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A Companion to Early Modern Lima
 9004335358, 9789004335356

Table of contents :
Contents
Figures and Tables
List of Archival Sources
Notes on Contributors
Introduction
Emily A. Engel
Part 1
 Urban Development and Government
Chapter 1
The Cultural Trajectory of the Central Peruvian Coast, The Territory and Its People in the Valleys of Pre-Hispanic Lima
 Giancarlo Marcone Flores
Chapter 2
Before Lima: The Rímac-Lurín Area on the Eve of Spanish Conquest
 Peter Eeckhout
Chapter 3
Taxation, Obligation, and Corporate Identity in 16th-Century Lima
 Karen B. Graubart
Chapter 4
Making Urban Colonial Lima (1535-1650): Pipelines and Plazas
 Martha G. Bell and Gabriel Ramón
Chapter 5
Lima: A Legal City in the Early Colonial Andes (1538-1600)
 Renzo Honores
Chapter 6
Don Juan de Padilla y Pastrana (1596-1670), Advocate of Peru’s Indigenous Population?
 Alexandre Coello de la Rosa
Part 2
 Society
Chapter 7
Lima and the Introduction of Peru into the Global Trade of the 16th Century
 Margarita Suárez
Chapter 8
Indigenous Populations in Early Lima: Origins, Possessions, and Networks
 Gabriela Ramos
Chapter 9
Society and Education: The University of San Marcos in the 16th Century
 Pedro M. Guibovich Pérez
Chapter 10
Women Writers and Hispanic Hegemony in the 17th-Century Viceroyalty of Peru: The Cases of Clarinda and Amarilis
 Martina Vinatea Recoba
Chapter 11
“Para el aumento del servicio de Dios [For the intensification of service to God]”: Formalization of Piety and Charity in Lima’s Confraternities during the 16th and 17th Centuries
 Diego Edgar Lévano Medina
Chapter 12
Unsettling and Unsettled Readings: Occult Scripts in 16th-Century Lima and the Challenges of Andean Knowledge
 Claudia Brosseder
Part 3
 Culture
Chapter 13
“Reina, limpia y pura [Queen of Heaven, clean and pure]”, Italian Painters and Marian Imagery in 16th-Century Lima
 Irma Barriga Calle
Chapter 14
Fashioning Lima’s Virgin of Copacabana: Indigenous Strategies of Negotiation in the Colonial Capital
 Ximena A. Gómez
Chapter 15
Privileging the Local: Prints and the New World in Early Modern Lima
 Emily C. Floyd
Chapter 16
British Piracy and the Origins of a Colonial Imaginary in 16th-Century Lima
 María Gracia Ríos
Chapter 17
The Book and Western Culture in 16th-Century Lima
 Carlos Alberto González Sánchez
Chapter 18
The Callao Contract of 1599: Actors Set the Stage for an Early Modern Lima
 Susan Finque
Chapter 19
The Sonic Construction of a New Capital: Urban Soundscapes and Acoustic Communities in 16th-Century Lima
Javier Marín-López
Conclusion
Leo J. Garofalo
Index

Citation preview



A Companion to Early Modern Lima

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2019 | doi:10.1163/9789004335363_001

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Brill’s Companions to the Americas History, Societies, Environments and Cultures

VOLUME 2

The titles published in this series are listed at brill.com/bcah



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A Companion to Early Modern Lima  Edited by

Emily A. Engel

LEIDEN | BOSTON

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Cover illustration: La Civdad de los Reís de Lima, by Felipe Guaman Poma de Ayala. Courtesy of Det Kongelige Bibliotek, Copenhagen. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Engel, Emily A., 1978- editor. Title: A companion to early modern Lima / edited by Emily A. Engel. Description: Leiden ; Boston : Brill, [2019] | Series: Brill’s companions to the Americas : history, societies, environments and cultures, ISSN 2468-3000 ; volume 2 | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2018056699 (print) | LCCN 2018059314 (ebook) | ISBN 9789004335363 (ebook) | ISBN 9789004335356 (hardback : alk. paper) Subjects: LCSH: Lima (Peru)--History--16th century. | Lima (Peru)--Politics and government--16th century. | Lima (Peru)--Social conditions--16th century. | Lima (Peru)--Civilization--16th century. | Lima (Peru)--Colonization. | Urbanization--Peru--Lima--History--16th century. | Spaniards--Peru--Lima--History--16th century. | Spain--Colonies--America. | Imperialism--Social aspects--Peru--Lima--History--16th century. Classification: LCC F3601.3 (ebook) | LCC F3601.3 .C67 2019 (print) | DDC 985/.25502--dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018056699

Typeface for the Latin, Greek, and Cyrillic scripts: “Brill”. See and download: brill.com/brill-typeface. issn 2468-3000 isbn 978-90-04-33535-6 (hardback) isbn 978-90-04-33536-3 (e-book) Copyright 2019 by Koninklijke Brill nv, Leiden, The Netherlands. Koninklijke Brill NV incorporates the imprints Brill, Brill Hes & De Graaf, Brill Nijhoff, Brill Rodopi, Brill Sense, Hotei Publishing, mentis Verlag, Verlag Ferdinand Schöningh and Wilhelm Fink Verlag. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher. Authorization to photocopy items for internal or personal use is granted by Koninklijke Brill nv provided that the appropriate fees are paid directly to The Copyright Clearance Center, 222 Rosewood Drive, Suite 910, Danvers, ma 01923, usa. Fees are subject to change. This book is printed on acid-free paper and produced in a sustainable manner.

Contents Contents

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Contents

List of Figures and Tables ix Archival Sources xiii Contributors xiv



Introduction Locating an American Capital in the Early Modern World 1  Emily A. Engel

Part 1  Urban Development and Government 1

The Cultural Trajectory of the Central Peruvian Coast, The Territory and Its People in the Valleys of Pre-Hispanic Lima 25  Giancarlo Marcone Flores

2 Before Lima: The Rímac-Lurín Area on the Eve of Spanish Conquest 46  Peter Eeckhout 3 Taxation, Obligation, and Corporate Identity in 16th-Century Lima 82  Karen B. Graubart 4 Making Urban Colonial Lima (1535-1650): Pipelines and Plazas 103  Martha G. Bell and Gabriel Ramón 5 Lima: A Legal City in the Early Colonial Andes (1538-1600) 127  Renzo Honores 6 Don Juan de Padilla y Pastrana (1596-1670), Advocate of Peru’s Indigenous Population? 146  Alexandre Coello de la Rosa

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Contents

Part 2  Society 7 Lima and the Introduction of Peru into the Global Trade of the 16th Century 171  Margarita Suárez 8 Indigenous Populations in Early Lima: Origins, Possessions, and Networks 196  Gabriela Ramos 9 Society and Education: The University of San Marcos in the 16th Century 216  Pedro M. Guibovich Pérez 10 Women Writers and Hispanic Hegemony in the 17th-Century Viceroyalty of Peru: The Cases of Clarinda and Amarilis 235  Martina Vinatea Recoba 11 “Para el aumento del servicio de Dios [For the intensification of service to God]”: Formalization of Piety and Charity in Lima’s Confraternities during the 16th and 17th Centuries 253  Diego Edgar Lévano Medina 12 Unsettling and Unsettled Readings: Occult Scripts in 16th-Century Lima and the Challenges of Andean Knowledge 275  Claudia Brosseder

Part 3  Culture 13 “Reina, limpia y pura [Queen of Heaven, clean and pure]”, Italian Painters and Marian Imagery in 16th-Century Lima 311  Irma Barriga Calle 14 Fashioning Lima’s Virgin of Copacabana: Indigenous Strategies of Negotiation in the Colonial Capital 337  Ximena A. Gómez

Contents

15 Privileging the Local: Prints and the New World in Early Modern Lima 360  Emily C. Floyd 16 British Piracy and the Origins of a Colonial Imaginary in 16th-Century Lima 385  María Gracia Ríos 17 The Book and Western Culture in 16th-Century Lima 404  Carlos Alberto González Sánchez 18 The Callao Contract of 1599: Actors Set the Stage for an Early Modern Lima 424  Susan Finque 19 The Sonic Construction of a New Capital: Urban Soundscapes and Acoustic Communities in 16th-Century Lima 442  Javier Marín-López

Conclusion 470  Leo J. Garofalo



Index 495

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Contents

and Tables FiguresFigures and Tables

ix

Figures and Tables 0.1 0.2

0.3 0.4

1.1 1.2 1.3 2.1 2.2 2.3 2.4 2.5 2.6 2.7 2.8 2.9 2.10 2.11

Figures Theodore de Bry, Americae Pars Magis Cognita, c.1593, in Dritte Buch Americae, Part 3, Frankfurt. Courtesy of the John Carter Brown Library (08922) 7 Bernardo Clemente Principe, “Planta de la muy yllustre ciudad de los reyes corte del reino”, 1674. Courtesy of the Library of Congress, Geography and Map Division (2010592749) 8 Pedro Cieza de Leon, “[City construction view]”, Parte primera de la Chronica del Perv, Antwerp 1554, folio 183v. Image in the public domain 9 Felipe Guaman Poma de Ayala, “Civdad La Civdad de los Reís de Lima…”, Nueva corónica y buen gobierno, c.1615, folio 1031 [1039]. Photograph courtesy of The Royal Library, National Library of Denmark, Copenhagen  14 View of Lima-area geography. Photograph courtesy of the author 26 Map of Lima-area archaeological sites. Photograph courtesy of the author 27 Chronology for ordering the Peruvian pre-hispanic past. Photograph courtesy of the author 32 Subdivisions of the province of Pachacamac during Inca times. Photograph courtesy of the author 48 Map of the Central Coast of Peru with approximate localization of chiefdoms and hunus in Inca times. Photograph courtesy of the author 50 Map of Rímac-Lurín area with sites mentioned in the text (adapted from an original by A. Gavazzi). Photograph courtesy of the author 51 Sketchmap of the Maranga Complex, Rímac Valley (redrawn from an original by J. Canziani). Photograph courtesy of the author 55 Sketchmap of Armatambo (redrawn from an original by R. Ravines). ­Photograph courtesy of the author 58 A small pyramid at Armatambo. Photograph courtesy of Luisa Díaz 58 The Palace of Puruchuco. Photograph courtesy of the author 60 Plan of the Palace of Puruchuco (redrawn from an original by J. Borja). Photograph courtesy of the author 60 Map of the monumental site of Pachacamac. Photograph courtesy of the author 66 3-D reconstruction of the Sacred Precinct at Pachacamac, with the Sun Temple at above right. Photograph courtesy of the author 67 Southeast terraces of the Temple of the Sun, Pachacamac. Photograph courtesy of the author 68

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Figures And Tables

2.12 Late Horizon blackware painted bowl from Pachacamac. Photograph courtesy of the author 71 2.13 Inca textile from Building B15, Pachacamac. Photograph courtesy of the author 71 2.14 Scattered objects on the floors of Building B15, Pachacamac. Photograph courtesy of the author 73 2.15 Restored Inca-Chimu vessel from Building B15, Pachacamac. Photograph courtesy of the author 74 2.16 Restored local Inca drinking cup from Building B15, Pachacamac. Photograph courtesy of the author 75 3.1 Juan de Matienzo’s design for towns to be established in the Viceroyalty of Peru. From Juan de Matienzo, Gobierno del Perú [1567]. Reprinted with permission of Obadiah Rich Collection, Manuscripts and Archives Division, The New York Public Library, Astor, Lenox, and Tilden Foundations 87 4.1 Map of Lima’s municipal pipeline network showing public fountains, c.1613, Based on: Bromley/Barbagelata, Evolución Urbana, pp. 41-43 and Fig. 3; Clemente Principe, Planta de la muy illustre; and the 18th century map of Lima’s water system: Plan[o] Topográfico (1787), published and described in Ramón, “Ilustrar la urbe”, pp. 62-79. See also Bell, “Historical Political Ecology”, Figs. 2-4. Cartography courtesy of M. Bell 116 4.2 San Sebastián plaza and public fountain, Lima. Photograph courtesy of G. Ramón 118 7.1 Peruvian silver production, 1531-1600, by decade in pesos of eight reales 184 7.2 Production of Peruvian silver and its exportation from America, by decade in millions of pesos 188 12.1 “The 1553 Apparition at Porco”. D. Fern.ndez (Palentino), Primera y segunda parte de la historia del Perú, Seville: Hernando D.az, 1571, segunda parte, libro segundo, cap. XIIII, fol. 39v. Photograph courtesy of Archive.org  281 12.2 Pythagorean wheel, 17th century. Archivo Nacional de Chile, Fondo Varios, vol. 33. Photograph courtesy of the author 288 13.1 Nuestra Señora de la Antigua, unidentified Sevillian artist, c.1545 oil on wood, Museo de Arte Religioso de la Basílica Catedral de Lima. Photograph courtesy of Daniel Giannoni 314 13.2 Virgen de Guadalupe de Extremadura, Diego de Ocaña, 1599-1600 oil on canvas, Museo de Arte Religioso de la Basílica Catedral de Lima. Photograph courtesy of Erman Guzmán Reyes 315 13.3 Virgen del Sunturhuasi, unidentified artist, 18th century. Cuzco, oil on copper plate, Barbosa-Stern Collection, Lima. Photograph courtesy of Daniel ­Giannoni  320

