontier.286
Image 6 brings up, for the first time in this set of
284 Sodré, 1979, p.46-47.285 Sodré, 1979, p.48.286 Sodré, 1979, p.47.
133
images, the question of race in the colonial army and how
gradations of intermediary shades between white and black were
used to distinguish lighter from darker skin and the inevitable
association with slavery or freedom that such distinctions
implied. Military units in colonial Brazil were associated with
skin colour and racial discrimination prevented non-white men
from not just accessing certain posts in the army but also any
public post in the empire.287 Whenever that happened there were
numerous complaints to the metropolitan power. So, although
flexibility in the social ladder could in fact take place for
some Americans, there was a discriminatory mind set that played
an important part in the making of colonial identities.
One of such new emerging identities was the Pardo category
of free non-whites who wished to distinguish themselves from
mulato and black men, and in that manner detach themselves from
perceptions of dark skin colour while getting closer to the
privileges associated with a condition of whiteness.288 Pardo
regiments appeared in the eighteenth-century and in Minas Gerais
as early as 1714. In that year, 13 regiments of Pardos were
created, in addition to 9 of blacks and 22 of whites.289 The
regiments of Pardos appeared to accommodate lighter men who were
clearly not white or Iberian by birth. The reason for this was
the necessity felt by such men to differentiate themselves from
the Henriques, whose regiments were composed by black males.290 The
Henriques were so called after one black man, Henrique Dias, who
in the seventh-century fought on the Portuguese side against the
Dutch, who had settled in the Northeast region of Pernambuco.
He headed a regiment of black freed men and distinguished
287 Boxer, 1977, p.280-281.288 Mattos, 2006, p.48.289 Miranda, 1972, p.30-31.290 Lara, 2007, p.142; Mattos, 2006.
134
himself in battle, raising a bureaucratic problem due to the
confrontation between a tradition of rewarding military bravery
and the customary denial of such privileges to the ‘infected
races’.291
Raimundo Faoro observed that the integration of settlers
into the metropolitan order was achieved through the “privileged
caste” - the military institution - allowing many “a certificate
of whiteness”.292 Eighteenth-century centralisation policies led
to a stricter hierarchical trickle down of power, which implied
subordination of troops to higher ranking officers in addition
to judges and city hall bureaucrats. But it also rewarded
officers with privileges changing the old policies that
protected exclusivity of certain privileges to the nobility. For
the subaltern male population of the colony, the military became
a way to ascend in the social ladder and become closer to the
coloniser's status. On the other hand, the nobility did not
develop any respect for the new privileged individuals but
rather mocked them.293 As in Frantz Fanon’s analysis laid out in
his book Black Skin, White Masks, when the colonised, deprived of his
cultural background, tries to approximate the coloniser, the
strongest cultural reference he knows, he is mocked for what is
perceived to be his mimicry.294
The aristocratic tradition in the military is represented
in this set of images by the officers in illustrations 7 and 8,
which depict the cavalry officers of the Vice-Roy Guard in Rio
de Janeiro, created after the shift of the capital from Salvador
in Bahia to Southeast Rio de Janeiro in 1763. The guard was
composed exclusively by the white nobility to whom cavalry
291 Mattos, 2006, p.46.292 Faoro, 1965, p.192-194.293 Faoro, 1975, p.194.294 Fanon, 1986.
135
regiments were reserved.295 They were the guardians of the King’s
most direct representative in Brazil, the Vice-Roy, and they
signalled the presence of royal power in South America at a time
when the Southeast rgion became the most important centre of
imperial wealth. Illustration 7 presents one such officer in
uniform riding a horse while illustration 8 shows a couple of
officers on foot. All three wear the same uniform, with the same
basic elements of other regiments, but in different colours and
with an added cross strip around their torso. The head gear is
also different from the tricorn hats seen previously and they
carry a pouch inscribed with the royal coat of arms, as seen in
the horseman on illustration 7. Another feature not seen in the
men before is the moustache, curled up the ends, an iconic style
of the Portuguese aristocratic male.
Finally, illustration 9 takes the viewer back to the foot
soldiers of the regiments in a transition to the following set
of images. Julião incorporates a female figure in the scene,
depicting an emotional farewell between the young lady and her
beloved. The officer in this image is described in the Figurinhos
catalogue as a soldier of the regiment of Moura, a city located
in Portugal, close to the southern border with Spain. He wears
the uniform in the same colours as the Vice-Roy’s guard, but the
belt and strip around his torso are now white and he wears a
tricorn hat as the three officers in the first two illustrations
of this set. He also exhibits a similar moustache to the men in
illustrations 7 and 8, together with sideburns, or suiças,
another iconic feature of the Portuguese aristocratic male. In
her description of this image, Lygia Fonseca placed in brackets
the date of 1767, the year in which the Portuguese regiments
arrived in Brazil. Does this scene signal a farewell which took
295 Pereira, 1995, p.228.
136
place in Portugal, where soldiers had to leave their families
and loved ones behind? Or did this Portuguese soldier, upon
arriving in Brazil, fall for a young Brazilian woman, but was
now about to leave her to go fight the wars in the South or to
go to the mines? The man appears to be eager to depart, as if
patriotic duty is calling him. The young woman is desolated and
portrayed as a fragile being grabbing on to the soldier,
dependent on his love and his protection. There are many
meanings that overlap here and can be drawn from this image, but
it is also true, as we will see farther on, that Julião had a
particular tendency to portray this type of romantic scene.
The troops here represented are more than just a mere
exhibition of newly created uniforms. They reflect the changing
nature of the military structure in face of a new socio-economic
reality that the Portuguese had to acknowledge, after the
discovery of mineral wealth in Southeast Brazil. Furthermore,
these illustrations inform us of the racial and hierarchical
power relationships that developed among the colonial army and
of the territorial claims made by the metropolitan centre over a
newly expanded frontier into the interior lands of South
America. Without this privileged caste of military men, it would
have been impossible for the Portuguese state to secure the
wealth of Brazil and centralise power. Following the military
figures, Julião presented the caste on the opposite side of the
spectrum – that which John Monteiro has termed the ‘heathen
caste’.296
II - The Natives
Illustrations 10 to 13 symbolise on a larger scale the
empire’s frontier, which the military was actively involved in
296 Monteiro, 2000.
137
protecting and expanding. The image of the native Brazilian
fluctuated between the savage and the civilised, whom, like the
landscape, could be tamed and imprinted with the imperial
insignias that were carried throughout the empire. In the
eighteenth-century, the scientific perspective merged with a
visual tradition in the recording of regional customs, forming a
new discipline that could be termed today as an early
ethnography. This approach began to be directed to the
indigenous groups in a way that anticipated the scientific
racism and the anthropometric practices of the nineteenth-
century. Julião's gaze, however, deprived of such 'scientific'
scrutiny, attempts nevertheless to present various 'stages'
which demonstrate that a civilising process was in course.
Accounts of ferocious Tapuyas in the region populated the
stories of the Bandeirantes from São Paulo, who first ventured
along the river routes into the Minas Gerais province.297 As Laura
de Mello e Souza observed, the natives were perceived as the
“enemies of colonisation” and “man-eating barbarians”.298 The
illustrations create a contrast between the human types
represented in this and the previous group, linking the
'civilised' and organised military institution to the process of
civilisation of the native. But the natives could also be allies
to the military, having often served in the pursuit of runaway
slaves and Quilombo communities.299 Colonial control included this
play of ethnicities against each other, encouraging social
divisions in order to better rule.
Figure 10 shows a 'savage woman' similar to the one,
entitled as such, in the Four Ports Panorama (Illustration 2).
297 Santos, Márcio, 2001, p.38.298 Mello e Souza, 1999, p.91; Schwarzt, 2003, p.234.299 Mello e Souza, 1999, p. 93
138
Both figures are ornamented by a skirt and headdress made of
colourful feathers and both carry a bow and arrow, a signifier
of their nomadic way of life, in opposition to the imperial
settled civilisation. In the Figurinhos however, the image is
completed by a luxurious landscape and a male ‘savage'
companion. Their successful hunting skills are here represented
by the leopard bleeding on the ground. The woman is portrayed as
a participant in the nomad/hunter activity, an image that could
be intriguing, horrifying or fascinating to an Iberian society
built on a male centered worldview where women were expected,
with very few exceptions, to remain passive elements in society.
The role of the indigenous woman in this hunting scene
reports to the multitude of colonial images representing the
female native. She carries with her the signifiers of sin in her
nakedness but she also presents herself as a warrior, becoming a
symbol for the Amazon archetype of classical mythology. It is
impossible to identify this figure as belonging to a specific
ethnic group, but she personalises the existence of women
hunters and warriors in Brazil, such as the Waitaca of southern
Paraiba, reputed as both fierce and as fine archers.300 Julião
repeats constantly a methodology of composites, meaning that his
figures are composed of body parts and can be reworked into
different figures in the same category. In this particular image
it appears very obvious the extent to which he played with this
technique. The figure of the savage woman in the Four Ports
Panorama (Image 2) is a composite of the female and male natives
on image 10. While the female figure is the same, the movement
of the body in the Panorama figure is similar to that of the man
in the Figurinhos version.
Another important characteristic of this image, as well as
300 Hemming, 1978, p.90-91.
139
of the others in this group dedicated to Brazilian natives, is
the fact that the figures are inserted in their natural
environment, unlike the other images contained in the album,
with the exception of those concerning the miners. Here once
more we are offered the opposition nature/civilisation, the
realms of colonised/coloniser respectively. It is in that
context that the moral basis for the colonisation of the
indigenous peoples was constructed and their pictorial insertion
in the landscape reflects that perspective. In addition, it also
allowed the artist to complement the figures with the trees and
bushes that were the object of Julião’s scientific pursuits in
the compilation of his Dictionary of Trees and Bushes.
Image 11 shows the indigenous couple dressed in feathered
skirts and interacting with each other in an affectionate manner
that seems to reflect their intimacy. They are farther removed
from the jungle-like scenery that characterises image 10 and the
woman carries a vessel revealing her role as a gatherer rather
then a fierce hunter. They walk towards the artist in an
attitude that contradicts the image of the savage or the
cannibal and represents the 'tamed' native still in a 'natural'
state. They fit the stereotype of the good native whose
perceived innocence gained them a paternalistic protection from
the Church from early on. Although many laws were passed through
time to protect the Brazilian natives from capture and slavery,
and Pombal reinforced the prohibition to do so in 1755, they
continued to be captured and enslaved.
To their left, on the foreground, a big rock is curiously
shaped as a face, perhaps indicating what the coloniser viewed
as ’pagan idolatry’ related to shamanistic practices that were
particular to indigenous societies. Ronaldo Vainfas argued that
these practices were combined with anti-colonial struggle from
140
early colonial times.301 The author recounts episodes throughout
Portuguese and Spanish America where shamans called for the
return to the traditional religions and abandonment of
Christianity taught at the mission-villages. Idolatry is
therefore put in the context of resistance, but Julião's
represents it as an artefact implying its cultral death. The
compositional proximity of this idol/rock element to the
indigenous couple, when added to their nakedness, leaves no
doubt as to where they were to be placed in the scale of
colonial subalternity. Their distancing from nature and movement
towards the artist may also indicate the possibility of
pacification and 'domestication' idealised by the imperial
power.
In image 12, the artist returns to nature by representing
a nude couple who approach each other as if to exchange the
native plants that they hold in their hands. Here the natives
are presented in their most 'natural' state, represented in
their nakedness and by the nature that surrounds them. The
native is also the provider of botanical knowledge. As mentioned
in chapter 1, Linnaeus, the father of the botanical quest,
encouraged his followers to seek among natives, "knowledge of
the natural world.”302 Julião, himself a student of the vegetal
realm, pointed out in this illustration the potential of
indigenous knowledge to the scientific community of his time.
This image reinforces that aspect and demonstrates that
Brazilian indigenous peoples were as much an obstacle to
colonisation as they were central to Portuguese exploitation of
the land's resources.
In the last illustration in this set of images the artist
301 Vainfas, 1992.302 Koerner, 2000, p.152.
141
finally presents the solution to the indigenous problem by
emphasising the possibility and necessity of their
'domestication.' The couple here is the same as the one depicted
in the Four Ports Panorama known as the tamed Tapuyas (image 2).
The couple is now clothed, deprived of native weaponry and the
male figure presents a well delineated moustache, a sign of the
’civilised’ male unknown among native-Americans cultures. The
couple remains close enough to nature to carry the knowledge
provided by their ancestors, but has been sufficiently pacified
to be assimilated into colonial culture and to serve as a
vehicles for access to the frontier world.
III - The Carriers
In what appears to be a transition from the indigenous
theme to that of the activity of the carriers, image 14 portrays
similar figures to the native male on illustration 13
transporting a hammock. In this image Julião once more plays
with isolated elements from other illustrations, re-combining
them to create a new composition. To the figures reporting to
other images of natives, the artist adds the same hammock being
carried by black slaves in image 2. It was common to see along
the royal roads people in hammocks being carried by native
Brazilians.303 The two carriers are fully clothed but remain
barefoot. The leading man exhibits the same type of moustache as
the man in the previous image, while the back carrier has the
same hairstyle. The hammock is suspended on a pole from which
hangs a colourful blanket with patterns that appear to originate
from the work of native weavers. While the weight is supported
on the shoulders of the carriers, where the extremities of the
pole rest, the blanket serves the function of protecting the
303 Santos, 2001, p.34
142
traveller from the sun. Nature is reduced to a foreground with a
few rocks, a cactus and parrot standing on the hammock pole.
Laying in the hammock, a dark haired woman in a white blouse
gazes from behind the blanket covering the hammock. She looks
out onto the road or perhaps addresses the front carrier who
looks back at her. Her serene eyes resemble the female on images
11 and 13, and the idea that she might be a native Brazilian is
reinforced by her means of transport, since the hammock was
reserved for women of lower socio-economic condition.304
Images 15 and 16 show a very different type of
transportation and traveller. These litters were named
serpentinas, the second one more specifically, serpentina de luxo
(luxury serpentina), indicating both the high status of the
owner and the serpent head adornments sculpted at the
extremities of the support pole. I first learnt these
specificities when I encountered one such serpentina de luxo at the
Museum of Padre Toledo in the town of Tiradentes, Minas Gerais.
There, too, lay the answer to my constant question, of how could
anyone be transported comfortably in this manner, when the
streets of colonial towns were built with large uneven paving
stones on extremely steep hills. Slave carriers of these
serpentinas where picked for their robust and elegant figures and
they were trained to walk in coordinated steps in order to
minimise the inevitable bumping inside the seat box.305 After
abolition, this mode of transportation became a source of income
for former slaves, although perhaps due to lack of other
employment choices.
As in image 14, the serpentina illustrations are composed
around the female figures that look out from behind the curtain
304 Nizza da Silva, 2004, p.243.305 On this subject see also Escorel, 2000, p.119.
143
while being carried. The type of transport and the clothing of
the carriers are signifiers of the woman’s social status. Image
15 is similar to the one displayed in the Padre Toledo Museum
and replicated in the middle register of the South Atlantic
Castes canvas (image 46). The woman gazes back directly at the
viewer indicating a self confidence that is absent from the
other two female figures in this set. Her costume and the
serpentina together with the well-dressed carriers establish the
high position of this woman in society and are indicative of her
wealth. Although Lygia Fonseca noted that the group of women
accompanying the serpentina were slaves to the woman being carried,
it is in image 46 that the artist confirms that social status by
referring to he group of women as Mocambas - domestic female
slaves who mostly filled the role of female companions to their
mistress. Therefore, like the tamed Tapuyas in image 2 assert the
identity of the Indigenous couple in image 13, it is image 46
that establishes the identity of the women portrayed in
illustration 15.
The barefoot carriers are beautifully dressed in colourful
blues and yellows matching the litter that they carry and
resembling descriptions made by an Englishman named Lindley in
the eighteenth-century upon his visit to Rio de Janeiro.306 Silvia
Lara has also noted the comments by one French priest who
referred to this odd custom of well-dressed, and yet barefoot,
slaves.307 Beatriz Nizza da Silva referred to these modes of
transportation as urban, particularly in towns and villages with
hilly and narrow streets; each style of litter indicating the
social condition of the person being carried.308 While Carlos
306 Cruls, 1952, p.200. 307 Lara, 2007, p.106.308 Nizza da Silva, 2004, p.243
144
Julião's illustrations emphasize the modes of transportation
associated with the various social conditions of carriers,
carried and accompanying figures, they are not fully put in the
urban context in which they existed. Furthermore the artist does
not realistically portray the difficulties faced by the
carriers, composing their activity on flat ground while
appearing to carry on easily and smoothly with their job.
Image 16 shows a woman of 'alta categoria', or 'high
category', the expression referring here to her social rank.309
The illustration was analysed in chapter 2 being the same at the
centre of the Salvador Panorama (image 2) where it bears the name
Carriage or Litter that the Ladies in the City of Salvador of the Bay of All Saints Use to
go Around. Again, I will mention the difference in the skin colour
of the man leading the group, who in image 16 is a white man and
in image 1 is portrayed in darker skin, indicating the emerging
identity of the mulato; an intermediary category between the
white master and the black slave and a figure reflecting the
ambiguity of having some power over certain groups while
simultaneously being a subaltern to the colonial masters.
Important, too, is to look at this image in terms of its
urban use and, therefore, its function in various geographic
locations. In image 1 the scene takes place in Salvador where
the connection between the higher and the lower parts of the
city was done by carriers.310 In the Figurinhos, the same image can
be inserted in the Southeast region where the second capital was
inevitably connected to the mining areas and the royal roads.
The topography of many towns along these roads, such as
Tiradentes, Mariana or Vila Rica - now Ouro Preto - mirrors the
narrow hilly streets of Salvador. In Rio de Janeiro, the variety
309 Catalogue: Riscos Iluminados de Figurinhos, 1960, p.XIV.310 Nizza da Silva, 2004, p.243.
145
in the modes of transport was much greater and people also used
wheeled carriages pulled by animals.311 But Julião illustrates
solely the manner of transport which used carriers, reinforcing
the social and racial meanings that he meant to attribute to
this set of illustrations, as he himself understood Brazilian
colonial society. Introducing first the military class and the
natives, the artist then uses the theme of transport to
introduce the remaining intermediary ‘castes’ encountered in
eighteenth-century Brazil. Departing from the social and racial
meanings that are deliberately represented in the images of the
carriers, Julião creates a clear racial division between
whiteness and blackness, linking skin colour to social
condition. More than just a record of customs, these
illustrations function as Casta painting in Mexico, in that they
order colonial society in a hierarchy understood according to
gradations of skin colour.
IV - The Masters and the Bureaucrats
Illustrations 17 to 21 portray the white elite of the
colony dressing in a way that nearly resembles the costumes of
the public servants in Serro do Frio composed by skirt and cape
thrown over the shoulder, as described by Geraldo Dutra de
Morais.312 The management of the area was delegated to a network
of public servants that included the military, bureaucrats, and
business men, and favoured the white male. These power
structures worked together to maintain the administration of the
colony and to keep operations running as smoothly as possible.
Because the town halls were the political institution in charge
311 Nizza da Silva, 2004, p.243.312 Miranda, 1972, p.30-35.
146
of organising life in the villages, they were in control of
everything, from social to economic issues, from the faith of
the poor to concessions of shop permits.313 Not that they always
kept the best interests of the state at heart, often challenging
the orders received from the central government in Lisbon.314
Nevertheless, these figures represent the men closer to the
establishment and the metropolitan centre, through whom power
flowed from top to bottom.
The female and male figures in this set of illustrations
wear a large coat thrown over their shoulders, rather then a
cape, as in Dutra de Morais' description. Silvia Escorel
observed the way in which capes and coats were worn over the
shoulder communicated a mute message to a passer by.315 This
particular set of illustrations shows such variations, but we
can only guess whether particular meanings could be expressed in
this manner. All figures portray white couples, with image 20
including a black street seller. Illustrations 17 through 19
point to the upper social position of the male figures. At leg
level we see the extremity of a sword appearing from under the
coat of the males in images 18 and 19. The coats on the figures
in illustration 17 and on the male in illustration 19 are
decorated with golden ornaments, perhaps with gold itself.
Legislation during the colonial period in relation to luxury and
customs banned the use of swords and gold by people of 'lower
condition' and such laws were reinforced by the Pragmática of
1749. Like the men, the female figures are completely wrapped in
a long coat thrown over the shoulder. Their elegant hairstyles
and hats also match those of their partners. The first
313 Furtado, 1999. p.205.314 Anastacia, 2005, p.47.315 Escorel, 2000, p.33.
147
impression is that the figures in this image are meant to
represent couples, or at least relatives, or members of the same
social category. They stand side by side, their differences
pertaining to gender rather than race or social condition.
In illustration 20, Julião substitutes the female figure
in the long coat with a scene where a woman in lighter dress is
served by a street seller; both figure types encountered
previously in the Salvador Panorama (image 1). The white male
figure wearing a somewhat looser coat than the men in the
previous images glances back at the female figure, whose dress
resembles the lundú girl also portrayed in image 2. Her looser
costume indicates a lower social status than the female
portrayed in the three previous illustrations. She does not form
a couple with the male figure and is separated from him,
apparently unaware of the gaze he directs at her. The woman
wears a flower patterned skirt with a matching jacket covering a
white blouse. She is adorned with necklaces, bracelets and
earrings, and wears a lace around her hair. Unlike the women in
the serpentinas and those in illustrations 17, 18 and 19, this
female figure does not hide behind a curtain or a coat. She is
out exposed to the male gaze unlike the secluded white female
from the higher social ranks.
Image 21 shows a hunting scene and the artist brings back
the landscape that characterised the images of the native
Brazilians. This is, however, a different hunting scene where
the female’s most active participation is carrying the dead
birds. The man holds the gun but is distracted from the birds’
flight emerging from the distant river. It is the woman who
points them out to him trying to attract his attention. He
dresses in a curious way with matching trousers and blouse
patterned in white, blue and red stripes. The sailor uniform
148
described on the occasion of the Rosary festivities in Serro do
Frio comes to mind.316 Sailors in blue and white stripes paraded
through the streets followed by natives and finally the king and
queen of Kongo and their court. There is a comedic quality to
this scene where the hunter in the awkward costume looks absent
minded and disinterested in the actual hunt. The female figure,
on the other hand, shows more movement as if gesticulating
towards the sky, pointing out the prey. She is dressed as the
woman buying milk in the previous illustration, but has added a
red cape and a red round flat hat to the ensemble. This renders
it a scene that could not have been easily imagined had it not
been seen. In the background, the fading trees and the mountains
indicate that the frontier is on the horizon; a return to nature
relevant to the hunting theme and a reminder of the geographic
context in which these images were assimilated or conceived.
V) ‘Lighter’ women
Illustrations 22 to 27 show a variety of female figures
differentiated by their costumes. Placed in a minimal landscape
composition, the women on the first three illustrations are
shown in rows resembling the figurative registers of the
Panoramas (chapter 2) and the Atlantic Castes (chapter 4). Images
25 and 26 are dramatised scenes that present a social comment on
colonial romantic encounters. Finally, image 27 offers a
transition to another set of images, that of black woman. Thus,
the illustrations in this set present a rigid division between
white women and women with various degrees of miscegenation that
are closer to a perception of whiteness. While darker skin was
perceived as the sign of the slave body - free blacks and
316 Municípios Mineiros – Serro 23 FM 981 M Cx. 16c Serro e sua história, exposição de posters e slide (flyer) – 7º Festival de Inverno, Julho, 1973, p.3.
149
mulattos often being arrested under suspicion of being run-away
slaves - lighter skin was inevitably associated with freedom in
spite of all the terms used to classify the various castes.317 The
free status in a slave based society is signalled in these
images by the use of footwear, made of shoes and socks, an
element that is absent from the figures of slaves that follow,
who appear barefoot or wearing sandals.318
Like the military regiments and the white couples, the
female figures in these illustrations were drawn facing the
viewer and standing as models in a record of costumes. Although
that may have been the intention of the artist, the division in
groups is deliberately planned in terms of social and racial
difference. Whenever an image includes figures with different
skin colour, the role attributed to each is adequately recorded,
even if in daily life social relationships could permit a less
linear division among the various constructed ethnicities. This
set of female images therefore approaches a metropolitan
perception of society in Brazil with clear racial divisions that
seem to discourage any policies towards the practice of
miscegenation. In fact, among the privileged social group mixed
marriages were practically nonexistent, and miscegenation
derived from mostly illegitimate relationships where non-white
women could nevertheless attempt to secure a better living
standard, take charge of households and estates and often win
their freedom.319 Non-privileged, darker skinned and slave women,
on the other hand, walked the streets with relative freedom,
mingled with the male population and surely became more well-
prepared for the phobias and discriminations of the male
317 Lara, 2002a, p.126.318 Lara, 2002a, p.142.319 Hogemann, 2004, p.16-21; Russell-Wood, 1977.
150
oriented world in which they lived.
Image 22 introduces the religious syncretism of African
and European practices that, in different degrees, permeated all
social layers of colonial society. While the two women on the
right hold a rosary with the crucifix, indicating their Catholic
religious affiliation, the one on the left, in a rather coquettish
pose, exhibits a bolsa de mandinga around her neck (see chapter 2).
We see this element in many of Julião's female figures and in
this illustration there is also a hint that the woman on the
right side is hiding one such pouch hanging from a similar red
cordon. That possibility, allied to the visible crucifix she
also holds, presents the religious syncretism bringing to the
fore women's association with what was perceived negatively as
witchcraft.
Laura de Mello e Souza presented in The Devil and the Land of the
Holy Cross320 an interesting study about the popular religiosity of
the colonial population of Brazil, presenting many different
documented cases of witches accused of using practices in
collaboration with the devil. Along with misogyny and racism the
Iberian mentality also exported to Brazil the opposition of good
and evil, placing in the colony the residence of the latter
which had been expelled from European territory through the
works of the Church. Hence the debate commented by Mello e
Souza, in relation to whether the South American land should be
called Brazil, after the red wood viewed by the priests as the
colour of the devil, or by its first and much more Christian
denomination of Land of the Holy Cross.321 The author points out
the religious syncretism, which had progressively occurred in
Europe to incorporate Christian practices into Europe’s ancient
320 Mello e Souza, 1994.321 Mello e Souza, 2002, p.67
151
pagan traditions. The same occurred in Africa, when the Kongo
converted to Catholicism, and in Brazil when the practices of
African slaves and indigenous South Americans met the European
‘witches’ and were forced to hide behind the accepted dogma
proclaimed by the Catholic Church.322
One of the activities practiced by a witch was, according
to the Inquisition, the making of medicine pouches, such as
these bolsas de mandinga, syncretic objects resulting from the
meeting of paganisms. Curiously enough, the use of such pouches
is documented during the eighteenth-century as mainly a male
element.323 Surprisingly, or maybe not, Julião's Figurinhos leave a
different impression. In the illustrations, the bolsas de mandinga
appear solely on women, apart perhaps from the milk seller in
image 34, who appears to be wearing the amulet around his neck.
Medieval Iberian conceptions demonising women, which resonated
in the colonial patriarchal society of Brazil, may have filtered
into the artist's stylistic choices, not necessarily because he
shared such general conceptions, but because such choices fitted
in what was expected by an audience.
Another clue pointing in that direction is that the white
women wearing a bolsa de mandinga are either put in context of a
‘romantic scene’ or wear popular dress. Both costumes worn by
the women in the extremities of illustration 22 are similar to
the women portrayed on images 25 and 26. The female figure on
the left of illustration 22 adopts the same pose, the same
turban underneath a round hat, the same blouse style with the
long open sleeves, and even the same gesture of slightly lifting
the skirt with the tip of two fingers, as the female in
illustration 25. Both women are versions of the same female type
322 Mello e Souza, 2002, p.67323 Mello e Souza, 2002, p.211.
152
suggesting a young woman who takes pride in her appearance and
calls for male attention, including that of much older men. As
mentioned in chapter four, illustration 25 is another version of
the Hermit Beggar, the first image in the upper register of the
Four Ports Panorama (Image 2) and clearly a comment on a social
situation that was surely quite common to be noticed with such
wit.
Similarly, the figure on the right hand side of
illustration 22 appears again, in a different version, in the
privacy of the home, where she lets her hair down and turns away
from the officer in image 26. Like the men enveloped in their
coats, this male figure merely observes the woman by his side.
It is her attitude that speaks for both of them and indicates
what type of relationship they might have had. Both the women
portrayed in these romantic scenes are brunettes and their skin
is darker than that of the women in images 22 to 24. Their
ethnicity is ambiguous, but together with the mulatas on
illustration 27, they form the intermediary castes, non-white
but free, that composed colonial Brazil and were abundantly
subjected to the patriarchal functioning of society.
Skin colour in a woman determined how she was perceived by
society, and Julião's stylistic choices reflect and reinforce
the stereotype. His method of classification reflects the
‘doubt’ that was often expressed in documents by the
authorities, when they encountered people who could be pardo or
mulato, meaning non-white but closer to whiteness or blackness
respectively, and whose individual features, such as hair,
mouth, nose and face, could determine the perception of their
ethnicity. One obvious example of this was presented in chapter
2 with the case of the enslaved Canarim, who was finally freed on
the basis that he looked like a native Brazilian and therefore
153
should be granted the same rights. Another case presented by
Jocélio Teles dos Santos was the classificatory system
elaborated by the Santa Casa da Mesiricórdia in Salvador, a state
orphanage where children were categorised in terms of skin
colour, often using terms such as pardo disfarçado, pardo escuro, não
muito escuro ou não muito claro (disguised pardo, dark pardo, not so dark or not so
light pardo) and so on, reflecting doubt on a child’s degree of
miscegenation.324 Appearance, facial features or one’s phenotype,
as well as the clothing materials accompanying the child, were
the additional components that could determine one’s position in
the orphanage’s racial categorisation. Similarly, in Goa, a
Jesuit school in the sixteenth-century already used categories
to differentiate its students. These were classified under
Reinoes (Portuguese born), Castiços (born in Asia of Portuguese
parents), Mestiços (mixed Portuguese and Asian), Canarins, Chinese,
Bengalis, Peguans, Kaffirs or Bantu, Moors (former Muslims); a
linguistic equivalent to Casta painting in Mexico that
demonstrates the ‘ethnic’ classificatory practices of the
Portuguese empire.325
The women on illustration 23 bring to mind paper dolls on
top of which different paper clothes can be placed, forming
different models and hairstyles. They all pose in the same
manner, standing upright, feet together and toes pointing
outwards, all wearing white stockings and buckled shoes. Julião
brings back the ladies in the long coats, suggesting the cold
winter of the mining region or perhaps exposure to the winds of
Serro do Frio. In illustration 24 the women dress with less
austerity. The first one poses casually wearing a white turban
tight with lace on top of the head in the manner of the folk
324 Teles dos Santos, 2005, p.120-130.325 Boxer, 1977, p.250.
154
headscarfs worn by Portuguese women. She rests her hands on her
waist belt, wrapped in a large red robe with the ream of her
skirt showing. The second and third female figures stand
elegantly wearing costumes which are similar in their cut, but
perceived as being worn in different contexts through the device
of the red roses in the woman on the left and the mantilha in the
woman on the right. The mantilha was a black lace veil that could
be pulled over the face and which was often worn to attend mass.
It became iconic of the beata, the devoted Catholic woman and a
preacher of morality and 'good customs' that contributed to the
mentality of ‘decency’ being attached to seclusion. This manner
of dress can be seen again in the middle register of image 47,
where it is identified as belonging to a fidalga, meaning a woman
of the nobility.
Finally, the fourth woman in image 24 wears a costume
closer to the dress style of the women in illustrations 15, the
black women in image 30 and the mocambas in the middle register
of illustration 46. The way she wears her turban is also
identical, but her light skin may indicate the artist's
perception of her distance from African roots. In that case the
turban signals an emerging Brazilian identity combining elements
from Europe and Africa. Exhibited by white and black women
regardless of skin colour the turban confers a geographical
identity not found in the figures from Asia portrayed in the
Four Ports Panorama (image 2) or the figures from Portugal in
illustration 47.
The female figures in illustration 27 close this set of
'lighter' female figures. They could also be placed in the set
that follows, which relates to the black women of the colony and
where this way of dress prevails. Their skin is fairer than that
of the women that follow, but in the set of illustrations that
155
is dedicated to free non-black women, they represent perhaps the
last stage before total blackness: the mulata, transitional
figure in Julião's scheme of colours and one of the intermediary
castes in the imperial classificatory system. The images are
organised in a palette, where the gradual skin blackening of the
female figure follows the signs of her condition of privilege to
her condition of servitude and physical labour. The following
two sets represent the last colours in that palette, the black
women slaves of colonial Brazil.
VI - Black women
Unlike white women, black women worked everywhere: in the
plantations, the home and selling products on the streets for
their own gain, or for that of their masters. They were part of
the ethnic majority and they were everywhere. In the mines freed
and captive mulatos and blacks formed a third of the population,
a majority that raised concerns about the possibility of
resistance.326 Women in general suffered from abuses of power, but
black women due to their social condition were more exposed to
it. In the region of Serro do Frio there are several accounts of
extreme cruelty on the part of the Police Chief and the military
who raped, killed, and jailed as they pleased in a land far away
from the centre of power, but where power came with tragic
consequences for the subaltern ranks.327
In spite of that, female strategies of resistance in that
same area, where they constituted only 17% of the total
population in 1738, proved quite successful. This is remarkable
considering that out of such a small percentage, 63% were freed
326 Mello e Souza, 1982, p.142327 Figueiredo, 1993, p.182-183.
156
women, against 37% of their male counterparts.328 High manumission
rates in Minas Gerais led the authorities to believe that either
slaves were being permitted to buy their freedom in gold, or the
masters were freeing their slave 'concubines' and their
children.329 Outside Rio de Janeiro, in the mining region, the
sexual imbalance caused by what Russell-Wood has called, 'an
absence of white women and a shortage of black women',330 appears
to have empower the few women there to their advantage and that
of their children.
In spite of the legislation that prohibited the use of
gold and high quality textiles by black and mulato women, a well
dressed slave was always a sign of her or his master's wealth.
For that reason, such laws were seldom followed, which is why
the 1749 Pragmática reiterated the same old ideas, threatening
infractors with fines, prison, and corporal punishment.331 And so,
the ladies of the upper social ranks were accompanied by
numerous slaves dressed in the finest latest European materials.
Like costumes and skin colour, luxury was in this way accepted
as a determinant of one's own identity. Outside this context,
however, as Silvia Lara has observed, solitary luxury was ill-
received as a sign of prostitution.332 Sex work was a means of
survival for women, particularly black women as it appears from
the devassas, - judicial and religious inquiries into “crimes
against morality and good customs.”333 Slaves were often sent to
the streets by their masters and rented out for work, any work.