Figures and Tables

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13.4 Coronación de la Virgen, Bernardo Bitti, c.1575-83 oil on canvas, Iglesia de San Pedro de Lima. Photograph by Daniel Giannoni, courtesy of ARCHI, Archivo Digital de Arte Peruano 321 13.5 Virgen de la Candelaria, Bernardo Bitti, c.1575-83 oil on canvas, Iglesia de San Pedro de Lima. Photograph by Daniel Giannoni, courtesy of ARCHI, Archivo Digital de Arte Peruano 325 13.6 Virgen de Belén or Virgen de la Leche, Mateo Pérez de Alesio, c.1604 oil on engraved copper plate, Museo de Arte de Lima, Donación Colección Petrus Fernandini en memoria de Héctor Velarde Bergmann. Photograph by Daniel Giannoni, courtesy of ARCHI, Archivo Digital de Arte Peruano 327 13.7 Virgen de la Inmaculada Concepción, attributed to Angelino Medoro, 1618 oil on canvas, Orden de San Agustín, Provincia de Nuestra Señora de la Gracia del Perú, Convento de San Agustín de Lima, Prior Provincial Padre Alexander Lam Alania, OSA. Photograph by Daniel Giannoni, courtesy of ARCHI, Archivo Digital de Arte Peruano 329 13.8 La Virgen-Cerro, unidentified artist, oil on canvas, 18th century. Museo de la Moneda, Potosí, Bolivia. Photograph courtesy of Rubín Julio Ruiz 332 14.1 Virgin of Copacabana (post-restoration), Diego Rodríguez de Celada and Cristóbal de Ortega, c.1588 339 14.2 Virgin of Copacabana (pre-restoration), alternate view, Diego Rodríguez de Celada and Cristóbal de Ortega, c.1588 346 14.3 Virgin and Child (now Evangelization), Roque de Balduque, c.1551-54 348 14.4 Virgen del Rosario, Roque de Balduque, c.1560 348 14.5 Virgen de la Candelaria, Bernardo Bitti, 1572-76 350 14.6 Virgin of Copacabana, Francisco Tito Yupanqui, c.1583 355 15.1 Coat of Arms of the University of San Marcos, 1602, woodcut. Photograph courtesy of John Carter Brown Library at Brown University 364 15.2 Woodcut Portrait of Pedro de Oña, 1596, woodcut. Photograph Courtesy of the John Carter Brown Library at Brown University 364 15.3 Catafalque of Queen Margarita, Francisco Bejarano, 1613, engraving. ­Photograph courtesy of Hispanic Society of New York 366 15.4 Virgin of Copacabana, 1621, woodcut. Photograph courtesy of Hispanic Society of New York 370 15.5 Miraculous healing of an indigenous man at a bullfight, 1621, woodcut. ­Photograph courtesy of Hispanic Society of New York 371 15.6 Miraculous healing of an indigenous worker at Potosí, woodcut, 1621, woodcut. Photograph courtesy of Hispanic Society of New York 372 15.7 Francisco Bejarano, Frontispiece, from Francisco Valverde, Sanctuario de N. Señora, 1641, engraving. Photograph courtesy of John Carter Brown Library at Brown University 375

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Figures And Tables

15.8 Chart of Consanguinity, from Juan Pérez Bocanegra, Ritual Formulario, 1631 engraving. Photograph courtesy of the John Carter Brown Library at Brown University 378 18.1 The final page of the Callao Contract, 1599. Photography courtesy of the author, all rights released from the Rosenbach Library and Museum 430 19.1 Melodic comparison of ¿Con qué la lavaré?, Juan Vázquez (soprano), ¿Dónde estás, señora mía?, anonymous (contralto), Tiempo es, el escudero, anonymous (soprano), and Hanacpachap cussicuinin, anonymous (soprano). Diagram courtesy of the author 454

0.1 2.1 7.1 7.2 7.3 7.4 7.5 10.1 11.1 11.2 11.3 11.4 17.1

Tables 16th-century viceroys of Peru 11 Local chiefdoms in the Lower Rímac Valley (after Rostworowski 1978) 52 Indigenous taxes by provinces, in pesos ensayados (pesos in the royal mints in America) 175 Mining production of Peru compared to that of America and the world, 1531-1600  184 General summary of the Caja de Lima (Royal Treasuries), 1580-1600 184 Remittance to Castile of the expenses of the caja real of Lima, 1591-1600 185 Loans to the Caja Real of Lima, 1586-1600 186 Conditions Surrounding the Foundation of Lima’s Convento del Carmen in 1643 241 Brotherhoods active in 16th-century Lima 259 Brotherhoods mentioned in 16th- and 17th-century wills in Lima 261 Status of the maidens of the cofradía de Nta Sra del Rosario de españoles (Santo Domingo), 1625-85 269 Transactions by cofradías, 16th century 272 Notable 16th-century book collectors in Lima 420

Archival Archival Sources Sources

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Archival Sources  AAL  ABNB  ABPL  AGI  AGN  AGNC  AHCNM  AHN  AML  ANC  BNE  BNP  JCB

Archivo Arzobispal de Lima, Peru Archivo y Biblioteca Nacionales de Bolivia Archivo de la Beneficencia Pública de Lima, Peru Archivo General de Indias, Sevilla, Spain Archivo General de la Nación, Lima, Peru Archivo General de la Nación, Bogotá, Colombia Archivo Histórico de la Casa Nacional de Moneda, Bolivia Archivo Histórico Nacional, Madrid, Spain Archivo de la Municipalidad de Lima, Peru Archivo Nacional de Santiago de Chile Biblioteca Nacional de España, Madrid, Spain Biblioteca Nacional del Perú, Lima, Peru John Carter Brown Library, Providence, Rhode Island, United States

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Contributors

Contributors

Contributors  Martha G. Bell  is Assistant Professor of Geography at the Pontificia Universidad Católica del Perú (PUCP). She specializes in the land and water management traditions of colonial Peru.  Irma Barriga Calle is a historian and Professor of History at PUCP, where she teaches. She specializes in colonial history and her main areas of interest are cultural and art history.  Claudia Brosseder is Associate Professor of Colonial Latin American History at the University of Illinois. Brosseder has gained expertise in two distinct areas of scholarship: the intellectual history of early modern Europe and the indigenous history of the colonial Andes. She has authored The Power of Huacas: Change and Resistance in the Andean World of Colonial Peru (2014) and Im Bann der Sterne: Caspar Peucer, Philipp Melanchthon und andere Wittenberger Astrologen (2004).  Alexandre Coello de la Rosa is Full Professor at the University Pompeu Fabra, Barcelona, Spain. He has published several books and articles in specialized journals on chronicles of the 16th century, institutional and ecclesiastical history of 16th- and 17th-century Peru and the Philippines, with special emphasis on the history of the Society of Jesus.  Peter Eeckhout is Full Professor of Pre-Columbian Art and Archaeology at the Université Libre de Bruxelles, Belgium. His research interests include complex societies of the Americas, monumental architecture, and funerary archaeology.  Emily A. Engel is an independent scholar based in Southern California who has published several articles on visual culture in early modern South America and coedited with Thomas Cummins Manuscript Cultures in Colonial Mexico and Peru: New Questions and Approaches (2015).

Contributors

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 Susan Finque is a theater actor, director, and educator, and currently visiting faculty at Hamilton College. Her Ph.D. was awarded from the University of Washington, and she holds an MFA in directing from Yale. Her research and development interests dwell in paradigm-changing theatre, cross gender performance, cultural collisions in performance, and history that inspires and transforms the present. She lives in Seattle with her partner, pets, and grandson.  Emily C. Floyd is Lecturer in Visual Culture and Art before 1700 at University College London. She earned her Ph.D. in Art History and Latin American Studies in 2018 from Tulane University. She is currently working on her first book project, “The Mobile Image: Prints and Devotional Networks in Seventeenth- and EighteenthCentury South America”. Floyd is also editor and curator at the Center for the Study of Material and Visual Cultures of Religion at Yale University.   Leo J. Garofalo is Associate Professor of History at Connecticut College, where he researches market and ritual activities in Andean cities and seafaring by black Europeans from Iberia. He has coedited Documenting Latin America: Gender, Race, and Empire; Afro-Latino Voices: Narratives from the Early Modern Ibero-Atlantic World, 1550-1812 (2010) and Mas allá de la dominación y la resistencia (2005). Currently he is researching enslaved Asians and writing a book on black sailors, soldiers, and traders in the early Atlantic world.  Ximena A. Gómez is a Ph.D. candidate in History of Art at the University of Michigan. Her dissertation, “Nuestra Señora: Confraternal Art and Identity in Early Colonial Lima”, examines how indigenous and black confraternities formed identities by engaging with images of the Virgin Mary. Her research has been generously supported by the University of Michigan, the Fulbright-Hays Program, and the Twenty-Four-Month Chester Dale Fellowship from the Center for Advanced Study in the Visual Arts at the National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C.  Carlos Alberto González Sánchez is Chair of Modern History at the Universidad de Sevilla. His research focuses on cultural history, specifically the literary culture of the Iberoamerican world in the 16th and 17th centuries. His books include Los Mundos del libro (1999), Homo viator, homo scribens (2007), Atlantes de papel (2008), New World Literacy

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Contributors

(2011), and he is coauthor of De todos los ingenios los mejores: El Condestable Juan Fernández de Velasco y Tovar (2014).  María Gracia Ríos is Assistant Professor of Literature at the Pontificia Universidad Católica del Perú (PUCP). She received her Ph.D. in Spanish and Portuguese from Yale University in 2017. She specializes in colonial Latin American literature. Her research areas include transatlantic early modern studies, piracy studies, and Anglo-Spanish cultural relations.  Karen B. Graubart is Associate Professor of History at the University of Notre Dame, and author of With Our Labor and Sweat: Indigenous Women and the Formation of a Colonial Society in Peru 1550-1700 (2007), among other works.  Pedro M. Guibovich Pérez received his Ph.D. in History from Colombia University. He is a Professor of History in the Humanities Department at PUCP and affiliated Professor of History at the Universidad del Pacífico in Lima. A specialist in the history of colonial Peru, he has published wide-ranging studies on the history of the book and literacy, as well as the cultural history of the clergy. He is currently preparing a study on the history of printing in the Viceroyalty of Peru.  Renzo Honores is a researcher at the Instituto Internacional de Derecho y Sociedad in Lima, Peru. His main field of study is the legal history of the Andes in the 16th and 17th centuries, and especially the history of the legal profession and litigation in both civil and canon courtrooms. Currently he is finishing a book manuscript on litigation and legal culture in the city of Lima (provisional title: Legal Polyphony in the Colonial Andes: Professionals, Litigants, and the Legal Culture in the City of Lima, 1538-1640).  Diego Edgar Lévano Medina received his M.A. in history from PUCP. He has been awarded the Master de Historia en el Mundo Hispánico fellowship from MAPFRE/CSIC and the IFEA fellowship for Andean studies. He is the author of El mundo imaginado y la religiosidad andina manifestada; El papel social y espiritual de las cofradías en Lima barroca and editor of Corporaciones religiosas y evangelización en Iberoamérica (2012).

Contributors

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 Giancarlo Marcone Flores has a B.A. in Archaeology from PUCP, an M.A. and Ph.D. in Anthropology from the University of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Among his topics of research are the social uses of heritage, roads, intermediate social groups, and interregional, Inca and Middle Horizon interactions. He has published numerous articles on archaeology and cultural heritage in specialized magazines and has taught at various levels for more than 15 years. Currently he is the General Director of the General Direction of Museums – National Headquarters of the Ministry of Culture.  Javier Marín-López researches music of the 16th-18th centuries in Latin America and Iberia within the wider European context. He is Professor of Music at Universidad de Jaén. His first book, Los libros de polifonía de la Catedral de México (2012), considers the most relevant collection of polyphonic choirbooks in the Americas. His articles have appeared in journals such as Early Music, Historia Mexicana, Acta Musicologica, and Resonancias, as well as in several collective volumes published by UNAM, Brill, Cambridge University Press, Reichenberger, and Brepols. He is editor-in-chief of Revista de Musicología and general director of the Festival de Música Antigua Úbeda y Baeza.  Gabriel Ramón is Professor of History at PUCP. He holds a Ph.D. from the University of East Anglia. He is author of three books: La muralla y los callejones (1999), Los alfa­ reros golondrinos (2013), and El Neoperuano (2014).  Gabriela Ramos is university senior lecturer in Latin American History at the University of Cambridge. She specializes in the history of religion in the colonial Andes. She is the author of Death and Conversion in the Andes (2010) and coeditor, with Yanna Yannakakis, of Indigenous Intellectuals: Knowledge, Power and Colonial Culture in Mexico and the Andes (2014).   Margarita Suárez works at both PUCP and at University College London. At PUCP she served as Research Director and is currently a Full Professor. She has published Comercio y fraude en el Perú colonial (1995) and Desafíos transatlánticos, Mercaderes, banqueros y el Estado en el Perú virreinal, 1600-1700 (2001). Other matters of interest include history of science (her book Astros, humores y cometas is currently in press); and, more recently, corruption and political crisis in the second half of

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Contributors

the 17th century. Her publications on the latter include “Parientes, criados y allegados: los vínculos personales en el mundo virreinal peruano” (2017) and several other papers.  Martina Vinatea Recoba is a Professor of Philology and History at the Universidad del Pacífico in Lima. She is director of the Centro de Estudios Indianos/Proyecto Estudios Indianos at the Universidad de Navarra and the Universidad del Pacífico. Her recent work focuses on feminist poetry in the convents of the Iberoamerican world (Epístola de Amarilis a Belardo), specifically in colonial Peru and on the work of the poets of the Academia Antártica.

1

Introduction

Introduction Locating an American Capital in the Early Modern World Emily A. Engel This city [Lima], after Cuzco, is the largest of all the kingdoms of Peru, and the most important, and in it there are very good houses, and some very elegant with their towers and terraces, and the plaza is large, and the streets wide. And in front of all the other houses pass ditches, which are not unsightly: the water from them is used to irrigate their gardens and orchards, which are many, fresh, and bountiful. In the time the city was settled, the court and royal chancellery were established. For this reason, and because of the power given to the city from Spain, there are always a lot of people, and rich merchant traders. And in the year that I left this kingdom, there were many rich and prosperous Indians of those who had the command over lesser Indians, that their contributions were valued at 150,000 ducats […] In the end, rich and prosperous, I leave them to all the others, and many times they sail from the port of this city, which will reach 800,000 ducats a year, and some more than a million. Whatever I pray, God almighty, whatever may be for his service, and the growth of our holy faith, and the salvation of our souls, may always lead him to grow. Above the city of this part of the West there is a great very high hill, where a cross has been placed.1 Pedro Cieza de Leon c.1553

⸪ Following the European victory over indigenous Inca imperial forces at Cajamarca in the northern Andes during the early 1530s, the Spanish conquistador [conqueror] Francisco Pizarro (c.1471-1541) celebrated the defeat of the reigning Inca ruler Atahualpa. Spanish mercenaries descended upon the Inca capital city of Cuzco in the central Andean highlands securing Inca South America for the reigning Spanish emperor Carlos V (r. 1516-56). Soon after the fall of Cuzco in 1534, Pizarro established a provisional Spanish capital at Hutun 1 P. Cieza de Leon, Parte primera de la Chronica del Perv (Antwerp, 1554), fols. 183-85.

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2019 | doi:10.1163/9789004335363_002

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Xauxa, a former Inca settlement which was home to abundant storehouses stocked with provisions that fueled Spanish conquest across the former Inca territories known as Tawantinsuyu in the pre-hispanic period. However, by 1535, it became clear to Pizarro that Xauxa was too isolated to function as the region’s capital city under Spanish rule. When opportunistic European conquistadores and their compatriots first explored the Lurín and Rímac valleys in the early 16th century, the area was home to a small indigenous population known as the Ichyma. The verdant confluence of two rivers was only a few leagues apart from the oracular shrine of Pachacamac, a religious site that had received regional pilgrims for centuries. Although the 15th-century South American Inca Empire had subordinated the Pachacamac cult and placed it under the supervision of Inca religious and administrative specialists, the Lurín and Rímac valleys that invading European forces encountered in the 1530s were sparsely populated and fortuitously located in close proximity to a navigable Pacific coast port which would become known as Callao. The virtues of the Lurín and Rímac valleys stood in stark contrast to the highland location, its denser indigenous population, and the isolated nature of the temporary nexus of Spanish mercenary operations at Xauxa.2 So, on 18 January 1535, Francisco Pizarro officially founded La Ciudad de los Reyes [The City of Kings] known colloquially as Lima, on the site of a modest agricultural settlement in the heart of the Lurín, Rímac, and Chillón valleys.3 This volume presents current interdisciplinary research centered on 16thcentury Lima. From ancient roots to its foundation by Pizarro, Lima was transformed into a Habsburg imperial capital positioned between Atlantic and Pacific exchange networks in the short span of 100 years. As the Spanish chronicler Pedro Cieza de Leon recounted in the mid-16th century, Lima was the continent’s paramount urban settlement with impressive architecture, exemplary urban planning, and abundant natural resources. The research presented in this volume resituates the impact of the Catholic Church, economic development, and cultural innovation on the development of Lima as a Spanish ­imperial center of learning and government during the 16th and early 17th 2 G. Cogorno Ventura, “Tiempo de lomas: Calidades del medioambiente y administración de recursos en Lima, 1535-1601”, in L. Guiérrez Arbulú (ed.), Lima en el siglo xvi (Lima, 2005), p. 22. 3 Around 1530, the earliest Spanish settlers in the region confused the pronunciation of the place-name for the coastal Peruvian Rímac River valley calling the area, Lima (R. CerrónPalomino, “The Languages of the Andes”, Language 83.2 (2007), p. 422). The inhabitants of Lima, like the biblical kings who visited the infant Christ in the Old Testament narrative, were expected to offer exotic, lavish gifts to the young monarchy.

Introduction

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centuries. This book unfolds as an urban history at a disciplinary crossroads. A selection of international scholars examines issues ranging from literary history, politics, and religion to philosophy, historiography, and modes of intercontinental influence that shaped early colonial Lima. This introduction positions Lima at the center of the early modern world. Here, I introduce key themes, ideas, and methodologies that frame the chapters that appear throughout the volume. Lima was a city not only built at the behest of European interlopers; it was the result of a coming together of past and present settlements populated by a multiplicity of cultural actors as early as the 14th century. Following the Inca conquest of the region in the mid-15th century, the area was renamed Limaq, Quechua for “talker”, after a renowned local river oracle.4 Around 1530, the earliest Spanish settlers on the central Peruvian coast adjusted the place name to fit Spanish linguistic norms, calling the area, Lima.5 Earlier Brill Companions to European History, such as A Companion to Early Modern Naples, set the stage for the current volume by gathering together the newest scholarship on what that volume’s editor described as “one of the largest cities in early modern Europe, and for about two centuries, the largest city in the global empire ruled by the kings of Spain”.6 Although many historical and contemporary commentators position Naples, Mexico City, Lima, Madrid, or Seville as the epicenter of Spanish Habsburg power in the 16th century, the juxtaposition of these analyses demonstrates that Spanish imperial power was in fact dispersed and required a network of interconnected cities to ensure the empire’s political cohesion.7 Cities such as Naples and Mexico City were im­portant imperial centers that were essential in the expansion of Spanish Habsburg hegemony; however, these cities, like their Peruvian counterpart, Lima, developed internal sociopolitical networks that shaped local realities in fundamental ways. Focus on the city of Lima is a reflection of the series for which this volume is the second edition – this series on early modern American cities – so not a history of the Viceroyalty of Peru or the New World generally, although some of the chapters allude to the larger history of the vice­ royalty, Latin America, and the Spanish Empire. Lima may not have been the largest early modern city, but it was the most substantial urban enclave founded in the mid-16th century Iberoamerican 4 Lohmann Villena, Lima (Madrid, 1992), p. 56. 5 Cerrón-Palomino states that “spoken Spanish does not support stop consonants in word-final positions” (R. Cerrón-Palomino, Lingüística quechua (Cuzco, 1987), pp. 33-93). 6 T. Astarita, “Introduction: ‘Naples is the Whole World’”, in T. Astarita (ed.), A Companion to Early Modern Naples (Leiden, 2013), p. 1. 7 B. Mundy, The Death of Tenochtitlán, the Life of Mexico City (Austin, 2015), pp. 7-8.

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world. Lima’s novelty paralleled the nascent Spanish Habsburg global empire that was powered by the operating principle “Plus Ultra”. The early success of the Peruvian viceregal capital was a concrete demonstration of the fortitude and potential of a Spanish Empire that reached out of southern Europe across oceans to the furthest reaches of the known world. At the same time, the city’s residents quickly came to identify with their home city, finding pride in their identity as limeños [residents of Lima]. 1

Building a Capital City

The coastal site of Lima was identified as the new home for the head city of the Kingdom of New Castile (1529-42), the precursor to the Viceroyalty of Peru (1542-1824) which would administer Spanish South America for over 250 years. Lima’s official title reflects both its origins and colonial status, “La muy noble y leal ciudad de los Reyes [The Very Noble and Loyal City of Kings]”. By bestowing the title of “very noble and loyal city” on Lima at the moment of its founding, Pizarro emphasized the importance of allegiance to the status of its population, anticipating the loyalty of generations of limeños to the Spanish Crown. Loyalty and allegiance had to be cultivated, so Spain began to demonstrate its authority almost immediately in the form of political, economic, and social legislation, as well as visual spectacle, which were designed to establish connections with its distant South American subjects. The Kingdom of New Castile was beset by conflict. War, rebellion, and violent rivalries left South America in a state of civil war for decades following the arrival of Europeans on the continent.8 When the Viceroyalty of Peru was founded on 20 November 1542, Carlos V retained Lima as the head city of the region and the city became the political and administrative capital of South America, a role it retained until the middle of the 18th century.9 Lima was a city, first and foremost, because it was home to the viceregal court and highest ranking Real Audiencia [high court]. In the second half of the 16th century, 8 W. Prescott, History of the Conquest of Peru (London, 1885). 9 Unlike Tenochtitlán/Mexico City, which had been the capital of the pre-Columbian Mexica territories, the land selected by Pizarro for the city of Lima was not a major Inca settlement; however, the sizable regional pilgrimage shrine and complex known as Pachacamac occupied territory down the coast from the city center. Throughout the colonial period Lima and Cuzco, the former Incacapital, vied for prominence in the South American viceroyalty. See T. Cummins, “A Tale of Two Cities: Cuzco, Lima, and the Construction of Colonial Representation”, in D. Fane (ed.), Converging Cultures, Art and Identity in Spanish America (New York, 1997), pp. 157-70.

Introduction

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Lima was viewed as a new city with the potential to become a successful, profitable colonial capital. The highland city of Cuzco had been the city at the center of the Inca Empire in the period before the arrival of European conquistadores (Fig. 0.1). As Cieza de Leon emphasizes, with the foundation of Lima, Cuzco’s pre-conquest prominence was superseded by new Spanish settlement that became home to the most important colonial institutions on the continent, the Archbishopric of Lima, the Real Audiencia, the port of Callao, and perhaps most significantly, the viceregal court.10 In contrast to the historical Inca capital at Cuzco, Lima’s urban development acted out the process of colonization on the land itself.11 After decades of violent instability, Lima established itself as a vibrant urban center with a prominent place in the 16th-century world. Artists and architects collaborated with civic officials and local elites to fashion Lima as an urban capital positioned at the center of global interchange in the early modern world.12 The Spanish Habsburgs tightly restricted access to urban plans and city views of their American settlements. Driven primarily by security concerns in an age of military incursions among seaborne empires, urban plans of American cities were scarce until the 18th century. For example, Cuzco did not have an official urban plan until the late 18th century, and Lima’s first city plan was created in the mid-17th century (Fig. 0.2). During the early colonial period, however, Lima was a vibrant urban settlement that was subject to expansive building campaigns and recurrent reconfiguration. While the city’s center was reserved for churches, convents, and elite residences, Lima’s urban fabric materialized in response to the city’s highly diversified and growing population. For example, in the mid-16th century the Jesuit order founded Santiago del Cercado, a walled neighborhood reserved for indigenous people relocated from throughout the city and surrounding regions.13 Home to one third of the city’s indigenous population, the Cercado, as the neighborhood is known, was fraught with disease and internal discontent in spite of the Jesuit 10

11 12

13

Because Lima’s viceregal court was an audiencia pretorial [superior high court] that was overseen directly by the viceroy and all other regional audiencias [high courts] were subordinate to it, the city was the seat of superior gobierno [senior government]: A. Osorio, Inventing Lima, Baroque Modernity in Peru’s South Sea Metropolis (New York, 2008), p. 42. Cummins, “A Tale of Two Cities”, p. 157. One could argue that the creation of an urban plan for a city initiates a phase in that city’s physical development and summarizes a moment in the city’s historical identity. See C. Cardinal-Pett, A History of Architecture and Urbanism in the Americas (New York, 2016), pp. 133-84. S. Hyland, The Jesuit and the Incas: The Extraordinary Life of Padre Blas Valera, S.J. (Ann Arbor, 2003), pp. 49-52.

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Introduction

7

Figure 0.1 Theodore de Bry, Americae Pars Magis Cognita, c.1593, in Dritte Buch Americae, Part 3, Frankfurt SOURCE: PHOTOGRAPH Courtesy of the John Carter Brown Library (08922)

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Figure 0.2 Bernardo Clemente Principe, “Planta de la muy yllustre ciudad de los reyes corte del reino”, 1674 SOURCE: PHOTOGRAPH Courtesy of the Library of Congress, ­G eography and Map Division (2010592749)

mission’s intention of using the micro-territory as a way to civilize, Christianize, and organize Lima’s permanent and transient indigenous populations.14 The earliest written descriptions of Lima were largely unillustrated. Cieza de Leon’s account published after 1553 is illustrated with several repetitive illustrations and a handful of unique images that provide some of the earliest 14

Karen Graubart further explores the social ramifications of the Jesuit founding of the Cercado neighborhood in Chapter 3 in this volume.