But such activities could also lead to a life of luxury and
328 Luna, 1981, p.75329 Russell-Wood, 1982, p.111.330 Russell-Wood, 1982, p.116.331 Lara, 2007, p.96-101.332 Lara, 2007, p.115.333 Del Priore, 2000, p.34. See also Luciano Figueiredo, 1993 and Laura de Mello e Souza, 1999 AND 1982
157
perceived high status. In Serro do Frio, prostitutes were
accused of parading themselves and their well dressed slaves in
litters, as the figures in illustrations 15 and 16.334 However,
for the large majority, the mining region was an area of
poverty, prostitution, and hard work, where the documented lives
of popular women indicate a harsh life in contrast with the idea
of wealth, normally associated with the mines, and translated in
the regions' beautiful and wealthy decorated Baroque churches.335
Even so, Laura de Mello e Souza advanced the idea that
about 45% of mulata and black women of Vila Rica - now Ouro Preto
- were heads of their own household and family during the 1770’s
decade.336 Of these, 83% were unmarried women, which by itself
speaks volumes about either their ability to empower themselves
in a patriarchal society or their rejection for marriage on the
basis of their subaltern condition. The same situation applied
to other captaincies, where about 30% of women were head of
households, uncovering the possibility for many histories of
resistance played off by the less privileged women of the
Brazilian patriarchal colony. However, these women must have
gone through tremendous hardships and discrimination, since
families formed outside the ‘sanctity’ of wedlock were usually
miscegenated and poor, forming part of the majority that deeply
worried the authorities in their attempt to control the
populace.
The clear division marked by Julião in the Figurinhos between
lighter and dark skin is introduced with illustration 28, an
image that cuts abruptly with the emerging identities of the
mulato women and leads the viewer on to that of African women.
334 Figueiredo, 1993, p.83335 Figueiredo, 1993.336 Mello e Souza, 1982, p.146.
158
Illustrations 29 to 32 bring back the round skirts, shawls,
turbans and hats that were common among the white female
population, as seen in the previous set of images. Image 28,
placed in between the two sets of female figures, reminds the
viewer of the origin of the women that follow it. Their way of
dressing is noticeably different from that of all other female
figures. The women are beautifully adorned with jewellery and
the scarification marks of their culture, which we have
previously seen in the Black Mina Woman of Bahia in the Salvador
Panorama (image 1) and the Black woman with tray of sweets and bottle of
water in the Four Ports Panorama (image 2). In a way, the women in
image 28 allude to the initial images of the natives before
their ‘taming’ and forced conversion to the custom of wearing
clothes.
According to Henry John Drewal, if slaves were allowed to
bring anything from Africa, it would have been the beads on
their body.337 The fact that the slaves were given clothes meant
that they had to appropriate certain European elements and re-
code them while creating a diasporean identity. In doing so,
they invented 'traditional' costumes that are today identified
as part of an Afro-Brazilian identity. An example of this is the
Bahiana dress, today a trademark of Brazilian culture that
tourists are eager to photograph on the streets of Salvador. The
black skinned woman, powerful and spiritual, recreated herself
in Brazil using the elements of an alien costume and acquiring
her own unique identity, that of the Bahiana. Theirs was, as Eric
Hobsbawn put it, a response to a new situation, an adaptation in
which, "new traditions simply resulted from the inability to use
or adapt old ones."338
337 Drewal, 1998, p.180.338 Hobsbawm & Ranger, 1996, p.5.
159
With that in mind, the costumes worn by the black women in
these images did not simply imply a ‘civilising’ process that
could be used to justify the captivity of Africans. They became
also invented traditions rooted on a culture of resistance that
was active in creating its own diasporean identity, rather than
leaving it to the oppressor who forced this novel situation upon
them. Brazil represented the purgatory, where lost souls could
redeem themselves. Father Antonio Vieira, the famous priest
defender of the Brazilian indigenous peoples against the slave
traders, supported African slavery on the basis that in Brazil,
Africans could not free their bodies but at least they could
free their souls, something impossible in Africa where the devil
reigned.339 Illustration 28 therefore appears in this context of
transition from one culture to its new resilient identities. For
the coloniser it stands by itself as a record of a particular
way of 'savage' dress mirroring the set of images related to the
indigenous peoples of Brazil. Here too, nakedness implies a
condition that is remote from a western perception of
civilisation. As we will see in the next chapter, the same
figures appear in image 46, where they are allocated to Angola
and referred to as pretos do mato ('blacks from the bush').
The execution of the figures, however, is very delicate,
with the same attention to detail that characterises all of
Carlos Julião’s work. Their nudity and skin colour immediately
identifies them as African, since these are the only figures in
the Figurinhos dressing in this manner and contrasting with the
other black women in the images that follow. Their exotic
quality lays in their body marks, their adornments, and the way
the cloth is defined around their black bodies. Also, in
contrast with the other figures, they do not carry any of the
339 Mello e Souza, 1994, p.79.
160
accoutrements of some of the black figures that follow, which
are identified with Africa. Instead they exhibit crucifixes
hanging from their necks, perhaps a sign of the African
Catholicism that developed from the first contacts between the
Portuguese and the Kongo kingdom in the fifteenth-century.
In contrast, illustration 29 presents a black woman
dressed as the mulatas of the Panoramas (images 1 and 2) and some
of the 'lighter women' in the previous set. To her dark skin,
the artist adds the accoutrements that report to her African
ancestry. They hang from her belt and were enumerated by Silvia
Escorel as: a key, associated with Exú, the lord of the
crossroads and messenger of the Yoruba Orishas, an animal tooth
against envy, two beads of ambar and two beads of coral for the
Orisha Iansã, two hearts for the sacred hearts of Mary and
Jesus, and two pouches, one for tobacco.340 The religious
syncretism is here again signified and reinforced by the
crucifix she holds in her hand and of which Julião thoroughly
replicated the shadow in the lapel of her inner cape.
Identified as slaves by Lygia Fonseca in the Figurinhos
catalogue, the female figures on illustrations 30, 31 and 32
present variants of the same style of dress composed of large
round skirts, blouses and capes. Like the woman on illustration
29, the two women on the right images 31 and 32 wear sandals
rather than socks and buckled shoes like the other black female
figures. One of the most prevalent accessories on the black
female body is the turban, wrapping the hair upwards and closing
in a frontal knot. The turbans worn by the women on image 32 are
covered with a black round hat, like the ones worn by many of
the white female figures. The costumes do not appear to vary
much between white and black females, although some elements and
340 Escorel, 2000, p.129
161
accessories are more prevalent in black women. These women seem
to report to the African slaves on illustration 28, showing the
'civilising' side of slavery. The nudity and signs of
primitivism have now disappeared because to turn African women
into domestic captives meant an attempt to erase such signs.
VII - Street Vendors
If the black women described above mark a racial division
clearly observed in the Brazil that Carlos Julião travelled,
they are also a transition to the topic of labour and the
Brazilian Southeast economy of which black slaves were the
backbone. The topic appears in the Figurinhos for the first time
in this set of illustrations, if we discount the figure of the
milkman and the carriers, who illustrated previous themes
relating to the masters. Images 33 through 36 show the street
vendors that populated the streets in towns, villages and rural
areas. From the military point of view they presented a risk in
the mining region, because they often sold their goods close to
the mines and they circulated more or less freely, often
communicating with the Quilombo communities.341
Following the African tradition, where women were largely
in charge of the commercial aspect of the economy, the black
street vendors in Minas Gerais were mostly female.342 This aspect
is even noticeable in the number of cooking utensils that these
black Minas Gerais women left in their wills to their
descendents.343 As we will see in chapter 4, lower class women
also dominated street commerce in Portugal. In the mines, and in
contrast fixed vending shops were owned mostly by white men,
341 Del Priore, 2000, p.20.342 França, 1995, p.82.343 França, 1995, p.140-141.
162
many of whom were new Christians, which, as Júnia Furtado
asserted, would have placed them in a less privileged position
had they lived in Portugal.344
Image 33 shows two female street vendors who could still
fit the female types shown in the previous set of images. They
are, however, engaged in an activity that, together with their
costumes and accessories, denotes their condition as slave
vendors. Again, the viewer is confronted with the same style of
dress, the round skirt and the loose shirt, the headscarf and
the capes. The women meet while working, the one on the left
carrying sugar cane and fruit and the one on the right carrying
poultry. Their heads support the weight of the merchandise, the
headscarfs and hat certainly softening the burden, and they
appear to have mastered this activity. The woman on the left is
accompanied by a dog and carries a blonde child on her back,
secured by the cloth wrapped around the woman’s torso. The
presence of the child presents a twofold interpretation since
this child could be either the young master child given to her
care, or her own child, consequence of a miscegenated
relationship whether mutually consensual or not. In the district
of Rio das Velhas alone, about 40% of African single women
declared, throughout the eighteenth-century, of their
illegitimate children, making this image a common sight that the
artist confronted in the region.345
Image 34 is another version of two known figures seen
before in the Panoramas. The female on the left is another
version of the Black woman with tray of sweets and bottle of water (image 2).
Their costumes are different, but both women stand in a mirror
position in relation to each other, with inverted arms holding
344 Furtado, 1998, p.238.345 França, 1995, p.125.
163
the same objects. The man on the right is the milk seller that
Julião portrayed in the Salvador Panorama (image 1), and in image
20 of the Figurinhos. Here the seller figure glances at the woman
in the same way that the white man looked back at the white
woman being served in image 20. The repetition of this figure
throughout Julião’s work may indicate the predominance of one
such character in the streets of the Brazilian towns and
villages, or quite simply this was a character that fascinated
the artist.
The images in this set confirm that street commerce in the
mining region was, for the larger part, in the hands of women.
Image 35 shows once more two female figures. The one on the
right hand side is the same as the Black Mina Woman from Bahia who
appears in the Salvador Panorama (image 1). The costume is
composed of the same elements and she is again accompanied by a
dog. Next to her, a fish seller is composed of the same costume
elements an also carries a child on her back. Both wear the
striped Pano da Costa (literally 'coastal cloth') derived from
Yoruba culture and documented since the seventeenth-century.346
The panos were traded by the Portuguese up and down the west
African coast and later in Brazil.347 Bahianas, the black women
from Brazil's Northeast wear these Panos around their shoulders.
According to Master Abdias, a contemporary weaver from Bahia,
these Panos had a political and religious significance understood
within the Afro-Brazilian community.348 The way in which it was
worn, whether tied around the waist, bosom, neck or shoulder,
communicated one's hierarchical position in the Afro-Brazilian
community.349
346 Omari, 1984, p.22.347 Sieber, 1972, p.170.348 Carvalho, 1990, p.22-23.349 Lody, 2005, p.193.
164
Bahianas were documented in the mining regions in the
eighteenth-century, and Lygia Fonseca discussed the Bahiana
elements that compose the costumes and accessories of the black
figures portrayed by Carlos Julião in the Figurinhos album. In that
sense, this Mina woman of Bahia is an predecessor to the Bahiana,
whether she is inserted in Bahia or in Minas Gerais to fit the
artist's pictorial purposes. In City of Women, Ruth Landes
describes the women of Salvador, capital city of Bahia, “in
colourful skirts and turbans and white blouses.”350 Most of the
black women in the Figurinhos hide their blouses under large capes.
They belong in the area of Minas Gerais and Rio de Janeiro, not
in Bahia, but like the Bahianas they perform the same commercial
activities that led nineteenth-century French artist Jean
Baptiste Debret to write about “free black women and their
activities”, in which he describes the street vendors as
“independent workers“.351
Finally, illustration 36 presents two male slaves placed
against the fading outline of a mountainous region. On the left
we can see the grass carrier and on the right the familiar
figure of the milk seller, but one that is here put in the
context of resistance and punishment. The milk seller does not
vary here in terms of his costume from the other similar
figures, although it is possible to argue that the elements that
compose his costume are in rags and not as composed as the
previous milk sellers. What captures the attention of the
viewer, however, is the iron collar around his neck indicating
that this individual was a runaway slave who got caught and was
sent back to his life of servitude.
The pattern in the cloth that he wears around the waist
350 Landes, 1947, p.17.351 Debret, 1972, p.215-218.
165
places him closer to the woman shown in the previous
illustration. The Pano da Costa here indicates that this man was
more than a slave or a run-away slave for that matter. He had a
position within a censored religious practice, which he
communicated openly, meeting the artist's gaze, unafraid. The
iron collar he wears acquires new meanings and becomes a sign of
this figure's resistance to the condition imposed upon him.
Julião portrayed many milk men, but in this illustration the
artist throws the warning that any street seller was potentially
dangerous to the colonial order. The artist's other figure, the
grass seller, seems aware of this as he walks away from being
associated with a 'bad element.' The image functions as a
warning to runaway slaves or to those associated with them, and
represents an issue of security for the colonial order that
Julião as a military man had the duty to keep.
VIII - Queens and Kings of Kongo
Images 37 to 41 represent one of the most important
celebrations that African descendants could indulge in during
the colonial period and throughout the Portuguese empire. In the
Four Ports Panorama (image 2) Julião depicted a group of figures
he entitled Black Women of the Rosary, who relate to this topic. The
arrival of the Portuguese in the Kongo region at the end of the
fifteenth-century initially established friendly trade relations
between the two kingdoms. Significantly, it quickly led to the
conversion to Christianity of the King of Kongo - who adopted
the Portuguese name of Afonso, thus becoming Afonso I of Kongo -
and by extension, of many among the Bantu-speaking peoples of
the African region.352 Early on, the King of Kongo sent embassies
to Portugal on diplomatic missions. These often included young
352 Boxer, 1961, p.117.
166
Africans who were to be educated under the Catholic faith and
tradition.353 Charles Boxer described how a reluctant Pope
consecrated an African bishop354 as early as 1514, when the
Portuguese sent one such embassy to Rome, to officially declare
to the Pope the conversion of the Kingdom of Kongo.355
The Bantu people could not have been oblivious to such an
accelerated process of transculturation - a concept implying
that a dominant culture communicates new values to subordinated
peoples who “determine to varying extents what they absorb into
their own, and what they use it for.”356 This transcultural
process was visible in the adoption of European styles of dress
and Portuguese noble titles,357 as well as in the incorporation of
some Portuguese cultural elements and popular manifestations
such as the “theatrical tradition of battles between Christians
and Moors” in the Iberian Peninsula.358 Nicholas Mirzoeff observed
that transculturation in Kongo was a process involving the
destruction of the kingdom into a series of tribal groups,
taking "the most violent form imaginable, forcing the peoples of
Kongo to acculturate to new political realities and create new
cultural practices from religion to art and medicine.”359
The increasing power of Christianity would soon clash with
African religious practices that were not acceptable to the
Catholic priests, even though Bantu people did not perceive them
as conflicting with Catholicism. Increased centralisation under
a Catholic kingdom led to conflicts and civil wars that changed
the nature of slavery's traditional rules in the region.353 Boxer, 1961, p.117.354 Boxer, 1961, p.117.355 Lara, 2002b, p.81.356 Pratt, 1992, p.6.357 Boxer, 1961, p.118.358 Lara, 2002b, p.81.359 Mirzoeff, 1999, p.137-138.
167
Previously limited to criminals and war prisoners, slavery
became extended to the nobility, and many important figures of
Kongo society crossed the Atlantic in the slave ships.360 These
slaves re-created the hierarchical structure of Kongo as well as
the ceremonies that accompanied and legitimated it, performing
their own political structures from within the Catholic lay
black brotherhoods of Our Lady of the Rosary.
The interpretation of Catholicism in Kongo, however, did
not establish a new religion, but was manifested in a “syncretic
cult” which derived from Bakongo cosmology.361 Wyatt MacGaffey and
John Thornton have written about an “African Catholicism”
particular to Kongo’s own interpretation of the Christian
religion through the transculturation process. In what MacGaffey
called a “dialogue of the deaf” the people of Kongo seem to have
interpreted the religion brought by the Portuguese according to
their own “cultural codes”.362 As James Sweet has put forward it
may even be that in Kongo, people believed that the Portuguese
were embracing Bantu beliefs and worldviews, rather than the
other way around.363 The Crowning of the King of Kongo was
therefore linked to the Christianization of the African kingdom
of Kongo in the late fifteenth-century after the arrival of the
Portuguese in the region.364
The first coronations of black kings and queens took place
in Portugal during the fifteenth and sixteenth-centuries, and
their festivities were modelled after the African embassies,
although it is not clear how the transition from theatrical
360 Mello e Souza, 2002, p.74.361 Thornton, 1984, p.151.362 Mello e Souza, 2002, p.63-66.363 Sweet, 2003, p.113.364 Mello e Souza, 2002, p.19.
168
embassies to coronations was made.365 Such cultural performances
would not seem displaced in Portugal where very early on
Africans were incorporated into national celebrations, as a
political move to assert the civilising mission that the
Portuguese perceived as their god given natural right.366 That
tradition continued far into the eighteenth century, and was at
Julião’s time used to show royal power in terms of the peoples
that the Empire had subjugated. Such was Julião's outlook as an
imperial servant and a man who had been trained to serve the
state and not the Church. For African people, however, it was a
manifestation of their identity, deeply rooted in Africa even
though the title of the festival did not suggest it.
Furthermore, the festival acquired a political significance for
Africans in the diaspora. Coronations were effective after an
election took place, this being the customary mode of leadership
legitimacy in the Kingdom of Kongo.367
The ceremony of the coronation took place in Church and
was sacramented by a Catholic priest. As recorded in Julião’s
illustrations, the occasion was then carried on to the street
and performed by a lively procession of courtiers and musicians,
often including theatrical battles, which symbolically
celebrated the victory of the Christian monarchy - both in
Portugal as in the Kongo - against the ‘infidel’. After all,
such victories had at one instance been achieved under the
banner of the Rosary, believed to have been responsible for the
victory of the crusaders against the Muslims in the battle of
Lepanto in the late sixteenth-century.368 The active participation
of laymen and women in the Catholic devotion has been
365 Lara, 2002b, p.81.366 Lara, 2002b, p.81.367 Lara, 2002b, p.84.368 Vaillé, 1910.
169
denominated “baroque religiosity” and it led devout people to
celebrate their faith outside the Church and into the streets,
private homes, and the brotherhoods.369 Affonso Ávila considers
that the Brazilian baroque manifested itself in these popular
festivals, which served liturgical and ritual purposes,
mentioning “courtly and street pageantry that combined music,
dance, theatre and poetry” and included “the participation of
blacks and indigenous peoples.”370 Ávila puts an emphasis on the
ludic and visual role of the baroque culture, common to Iberia
and Latin America, which included theatrical elements and
implied a certain resistance - a “rebellion through play”
against both the Reformation and absolutism.371
However, Julião’s illustrations are deprived of the lively
exuberance of the Baroque festival and they do not reflect the
role of the brotherhoods in both the coronation and the social
structure in African Diasporean societies. In Brazil, the event
incorporated dancers and musicians and by the eighteenth-century
aspects of Baroque taste in the grandiose, the musical, and the
colourful were noted in descriptions such as those of Francisco
Calmon, who described the event that took placed during the
commemorations of the wedding of Princess Maria to her uncle
Pedro in 1760. In what Silvia Lara called a “literary genre”,
descriptions such as these were often commemorations dedicated
to noble patrons or to the local institutions that organised the
events.372 Similarly to the dedication to Rafael Pinto Bandeira
that Julião compiled in the execution of the 43 Figurinhos
watercolours, descriptions of local customs could also be
offered as commemorative works to the higher ranks of colonial
369 Soares, 2000, p.133.370 Avila, 2001, p.118371 Avila, 2001, p.120.372 Lara, 2002b, p.74.
170
society.
The Iberian precedent in the celebration of the Festival
may have made its acceptance in the colonies easier.373 In Brazil
where black slaves were brought from different regions in
Africa, it seems curious that the term King of Kongo prevailed
above any other geographical signifier. After the late
sixteenth-century, following a period of political instability
in Kongo, when civil wars plagued the region, slaves trafficked
from Central Africa to Brazil predominated, particularly in Rio
de Janeiro.374 This situation went on until the late eighteenth
century, when the slave trade began to focus mainly on the Benin
coast.375 And it was in the eighteenth century that the provenance
of the royalty in the celebrations was specified and
denomination of Kings of Kongo first appeared.376 The predominance
of Central African traditions was therefore asserted at that
time playing an important role in the formation of Afro-
Brazilian identity. Ethnicity was certainly something of which
slaves in colonial Brazil were aware. As Douglas Chambers has
demonstrated, if slaves did not themselves identify with
particular groups, then they were identified by the colonial
authorities.377 Therefore, the identities formed belonged to
affinity groups, who shared, “proper name, language, cultural
identity, links to a homeland, [and] collective memories.”378
In the mining region, the Brotherhoods of the Rosary of
the blacks appeared in 1728 at the town of Vila do Principe, the
373 Kiddy, 2002, p.158.374 See for instance Kiddy (2002) and Sweet (2003), whose main thesis implies the continuous assertion of the predominance of Central Africans among other slaves in Rio de Janeiro.375 Sweet, 2003, p.18.376 Kiddy, 2002, p.257.377 Chambers, 2001, p.25378 Chambers, 2001, p.27
171
main town in the district of Serro do Frio, "well policed,
mandatory residency to the administrative, judicial and military
high authorities," and the "political capital of the Northern
mining backlands."379 The festivities there described reveal a
joyful event with sailors and natives, all participating and
singing “chants of African reminiscence.”380 The absent-minded
white male hunter in illustration 21, dressed in a sailor like
costume, may have been a participant in one such festival. By
1759, the brothers had built their own church and made their
festivities famous throughout the region.381 Black Brotherhoods
often raised money to free slaves, and some, like the
Brotherhood of the Rosary in Vila Rica, now Ouro Preto, were
able to amass great wealth and function independently.382 Many
were even able to build their own churches, often offering
decorations with references to Africa, which clearly fell out of
the European Christian iconographic tradition.383
There was no lack of African royal symbols to look for in
Brazil. The break with Kongo traditional slavery rules that I
have previously mentioned led to the forced dislocation of
people of nobility, leading to oral reports of a local king from
Kongo who would have been taken with his subjects to Brazil.
Known as Chico Rei, he worked in bondage in the interior of Minas
Gerais, where he is believed to have bought his freedom and that
of his people.384 Profiting from the mining industry in the town
of Vila Rica, now Ouro Preto, Chico Rei is believed to have formed
the local brotherhood dedicated to the patron saint of slaves,
379 Municipios Mineiros, 1714-1914 - Nunes, p.3.380 Santos, 2001, p.54. See also Municipios mineiros, 4)381 Santos, 2001, p.54382 Bailey, 2005, p.62.383 Tribe, 1996, p.75.384 Tribe, 1994, p.193.
172
Our Lady of the Rosary.385 In the same way, the Warrior-Queen
Njinga of Matamba, in present day Angola, became also a symbol
in the Brazilian coronations of Kongo royalty. It is known that
she adopted the European dress and Crown when travelling in
embassies to meet the Portuguese for political negotiations.386
Her fierce resistance against the Portuguese during the
seventeenth-century was legendary and she became one of the
figures evoked in the black royal coronations of Brazil.387
There are five plates in the Figurinhos that relate to the
Festival of Our Lady of the Rosary and the crowning of black
kings and queens. Illustration 37 was analysed in chapter two in
comparison with the group of figures in the Four Ports Panorama
that Julião entitled Black Women of the Rosary (Image 2). Following
the young musician, the women represent beggars collecting money
in large plates to fund the festivities of the Rosary. Two of
them wear three-pointed hats, a sign that Silvia Escorel
attributes to a higher position in the hierarchy of the
brotherhood.388 As in the troops with their different colours and
head gears, codified signs communicated one's position in a
particular social group.
The illustrations in this set constitute an assemblage of
figures which could be isolated from, or incorporated in, other
illustrations and classified accordingly. Image 39, for
instance, shows a crowned black queen richly dressed and
ornamented, wearing a crown and a long cloak held by a barefoot
black slave. Another similar figure holds an umbrella above the
queen’s head. The group could stand for itself as an interesting
record of customs, but to put it in the context of the festival,
385 Tribe, 1994, p.193; Mello e Souza, 2002, p.312-313.386 Mello e Souza, 2002, p.108.387 Kiddy, 2002, p.175.388 Escorel, 2000, p.134.
173
Julião chose to include five figures of dancers and musicians,
which are variants of the same figure type with slight changes
in dress and pose. The preoccupation of the artist in the
portrayal of these figures is clearly the visual description of
accoutrements such as clothing, jewellery, objects, and musical
instruments carried by the figures.
Julião appears to have created a template of different
clothes and accoutrements, inserted into fixed body types, which
were themselves composites of different elements such as arms
and feet pointing in different directions to suggest different
types of movement. A clue into this template of body parts and
costumes is offered by the image illustrating the procession of
the Kongo Queen in image 38 and that of the Kongo King in image
41. The difference in the manner of dress of the musicians does
not mask the fact that their pose is identical – each female
figure in image 38 has a male counterpart in image 41 - removing
the individual character of each figure and creating a generic
type whose gender is addressed solely through the type of
costume. The exception to this is the drummer present in
illustration 38 but absent from the King's group of figures in
image 41. Instead, Julião placed the same female black figure
type that appears throughout his work; a female resembling the
slave beggars that illustrate image 37 and the Black women of the
Rosary group in the Four Ports Panorama (image 2).
Image 40 presents the viewer with the royal couple
surrounded by children courtiers and appearing in beautiful
coral colours. The King exhibits a cross in a necklace, a square
cross rather than the Latin cross or crucifix of the Rosary. The
former type of cross is closer to Kongo cosmological sign of the
Yowa and it may have been in those terms that the crucifix was
initially understood when first introduced by the Portuguese in
174
Kongo.389 The symbol expressed continuity of human life and it was
circularly composed around a cross, with the horizontal line
dividing, "the mountain of the living world from its mirrored
counterpart in the kingdom of the dead"; the latter called by
Kongo people by the name of Kalunga.390 Art Historian Robert Farris
Thompson described how the Yowa was understood by Kongo people:
"God is imagined at the top, the dead at the bottom,and water in between. The four disks at the points ofthe cross stand for the four moments of the sun, andthe circumference of the cross the certainty ofreincarnation: the especially righteous Kongo personwill never be destroyed but will come back in the nameor body of progeny, or in the form of an everlastingpool, waterfall, stone, or mountain."391
Although philosophically animistic, Kongo spirituality
gave room for Catholicism since both cosmologies had the common
belief in an afterlife. The Atlantic ocean they had crossed came
to symbolise the world of death, the Great Kalunga that separated
them from the world of the living to where they would return in
different forms to fulfill the sacred continuity of life. The
crucifix worn by the Kongo King in image 40 denotes therefore a
cosmology and worldview reporting to Kongo. And while the King
presents European elements such as the crown, shoes, and cape,
the Yowa/Rosary rests on his naked torso and the lower part of
his body is simply covered by a cloth resembling that of the
African slave women in image 28.
As José Ramos Tinhorão noted, the rosary was and still is
popularly worn around the neck in Brazil, following African
traditions where priests of the African religions wore the
rosary like a necklace to disguise their true spiritual389 Thompson, 1984, p.108.390 Thompson, 1984, p.109.391 Thompson, 1984, p.109.
175
identity.392 Julião's use of the rosary as a symbol worn in the
coronations communicated to the Portuguese that this was a
Catholic event performed by docile slaves who had embraced
civilisation, the word of the Church and were now faithful
subjects of the empire.
Be it Africa, Latin America, or the Iberian Peninsula,
those who had seen the festivities in such places would
recognize the Festival of Our Lady of the Rosary and its
crowning of a black King and Queen.393 Julião chose to dedicate
five plates of the Figurinhos to the topic of Kongo royalty,
registering a curious and yet recognisable event, that offered
the European viewer a sense of ‘stability’ and commonality of
‘entertainment’ in both Portugal and Brazil. At the same time it
reflected the means by which black brotherhoods were able to
secure social cohesion among Africans and their descendants
outside Africa. What the images hide is the existence, right
under the surveillant eyes of the empire, of an African culture
of resistance that persisted in Brazil by performing a
collective historical memory rooted in Kongo. In Minas Gerais,
the settling of lay religious brotherhoods created the
conditions to manifest one African festival with all the
exuberance that the wealth of the mines could afford to express,
in baroque terms, an African Catholicism with political
overtones. It is to the production of such wealth that I turn
now, as I analyse the last set of images in the Figurinhos album;
that of the miners.
IX - The Miners
In 1771, the Portuguese state decided to create the 'royal
392 Tinhorao, 1988, p.127.393 Mello e Souza, 2002, p.159-167.
176
extraction' in the diamond mining region. This measure reflected
the preoccupation of the establishment with tax evasion on the
part of the diamond contractors in the area. The Livro da Capa Verde
(Green Cover Book) laid out the new hierarchical positions in
the mining district in Brazil. It stated that the area was now
to be put under the control of one police chief, one officer,
and three cashiers, who reported directly to Lisbon.394 The police
chief became the sole person who could contract miners and their
slave force. One such contract was given to an army captain who
gained permission to use 600 slaves in the exploitation of the
soil's wealth, 400 of whom worked in Serro do Frio and the other
200 in Pilões, situated in today's state of Goiás, just North of
Minas Gerais.395 In addition, the regulation reinforced the
already tight control of the population in the mining region,
supporting the already existent repression against street
vendors, and ordering that any 'vagabonds' wandering around the
mining areas were sent to Salvador and Rio de Janeiro or
Angola.396
Mining activities in Southeast Brazil fed the development
of industrialisation in England and what was later termed the
first world. It did not do the same for Brazil because the
wealth generating from the mines was mostly shipped off to
Europe through the Royal Roads leading to the port of Rio de
Janeiro. The mining lands were property of the Portuguese state,
and by extension of England, whose influence on Portuguese
matters increased throughout the eighteenth-century,
particularly in what concerned South America and the Spanish
enemy. In fact, industrial activities were prohibited in Brazil
394 Furtado, 1996, p.26-27.395 Figueiredo & Campos, 1999, p.848396 Furtado, 1996, p.76-78
177
by the Portuguese state. The implication of this to the mining
region was that not only did miners have to pay one fifth of
their findings to the Portuguese government, they also had to
pay duties on the mining tools they had to import, which were
necessary to perform their activity and which they were not
allowed to produce.397
At the same time, the development of mining in Brazil had
even more dramatic consequences for Africans as it enormously
increased the slave trade to the colony during the eighteenth-
century. After becoming the capital in 1763, Rio de Janeiro
served as the main port of entry for slaves destined to the
mines. This brought in Africans from all ports of entry, where
before they had entered mostly through Salvador of Bahia. It was
from that city that initially the Sudanese slaves – the Minas –
came. They were the preferred workers in the mines given that
they were familiar with the industry and its techniques in their
own homeland.398 In the mines of Brazil however, work was
incredibly hard, with slaves being forced to work up to 14 hours
a day with only a 40-minute break.399 The gold and diamond rush
provoked a rapid population growth in the region and slaves were
in demand not just to work the mines, but also to carry
merchandise into the region and serve in the domestic households
of their masters. Many of those captured in Africa entered South
America through the capital Rio de Janeiro and were immediately
sent to the mines in chain gangs, known in Brazil as libambos.400
Mining work created a different relationship between
master and slave, than that which existed in the sugar
plantation model of the Northeast. Except for the concentrated
397 Russell-Wood, 1982, p108.398 Sena, 1977, p.21.399 Morais, 1942, p.73.400 Zemella, 1990, p.139.
178
mining areas where supervision was tight, slaves had more
mobility in Minas Gerais than they did in other areas of the
Brazilian colony. Many were sent by their masters to search for
gold, often making deals and therefore creating closer
relationships among them, where more flexibility of interaction
and negotiation between the castes was possible. The Minas
Gerais' masters did not solely comprise landowners. Rather, the
vast majority were poor whites or freed slaves.401 The local
administration, however, under the pressure for surveillance
demanded by the state did not make the lives of slaves any
easier. Adding to the prohibition to bear arms and assemble,
slaves were also subjected to curfews and passport-type
documents aimed at limiting their mobility.402 With such control
over their heads it is easy to understand why the lay religious
brotherhoods, such as Our Lady of the Rosary of the blacks, came
to play such an important role in the social and political lives
of slaves as a safe haven to congregate.
The set of images 42 to 45 places an emphasis not just on
the techniques of mining but also of surveillance in the region.
They therefore relate directly to the main concerns of the
metropolitan administration, which Julião served and protected.
In these images, the landscape becomes an important element
where the miners' activities are incorporated, in order to
register the natural resources involved in the mining processes
and methods. Composed entirely by male figures, the
illustrations show the great divide between black labour and the
work of white overseers, registering the agents of a slave based
economy identified through the coordinates of race and labour in
the Brazilian colony.
401 França, 1995, p.80.402 Russel-Wood, 1999, p.126.
179
The figures in illustration 42 are executed in a more
rounded shape than the figures in the previous sets of images.
They are shown in action, surrounded by the quarries and the
arid landscape of the region. Diamonds could be found at the
bottom of rivers, as well as encrusted on rocks along the river
banks and surrounding hills. This image shows the technique of
extracting diamond rocks from the geological sources where they
could be found. Using nothing but a few tools such as the
pickaxes they hold, these figures climbed onto a large rock and
are in the process of hammering out loose diamond stones. The
expression in the face of the figure who sits in the middle on
the large round rock is one of sadness, revealing an emotional
aspect that is frequently absent from Julião’s characters.
Theirs is obviously a task involving some caution, since to work
the rocks in this manner could prove dangerous as any of these
men could easily get hurt.
The slaves depicted here dress in the same manner. Their
costumes are composed by sleeveless shirts, shorts, and belts
where they can hang their work tools. The main difference are
the colours of the clothes which alternate, but still varying a
little but sticking to shades of blue, pink, and orange. There
is nothing dubious about the colour of their skin however, and
the ambiguity of the intermediary colour castes in terms of
their identification, or not, with the condition of slavery has
been removed. These are clearly black slaves mining for diamond
rocks. The aspect of supervision is also absent from this
initial illustration, but as the images that follow clearly
show, overseeing the work in the mines was the job of the white
man, and one that he did zealously using the menacing crack of a
whip.
Image 42 is in fact a close up of a section in image 43. A
180
similar group of three figures working on top of a large round
rock appears in the lower left section of the latter
illustration. Enlarged, the illustration shows the busy
labouring of slave men in the mines. The multitude of black
slaves up and down the hill brings to mind the much more
contemporary images of Serra Pelada, Brazil, by the famous
Brazilian photographer Sebastião Salgado. In image 43, while the
men labour the hill for diamonds, two figures, distinctively
'lighter skinned', oversee the scene establishing the means of
control in place to safeguard the wealth of the mines. They are
far less numerous than the slaves, but they have powers invested
in them and they possess weapons with which to enforce the laws
decreed by the Portuguese Crown.
Illustration 44 shows the process of diamond washing which
involved some investment and therefore was heavily guarded by
the masters and the authorities.403 In early mining times this
process was similar to that of panning for gold with large
trays; an iconic image of gold rushes throughout the Americas.