Introduction

Figure 0.3 Pedro Cieza de Leon, “[City construction view]”, Parte primera de la Chronica del Perv, Antwerp 1554, folio 183v SOURCE: PHOTOGRAPH COURTESY OF THE AUTHOR, Image in the public domain

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likenesses of Peruvian cities.15 Chapter 71 on the foundation of Lima is accompanied by a small image depicting a generalized scene of urban construction (Fig. 0.3). This image was used throughout the text to illustrate the foundation of cities. In contrast to the boilerplate illustration, the text describes Lima as the best and most expansive city. Cieza credits Pizarro with the foundation of the city in a location purportedly selected for its observable qualities, namely proximity to a seaport and a confluence of rivers. Although Lima had been awarded political prominence as the viceroyalty’s head city, Cieza comments on Cuzco’s urban majesty. He ranks Lima’s urban development as second to that of Cuzco. The remainder of the chapter describes the city’s impressive buildings and plaza, as well as its natural features and official institutions that new construction was built to house. The growth of Lima’s urban infrastructure was necessitated by the city’s burgeoning leadership position. 2

A Spiritual and Administrative Center

Lima was the spiritual and administrative center of 16th-century Spanish South America. When the Kingdom of New Castile was transformed into the Viceroyalty of Peru in 1542, Lima became the seat of power for the largest regional jurisdiction in the Spanish Empire. Shortly after it was founded, the city was designated as the capital of a Catholic diocese subordinate to the pope in Rome. The Dominican and Mercedarian orders established themselves in Lima by 1540; the other orders and the Jesuits followed in subsequent decades. By 1546, Lima was elevated to become the metropolitan see supervising the Archdiocese of Lima. Throughout the 16th century, religious authorities debated, formulated, and revised church strategies designed to improve evangelization in the new Spanish territory. Archbishop Gerónimo de Loayza (1498-1575) convened councils to address evangelical reform in South America first in 1551 and again in 1567. The most influential third council was initiated by Archbishop Toribio de Mogrovejo (1538-1606) in 1581; the resulting gathering focused on evangelical reform through language studies and improved seminaries, as well as more rigorous church organization. Religious officials also built and renovated the metropolitan cathedral throughout the 16th century. Five secular institutions dominated urban life in early colonial Lima: 1) the viceregal court, 2) the Real Audiencia, 3) the cabildo [city council], 4) the Holy Office of the Inquisition, and 5) the University of San Marcos. When Pizarro 15

Cieza de Leon, Parte primera de la Chronica del Perv, folio 86.

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Introduction Table 0.1 16th-century viceroys of Peru

Appointed by

Blasco Núñez Vela

1544-46

Carlos V (r.1516-58)

Pedro de la Gasca Antonio de Mendoza Melchor Bravo de Saravia Andrés Hurtado de Mendoza Diego López de Zúñiga Juan de Saavedra Lope García de Castro Francisco Álvarez de Toledo Martín Enríquez de Almanza Cristóbal Ramírez de Cartagena Fernando Torres de Portugal y Mesía García Hurtado de Mendoza Luís de Velasco

1546-50 1551-52 1552-56 1556-61 1561-64 1564 1564-69 1569-81 1581-83 1584 1584-89 1590-96 1596-1604

Felipe II (r.1558-98)

founded Lima in 1535, the viceregal palace and city council were established with a handful of founding supporters.16 Initially, the limeño city council was responsible for retaining good citizens and expelling problematic residents. Lima hosted the highest royal court in South America, the Real Audiencia, from 1543 onward. Carlos V granted the royal privilege of inaugurating the first university in the Americas to Lima in 1551. Founded on the model of the Spanish University of Salamanca (established in 1134), the University of San Marcos (the longest continuously operating university in the Western Hemisphere) was instrumental in the spiritual, intellectual, and political growth of its host city. In the Viceroyalty of Peru, the Inquisition was subordinate to the Spanish Crown; however, like its European peers, the Holy Office exercised wide-reaching influence across Lima’s social life from its founding in 1570.17 Lima was governed by a succession of 14 viceroys during the 16th century (Table 0.1). After the initial conquistadores were ousted in a series of violent uprisings in the 1530s, Blasco Núñez Vela (r. 1544-46) was appointed as the first 16 17

Libros de Cabildos de Lima, B.T. Lee, J. Bromley, S. Schofeld, and E. Harth-Terré (eds.), (Lima, 1935), and T. Gale, The History of Lima, Peru: The City and the Cabildo, 1535-49 (Pittsburgh, 1958). I. Sliverblatt, Modern Inquisitions: Peru and the Colonial Origins of the Civilized World (Durham, 2004).

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viceroy of Peru. Although the viceroys were responsible for governing the vast territory encompassed by the Viceroyalty of Peru, most men appointed to the viceregal office governed from Lima, further cementing the city’s role as an essential imperial administrative center. The 16th-century viceroys of Peru figure at different moments in many of the chapters in this volume, especially the century’s most influential viceroy, Francisco Álvarez de Toledo (r. 1569-81). Toledo came to power in the wake of the Junta Magna, an advisory council convened in Madrid in 1568 in response to the relentless turmoil wreaking havoc across Spain’s American territories.18 The Junta Magna, made up of prominent Spanish clerics and officials, advised Felipe II (r. 1556-98) that South America in particular required spiritual and economic reforms in order to maintain order in the region and improve its contributions to the imperial economy. 3

Limeños

By the mid-16th century, Lima was already an economic clearinghouse for the region. Lima’s economic growth was fueled by the discovery of unprecedented silver deposits at Cerro Rico near the highland settlement of Potosí. During the same decade, Lima’s port at Callao became a mandatory stop on the Pacific trade circuit bringing more people and business into the viceregal capital. All legitimate intercontinental trade passed through Callao throughout the colonial period. Cieza observed an established limeño merchant class; however, merchants were not granted official citizenship in Lima’s urban community until the 17th century. In addition to merchants, migrants seeking their fortune in the new city contributed to Lima’s rapid growth. By 1539, the city counted over 350 Spanish residents. Most early Spanish settlers were encomenderos [Spaniards awarded with groups of tribute-paying Indians]. Many Spanish encomenderos lived in Lima rather than in the rural area they were assigned to manage. The Junta Magna and other imperial changes to American oversight led to significant adjustment of governing policies, such as forced indigenous resettlement programs, land grant programs, and the distribution of noble titles.19 At the same time Spanish imperial demands on Lima and the entire Viceroyalty of Peru increased, the descendants of conquistadors and European 18 19

M. Merluzzi, “Religion and State Policies in the Age of Philip II: The 1568 Junta Magna of the Indies and the New Political Guidelines for the Spanish American Colonies”, in J. Carvalho (ed.), Religion and Power in Europe: Conflict and Convergence (Pisa, 2007), p. 187. J. Mumford, Vertical Empire, The General Resettlement of Indians in the Colonial Andes (Durham, 2012).

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immigrants developed an emerging criollo [creole] consciousness that blended local loyalties with their Spanish heritage. As Lima expanded in size and importance, European and African demographics also increased. Migration and the importation of slaves accelerated early population growth. The Real Audiencia and the viceregal court provided employment for lawyers and officials of all ranks, such as notaries, bailiffs, and secretaries. Urban development relied upon slave labor, which was instrumental in building the city’s early infrastructure. When Buenaventura de Salinas y Córdova published his history of Peru in 1630, the creole patriot celebrated the virtues of his hometown with unmatched civic pride. According to Salinas’ description, between 1610 and 1613, Lima was home to approximately 12,000 Spaniards and 12,000 people of African descent.20 The city’s indigenous population in this period was significantly lower at 2100, making the total population of Lima at this time around 25,000 inhabitants. Karen Graubart’s research demonstrates that “shifting categories of nobility, class, and occupation, not to mention freedom and enslavedness, placed differential rights and obligations upon urban residents, and were often ambiguous, contested, and ill-defined”.21 A triad of demographic categories, Spaniard, Indian, and African, inadequately defines the early population of Lima. The city was populated by European conquerors and settlers from a range of socioeconomic backgrounds, African slaves and free people, itinerant and migrant indigenous people, and a local citizenry born into the colonial urban environment. During the 16th century, citizenship was simultaneously a narrow and broad category. The city council of Lima distinguished between two classes of urban residents: moradores or habitantes and vecinos. Vecinos, to use Alejandra Osorio’s words, were “organically privileged citizens”. Moradores or habitantes, on the other hand, could be described as “ancillary members of society”.22 Not every Spanish resident of Lima was granted the same civic status, and not every Spaniard was a vecino. Of the 25,000 limeños counted in 1613, only 3000 were vecinos. Several free individuals of African and indigenous descent claimed vecino status in official documents. The rights of a vecino were conferred by the city council of Lima or the viceroy in response to an official ­petition by the individual. In order to be granted vecino status, an individual 20 21 22

B. Salinas y Córdova, Memorial de las historias del nuevo mundo Pirú (Lima, 1957). See Graubart, Chapter 3 this volume. K. Graubart, With Our Labor and Sweat: Indigenous Women and the Formation of Colonial Society in Peru, 1550-1700 (Stanford, 2007) and Chapter 3 this volume. Osorio Inventing Lima, pp. 43-45.

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Figure 0.4 Felipe Guaman Poma de Ayala, “Civdad La Civdad de los Reís de Lima…”, Nueva corónica y buen gobierno, c.1615, folio 1031 [1039] Source: Photograph Courtesey of the Royal Library, National Library of Denmark, Copenhagen

Introduction

15

had to demonstrate possession of a useful skill that could contribute to the growth of the colonial city. While Spanish and indigenous nobles were not exempt, royal and church officials, as well as merchants, were not officially vecinos of Lima. Residency requirements turned migrants into settlers in order to fortify the urban community. Moradores and habitantes were also residents of Lima; however, they were not eligible to participate in urban society to the extent granted to their vecino peers. The indigenous artist and historian Felipe Guaman Poma de Ayala captures this distinction in his representation of the main plaza of Lima created around 1610 (Fig. 0.4). In the composite view, Guaman Poma illustrates a diverse citizenry within the civic center of the viceregal capital. Nicely dressed couples walk hand in hand alongside soldiers, nobles, and laborers. He showcases the administration of justice by including a vignette illustrating a body hanging from the gallows located prominently near the plaza’s central fountain. Vecinos were granted participatory status in the execution of civic affairs, while moradores and habitantes were the recipients of official policies that determined their fates as urban residents. Guaman Poma’s cityview metonymically presents Lima as a prosperous, orderly enclave governed justly for the sake of the common good and the Spanish Empire. Together the moradores and vecinos constituted a república, or collective of urban residents. When Pizarro established the city, following Spanish imperial protocol, he tasked the city council with protecting the común or common good of the república. Later in 1573, when Felipe II codified the Ordinances for City Planning, the precedent set at Lima became the norm in the foundation of subsequent Spanish settlements.23 Furthermore, civic obligations were to be determined and enforced by local authorities. The Ordinances for the Government of the City were later written to combat disorder within Lima’s república.24 The movement of migrants into Lima and shifts among its urban populations shaped the quality of urban life and its shared value systems.25 Additionally, public and private residents were often embroiled in power struggles that colored the urban experience. These dynamics of urban exchange produce a collective identity among limeños, known as res publica in the early modern world. 23 24 25

D. Crouch, D. Garr, and A. Mundigo, Spanish City Planning in North America (Cambridge, 1982). G. Ramos, Death and Conversion in the Andes, Lima and Cuzco 1532-1670 (Notre Dame, 2010). See Ramos, Chapter 8 this volume. V. Kaufmann, Rethinking the City, Urban Dynamics and Motility (Oxford, 2011), p. 6.

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Civic Development

The orderly development of a cohesive civic identity grounded in stable socioeconomic institutions was essential for a head city in the Spanish Empire. Lima’s first university, the Universidad de San Marcos, was founded in 1551 to train missionary clergy, educators, and legal professionals. Newly established churches, cathedrals, and public institutions commissioned visual art with unprecedented vigor. Moreover, wealthy elites and civic institutions soon demanded luxury goods to adorn the walls, tables, and cabinets of their homes. In fulfilling their demands, Lima became an important artistic center. Migrant artists circulated through the city, into and out of the Andean highlands. Works of art were imported from Europe to be displayed in the capital or distributed throughout the viceroyalty.26 Locally produced artworks were also transported from around the viceroyalty to Lima for local use or export abroad. As more artists established workshops in Lima proper, the patronage and display of religious and secular art expanded. 16th-century Lima was an imperial capital that “was the source of the means and authority needed to regain and govern new conquered territories” on behalf of the Spanish Habsburgs.27 Although the city’s first urban plan was not completed until 1671, the built environment housing a diverse populace fostered the growth of a civic identity that positioned Lima as a local metropolis, a regional center, and an imperial capital. Anthony Pagden suggests that the successful governance of dynamic, orderly cities was a fundamental attribute of an early modern empire that the Spanish Habsburgs cultivated in their American territories.28 Well-governed cities produced civilized residents that set an example for the larger body politic, a role that Lima began to play for the Peruvian viceroyalty in the mid-16th century. As Diego de Cordova Salinas quipped in the mid-17th century: Lima has no need to be jealous of the glories of the ancient cities, because it has the churches and divine cult of Rome, the Holy City; the style and elegance of the men and women of Genoa, the magnificent; the gentle climate of Florence, the beautiful; the busy crowds of Milan, the populous; the music and aromas of Lisbon’s convents; the generous exports… 26 27 28

L.E. Wuffarden, “Origins, 1532-1575”, in L.E. Alcalá and J. Brown (eds.), Painting in Latin America 1550-1820 (New Haven and London, 2014), pp. 245-55. Osorio, Inventing Lima, p. 45. A. Pagden, Lords of All the World: Ideologies of Empire in Spain, Britain, and France, c.1500c.1800 (New Haven, 1995).

Introduction

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of Venice, the rich; the plentiful food of Bologna, the abundant; and Salamanca, with its religious houses, colleges, and university.29 Leon Pinelo, Bernabe Cobo, and others joined Cordova in celebrating the origins and virtues of the Peruvian viceregal capital. A shared cultural life, complex ethnic relations, and diverse economic systems nurtured a collective urban identity that continued to evolve into the 18th century. Throughout the early modern period, Lima was a fortified imperial stronghold on the Pacific Coast with a vibrant autochthonous culture and the ability to adapt locally when necessitated by change. Lima emerged as a nexus of colonial power in the 16th-century Iberoamerican world.30 Economic, social, political, and cultural transcontinental networks converged in the city’s urban fabric. At the same time the Peruvian capital was rising to power, Felipe II ordered the relocation of the Spanish Habsburg court to Madrid in 1561.31 Favoring order, regularity, and stability, Felipe II’s Madrid was not unlike Lima, a city that 20 years earlier emerged from chaos to produce a cohesive urban system around which urban identities could begin to coalesce. Along with Madrid, Lima was unique in its early modern origins. As the research presented in this volume indicates, Lima was not an isolated provincial capital. The city became a center of early modern power that was instrumental in the expansion of the Spanish Empire. By the turn of the 17th century, Lima, Madrid, and the Spanish imperial project remained unfinished yet poised to confront the challenges awaiting them. 5

An Early Modern Epicenter

This volume, as one of the Brill series publications focused on early modern cities, presents research that is motivated by questions emerging from investigation in Lima itself. The chapters in this book are written from the perspective 29 30

31

R. Kagan and F. Marías, Urban Images of the Hispanic World, 1493-1793 (New Haven, 2000), p. 170. Some scholars have termed Habsburg imperial cities “global cities” in an attempt to capture the international nature of these urban settlements where issues of local governance, economic growth, and cultural development encompassed far more than local concerns. I refrain from employing this 21st-century methodological tool in order to allow the research presented in this volume speak for itself. This volume presents an alternative chronology of early modern historical development that decenters Spain as the sole focus of urban growth and development in the Spanish Habsburg Empire. See A. Jordan-Gschwend and K. Lowe, The Global City: On the Streets of Renaissance Lisbon (London, 2015). J. Escobar, The Plaza Mayor: The Shaping of Baroque Madrid (Cambridge, 2009).

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of Lima. Unlike earlier publications, this book subordinates the history of the Viceroyalty of Peru to that of its capital. Instead, the authors of the texts presented here draw on the region’s history when it supports or clarifies their conclusions regarding Lima’s early modern development. The volume is a product of transnational relationships and scholarly collaboration. Half the chapters in this volume were translated from French or Spanish. This volume aims to make the most current interdisciplinary scholarship on early modern Lima accessible to the widest possible audience by publishing the essays in print and digitally. The goal of this volume is to critically juxtapose the most current research on 16th-century Lima to introduce students and scholars of the early modern world to one of the period’s most influential cities. Throughout the chapters presented in this volume, Lima emerges as an early modern epicenter of sociocultural development whose influence reached around the world, shaping and reshaping the realities of diverse populations from indigenous Andeans conscripted to work in far off highland mines and the female descendants of the Inca dynasty forced to integrate with invading European conquistadors to justify Spanish domination of the continent, to Asian merchants promoting trans-Pacific trade and British pirates opportunistically ravaging Spanish galleons. As a group, the chapters presented here also introduce readers to the history of Lima and cast a wide lens over the historiography of the Peruvian capital. In the past, scholars have considered Peru’s early modern history in terms of Spanish-indigenous conflict. Questions surrounding the Spanish civil wars, indigenous rebellions, and economic exploitation have largely motivated previous research. However, Lima’s status as a relatively new city led to the white-washing of the city’s identity; the complex relations among indigenous, African, Asian, and European groups were subordinated in historical studies that emphasized the role of immigrant and creole groups of European descent in determining the development of 16th-century Lima and the vast territories it administered. In 2005, a group of Peruvian historians, inspired by José Antonio del Busta Duthurburu, the former director of Lima’s Instituto Riva-Agüero, published the work of young Peruvian historians investigating Lima’s history through the city council’s historical archive, primarily the books recording the council’s earliest meetings from between 1535 and 1600.32 Lima en el siglo xvi approached the work of developing a colonial city from the perspective of the Spanish imperial institutions that governed them (primarily the city council and the Catholic Church). Furthermore, Alejandra Osorio’s 2008 Inventing Lima: Baroque Modernity in Peru’s South Sea Metropolis departed from earlier 32

Lima en el siglo xvi, S. Aldana and L. Gutiérrez Arbulú (eds.), (Lima, 2005), pp. 14-15.

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approaches by examining how the city’s cultural practices produced its complex urban identity.33 As the chapters in this volume indicate, 16th-century Lima was unfolding as a unified yet diverse urban collective over its first 100 years. The current state of the field shaped the selection of topics for the chapters presented in this volume. Its contributors are historians, economists, art historians, archaeologists, musicologists, literature specialists, linguists, and theater historians. Their research has determined the shape of the volume; some topics that, perhaps 20 years ago would have been central to the field appear more indirectly or may not even figure at all in present-day investigations. Some topics could have been studied in greater isolation by the authors; however, the chapters in this volume were principally selected because they embrace analytical complexity in their approaches to Lima’s early history. Furthermore, the absence of any key topics is largely a reflection of current trends in academic research. The volume is divided into three parts: urban development and government, society, and culture. The chapters collectively represent the scope of contemporary approaches, methodologies, and source materials pertinent to the study of 16th-century Lima. Lima is often mistakenly considered to be a city without pre-hispanic roots. The chapters in the urban development section of this volume present findings that clarify the city’s earliest origins from the Late Intermediate Period (1000-1470) Ychsma (Ychima) people through the Late Horizon (1470-1534) when Inca forces came to dominate the area renaming it Pachacamac. The central coast territory’s pre-hispanic foundation and occupants became the basis for the city of Lima and its early infrastructure. Much of the 20th-century scholarship centered on Lima explored the structure of the city’s imperial governance through the close reading of official archival resources. These structural, hispano-centric analysis were essential for understanding the mechanisms of politics and governance in the early colonial Peruvian capital. Current research, however, is expanding our understanding of Lima as an early modern political capital. The chapters in Part II of this volume reveal Lima to be a profoundly contested political space in the 16th century. A diverse urban citizenry vied for civic influence as Lima’s demographics shifted in the wake of immigration, migration, and forced resettlement. Limeños of all ranks and backgrounds contested and transgressed legal boundaries in pursuit of their personal aggrandizement. Abuse and tension in the 16th-century legal sphere laid the groundwork for 17th-century regulatory controls that reshaped Lima’s legal landscape. 33

Osorio, Inventing Lima.

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The second half of this volume tackles the city’s socio-cultural landscape. In a remarkable breadth of topics, sources, methodologies, and interpretations, the chapters in Part III open up the history of early modern Lima in unprecedented ways. Lima’s economy came to dominate the viceroyalty in this period, and transcontinental trade networks originating in Pacific and Atlantic ports fueled local growth. The city’s indigenous population was not excluded from the local economy, and archival resources reveal that indigenous limeños increasingly accumulated disposable income which they often used to cultivate roots in the city. As a group, the chapters in this part demonstrate that institutional relations were highly complex. Although the Catholic Church and its affiliates worked tirelessly to dominate Lima’s sociopolitical reality, occult knowledge proliferated from the highest levels of viceregal governance through the church hierarchy out into the streets of Lima and the Viceroyalty of Peru. The Universidad de San Marcos, female convents, and religious brotherhoods, among other collective groups, exerted profound influence over distinct sectors of the city’s population and its overall social dynamic. As the seven final chapters demonstrate, cultural studies predominate contemporary approaches to investigating the history of early modern Lima. Immigrant European artists and local craftsmen collaborated with limeño patrons in the creation of a vibrant artistic culture from the 1530s onward.34 The importation of printing technology into the viceregal capital initiated the first instances of a popular visual culture for the entire territory governed by Lima. Imported and locally printed books and manuscripts fostered Lima’s intellectual culture; book imports and exports connected the city with the wider world. Moreover, theatrical and musical productions enriched the lives of the city’s residents and contributed to the creation of a local cultural practice that would come to dominate the viceroyalty in the 17th century. Throughout these dynamic essays, Lima emerges as a city that was unambiguously independent yet politically, socially, aesthetically, and epistemologically an organizing force within the Peruvian viceroyalty and a predominant power within the Ibero­ american world. This volume would not have been possible without the generosity of the scholars who have contributed their work to this project. I would like to express my heartfelt thanks to all of the authors, translators, editors, and supporters of this volume. Your unflagging support and endurance made this volume 34

Previous analyses of the visual arts of 16th-century South America have described the Andean highlands as the locus of visual production in this period. For an accessible survey in English see K. Donahue Wallace, Art and Architecture of Viceregal Latin America, 1521-1821 (Albuquerque, 2008).

Introduction

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possible. It is our collective hope that this essential research tool supports current investigations and inspires future studies that continue to explore Lima’s the rich history.

Bibliography

Astarita, T. “Introduction: ‘Naples is the Whole World’”, in T. Astarita (ed.), A Companion to Early Modern Naples (Leiden, 2013), pp. 1-10. Cardinal-Pett, C. A History of Architecture and Urbanism in the Americas (New York, 2016). Cerrón-Palomino, R. Lingüística quechua (Cuzco, 1987). Cerrón-Palomino, R. “The Languages of the Andes”, Language 83.2 (2007), 422-25. Cieza de Leon, P. Parte primera de la Chronica del Perv (Antwerp, 1554). Cogorno Ventura, G. “Tiempo de lomas: Calidades del medioambiente y administración de recursos en Lima, 1535-1601”, in L. Guiérrez Arbulú (ed.), Lima en el siglo xvi (Lima, 2005), pp. 19-102. Crouch, D., D. Garr, and A. Mundigo, Spanish City Planning in North America (Cam­ bridge, 1982). Cummins, T., “A Tale of Two Cities: Cuzco, Lima, and the Construction of Colonial Repre­sentation”, in Diana Fane (ed.), Converging Cultures: Art and Identity in Spanish America (New York, 1997), pp. 157-70. Donahue Wallace, K., Art and Architecture of Viceregal Latin America, 1521-1821 (Albu­ querque, 2008). Escobar, J., The Plaza Mayor: The Shaping of Baroque Madrid (Cambridge, 2009). Gale, T., The History of Lima, Peru: The City and the Cabildo, 1535-49 (Pittsburgh, 1958). Graubart, K., With Our Labor and Sweat: Indigenous Women and the Formation of Colonial Society in Peru, 1550-1700 (Stanford, 2007). Hyland, S., The Jesuit and the Incas: The Extraordinary Life of Padre Blas Valera, S.J. (Ann Arbor, 2003). Jordan-Gschwend, A. and K. Lowe, The Global City: On the Streets of Renaissance Lisbon (London, 2015). Kagan, R. and F. Marías, Urban Images of the Hispanic World, 1493-1793 (New Haven, 2000). Kaufmann, V., Rethinking the City: Urban Dynamics and Motility (Oxford, 2011). Libros de Cabildos de Lima, ed. B.T. Lee, J. Bromley, S. Schofeld, and E. Harth-Terré (Lima, 1935). Lima en el siglo xvi, ed. S. Aldana and L. Gutiérrez Arbulú (Lima, 2005). Lohmann Villena, G., Lima (Madrid, 1992).

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Merluzzi, M., “Religion and State Policies in the Age of Philip II: The 1568 Junta Magna of the Indies and the New Political Guidelines for the Spanish American Colonies”, in J. Carvalho (ed.), Religion and Power in Europe: Conflict and Convergence (Pisa, 2007), pp. 183-200. Mumford, J., Vertical Empire: The General Resettlement of Indians in the Colonial Andes (Durham, 2012). Mundy, B., The Death of Tenochtitlán, the Life of Mexico City (Austin, 2015). Osorio, A., Inventing Lima, Baroque Modernity in Peru’s South Sea Metropolis (New York, 2008). Pagden, A., Lords of All the World: Ideologies of Empire in Spain, Britain, and France, c.1500-c.1800 (New Haven, 1995). Prescott, W., History of the Conquest of Peru (London, 1885). Ramos, G., Death and Conversion in the Andes, Lima and Cuzco 1532-1670 (Notre Dame, 2010). Salinas y Córdova, B., Memorial de las historias del nuevo mundo Pirú (Lima, 1957). Silverblatt, I., Modern Inquisitions: Peru and the Colonial Origins of the Civilized World (Durham, 2004). Wuffarden, L.E., “Origins, 1532-1575”, in L.E. Alcalá and J. Brown (eds.), Painting in Latin America 1550-1820 (New Haven and London, 2014), pp. 245-55.

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Introduction

Part 1  Urban Development and Government



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Chapter 1

The Cultural Trajectory of the Central Peruvian Coast, The Territory and Its People in the Valleys of Pre-Hispanic Lima  Giancarlo Marcone Flores In Lima’s elementary schools, a story used to be told about why the city of Lima was founded where it is located today. Beyond the obvious reason of its orientation toward the sea, the story explained that the city had been founded in its current location by mistake. In this story, Francisco Pizarro was deceived by a local cacique who convinced him of the site’s ideal land and climate. Because it was summer (Lima was founded on 18 January), the cacique convinced the Spanish conquistador that the site was warm and dry all year long, neglecting to mention the cold, wet winters that were common in the area. The story continues that the site was virtually unpopulated upon the arrival of the Spaniards into the region. Although we now know about and explore the hundreds of ancient archeological sites in the Lima area, these ideas reflect the preconceptions about Lima’s foundation that continue to shape collective understanding of how the early modern city came to be. These preconceived ideas about Lima’s foundation were born out of a more complex narrative of the relationship forged between the invading Spanish conquistadors and the Andean world in the 16th century. The story of Lima’s foundation purportedly demonstrated how little the Spaniards understood about the geographical reality of the Andean territories and their limited capacity for adaptation, which ended up forcing an abrupt break in Andean cultural processes. Ultimately, this break in Andean cultural history became one of many that separated the pre-hispanic past from the early modern period wherein Incas were distinguished from the indigenous majority.1 This exclusionary tactic was an essential part of the foundation of Lima. However, Lima was founded in a territory of geopolitical importance with a 2000-year trajectory of sophisticated human occupation. The powerful social formations of the Lima area reverberated across the Andes for centuries before Spanish occupation. Lima was important not only for its central geographical position with a highly 1 C. Mendéz, “Incas sí, indios no: Notes on Peruvian Creole Nationalism and Its Contemporary Crisis”, Journal of Latin American Studies 1.28 (1996), 19.