These trays filtered the water through, leaving the rocks on the
netlike surface of the tray base. In time, the method of washing
diamonds became more complex in a greedy attempt to ensure that
even the smallest rocks did not escape the Crown's safes. The
system then created is portrayed in illustration 44 and was in
place from 1750 on. Slaves had to dig rectangular canals and
then cover the interiors in stone or wood. Rocks found in the
nearby quarries and extracted in the manner seen in
illustrations 42 and 43 were brought to these canals to be
‘washed’ or picked for their value. Water was then poured
abundantly over a close net filter where even the tiniest rocks
403 Russell-Wood, 1999, p.122.
181
could be picked by the slaves as illustrated in image 44.404
In this image, Julião practices his skills in the method
employed to draw perspective, a device seldom used by the
artist, whose figures are most frequently put in a flat
background with minimalist landscape and compositional elements.
Here he portrays both slaves and overseers in two rows,
converging in vanishing lines at a distant point in the horizon.
Marcos Santos in his book about the royal roads described the
manner in which slaves worked with their bodies curved, facing
the overseers, as illustrated in this image.405 This way, slaves
would have much more difficulty hiding precious stones. It
appears that the masters thought of everything, anticipating
every possible way they could be tricked by their slaves,
something very clearly illustrated by Carlos Julião in this last
set of images of the Figurinhos watercolours.
Finally, the last image on this set, illustration 45,
addresses more obviously the question of supervision of the
slave in the mining districts, as well as the methods of stop
and search that the overseers exercised over the African
population in the region. Slaves were often accused of stealing
diamonds and working in connection with the Quilombos. These
presented a real threat to colonisers since they often attacked
colonial settlements.406 Contraband of the precious rocks was
tempting for slaves, because it could provide the means with
which they could buy their freedom. But getting caught was
dangerous and infractors were severely punished by the masters.
The troops patrolled the region along the rivers - a main source
of diamonds - and they stopped and searched blacks and other
404 Figueiredo & Campos, 1999, p.849-850.405 Santos, 2001, p.106-107.406 Russell-Wood, 1982, p.125.
182
subalterns to look for looted stones or to see if they had
papers authorising them to work in the mining lands.407
The black man in the image was forced to strip off his
clothes so that he could stand exposed and unable to hide any
stolen rocks. His clothes thrown on the floor have the same
colours as the clothes worn by the slaves in illustration 42,
the miners working on top of the rock, denoting the artist's
warning that no miner slave could be trusted. Also on the floor
but on the opposite side lays the gold pan. The black man is
left in his underwear, standing with his arms up as if
surrendering to the overseers. Lighter skin men stand on each
side, as if posing for the artist, the one on the right pointing
to the slave, proudly demonstrating how control was exercised
and forced upon the captives. Such was the life of black slaves
in Southeast Brazil; extreme hard work under extraordinary
surveillance in a land rich in minerals, which they were only
able to get for themselves through constant negotiation of
punctual privileges or concessions conceded by the masters.
**************
The region of the Mines comprehended a geographical area
situated between the capital of Rio de Janeiro and the northern
district of Serro do Frio in the diamond region. The exploration
and exploitation of the area created a vast network of roads
populated by a multitude of settlers, passers-by, and slaves,
who contributed to the economic development of the area. Along
the royal trails Carlos Julião found a variety of subjects with
which to develop his portrait skills. His illustrations made
possible a visualisation of the human types that walked those
roads: the white bureaucrats who ruled the land and collected407 Figueiredo & Campos, 1999, p.847.
183
taxes; the military who patrolled the frontier; the indigenous
groups who found their ways to maintain their freedom or
negotiated new identities in the world beyond their experience;
the women who paraded themselves and their slaves in the
townships, and who romanced men of all castes and classes; the
slaves who worked the mines and sold goods on the roads and
cities of Minas Gerais; and the black Brazilians, devoted to the
Rosary, who in their baroque festivals, exposed the hidden signs
of Kongo traditions and worldview.
However, Julião's portraits are deprived of the histories
behind the groups represented and offer a rather rigid racial
division of Brazilian society. They are mere curiosities, a
record of costumes and generic types that he can interchangeably
place in Bahia, Rio, Minas, Lisbon, or Luanda. They are repeated
as such in a pattern of representation that denotes his military
training and the perceptions of the Enlightenment about non-
European peoples. His subjects/objects of representation
constitute the statements attached to race, social rank and
gender. In a way, what the military artist was putting into
practice was a sort of 'Orientalism,' as laid out by Edward
Said,408 but applied in these images to the Brazilian context. The
images constitute a group of statements, exterior to the people
they portrayed, but which defined the region of the Royal Roads
according to a colonial hierarchical order established by the
imperial government that Julião represented.
In the Museu da Inconfidêcia (Museum of the Conspiracy)
dedicated to Minas Gerais' late eighteenth-century rebellion
against Portuguese rule, a plate pays homage to African slaves
acknowledging their primacy in providing the fuel for
industrialisation in the North. The royal roads through which
408 Said, 1979.
184
gold and diamonds were carried on their way to Europe, and which
were populated by Julião's figures, are inserted in that socio-
economic perspective. On a larger scale they belong in
Portuguese America with its links to Europe and Africa forming
an Atlantic triangle. Next I will demonstrate how the Figurinhos of
the royal roads are rearranged in the socio-economic hierarchy
of the Atlantic, where new identities from Portuguese and
Angolan geographies make their appearance for the first time.
Chapter 4
Castes of the Atlantic Triangle
The last known works executed by Carlos Julião came to
light only recently after their purchase by the Ricardo Brennand
Institute in Recife, in a New York Sotheby's auction in 1999.409
The paintings consist of two compositions, executed in oil on
canvas, where many of the figures illustrating the Panoramas and
the Figurinhos reappear positioned in a manner that denotes the
hierarchical social order of the 'Portuguese' Atlantic economic
area in the eighteenth-century. In a similar manner to his other
works, Julião's strategy of arranging the figures obeys the
clear social, racial and gender divisions compartmentalised in
the eighteenth-century Portuguese mentality that informed the
artist. The images in the catalogue were labelled by the
auctioneers under the title People of Lisbon, Rio de Janeiro, Brazil and
Angola. However, in the original registry accompanying the works,
the illustrations were classified under the title Noticias do
Gentilismo or 'News of the Gentiles'.410 The term gentile appears quite409 Sotheby's Catalogue, 1999, p.302-303. I thank Silvia Escorel for the knowledge that these illustrations existed. She kept a copy of these images from the Sotheby’s catalogue given to her by Dr. Mario Calabria. To him I thank the information about the current location of the canvas. 410 I became aware of this original title in the letter accompanying the positives of the images that the staff from the Ricardo Brennand Institute so kindly sent me.
185
strange when applied to these images, but there is no additional
information as to the reason why these illustrations bear such a
title. As mentioned in chapter 1, it is a title that Julião used
before in a set of images relating to the Hindu religious
tradition, and which have no parallel to these figures of the
South Atlantic and Portugal.
I have referred to how Raphael Bluteau defined Gentilismo,
not just in terms of the rituals and doctrines pertaining to the
Gentio, or Gentile, but also as gente baixa e popular, meaning people
of low social condition. Given that the figures are
contextualised in the devoted Catholic kingdom of Portugal and
its conquests, the term seems out of place here, particularly in
the canvas illustrating exclusively the people of Portugal and
not just those of 'low condition' (image 47). Image 46 referred
to in the catalogue as a pendant to the other, presents a
multitude of figures from Brazil and Angola, where the term
could be employed at times by the Portuguese. The question of
who would employ such a title leaves out of the picture a
Portuguese person. Julião was Italian, but he was a loyal
servant of the Empire. The fact that these images are
accompanied by subtitles in both Portuguese and Italian may
indicate a patronage that was foreign to Portugal, although not
necessarily living outside Portugal. Assuming that the gentile had
for the large majority a negative connotation, such a title
applied to the Portuguese figures carries with it contempt for
the Portuguese people as well as for those subjugated by the
Portuguese Empire.
Perhaps the art specialists at the auction house were
equally puzzled by the title that the anonymous previous owner
of these two canvases gave to it. They decided to entitle the
works in the catalogue under the name 'Peoples of Lisbon, Rio de
186
Janeiro, Brazil and Angola'. However, given Julião's previous
works and my interpretation of his figures as constituting Castes
in the Portuguese imperial social order, I chose to call these
pictorial ensemble Castes of the Atlantic Triangle. At this point,
readers may wonder why I chose to number illustration 46 before
illustration 47, when the first is a pendant to the former. I
have inverted the order of the canvases, because I will be
inverting the traditional method of analysis and read the works
from bottom to top rather then the opposite.411 There are several
reasons for this. Firstly, I believe this method permits a
continuity from the previous chapter, where the miner slaves
will be contextualised in terms of their origin in Africa and
their role in the socio-economic cycle that fed and was fed by
the gold and diamond mines of Southeast Brazil. Secondly, such
analysis allows a better understanding of the connection between
slave labour in the South and economic development and
'progress' in the North, as I gradually return to the privileged
military and nobility Castes positioned at the top. Finally, a
bottom to top analysis is a symbolic way of offering a
postcolonial iconological analysis that breaks the rules of
traditional ways of reading images, while simultaneously giving
primacy to the anonymous agents of history, which are the
masses, as opposed to particular countries and privileged
classes or individuals.
In terms of its composition, the illustrations are closer
to the Panoramas, although the disappearance of the fortress and
the ports is substituted by human figures connoted with those
insignias of colonial power. The Brazilian Figurinhos, analysed in
the precious chapter introduced the privileged Castes that
411 This analytical method was a very fortunate suggestion made to me by Dr. Nancy Naro, professor of Brazilian History at the Department of Portuguese and Brazilian Studies, King's College, University of London. I thank her for that.
187
reappear in these canvases, but while the former was a
commemoration of Rafael Pinto Bandeira's military
accomplishments in the Southern border, these works do not
necessarily suggest a military patronage. They are a record of
human types, including some military men, in their various
eighteenth-century costumes with bilingual captions added to
each of them. I believe these two works served the educational
purpose of informing an Italian speaking audience of the various
peoples they could encounter in Portugal, Brazil and Angola.
Thus, if there was a link between these images and the military,
it was in the audience. Julião himself was an Italian, and
Italians were connected to the Portuguese maritime ventures from
early on. Perhaps then, these illustrations can be viewed
equally as a record of customs and as an educational means for
Italians to identify the various human types that could be
encountered in the Atlantic triangle controlled by the
Portuguese.
I - Castes of the South Atlantic
Image 46 introduces for the first time the human types
relating to Angola. In the lower register, these figures stand
side by side with many other figures from Brazil, a region that
cannot be dissociated from Africa because of their shared
history in the context of the Atlantic slave trade. What is
immediately visible in this lower register is that it is
exclusively composed by black people, reinforcing the
predominance of African and African Diaspora figures at the
lower ranks of the imperial social hierarchy. In English, they
are identified in the Sotheby’s catalogue as follows: African slave
girl of Rio de Janeiro, African boy who sells water in Rio de Janeiro, Servant girl of
Angola, African woman who sells lemonade in Rio de Janeiro, The manner in which the
188
Africans carry things in Rio de Janeiro, The fashion of the Africans in Angola, Serving
girl who sells sweets in Rio de Janeiro, African who sells geese in Rio de Janeiro and
African serving girl of Bahia. The titles in English, in the Sotheby's
catalogue, used the words African and servant to refer to the
figures, although in the original Portuguese titles Julião
describes the same figures as pretos or pretas adding the term
mocamba to the first, third and last female figures. The use of
the word African is an artifice that reveals more 'politically
correct' contemporary concerns but it is erroneous because it
removes from the Portuguese translation the negative connotation
that the word preto carries, changing the signifier attached to
the figure.
Julião uses the same pictorial method as in the Panoramas
with a central image composed by a group of figures - the
carriers - from whom the other figures depart to each side. The
first figure on the left is the mentioned preta mocamba from Rio
de Janeiro or, as Sotheby’s had it, the African slave girl. But this
woman could have been born in Brazil rather then Africa and
Julião's use of the word preta functions as a racial marker where
the slave condition is implied rather then a geographical one.
In Italian, the artist used the word servant, this being the
closest term he encountered to define these women and a term
chosen over the word slave. Mocamba or mucama was a word applied
to African women or women of African descent who were domestic
slaves or servants. In the masculine form, the word mocambo was
a Bantu word meaning a military camp thus becoming the first
word used to define a quilombo, which at the time simply referred
to the initiation rituals of the Jaga warriors from Angola.412
Applied to women in the domesticity of the master’s home,
the term Mocamba could perhaps imply the warrior aspect of the
412 Gomes, 2005, p.10.
189
house slave who like others had to learn how to reconcile her
situation with the world of the masters where she was placed.
Mocambas were among those who had to come up with creative
strategies of resistance and survival in an often hostile
environment. In the plantation, the Mocamba would be in a
position of considerable power in relation to other slaves, and
depending on her relationship to the house masters she could
influence the outcome of many situations opposing the masters
and the slaves. Like the Bahiana, mentioned in chapter three,
these women were often able to empower themselves by skilfully
reconciling their condition as captives with the possibilities
available in the social environment in which they found
themselves.
As we will see, the middle register is dedicated entirely
to mocambas, a word implying the condition of domestic slavery.
But the women there represented are not reinforced by the racial
marker wording of preta, even because they are visibly of
'lighter' skin than the women in the lower register. To the
Italian audience she is identified as a servant like the women
above, not least because she is clothed in similar fashion. A
mocamba could have many shades of colour and it is the word preta
that should be used to differentiate her from the mulattas or
other lighter skin mocambas. The 'place' of the black mocamba
is nevertheless in the lower register together with the other
pretos and pretas, making evident the hierarchical divisions built
upon perceptions of skin colour that existed at Julião's time.
To the left of the first mocamba, the familiar figure of
the milkman, this time selling water in the streets of Rio de
Janeiro and free of the iron neck collar with which he was
portrayed in image 36. The figure is described as a preto, like
in the Salvador Panorama (image 1) where he was placed in the
190
capital of Bahia. This geographically movable 'human type'
remains the most depicted character in Julião's work. Next to
him is the Servant Girl or Mocamba of Angola, the first known such
figure depicted by the artist. The figure is deprived here of
the racial marker preta, but she is geographically assigned to
Angola, indicating that her function was present in both Brazil
and Angola, where she didn't need to be labelled with the
pejorative term preta and thus was differentiated from the other
pretos in her land. She is closer to the black mocamba from Rio
de Janeiro, composed with elements such as the turban, long
skirt and cape. But a closer look reveals the unique way with
which she uses the cape; crossed across her torso and thrown
over one shoulder while held firmly under the opposite arm, thus
revealing her bare right shoulder. Her skirt falls elegantly
along her legs unlike the full round skirts of the Brazilian
mocambas.
The fourth figure brings back the female street vendors
with the portrayal of yet another preta, a lemonade seller,
carrying a huge tray on her head in the same manner as many of
the women in the Figurinhos of the royal roads who sold their
products in the streets. To her left the central group of
figures shows a group of slave carriers, one of whom dresses
similarly to the milk/water seller on the left. The carriers are
pictured transporting a barrel which they ingeniously lifted
with the aid of three canes that aid them to support the weight
on their shoulders. The group is reminiscent of the Indian way
of carrying the mancilla, except that in the latter the weight
rested on the head of the carriers (image 2). Finally the four
last figures closing the lower register are a mix of black
people from Brazil and Africa, bringing together figures from
Rio, Bahia and Angola.
191
The first is the black women with child reminiscent of the
African slaves portrayed in illustration 28 of the Royal Roads
Figurinhos. Julião simply clarifies here that this is the manner
of dress of pretos in Angola, indicating the origin of the two
women portrayed in the Figurinhos. The term pretos is general, and
not applied to this particular figure. It is encompassing of all
Angolans and defines the specific way in which they dressed.
Herein lays the specification of the third woman in this
register identified as a mocamba of Angola, whose manner of dress
is closer to the Brazilian slaves, and who is placed in the
domestic realm of the white master. As addressed before,
nakedness removed the individual from the idea of civilisation
in the eighteenth-century. The figure of the African woman is
not that of a mocamba. She wears the signs of slavery in her
nakedness and is viewed by her abductors as either a source of
profit or a soul on the way to 'redemption' from an uncivilised
life.
The lower register closes with three figures from Rio de
Janeiro and Bahia, which together with the Angolan female figure
carrying a child connect the three points in the Atlantic as
part of the same geo-political unit. The two figures from Rio de
Janeiro are street sellers similar to the ones portrayed in the
Figurinhos; one selling sweets and the other selling geese. The
first one resembles the Black woman with tray of sweets and bottle of water
portrayed in the Four Ports Panorama (image 2). The second is
another version of the same street seller in illustration 33.
Finally, in the same way described for the first figure of the
lower register, Julião depicted a black mocamba. This female
figure, however, is from Bahia, a geographical location yet to
appear in this lower register populated by black slaves - the
lower castes in the empire. The mocambas were everywhere in the
192
'Portuguese' South Atlantic. Furthermore, they connect with the
women above in the middle register: 'lighter' skin mocambas,
never described as slaves, but who could be as enslaved as the
ones at the bottom.
The middle register is occupied exclusively by these
female figures, apart from the two black carriers and the woman
they carry. Julião's inclination to portray female figures, also
testifies to the predominance of miscegenated women servants
that characterised the Brazilian female population of the
eighteenth-century. Again, as we have seen in both Panoramas,
and the lower register, the centre of the composition is
occupied by a group of figures constituted by two carriers, a
serpentina and a 'lady' looking out from behind the curtain. The
central group is reminiscent of image 15 of the Figurinhos,
including the group of mocambas accompanying the serpentina. The
captions below the image read: Manner in which the Ladies of Rio de Janeiro
go about in sedan chairs with her servants following. Julião states here the
function of the female figures that follow the other 'lady' in
image 15, confirming Lygia Fonseca's assumption that the group
of women in the image of the Figurinhos album were indeed slaves to
the woman in the serpentina. The compositional arrangement of the
figures is similar in both images, but in illustration 46 the
colours of both the serpentina and of the costumes worn by the
carriers and the mocambas change from yellow and blue to reddish
and dark green hues. The woman inside the serpentina no longer
shows the signs of self-confidence that defined the one in
illustration 15. She is now a younger woman, timidly looking out
from behind the curtain, expressing the 'proper' secluded
behaviour expected from a woman in her social condition.
Like in the Salvador Panorama (image 1), this central group
offers human types hierarchically arranged in accordance to skin
193
colour. The mocambas, like the leading man in image 1, are
lighter skin than the black carriers, in accordance to their
function as domestic servants and companions. All other mocambas
presented on each side of the central image are in this manner
introduced to an Italian audience who would have not previously
known the meaning of the word mocamba. They are then
'specified' in the captions below each one. Julião starts the
register on the left with a Mocamba who happens to be a mulatta and
whom one should treat with seriousness.413 In the Sotheby’s catalogue the
translation says that she "specialised in cleaning". I think the
mistranslation is due to the Italian word Pulizia, Julião's
translation of the Portuguese word gravidade. Pulizia could be
translated into English as clean, but Julião used it in the
sense of politeness and the term gravidade according to Bluteau
was applied in the eighteenth-century to define a serious
matter.414 What the term here implies is that this mocamba,
unlike others, should not be treated disrespectfully. She is
also defined as 'happening' to be a mulata, implying that not all
mocambas were so. As we have seen in the lower register she
could be of any shade of skin colour, but the signs of blackness
are absent from the group of women represented in the middle
register. Although this first female figure does not appear
lighter or darker than any other female figure in the register,
the artist reinforced the fact that she was mulata, as if
introducing an occasional exception to the rule: a mulatta yes,
but one who should be treated respectfully, perhaps thanks to a
special protection from her masters.
The 'serious' mocamba is wearing a large hat and is wrapped
in a long coat like the white figures seen on illustrations 17-
413 The word gravidade used by Julião translated as seriousness, 414 Bluteau, 1712, vol. 4. p.129.
194
20 and 23, and the black woman on illustration 32. In fact she
is another version of that black female figure and she is also
repeated in the third woman from the right on this middle
register, whom Julião described as a Mocamba in disguise.415 Thus,
seriousness and disguise were the two manners in which the
artist referred to this way with which non-white women worn
their coats. The coat is decoded for an Italian audience as a
garment worn by whites or by their serious servants. Outside
that context it could be a manner of disguise or subversion,
whether with the complacency of the masters or not. In either
case the use of the coat in this manner created a perception of
its wearer, or of his or her masters, conditioning other
people's actions towards the slave. Carlos Julião, as an artist
and a man of the world, shows here how well he understood the
world of signs and signifiers, depicting a manner of appearance
which 'defined' for the world, who or what a particular person
was.
The three women that follow this 'serious' mocamba are all
entitled Mocamba of Rio de Janeiro. There is no mention of the tone
of the skin colour, or of the treatment they should be given,
but we have seen them before and they remain composite figures
combining in different arrangements the elements that Julião
used in all his female figures from the Panoramas to the
Figurinhos. They are all well dressed and adorned, the one in the
middle resembling the lundú girls of the Panoramas. Her dress,
with the long open sleeves is reminiscent of the first female
figure represented in illustration 22 and the woman being
courted by the old man in image 25. Her pose indicates that she
is dancing the lundú, opening the possibility that the lighter
415 Here I am using my own translation from Portuguese to English, since the Serving girlin men's clothing Sotheby’s translation is erroneous.
195
skin girls in the Panoramas could themselves be mocambas. The
figures on each side of her are also identified with Rio de
Janeiro and are composed with the visual elements that
illustrate many of the female figures assigned to the Royal
roads and the capital. These mocambas seem to be the predominant
female type in the artist's work whether they are clearly
identified as such or not.
On the opposite side, to the left of the serpentina, four
other women complete the mocambas register. The first two are
practically identical to the first and fourth on the other side
of the central group. However they are no longer simply
described as being from Rio de Janeiro. The first is entitled
Mocamba who ... at night and the second is the mocamba in disguise,
analysed above in comparison to the 'serious' mocamba. What the
first of these two mocambas does at night is not legible in
either Portuguese or Italian and we can only assume what the
artist is saying or implying. Her resemblance to the female
figure, preceding the serpentina, works in the same manner as the
serious and disguised mocambas. The artist is specifically
telling his audience that no matter how these women are dressed,
one should be cautious because they might be appearing to be
what they were not. Appearances can be deceiving and a mocamba
from Rio de Janeiro could also be a 'night' woman, just as a
serious mulatta could sometimes be so in disguise.
Next to the disguised woman, another mocamba from Rio de
Janeiro; a familiar image this time wearing the African style
turban like the majority of the black females portrayed in the
Figurinhos of the Royal Roads. And finally, the register ends with
a woman not identified as a mocamba, below whom it reads how
women dress in their homes in Rio de Janeiro. She is not enveloped in a
cape or large coat and her blouse opens widely revealing her
196
shoulder. She wears a headdress in an unusual manner, similar to
the African style but pulled back to show her forehead. She
wears the belt in a lace and low on her hips, ballooning up the
long skirt. From her neck hangs the bolsa de mandinga seen in so
many of Julião's images and analysed in chapter three in the
context of its pagan origins common to Africa and Europe. She
would fit better with the light skinned women of illustration
22, or in the mist of a romantic scene as portrayed in images 25
and 26. She may or may not be a mocamba but Julião chose not to
identify her as such, indicating simply that she is a popular
woman, another female type of the city of Rio de Janeiro,
although less common judging by the numbers of mocambas that
fill in the register.
The mocambas are present in all registers on this canvas.
On the top right, Julião portrays another such female figure,
who like the last woman in the bottom is placed in Bahia. She
does not differ much in her way of dress from the other women,
including many portrayed by Julião in the Figurinhos. Her style of
head dress is also reminiscent of the lundú girls in the
Panoramas, rather then of the women associated with darker skin
shades, who mostly wear the turban rolled high and tight at the
front. She functions as an intermediary Caste between the figures
preceding her at the top register, implying again the condition
of miscegenation, while simultaneously being presented as a
slave. The mocamba, being often the result of an unequal
relationship between the master and the slave, became herself
stigmatised as a 'sexual' being, constituting the roots to the
myth of the mulatta as such, which I addressed in chapter 2. In
the eighteenth-century the mocamba was certainly a fascinating
topic for the male, if we are to judge from the myriad of
Mocambas which Julião used to fill the second register.
197
The first two group of figures portrayed at the top
register are on opposite sides of the hierarchy. Identified
through their social positioning, they expose the inequality
between the higher and the lower ranks, the dependence of the
masters on slave work and the plight of Africans caught and
trafficked across the Atlantic. The first two figures are
assigned to Rio de Janeiro and are entitled of Dandy and Lady.
Their costumes and the captions decode the status of nobility
and social privilege. They belong to the elites of the capital
city, who enjoyed the profits from gold and owned numerous
slaves. We have seen the men wrapped in coats and hiding behind
their hats in illustrations 17 to 20 and again engaged in a
romantic drama scene with the female figure in illustration 26.
The masters and bureaucrats that constituted the Brazilian
colonial elite are here identified as Dandies and concerned with
their appearance. Reserved for them were the jobs in public
office, law or medicine, since manual work was reserved for
slaves and servants.416 Next to the dandy stands a very different
woman from the long haired brunette standing next to the man on
image 26. She poses in an elegant dress and wears a tall wig
matching the fashion of the eighteenth-century French courtiers.
Her long cape is adorned with laces and she presents the signs
of a 'female dandy' taking advantage of her condition to live a
life of pleasure and enjoyment.
The absence of the figures substituting the insignias of
power, which as we will see populate the top register in the
canvas concerning Portugal (image 47), immediately places the
Brazilian colony in a subjugated position in relation to the
court in Lisbon. Brazil provided the wealth but the figures of
power were placed in the setting of the imperial capital in
416 Araujo, 1993, p.84-85.
198
Lisbon, not in Rio de Janeiro. In contrast, the Dandy and the
Lady appear as a comment on high society in Brazil, as being
removed from the responsibilities of government and given to a
leisurely lifestyle that Lisbon did not possess. The Portuguese
scorned Brazilians in public plays and despised what they viewed
as their aspirations to nobility.417 Not a single white figure
outside Portugal, in the whole of Julião's known work, is ever
pictured working; only black figures, such as the street vendors
and miners. Julião adds to this Portuguese perception of the
colonial world by removing from Brazil the elements of power,
which made the Lisbon court seem so austere and professional.
Instead, he inserted a caricature of the Brazilian elite who
seem like characters out of a soirée in Versailles.
Finally, in the centre of the top register, Julião
composed his first known scene of the human traffic in the South
Atlantic. A group of Angolan slaves, entitled in the Sotheby's
catalogue The way that African slaves are taken through customs in Angola in order
to be sold are described in the Portuguese language as "blacks from
the bush". The expression implies a human hunt inland, away from
the coast in order to capture these men and women and then
conduct them in chain gangs to the customs where they would be
shipped off to Brazil and other parts of the empire. The black
figures portrayed report back to the Angolan woman with child in
the lower register, as well as to the women in illustration 28
of the Figurinhos wrapped in African cloth from the waist down.
Again the nudity removes black Africans from civilisation,
making the civilising mission desirable and slavery justifiable
according to the Iberian Catholic worldview.
For the first time in his known work, Julião puts the
slave trade in its African context, more precisely in Angola.
417 Schwartz, 2003, p.233, p.262.
199
His visual arrangement suggests that the trade was about
economics and the political sustainability of the Portuguese
nation-state. The trade was big business and the gold mines
accelerated the demand for slaves. The figures are depicted
going through customs where the numbers of slaves being shipped
was recorded. Angola contributed with 70% of the total trade to
Brazil during the eighteenth-century and its monopoly in the
area was in the hands of the Portuguese.418 However this
Portuguese hegemony was mostly put into practice by the
Brazilian elites who were themselves massively involved in the
direct trade between the two sides of the Atlantic. As Joseph C.
Miller observed, while "Lisbon bankers and merchants drew high
profits from Portugal's southern Atlantic slave trade",419 their
role was to work the financial mechanisms that would provide
them with profit leaving to Brazilians the dirty work of
handling the trade. Therefore, Lisbon facilitated the logistics
while Brazil was the hands on side of the partnership. The slave
trade in the south Atlantic implied a control of the region, and
merchants, bureaucrats, as well as the military were brought
into the African territory to secure the maintenance of the
traffic. Soldiers recruited from Brazil were sent to fight wars
in the interior of Angola and, as the governors of Angola
themselves, they were active participants in the trade exporting
slaves to Brazil and making a profit of it.420
In this image, the figures are being directed through an
entrance by a man in military uniform who points the direction
with a cane or whip. There is no sign of anger or fatigue in the
facial expressions of these figures. They passively walk towards
418 Klein, 1972, p.895.419 Miller, 1984, p.1.420 Boxer, 1969, p.27-28.
200
the archway in a docile and complacent manner. Their attitude
contrasts greatly with the menacing figure of the uniformed
white man implied in the manner in which he wages the cane. The
image of the slave with child stands out of the other figures,
reminding the viewer of an aspect of the trade about which
little information is available: that of little children being
taken across the Atlantic. The reason for the lack of
information on this subject is that smaller children were fully
untaxed, causing that many were not recorded at all since there
would be no gain for the system.421 The human types that compose
the Figurinhos are reproduced in this canvas. At the top the elite,
the military and the slaves are presented side by side,
performing their function the colonial context of the South
Atlantic. Next I analyse the Castes positioned at the other
geographical end of the colonial relationship: in the North
Atlantic.
II - Castes of Portugal
Image 47 is Carlos Julião's the first known work depicting
a human panorama of the peoples of Portugal. The composition
shows the artist's careful consideration of where each figure is
positioned, as if he was attempting to illustrate the pyramidal
structure of Portuguese metropolitan hierarchy. In that sense,
this image is the socio-political picture of the empire's seat.
In the portrayal of the figure's costumes and activities the
artist communicates each figure's position in Portuguese society
allowing a socio-economic analysis that goes beyond a mere
record of human types. This is particularly clear in the
positioning of the figures on each register, which as in image
421 Klein, 1972, p.903-904.
201
46 constitute statements regarding the socio-hierarchical order
of the metropolitan centre. As mentioned above, image 46 is a
pendant to image 47, but in inverting a traditional analysis
from top to bottom, I have left the latter illustration for
last. I will proceed with my analysis starting at the lower
register and then progressing upwards to where the artist
positioned the privileged ranks of society and the royal
insignias at the top.
The lower register displays a total of nine figures,
consisting of both men and women, all of whom are connected in
their subalternity to the majority of the characters illustrated
in the top two registers. The three figures of the central group
are perfectly aligned with the central groups of figures in the
two upper registers and they represent subaltern upper ranks in
relation to the figures aligned to each side of them. The group
is entitled Official of the city with his two servants and the titles in both
Portuguese and Italian also indicate that they are on their way
to a festivity. The city officer is a Meirinho, as expressed in
the Portuguese caption. The term derived from major and referred
to justice officers who had the power to enforce the judge’s
orders in any city or town assigned to them.422 The Meirinho
appears in this last register subordinated to judicial power of
the Desembargador at the top register, demonstrating that power
circulated in all levels of society and emanated from top down.
Julião refers to the two black men accompanying the Meirinho
as pretos, a term indicative of a condition of slavery. However,
the canvas is dated from 1779, and slavery had been abolished in
the metropolis since 1761 when Pombal was prime minister. The
policy was not extended to the colonies and it merely reflected
the Marquis' belief that slave force was more needed overseas in
422 Bluteau, 1712, vol.5, p.398.
202
plantations and mines as opposed to the domestic function that
characterised slavery in Portugal.423 Nevertheless, the caption
below the group clearly states that the two black men were the
Meirinho's pretos. They 'belonged' to the former, is not by a
condition of slavery then still by a condition of subordination
inherited from slavery. As with the mocambas in image 46, in the
Italian language Julião uses the expression servants rather then
blacks. Blacks and servants therefore carried the same connotation
and in fact, serving next to the Meirinho implied their function
as servants in the public system, reporting to the Portuguese
officer, who on turn was subordinated to the figure represented
above. The terms preto and servant could therefore be
interchangeable and the two men occupy a position in the
hierarchy of power because although subordinated to power they
were also instructed to carry it out.
On the left hand side of the register, the first figure is
the Confraternity Brother begging for alms. This figure is different than
the old Hermit beggar portrayed in the Four Ports Panorama in
illustration 2. He is younger and does not dress as a hermit;
neither is he courting a young woman. But he carries the same
portable altar carried by the hermit in the Four Ports Panorama,
and like the slave beggars of the Rosary in images 2 and 37,
this figure highlights the custom of begging for 'souls', or
collecting money, for the lay religious Brotherhoods and
Confraternities to which individuals of different social groups
could associate themselves.
Next to the confraternity man, Julião illustrated a woman
pulling a donkey and described as a Saloia dressed for summer. The
term saloia or saloio implied Moorish ancestry, even if a
Christianisation process had occurred throughout the centuries.
423 Boxer, 1988, p.100.
203
The surroundings of the capital Lisbon, which are still called
the saloio region, were the lands where Afonso Henriques, the
first Portuguese king, allowed the conquered Moors to remain.424
The conic hat is quite unusual but the way of dressing of this
Saloia dressed for summer is the same as the street vendors portrayed
on the right side of the middle register, suggesting her
activity and Christian acculturation. The figure of the saloia is
repeated again in this register, on the right of the city
officer and his black servants, this time riding a donkey and
dressed for winter.
To the right of the Meirinho, two female figures are
reminiscent of the street vendor's in the Figurinhos in terms of
their function in society. These two Portuguese women sell fruit
and poultry but, unlike the Figurinhos street vendors, they are
white women. They are similar to their counterparts in Brazil
however, in terms of some of their experience as women. In
Portugal as in Brazil or Africa, women of the lower social
groups dominated street commerce, walking the streets, crying
rhymes that announced their products and causing much of the
busy and lively atmosphere of the city streets.425 As mentioned in
chapter 1, Portuguese women did not traditionally emigrate with
their husbands. Women from the lower ranks of society were left
behind as heads of their families becoming autonomous and self-
sufficient. Particularly in the North of the country where the
percentage of men leaving was greater, creating a gender
imbalance that placed more women at the head of their families.426
As seen in chapter three, this pattern was repeated in the
Brazilian mining region, where women came to constitute a high
424 Bluteau, 1712, vol.7, p.450.425 Neto, 2001, p.30-31.426 Ramos, 1993, p.643-645.
204
percentage among the heads of families in the area.427 However, in
the Brazilian setting the situation was not caused by an absence
of men, but rather by the illegitimate status of gender
relationships. In addition to the colour of their skin, this
women are also differentiated from the street vendors in Brazil
in terms of their costumes, more adequate to the colder weather
of Portugal. Particularly the manner in which they wear their
headscarves wrapped tightly around their heads and neck.
Finally, the last figure portrayed in the lower register
is that of a Mariola or an independent carrier who offered
physical work for pay. The translation of Customs worker, in the
Sotheby’s catalogue, is inaccurate in that it removes from this
figure that aspect of physical work, giving the impression that
he performs administrative tasks. The title in Portuguese and
Italian implies that this mariola works at the port, but the
definition of the word in Portuguese is applied to a carrier.