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2019 | doi:10.1163/9789004335363_003

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Figure 1.1 View of Lima-area geography Source: Photograph courtesy of the author

accessible proximity to the sea; it was an influential center of local power that expanded under Inca rule. In this context, Lima’s early modern foundation is another stage in the long cultural trajectory of the Peruvian central coast. In this chapter, we aim to contextualize the Spanish foundation of Lima within the region’s ancient history. We introduce the concept of territory to review the cultural manifestations that shaped the territory where the current city of Lima was established during the 16th century. Our goal is to broaden our perspective on Lima’s history by incorporating the social processes that shaped the region into a single long-range historical trajectory that exemplifies the relationship between human history and the environment. 1

Breaks and Continuities

Julio C. Tello syndicated as the father of Peruvian archaeology and the first indigenous archaeologist in Peru, observed the break between ancient and modern indigenous history in the following terms: The resulting miscegenation of Indian and Spanish created two classes. One that, being maintained in Andean redoubts and nourishing poorly, degenerates under the action of alcohol, coca, diseases and religious fanaticism; living dormant and ignorant of her past, runs year after year,

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Figure 1.2 Map of Lima-area archaeological sites Source: Photograph courtesy of the author

century after century, the same dark road, without a light strong enough to wake her and guide to civilization; And the other, which adapts itself to the ideals, feelings, aspirations, customs, etc. of European civilization, strives to form nationality, based on Spanish or Latin, setting aside the bases left by aboriginal civilization.2 Tello and his compatriots built the official history of Peru around a narrative of cultural ruptures rather than continuities. Following this early work, the division of Peruvian historiography is structured by apocalyptic events (usually credited to external influences) that profoundly transformed the social and cultural structures of the region. In a sequence of linear evolutionary character, the established historical narrative describes a pre-hispanic past interrupted by the arrival of the Spanish conquistadors. This exogenous phenomenon generated a new reality originating in the imposition of colonial systems from the West which fundamentally changed the nature of social, political, and 2 J. Tello and C. Angeles Caballero, Vida y obra de Julio C. Tello (Lima, 2007), p. 93.

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economic relations in the region. In this narrative, the original indigenous culture virtually disappeared, leaving only a few remnants of its past greatness. The result of this break was the foundation of a Spanish imperial colony. In this discontinuous narrative, the environment and the landscape have only a secondary role. The territory is a mere scenario, a silent witness of historical processes and a variable that is not considered as an agent in the development of events, except in a circumstantial way. Lima’s early modern urban planning did not follow the canons of the region’s pre-hispanic occupation.3 Instead, it was shaped by Spanish practices for founding cities in its new imperial system. It is this colonial urbanism that becomes Lima’s most distant antecedent, as well as its starting point. Sebastián Salazar Bondy, one of the most prestigious Peruvian intellectuals of the 20th century, published his work Lima la horrible in 1964. This book has marked the intellectual imaginary of Lima for generations. Salazar stated: But no city is only its geographical frame or simply its urban landscape, but its people, and if the first is practically unshakable and acts on the human occupants by modeling it with long strokes, the second is like a calligraphy in whose features it is possible to decipher the incognito of a collective spirit, of a culture that adds and condenses individualities, classes, and times.4 In Salazar’s terms, the landscape is static and urbanism is dynamic; therefore, Lima can only be truly understood through the lens of urbanism. Because the landscape is an immutable constant, the region must be investigated from its Spanish foundation, wherein the urban dynamic began. In this interpretive model, the Lima region’s archaeological sites were little more than part of the static landscape on which urbanism could be imposed, further separating the geographical environment from urban development. Recent archaeological work is beginning to change this vision of Lima’s past. Several media outlets have initiated campaigns to recover the idea of Lima as a city with an ancient history with significant Pre-Ceramic archaeological remains. Commercial and tourism initiatives want to recover the city’s archaeological character; however, there is a real danger of the pendulum swinging too far to the other side, losing the dynamic vision of the territory. It is essential to

3 L. Villacorta, “Los palacios en la costa central durante los periodos tardíos: De Pachacamac al Inca”, Bulletin de L’Institut Francais d’etudes Andines 33.3 (2004), 539-70. 4 A. Salazar Bondy, Lima la horrible (Lima, 1964), p. 91.

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remain aware of the fact that the concepts of territory and city are dynamic and inseparable. 2

Territory

Territory is the conjunction of space and culture over time. To think that territory did not play an active role in the foundation and survival of the city of Lima would be to conclude that the city’s sites, canals, and roads were invisible. For us, territory is understood as the geographical space, the framework of life, where interaction – in a space of political, economic and social constructs – defines a sense of group, often self-recognized by the group itself. Territory is not static, it can change by environmental, political or social factors, redefining its composition. In this sense, it is possible to recognize territory as a time– space unit. The concept of territory has been exported from geography and has a variety of definitions. These definitions have been increasing as more disciplines, such as anthropology, sociology, and history have incorporated it into their reconstructions of past or present societies.5 The concept originates and develops from the needs of politically and administratively managing a region, usually associated with the emergence of modern states.6 In its contemporary applications, territory is a geographic space understood as a framework of life, where interaction, in a space of political, economic and social constructions, defines a sense of belonging and recognition as a group. A territory is not only a phenomenon in physical terms; it also implies the conception of space in ideological terms.7 Its physical realities (the forms we see) are concentric with historical and cultural phenomena (memory and experience). Societies are the result of the coexistence and interaction among territories. In this multivariate reality, the correspondence among these variables is not exact and their parameters are changing, which makes the territory by definition variable, flexible, and even discontinuous. The concept of territory allows us to examine 5 A. Altschuler, “Territorio y desarrollo: aportes de la geografía y otras disciplinas para repensarlos”, Theomai 27-28 (2013), 64-79; S. Schneider and I. Peyré Tartaruga, “Territorio y enfoque territorial: De las referencias cognitivas a los aportes de los procesos sociales rurales”, in M. Manzanal, G. Neiman, and M. Lattuada (eds.), Desarrollo rural: Organizaciones, instituciones y territorio (Buenos Aires, 2006), pp. 71-102; R. Mata, “Paisaje y territorio, Un desafío y práctico”, in L. Sánchez and M. Troitiño (eds.), Agua, territorio y paisaje: De los instrumentos programados a la planificación aplicada, V Congreso Internacional de Ordenación del Territorio (Malaga, 2009), pp. 243-82. 6 Altschuler, “Territorio y desarrollo”, 64-79. 7 C. Gonzalez, Una aproximación al territorio indígena prehispánico (Cordova, 2012).

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local, regional, and national contexts comparing the variables of place, culture, power, and identity.8 At the temporal level, the analysis of these variables, their interaction and their effect on social relations, provides us with a long-term trajectory perspective. The transformation of social relations, feelings of identity, sociocultural developments, as well as of the environment, is progressive and mutually constituted. 3

The Peruvian Central Coast, A Geo-Temporal Unit

The Peruvian central coast is a narrow desert strip located between the western chain of the Andes and the Pacific Ocean (Fig. 1.1). This strip is anomalously desert for its latitude, partly because of its proximity to the Andes, that blocks the passage of the warm winds of the Amazon, and partly due to the coldness of the Humboldt current, that prevents the accumulation of precipitation on the coast. This desert strip of less than 30 km of width is cut by the presence of a series of narrow valleys of alluvial origin formed by irregular rivers. These rivers, which are born in the lakes and thawing of the Andes, have short runways, and cross a great variety of slopes, which makes them torrential. The flow of the rivers depends on the rains in the mountains and has a very variable flow. Thus, these relatively narrow valleys form arable oases in a basically desert geography. The central coast, for the purposes of this chapter, stretches between the valleys of Huaura in the north and Cañete in the south. These valleys act as boundaries for a territory that was home to social developments that were culturally consistent throughout the pre-hispanic period. To the north of the Huaura valley, the valleys of the rivers Supe, Pativilca, and Fortaleza form a joint mouth fertilizing the desert and opening an agricultural area that seems to have had independent developments since the Archaic period (Caral). Thus, the Huaura valley acts as a boundary between this complex of valleys and the coastal valleys, which is reflected in their divergent cultural traditions. To the south, the valley of Chincha presents important historical differences. This valley boasts the presence of southern cultural traditions throughout the pre-hispanic sequence and presents cultural materials associated with Paracas, Nazca, and Ica, which are not present in more northern valleys. The central part of the territory between Cañete and Huaura is formed by the confluence at the mouth of the rivers Chillón and Rímac, that along with the mouth of the Lurín river (which ends at less than 30 km) and 8 Altschuler, “Territorio y desarrollo”, 64-79.

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the swamp of Villa (between Rímac and Lurín) form a green strip in the desert and the center of the territory in question. In the altitudinal or vertical dimension, the population from the coast corresponds to the two lower zones of the valleys of the Pacific basins. These two zones are: the yunga (basically in the dejection cones of the valleys of the western slope) and the Chaupi-yunga (between the dejection cones and approximately 1000 m above sea level). This last area maintains cultural traditions that although they are in contact with the mountain range from very early are differentiated and recognized like coastal traditions.9 This division between “coastal” and “mountainous” populations is consistent with distributions of political and social formations throughout the pre-hispanic sequence. However, like all frontiers, this altitudinal border was not static, varying in relation to specific political situations. For example, around 800 bc, by the end of the Early Intermediate period with the emergence of the Lima State, there is clear evidence of pressure from coastal settlers upstream the valley.10 For late periods, immediate to the arrival of the Incas to the region, the situation seems to be the opposite and the mountain populations took advantage of the Inca expansion to press down the valley.11 The most accepted chronological scheme for ordering the pre-hispanic past is composed of a series of successive periods called horizons interrupted by intermediate periods. (Fig. 1.3) Based on stylistic analysis, horizons are periods where styles such as Chavín, Wari, or Inca are present throughout the Andean area. During the intermediate periods between horizons, local cultures exerted a stronger influence. This scheme, which basically follows the lines of John Rowe, intrinsically denies that pan-regional influences and local styles may be contemporary.12 This chronological scheme developed by Rowe, Dorothy 9 10

11

12

J. Feltham, Yungas and Yauyos: The Interface Between Archaeology and Ethnohistory as Seen from The Lurín Valley (Cambridge, 2005); R. MacNeish, S. Patterson, and T. Browman, The Central Peruvian Prehistoric Interaction Sphere (Andover, 1975). T. Dillehay, “Competition and Cooperation in a Pre-Hispanic Multiethnic System in the Central Andes”, PhD Dissertation, University of Texas, Austin 1976; T. Patterson, J. McCarthy, and R. Dunn, “Polities in the Lurín Valley, Peru, During the Early Intermediate Period”, Nawpa Pacha 20 (1982), 179-98. G. Marcone, “Cieneguilla a la llegada de los Incas. Aproximaciones desde la historia ecológica y la arqueología”, Bulletin de I’Institut Français D’etudes Andines, 33.3 (2004), 71534; G. Marcone. and E. Lopez-Hurtado, “Panquilma y Cieneguilla en la discusión arqueológica del Horizonte Tardío de la costa central”, in P. Kauclicke, G. Urton, and I. Farrington (eds.), Identidad y Transformación en el Tawantinsuyu y en los andes coloniales. Perspectivas arqueológicas y etnohistóricas, Boletín de Arqueología PUCP, Vol. 6 (Lima, 2002), pp. 375-95. J. Rowe, “Stages and Periods in Archaeological Interpretations”, Southwestern Journal of Anthropology 18.1 (1962), 40-54.

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Figure 1.3 Chronology for ordering the Peruvian pre-hispanic past Source: Photograph courtesy of the author

Menzel, and others identified temporal and spatial correlations based on indicators of ceramic styles. The characteristics of the styles were identified as cultural traits and horizons were defined by the diffusion of these cultural traits.13 The classification according to horizons of pan-Andean cultural diffusion favored the construction of models in which a nucleus radiates stylistic and cultural traits to the entire Andean cultural area.14 In the present article, this chronology is used in the sense that it gives order and succession for comparative purposes, but we do not maintain the conceptual idea that a time period is a horizon or an intermediate beyond the name of the category. Following our proposal, time is important for the development of a territory, so understanding natural phenomena, especially the cyclical ones that transform the landscape, is at the same time understanding its history. The impact of the El Niño phenomenon on the cultural trajectory of the region deserves 13 14

R. Stone Miller, “An Overview of ‘Horizon’ and ‘Horizon Style’ in the Study of Ancient American Objects”, in D. Rice (ed.), Latin American Horizons (Washington DC, 1993), pp. 15-39. Later, these chronological separations between periods were also loaded with evolutionary contents. For example, the transition from the Early Intermediate to the Middle Horizon was conceptualized as the transition from politically based societies in prestige mechanism to societies with centralized institutions (L. Lumbreras, “El imperio Wari”, in Historia del Perú, vol. 1, [Lima, 1980], pp. 9-91.)