This is the meaning conferred to the word in Bluteau’s
‘Vocabulary’, although colloquially the word carries a more
contemporary connotation with ‘naughty’. Curiously enough the
term Mariolo in Italian was similar to thief,428 but Julião’s
intention was not to imply that this carrier was dishonest,
since in Italian he chose to call him a Facchino. The Mariola or
Facchino works in the port from where ships loaded and unloaded
the cargo destined to and originated from the overseas
conquests. Julião’s last figure in this work is thus related to
overseas activities, making the link to the pendant canvas
(image 46) which relates to the colonised South Atlantic.
Like in the Castes of the South Atlantic (image 46), the
middle register is entirely devoted to the female sex,
427 Souza, 1982, p.146.428 Bluteau, 1712, v. 5, p.335.
205
contrasting immediately with the patriarchal authority implied
by the male figures that characterise the top register. Arranged
in three groups of three figures each, these women are entitled
from left to right: A hooded woman with her..., ...Slave, Woman of Oporto,
Midwife, Noblewoman dressed for Holy Week walking to Church on Holy Thursday,429 A
mantled woman with her..., ...Servant, Fishwife, Fisherwoman who sells fish to the city.
In the arrangement of the figures and their form of dress, the
artist was able to communicate visually to which social groups
these women belonged to and how they related to each other.
The three women in the middle are positioned below the
central image representing the Lisbon coat of arms depicted in
the top register. The remaining six women are distributed on
each side and positioned below the male figures above. This
gender division is visually effective for a patriarchal society
which placed women at the lower level of the hierarchy even if
the monarch of the day was a woman (Queen Maria I). However,
subalternity cannot entirely be put in terms of gender division
because racial and social categories intersected at different
levels with gender, defining one's place in society. The first
two figures are iconic of those complex categories defining
society in that they represent the mistress and the slave.
Described as a 'hooded woman' in the English translation on the
Sotheby’s catalogue, the first female figure is actually the
only female figure whose head is not covered. In fact what she's
wearing is a hooded cape, a red cape similar to the female
figure in image 21 of the Figurinhos. Her red hair is beautifully
decorated with flowers and the redness in her cheeks suggests
the use of make-up powder.
The red headed woman is accompanied by her slave, entirely
429 The English translation in the catalogue states is holy Friday, which iserroneous.
206
covered in a cape and headscarf, with the exception of her black
skinned face. She faces her mistress, turning away from the
other woman and visually reinforcing her racial affiliation. In
spite of Pombal's slave trade ban in the metropolis in 1761,
Julião depicts a slave in 1779, when this canvas was executed,
demonstrating the continuing prevalence of slavery in the
kingdom. The majority of the slave population that constituted
the Portuguese territory up until the sixteenth-century was of
Moorish and Jewish ancestry. With the creation of a seaborne
empire, the Portuguese brought in African slaves whose
descendants came to outnumber Moor and Jew slaves.430 By the early
nineteenth-century, half of the population in Lisbon was
described as being made up of blacks and mulattos.431 Africans
were converted to Catholicism, many while they were still in
Africa; but even without the stigma of Jewish or Moorish
ancestry, they were nevertheless stereotyped as ignorant and
condemned to servitude because of the colour of their skin or
the fact that they were different from white old Christians.432
Such rules reveal the degree of Catholic fervour that dominated
law making in the construction of the Portuguese nation, and
which became imprinted in the successive Ordenações. Furthermore
it shows the roots of the mentality that created racial and
ethnic divisions when that same fervour was taken farther
overseas, to Africa, Asia and the Americas. Next to the slave,
Julião portrayed a female figure that he described simply as a
woman from the Northern city of Oporto. She is completely
covered in black, head to toe, the image of a widow perhaps, or
a woman whose companion has left to the sea leaving her behind,
430 Saunders, 1982, p.166.431 Naro, 2007, p.132.432 Saunders, 1982, p.174.
207
as it was the case of many women, particularly in the North as
mentioned above.
The three central female figures, positioned below the
Lisbon coat of arms, represent another group of women associated
with nobility and the privileged social group. The three wear
luxurious costumes in gold and black colours, the style of which
was replicated in illustration 24 of the Figurinhos, as described
in chapter 3. The caption in Portuguese and Italian describing
the central figure points to her condition of fidalga or signora,
meaning noblewoman, a member of the upper and privileged social
ranks of Portuguese society. The word fidalga derived from filho de
algo meaning child of ‘someone’; someone important, supposedly
carrying ‘purity of blood’. To be a noble implied being a child
of someone who was an Old Christian and the figure exhibits in
fact the signs of Catholic devotion. Like the mantled woman to
her left, she wears the mantilha of female church goers and she is
in fact described as walking to church on Easter Thursday. The
sign of appropriate Catholic conduct is therefore attached in
this figure to the ruling nobility perceived as superior and
civilised, in opposition to the 'people of lower condition',
implied in Bluteau's definition of the 'gentile'.433
To the right of the noblewoman, is a female figure
described as a Midwife who carries a child in her arms. The white
scarf wrapped tightly around her head and neck, the long mantle
covering it, and the rosary that she holds, all point to her
religious function as a nun or novice. Childbirth is vetoed to
her by the rules of the Church, but she continues linked to the
female privilege of childbearing. The three women together
constitute an idea of appropriate female behaviour and are
loaded with the signs of privilege and Catholicism. These were
433 Bluteau, 1712, vol.4, p.57
208
the type of women who could circulate in the Palace together
with the male figures portrayed above and their positioning in
the centre of the composition indicates society's perception of
their superiority in relation to the other female figures.
The Mantled Woman makes the link to the remaining three
female figures portrayed on the right side of this central
register. She is described as being accompanied "by
her...servant" directing the viewer to the figure to her left
who, similarly to the slave in the beginning of the register,
faces the direction of her mistress. Also completely covered
from head to toe, the servant differs from the slave however in
that she has white skin and her long cape is dark like that of
her mistress rather then colourful as that of the slave. The
possessive pronoun ‘her’, which precedes the label Slave and
Servant, captioned below the two figures, denotes the
subordination of these two women to the female figures that
precede them. The terms Slave and Servant are applied here because
of the eighteenth-century perception of black people as being
associated with slavery, not necessarily that the black woman
represented was someone that the artist knew to be a slave.
Being black would identify her as a slave for both a Portuguese
and an Italian audience. If slave trading to mainland Portugal
had been officially abolished in 1761, this image indicates that
slavery itself continued, and in fact it was not completely
outlawed in Portugal until 1875.434 Furthermore, the position of
the Slave and the Servant facing their respective mistresses
indicates the similar way in which both were viewed by the
artist, as different racial categories intersecting at the level
of gender and subalternity to a 'superior' group, the white
masters and mistresses.
434 Saunders, 1982, p.179.
209
The last two figures in the middle register are street
vendors from the popular classes that could be seen walking the
streets of cities and towns in Portugal. Like the women
portrayed below them and the Brazilian black street vendors of
the Figurinhos, these two figures reinforce street selling as an
activity pertaining to women by a large majority. They are
described as a Fishwife and Fisherwoman who sells fish to the city, or around
the city, as I would prefer to translate it myself. The Fishwife term
used by Sotheby’s, translates from the Portuguese Regateira, which
the artist used and which derives from the Italian recatare,
meaning the activity of buying to sell, making her a shop or
stall keeper detached from the primary activity of fishing.435 As
for the fisherwoman, Julião specifies in Italian that she sells
her fish around the city, although the title in English suggests
that she would sell to the city, to people like the Fishwife. In
fact, she seems to be engaged in a street vending activity
similar to the black women with their trays, walking around Rio
de Janeiro and the royal roads of the mining region.
These two women are the only ones in the middle register
who are presented as independent workers rather then servants or
ladies. While the Fishwife holds a big fish in her hand perhaps
indicating a certain wealth derived from her commercial
activity, the Fisherwoman carries a tray on her head, full of the
product she will sell while she walks the city streets. The
first woman proudly rests one hand on hip while the other holds
the fish. The second quietly balances the weight of the tray
that she holds firmly on her head, without the help of her
hands. From the latter's neck hangs a small crucifix bringing
back the topic of Christianity to this middle register as if re-
assuring the Italian viewer of the Catholic roots of the popular
435 Bluteau, 1712, vol.7, p.195.
210
classes of Portugal. She dresses like the Saloia below, who was
connected with a moorish ancestry, but unlike her, the Saloia is
not portrayed with the insignias of Catholicism reinforcing her
connection to the non-Christians minorities of Iberia forced
into conversion to Catholicism from early on.
It may seem curious that Julião chose to portray two
working females figures engaged in a similar activity. However,
the mention of holy week in the caption referring to the
noblewoman positioned at the centre of the middle register may
offer a clue. It refers to the holy week, the Easter holidays
when Catholics abstain themselves from eating meat and fish is
the preferred option. The fish is also the symbol of
Christianity and the idea that seems to persist in this register
is the portrayal of the Catholic faith as expressed by the
female population of Portugal. As if in their ‘nobility’ or
their ‘popular’ activities, Portuguese women were spiritual
guardians of the Catholic faith complementing the men portrayed
in the above register, who, as we shall see next, were the
guardians of the monarch's 'divine' right to rule.
The top register, in contrast to the middle one, is
devoted exclusively to male figures, particularly those
belonging to the military ranks; the Caste to whom the artist
himself belonged. Four figures stand on each side of the central
image representing the insignias of royal power. The pictorial
strategy here depicted is reminiscent of the Panoramas, where
the top registers present the viewer with the insignias of
colonial power and permanence: the fortresses and the ports of
call. At the top centre, Julião registered both the date of the
image's execution and a brief description of what was being
illustrated. Underneath a representation of the Lisbon coat of
arms, the artist inscribed the following: "Painting that
211
represents the arms of the city of Lisbon and the varied ways of
dressing in Portugal, particularly of the court of Lisbon,
1779".436 This date was also inscribed in the Salvador Panorama,
reinforcing the idea of Julião’s presence in Brazil at that
time. In the Italian translation, Julião substituted the word
court for the word Lisbon, indicating the interchangeable nature
of both names. The court was in Lisbon where power was
centralised and to refer to Lisbon in political terms was to
refer to the court. For the colonial lower Castes, Lisbon was the
source of oppression, meaning the court rather than the
population of the city. For the loyal servants of the empire
Lisbon was the seat of royal power, meaning the court from which
the delegated powers that acted upon them emanated. It was in
that sense that Julião positioned the capital's coat of arms at
the top centre of the composition; to represent the power that
trickled down to the hierarchical by-structured layers
symbolised in the figures below.
The Lisbon coat of arms is represented by two crows
sitting on the prow and the stern of a sail boat navigating the
ocean. The image reports to the legend of Saint Vincent, patron
saint of Lisbon since the twelfth-century. According to it, the
martyr’s remains were taken from the southern region of
Portugal, the Algarve where he was martyrised and a region at
the time still occupied by Muslims, to the capital Lisbon, then
recently conquered by the Christians, where they were laid to
rest in a church. The saints' ‘relics’ were transported via the
ocean and, according to the legend, two crows accompanied the
boat and its precious cargo throughout the entire journey. Thus
this became the symbol for the arms of Lisbon, a city with a
history rooted in concepts of Christian martyrdom and oriented
436 Translation to English provided in Sotheby’s, 1999, p.302.
212
by a Roman Catholic apostolic ideology. The city was taken from
the Moors in 1147, with the aid of English crusaders, in one of
the many holy wars that continue to plague relations between
Christianity and Islam to this day.
A gold leaf Baroque frame undulates around the symbol of
Lisbon. Gold leaf is the medium covering many of the altar
decorations in Baroque churches all over Portugal and Brazil,
especially in Minas Gerais where in the eighteenth-century
churches displayed the wealth from the mines. The image of the
Lisbon coat of arms and its frame is set against a red cloth
which hangs like a curtain from the top. Red here again
symbolising royal power, as well as the red dye extracted from
the Pau-Brasil for which the Atlantic rainforest was scrambled and
devastated in the colonial period, as mentioned in chapter 1. A
devastation accelerated in the eighteenth-century, at Julião’s
time, with his active participation in the context of the
Enlightenment project that collected and named the natural world
for the benefit and ‘knowledge’ of European privileged man.
Surmounting the frame, the royal symbol, the gold Crown,
encrusted with pearls and completed at the top with the cross of
the Order of Christ, successor to the Knights Templar in
Portugal, which from the beginning illustrated the sails of the
Portuguese caravels that ventured far into the southern seas.
The link between the Cross and the Crown communicated to
the population that the monarch was divinely inspired and
therefore entitled to his or her privileges on earth.437
Coronations could in this manner be sacred rituals incorporating
the concept of the divine royal, an aspect mimicked by the Kongo
coronations that took place within the Portuguese empire as seen
in chapter 3. Since 1646, after the Braganza house took the
437 Mello e Souza, 2002, p.28-30.
213
throne overthrowing Spanish rule, that the Portuguese royals had
dismissed coronations. Instead they crowned their self appointed
patron saint of Portugal, Our Lady of Immaculate Conception.
Thus, while the crown in this image represents the alliance
between royal power and Catholic devotion, it becomes clearer
how there was a thin line between imperial power and the
Catholic faith.
The crowned virgin presided symbolically over concepts of
holy war and conquest and therefore over the conquered ‘infected
races’ at the different levels of the imperial hierarchy. When
seen in conjunction with the central image in the ‘pendant’
canvas (image 46), the coat of arms and the crown reflect that
perspective. In contrast, the representation of Africans being
conducted towards a life of slavery is symbolic of their role as
the backbone sustaining the economy of the empire. The martyrdom
of Saint Vincent, encapsulated in the image of the boat with the
two crow companions, can then be interpreted as echoing the
ambience of human sacrifice portrayed in the slave traffic image
in image 46. Thus, while Julião states in a caption that this is
a representation of the “varied ways of dress in Portugal”,
there is no doubt that in the relationship between different
figures and allegories underlying meanings can be uncovered.
The crown at the centre can therefore also acquire
additional meanings when placed in the context of the
Enlightenment and the centralisation of power that accompanied
it. The monarch of the day in 1779 Portugal was a female - Queen
Maria I - who inherited the government of a centralised nation-
state from her father and the administration of the Marquis of
Pombal, in spite of the fact that she dispensed his services
after her father’s death. She did not wear the crown; as
explained above that was an item reserved to the spiritual
214
female figure of Immaculate Conception. But together with the
holy figure, Queen Maria I, presided over an empire ruling over
the figures in the lower registers. The absence of the crown in
her accoutrements however, matches her own absence from the
picture. Julião did not portray her figure, opting for an
illustration representing her insignias of power and limiting
the register to the male figures that sustained her power at the
upper imperial ranks.
On each side of the Lisbon coat of arms, a total of eight
male figures are described by the captions as: Sergeant Major of
Minas, Sergeant Major of Urban Militia, Captain Major of the Urban Militia, Judge,
Palace official, Maltese soldier, Sergeant of the Urban Militia, and again, Sergeant of
the Urban Militia.438 The choice to fill the top register with figures
whose activities are directly connected with the judicial and
military powers is indicative of Julião’s own belief in the
superiority of the institution he served. In the Royal Roads
Figurinhos, he also opened the visual sequence with military
uniforms. The men on the top register are shown as the
foundation that supported royal power, and therefore are placed
beside it, guarding it, as it also did in the overseas
possessions. These were the "top judges of normality", to whom
Michel Foucault referred in his book Discipline and Punish. They
could be found anywhere in the social body but these figures
were ranked above and determined and practised the rules of
society and what was acceptable or not.
Framing the central image of the crown and coat of arms, a
judge and a palace official. Because the title of Desembargador,
in Portuguese, needed further explanation in Italian, Julião
438 I am using the English translation provided by the Sotheby’s catalogue, but Iwill correct them when necessary, since the terms in English do not always reflect themeanings implied in the Portuguese language. I will also refer to the differences foundin the translation to Italian, which, together with Portuguese, is inscribed in theillustrations.
215
translated the figure as a minister of the tribunal.439 The judge appears
dressed in the black robe that Bluteau described as habitual
when they circulated around the royal palace.440 He also carries
the white cane, the insignia of his official function as a
judge, which was extended to colonial Brazil, where that power
was paraded on the streets to communicate to the population that
authority was present even in the far away conquests.441 Around
the judge's neck another important symbol: the cross, signalling
the divine justice delegated to him by the Portuguese monarchy,
who similarly to other royal houses of Europe, saw themselves as
representatives of the divine on earth.
On the opposite side of the Lisbon coat of arms, Julião
depicted a figure dressed similarly to the judge but without the
cross and with a shorter black robe and cane. He is entitled in
the catalogue Palace official, although in Portuguese and Italian his
function is specified as porteiro, meaning the palace guard. Like
the Viceroy's cavalry in Brazil, which, as seen in chapter 3,
was made up exclusively of aristocrats, these functions were
also reserved to the nobility. Obviously this figure was not a
palace guard, in the sense of being physically at the palace
door guarding it. Symbolically, however, he was guarding the
palace power by performing administrative tasks that permitted
the functioning of the royal household. The similarity of this
figure to that of the judge is also symbolic, both wearing black
robes and long sticks, guarding the royal power signified by the
Lisbon coat of arms. Their authority is sustained by the
military power and the police force represented in the figures
on both sides of them.
439 Here I am using my own translation from Italian to English, rather then the oneused in the Sotheby’s catalogue (judge).440 Bluteau, 1712, vol.3, p.123-124.441 Lara, 2007, p.53.
216
To the left of this Palace Official, three figures are
described in the captions as Soldier of Malta, Sergeant of the Urban Militia
and Soldier of the Urban Militia. The first figure is said to be from
Malta, meaning not so much the island, although that can also be
the case, but of the Military-Religious Christian Order of
Malta, which played an important role during the struggles
against Islam, particularly against the Ottoman Empire in the
Euro-Asian region.442 Julião's illustration of this figure refers
to the presence of the Order in Portugal and makes the
connection between Catholicism and the army. The cross is ever
present in Portuguese iconographic history, and Julião could not
escape from that sign. In this image, the cross appears in the
royal Crown, around the judge's neck and in the figure of
soldiers that fought religious wars and therefore helped
sustaining and expanding the power of Rome and of the Catholic
kingdoms oriented by it.
The presence of the cross is inevitable since it was the
Catholic Church that had legitimated the existence of the
Portuguese kingdom since the twelfth-century, as a reward for
the conquest of a territory that was previously ruled under the
insignias of Islam. The Portuguese sense of 'nationality' was
initially born out of that conquest of territory marked by a
religious fervour opposed to the Islamic faith. The 'founding
fathers' of Portugal and their 'blue-blood' successors were mere
servants to the Roman Catholic Church and executors of the
Pope's orders. Such loyalty to Rome is in fact the basis for the
existence of Portugal, and the sense of 'nationality' that
supposedly emerged from the conquest of the territory we now
call Portugal, is the consequence of a community invented to
442 See for instance Riley-Smith (1999) and Sire (1994).
217
serve the interests of the Roman church.443
Two auxiliary militia men close the top register to the
left of the Soldier of Malta. Their costume is made up of the same
elements found in military uniforms, although presented in
different colours. They carry a shorter cane and weapons and are
associated in their titles with the function of policing the
city; presumably the city of Lisbon, associated with the court,
but also in a more general way with the population of Portugal.
The top register is in this manner also descriptive of the law
enforcers, the executors of royal decree. The apparent absence
of the Church is merely due to the inexistence of church figures
in this register; but the Church is present in the symbolism of
the judge, the soldier of Malta and the Crown. In spite of the
anti-clerical views that marked the Enlightenment and the
Marquis of Pombal's policies, the ever lasting presence of
Catholicism persisted intricated in the discourses and the
symbols of a web of institutions whose existence derived from
the Roman Catholic worldview that oriented the foundation of
Portugal itself. In addition, by 1779 Pombal was gone and the
new Queen Maria I kept close ties with the clergy.
Finally, I close the analysis of these figures with the
last three figures on the left of the top register, which are
identified in Portuguese solely by their ’job’ titles. Their
function would be straightforward to Portuguese people, but for
the Italian viewer, a little more information was necessary. To
the immediate right of the Judge,
a Captain Major of the Urban Militia and a Sergeant Major of Urban Militia. Only
in the captions in Italian does Julião specify their work in the
army. In both captions it is stated that these are urban militia
443 Here I am drawing from Benedict Anderson's ‘Imagined Communities’ (seebibliography).
218
men. This being a canvas illustrating the "varied ways of
dressing in Portugal, particularly of the court", the officers
are placed in the context of the eighteenth-century Lisbon
police force. They assure that order is kept in the metropolis
executing the judicial power symbolised in the judge standing
next to them.
They follow the figure of the Sergeant Major of Minas, the
first to appear in the top register and a curious figure that
immediately calls attention in an audience unaccustomed to see a
black man in uniform. In contrast to the lower register of the
pendant canvas (image 46) populated entirely by black figures,
this man stands out in solitude on the top register. The
captions below him connect him to Brazil, a colony which could
not be dissociated from the metropolis due to the wealth of the
mines that sustained the imperial economy. The officer’s skin
colour reinforces that connection, commenting on Brazilian
negritude and the rising numbers of freed blacks and mulattos
incorporated into the Portuguese colonial military. This figure
communicated to an Italian audience an aspect of the Brazilian
colony, in which the Portuguese descendants of African slaves
could become loyal servants of the Empire, in spite of the
prejudice and discrimination practised upon them due to the
colour of their skin. Like the regiments of Pardos and Henriques,
the black sergeant may be looked at as an emerging ‘victorious’
identity as well as another ‘judge of normality’.
In order to control a vast subaltern population, the
empire had to delegate power further and further down, playing
the Castes against each other. As mentioned in chapter 3, the
military often used Indigenous Brazilians in the pursuit of
Quilombo communities and as portrayed in image 49, recorded by
Johann Moritz Rugendas in the nineteenth-century, the Bush
219
Captains that gave chase to runaway slaves were often black man
working for the white masters. In the colonial world survival
often implied choices that disregarded ethnic affiliations. The
subaltern condition attached to skin colour forced new power
relations that would not be necessary outside the colonial
situation. As we will see in the next chapter images or written
descriptions offering cases in point such as this sergeant of the
mines fed, together with a discourse on miscegenation, a
twentieth century Portuguese historiography supporting claims of
a benign colonisation, free of racism. The presence of this
figure would indicate, from that perspective, the success of the
colonising mission, because the connection between royal power
and wealth through the exploitation of distant lands carries a
connotation that could not accommodate a black figure in
uniform. Nevertheless this figure stands in solitude at the top
register and in connection with the colonial space and not the
Lisbon court. The contrast between this lonely figure and the
multitude of black people populating the lower register and
working in the royal roads and the mines in the Figurinhos,
enhances the true nature of the imperial order; one that was
primarily structured according to gradations of skin colour.
**************
The two canvas, which were hiding from view for over two
hundred years until they were purchased by the Ricardo Brennand
Institute of Recife, are representative of three continents
connected through a history of conquest, slavery and genocide.
These areas form an imaginary triangle, which at the date of
execution of these works, lived an intense mercantile activity,
marked by the slave trade and the rise of capitalism and
220
modernity; a modernity that according to Paul Gilroy,
symbolically emerged out of the slave ships.444 While image 47
depicts metropolitan figures and image 46 presents the viewer
with the ‘human types’ populating the South Atlantic, the
division in registers cannot simply be interpreted in its
verticality. The registers do not constitute simple divisions in
which all the individuals portrayed are socially equals
subordinated to the individuals in the register above. In each
register there are figures that are subaltern to others, often
portrayed side by side. Gender, race and social position are not
always linear here; rather, there is a relationship that unites
different figures whether around the commonalities in their
activities, such as the street sellers; or around the condition
of subalternity of one figure to the other, such as the figures
of white women portrayed with their slaves or servants.
As in the Four Ports Panorama, the formal choices made by
the artist in these works obey to a logic that approximates
individuals according to their socio-political and economical
function in the whole of the empire. The methodology used by the
artist to distribute the figures portrayed in both images makes
use of a total of three registers with similar divisions in
terms of race, gender and social position. As the viewer glances
from top down, the skin colour of the figures follows a
gradation of skin colour made up of the different Castes, from
white, to pardo, caboclo, mulato and so on, until it reaches the
bottom entirely composed by black slaves and characterised by
the predominance of black skin.
Looking at the top register of each canvas, both present
different figures and meanings, but they touch on a conception
of colonial power and conquest. Although the executive, judicial
444 Gilroy, 1993.
221
and military powers that characterise the top register of image
47 are absent from illustration 46, they were still the force
imposing itself on the colonial world and they are manifested in
the military man conducting the slaves through the customs of
Angola. Without those powers, the conditions of subalternity
characterising the figures in illustration 46, could not have
existed in the shape and form it took in Brazil and Angola. Just
as the Lisbon coat of arms is emblematic of royal power, the
slaves, on their way to be sold are a consequence of how that
power was exercised. They sustained the masters to their right
and above and they were subjected to them in all manners;
including sexually, thus producing the intermediary Castes that
would become the basis of a twentieth-century discourse on
miscegenation as proof of the absence of racism in the
Portuguese empire.
Similarly there are parallels to be found on both lower
registers of the two canvases. The middle ones are both
dedicated to women, image 46 to the women of Brazil, in
particular, to the mocambas, who so fascinated Julião, and image
47 to the women of Portugal. The group of central women on the
top canvas belong in a higher social position and they are
substituted in the lower canvas by a Lady in a serpentina followed
by her mocambas, something that although in this context appears
to be a particularity of Brazil, was also a custom in Portugal,
where higher class women accompanied themselves by their slaves.
In the top canvas (image 47) one of the central women is
accompanied by her servant. The slave companion is left to the
first woman on that register whose dress and make-up do not
necessarily indicate a higher position in society. Portuguese
women are depicted by their condition of free white women, the
slave and servant being 'appendixes' and possessions preceded
222
solely by the description of their mistresses and the indicative
of possession implied in the wording her of the captions. The
incorporation of street sellers in the same register is not
repeated in the mocambas register of the lower canvas (image
46), where women invariably belong to a lower class, with the
exception of the female sitting inside the serpentina.
Finally, the third registers depict the subalternity of
the empire in the metropolis, and in Brazil and Angola. They
show men and women who have in common their low social
condition. What is immediately obvious is the skin colour of the
figures. They are all of ‘lighter’ skin on the canvas pertaining
to Portugal, except for the servants of the Meirinho, who are
nevertheless called pretos indicating their condition of slaves.
In contrast the figures are all black in the lower canvas
illustrating Brazil and Angola. It appears from these two works
that the figures of Portugal were more engaged in specific
functions and activities within society, while in Brazil and
Angola labour was strictly the function of the black person,
with the mocambas, the ladies and the dandies being solely objects
for the gaze, providing the diversity of costumes in the
colonies. In Rio, blacks were carriers but in Portugal, the
black men occupying that position in the lower register of
illustration 47, were ‘helpers’ to the Meirinho of the city, whom
they accompanied to local festivities, as the mocambas
accompanied their ladies.
The figures portrayed by Julião in the two canvases of the
Atlantic triangle came to light just recently but they define
the Figurinhos of the royal roads. They are not just figures in an
area that cannot be separated from Rio and the mines. The
captions give an insight into how the figures in the royal roads
were classified in the artist perceptions of colonial society.
223
The top canvas (image 47) makes the parallel between the black
street sellers of Brazil and the white street sellers of
Portugal, with the connotations attached to African and Moorish
ancestries implied. Image 46 repeats the Figurinhos images
described in chapter 3, and it defines as mocambas the many
women of the royal trails by the diverse ways in which they wore
their capes, belts, jewellery and headscarves. Portrayed to an
Italian audience the images display the signs and language that
constructed the Portuguese Atlantic colonial culture while they
intersected in the power relations created by the colonial
condition.
Portuguese colonialism continued for 200 years more in
Africa and Asia. Brazil gained its independence in 1822, eleven
years after the death of Carlos Julião one evening in Lisbon.
The court's move to Rio de Janeiro in 1808, escaping the
Napoleonic invasions, was pivotal to Brazil's independence. In
the end, the Portuguese Crown prince Pedro (I of Brazil and IV
of Portugal), who grew up in Brazil, stayed back as an emperor
to the new independent country, while his family and descendants
continued to rule their other conquests from Lisbon. Slavery
continued in Brazil until 1888, and not much changed for the
slaves or the indigenous peoples after independence. Because the
same powers and institutions remained, the same ruling
traditions continued. Stereotyping, discriminatory perceptions
of indigenous and Afro-Brazilians remained unaltered or changed
as the flow of new ideas, often as or more damaging such as
scientific racism, entered the intellectual milieu that had
taken off with the Enlightenment.
The knowledge accumulated by eighteenth-century
colonialists slowly built up a social reality that became the
norm. Such reality however was as faulty as its construction. To
224
maintain the Empire and the subjugation of other peoples, rulers
on both sides of the Atlantic relied and believed in such
knowledge and in the civilisational superiority of Europe over
the rest of the world. But as resistance persisted and the world
changed, political discourse was adjusted and images continued
to serve the purpose of historical discourses that supported
governmental policies throughout the nineteenth and twentieth
centuries. Although Julião's images make clear the social and
racial divisions that existed in the Portuguese empire,
twentieth-century historiography on both sides of the Atlantic
was able to adjust the visual testimonies to portray the
opposite. The exhibition of the Panoramas in Portugal and the
publishing of the Figurinhos in Brazil in 1960 is symbolic of that
political discourse. And it is to that matter that I now turn in
chapter 5.
225
Chapter 5
Displaying the Luso-Tropical Empire
"Perhaps unconsciously confusing realitiesthat are biological or necessary withrealities that are socio-economic andhistorical, Gilberto Freyre transformed allof us who live in the colony-provinces ofPortugal into the fortunate inhabitants of aLuso-Tropical paradise".445
Following Julião’s death in 1811, his works went into
obscurity to re-emerge in the twentieth-century when they were
interpreted under a discourse emphasising racial unity in
Portugal and miscegenation in Brazil. I left the artist in
chapter 1 at his post in the Lisbon Arsenal situated at Campo de
Santa Clara. The Panoramas are still there. They remain property
445 Cabral, in foreword to Davidson, 1969, p.9.
226
of the military institution and are today kept by the Department
of Archaeology and Engineering works of the Military Archives,
which, as mentioned in chapter 2, is located at the Palace of
the Marquis of Lavradio, in the same area of Lisbon where Julião
served during the last years of his life. The Figurinhos and the
two Castes canvases continued a journey that would ultimately
take them to the United States, from where they were finally
purchased by the National Library in Rio de Janeiro and the
Ricardo Brennand Institute of Recife, respectively. While the
purchase of the two canvases did not occur until 1999 when they
were anonymously put up for auction at Sotheby’s New York, the
Figurinhos became property of the National Library in 1947 after
the then director of that institution, Rubens Borba de Morais,
came to their knowledge.
The source of the Figurinhos at that point is unknown and the
library does not possess a registry of the purchase. According
to the Director's correspondence in 1946, he received an
invitation by the American Library Association to attend their
annual conference which took place that year from the 17th to
the 23rd of June.446 Also in that year, the images were mentioned
in an article entitled O Livreiro Chadenet, which was published in
the newspaper O Estado de São Paulo.447 The 1947 report, kept by the
Manuscripts Department of the National Library, mentions “the
acquisition of a volume of about 50 watercolours dated from the
eighteenth-century and representing Brazilian customs".448 It is
not stated the location of the works or who the previous owner
was. Rubens Borba de Morais may have been introduced to Julião’s
43 Figurinhos during his trip to the United States, proceeding to
the acquisition of the watercolours, which were added the446 Biblioteca Nacional, Division of Manuscripts, 65,04,006, n.026.447 Catalogue: Riscos Iluminados de Figurinhos, 1960, p.XI.448 Biblioteca Nacional, Division of Manuscripts, 46,02028, Relatório de 1947
227
following year to the collection of the National Library’s
Iconography Department. Whether he departed from the article to
track the illustrations or not is unknown, but their purchase by
the National Library was followed by the creation of a
commission to analyse rare works in that institution.449 Presiding
it was well-known historian José Honório Rodrigues and cultural
administrator Rodrigo de Mello Franco de Andrade.450 The primary
analysis conducted identified the works as having been produced
by the Portuguese military art school.451 They were skilfully
illustrated revealing a preoccupation with colour and detail,
some of the characteristics attached to the training given to
artists by that institution. In addition, they possessed the
formalistic characteristics encountered in the drawings of
Alexandre Rodrigues Ferreira’s philosophical expedition (see chapter
1) and the human figures followed the typology illustrating the
cartographic tradition of the Portuguese school.452
But the author was unknown at this stage. Some of the
plates in the Figurinhos were first seen in Gastão Cruls' Aparência
do Rio de Janeiro, published in 1949. When they were published for the
1960 commemorations, the watercolours had been finally
attributed to Carlos Julião following the ‘rediscovery’ of the
Panoramas in the Portuguese military archives.453 Attribution of
the Figurinhos to Carlos Julião, was thus possible through a
circulation of information between the cultural institutions of
Portugal and Brazil; a relationship that, as we shall see, was
extended to the political elite of both countries. As we have
seen before, both the Panoramas and the Figurinhos departed from a
colonial process where such relationships formed at the higher449 Biblioteca Nacional, Division of Manuscripts, 65,4,004, n.001.450 Biblioteca Nacional, Division of Manuscripts, 65,4,004, n.001451 Catalogue: Riscos Iluminados de Figurinhos, 1960, p.IX.452 Catalogue: Riscos Iluminados de Figurinhos, 1960, p.IX.453 Catalogue: Riscos Iluminados de Figurinhos, 1960, p.IX.
228
ranks of a Luso-Brazilian empire oriented by a metropolitan
worldview. In the twentieth-century their display came to form
statements of Portuguese centred historical discourses oriented
by national and trans-national identity politics on both sides
of the Atlantic. In 1960, the political and intellectual elites
of both nations united to celebrate the 500th anniversary of the
death of Prince Henry, the Navigator, reflecting a ‘special
relationship’ between the two countries that involved policies
of cooperation, state visits of high officials and a circulation
of academic and scientific ideas. Prince Henry, the figure that
historiography placed as the ‘father figure’ of the Portuguese
‘discoveries’ was celebrated in what was to become the last
major colonial exhibition of the Portuguese Empire. In the
aftermath of the independence of Portuguese India and on the eve
of the colonial war in Africa, the event relied on a political
discourse that put forward the existence of one Portuguese world
comprised of ‘provinces’ rather then ‘colonies’ and populated by
a Portuguese unified ‘race’ – under one God, one language and
one homeland.
However, the changing of terminology from ‘colonies’ to
‘provinces’, reflected what Abdias Nascimento called a
“stratagem” – an attempt of the Portuguese state to disguise the
“racist and exploitative nature” of its imperial practices in
face of international criticism from anti-colonial movements.454
Independence in India and unrest in the African colonies
signalled the opposition of the colonised to imperial rule,
fuelled by a subaltern, and thus very different perspective of
reality, and by anti-colonial movements around the world. At
home and abroad, many also opposed the fascist dictatorship led
by António de Oliveira Salazar, in power since 1933 and about to
454 Nascimento, 1978, p.50.
229
drag Portugal into a thirteenth year old colonial war in Africa,
in a desperate attempt to keep an old dying empire alive.
Salazar’s ‘new state’ replaced the successive republican and
anti-clerical governments that since 1910 replaced Monarchic
rule, installing an officially Catholic state and renewing
national vows with the Vatican in the 1940 Concordata. Similarly
to the Christianising mission of previous centuries, Catholicism
became embedded in twentieth-century claims to a ‘civilising
process’ that the Portuguese took upon themselves to carry out
in the overseas colonial possessions. In that manner, the
Portuguese state sought to counteract the unrest engaging in a
propaganda that presented Portuguese colonialism as beneficial
to the colonised. The military institution, where two centuries
earlier Julião had served, was incorporated in the
commemorations event, and the military exhibition, where the
Panoramas were displayed, emphasised the role of that institution
in the ‘civilising colonial mission’.
The institutional relationships across the Atlantic
intensified in the 1950’s but they were always there from the
day the heir to the throne of Portugal declared Brazil’s
independence refusing to return to Lisbon. Julião died in the
decade preceding that event, during the early years of the
court’s stay in Rio de Janeiro, but he must have felt the
changing world around him as Portugal gained the status of
colony, subjected to royal rule in Rio de Janeiro. Once the
French were defeated the Portuguese royal family began to feel
the pressure to return to Lisbon. But Pedro, the heir to the
throne, stayed behind and while granting Brazil the inevitable –
independence – secured that royal power and its institutions
were left in place. Thus the independence of Brazil, which came
in 1822, did not translate into any major structural changes.
230
The existing institutions, including that of slavery were
maintained and at the top there remained the monarchic rule of
the Bragança house, which would only come to an end with the
abolition of slavery and the birth of the Brazilian republic in
1888. The influence of the Portuguese faction of the Bragança
monarchs was evident in the policy of King João VI of Portugal,
who following Brazilian independence immediately created the
Luso-Brazilian (Imagined) Community, where an implied political
orientation continued to link Portugal and its African
possessions to Brazil.455
The perpetuation of the existing institutions and
political system in Brazil, during the transition from colonial
possession to independent monarchy, kept the colonial order in
place, particularly since nineteenth-century scientific racist
theories continued to formulate a human hierarchical order where
a country’s racial composition was understood as closely
connected to economic development. While such theories guided
the hegemonic mentality in the Brazilian intellectual circles,
they also came to justify nineteenth-century European
colonisation in Africa. And it was precisely in Africa that
Portugal focused after loosing the Brazilian colony. When the
European scramble for the ‘dark continent’ intensified, Portugal
was not allowed to secure the territory between Angola and
Mozambique, losing it to the then all powerful British Empire.456
Portuguese claims to Africa were based on a long historical
presence visible in the Portuguese fortresses along the coastal
ports; a presence portrayed by Julião in his Panoramas. The
argument was ill received by other European elites and the
English were quick to observe that fortresses in ruins were just
455 Vitória, 2003, p.16.456 Maxwell, 1995, p.15.
231
proof of sovereignties in ruins.457
The historical discourse of the fortress gained
nevertheless roots, attached to a political discourse that aimed
to justify Portuguese exploitation of African lands. It was
still present in the speeches and writings formulated for the
1960 commemorations. As in Brazil where cultural institutions
worked loosely with government, in Portugal cultural events of
historical significance were not removed from political goals
and practices. In the catalogue of the 1960 military exhibition,
where Julião’s Panoramas were presented to the public, the
fortress remained a sign attached to the legitimacy of
Portuguese permanence overseas:
“…Fortresses that the Portuguese spread aroundthe world, from the Amazon to the Plata, fromMorocco to Mozambique, from Ormuz to Macau.Fortresses that meant, for longer or shorterperiods of time, an affirmation of sovereigntyand that came to be sometimes, meeting points ofraces and civilisations.”458
The wording is cautious; the presence is signalled but the
permanence is less assertive: “for longer or shorter periods (…)
sometimes”. Luis Ferrand de Almeida, author of the text
footnoted his observation, directing the reader to Charles Boxer
and stating that the English historian “recently reminded us of
this, when writing about Mombassa”. However, while Ferrand de
Almeida focuses on the fortress as a place of encounters, Boxer
contextualises the fortress in its military aspects, from which
it cannot be dissociated. Julião, as a fortress inspector,
demonstrated this in his Panorama of Salvador (image 1) by not
dissociating the fortress from its artillery and technical
457 Saraiva, 1989, p.342.458 Estado Maior, 1960, p.IX.
232
information, while still portraying it next to the city and its
inhabitants. In the context of ‘affirmation of sovereignty’
Julião’s Panoramas, with their forts and figures made visible
the statements contained in the discourses presented for the
exhibition. The figures symbolically illustrated the encounters
around the fortresses in the geographies occupied by the
Portuguese.
Boxer’s text refers to Fort Jesus at Mombassa as a place
of conflicts rather then peaceful encounters where civilisations
met;459 an abandoned building, almost an archaeological artefact
in the sense of a faded presence. The interpretation was similar
to that given in the late nineteenth-century by the English, in
regards to the Portuguese fortress as a sign of sovereignty in
ruins. Boxer demonstrated how vague the Portuguese presence in
Mombassa was: a port of passage, rarely mentioned in the
thousands of letters between the Portuguese monarchs and the
governors of Goa.460 A place where relationships with local rulers
also developed and cultural exchange with the Swahili also
implied ‘miss-encounters’, as demonstrated by the not so
flattering Swahili proverb “proud (violent) as a Portuguese”.461
The reputation of violence was attributed to the Portuguese
throughout the empire, and constituted a strategy that,
according to Teotónio de Souza, resulted from Portuguese
inferiority in numbers.462
The aspect of violence, which as mentioned above is
inevitably attached to military active presence, was brushed out
from the Military exhibition catalogue, oriented by notions of
beneficial colonialism. As Michel Foucault put it: “the manifest
459 Boxer, 1960.460 Boxer, 1960, p.84.461 Boxer, 1960, p.84-86.462 Souza, 2006, p.58.
233
discourse, (…) is really no more, than the repressive presence of
what it does not say”.463 At the time of Salazar, Portuguese
historians were operating in a controlled environment, where
what could be perceived as negative in the Portuguese colonial
activities would be censored, often self-censored and therefore
not communicated to a population, indoctrinated from an early
age through the educational system into believing in a
‘beneficial’ Portuguese colonisation. School books emphasized
the role of the Portuguese hero, the historical personalities
that had ventured across the seas into unexplored lands. As a
result, history teaching focused on the fifteenth and sixteenth-
centuries, leaving the latter periods largely uncovered.464 That
tendency was replicated at the higher levels of national events,
such as exhibitions, expositions or historical commemorations.
Portuguese young students were taught about the colonies
and encouraged to connect to the children of Portuguese
settlers, or of Portuguese immigrants in Brazil, through inter-
educational programmes, including a system of pen-pals, and the
organization of ‘youth programmes’ like colonial cruises and
camps.465 Patricia de Matos tells of the exchange of letters and
photographs between children, and of a case where an African
child feared that his Portuguese pen-pal would not like his
picture because of the black colour of his skin.466 The sense of
inferiority was installed in the native population at a young
age, through an educational system that promoted Portuguese
‘superiority’ and its benefit for the implied ‘inferior’
African. In Portuguese educational curricula, African cultures
were included in the category of ‘customs’, called Usos e Costumes
463 Foucault, 2002a, p.28464 Matos, 2006, p.85. 465 Matos, 2006, p.69.466 Matos, 2006, p.83-84.
234
and inserted in the much larger topic of ‘Fables’, creating in
students a perception of the unreal, mystic, strange or exotic
aspects of the ‘uncivilised’ cultures, in opposition to the
Christian and patriarchal Portuguese values.467 The topics covered
therefore emphasized the differences between Africans and
Portuguese and described ways of dress, hairstyles and body art
that resembled Julião’s visual descriptions, but which were
accompanied by negative language, such as the “gentile
scarifications” or “bizarre phenomenon” of native bodies.468
Discourse was therefore constructed upon cultural differences
that elevated Portuguese culture and therefore served the ‘New
State’ political ideology and propaganda. Implied in this
discourse on difference was the ‘repressive presence’ to which
Foucault was referring: the neglect to address the condition of
subalternity and cultural genocide to which the indigenous
peoples of the Luso-Tropical world were subjected.
Repression was indeed the experience of indigenous
Africans. At the time of the exhibition and until the following
year, when the colonial war started, Portugal kept a policy of
discrimination encapsulated by the leis de indigenato (indigenous
laws), which regulated the lives of natives in their own native
land. The Colonial Act of 1930 had readjusted and now legislated
the imperial social hierarchy distinguishing Iberian born from
colonial born. The latter was farther distinguished between
assimilated and non-assimilated. The empire was formulated as an
assemblage of colonial possessions, under the same ‘nationality’
while inhabited by different races that Portugal took upon itself
to ‘civilise’ and Christianise, creating the ‘indigenous tax’
that forced colonised peoples into labour.469 Autonomous467 Matos, 2006, p.90.468 Matos, 2006, p.90.469 Matos, 2006, p.63-64.
235
communities would therefore remain within the non-assimilated
ranks, because the ‘indigenous laws’ determined that in order to
ascend in the hierarchical order and become ‘assimilated’,
natives had to speak, read and write Portuguese correctly,
abandon their traditions, have ‘good habits and manners’, do
military service, practice monogamy and hold a job that allowed
them to support themselves and their families.470 This was what
constituted the ‘civilised’ that non-assimilated natives were
forced to confront in the mission schools, where they were sent
to follow a different educational programme from metropolitan
schools.471 These distinctions among populations in a given
colonial possession constituted the divide to rule strategy used
by European colonising nations; a strategy that, as seen in the
previous chapters, echoed the Brazilian colonial period, where a
hierarchy of colours distanced from each other all those
subjugated to colonial rule.
Thus, assimilation implied an identification of the
natives with the coloniser’s cultural values, particularly in
terms of religious beliefs and language. It was an imperialist
tool used to deny local populations their own cultural values
and sense of identity, leading to Salazar’s infamous words
“Africa does not exist”.472 Similarly to the eighteenth-century
when Julião illustrated the signs of civilisation versus those
of ‘savagery’, and in the same manner that successive Ordenações
restricted the privileges of the ‘infected races’, Salazar’s
colonial policies still reflected the colonising mentality of
previous centuries. Categories marking difference between the
‘races’ continued to mainly differentiate the Portuguese born
470 Matos, 2006, p.66; Castelo, 1999, p. 60.471 Cairo, 2006, p.386.472 Cabral, 1994, p.54.
236
from the ‘rest’ reflecting the same sense of superiority that
‘purity of blood’ established in the past. To be Christian but
born in the colonies was still differentiated from being Iberian
born Christian. However, from the early 1950’s on, and in spite
of maintaining the same policies, Portuguese colonial discourse
insisted on the tolerance and absence of racism that was
perceived to characterise its history, emphasising the existence
of a unified Portuguese or ‘Luso-Tropical’ world. As we shall
see, such discourse was a consequence of the close relationship
between the intellectual and political elites of Portugal and
its former Brazilian colony.
Like the myth of the fortress, the myth of the absence of
racism was also constructed under political manipulation and it
is again Charles Boxer that offers a good example of the
controlled environment facing researchers of Portuguese history
at Salazar’s time. The English historian, praised by Ferrand de
Almeida in his 1960 fortress analysis, became shrouded in
controversy after the publication of his Race Relations in the
Portuguese Empire, only a few years later (1964).473 He opened his
book with a reference to Salazar’s comments to American Life
magazine, when the dictator reaffirmed in an interview that
there was a complete absence of racism throughout Portuguese
colonial history. Determined to set the record straight, Boxer’s
book argued that Salazar’s claim could not be substantiated by
historical records. The episode dragged on for years, with
Portuguese Salazarite historian Armando Cortesão, who had
previously been a close friend of Boxer, taking the lead on the
personal attacks on the Englishman, following the publication of
the book.474 Boxer’s analysis denounced the underlining racism
473 See bibliography for Boxer, 1988. 474 Cummins and Rebelo, 2001.
237
that characterised the Portuguese empire uncovering the
omissions in a colonial discourse that emphasized a history of
miscegenation and the ability that any subject of the empire had
to climb up the social ladder by taking administrative posts and
joining the clergy or the army – once they converted to
Catholicism.
The Portuguese empire was surely no exception to racial
prejudice and the Luso-tropical world was neither idyllic nor
deprived of complex hierarchies associated with various
gradations of skin colour. Carlos Julião’s illustrations
demonstrate how at the top of the ladder remained always the
Portuguese born whites, for whom the top administrative,
religious and military posts were reserved.475 At the bottom,
were the African slaves, of whom the largest numbers reached
Brazil, although many were sent to Portugal and other parts of
the empire, including Asia.476 In between the various gradations
of colour that miscegenation made possible had to constantly
negotiate their social position and intermediary relationships.
Even if Iberian history did not show the self-righteousness of
Portuguese cultural and religious intolerance, how would it be
possible for the Portuguese to remain distant from a racist
discourse that had been endowed with ‘scientific’ legitimacy by
the European worldview that came out of the Enlightenment? If
the empirical enquiry that took over all spheres of a new
science providing the “matrix for the numerous scientific
expeditions that took place in the eighteenth century”477 - of
which many were carried out in Portuguese America - how could
Portugal keep its distance from the racial theories that sought
475 Boxer, 1988, p.72476 Jeanette Pinto has written a book that addresses the issue of the slave trade in the Indian Ocean, called Slavery in Portuguese India.477 Foucault, 1980, p.74.
238
to categorize peoples in what Humboldt called a table of
elements that placed white people above all others?478 If the
question of race was not already entrenched in the Portuguese
psyche, as Charles Boxer observed, such a proliferation of slave
markets throughout the Portuguese empire, could not have
occurred for over three centuries without the development of
feelings of racial superiority on the part of the white
population who accepted slavery as a natural condition of the
black African.479 Then how did Julião’s images, which clearly
denote the hierarchical racial divisions that built up the
Portuguese empire throughout the centuries, came to be part of
political discourses that denied the existence of such
divisions?
Portugal lived under a hegemonic discourse that exagerated
Portuguese historical accomplishments, romanticised in the
public imagination by the words of the poet Luís de Camões, who
in the sixteenth-century had described Portuguese bravery and
the adventurous nature that they carried across the oceans.480 The
epic quality was present in how the Portuguese presented
themselves to the world; Salazar's interviews to foreigners were
always "set against the backdrop of the grand but pathetic saga
of Portugal", a country that still seemed to be ‘ruled’ by
Prince Henry and Vasco da Gama, together with Salazar.481 When, in
1960, Portugal commemorated the 500th anniversary of the death of
Prince Henry, speaker João Ameal confirmed the Prince’s
importance by stating that he still presided over the twentieth-
century, uniting a historical discourse of 500 years.482 Thus
478 Shannon, 2004, p.236.479 Boxer, 1988, p.59480 Camões, Lande White translation, 1997.481 Ball, 1982, p.277. Marcus Power482 Ameal, 1960, p.22.
239
history as it was being fabricated was the basis of a Portuguese
‘trans-national’ identity and to question any of its elements,
as for instance the myth of the absence of racism, was to
question Portuguese history and the ‘homeland’ itself. The
exaltation of patriotism through historical-political discourse
left little room for criticism to state policies. Many
Portuguese, in face of such criticism, assumed nationalistic
defensive attitudes believing the myth, in spite of the fact
that legislation throughout history evidently proves otherwise.
The reasons that led the state to propagate the myth of the
absence of racism were directly linked to the relationship
between Portugal and an international community condemning
colonialist rule in Africa and elsewhere. The 1960
commemorations of the death of Prince Henry must be understood
against that political background and Julião’s images, produced
two centuries before, were inserted in the colonial discourse
that the Portuguese produced to defend its position as a
colonialist power.
On the other side of the Atlantic, Brazil joined the
commemorations, uncritical of Portugal’s colonial practices and
in spite of the fact that it had once been subjected to them.
Oriented by a discourse on miscegenation, which was developed in
response to nineteenth-century scientific racism, Brazil was
projecting itself in the world as a racial democracy. Like
Salazar’s myth of the absence of racism, Brazil faced
international criticism for calling itself a racial democracy
when in the early 1950’s UNESCO conducted a study on race
relations in the country.483 The inquiry responded to growing
international concerns with ethnic issues and racism in the
aftermath of World War II and it aimed at seeking solutions for
483 Andrews, 1997, p.100-101.
240
racial issues taking the Brazilian self proclaimed 'racial
democracy' as an example. However, rather then finding answers
to racial matters, the study revealed the strong existence of
racism in Brazil - information that for the ‘gagged’ subaltern
Afro-Brazilians was a fact well known. Years later, in 1977
during the military dictatorship, Brazil had its own version of
a ‘Charles Boxer episode’ in the person of Afro-Brazilian Abdias
do Nascimento. His work The Genocide of Afro-Brazilians was initially
intended for presentation at the Colloquium of the Second
Festival of Black Arts and Cultures in Nigeria, but was rejected
by the ‘establishment’, as the President of the Colloquium put
it. The reason was fear that governmental and “high diplomatic
interests” between Brazil and Nigeria could be damaged.484
Nascimento's text denounced the invisibility to which the theory
of racial democracy in Brazil had condemned Afro-Brazilians, by
ignoring the existence of racism in the country based on the
existence of miscegenation.
Indeed, the concept of racial democracy converged with
perceptions of national identity based on the ‘miscegenated
character’ of the Brazilian population, becoming in that manner
the mantra that defined how many Brazilians, as well as many
outsiders, saw Brazilian society. The invisibility to which
Afro-Brazilians felt condemned derived from mainstream views
that rejected any claims about the existence of racism in the
country. In a society that inherited from the colonial situation
a social hierarchy that functioned mostly in accordance with
perceptions of skin colour, black people continued to endure
prejudice and discrimination while being communicated as
belonging to a ‘racial democracy’, where racism by definition
was absent. The idea became linked to theories of miscegenation,
484 Nascimento, 1978, p.29.
241
particularly those formulated by Gilberto Freyre in his 1933
work Casa Grande e Senzala (1933).485 However, Freyre did not create
the term - which was as Levy Cruz wrote an older idea - and
seldom used it except for one instance when he said that Brazil
was on the path to a racial democracy.486 At best, Freyre can be
considered what Michel Foucault called a ‘founder of
discursivity’,487 laying out theoretical principles that emerged
as part of a circularity of ideas. From his own work there
emanated many other discourses using his as foundation, and
putting forward in the circuits of knowledge the notion of
‘racial democracy‘ to be used and abused in the discursive
formations of Brazilian national identity. On the other hand,
Freyre’s discourse on miscegenation, as the basis of national
identity, was not entirely detached from Latin American
discourses of the time, among artistic and intellectual groups
responding to the same formulations.488 In time,
conceptualisations of race as a cultural identity would be
introduced in Portugal via Brazil, and more particularly through
the work of Freyre and his favourable outlook on the early
stages of Portuguese colonisation.
His views would not be appropriated by the Portuguese
state until the 1950’s. During the 1930’s and 1940’s they even
received contrary views by hardcore imperialists who declared
themselves anti-miscegenation and went as far as to defend
racial segregation.489 Where Freyre’s ideas began to call the
attention of Portuguese authorities was in the author’s link
485 Translated into English as Masters and Slaves, the title literally reads as ‘Big House and Slave Quarters: Formation of the Brazilian Family under the Patriarchal Economy Regime'486 Cruz, 2002 in http://www.fundaj.gov.br/tpd/128.htm487 Foucault, 1977: What is an Author?. 488 See for example José Vasconcelos Raza Cósmica in México, Oswald the Andrade Anthropophagy Manifesto, or the visual work by Tarsila do Amaral or Belmonte The 3 Races.489 Castelo, 1999, p.84-85.
242
between a Brazilian national identity and the role of the
Portuguese coloniser, which he put across in a rather beneficial
manner, particularly in the distinctions he made between the
Portuguese coloniser and those from other nationalities. As Omar
Thomaz observed, however, the international criticism of
European colonialism that marked the post war period, as well as
the exchange of intellectual ideas between Portugal and Brazil
by then largely dominated by the myth of racial democracy, came
together in the early 1950’s to modify some aspects of
Portuguese colonial discourse and incorporate the idea of
miscegenation as proof of racial tolerance in the historical
making of the Portuguese empire.490 In face of international
criticism, Salazar’s government changed the terminology of
colonial geopolitics to project the idea of an ‘imperial
equality’ by changing the name ‘colonies’ to ‘overseas
provinces’ in what Abdias Nascimento called a “stratagem” to
disguise the “racist and exploitative nature” of the regime.491
Freyre criticised some forms of Portuguese colonisation
that did not match the experience of the plantation that
characterise the making of his own native Brazilian state. In
his work the plantation was romanticised and idealised in a
‘gone with the wind’ nostalgic manner. Referring to a type of
colonisation made by “adventurous clowns” such as “soldiers of
fortune, adventurers, convicts, new Christians escaping
religious persecution, castaways and traders of slaves, parrots
and wood”492, he favoured the “natural patriarchal heads of vast
families of slaves and semi-slaves producers of sugar and coffee
- vast families whose constellation constituted Brazil".493 The plantation was
490 Thomaz, 2001.491 Nascimento, 1978, p.50.492 Freyre, 1966, p.19-21.493 Freyre, 1951, p.137 (my italics).
243
the place where cultural and biological miscegenation initially
occurred, giving shape to Brazil and to a Luso-Tropical world. And
while he may have criticised the ‘modern Portuguese’ as having
lost the qualities of his ancestors494, Freyre’s interpretations
permeated to how the ‘modern Portuguese’ would come to look at
its empire, past and present. However, similarly to the
fortress, miscegenation remained for the Portuguese in the realm
of ‘affirmation of sovereignty’ and not a policy to be
encouraged to Portuguese settlers. Freyre's image of the
Portuguese patriarchal Catholic family, transforming the
environment through agricultural development, bringing
civilisation and a settler lifestyle, appealed to a conservative
Catholic government in search of a discourse that distinguished
its empire from all others and responded the worldwide criticism
of imperialism.
Far from a critical text on their colonial practices, Casa
Grande e Senzala credits the Portuguese with a natural ability to
adjust to the tropics and assigns to the Portuguese male a
preference for dark skinned women that would have facilitated
miscegenation, the basis of Brazilian identity. This preference,
Freyre defended, came from a tradition of centuries of
encounters with the Moorish women in Iberia, and reflected
overseas in the Portuguese male’s inclination for the available
black, mulatta or native Brazilian women. The question addressed
in chapter 1 in regards to perceptions of these women as
belonging to the white male’s reproductive unit was not raised
at that point. As for the ‘natural ability’ for tropical
climate, the Portuguese were, still according to Freyre,
favoured by the geographical positioning of the Iberian
Peninsula, much closer to the tropics than other European
494 Burke, p.2008, p.187.
244
powers, which would have facilitated they adaptability to
southern climates. Freyre’s reflections were adequate to the
patriarchal mentality, where women occupied specific roles
within society, in accordance to their class and race but
inevitably subjugated to white men. The Portuguese male is
portrayed as an oversexed “healthy stud“, which fertilises
willing darker women - “clean gentiles” - “improving” the race
by breeding healthy humans that will carry Portuguese
patriarchal hegemony to success in the tropical environment.495
Freyre concluded that from such encounters the result could only
be “good animals, even if bad Christians or bad people”.496
Miscegenation became increasingly what characterised the
Brazilian, and the mixing of the ‘races’ became slowly equated
with the notion of ‘racial democracy’. It acquired the status of
a marker signalling an identity connected to one culture, one
language, one religion, with no room for outsider cultures. In
1951, Freyre wrote that the miscegenation process in Brazil was
still incomplete and needed to be paced so as to be accompanied
by a corresponding democratic development.497 He was referring to
a portion of the Brazilian population, in a context that seems
remarkably close to the civilising mission of Portuguese America
two centuries before. Freyre was speaking of the indigenous
tribes and the communities descended from the Quilombos in remote
areas, who were yet to be brought into the 'national family',
its Christian values and the Portuguese language, both an
inseparable feature of Brazilian identity.498 His statements were
reflecting the Eurocentric discourse orienting colonialism; a
discourse that implied the destruction of indigenous cultures
495 Freyre, 1966, p.24.496 Freyre, 1966, p.24.497 Freyre, 1951.498 Freyre, 1951.
245
and resistance communities, which had emerged out of the
struggle against the Portuguese and were perpetuated by the
unchanging institutional practices that followed Brazil’s
independence.
The image that comes to mind is the sequence of
illustrations of natives, portrayed by Carlos Julião (images 10
to 13), where the indigenous ‘progress’ from hunter-gatherers
into ‘tamed’ adjusted natives is symbolised in their gradual
clothing and acceptance of Catholicism. Furthermore, it is
reminiscent of Salazar’s policies of assimilation in Africa and
the concept of a unified Portuguese world under God, country and
family.499 It further shows the continuity of Eurocentric
discourse in Brazil, given that after independence Brazilian
intellectuals inherited the mentality of the colonial
assimilated elites, forming the ‘superior’ social groups and
looking down on the black and indigenous Brazilians, therefore
perpetuating the coloniser’s worldview throughout post-colonial
identity constructions. In the making of miscegenated Brazilian
identity, Freyre silenced the voices of the subaltern black
Brazilian. In the making of the Portuguese ‘race’ Salazar’s
regime attempted to annihilate native cultures and ‘erase’
Africa. Racial democracy in Brazil was therefore not a concept
to be confused with equal democratic values for different
social/ethnic/racial groups. It was a conditional democracy,
which imposed one's concept of race and culture and did not
grant the Indigenous with political, cultural and religious
autonomy. Thus Freyre’s ‘path to a racial democracy’, mentioned
above, implied the imposition of colonialist-style cultural
values.
Miscegenation and racial democracy were the concepts that
499 Deus, Pátria e família were the motto of the Portuguese fascist state.
246
jump started the theory of Luso-Tropicalismo to the taste of
Salazar’s propaganda and a theory formulated by Freyre himself.
Luso-Tropicalismo encapsulated the idea of miscegenation which on
turn validated the myth of the absence of racism. At a time when
fortresses in ruins could not come to the colonialist aid, Luso-
Tropicalismo could serve the same purpose: it validated Portuguese
colonial permanence through a ‘biological’ presence dated from
centuries. If miscegenation was, and had been, a widespread
practice in the Portuguese empire, then the Portuguese were not
racist and therefore race was not, and had never been, an issue
in either Brazil or the Portuguese empire. This ‘logic’
disregarded the socio-economic inequalities and the racist
system in existence throughout Portuguese social history, which
Brazil inherited, and which prevailed in a society structured on
perceptions of skin colour. Therefore, and in spite of the myth,
societies on both sides of the Atlantic remained a raced
hierarchy consistent with the social structure visible in
Julião's figures, produced at a time when concepts of 'purity of
blood' versus 'infected races' were still very present in the
perceptions of one's social status. In spite of the changes
reflected in the discourse of race, the twentieth-century theory
of Luso-Tropicalismo was just that, a theory, given that in reality
national policies in Brazil or imperial policies in Portugal
still denied native peoples their cultural values. The non-
assimilated were, whether in Brazil or the Portuguese empire,
the modern 'infected races' who did not fill the requisites to a
sort of 'purity of culture', ‘purity of religion’ and ‘purity of
language’.
Given these parallels between the two experiences of the
non-assimilated in Brazil or the Portuguese empire, which are
reflections of subjugations to Eurocentric mentalities and
247
belief systems, it should not come as a surprise that the
relationships at the level of government between Brazil and
Portugal deepened during the 1950’s. At the time, both countries
faced international criticism, as a consequence of the UNESCO
report for the case of Brazil and anti-colonial resistance
movements in regards to Portugal. However, the relationship was
not without precedents. When in 1940, the 'Exposition of the
Portuguese World' took place in Lisbon, in spite of the Second
World War unravelling so close to home, Brazil was the only
foreign country to participate. Its pavilion was inaugurated by
the then dictator of Brazil, Getúlio Vargas, and was strangely
deprived of any references to the African presence in that South
American country.500 The absence of ‘negritude’ in the Brazilian
pavilion at a time when the African element had supposedly been
elevated in its contribution to miscegenation reflects the
invisibility that Abdias do Nascimento denounced years later,
and which I mentioned above. To speak of an established
‘miscegenated identity’ was to deny dark-skinned people their
existence as a cohesive group with a colonial experience that
was at the roots of their subalternity. Thus the Brazilian
African element had no political place in the pavilion
representing Brazil in a Portuguese colonial exposition.
Nascimento’s criticism reflected the need for ‘affirmative
action’, the acknowledgement of the different ethnic experiences
whose current positioning in society is a direct consequence of
their different historical experiences. But just as he was
responding to the idea of miscegenation as it had been
institutionalised, so was Freyre and his contemporaries in the
early twentieth-century responding to the then established
mentality of scientific racism. Developed in the nineteenth-
500 Matos, 2006, p.209.
248
century, scientific racism took the Enlightenment one step
further, initially through the work of Herbert Spencer who
firstly incorporated into the hierarchy of human races the
notion of social evolution, in which the white man occupying the
superior position was able to maintain other races under his
domination.501 Whiteness and progress were in this manner
associated as much as whiteness and civilisation had been in the
eighteenth-century, in opposition to the 'natural state' of the
'savage' Other. To the dismay of Latin American elites, the new
'scientific discoveries' about human races pointed to the
conclusion that the darker skin of the majority of Brazil's
population could in fact, through 'its biological inferiority',
influence or delay the order and progress that they saw destined
for their country.502 This theory of the 'survival of the
fittest', an expression coined by Spencer but often attributed
to Darwin, run parallel to the latter's biological evolution
theory, and race began to be studied 'scientifically'.503 Theories
of white supremacy sprang out of scientific racism, spreading
across the intellectual, scientific and political arenas and
reaching its peak, with tragic consequences, a few decades later
in World War II.
Spencer’s work was extremely important to Brazil,
particularly Recife504, and his ideas, together with those of
Darwin, were published in newspapers and spread among the
educated classes in that manner.505 During the transition from
Monarchic to Republican rule in Brazil, it was scientifically
established the ‘knowledge’ that 'racial types' possessed
501 Chaves, 2003, p.30.502 Burns, 1979, p.15.503 Matos, 2006, p.46.504 Schwarcz, 2001, p.25.505 Schwarcz, 2001, p.32.
249
immutable characteristics that were 'naturally' innate to each
of them and linked to the regional climate where they lived.506
Tropical climates being degenerative, so were the people there
inhabiting. Thus, climate came to the fore as an important
component in a given group's capacity for development. This
aspect, Brazil could easily solve, given the argument that the
country included the temperate areas of the South which could
only have a ‘positive influence’ on society.507 But for the
Eurocentric elites in the country, the large non-white majority
inhabiting the rest of the country was a matter of great
concern. Brazilian medical doctor Raimundo Nina Rodrigues was an
‘authority’ on race issues, attributing the economic
underdevelopment of the state of Bahia to the predominance of
blacks and mulattos in the region, and advocating different
penal codes and punishments for different races, because of what
he termed "legal evolution".508 He believed that miscegenation led
to physical as well as cultural contamination.509 In order to lay
out his reasoning, Nina Rodrigues studied the religions and
customs brought to Brazil by African slaves, and the latter’s
influence on Brazilian culture.510 This ‘interdisciplinary’
methodology belonged in a discourse that increasingly merged
biological and cultural aspects to legitimise the ‘supremacy’ of
the white race - the ‘dominant species’ in the hierarchy of
racial types511, to whom the Portuguese had referred for centuries
as possessing ‘purity of blood’.
506 Matos, 2006, p.40. 507 Skidmore, 1990, p.11.508 Nina Rodrigues, 1976, p.273.509 Oliveira, 2005, p.18.510 Nina Rodrigues, 1976.511 Chaves, 2003, p.30.
250
As at Julião’s time, when scientific/military institutions
worked in close connection with government, so did nineteenth-
century ‘scientific’ observations of the races came to orient
the policies of white governments worldwide. Often, even
abolitionists were not above racial prejudice and advocated
abolition on economic rather then humanitarian grounds.512 The
question of labour, in a society that had been built on slavery,
preoccupied both the Rio de Janeiro court and the successive
Republican government, who had to deal with a large population
of freed slaves following abolition in 1888. Afro-Brazilian
slaves were seen as unskilled labourers in a new country seeking
industrialisation. It was claimed that the idea of training and
integrating them was more expensive than bringing in immigrants
from Europe, although 'unskilled' was code for illiterate and
not accustomed to a 'developed society'.513 Major abolitionist
figures of nineteenth-century Brazilian history, like Joaquim
Nabuco and José do Patrocinio, were informed by these theories
believing that European immigrants would gradually whiten the
population and in that manner increase the economic potential of
Brazil.514 Thus the policy of opening the country to European
immigration was a deliberate attempt to 'whiten' the Brazilian
population.
Behind the making of this institutional racist policy were
scientific statements that came to constitute knowledges
articulated in various fields of research, including eugenics,
developed in 1883 by Francis Galton.515 Eugenics sought ways to
improve or preserve the ‘purity’ of the races, opening the
possibility of 'race upgrading' and therefore influencing the
512 Skidmore, 1990, p.9.513 Skidmore, 1990, p.12.514 Skidmore, 1990, p.9.515 Stepan, 1991, p.1.
251
governmental policies of Brazil, as well as other Latin American
countries. According to Thomas Skidmore, in 1871, Brazil had 38%
of whites and 20% of blacks, with the majority being pardos and
mulattos among other denominations inherited from colonial times.
The question for the Brazilian government was at the time one of
'ethnic redemption', where the determinism of immutable racial
characteristics had no place.516 Race could be ‘improved’ and the
way to do it was through a policy of European immigration.