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special mention. This phenomenon, also known as the El Niño Southern Oscillation (ENSO), refers to the climatic phenomenon where the warm waters, coming from the north of the Equator, move the Humboldt Current to the south causing a series of climatic alterations from a marked increase in rainfall in some areas to extreme drought in others. This phenomenon happens cyclically and has been used as a causal explanation for the rise and fall of several civilizations in the Andes. The presence of this phenomenon has been more or less permanent on the central coast, at least since the mid-Pleistocene (c.30,000-16,000 bc). It is closely related to the settlement of America and the first evidence of civilization in the Andes.15 There are periods of time where the phenomenon is more acute. These peak periods are often followed by years in which rains increase and then periods of drought. The presence of these more acute moments during the cultural trajectory of the central coast have been well-documented in the study of Andean glaciers and sampling from the seafloor off the central coast. These acute periods, identified in the geological record, coincide with periods in which evidence suggests a depopulation of the area with a corresponding collapse of local cultural traditions, generating internal competencies and a search for referents of legitimacy in distant societies. 4

The Historical Trajectory of the Central Coast

4.1 The First Occupations, the Coexistence of Various Traditions The earliest traces of human occupation on Peru’s central coast go back at least to the Early Pre-Ceramic period (c.10,000-6000 bc). The material evidence of this occupation is limited to accumulations of lithic materials found in what appears to be seasonal camps. Among the sites found during this period, the Chivateros lytic quarry stands out at the mouth of the Rio Chillón. Similar materials to those recovered in this quarry appear along the entire Peruvian coast. The explanations for this occupation go between two extremes. On the one hand, this early lytic material is associated with coastal groups from the north, from the lytic traditions recovered at the Pre-Ceramic site of Paijan in the region of La Libertad.16 On the other hand has been suggested that this material corresponds to seasonal camps of groups living in the mountains that 15 16

J. Richardson, “Looking in the Right Places: Pre-5000 B. P., Maritime Adaptations in Peru and the Changing Environment”, Revista de Arqueologia Americana 15 (1998), 33-56. P. Kaulicke and T. Dillehay, “Introducción ¿Por qué estudiar el periodo Arcaico en el Peru?”, Boletín Arqueologia PUCP 3 (1999), 9-18.

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descended to the coast in search of resources.17 Thus, for the Early Pre-Ceramic we cannot propose a local occupation of this territory, but it seems to have fallen within a larger area of exploitation. This situation seems to change during the Middle Pre-Ceramic (c. 60002500 bc) when the first villages appear, such as Paloma, located in the lower part of the Asia valley, an hour from the city of Lima.18 Jeffery Quilter suggests the permanent occupation of the territory and its management throughout the year relied upon the exploitation of local resources.19 This trend continued during the Late Pre-Ceramic (c. 2500-1800 bc) when the first monumental sites appeared on the central coast at Paraíso and Buena Vista.20 Economic systems were developed by introducing new crops, domesticating new animal species, and increasing the material culture of these settlers. According to Quilter, “Our current view of Late Pre-Ceramic achievements shows human societies that had learned to exploit local environments quite successfully and had developed distinct social and ideological means to reproduce themselves and their societies.”21 Considering this observation, we argue that this is the period when Peru’s central coast begins to take shape as a territory in a geographical, cultural, and social sense. This process of land transformation extended during the Initial period (c.1800-850 bc). Evidence of incipient agriculture abounds and the population demonstrates continued growth. Archaeological evidence reveals occupations in the mid- and lower-valleys of the central coast which promoted the appearance of several ceremonial centers dominated by architectural forms known as U-shaped temples. These centers present, for the first time in the area, clear evidence of an incipient elite emerging around them. The power of this elite resided in the management of the ceremonial content of these centers and became the central axis of the communities that lived, dispersed by the landscape, near its crops. Now, while these centers apparently shared cultural canons and religious practices, they were socially and politically autonomous.22 In this period, we already observe the overlap of a cultural tradition with a 17 18 19 20 21 22

Feltham, Yungas and Yauyos. J. Quilter, “Architecture and Chronology at El Paraíso, Peru”, Journal of Field Archaeology 12 (1985), 279-97. J. Quilter, “Late Preceramic Peru”, Journal of World Prehistory 5.4 (1991), 393. R. Benfer, B. Ojeda, N. Duncan, L. Adkins, H. Ludeña, M. Vallejos, V. Rojas, A. Ocas, O. Ventoncilla, and G. Villarreal, “La tradición religiosa-astronómica en Buena Vista”, Boletín de Aqueología PUCP 11 (2007), 53-102. Quilter, “Late Preceramic Peru”, 415. R. Burger, “Centro de que? Los sitios con arquitectura pública de la cultura Manchay en la costa central del Peru”, in Y. Seki (ed.), El Centro Ceremonial Andino: Nuevas Perspectivas para los Períodos Arcaico y Formativo (Osaka, 2014), pp. 291-313.

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defined and differentiated space of its neighbors in both the north and the south. Between 900 bc and 700 bc these ceremonial centers began to fall into disuse, probably because the elites lost control over labor. In the Early Horizon (850-200 bc) the U-shaped centers were not maintained so population collapse is suspected. It is in this context that new public centers in the area began to appear, although smaller in size. It is during the Early Horizon that the tradition of U-shaped temples that dominated the Initial period disappears and there is evidence for the coexistence of at least two traditions influenced by northern sites. While some sites in the northern part of our territory show clear influence from the religious center of Chavín de Huántar, others, for example in the Lurín valley, seem to have been linked to the formative traditions of Casma-Norte Chico. The situation is highly complex because in the southern part of the central coast we begin to observe negative ceramic styles that are associated with Paracas traditions.23 The partial depopulation of this area brought with it a social crisis, and consequently the search for referents outside the area and competition for new crops. At the end of this period, a new ceramic tradition begins to develop known as “white on red” with geometric ornamentation in white paint applied to a red slip ground. Subsequently, the “white on red” style was partially replaced by a tri-color style using red, white, and black which became known as the Lima style, giving its name to the best-known culture in the region for the early periods. 4.2 Early Intermediate, the Management of a New Territory The Lima territory was in the process of transformation at the beginning of the Early Intermediate period, various cultural expressions and styles coexisted until, gradually, the hegemony of the cultural manifestations defined as the “Lima Culture” emerged. This culture was defined very early on in Peruvian archeology and, it refers to the identification of the distribution of the tri-color style in the central valleys of the Pacific coast. In addition to ceramics, there are other cultural features that speak directly to us of a cultural tradition in this area, such as the use of handmade adobe to construct buildings and homes. Not all the buildings of the Lima Culture are built with these adobitos, but all the sites constructed with adobitos have ceramic associations with the Lima style. Similarly, another characteristic feature of the Lima Culture is extended 23

J. Dulanto, “Pampa Chica: ¿Que sucedió en la costa central después del abandono de los templos en U del Periodo Inicial?”, in Arqueologia del periodo formativo de la cuenca baja de Lurín (Lima 2009), pp. 50-90.

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burials wrapped in cane. This Lima funerary pattern is unique in the Andes and speaks to a strong local component in its development. The Lima Culture was temporarily extended between the years ad 50-900. Although some of its cultural manifestations remained current until the periods immediately prior to the Inca conquest almost five centuries later. The Early Intermediate period on the central coast is recognized as the period in which the agricultural intensification of the area and the massive transformation of space for productive purposes began. Also, the expansion of the agricultural frontier in the valley which prevails nowadays began at the beginning of this period.24 This development resulted from the construction of canals and successful irrigation projects. Toward the end of the period, the hydraulic network had become quite complex; it was likely the basis for the emergence of state forms in the area.25 The Lima Culture maintained a cultural hegemony over the territory of the central coast until the beginning of the Middle Horizon when its main public sites fell into neglect and were reused as cemeteries. Meanwhile, domestic sites were also abandoned, which indicates not only the fall of political institutions but also a decline in population. This phenomenon seems to be related to a series of periods of drought and intense rains due to the presence of the El Niño phenomenon. At the same time, during this period of contraction, fresh evidence of the presence of southern political formations in the region appears, especially related to the Wari state, although the impact of the Wari in the region is still under investigation. 4.3 The Middle Horizon Contraction of the Central Coast Territory The study of the central coast during the Middle Horizon has essentially been centered on debate about whether the area was part of the Wari imperial expansion.26 Archaeologists continue to investigate when a Wari imperial presence first appeared on the central coast and what the nature of that presence 24

25 26

M. Cohen, “Population Pressure and the Origins of Agriculture: An Archaeological Example from the Coast of Peru”, in D. Browman (ed.), Advances in Andean Archaeology, The Hague 1978, pp. 91-132; J. Silva, “Prehistoric settlement patterns in the Chillon Valley, Peru” (PhD Dissertation, University of Michigan, Ann Arbor 1996). R. Shady, “La época Huari como interacción de las sociedades regionales”, Revista Andina 6.1 (1988), 67-99. D. Menzel, “Style and Time in the Middle Horizon”, Nawpa Pacha 2.1 (1964), 1-106; P. Kaulicke, “La Sombra de Pachacamac: Huari en la Costa Central”, in P. Kauclicke and W. Isbell, Huari y Tiwanaku: Modelos vs. evidencias, Primera parte (Lima, 2000), pp. 217-313; R. Seguras, Rito y economía en Cajamarquilla, Investigaciones arqueológicas en el Conjunto Arquitectónico Julio C. Tello (Lima, 2001); L. Stumer, “Population Centers of the Rímac Valley Peru”, American Antiquity 20.2 (1954), 130-48; G. Marcone, “Más Inca que los Incas”, Cuaderno de investigación del archivo Tello, #8 (Lima, 2011).

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was throughout the Middle Horizon. In the 1980s and 1990s, this discussion developed out of the study of a series of ceramic styles in the collections and/or burials of the central coast that clearly showed affiliation with the Wari styles of Ayacucho. The appearance of Wari-style objects, however, was not unique to this area, and Wari-style objects were found with objects from other areas indicating interactions with other regional groups.27 The role of the Wari in the development of the central coast during the Middle Horizon remains the subject of continued debate as archaeologists continue to search for evidence of settler populations outside of elite contexts. Archaeologists have not yet found assignable evidence after the second period of the Middle Horizon. Sites like Huaca Pucllana (in the current district of Miraflores in the contemporary city of Lima) became funerary platforms. Even at the famous sanctuary of Pachacamac evidence assignable to the Middle Horizon is secondary; no new construction has been dated to this period, except perhaps the so-called Painted-Temple. It is difficult to determine with certainty the time of construction for the Painted-Temple, which can be considered one of the few buildings assigned to the second half of the Middle Horizon on the central coast. The situation is even more dramatic outside these two monumental sites from the lower parts of the valleys. Until now, it has not been possible to identify monumental or domestic settlements dating to the Middle Horizon. Archaeologists have not identified a purely local ceramic style for this period.28 Toward the second half of the Middle Horizon the influence of Ayacucho declined. Fewer vessels in southern styles have been found and there are several styles that, while maintaining some southern motifs associated with Wari, were also associated with northern ceramic styles. These styles present a strong local variability. For example, the ceramic style Teatino (which appears in the valleys of Chancay and the area of Ancón) and the Huaura ceramic style (which appears mainly in funerary contexts on the valley of the same name) seem to have more restricted regional distributions. Stylistic variation suggests a political fragmentation of the area, where small elite groups sponsored new symbols of power to legitimize their authority. Thus, in summary, the Middle Horizon is the period where we see population contraction in the 27 28

R. Shady, “Cultura Nievería y la interacción social en el mundo andino en la época Huari”, Arqueológicas 19.5 (1982), 5-18. This situation was already pointed out early by Stumer in his prospecting of the Rímac valley. He wondered if this was the result of our inability to recognize social and cultural changes in domestic contexts, or we were faced with strong domestic traditions that changed little, beyond what happened with the elites. (Stumer, “Population Centers”, 13048.)