Government busied itself with these ‘techniques’ of washing
white the face of the Brazilian population; the faces so
beautifully illustrated by Carlos Julião. Years later, optimism
was obvious in the words of João Batista Lacerda, Director of
the National Museum in Rio de Janeiro, who in 1912 calculated
that by 2012 there would be no more blacks in Brazil and only 3%
of the population would be made of mulattos.517 Later in the
1920's, the eugenics movement came to be equated with health and
sanitation "viewed as a way of rescuing the country from racial
and climate degeneracy".518 By then however, race was less of a
problem for some intellectuals, such as anthropologist Roquette-
Pinto, whose anti-racist views were pioneer in Brazil. Eugenics
as public health, however, was of extreme importance to him, as
reflected in the answer he gave to those who opposed
miscegenation and considered it 'degenerative' to a race:
"miscegenation is only bad when unguided, without hygiene and without
eugenics, without education and without health".519
Miscegenation as the identity marker of Brazilian people
was therefore accepted as a nationalistic reaction to theories
of scientific racism that placed the country in an economic dead
516 Skidmore, 1990, p.7-8.517 Stepan, 1991, p.155.518 Stepan, 1991, p.89.519 Roquette-Pinto, 1933, p.39 (my italics).
252
end. In addition, it provided Brazilians with an image of
themselves that they could affirm to the world. The formulation
of race through time, from lineage to biology became to be
understood in cultural terms, and as a unit containing a
national culture. A unit that Portugal could take as an example
to encapsulate and project an imperial culture and identity. The
idea began to be ‘digested’ among the Portuguese intellectual
elites, as early as 1936, bringing back to mind the issue of the
circulation of ideas between Portugal and Brazil. That year, at
the Conference of Colonial Culture, Agostinho Campos, a
professor of history from the University of Coimbra, reversed
Oswald de Andrade's Anthropophagy manifesto520 by referring to the
"coloniser race" as a product of the "digestion of the
colonised".521 Thus the Portuguese ‘race’ that Camões referred to
in the sense of lineage, began to be defined culturally and it
was ultimately utilised for political purposes. Salazar’s
government appropriated it, creating the ‘Day of the Race’ (Dia
da Raça) in the mid forties to celebrate Portuguese presence –
and permanence - around the world.522 The event has been
commemorated every year on the 10th of June, the day of the
death of Camões in 1580, who immortalised the ‘conquests’ in his
work Lusíadas, or the ‘Portuguese Race’. After the fall of the
Portuguese Empire, the holiday was renamed as the ‘Day of
Camões, Portugal and the Portuguese communities’, but the title
Dia da Raça was again used in the present year by current
President of Portugal Aníbal Cavaco Silva, raising much
520 Brazilian writer Oswaldo de Andrade published his manifesto in 1928 where he interpreted Brazilian identity as a ‘digestion’ of the coloniser, elevating the Indigenous and African elements in a discourse that was highly critical of Portuguese colonisation.521 Matos, 2006, 76.522 The 10th of June is still celebrated under the name of Portugal and of the Portuguese Communities and the discourse shifted to a celebration of all Portuguese emigrated around the world
253
controversy among critics of the Salazar regime.
It was Luso-Tropicalismo however, that came to legitimate the
Portuguese ‘Race’ as the inhabitants of a ‘Luso-Tropical empire’
linked by national, cultural and religious beliefs; an empire
that Amílcar Cabral ironically referred to as a ‘paradise’ in
the opening citation of this chapter. Departing from the same
premises that his work Casa Grande e Senzala had laid out in regards
to the Portuguese coloniser – his ability to adjust to the
tropics and his favouritism for dark-skin women – Freyre
formulated the theory of Luso-Tropicalismo following a trip to the
Portuguese colonies, organised and paid for by Salazar’s
government. He was widely criticised for his complacency when
accepting an invitation from a fascist colonialist government.
Whatever his personal views about Salazar’s regime, when he
accepted the invitation directed to him by Sarmento Rodrigues,
Minister of Overseas, he compromised his position as an
impartial observer of societies. He continued to defend
Portuguese colonialism and participated in the 1960
commemorations where he presented his paper O Luso e o Trópico (The
Portuguese in the Topics), which consolidated the theory of Luso-
Tropicalismo published in a book by the same name in the following
year.
When in 1937, Freyre spoke in Lisbon, he called for a
“Luso-African-Asian-Brazilian world" anticipating the theory of
Luso-Tropicalismo that he put forward over a decade later. He
declared himself certain of the "common aspirations" of Portugal
and Brazil, reflecting the political mentality that approximated
both states.523 A year later he referred to the Portuguese empire
as a “social democracy” and to the Portuguese as the “European
523 Freyre, 1938, p.15.
254
procreators of the tropics”.524 There were obviously enough
quotes praising the Portuguese for the government to seek him
and use his statements in an attempt to project internationally
a good image of Portuguese colonialism. The idea of Luso-
Tropicalismo was therefore already embryonic but following the
trip, Freyre’s conclusions were ‘legitimated’ among intellectual
elites in Portugal who could claim their veracity based on the
‘field observations’ that he conducted. For Freyre the tour made
obvious that the Luso-Tropical world possessed a commonality;
that is, that a Portuguese cultural presence was felt whether
one found him or herself in Portuguese India, Africa or Brazil.
Freyre’s position as a worldwide known intellectual and an
expert in Brazilian history may have legitimate his
‘observations’, but these were placed under a controlled
environment that conditioned what he did or did not see, who he
spoke to and who was hidden from him. In the case of Timor, for
instance, where repression had been violent in recent times,
Sarmento Rodrigues was able to dissuade the Brazilian from
extending his voyage there.525 Similarly Freyre was probably
unaware of the Goan independence fighter Tristão de Bragança
Cunha, who at the time of Freyre’s visit to Lisbon, was
incarcerated in Peniche prison because of his political views.526
Freyre’s tour took him to mainland Portugal, the Madeira
Island and the ‘overseas provinces’ of Cape Verde, Portuguese
Guinea, Sao Tome, Angola, Mozambique and India.527 It was during
his stay in Goa, that Freyre gave a speech where he named for
the first time his theory of Luso-Tropicalismo, and proposed the
524 Freyre, 1938, p.7.525 Castelo, 1999, p.89.526 Souza, Lusofonias (see website bibliography).527 See Freyre, 1953a and 1953b.
255
study of a new science of Luso-Tropicology.528 The tropics were more
than a circum-geographical area; they were also the ‘optimal’
place of adaptation for the Portuguese and their study reported
back to the scientific racist theories that connected the races
there inhabiting to civilisation and progress. For centuries the
elites had claimed that slavery was necessary because only the
black African could adjust to the tropical climate and perform
physical labour efficiently. Policies derived from scientific
racist theories compelled governments to promote European
immigration to perform those tasks, particularly after
abolition.529 The relevance of the tropics and the positioning of
the white men in those regions became therefore an object of
study for scientists, dating from the nineteenth-century the
first institutes of tropical medicine and the first 'biological'
studies of the white descendants of the first colonists of the
tropical regions. This perspective on human development was of
extreme importance for the theory of Luso-Tropicalismo, although
Freyre’s views on adaptation relied on the positivity of
miscegenation, both biologically and culturally.
Freyre’s rushed and superficial visit to that Indian city,
allied to his determination to find the Portuguese ‘side’ of
Goa, prevented him from seeing what the region had in common
with the new born Indian Union, with whom Goa shared a sub-
continental history of thousands of years, as opposed to the
four hundred years of Portuguese occupation.530 Using the
expression Triste Luso-Tropic, in an allusion to Levy-Strauss’ Tristes
Tropiques, Teotónio Souza pointed out the peculiar absence of any
reference to the Kokani language in Freyre’s comments about
528 Freyre, 1953a, p.51.529 Skidmore, 1984, p.56.530 Souza, Lusofonias (see website bibliography).
256
Goa.531 The Indian-Portuguese historian affirms that the
Portuguese language was used by necessity or convenience, but
the population used Kokani as their primary language, rather
then Portuguese. A decade later during the inauguration of the
Institute of Tropical Anthropology in Recife, he would again
refer to Portuguese India and the manner in which the Portuguese
were able to communicate Catholic values there.532 Freyre’s gaze
over the African and Asian ‘Others’ looked for aspects in which
he could identify Brazil, but he remained distanced from reality
by the political hosts, who selected what he saw.
Luso-Tropicalismo thus resulted from similar processes to
those of Orientalism, and can therefore be deconstructed in the
manner of Edward Said's analysis of the latter. As it was
appropriated by Salazar’s government, Luso-Tropicalismo became a
'scientifically' constructed discourse about the existence of a
'Portuguese world', leading José Carlos Venâncio to consider the
theory as an attempt to study and observe a part of the
globalisation process - “one pertaining to the Portuguese in
their adaptation to the tropics”.533 In the words of Amílcar
Cabral Luso-Tropicalismo was an "assemblage of myths" that projected
the image of the Portuguese empire as the racial paradise quoted
in the citation opening this chapter.534 Implied in the discourse
of Luso-Tropicalismo was the political argument that racism was
absent from the Portuguese empire, where a multiracial society
became obscured by a trans-national identity. To the rooting of
this discourse contributed a large ‘scientific’ and ‘literary’
production including Freyre’s two works: Aventura e Rotina and Um
531 Souza, Lusofonias (see website bibliography).532 Freyre, 1962, p.99.533 Venâncio, 1996, p.21.534 Cabral in foreword to Davidson, 1969, p.9.
257
Brasileiro em Terras Portuguesas.535 Similarly to the literary genre that
constructed the Orient536, so did Luso-Tropicalismo intellectual
production influenced the new knowledges forming about the
Portuguese and their tropical empire. Including Orientalism itself,
which Freyre credited to the Portuguese, who he stated were the
first to introduce Indian and Chinese material culture in both
Europe and Brazil.537 Furthermore, it exacerbated nationalism
conditioning the reception of historical works such as Charles
Boxer Race Relations in the Portuguese Empire mentioned above.
As an inter-disciplinary field Luso-Tropicalismo quickly
asserted itself in the political arena dominating the statements
produced by Salazar’s government and orienting the institutions
involved in the preparation for the Commemorations of 1960. As
stated before, the successful projection of Luso-Tropicalismo in the
international arena resulted in episodes such as that described
by Amílcar Cabral at the All African Peoples conference in Tunis
that year. Luso-Tropicalismo had the same effect of silencing the
colonised in the context of the Portuguese empire that 'racial
democracy' had in regards to Afro- Brazilians. And in the same
manner that the myth of 'racial democracy' made possible that
Abdias do Nascimento's counter discourse emerged, Luso-Tropicalismo
provoked African resistance to speak back to the empire. In the
silencing of the subaltern 'Luso-African' by his own brother in
arms at the conference, Cabral sought alternative ways of
resistance, intensifying an "effort to expose Portuguese
colonialism, to break through this wall of silence" and in that
manner attempt to free the voices of the subalterns told that
they were living in a Luso-Tropical paradise.
535 Translated literally ‘Adventure and Routine’ and ‘A Brazilian in Portuguese Lands’. See bibliography for Freyre, 1953a and 1953b.536 Gebara, Com Ciéncia (see web bibliography).537 Freyre, 1966, p.283.
258
Also in 1951, the same year that Freyre toured the
Portuguese empire, the relationship between Portugal and Brazil
deepened. The governments of both countries engaged in a common
cultural policy starting to negotiate the ‘Treaty of Friendship
and Consultation’, which was signed in 1953.538 The treaty
promoted cooperation between both nations when facing problems
of ‘common interest’ and constituted what Brazilian historian
José Honório Rodrigues called a ‘Portuguese victory’.539 Brazil
was committed to defend Portuguese international position and to
consult it in relation to its own international matters. In
doing so, the country compromised what some defended should be
the orientation of Brazilian international relations; a South
Atlantic cooperation between Brazil and Africa540, two regions
linked by the same ethnic, geographical and historical factors
that two centuries earlier were illustrated by Julião in his
Castes of the South Atlantic canvas (image 47). The relationship between
Brazil and Africa became more intimately connected upon the
arrival of the royal family to Rio de Janeiro in 1808, when
Portugal acquired the status of colony and was excluded from the
"imperial circuits" that regulated and decided economic policies
in the South Atlantic.541 However, following its 1822
independence, Brazil, influenced by the English, renounced any
rights to rule over African territory542, therefore distancing
itself from South Atlantic geopolitics. ‘Portuguese Africa’ was
a ‘Portuguese matter’ and, one century later, in accepting a
‘special relationship’ with Portugal, Brazil continued to
neglect the issue of colonialism in Africa. Consequently, Brazil
538 Magalhães, 1957, p.19.539 Alves, 1975, p.314.540 Rodrigues, 1965. See also article by Mazzara, 1964 which compares Honório Rodrigues’ views to Gilberto Freyre’s.541 Alexandre, 1998, p.25.542 Alexandre, 1998, p.25-26.
259
did not join the anti-colonial movements that attempted to
liberate Africans from European rule and became complacent with
Portuguese colonialism, contributing to its ‘makeover’ under the
theory of Luso-Tropicalismo in spite of the criticism of many.
In 1957, Craveiro Lopes, President of Salazar’s government
and former Governor of India, visited Brazil.543 The visit came
from a personal invitation that Brazilian President Juscelino
Kubitschek (1956-1961) directed to him during a stop over in
Lisbon. Craveiro Lopes accepted and, upon his arrival in Brazil,
was received by an enthusiastic crowd, a military parade and
much media interest.544 The Portuguese President toured the
country visiting Salvador and Recife in the Northeast, Rio de
Janeiro, Minas Gerais and São Paulo in the Southeast, Curitiba
and Porto Alegre in the South, Manaus in the Amazon, Belém and
Fortaleza in the North and the site of Brasília, soon to be
capital of Brazil, in the midlands. The Portuguese President
covered the whole of the country, choosing to spend the ‘Day of
the Race’ in Rio de Janeiro, celebrated with a military parade
of 30.000 army, navy and air force men. He inaugurated an
exhibition dedicated to Luís de Camões at the National Library
and proceeded to attend a reception at the Real Gabinete Português de
Leitura (Royal Cabinet of Portuguese Literature), where Augusto
Soares de Sousa Baptista, spokesperson for the Portuguese
community in Brazil, stated in a speech: “Today, the day of
Camões, the great Luso-Brazilian family, in a communion of love
and understanding, solemnly celebrates the Genious of the
Race”.545 He farther recalled Brazil support for Portugal,
regarding Portuguese colonisation in India, at the United
543 Magalhães, 1957, p.17544 O Cruzeiro 15/6/1957, p.6-16.545 Magalhães. 1957, p.131.
260
Nations and affirmed his belief that he twentieth-century would
one day be consecrated to Salazar. The praise for the Portuguese
continued with Brazilian President Juscelino Kubitschek
proclaiming that “happy is the people, whose glorious race
blends with glorious poetry”.546 The following day, the two
countries reaffirmed their Treaty of Friendship and
Consultation.547
Such proximity between a colonial power and its former
colonial possession may seem odd, particularly when both
countries were perceived as situated in the ideological
opposition of a democracy and a dictatorship. However,
discourses of national, or imperial, identity on both sides of
the Atlantic relied heavily on the historical interpretations
that differentiated Portuguese colonisation from that of other
European powers. While Brazil saw in Portuguese colonisation the
birth of a miscegenated character to its population – something
to be celebrated – Portugal saw in it the creation of the ‘race’
– a unified sign which in the political discourse of the time
indicated an empire where racism was absent. The discourse on
miscegenation and race was beginning to be re-evaluated by Luso-
Tropicalismo critics but Freyre departed in the opposite direction
becoming at that time closer to Salazar’s ‘New State’ and
bringing his theory to full maturity following his trip around
the Portuguese colonial possessions. For the new currents of
thought emerging, his discourse remained remarkably outdated and
closer to that of a colonial 'civilising mission' and he was
seen as complacent with the colonialist policies of the
Portuguese state.
The commemorations of 1960 received contributions from
546 Magalhães. 1957, p.139.547 Magalhães. 1957, p.151.
261
Brazil, among which the publication of the Figurinhos by the
National Library in Rio de Janeiro. The publication received
governmental funding from the Brazilian congress. The
introduction to the album particularly thanked Minister of
Education and Culture Clóvis Salgado and Brazilian President
Juscelino Kubitschek, the founder of Brasília, current capital
of Brazil. The ‘close encounter’ of government and cultural
institutions in the country and across the Atlantic was a
reflection less of how Brazil perceived the historical figure of
Prince Henry than of the political and cultural relationships
between the two countries at that point in time. In the museum
memorial to Kubitschek in Brasilia, on top of his working desk,
features a framed picture of Salazar, signalling that the
relationship between the ruler of a Brazilian ‘racial democracy’
and the ruler of the dictatorship of the Portuguese ‘race’ must
have been very close indeed. Kubitschek was present at the event
in Portugal. Like Craveiro Lopes in Brazil, three years earlier,
Kubitschek was received by an enthusiastic crowd and toured the
country, participating in several official events. Included in
these were the Military exhibition, where Carlos Julião’s
Panoramas were first shown to the public, and the ‘International
Congress for the History of the Discoveries’, where Gilberto
Freyre presented a speech that would originate O Luso e o Trópico,
his major work on Luso-Tropicalismo, a work commissioned by
Salazar’s government and a manual for diplomats serving
Portuguese embassies around the world.548 The objective of the
work is perhaps better defined, like the exhibition itself was,
in a pamphlet entitled “Portuguese Schools from 1934 to 1970”,
as a lesson in Portuguesism.549 The publication of O Luso e o Trópico in
548 Castelo, 1999, p.100.549 Mineiro, 2007, p.173.
262
1961 was dedicated, among others, to C. R. Boxer, the English
historian who was soon to be banned from the Portuguese
intellectual milieu, after the publication of his Race Relations in
the Portuguese Empire.
The introductory note to O Luso e o Trópico was signed by José
Caeiro da Matta, President of the International Congress of the
History of the Discoveries, held during the commemorations. In
it Caeiro da Matta states that the topic addressed at the
Congress about the “integration of the indigenous races in the
Portuguese economy” was raised in order to demonstrate that
“there were no fundamental problems in the social order between
Continental Portuguese and Portuguese from the overseas
territories, since we all feel part of the same community”.550 The
personalization of the address reveals that historical
congresses functioned in conjunction with finding answers to the
empire’s political aims and problems, rather then out of
intellectual inquiry and critical reasoning. The ‘involvement’
of the Portuguese intellectual elite in colonial discourse
implied the exacerbated nationalism that conditioned the manner
with which publications such as Boxer’s Race Relations were
received among those circles. Caeiro da Matta stated that to
study the topic of the Portuguese in the tropics the commission
he presided had chosen the international well-reputed Brazilian,
to pursue the task with "competence" and "historical
accuracy".551 Freyre is in this manner introduced as a foreigner
of unquestioned impartiality, although his views were the
strongest contribution to the colonial ideology of the time.
O Luso e o Trópico includes two chapters dedicated to Prince
Henry, the Navigator. In a commemoration dedicated to him, the
550 Caeiro da Matta in Freyre, 1961, p.X.551 Caeiro da Matta in Freyre, 1961, p.X.
263
Prince was credited with being the first Luso-Tropicalista, or at
least the “coordinator of the creative energies and specialised
knowledges” constituting the theory of Luso-Tropicalismo.552 The role
of the Prince is given relevance as he is treated as the
mastermind behind the entire enterprise, with a vision for the
future that incentivated the adventure described by Camões, the
search for knowledge symbolised in the figure of Garcia d’Orta
(see chapter 1), and who was also concerned with protecting
those involved in the maritime voyages through a system of
maritime insurance. Without it, the economies of empire could
not have flourished and prospered, benefiting the merchants,
businessmen, bankers, slave traders and the crown, who oversaw
colonial ventures. As mentioned in chapter 1, Lisbon still
facilitated the enterprises occurring in the Atlantic at the
time of Julião creating financial systems that would support
those activities and grant profit to metropolitan elites.553
These were obviously activities that had little to do with
humanitarian concerns, but the ‘Prince’s vision’ in creating an
insurance system is presented as a way of protecting the lives
of those involved in the maritime ventures that he promoted. The
commemorations dedicated to the Prince were therefore connected
to political and economic activities while apparently relying on
the Navigator’s role in the cultural making of a supposed Luso-
Tropical world.
Consequently, O Luso e o Trópico played a political role that
offered a solution to twentieth-century international relations
becoming the manual of Portuguese ambassadors worldwide.
Portugal projected its historical role as the solution to a new
partnership between the East and the West in face of the
552 Freyre, 1961, p.279.553 Miller, 1984.
264
international adversities in which "Europe seemed to have lost
its political personality" in the context of the cold war.554
Freyre referred to that idea of partnership in his introduction,
in the context of a historical biological and cultural fusion,
but Caeiro da Matta’s introduction to the work subverted the
concept to offer a geo-political possibility in opposition to
the post war world order that the cold war had introduced in
world affairs. The partnership accomplished "through
miscegenation and cultural inter-penetration",555 presented a
political solution that would sustain the legitimacy of the
Portuguese empire in face of international condemnation. A "new
type of federation" between Portugal, Brazil and the Overseas
possessions was proposed and contextualised in statements that
emphasised common traditions between those territories. The Luso-
Tropicalismo that supposedly characterised Prince Henry’s action
was brought into the twentieth-century through an inter-
continental movement of scientists, agronomists, artists and
experts of various disciplines, that were presented as
continuing that action. From art, to science, to literature, to
Portuguese historical heroes, Freyre’s text brought together all
the nationalistic signs in use by the 'New State', to propose an
interdisciplinary field of study that simultaneously served the
political aims of the Portuguese empire. As in Carlos Julião’s
time, cultural and scientific institutions in the twentieth-
century continued to work in a close relationship with political
power.
Historical discourse interpenetrated colonial ideology and
practice, and academic conferences walked hand in hand with
mutual state visits of Portuguese and Brazilian presidents and
554 Caeiro da Matta in Freyre, 1961, p.X.555 Freyre, 1961, p.4.
265
officials. One fed on the other and Julião’s images were visual
statements supporting Portuguese claims to the existence of the
‘Luso-Tropical’ world to which scientific, intellectual and
political agents had contributed. As stated above, the preface
to the Lisbon Military exhibition catalogue analysed the
fortress as an encounter of civilizations. The military
institution was celebrated in that context and in conjunction
with the role of Henry, the Navigator. Francisco Eduardo
Baptista, director of the Military works archive and a Colonel
of Engineering, like Carlos Julião himself had been, began the
catalogue’s military colonial history with Prince Henry and his
“crusader spirit”, referring to military activity in Brazil and
Overseas Portugal in the modern and old periods and speaking of
the time span of five hundred years covered by this constructive
military action.556 Brazil was never dissociated from the
exhibition and formed together with the term Ultramar (overseas)
the locales where the military action was presented as
constructive rather then destructive and a participant in the
making of the ‘Luso-Tropical’ world. Ferrand de Almeida referred
to Brazil in particular, where the Portuguese engineers after
King João V had developed “an important cartographic activity”.557
Julião’s Panorama of Salvador, with its forts and figures, made
visible those statements and the artist was ‘re-discovered’ as
an agent of Luso-Tropicalismo.
A loyal servant of the Portuguese empire in the eighteenth
and early nineteenth centuries, Carlos Julião was resuscitated
by the imperial rhetoric of a new dictatorship two centuries
later. In spite of Portuguese emphasis on a ‘civilising’ mission
in Africa, going on at the time of the exhibition, the rhetoric
556 Estado Maior , 1960, p.XIII.557 Estado Maior (see catalogue section in bibliography), 1960, p.X.
266
of constructed material culture was limited to past action,
ending at Julião’s time. To refer to the modern period of
colonisation in the military exhibition’s catalogue was a mere
attempt to bring an imagined past into the present since such
constructive military action was only displayed up to the
eighteenth-century. There was no reference to the monarchic
liberal and republican periods, or even to the ‘New State’. In
fact, the nineteenth-century was the most ignored period of
Portuguese history at the time of Salazar, as a strategy to
avoid presenting the political ideology of liberalism, which
stood contrary to Salazar’s fascist corporativist state
ideology.558 The empire was exacerbated in its ‘golden age’, since
in 1960 Portugal had little else but scattered possessions to
hold on to. The country was economically backward in contrast
with other industrialized colonial European powers, with a high
illiteracy rate and laying at “the bottom of all the statistical
tables of Europe”.559 Portugal’s identity relied heavily on the
perception of its ‘glorious’ past with a splash of wishful
thinking that the empire was positively contributing to a
'civilising mission'.
Prince Henry’s commemorations in 1960 were the last of a
series of colonial expositions and marked the beginning of the
end of Portuguese colonialism - although not the end of the myth
of Luso-Tropicalismo. By 1961, the former possessions of Portugal
in India had joined the Indian Union and the African colonies
had erupted in a war for independence that was to last for
thirteen long years culminating with de-colonisation and the end
of the fascist regime in 1974. Charles Boxer was soon to publish
his controversial Race Relations, deconstructing the myth of racial
558 Fernandes, 2003, p.11.559 Cabral, 1973, p.64.
267
tolerance in the Portuguese empire and enraging Portuguese
nationalists and imperialists. The propaganda machine's
discourse built around the theory of Luso-Tropicalismo began to be
denounced by the African independence movements of the
Portuguese colonies. Meanwhile, across the Atlantic, Brazil’s
racial democracy, displayed in the publication of the 43
Figurinhos watercolours, was heading to darker times, about to fall
into a brutal military dictatorship that was to last for two
decades (1964-1985) preventing any possibility of democracy, be
it political, social or racial - if these categories can in fact
be separated when speaking of ‘democracy’.
In Portugal, as Amílcar Cabral predicted, the end of
colonialism brought about the end of fascism.560 In 1974,
Portuguese citizens gained the right to vote every four years,
but to speak of a democracy that is political, social and racial
is still arguable today since, similarly to the rest of Europe,
racism and xenophobia still constitute a major problem in ethnic
relations. As for the Luso-Tropical world, with the exception of
India’s former Portuguese possessions, it was transformed into a
group of nations referred to as Lusophone countries. They share
the Portuguese language, the official state visits and
conferences, but not a Luso-Tropical culture or a Luso-Tropicology
practice. The Lusophone populations have gained little knowledge
of each other and they largely still rely on myths repeated
generation after generation. Their histories are different,
depending on location or mainstream ideology. But in the case of
Portugal, whenever the occasion for a national commemoration
presents itself, the historical heroes are still invited to
preside, presented as beneficial makers of the modern world,
560 Cabral, 1973, p.16
268
responsible for cultural inter-penetration. And the myth of the
good empire emerges once more.
Conclusion
Visual representations accompanying the colonisation of
non-western cultures and lands, from the eighteenth-century on,
were not executed in isolation from the discourses that the
European Enlightenment shaped out of new bodies of scientific
knowledge. At the heart of this work was the topic of race, a
concept that took its modern shape during the Enlightenment,
when science ordered the world creating a human hierarchy and
placing the white male at the top, in an attempt to explain
racial difference. It was upon this hierarchical ordering of
things, which would lead to nineteenth-century scientific
discourse, that military artist Carlos Julião built his visual
strategies, when, as a man of the Enlightenment himself, he too
269
attempted to explain the differences in skin colour that he
encountered in the peoples colonised by the Portuguese in
Brazil, Africa, India and Macao. Following a tradition of
'ethnographic' drawing, informed by a society preoccupied with
concepts of 'purity of blood' and encouraged by the
Enlightenment call, Carlos Julião produced a raced hierarchy of
the 'castes' composing the Portuguese empire, which revealed the
same concern with ordering colonial society that Casta Painting
did in Mexico.
The scientific inquiry that constituted the Enlightenment
ordered modern society into the shape that twentieth-century
populations recognise. The labels, the categories, the concepts,
the ideas and the genealogy of disciplines that sprang from the
scientific ‘quest’, have reached us through convoluted mutations
that seemed to break here and there to become something entirely
different. Nevertheless, and certainly in the issues concerning
the human races, they have remained traceable to the
Enlightenment episteme, because it is there that human beings
first became an object of study to be interpreted, recorded and
assign to a classification system. The processes of ‘othering’
involved in the European monologue of the Enlightenment and the
dichotomy created between civilisation and primitivism have
shaped our perceptions of modern society and have only in the
last few decades began to be deconstructed. Carlos Julião
produced a great enough oeuvre to provide a case study for an
iconological analysis of the racial ordering process that took
place at the time of the Enlightenment, in the Portuguese
colonial world. Particularly in Brazil, which inspired most of
the figures illustrated by the artist and where various new
racial identities emerged at the time. The variety of socio-
cultural groups and socio-economic regions illustrated in
270
Julião’s work provide a wider picture of the empire as a whole
and of how and in what terms racial perceptions of people formed
and developed. Using Iberian perceptions formed in the centuries
preceding the Enlightenment, Julião’s illustrations were also
part of a process that used them as referents to the later
theoretical formulation of Luso-Tropicalismo. As we have seen the
theory that transformed the Portuguese Colonial Empire into a
‘Luso-Tropical Paradise’, was accompanied by practices of
discrimination that reflected the same secular perceptions of
the human ‘castes’ and races.
The 'historical value' of the images gained a wider
meaning when they were displayed as statements of the colonial
discourse that informed national commemorations during the
Portuguese fascist regime. Although the illustrations reflected
the racial divisions in place in colonial society, the works
were presented to the public at a time when the Portuguese state
produced a discourse on the absence of racism in its empire and
the existence of only one race in that space: the Portuguese
'race', which nevertheless still relied on racial divisions and
legislation that separated Iberian from colonial born, colonial
assimilated from non-assimilated. Validating this discourse of
Luso-Tropicalismo was Brazilian sociologist Gilberto Freyre, who
first laid out its pillars and later consolidated it in his work
O Luso e o Trópico. His fame and world reputation put him in a
position of prominence, but Freyre's theory took nearly thirty
years to mature and it was not formulated in isolation from the
surrounding intellectual climate that facilitated it.
The premises of Luso-Tropicalismo relied on Freyre’s
interpretation of Portuguese colonisation as derivative from a
natural ability for miscegenation and the tropics that
supposedly characterised the Portuguese male. In his analysis,
271
Brazil was a product of that colonising attitude and his
emphasis on miscegenation led to farther interpretations of
Brazil as a ‘racial democracy’. While in the cold was period,
such projection of Brazil was highly questioned by the
international community, colonialism – including Portuguese
colonialism – became a target of freedom fighters and anti-
colonial movements around the world. Mythmakers in both
countries joined forces in face of such international adversity,
and Brazil and Portugal deepened their relationship at the level
of government and intellectual circles. In 1960, the year before
Portugal engaged in its last colonial war in Africa, the unified
discourses of both countries were manifested in the
commemorations of the death of Prince Henry, the Navigator and
the historical hero credited with fathering the ‘epic of the
discoveries’. Meanwhile, in Brazil and the Portuguese African
colonies, black skin people and the indigenous lived the very
different and mute experience of the subaltern who, as Gayatri
Spivak demonstrated in relation to the Indian widow, could not
speak.
My interest in the military artist Carlos Julião was
limited to him as a 'product' of a mainstream worldview in place
during the eighteenth century when he served the Portuguese
colonial empire. In the artist I looked for the visual
strategies where both the Enlightenment and Iberian social
traditions could be read and the colonial socio-racial hierarchy
decoded. In the twentieth-century re-discovery of his images I
looked for the ideological statements put forward by Salazar’s
regime, where Julião’s illustrations of colonial society could
be reformulated. I intended here to find the common ground in
which both Luso-Tropicalismo and the artist's work could be
displayed together, but it inevitably became clear the political
272
relationship at play between the Portuguese fascist state and
the apparent ‘racial democracy’ proclaimed by Brazil. Parallel
to that relationship emerged the similarities in the opposing
views of the voices of the colonised and the Afro-Brazilians who
inherited from colonisation their subaltern social condition and
who suffered secular institutionally racist practices. Such
voices became louder when in opposition to the myth of the
absence of racism, that sprang from the theory of Luso-Tropicalismo,
the condition of subalternity was supported by discriminatory
legislation and concepts of ‘civilised’ versus ’primitive’ that
echoed the practices of Iberian traditions and the concepts born
out of the Enlightenment worldview. The mentality informing
Julião’s in the eighteenth-century was thus still present at the
time of the 1960 commemorations.
To the military artist Carlos Julião I dedicated an entire
chapter, in order to situate the artist in the context of the
Enlightenment and the Portuguese empire. To the Portuguese
colonial ideology informing the display of the images two
centuries later, I devoted the last chapter. Luso-Tropicalismo
responded to the international criticism of colonialism and
racism, but it simultaneously determined how race came to be
articulated by the Portuguese authorities, omitting the
historical construction of a raced hierarchy. Its effects
persist in the myth of the absence of racism that still informs
popular perceptions of colonial history today. Both Julião’s
discursivity and Luso-Tropicalismo theoretical formulation served
the Portuguese empire at different times in history, and both
became united as statements of the same political discourse,
which was behind the commemorations of the death of Prince
Henry, in 1960. However, although Luso-Tropicalismo derived from
cultural and biological miscegenation theories, using as
273
starting point the Enlightenment racial categories that had been
blended by the colonial experience, in emphasising racial mixing
the theory attempted to remove from the equation those same
categories that Julião ordered for the Portuguese empire, while
maintaining the legislative practices of the past. Thus, past
and present must be linked and articulated if we are to
understand the processes of contemporary society, the discourses
that we were brought into, our current social inequalities and
the religious-economic wars that plague our societies.
Julião's figures were displayed in the ambiguity of
practice and theory, with the Panoramas made public in Lisbon,
and the Figurinhos in Brazil. The Panoramas had all the elements of
historical discourse, with the fortresses and ports validating
Portuguese perceived entitlement to foreign lands. The caste
system there portrayed became interpreted as being constituted
by inhabitants of a 'Portuguese world' seemingly living 'side by
side' in an harmonious continuous pictorial space that lessened
the scattered territories that in fact composed the colonies.
The Figurinhos, published in Rio de Janeiro, contained also the
elements that fitted Brazil's historical discourse on the racial
components involving the making of the nation’s ‘racial
democracy’. The presence of the 'primary' races and the emerging
identities of pardos, mulattos or mestiços and so on, which would
culminate in a miscegenated nation, was recorded in Julião'
work. We see how, in this manner, the images could be inserted
in 1960, on both sides of the Atlantic, where they served as
illustrative statements for the official historical discourses
of Portugal and Brazil. The portrayal of the relationship
between the dominating and the dominated groups that the images
reflect became invisible beneath the myths created by discursive
strategies, even because the colonial social structure was not
274
brought into question for the commemorations taking place at the
time. As for the Castes of the Atlantic canvases analysed in
chapter 4, they were not on display at the time and they have
only recently come to light after their purchased from an
anonymous owner in 1999. They do, however, reflect the ‘caste
system’ of the Atlantic geo-political region that can be ‘read’
from top down and vice-versa, in the colour of the skin of the
figures there portrayed. The two canvases defy any notions of
empires and nations built on equal racial relations because they
clearly manifest a hierarchical order that was primarily built
on race.
In spite of its historical position of colonised settler
nation, Brazil joined diplomatic forces with its former
colonising power in face of international criticism for calling
itself a ‘racial democracy’. The concept was accentuated by an
idealisation of plantation life in colonial Brazil, where the
Brazilian family initially formed through the action of the
Portuguese male and the vehicle of the black and indigenous
woman. From this interpretation sprang the theory of Luso-
Tropicalismo. Furthermore, the base of Brazilian miscegenated
identity, seen as originating in the Portuguese plantation,
developed in the process of Portuguese adaptation to the
tropics. It was Gilberto Freyre, who first conceived Brazilian
identity formation in the micro-cosmos of the Brazilian
plantation, but he left the patriarchal and slave based socio-
economic model unquestioned. He was perhaps an idealist but the
myth of the absence of racism was a consequence of his attempt
to abolished racial categories so deeply rooted and embedded in
society, before attempting to confront prejudice and racism.
Similarly, and as a tool of colonialist propaganda, Luso-
Tropicalismo condemned those trapped in the Enlightenment racial
275
categories to remain gagged and invisible in face of a myth
about the absence of racism in their actual or formerly
colonised societies.
The theory of Luso-Tropicalismo and the question of
miscegenation prevail in the historical discourses formed in
Portuguese official institutions to this day. Perhaps in an
attempt to tackle growing xenophobic attitudes towards the
increasing number of immigrants who arrived in Portugal in
recent years, the former Immigration and Ethnic Minorities High
Commissioner, Rui Marques, affirmed recently: "our identity will
not be lost if it continues to be an identity made of fusion and
miscegenation".561 In using miscegenation as a continuing action
during Portuguese history, Marques uses the principles
formulated by Luso-Tropicalismo for the fascist colonialist state,
to address national identity in democratic postcolonial
Portugal. However, the contradiction between theory and practice
continues because this discourse on national identity formulated
in the larger framework of Europe, as a multicultural super
state, conflicts with the tightening of immigration policies in
regards to non-European peoples. Discourse and practice thus
continue to conflict in contemporary societies sending mixed
messages to population who remained indoctrinated in perceptions
and ‘truths’ waiting to e deconstructed. European immigration
policies, which Portugal has to comply with, continue to limit
access to citizens of non-European countries, in spite of the
fact that many remain linked in their national subalternity to
the European powers that once colonised them. Countries with
which Portugal claims to have a special cultural and historical
relationship, and which constitute the CPLP562, the community of
561 Introductory note to Costa e Lacerda, 2007.562 Comunidade dos Países de Língua Portuguesa (Communiy of Portuguese Speaking Countries)
276
Portuguese speaking countries, are left in that position.
The theoretical conceptualisation of Portuguese national
identity, in the words of the former High Commissioner, was
given in the introductory note to a publication of the
governmental organisation, to which he presided, entitled
Interculturalismo na Expansão Portuguesa, séculos XV-XVIII (Interculturalism in the
Portuguese Expansion, 15th to 18th centuries).563 The term
‘Interculturalism’ implies the cultural exchange between
different peoples and is distinguished from multiculturalism,
which is understood as the gathering of different cultural
groups in one place. Interculturalism therefore implies a
merger, which in the words of the High Commissioner translates
as a fusion (cultural) and miscegenation (biological). Similarly
to the reformulations of race that took place in Latin America,
in the beginning of the twentieth-century, Portuguese national
identity is articulated in a hybridity where the cultural and
the biological overlap, and which is put in terms of its
historical relationship with other peoples. However, that is not
how identity was articulated at the times when fusion and
miscegenation initially occurred, when society was rigidly
categorised according to race, gender and social rank, as
portrayed by Julião in his visual work. Particularly in the
canvases I named Castes of the Atlantic where the diversity of
gradations of skin colour is laid out from top to bottom, with
the majority of white figures at the top strongly contrasting
with a lower register entirely composed with black skin figures.
Contemporary perceptions of Portuguese identity in this
historical perspective are therefore embedded in a myth whose
origins can be traced to quite recent times and is not based on
pictorial or textual documentation produced at Julião’s time.
563 Costa e Lacerda, 2007.
277
Both fusion and miscegenation are referents of the Latin
American discourses and theories that attempted to talk back to
scientific racism, in the early twentieth-century, and from
which Luso-Tropicalismo and Salazar’s imagined ‘Portuguese race’
sprang. Rui Marques did not talk of a ‘race’, although the term
was recently used by current President of the Portuguese
Republic, Aníbal Cavaco Silva, when speaking to journalists on
the ‘Day of Camões, Portugal and the Portuguese Communities’ –
the former ‘Day of the Race’ as it was called during Salazar’s
regime (chapter 5). Rui Marques, however, spoke of a ‘national
identity’, reformulating the same discourse and conceiving it as
having been formed through an intercultural process made of
encounters. The discourse resembles the statements of meetings
around fortresses mentioned in the catalogue to the Military
Exhibition that took place in 1960 during the commemorations of
the death of Prince Henry, the Navigator. The publication dated
from 2007, and thus very recently, perpetuates old perceptions
of those encounters. It is a valuable source, but its omissions,
which can be argued would be out of the scope of the text, are
too reminiscent of the discourse of Luso-Tropicalismo, and raise a
question as to how much of the historical myth built around the
Portuguese empire at Salazar‘s time still needs to be
deconstructed three decades after the end of fascism and
colonialism. The encounters of civilisations in Ferrand de
Almeida's description of the Portuguese fortress continue to be
present in the historical discourses that are directly linked to
political institutions and therefore served political
ideological discourses.
As an official governmental publication, Interculturalism in the
Portuguese Expansion is limited to an approach deprived of a deeper
historical criticism in the interpretation of race relations in
278
the Portuguese Empire and thus in a deconstruction of Portuguese
colonial history and practice. Written by professional
historians, however, the book does not avoid the issue of
slavery and makes clear references here and there to the
negative aspects of race relations. It very accurately refers to
the sixteenth-century as the period in which Africans began to
be perceived as ‘ethnically’ inferior564, a consequence of their
enslaved condition beginning to be directly attached to the
colour of their skin and African provenance. The questions
raised by Charles Boxer, in his controversial 1964 book Race
Relations, in regards to the inevitable sense of superiority that
the condition of African slavery would condemn the Portuguese is
present. But rather then expanding on that matter to defy that
racism was present in the Portuguese colonial empire,
anticipating the Enlightenment scientific racist ordering of the
world, the argument departs to the resilience of miscegenation
and intercultural exchange overcoming any feelings of
superiority from the Portuguese in relation to their Other. It
therefore fails to address the inequality of the exchange, which
completely changes its socio-political nature and may bring into
question the ‘national identity’ being presented to the public.
The institutional search for the ‘national Self’ therefore
stops at a point and is unable to deconstruct for the public the
historical myths, created for the political purposes of
Salazar’s fascist and colonialist regime. Luso-Tropicalismo remains
as strong today as it was at the time that Amílcar Cabral
attempted to be taken seriously by other African independence
fighters (see chapter 5). Often in conversations with either
Portuguese or foreigners, I have confronted perceptions of the
Portuguese empire as ‘different’ from other empires and its
564 Costa e Lacerda, 2007, p.96.
279
involvement in slavery ‘not as bad as that of others’, less
racist and inclined for miscegenation. The discourse of Luso-
Tropicalismo appears to be still very present in how Portuguese
colonial history is perceived, and it is not difficult to find
it operating in the official speeches post the 1974 ‘revolution
of the carnations’. In those instances, I am reminded of
Cabral's difficulties in expressing an opposing view based on
the actual experience of the colonised. The effectiveness of
Portuguese colonial discourse silenced even the more vocal anti-
colonial voices, such as that of Amílcar Cabral at the African
Conference in Tunis, as the discourse of a ‘racial democracy’
succeeded in restraining the voices of Afro-Brazilians. Racism
remains a reality in most societies and Portugal, as well as
Brazil, is no exception. And yet somehow the myth persists
seemingly unquestioned in the official discourses on colonial
history. Luso-Tropicalismo and the political climate which
facilitated the emergence of Freyre’s theory remains to me a
topic to be deconstructed by Portugal, if the Portuguese want to
confront the epistemological questions regarding their history
and identity.
Luso-Tropicalismo, as a space, a 'Portuguese or Luso-Tropical
world' was also reshaped and presented as Lusofonia, the space
where Portuguese speaking countries meet to articulate their
intercultural exchanges of past and present. The Lusophone
countries are Portugal, Brazil, Angola, Moçambique, Cabo Verde,
Guiné-Bissau, São Tomé e Principe and Timor who, after
independence from Portugal, was occupied by Indonesia and who
only became independent in 2001 when it decided to adopt
Portuguese as its official language. The old India and Macao
'conquests' never retained the coloniser's language and formed
their own hybrid contexts never loosing their proximity with the
280
cultures of the Indian subcontinent and of Chinese cultures
respectively. The Lusophone countries therefore are incomplete
when inserted in the space of what was considered the Luso-
Tropical world. Portugal retains what it can from what perceives
as components of its historical identity, hanging on to a
recently constructed discourse about unity, and now committed to
a marriage of convenience with Europe after "a long, late and
unresolved divorce from the colonies".565
The country's identity at Salazar’s time persists and it
was built for the population as extending beyond its borders and
the ocean to a vast empire composed of overseas territories.
With the Portuguese revolution of 1974 that identity was
shattered and Portugal was left in a "maze of nostalgia" in the
words of Portuguese philosopher Eduardo Lourenço.566 Integrating
into the European Community in 1987, Portugal has slowly come
out of its identity crash to reformulate itself in relation to
Europe. Its historical role is now contextualised in terms of
its contribution to modern Europe and its affiliation with the
Lusophone countries reflects the discourse of interculturalism in
Portuguese society as a result of a ‘natural’ ability for
miscegenation and adaptation to other cultures. The Lusophone
relationship is not imposed by Portugal, but reciprocated among
the political and intellectual elites of all the countries
involved567, allowing the myths to continue to circulate among the
'Lusophone world'. Identity constructions remain a practice of
intellectual circles in the Portuguese speaking countries, in a
close relationship to government and political power.
While the public may take in the leisurely aspects of the
565 Portas e Pureza, Do Luso-Tropicalismo ao Europaísmo de Esquerda. See webibliography.566 Lourenço, 1988.567 Martins, 2004, p.11.
281
relationship, such as the music, the literature, the television
programmes, and so on, race relations are far from perfect and
immigrants continue to face discrimination and racism in a so-
called intercultural society. At the base of this situation are
the socio-economic inequalities that persist and the perceptions
that many Portuguese create about the immigrants and their
'character'. An example of this is the prevalence of the myth of
the mulatta, now personified in the larger archetype of the
Brazilian woman and projected in the popular opinions and
attitudes towards Brazilian female immigrants. Recent media
reports on prostitution cases, particularly in the manner they
are presented, have contributed to a popular perception that is
suspicious of Brazilians and associates them with 'immoral' or
illegal activities.568 Similarly, among the public, there are many
who still see no relationship whatsoever between colonial
history and the present socio-economic inequalities between
Europe and formerly colonised nations and who still rely on
perceptions of who is ‘civilised’ and who is ‘savage’.
As for Brazil, popular perceptions of the Portuguese are
usually expressed through jokes that invariably place Portuguese
character in a 'dumb' state.569 Eduardo Lourenço called the Luso-
Brazilian community a myth, invented by the Portuguese, while
Brazilian people seemed to be actively eliminating the
Portuguese 'patriarchal side', in which they simply do not see
themselves.570 It appears then that Brazilians have been more able
to deconstruct the myth, and talk back to the patriarchal power
that flows through the institutional structure inherited from
the Enlightenment and Portuguese colonial rule. Still, the same
568 On the manner in which Brazilian women are portrayed in the Portuguese media seePontes, 2004 in the articles section of Bibliography. 569 On this matter see Rowland in the articles section of the Bibliography.570 Lourenço, 1999.
282
perceptions mentioned above that are still nurtured by many
Portuguese, can be found among some belonging to middle and
upper classes in Brazil. In Portugal however, the cultivation of
the sense of superiority towards the Other has grown so embedded
throughout the centuries that much more self search is needed
before advancing perceptions of exchanges that were much more
complex than what is encapsulated in the political discourses on
national identity. Representations of race, such as Carlos
Julião’s, provide the possibility to deconstruct the Luso-Tropical
historical myth and may lead to a critical questioning of how
Portuguese and Brazilians alike know what they think they know
about their countries’ history and collective identity.
283
Images
Image 1 Carlos Julião. Salvador Panorama. 1779, watercolour on paper, 0,855 x 0,530.In Lisbon: Gabinete de Estudos Arqueológicos de Engenharia Militar/Direcção de Infra-Estruturas (Reg. 8756, cota 4756-3-38-52).
284
Image 2 Carlos Julião. Four Ports Panorama. 18th Century, watercolour on paper, 0,828 x 0,504.In Lisbon: Gabinete de Estudos Arqueológicos de Engenharia Militar/Direcção de Infra-Estruturas (Reg. 8757, cota 4757-3-38-52).
Image 3Carlos Julião. Allegory. Brazil, 18th Century, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscos illuminados de figurinhos de brancose negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro eSerro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: Biblioteca Nacional (plate I).
285
Image 4 Carlos Julião. Officer of the Terço of São José and Officer of the Auxiliary Cavalryof Rio de Janeiro. Brazil, 18th Century, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da FonsecaFernandes. 1960. Riscos illuminadosde figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzosdo Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio. Rio deJaneiro: Biblioteca Nacional(plate II).
Image 5Carlos Julião. Officer of the Auxiliary Terço of Santa Rita. Brazil, 18th Century, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da FonsecaFernandes. 1960. Riscos illuminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio. Rio deJaneiro: Biblioteca Nacional (plate III).
Image 6 Carlos Julião. Officer of the Terço of Pardos and Officer of the Auxiliary Terço of Free Blacks. Brazil, 18th Century, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da
286
Fonseca Fernandes. 1960.Riscos illuminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: Biblioteca Nacional (plate IV).
Image 7 Carlos Julião. Officer of Cavalry, Guard of the Viceroy in uniform and on horseback. Brazil, 18th Century, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da FonsecaFernandes. 1960. Riscos illuminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio. Rio deJaneiro: Biblioteca Nacional (plate V).
Image 8 Carlos Julião. Officers ofCavalry, Guard of the Viceroy. Brazil, 18th Century, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscos illuminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: Biblioteca
287
Nacional (plate VI).
Image 9 Carlos Julião. Romanticscene: Soldier of the Infantry Regiment of Moura saying farewell to a crying young lady. Brazil, 18th Century, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960.Riscos illuminados de figurinhos de brancose negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: Biblioteca Nacional ((plateVII).
288
Image 10 Carlos Julião. Hunting scene with Natives. Brazil, 18th Century, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscos illuminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: Biblioteca Nacional (plate VIII).
Image 11 Carlos Julião. Native coupledressed in feathers. Brazil, 18th Century, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscos illuminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: Biblioteca Nacional (IX).
289
Image 12 Carlos Julião.Native couple holding plants. Brazil, 18th Century, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960.Riscos illuminados de figurinhosde brancos e negros dos uzos doRio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: Biblioteca Nacional (plate X).
290
Image 13 Carlos Julião. 'Civilised' native couple. Brazil, 18th Century,watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscos illuminados defigurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: Biblioteca Nacional (plate XI).
Image 14 Carlos Julião. Native Carriers. Brazil, 18th Century, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia daFonseca Fernandes.1960. Riscos illuminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro:Biblioteca Nacional (plate XII).
291
Image 15 Carlos Julião. Lady with her slaves. Brazil, 18th Century, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscos illuminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: BibliotecaNacional (plate XIII).
Image 16 Carlos Julião. 'High Category' Lady being carried by slaves.Brazil, 18th Century, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscos illuminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: BibliotecaNacional (plate XIV).
292
Image 17 Carlos Julião. White couple. Brazil, 18th Century, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscos illuminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: Biblioteca Nacional (plate XV).
Image 18 Carlos Julião. White couple. Brazil, 18th Century, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscos illuminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: BibliotecaNacional (plate XVI).
293
Image 19 Carlos Julião. White couple. Brazil, 18th Century, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscos illuminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: BibliotecaNacional (plate XVII).
Image 20 Carlos Julião. Daily street scene. Brazil, 18th Century, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscos illuminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: BibliotecaNacional (plate XVIII).
294
Image 21 Carlos Julião. White couple hunting. Brazil, 18th Century, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscos illuminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: BibliotecaNacional (plate XIX).
Image 22 Carlos Julião. 'Lighter' women. Brazil, 18th Century, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscos illuminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: BibliotecaNacional (plate XX).
295
Image 23 Carlos Julião. 'Lighter' women. Brazil, 18th Century, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscos illuminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: BibliotecaNacional (plate XXI).
Image 24 Carlos Julião. 'Lighter' women. Brazil, 18th Century, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscos illuminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: BibliotecaNacional (plate XXII).
296
Image 25 Carlos Julião. Woman receiving letter from old man. Brazil, 18th Century, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscos illuminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: BibliotecaNacional (plate XXIII).
Image 26 Carlos Julião. Dramatic romantic scene. Brazil,18th Century, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscos illuminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: Biblioteca Nacional (plate XXIV).
297
Image 27 Carlos Julião. Mulatas. Brazil, 18th Century, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscos illuminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: BibliotecaNacional (plate XXV).
Image 28 Carlos Julião. African women. Brazil, 18th Century, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscos illuminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: BibliotecaNacional (plate XXVI).
298
Image 29 Carlos Julião. Afro-Brazilianwoman. Brazil, 18th Century, watercolour on paperIn Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscos illuminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: BibliotecaNacional (plate XXVII).
Image 30 Carlos Julião. Black Brazilian women. Brazil, 18th Century, watercolour on paper, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscos illuminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: BibliotecaNacional (plate XXVIII).
299
Image 31 Carlos Julião. Black Brazilian women. Brazil, 18th Century, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscos illuminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: BibliotecaNacional (plate XXIX).
Image 32 Carlos Julião. Black Brazilian women. Brazil, 18th Century, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscos illuminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: BibliotecaNacional (plate XXX).
300
Image 33 Carlos Julião. Street sellers. Brazil, 18th Century, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscos illuminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: BibliotecaNacional (plate XXXI).
Image 34 Carlos Julião. Street sellers. Brazil, 18th Century, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscos illuminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: BibliotecaNacional (plate XXXII).
301
Image 35 Carlos Julião. Street sellers. Brazil, 18th Century, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscos illuminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: BibliotecaNacional (plate XXXIII).
Image 36 Carlos Julião. Street sellers. Brazil, 18thCentury, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscos illuminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: Biblioteca Nacional (plate XXXIV).
302
Image 37 Carlos Julião. Slave beggars in the Festival of the Rosary.Brazil, 18th Century, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscos illuminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: BibliotecaNacional (plate XXXV).
Image 38 Carlos Julião. Procession of the black Queen in the Festivalof the Kings of Kongo. Brazil, 18th Century, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscos illuminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: BibliotecaNacional (plate XXXVI).
303
Image 39 Carlos Julião. Coronation of the Queen. Brazil, 18th Century, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscos illuminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: BibliotecaNacional (plate XXXVII).
Image 40 Carlos Julião. Royal Kongo couple. Brazil, 18th Century, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscos illuminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: BibliotecaNacional (plate XXXVIII).
304
Image 41 Carlos Julião. Coronation of the King of Kongo. Brazil, 18thCentury, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscos illuminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: BibliotecaNacional (plate XXXIX).
Image 42 Carlos Julião. Miners close-up. Brazil, 18th Century, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscos illuminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: Biblioteca Nacional (plate XL).
Image 43 Carlos Julião.
305
Slaves mining. Brazil, 18th Century, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da FonsecaFernandes. 1960. Riscosilluminados de figurinhos de brancose negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro eSerro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro:Biblioteca Nacional (plateXLI).
Image 44 Carlos Julião. Diamond washing. Brazil, 18th Century, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da FonsecaFernandes. 1960. Riscos illuminadosde figurinhos de brancos e negros dosuzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio.Rio de Janeiro: BibliotecaNacional (plate XLII).
306
Image 45 Carlos Julião. Bush captains searching slave. Brazil, 18th Century, watercolour on paper.In Cunha, Lygia da Fonseca Fernandes. 1960. Riscos illuminados de figurinhos de brancos e negros dos uzos do Rio de Janeiro e Serro do Frio. Rio de Janeiro: BibliotecaNacional (plate XLIII)
307
Image 46 Carlos Julião. Castes of the South Atlantic. 1779 (?), oil on canvas (pendant to image 73), oil on canvas, 71.8 x 142.9 cm.In Recife, Brazil: Instituto Ricardo Brennand (catalogued under the title Notícias do Gentilismo). Published in Sothebys. 28/01/1999. Old Master Paintings. New York issue, p.302/303.
Image 47 Carlos Julião. Castes of Portugal. 1779, oil on canvas, 71.8x 142.9 cm.In Recife, Brazil: Instituto Ricardo Brennand (catalogued under the title Notícias do Gentilismo). Published in Sothebys. 28/01/1999. Old Master Paintings. New York issue, p.302/303.
308
Image 48Unknown. Casta Painting. c.1750, oil on canvas, oil on canvas, 67 x 56.2 cm. PrivateCollection.In: Katzew,Ilona. 2004.Casta Painting:Images of Race inEighteenth CenturyMexico. New Havenand London: YaleUniversityPress, fig.61.
Image 49
Johann Moritz Rugendas. Capitão doMato (Bush Captain). 19th century.In Rugendas, Johann Moritz. 1940. Viagem Pitoresca Através do Brasil. São Paulo: Livraria Martins.In: http://pt.wikipedia.org/wiki/Imagem:Capitao-mato.jpg
309
BIBLIOGRAPHY
Primary Sources:
Arquivo Histórico Militar (Military Historical Archives, Lisbon):
Academia Real de Fortificação, Artilharia e Desenho:No. AHM/DIV/4/1/10/15 and AHM/DIV/4/1/6/4
Carlos Julião:No. AHM/DIV/3/7/329
Escola e Academia Militares, 1790:No. AHM/DIV/3/5
Arquivo Histórico Ultramarino (Overseas Historical Archives, Lisbon):
Documents avulsos Capitania da Bahia:AHU_ACL_CU_005 Cx. 45 & 46, doc. 8657-8658, 20/10/1774AHU_ACL_CU_005 Cx. 45 & 46, doc. 8663-8664, 20/10/1774
Documents avulsos Capitania de Pernambuco:AHU_ACL_CU_015 Cx. 166, doc. 11832, 19/12/1788AHU_ACL_CU_015 Cx. 166, doc. 11827, 19/12/1788AHU_ACL_CU_015 Cx. 147, doc. 10734, 19/04/1783
Documentos avulsos Capitania de São Paulo:AHU_ACL_CU_023 Cx. 19, doc. 948, 20/02/1803
Biblioteca Nacional de Portugal (National Library of Portugal, Lisbon):
Almanaque de Lisboa, 1807 F.5501
Juliao, Carlos Dicionário Histórico das Arvores e Arbustos 1801COD.10748
Noticia Summária do Gentilismo da Ásia, after 1759 / Relação Histórica (p.63-133) /
Profecia PolíticaF.3622
Torre do Tombo (Portuguese National Archives)
Chancelaria da Ordem de Avis, D. Maria I (Livro 391):Livro 8 f199 - 10/03/1791 (Alvará). Livro 8 f199 - 10/03/1791 (Carta de Hábito). Livro 8 f200 - 10/03/1791 (Alvará para professar).Livro 8 f200 - 10/03/1791 (Carta de Quitação da terça do
hábito).Livro 9 f142 - 10/05/1792 (Pagamento).
Registo Geral das Merçês:
310
Livro 26, fl.124v. - Carta de profissão, desc.:Hábito, D.Maria I.Privilegios da Irmandade do Rosario Concedidos a Religiao:
Book 30 of the Monastery of Santo Domingos de Lisboa, Documents no.153, 160.
Arquivo Nacional, Rio de Janeiro (Brazilian National Archives)
Vice Reinado - Cx 499, pct.2 D9: Fortificações do Rio de Janeiro, 13a coleção, 4a seção, 13a
classe, série YDocs: Fortaleza da Conceição, fls 1-3-10 (1791)
Vice Reinado - Microfilme Cx 761 pct.1:Carta de 21 de Maio, 1776 (censo populacional)
Arquivo da Cidade do Rio de Janeiro (Rio de Janeiro's City Archives)
Cadastro do Lougradouro:Travessa da Conceição - 1/9/1874 (Denominação oficial)Travessa Coronel Julião - Aceitação Dc.1,165-31/10/1917Boletim da Prefeitura - DL out/dez 1917 – 93-1-15
Biblioteca Nacional, Rio de Janeiro (Brazilian National Library)
Divisão de Manuscritos: Relatório de 1947 - 46,02028Relatório contendo exposição das actividades de 1947 -
46,020,028 (I)Relatório de 1946 - 46,020,028 (II)Relatório ao Ministério da Educação e Saúde de 1946 -
65,4,004, n.001Correspondência recebida pelo director da BN Rubens Borba
de Morais em 1946 -65,04,006, n.026
Arquivo Público Mineiro (Minas Gerais Public Archives)
Municípios Mineiros – Serro: Bicentenário do Serro, 1714-1914 (folheto)- 9FM 981 B Cx.16dCompromisso da Irmandade de Nossa Senhora do Rosário na Freguesia da Conceição das Villas do Príncipe do Serro do Frio no anno de 1728 (folheto)- 58 EM 981 C Cx. F16cSerro e sua história, exposição de posters e slides (folheto)7º Festival de Inverno, Julho, 1973 - 23 FM 981 M Cx. 16c
Catalogues (Carlos Julião's works):
311
Estado Maior do Exército Português. 1960. Engenharia Militar no Brasil e no Ultramar Português Antigo e Moderno. Lisboa: Esc. Prof Salesianos de São José.
Julião, Carlos. 1960. Riscos Iluminados de Figurinhos de Negros e Brancos dos Uzos doRio de Janeiro e Serro Frio. Rio de Janeiro: Biblioteca Nacional.
Sothebys. 28/01/1999. Old Master Paintings. New York issue, p.302-303.
Books and Articles:
Academia Militar de Lisboa. 1960. Comemorações do Centenário da Morte do Infante D. Henrique. Lisboa: Academia Militar.
Ades, Dawn. 1989. Latin America: the Modern Era New Haven: Yale University Press.
Ahluwalia, Pal & Abebe Zegeye Eds. 2002. African identities : contemporary political and social challenges. Aldershot: Ashgate.
Albuquerque, Roberto Cavalcanti. 2000. Gilberto Freyre e a Invencao do Brasil Riode Janeiro: Jose Olympio.
Alden, Dauril. 1968. Royal government in colonial Brazil : with special reference to the administration of the Marquis of Lavradio, Viceroy, 1769-1779. Berkeley: University of California Press.
Alexandre, Valentim & Jill Dias. 1998. "O Império Africano: 1825-1890"in Serrão, Joel & A.H. de Oliveira Marques Nova História da Expansão Portuguesa (Vol. X). Lisboa: Editorial Estampa.
Alpers, Svetlana. 1984. The Art of Describing: Dutch Art in the Seventeenth-century. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Ameal, João. 1960. "O Infante D. Henrique e o Século Português" in Boletim Cultural da Câmara Municipal do Porto. (Separata).
Anastácio, Carla Maria Junho. 2005. A Geografia do Crime, Violência nas Minas Setecentistas. Belo Horizonte: Editora UFMG.
Anderson, Benedict. 1991. Imagined communities : reflections on the origin and spread of nationalism. London: Verso.
Andrews, George Reid. 1997. "Democracia Racial Brasileira, 1900-1990" in Estudos Avançados, Volume 11, Number 30, pp.95-115.
Araújo, Emanoel. 1993. O Teatro dos Vícios: transgressão e transigência na sociedade urbana. Rio de Janeiro: Jose Olympia Editora.
312
Aristotle (Introduction and comments by Carnes Lord). 1984. The Politics. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Ashcroft, Bill 2000. Post-colonial studies: the key concepts London: Routledge.
Avíla, Affonso. 2001. “Baroque Culture of Brazil” in Sullivan, Edward J. Ed. Brazil, Body and Soul. New York: Solomon R. Guggenheim Foundation.
Bailey, Gauvin A. 2005. Art of Colonial Latin America. London: Phaidon Press Limited.
Ball, George W. 1982. The Past Has Another Pattern: Memoirs. W. W. Norton, NewYork.
Barbosa, Waldemar de Almeida. 1971. Dicionário Histórico-Geográfico de Minas Gerais. Belo Horizonte: Editora Saterb, Ltda. (Edição comemorativa dos 2 séculos e meio da capitania de Minas Gerais).
Bardi, P. M. 1975. História da Arte Brasileira São Paulo: Edições Melhoramentos.
Barnitz, Jacqueline. 2001. Twentieth Century Art of Latin America Austin: University of Texas Press.
Belluzo, Ana Maria de Moraes. 1995. The Voyagers’s Brazil. (Vol. II, A Placein the Universe). São Paulo: Metalivros.
Bennett, Eliana Guerreiro Ramos. 2001. "Gabriela Cravo e Canela: JorgeAmado and the Myth of the Sexual Mulata in Brazilian Culture" in Okpewho, Isidore & Carole Boyce Davies Eds. The African Diaspora: African Origins and New World Identities. Bloomington and Indianopolis: Indiana University Press.
Bennett, Tony; Lawrence Grossberg & Meaghan Morris Eds. 2005. New Keywords, a Revised Vocabulary of Culture and Society London: Blackwell Publishing.
Bento, Claudio. 1976. O Negro e Descendentes na Sociedade do Rio Grande do Sul, 1635-1975. Porto Alegre: Grafosul.
Bethel, Leslie Ed. 1991. Colonial Brazil. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Bicalho, Maria Fernanda. 2003. A Cidade e o Império: o Rio de Janeiro no século XVIII. Rio de Janeiro : Civilização Brasileira.
Bluteau, Raphael. 1712. Vocabulário Portuguez e Latino. Coimbra; Lisboa (8 Tomos).
Boas, Franz. 2004. Anthropology and Modern Life. New Brunswick and London: Transaction Publishers.
313
Boaventura, Maria Eugenia. 2000. ZZ por ZZ, A Semana de Arte Moderna vista pelos seus contemporaneos Sao Paulo: Editora da Universidade de Sao Paulo.
Boxer, Charles R. 1988. Relaçoes Raciais no Império Colonial Português 1415-1825. Porto: Afrontamento.
______________. 1985. Portuguese Conquest and Commerce in Southern Asia. London : Variorum Reprints.
______________. 1984. From Lisbon to Goa, 1500-1750. London : Variorum Reprints.
______________. 1977. The Portuguese Seaborne Empire. 1415-1825. London: Hutchinson & Co Publishers Ltd.
______________. 1975. Mary and Mysogyny: Women in Iberian Expansion Overseas, 1415-1815, some facts, fancies and personalities. London: Duckworth.
______________. 1969. The Golden Age of Brazil. Berkeley & Los Angeles: University of California Press.
______________. 1965. Portuguese Society in the Tropics. Madison : Winsconsin U.P.
______________. 1961a. The Colour Question in the Portuguese Empire. Oxford University Press.
______________. 1961b. "Mocambique Island and the carreira da India" inStudia, Number 8, pp.95-132.
______________ & Carlos de Azevedo. 1960. Fort Jesus and the Portuguese in Mombasa. London: Hollis and Carter.
______________. 1948. Fidalgos in the Far East, 1550-1770: Fact and Fancy in the History of Macao The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff.
Bucher, Bernadette. 1981. Icon and Conquest: a structural analysis of the illustrations of the Bry’s Great Voyages. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Bueno, Beatriz Piccolloto Siqueira. 2004, "O Ensino de Arquitetura nasAulas de Engenharia Militar da Bahia no Século XVIII". in Designio, (March).
Burdet, Carlo. 1991. “Il Cavalier Carlo Antonio Napione” in Atti della Academia delle Scienze di Torino. vol. 125, n.2, July-Dec. Torino: Accademia delle Scienze.
___________. 1962. “Il Colonello Juliao: un Versatile e Avventuroso Torinese nel Portogallo del XVIII secolo” in Studi Piemontesi, vol.15, n.1, p. 197-200.
314
Burns, Bradford. 1979. "Cultures in Conflict: The Implication of Modernization in 19th century Latin America" in Bernhard, Virginia Ed.Elites, Masses, and Modernization in Latin America, 1850-1930 Austin and London: Uni. of Texas Press.
Cabral, Amílcar. 1994. "National Liberation and Culture" in Colonial Discourse and Post-colonial Theory, a Reader. Hertfordshire: Harvester & Wheatsheaf.
_____________. 1973. Revolution in Guinea: An African People's Struggle, selected texts. London: Stage 1. Cairo, Heriberto. 2006. "Portugal is not a small country: Maps and Propaganda in the Salazar Regime" in Geopolitics, Volume 1, Number 3, pp.367-395.
Camões, Luís (Landeg White, translator). 1997. The Lusiads. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Carita, Hélder. 1999. Palaces of Goa. London: Cartago.
Carreira, António. 1969. As Companhias Pombalinas de navegacão : comércio e tráfico de escravos entre a costa africana e o nordeste Brasileiro. Lisboa: Bol. Cult. daGuiné Portuguesa (nos. 89-90, 91-92, de 1968 e 93 e 94, de 1969)
Carrera, Magali Marie. 2003. Imagining Identity in New Spain: Race, Lineage, and the Colonial Body in Portraiture and Casta Paintings. Austin:University of Texas Press.
Carvalho, José Murilo. 1990. A Formação das Almas: o Imaginário da Républica no Brasil. São Paulo: Companhia das Letras.
Carvalho, Vania Bezerra. 1990. "Abdias do Sacramento Nobre or Mestre Abdias" in The International Review of African American Arts vol.9, n.1, p.22-31.
Cascudo, L. 1962. “Congadas, Congados, Congos” in Dicionário do Folclore Brasileiro. Rio de Janeiro: Instituto Nacional do Livro; Ministério da Educação e Cultura, p.230-234.
Castelo, Claúdia. 1998. O Modo Português de Estar no Mundo, o Luso-tropicalismo e a ideologia colonial Portuguesa. Porto, Portugal: Edições Afrontamento.
Cattani, Icleia Maria Borsa. 2001. "Places of Modernism in Brazil" in Sullivan, Edward J. Ed. Brazil Body & Soul. New York: Solomon R. GuggenheimFoundation.
Centro Pelo Direito à Moradia Contra Despeos. 2005. Direito à Moradia e Territórios Etnicos: Proteção Legal e Violação de Direitos das Comunidades de Quilombos no Brasil. Porto Alegre: Etica Impressora.
Chaves, Evenice Santos. 2003. “Nina Rodrigues: Sua Interpretação do Evolucionismo Social e da Psicologia das Massas nos Primordios da
315
Psicologia Social Brasileira” in Psicologia em Estudo, Maringá, vol.8, n.2,p.29-37.
Chaves, Castelo Branco. 1983. O Portugal de Dom João V visto por três forasteiros Lisboa : Biblioteca Nacional.
Churchill, Ward. 2003. On The Justice of the Roosting Chickens: Reflections on the Consequences of U.S. arrogance and criminality. AK Press.
Cleary, David. “Race, Nationalism and Social Theory in Brazil: Rethinking Gilberto Freyre” in http://www.transcomm.ox.ac.uk/working%20papers/cleary.pdf. Harvard University. Consulted 4/3/06.
Coombes, Annie E. 1994. Reinventing Africa: museums, material culture and popular imagination in Late Victorian and Edwardian England. New Haven and London: Yale University Press.
Cortesão, Jaime. 1950. Alexandre de Gusmão e o Tratado de Madrid (1750). Vol.1(t.1) and Vol.1(t.2). Rio de Janeiro: Ministério das Relaçoes Exteriores, Instituto Rio Branco.
Costa, João Paulo de Oliveira & Teresa Lacerda. 2007. A Interculturalidade na Expansão Portuguesa (séculos XV-XVIII). Lisboa: Alto Comissariado para a Imigração e Minorias Étnicas.
Couto, José Vieira. 1994. Memória sobre a capitania das Minas Gerais, seu território, clima e produções metálicas. Belo Horizonte: Fundação João Pinheiro – Centrode Estudos Históricos e Culturais.
Craven, David. 2002. Art and Revolution in Latin America. New Haven and London: Yale University Press.
Cruls, Gastão. 1952. Aparência do Rio de Janeiro. Rio de Janeiro: José Olympio.
Cruz, José de Souza Pereira da. 1862. "Acontecimentos da Fortaleza da Conceição do Rio de Janeiro até 1844" in Revista do Instituto Histórico-Geográfico Brasileiro, tomo 25 (DL1.003).
Cruz, Levy. 2002. Democracia Racial: uma hipotese. in http://www.fundaj.gov.br/tpd/128.html, consulted (January).
Cummins, J. S. & L. de Sousa Rebelo. 2001. "The Controversy over Charles Boxer's Race Relations in the Portuguese Empire 1415-1825" in Portuguese Studies, Volume 17, Number 1 (January 1st), pp. 233-246(14)
Dalgado, Sebastião. 1919. Glossário Luso-Asiatico. Coimbra: Imprensa da Universidade.
Danaher, Geoff & Tony Schirato & Jen Webb. 2000. Understanding Foucault. London: Thousand Oaks.
316
Davidson, Basil. 1969. The liberation of Guiné : aspects of an African revolution (witha foreword by Amilcar Cabral). Harmondsworth: Penguin.
De La Fuente, Alejandro M.. 1999. "Myths of Racial Democracy: Cuba, 1900-1912" in Latin American Research Review. Volume 34, Number 3 (Fall), pp.39-73.
Debret, Jean Baptiste. 1972. Viagem Pitoresca e Histórica ao Brasil. São Paulo: Biblioteca Histórica Brasileira.
Del Priore, Mary. 2000. Mulheres no Brasil Colonial. São Paulo: Contexto.
Drewal, Henry John. 1997. Beads, Body and Soul. Los Angeles: Fowler Museum of Cultural History, University of California.
Du Bois, W.E.B. 1994. The Souls of Black Folk. New York: Dover.
Edmundo, Luis. 1956. O Rio de Janeiro dos Vice-Reis. Rio de Janeiro.
Enciclopédia Luso Brasileira de Cultura. 1971. Volumes: IV, V, VIII, IX, XII. Lisboa: Editorial Verbo.
Escorel, Silvia. 2000. Vestir Poder e Poder Vestir, o tecido social e a trama cultural nasimagens do traje negro, Rio de Janeiro, século XVIII. Unpublished Master Thesis, Social Sciences, Universidade Federal Rio de Janeiro.
Eze, Emmanuel Chukwudi, Ed. 1997. Race and the Enlightenment. Oxford: Blackwell Publishers.
Fanon, Frantz. 1986. Black Skin, White masks. London: Pluto Press.
Faoro, Raymundo. 1965. Os Donos do Poder: Formação do Patronato Político Brasileiro.Porto Alegre: Editora Globo.
Feio, Mariano. 1979. As Castas Hindus de Goa. Lisboa : Junta de Investigações Científicas do Ultramar, Centro de Estudos de Antropologia Cultural.
Fernandes, Paulo Jorge. 2003. "The Political History of Nineteenth-century Portugal" in e-JHP, Volume 1, Number 1 (Summer), p.1-13.
Ferreira, Rodrigo de Almeida. 2004. O Descaminho dos Diamantes. UnpublishedMaster Thesis, History, Universidade Federal de Minas Gerais at Belo Horizonte.
Figueiredo, Luciano. 1993. O Avesso da Memória : cotidiano e trabalho da mulher em Minas Gerais no século XVIII. Rio de Janeiro: J. Olympio Editora.
________________, & Maria Verônica Campos, Coordenação Geral Códice CostaMattoso (2 volumes). Belo Horizonte: Fundação João Pinheiro, Centro de
317
Estudos Históricos e Culturais, 1999. (Coleção Mineiriana, série obrasde referência)
Figuerôa, Silvia & Clarete Silva. 2000. "Enlightened Mineralogists: Mining Knowledge in Colonial Brazil, 1750-1825" in Osiris, 2nd Series, Volume 15, Nature and Empire: Science and the Colonial Enterprise, pp.174-189.
Fonseca, Edson Nery da. 1985. Casa-Grande e Senzala: e a critica Brasileira de 1933 a 1944. Recife: Companhia Editora de Pernambuco.
Fortes, Manoel de Azevedo. 1728. O Engenheiro Portuguez. Lisboa: Occidental.
Foucault, Michel. 2002a. The Archaeology of Knowledge London: Routledge.
____________. 2002b. The Order of Things: an Archaeology of the Human Sciences. London: Routledge.
____________. 1991. Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison. London: PenguinBooks
____________. 1980. Power/Knowledge: Selected Interviews and Other Writings, 1972-1977. Brighton, Sussex : Harvester Press.
____________. 1978. The History of Sexuality: an introduction. London, Allen Lane.
____________. 1977. Language, counter-memory, practice: selected essays and interviews.Ithaca, New York: Cornell University Press. ____________. 1965. Madness and Civilization: a History of Insanity in the Age of Reason. New York: Random House.
Fragoso, João & Maria Fernanda Bicalho & Maria de Fátima Gouvêa. 2001.O Antigo Regime nos Trópicos: a Dinâmica Imperial Portuguesa. Rio de Janeiro: Civilização Brasileira.
França, Eduardo Paiva. 1995. Escravos e Libertos nas Minas Gerais do Século XVIII. São Paulo: Annablume Editora.
França, José Augusto. 1983. Lisboa Pombalina e o Iluminismo Lisboa: Livraria Bertrand.
Freyre, Gilberto. 1980. Arte Ciência e Trópico (1st edition: 1962). São Paulo and Rio de Janeiro: Difel.
____________. 1966. Casa-Grande e Senzala: Formação da Família Brasileira sob o Regime de Economia Patriarcal. Recife: Imprensa Oficial (14 Ed. Brasileira). _____________. 1968. The Mansions and the Shanties: the Making of Modern Brazil. NewYork: Alfred A. Knopf.
318
_____________. 1962. Homem, Cultura e Trópico.Recife: pub. number 1, Instituto de Antropologia Tropical, Faculdade de Medicina da Universidade do Recife.
_____________. 1961. O Luso e o Trópico. Lisboa: Comissão Executiva das Comemoracões do V Centenário da Morte do Infante D. Henrique.
______________. 1953a. Um Brasileiro em Terras Portuguesas. Rio de Janeiro, Coleção Documentos Brasileiros, Volume 76.
______________. 1953b. Aventura e Rotina. Rio de Janeiro, Coleção Documentos Brasileiros, Volume 77.
______________. 1951. Interpretação do Brazil. Lisboa: livros do brasil.
_____________. 1926. Manifesto Regionalista. in http://www.arq.ufsc.br/arq5625/modulo2modernidade/manifestos/manifestoregionalista.htm(consulted 15/3/2008).
Furtado, Júnia Ferreira. 1999. Homens de Negócios : a Interiorização da Metrópole e do Comércio nas Minas Setecentistas. São Paulo : Editora Hucitec.
__________________.1996. O Livro da Capa Verde: O regimento diamantino de 1771 e a vida no distrito Diamantino no período da real extração. São Paulo: Annablume.
Gebara, Alexsander. 2008. "Edward Said e uma Pespectiva para a Literatura de Viagens". in Com Ciência: Revista Eletrônica de Jornalismo Científico (www.comciencia.br/comcienciahandler.php?section=8&edicao=14&id=123, consulted 11/1/2008).
Gilroy, Paul, 1993. The Black Atlantic : Modernity and Double Consciousness. London: Verso.
Godinho, Vitorino Magalhaes. 1948. Historia Económica e Social da Expansão Portuguesa. Lisboa: Terra Editora.
Goldman, Laurence R. Ed. 1999. The Anthropology of Cannibalism. London: Bergin & Garvey.
Goldner, Loren. 1998. “Race and Enlightenment, Pt.II: The Anglo-FrenchEnlightenment and Beyond” in http://home.earthlink.net/~lrgoldner/raceII.html. Consulted 12/02/06.
Gomes, Flávio dos Santos. 2005. Palmares. São Paulo: Editora Contexto.
Gonçalves, Williams da Silva. 2003. O Reaismo da Fraternidade Brasil-Portugal. DoTratado de Amizade ao Caso Delgado. Lisboa: Imprensa de Ciências Sociais, Instituto de Ciências Sociais da Universidade de Lisboa.
319
Guerzoni Filho, Gilberto. 1983. Politica e Crise do Sistema Colonial em Minas Gerais(1768-1808). Unpublished Master Thesis, History, Universidade Federal de Minas Gerais at Belo Horizonte.
Guimarães, Carlos Magno. 1983. A Negação da Ordem Escravista: Quilombos em Minas Gerais no século XVIII. Unpublished Master Thesis, Political Science, Universidade Federal de Minas Gerais at Belo Horizonte.
Hall, Stuart. 1997. "The Spectacle of the Other" in Stuart Hall Ed. Representation: Cultural Representations and Signifying Practices. London: Sage Publications.
Hampson, Norma. 1990. The Enlightenment: an evaluation of its assumptions, attitudes and values. London: Penguin Books.
Harris, R. W. 1964. Absolutism and Enlightenment. London: Blandford Press.
Hausser, Christian. 2003. "Indian and Nation: The 'Indio' in Nineteenth-Century Brazilian Historiography" in Meeting of the Latin American Studies Association, Dallas, Texas (March 27-29).
Hemming, John. 1978. Red Gold: The Conquest of the Brazilian Indians. London: Macmillan.
Hobsbawm, Eric & Terence Ranger. 1992. The Invention of Tradition. Cambridge University Press.
Hogden, Margaret. 1971. Early anthropology in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press.
Hogemann, Raquel de Castro. 2004. "Um Retrato das Mulheres nos Tempos da Colônia e do Império" in Simões, Simone Org. Mulheres da Baixada Fluminense: histórias de luta e conquista da cidadania feminina. Rio de Janeiro: CEDIM - Conselho Estadual dos Direitos da Mulher.
Hoppe, Fritz. 1970. A Africa Oriental Portuguesa no tempo do Marquês de Pombal (1750-1777). Lisbon: Agência Geral do Ultramar.
Hulme, Peter. 1986. Colonial Encounters: Europe and the Native Caribbean 1492-1797. London and New York: Routledge.
James, C.L.R. 2001. The Black Jacobins. London: Penguin Books.
Kant, Immanuel. 1960. Observations on the Feeling of the Beautiful and Sublime. Berkeley: University of California Press.
____________. 1784. What is “Enlightenment? in http://courses.essex.ac.uk/cs/cs101/KANT.HTM, University of Essex (consulted 10/2/2008).
320
Katzew, Ilona. 2004. Casta Painting: Images of Race in Eighteenth Century Mexico. New Haven and London: Yale University Press.
Kiddy, Elizabeth W. 2002. “Who is the King of Congo? A New Look at African and Afro-Brazilian Kings in Brazil” in Linda M. Heywood Ed. Central Africans and Cultural Transformations in the American Diaspora. Cambridge University Press, p.153-182.
Klein, Herbert S. 1999. The Atlantic Slave Trade. Cambridge University Press.
_____________. 1972. "The Portuguese Slave Trade in Angola in the Eighteenth-century" in The Journal of Economic History, Volume 32, Number 4 (December) pp.894-918.
Koerner, Lisbet. 2000. “Carl Linnaeus in his time and place” in Jardine, N., J. A. Secord & E.C. Spary Eds. Cultures of Natural History. Cambridge University Press, p.145-162.
Jornal O Cruzeiro. 15/6/1957. "Craveiro no Rio". Numero 35, pp.6-16.
Jornal O Cruzeiro. 3/9/1960. "O Henriquino JK marchou para leste". pp.35-45.
Landes, Ruth. 1947. The City of Women New York: Macmillian Company.
Lang, James. 1979. Portuguese Brazil, the King’s Plantation. New York : Academic Press.
Lara, Silvia Hunold. 2007. Fragmentos Setecentistas: Escravidão, Cultura e Poder na América Portuguesa. São Paulo: Companhia das Letras.
_______________. 2002a. “Customs and Costumes: Carlos Juliao and the Image of Black Slaves in Late Eighteenth-Century Brazil” in Slavery & Abolition, vol.23, n.2 (August), p.123-146.
_______________. 2002b. “Significados Cruzados: um Reinado de Congos na Bahia Setecentista” in Cunha, Maria Clementina Pereira Carnavais e Outras Festas: Ensaios de Historia Social da Cultura. Sao Paulo: Editora da Unicamp, p.71-100.
_______________. “Mulheres Escravas, Identidades Africanas”. Universidade Federal da Bahia in http://www.desafio.ufba.br/gt3-006.html, 5/7/2006
Levine, Robert M. & John J. Crocitti Eds. 1999. The Brazil Reader: History, Culture, Politics. Durham: Duke University Press.
Lévy-Bruhl, Lucien. 1978. The Primitive Mentality. New York: AMS Press.
321
Lidchi, Henrietta. 1997. "The Poetics and Politics of Exhibiting Others" in Stuart Hall Ed. 1997. Representation: Cultural Representations and Signifying Practices. London: Sage Publications.
Lippe, Frederick Schaumburg. 1763. Regulamento para o exercício e disciplina dos regimentos de Infantaria dos exércitos de sua Magestade Fidelissíma: feita por ordem do mesmo Senhor. Lisboa.
Lody, Raul. 2005. O negro no museu brasileiro : construindo identidades. Rio de Janeiro : Bertrand Brasil.
Lopez, Tele Porto Ancona. 1988. Edição critíca de Macunaíma, o Herói sem Nenhum Caráter, de Mário de Andrade, Brasília, CNPq, Coleção Arquivos.
Lourenco, Eduardo. 1989. "The Lusiads: from National Epic to UniversalMyth" in Unesco Courier (April 1989).
_______________. 1988. O Labirinto da Saudade (3rd edition), Lisbon: Publicacoes D. Quixote.
Luna, Francisco Vidal. 1981. Minas Gerais: Escravos e Senhores. São Paulo: Instituto de Pesquisas Económicas.
Lyra Tavares, Aurélio de. 1965. A Engenharia Militar Portugueza na Construção do Brazil. Lisboa.
Magalhães, Américo Laeth. 1957. Brasil-Portugal Documentário da Visita Oficial ao Brasil do General Francisco Higino Craveiro Lopes, Presidente da Républica Portuguesa. (5-25Junho, 1957).
Maquiavel, Nicolau (Carlos Soveral, translator). 1990. O Príncipe. Lisboa: Guimarães Editores.
Marques, João Pedro. 1999. Os Sons do Silêncio: o Portugal de Oitocentos e a Abolição do Tráfico de Escravos. Lisboa: Imprensa das Ciências Sociais.
Martins, Moisés de Lemos. 2004. "Lusofonia e Luso-Tropicalismo: Equívocos e possibilidades de dois conceitos hiper-identitários" in Conferência inaugural no X Congresso Brasileiro de Língua, subordinadoao tema Lusofonia. São Paulo: PUC (2 April - 1 May, 2004).
Matos, Patricia Ferraz. 2006. As Cores do Império: Representações Raciais no Império Colonial Português. Lisboa: ICS – Instituto de Ciências Sociais da Universidade de Lisboa.
Mattos, Hebe. 2006. "'Pretos' and 'Pardos' between the Cross and the Sword": Racial Categories in Seventeenth-century Brazil" in Revista Europea de Estudios Latino-Americanos y del Caribe, Number 80 (April).
322
Mazzara, Richard A. 1964. “Gilberto Freyre and José Honório Rodrigues:Old and New Horizons for Brazil” in Hispania, Volume 47, n.2 (may), p.316-325.
Maxwell, Kenneth. 2001. “Spark, Pombal, the Amazon and the Jesuits” inPortuguese Studies, Volume 17, Number 1, 1 January 2001 , pp. 168-183(16).
______________. 1995. Pombal, Paradox of Enlightenment. Cambridge University Press.
______________. 1968. “Pombal and the Nationalization of the Luso-Brazilian Economy” in Hispanic American Historical Review, Volume 48, Number 4 (November), pp. 608-631.
Mello e Souza, Laura de. 1999. Norma e Conflito: Aspectos da História de Minas no Século XVIII. Belo Horizonte: Editora UFMG.
_____________. 1994. O Diabo e a Terra de Santa Cruz. São Paulo: Companhia dasLetras. _____________. 1993. Inferno Atlântico. Demonologia e Colonização, séculos XVI-XVIII. São Paulo: Companhia das Letras.
_____________. 1982. Desclassificados do Ouro, a pobreza Mineira no século XIII. Rio de Janeiro: Edições Graal.
Mello e Souza, Marina. 2002. Reis Negros no Brasil Escravista: História da Festa de Coroação de Rei Congo. Belo Horizonte: Editora UFMG.
Memmi, Albert. 1990. The Coloniser and the Colonised. London: Earthscan Publications.
Mendes, A. Lopes. 1886. A Índia Portuguesa (Vol.I), Lisboa: Imprensa Nacional.
Mendonça, Marcos Carneiro. 1960. O Marquês de Pombal e o Brasil. São Paulo: Editora Nacional.
Miller, Joseph C. 1984."Capitalism and Slaving: The Financial and Commercial Organization of the Angolan Slave Trade, according to the Accounts of António Coelho Guerreiro (1684-1692)" in The International Journal of African Historical Studies, Vol. 17, No. 1 (1984), pp. 1-56.
_____________ 1975. “Nzinga of Matamba in a New Perspective” in The Journal of African History, vol.16, n.2, p.201-216.
Mineiro, Adélia Carvalho. 2007. Valores e Ensino no Estado Novo. Lisboa: Editora Sílaba.
Ministério das Colónias. 1934. Conferência dos Governadores Coloniais. Lisboa: Agência Geral das Colónias.
323
Mintz, Sidney & Michel-Rolph Trouillot, "The Social History of HaitianVodou" in Cosentino, Donald Ed. 1994. The Sacred Arts of Haitian Vodou. Los Angeles : UCLA Fowler Museum of Cultural History.
Miranda, Aluízio Ribeiro de. 1972. Serro, três séculos de história Belo Horizonte: Imprensa Oficial. Mirzoeff, Nicolas. 1999. An Introduction to Visual Culture. London: Routledge.
Miskolci, Richard and Sheila Abadia Rocha Carvalho. 2006. "A 'Tal' e a'Qual': Representações Racializadas da Mulher na Literatura Brasileira". Texto apresentado no Simpósio Temático Ruídos na representação da mulher: preconceitos e estereótipos na literatura e em outros discursos do Seminário Internacional Fazendo Gênero VII Gênero e Preconceito, UFSC-Florianópolis (Agosto) in http://www.ufscar.br/richardmiskolci/paginas/academico/cientificos/talequal.htm#_edn1 Mitchell, W.J.T. 1990. Iconology: Image, Text, Ideology. Chicago: University ofChicago Press.
Monteiro, John M. 2000. “The Heathen Castes of Sixteenth-Century Portuguese America” in Hispanic American Historical Review, vol. 80, n.4 (November), p. 697-719.
Morais, Geraldo Dutra. 1942. História de Conceição do Mato Dentro. Belo Horizonte: Biblioteca Mineira de Cultura.
Munteal Filho, Oswaldo. 1999. "Politica e Natureza no Reformismo Ilustrado de D. Rodrigo de Souza Coutinho" in Maria Emilia Prado O Estado como Vocação: Ideias e Práticas politicas no Brasil Oitocentista. Rio de Janeiro: Access Editora.
Napione, Carlos Antonio. 1801. Experiência e Observaçoes sobre a Liga dos Bronzesque devem servir nas fundiçoes das peças de artilheria. Lisboa.
Naro, Nancy Priscilla. 2007. “Colonial Aspirations: Connecting Three Points of the Lusophone Black Atlantic” in Naro, Nancy Priscilla & Roger Sansi-Roca & David H. Treece Eds. Cultures of the lusophone Black Atlantic.New York : Palgrave Macmillan.
Nascimento, Abdias do. 1978. O Genocidio do Negro Brasileiro: processo de um racismo mascarado. Rio de Janeiro: Paz e Terra.
Neto, Margarida Sobral. 2001. "O Papel da Mulher na Sociedade Portuguesa Setecentista - Contributo para o Seu Estudo" in Furtado, Junia Ferreira Org. Dialogos Oceânicos - Minas Gerais e as novas abordagens para umahistória no Império Ultramarino Português. Belo Horizonte: Universidade Federal de Minas Gerais.
324
Nina Rodrigues. 1976. Os Africanos no Brasil. Sa~o Paulo Companhia Editora Nacional.
Nizza da Silva, Maria Beatriz. 2005. Ser Nobre na Colonia. Sao Paulo: UNESP.
_______________________.. 2004. Vida Privada e Quotidiano no Brasil. Lisboa: Editorial Estampa.
Oliveira, Lidiany Cristina. 2005. As Teorias Raciais e o Negro do Pós-Abolição às Primeiras Décadas do Século XX. Unpublished Thesis, Faculty of Education, Universidade Estadual de Campinas.
Omari, Mikelle Smith. 1984. From the Inside to the Outside: the Art and Ritual of Brazilian Candomblé Monograph Series Number Twenty Four, Museum of Cultural History UCLA.
Paiva, Eduardo Franca. 1995. Escravos e Libertos nas Minas Gerais do Seculo XVIII. Estrategias e Resistencia atraves dos testamentos. Sao Paulo: Annablume Editora.
Pallares-Burke, Maria Lúcia G. 2005. Gilberto Freyre: um Vitoriano nos Trópicos. Sa~o Paulo: Editora UNESP.
Passoni, Célia. 1998. Modernismo no Brasil. São Paulo: Editora Núcleo.
Peregrino, Umberto. 1967. História e Projeção das Instituições Culturais do Exército. Rio de Janeiro: José Olympio Editora.
Pereira, José Costa (Co-ord.). 1985. Dicionário Enciclopédico da História de Portugal. Vol. I. Lisboa: Publicações Alfa.
Pereira, Júlio César Medeiros da S. 2006. À Flor da Terra: o cemitério dos Pretos Novos no Rio de Janeiro. Unpublished Thesis, Social History, Universidade Federal do Rio de Janeiro.
Pimentel, Irene Flunser. 2007. Mocidade Femenina Portuguesa. Lisboa: Esferados Livros.
Pinho, Susana. 2007. "De Constâcio Roque da Costa a Constâcio Roque daCosta: A representação da India Portuguesa na Câmara dos Senhores Deputados da Nação" in Metahistória: história questionando história - Homenagem ao Prof. Doutor Teotónio R de Souza (bilingual edition Portuguese/English). Lisboa: Nova Vega e autor, pp.561-568.
Pinto, Jeanette. 1992. Slavery in Portuguese India. Bombay: Himalaya PublisherHouse.
Portas, Miguel & José Manuel Pureza. 2005. "Do Luso-Tropicalismo ao Europeísmo de Esquerda". Artigo republicado a 23/1/2008 pelo jornalista Miguel Portas in Sem Muros (http://www.miguelportas.net/blog/?p=341).
325
Portugal. 1749 (24/5). Pragmática de 1749. (Bound volume containing Portuguese legislation during John V's reign, kept at British Library).
Poupeye, Veerle. 1998. Caribbean Art. London and New York: Thames and Hudson.
Power, Marcus & James Sidaway. 2005. Deconstructing Twinned Towers: Lisbon's Expo '98 and the occluded geographies of discovery in Social and Cultural Geographyvol.6, issue 6 (December), p. 865-883.
Prado, Yan de Almeida. 1976. A Grande Semana de Arte Moderna. São Paulo: Edart.
Pratt, Marie Louise. 1992. Imperial Eyes: Travel Writing and Transculturation. London: Routledge.
Presidência da Républica. 1960. Resenha do Governo do Presidente Juscelino Kubitscheck (1956-1961), Tomo II, Rio de Janeiro: Presidência da Republica (Serviço de Documentação).
Price, Sally. 2001. Primitive Art in Civilised Places. Chicago & London: The University of Chicago Press.
Raminelli, Ronald. 2001. "Do conhecimento Fisico e Moral dos Povos: iconografia e taxonomia na Viagem Filosofica de Alexandre Rodrigues Ferreira" in História, Ciências, Saúde – Manguinhos, Volume III (suplemento), pp.969-992.
Ramos, Donald. 1993. "From Minho to Minas: the Portuguese roots of theMineiro family" in The Hispanic America Historical Review, Vol. 73, n.4, (November), p.639-662.
Real, Miguel. 2006. O Marquês de Pombal e a Cultura Portuguesa. Lisboa: Quidnovi.
Reis, Nestor Goulart. 2000. Imagens de Vilas e Cidades do Brasil Colonial. São Paulo: Fapesp (Universidade).
Rhodes, Colin. 1994. Primitivism and Modern Art. London: Thames & Hudson.
Riley-Smith, Jonathan Simon Christopher. 1983. Hospitallers: the history of the Order of St. John. London: The Hambledon Press.
Rodrigues, José Honorio. 1965. Brazil and Africa. Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press.
Rodrigues, José Wasth. 1968. Uniformes do Exército Brasileiro, 1730-1889. São Sebastião: Diretoria do Serviço Geográfico do Exército Brasileiro.
326
Rodrigues, Manuel Ribeiro. 1999. 400 Anos de Organização e Uniformes Militares emMacau. Macau: Instituto Cultural de Macau.
Roque, Ricardo. 2001. Antropologia e Império: Fonseca Cardoso e a Expedição à India. Lisboa: Imprensa das Ciências Sociais. Roquette Pinto. 1933. Ensaios de Anthropologia Brasiliana. São Paulo: Companhia Editora Nacional.
Rousseau, Jean Jacques. 1992. Discourse on the Origins of Inequality. Hanover: University Press of New England.
Rowland, Robert. 2001. "Manuéis e Joaquins: a Cultura Brasileira e os Portugueses"in Etnográfica, Volume V (1), pp.157-172.
Royo, Sebastián & Paul Christopher Manuel “Reconsidering Economic Relations and Political Citizenship in the New Iberia of the New Europe: Some Lessons from the Fifteenth Anniversary of the Acession ofPortugal and Spain to the European Union”.http://www.ces.fas.harvard.edu/publications/RoyoManuel.pdf. Center forEuropean Studies. (consulted 2/5/06).
Rugendas, Johann Moritz. 1940. Viagem Pitoresca Através do Brasil. São Paulo: Livaria Martins.
Russell-Wood, A. J. R. 1992. A World on the Move. Manchester: Carcanet Press Limited.
__________________. 1982. The Black Man in Slavery and Freedom in Colonial Brazil. New York: St. Martin's Press.
__________________. 1977. “Women and Society in Colonial Brazil” in Journal of Latin American Studies, Volume 9 (May), issue 1, p.1-34.
Said, Edward. 1993. Culture and Imperialism. London : Chatto & Windus.
__________. 1979. Orientalism. New York: Knopf Publishing Group
Samson, Jane. 2005. Race and Empire. Harlow, England: Pearson Education.
Santos, Eneida Pereira. 2001. Irmandades de Negros Identidade Exigente de Velhos Negros da Gerais. Unpublished Master Thesis, Political Science, Universidade Federal de Minas Gerais at Belo Horizonte.
Santos, Marcio. 2001. Estradas Reais: Introducao ao Estudo dos Caminhos do Ouro e doDiamante no Brasil. Belo Horizonte: Editora Estrada Real.
Saraiva, José Hermano. 1989. História Concisa de Portugal. Mem Martins: Europa-America.
327
Saunders, A.C. de C.M. 1982. A Social History of Black Slaves and Freedman in Portugal: 1441-1555. Cambridge University Press.
Schwarcz, Lilia Moritz. 2001. O Espetáculo das Raças: Cientistas, Instituições e Questão Racial no Brasil, 1870-1930. São Paulo: Companhia das Letras.
Schwartz, Stuart B. 2003. Da América Portuguesa ao Brasil. Alges, Portugal: Difel S.A.
Sena, Marina de Avellar. 1977. Compra e Venda de Escravos (em MInas Gerais). Belo Horizonte: Editora Littera Maciel.
Shannon, Timothy J. 2004. Atlantic Lives: a comparative approach to early America. Pearson Education, Inc.
Shapiro, Gary. 2003. Archaeologies of Vision: Foucault and Nietzsche on Seeing and Saying. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Sieber, Roy. 1972. African Textiles and Decorative Arts New York: Museum of Modern Art.
Silva, José Pereira and Antunes, Miguel Telles. 2003. Viagem ao Brasil deAlexandre Rodrigues Ferreira: a expedição philosóphica pelas capitanias do Pará, Rio Negro,Mato Grosso e Cuiabá/Coleção da Academia das Ciências de Lisboa (Petrópolis: KapaEditorial).
Silva, Tony Simoes. 2002. "Raced Encounters, Sexed Transactions: 'Luso-Tropicalism and the Portuguese Colonial Empire" in Pretexts: Literary and Cultural Studies, Volume 11, Numero 1, pp.27-39.
Sire, H. J. A. 1994. The Knights of Malta. New Haven: Yale University Press. Skidmore, Thomas E. 1999. Brazil: Five Centuries of Change. New York: Oxford University Press.
_________________. 1990 “Racial Ideas and Social Policy in Brazil, 1870-1940” in Graham, Richard. The Idea of Race in Latin America. Austin: University of Texas Press.
_________________, & Smith, Peter H. 1984. Modern Latin America. New York: Oxford University Press.
Smith, Bernard. 1992. Imagining the Pacific: in the Wake of the Cook Voyages. New Haven and London: Yale University Press.
Soares, Mariza de Carvalho. 2000. Devotos da Cor: Identidade Etnica, Religiosidade e Escravidão no Rio de Janeiro. Rio de Janeiro: Civilizacao Brasileira.
Sodré, Nelson Werneck. 1979. História Militar do Brasil. Rio de Janeiro: Editora Civilização Brasileira.
328
Souza, Alberto. 1924. O Trajo Popular em Portugal nos séculos XVIII e XIX. Lisboa.
Souza, Teotónio R. 2008. "Gilberto Freyre na India e o 'Luso-Tropicalismo Transnacional'" in Lusofonias. Ciberdúvidas da Língua Portuguesa in http://ciberduvidas.sapo.pt/lusofonias.php?rid=1608 (consulted 25/10/2007.
_______________. 2006. "Lógicas Imperiais e Processos Contemporâneos Analisando Algumas memórias Coloniais Recém Publicadas em Goa e em Portugal" in Babilónia: Revista Lusófona de Linguas, Culturas e Tradução. Lisboa: Universidade Lusofona de Humanidades e Tecnologias, Number 004, pp.55-70.
Spivak, Gayatri Chakravorty. 1994. "Can the Subaltern Speak?" in Colonial Discourse and Post-colonial Theory, a Reader. Hertfordshire: Harvester & Wheatsheaf.
Stepan, Nancy. 1991. The Hour of Eugenics. Ithaca, New York : Cornell University Press.
Sullivan, Edward J. Ed. 2001. Brazil, Body and Soul. New York: Solomon R. Guggenheim Foundation.
Sundquist, Eric J. 1996. The Oxford W.E.B. Du Bois reader. New York: Oxford University Press.
Sweet, James H. 2003. Recreating Africa: Culture, Kinship and Religion on the African-Portuguese World, 1441-1770. Chapel Hill and London: University of North Carolina Press.
Teles dos Santos, José. 2005. "De Pardos Disfarçados a Brancos Poucos Claros: Classificações Raciais no Brasil dos Séculos XVIII-XIX" in Afro-Asia, Numero 032, Universidade Federal da Bahia. pp.115-137.
Tenreiro, Maria Manuela. 2007. "Military Encounters in the Eighteenth-Century: Carlos Julião and Racial Representations in the Portuguese Empire" in Portuguese Studies, Volume 23, pp.7-35.
Thomaz, Omar. 2001. "O Luso-tropicalismo: paisagens, sentidos, identidades" in Seminário de Tropicologia: o Brasil e o século XXI: desafios e perspectivas.Recife: Anais Biblioteca Virtual de Tropicologia.
Thompson, Robert Farris. 1984. Flash of the Spirit: African and Afro-American Art and Philosophy. New York: Vintage Books.
Thornton, John. 1992. Africa and Africans in the Making of the Atlantic World, 1400-1680. Cambridge University Press.
____________. 1984. “The Development of an African Catholic Church in the Kingdom of Kongo, 1491-1750” in The Journal of African History, vol.25, n.2, p.147-167.
329
Tinhorão, José Ramos. 1988. Os Negros em Portugal: uma Presenca Silenciosa. Lisboa: Editorial Caminho.
Tribe, Tania C. 1996. “The Mulatto as Artist and Image in Colonial Brazil” in Oxford Art Journal. vol. 19, n.1, p.67-79.
___________. 1994. The Heroic and the Gallant: Tile painting in Portugal and Brazil,1670-1780. Unpublished Doctoral Dissertation, History of Art, Universityof Essex, U.K.
Vaillé, S. 1910. "Lepanto" in The Catholic Encyclopedia. New York: Robert Appleton Company. (http://www.newadvent.org/cathen/09181b.htm).
Vainfas, Ronaldo. 1997. "Moralidades Brasilícas: deleites sexuais e linguagem erótica na sociedade escravista" in Novais, Fernando & Laurade Mello e Souza. História da Vida privada no Brasil: Cotidiano e vida privada na AmericaPortuguesa. São Paulo: Companhia das Letras p.221-273.
______________. 1992. "Idolatrias e Milenarismos: a Resistência Indígena nas Américas" in Estudos Históricos (Rio de Janeiro),Volume 5, Numero 9, 1992, pp.29-43.
Vasconcelos, José. 1997. The Cosmic Race (bilingual edition Spanish/English). Baltimore: John Hopkins University Press.
Vasconcelos, Pedro. de Almeida. 2007. Complexidade histórica e questões raciais em Salvador, Brasil. Biblio 3W Revista Bibliográfica de Geografíay Ciencias Sociales, Universidad de Barcelona, Vol.XII, nº 732, (30 de Junio). in http://www.ub.es/geocrit/b3w-732.htm.
Venâncio, José Carlos 1996. Colonialismo, Antropologia e Lusofonias: Repensando a Presença Portuguesa nos Trópicos. Lisboa: Vega.
Villalta, Luiz Carlos. 2000. 1789-1808: O Império Luso-Brasileiro e os Brasis. SãoPaulo : Companhia das Letras.
Vitória, Benalva da Silva. 2003. “Lusofonia: Proposta para a Reinvenção de uma Comunidade” in Anuário Internaional de Comunicação Lusofona, p.11-20. Wade, Peter. 1997. Race and Ethnicity in Latin America. Chicago: Pluto Press.
Wagner, Alfredo. 2002. "Os Quilombos e as Novas Etnias" in O'Dwyer, Eliane Org. Quilombos: Identidade e Territorialidade, Rio de Janeiro: ABA/FGV, pp.43-83.
Warren Dean. 1995. With Broadax and Firebrand. Berkeley: University of California Press.
330
Whitaker, Katie. 2000. ”The Culture of Curiosity” in Cultures of Natural History Jardine, N., J. A. Secord & E.C. Spary Eds. Cambridge UniversityPress, p.75-90.
Zemella, Mafalda P. 1990. O Abastecimento da Capitania das Minas Gerais no Seculo XVIII. Sao Paulo: Editora da Universidade de Sao Paulo.
Zinn, Howard. 1995. The People’s History of the United States. New York: Harper Perennial.
331