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central coast due in part to climactic phenomena and political upheaval stemming from Wari incursion. After this population contraction, toward the second half of the Middle Horizon, we see the emergence of new regional elites, which end up shaping new political policy in the later periods known as the Ychsma.29 4.4 Late Rebirth and the Relationship with the Incas The Late Intermediate period in this region was characterized by the emergence of a new social formation known as the Ychsma. However, unlike the studies of previous periods, the Ycshma culture has been characterized not based on ceramics, but on colonial records and other written sources.30 According to these 16th-century sources, at the time of the Inca conquest of the Lurín valley, this region was populated by a coastal group called Ychsma.31 María Rostworowski’s deep analysis of colonial sources suggests that the social hierarchy of the Ychsma society was based mainly on the cult of Pachacamac, one of the most important and feared deities of the Andean world. The cult of Pachacamac was centered on the site by the same name where pilgrims came to worship the deity and to consult its oracle.32 According to Rostworowski’s reading, the Ychsma society was composed of a series of loosely integrated groups that “although politically independent, shared their devotion to Pachacamac.”33 The ethnohistorical account of the predominant role played by both the cult and the site of Pachacamac in the Ychsma society has been

29 30 31 32

33

P. Eeckhout, “La sombre de Ischma, Ensayo introductorio sobre la arqueología de la costa central del Perú en los periodos tardíos”, Bulletin de I’nstitut Francais d’etudes Andines 33.3 (2004), 402-25. P. Cieza de León, Crónica del Perú, Segunda parte, (Lima, 1986 [1554]); B. Cobo, Inca Religion and Customs, in R. Hamilton (ed.) (Austin, 1990 [1658]); G. De La Vega, The Incas: The Royal Commentaries of the Inca (New York, 1961). T. Patterson, “Pachacamac, An Andean Oracle under Inca Rule”, in P. Kvietok and D. Sandweiss (eds.), Papers from the Second Annual Northeast Conference on Andean Archaeology and Ethnohistory (Ithaca, 1985). M. Rostworowski, “Breve ensayo sobre el Señorío de Ychma o Ychima”, Boletín del Seminario de Arqueología, 4 (1972), 35-51; M. Rostworowski, “Urpay Huachac y el símbolo del mar”, Arqueología P. U. C. 14 (1973), 13-22; M. Rostworowski, El señorío de Pachacamac: el informe de Rodrigo Cantos de Andrade de 1573 (Lima, 1999); M. Rostworowski, “La religiosidad andina”, in K. Makowski (ed.), Los dioses del antiguo Perú: Colección, Arte y Tesoros del Perú (Lima, 2000), pp. 185-222; M. Rostworowski, “Pachacamac y el Señor de los Milagros, Una trayectoria Milenaria; El Señorío de Pachacamac: El Informe de Rodrigo Cantos de Andrade; Señoríos indígenas de Lima y Canta”, in Obras Completas II (Lima, 2002). I. Shimada, “Pachacamac Archaeology: Retrospect and Prospect”, in I. Shimada (ed.), Pachacamac a Reprint of the 1903 edition by Max Uhle (Philadelphia, 1991), p. xlv.

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used as a starting point for a series of archaeological interpretations that portray the Ychsma society as a “religious federation.”34 According to colonial documents sources, upon the arrival of the Incas to the Peruvian central coast, the population was organized into at least seven curacazgos [ethnic territories]. The territories belonged to the same cultural tradition; however, they do not appear to have been subject to a centralized, hegemonic power until the arrival of the Incas transformed the area into a subordinate province.35 Inca conquest strategies on the coast differ from their approaches in the highlands. Rather than integrating the coastal region into a continuous territorial management or directly exploiting its agricultural and marine resources, the Incas kept the coast in a relatively peripheral state. They built roads and other Inca-style structures, but they maintained control through local elites without installing state administrators from Cuzco.36 The sanctuary of Pachacamac became the Inca center of the province at this time. From the ceremonial center, the Inca extended their reach to the Lurín, Rímac, and Chillón valleys. The site of Pachacamac in the Lurín valley had a singular importance to the Inca during this period. However, due to the low agricultural capacity of the valley, the Ychsma cultural tradition pivoted on the fertile axis formed by the Lurín and Rímac valleys. The archaeological sites dating to this period (c.ad 1200-1532) are scattered throughout the landscape, as in earlier periods, giving the same impression of relatively independent communities inhabiting the area. In this later period, population levels register at higher levels than observed at earlier sites.37 One more difference between these late sites and the earliest sites is their location. In the Ychsma period, sites are located in the beds of the subsidiary valley ravines. This pattern, which clearly presents a risk from precipitation and huaycos that assault these areas, is the result of both the need to build sites that could receive large populations and to maintain the exploitation of the scarce agricultural lands of the coastal valleys. This pattern differs, for example, from the constructive pattern of the Early Intermediate period during which independent communities were scattered along the slopes of surrounding hills. The dominant form of Ychsma architecture is the 34

35 36 37

M. Cornejo, “Nación Ischma y la provincia Inka de Pachacamac”, Arqueológicas 7 (2000), 149-73; A. Jimenez Borja, “Las huacas, Pachacamac”, Revista de Investigaciones del Museo Nacional del Perú 1 (1992), 125-31; R. Ravines, Pachacamac: Santuario Universal (Lima, 1996). Eeckhout, “La sombre de Ischma”. A. Covey, “Inka Administration of the Far South Coast of Peru”, Latin American Antiquity 11.2 (2000), 119-38; Marcone and Lopez-Hurtado, “Panquilma y Cieneguilla”, pp. 375-95. Marcone and Lopez-Hurtado, “Panquilma y Cieneguilla”, pp. 375-95.

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ramp pyramid, a multi-use public building with economic, religious, and political functions. Ramp pyramids also functioned as residences for ruling elites. In that sense, they seem to mirror the U-shaped temples of the Archaic period wherein the structures maintained communal filiation. The boundaries of these communities were marked by canals and irrigation networks that functioned as intercommunal boundaries.38 The Incas transformed the Ychsma territory by creating hierarchies and unifying the valley through the creation of the state province of Pachacamac. Inca overlords also restricted the power of coastal elites by favoring the neighboring Yauyos who occupied the high valley in intermediate areas.39 Inca intervention not only brought with it the reorganization of social relations within and between communities; it also involved the reformulation of the predominant cult at Pachacamac.40 5

Pre-Hispanic Breaks and Continuities in the Central Coast Territory

Throughout this chapter, we have reconstructed the history of human occupation of the Peruvian central coast territory. We have formulated a sequence of periods based on population growth that were followed by periods of social contraction and population reduction. We have demonstrated that this cycle was influenced by not only the social relations between the populations, but also by the interaction of populations with the surrounding landscape. An observable scarcity of broad, flat land, which can limit the formation of large urban center, was restricted to the lower Chillón and Rímac valleys, which were home to a dispersed population organized around agricultural land and irrigation canals. The shape of human occupation on the Peruvian central coast reflects a cultural history in which social power was segmented, with the exception of short periods during which centralization increased. The Peruvian central coast was home to a proliferation of ceremonial centers before the Spanish conquest. These sites, although they appear to have had some administrative functions, were symbolic referents of identity and community that were clearly associated with the restricted groups of elites were their primary inhabitants. The ceremonial center lacking a permanent settler population is one of the consistent characteristics of human occupation in the region. The close relationship between the ceremonial centers and irrigation 38 39 40

Eeckhout, “La sombre de Ischma”; Cornejo, “Nación Ischma y la provincia Inka de Pachacamac”, pp. 149-73. Feltham, Yungas and Yauyos. Marcone and Lopez-Hurtado, “Panquilma y Cieneguilla”, pp. 375-95.

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canals transformed the desert coastal terrain into a productive agricultural area. The dependence of social organizations on canals and irrigation agriculture made the region especially vulnerable to atmospheric phenomena such as El Niño. The absence and/or extreme abundance of water impacted the agricultural capacity of the communities which in turn undermined the authority of communal leaders whose response to natural phenomena was naturally limited. Climactic change regularly generated population displacement throughout the region’s historical trajectory. Moreover, the location of the central coast territory within the central Andean region played a role in the construction of increasingly complex societies. The close and permanent relationship between central coast and highland neighbors made the territory a center of exchange networks for over 10,000 years.41 The area was also centrally located between northern and southern cultural forces that exerted different types of influence on it across time. However, despite the influence of outside territories, archaeologists have observed material continuity from settlement patterns to material culture, among the residents of the central coast for thousands of years. Textiles in particular demonstrate the survival of iconography featuring mythical sea creatures, which were key figures in a shared ideology. Designs and patterns found in textiles and murals dating to the late periods strongly resemble the designs found on early period ceramics. Although we have called into question the use of temporal chronologies, which impose content upon the time periods they seek to define, it is clear that these chronologies serve as reference points for comparing different historical processes across territories that can occur simultaneously. This is precisely our point. By inserting archaeological finds in their territorial context, we can reconstruct more complete versions of the political processes that shaped their development over time. It is the chronological periods that give us a reliable reference scale for comparison, but only when they do not become closed intervals of evolutionary change with little or no relation to the environment. Ultimately, this can give archaeologists a deeper look at the region on a widespread time scale. The ancient Peruvian central coast played a major role in the political processes that shaped the Andes. As a geographically in-between region that successfully negotiated between northern and southern manifestations of power, the central coast valleys followed long-term trajectories that allow us to interpret the region as a territory. In this vision, the populations of the region had relations with their neighbors from both the south and the north, but within 41

MacNeish et al., The Central Peruvian Prehistoric Interaction Sphere.

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a spatial and cultural continuity that marked them as a group. This historical trajectory was immersed in the regional dynamics of the Andes, but at the same time maintained its singularity and particularity. From the perspective of understanding the Peruvian central coast as a territory, we see that cultural occupation can be understood as a long-term trajectory, where the establishment of the city of Lima is as much the result of the economic advantages granted by the landscape as the exit to the sea, the mouths of rivers, and the adjacent islands, as well as the consequence of the geopolitical significance of the region in the Andes. We therefore see the foundation of Lima in the Rímac valley as a strategic decision for shaping control within the greater Andean area by securing access to both the south and the north as well as a path into the central highlands. Furthermore, the cultural wealth that influenced the region also played a preponderant role in making decisions about where the city should be founded in the mid-16th century. Consequently, we observe that the landscape of the Peruvian central coast was transformed and influenced by a long cultural trajectory; this landscape gradually became one of the factors that gave shape to subsequent cultural manifestations, that is, a social and cultural territory.

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Altschuler, B., “Territorio y desarrollo: aportes de la geografía y otras disciplinas para repensarlos”, Theomai 27-28 (2013), 64-79. Benfer, R., B. Ojeda, N. Duncan, L. Adkins, H. Ludeña, M. Vallejos, V. Rojas, A. Ocas, O. Ventoncilla, and G. Villarreal, “La tradición religiosa-astronómica en Buena Vista”, Boletín de Aqueología PUCP 11 (2007), 53-102. Burger, R., The Life and Writings of Julio C. Tello, America’s First Indigenous Archaeologist (Iowa City, 2009). Burger, R., “Centro de que? Los sitios con arquitectura pública de la cultura Manchay en la costa central del Peru”, in Y. Seki (ed.), El Centro Ceremonial Andino: Nuevas Perspectivas para los Períodos Arcaico y Formativo, Osaka 2014, pp. 291-313.

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Cohen, M., “Population Pressure and the Origins of Agriculture: An Archaeological Example from the Coast of Peru”, in D. Browman (ed.), Advances in Andean Archaeology (The Hague, 1978), pp. 91-132. Córdova, H., “La cerámica blanco sobre rojo en el valle de Chancay y sus relaciones con el estilo Lima”, Bulletin De Institut Français D’études Andines 32.1 (2003), 69-100. Cornejo, M., “Nación Ischma y la provincia Inka de Pachacamac”, Arqueológicas 7 (2000), 149-73. Covey, A., “Inka Administration of the Far South Coast of Peru”, Latin American Antiquity 11.2 (2000), 119-38. Dillehay, T., “Competition and Cooperation in a Pre-Hispanic Multiethnic System in the Central Andes” (PhD Dissertation, University of Texas, Austin, 1976). Dulanto, J., “Pampa Chica: ¿Que sucedió en la costa central después del abandono de los templos en U del Periodo Inicial?”, in Arqueologia del periodo formativo de la cuenca baja de Lurín (Lima, 2009), pp. 50-90. Eeckhout, P., “La sombre de Ischma, Ensayo introductorio sobre la arqueología de la costa central del Perú en los periodos tardíos”, Bulletin de I’nstitut Francais d’etudes Andines 33.3 (2004), 402-25. Feltham, J., Yungas and Yauyos, The Interface Between Archaeology and Ethnohistory as Seen from The Lurín Valley (Cambridge, 2005). Gonzalez, C., Una aproximación al territorio indígena prehispánico (Cordova, 2012). Jimenez Borja, A., “Las huacas, Pachacamac”, Revista de Investigaciones del Museo Nacional del Perú 1 (1992), 125-31. Kaulicke, P., “La Sombra de Pachacamac: Huari en la Costa Central”, in P. Kauclicke and W. Isbell, Huari y Tiwanaku: Modelos vs. evidencias, Primera parte (Lima, 2000), pp. 217-313. Kaulicke, P. and T. Dillehay, “Introducción ¿Por qué estudiar el periodo Arcaico en el Peru?”, Boletín Arqueologia PUCP 3 (1999), 9-18. Lumbreras, L., “El imperio Wari”, in Historia del Perú, vol. 1 (Lima, 1980), pp. 9-91. MacNeish, R., S. Patterson, and T. Browman, The Central Peruvian Prehistoric Interaction Sphere (Andover, 1975). Mata, R., “Paisaje y territorio, Un desafío y práctico”, in L. Sánchez and M. Troitiño (eds.), Agua, territorio y paisaje: De los instrumentos programados a la planificación aplicada, V Congreso Internacional de Ordenación del Territorio (Malaga, 2009), pp. 243-82. Marcone, G., “Cieneguilla a la llegada de los Incas. Aproximaciones desde la historia ecológica y la arqueología”, Bulletin de I’Institut Français D’etudes Andines, 33.3 (2004), 715-34. Marcone, G., “Más Inca que los Incas”, Cuaderno de investigación del archivo Tello, #8 (Lima, 2011).

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Marcone, G. and E. Lopez-Hurtado, “Panquilma y Cieneguilla en la discusión arqueológica del Horizonte Tardío de la costa central”, in P. Kauclicke, G. Urton, and I. Farring­ton (eds.), Identidad y Transformación en el Tawantinsuyu y en los andes coloniales. Perspectivas arqueológicas y etnohistóricas, Boletín de Arqueología PUCP, Vol. 6 (Lima, 2002), pp. 375-95. Mendéz, C., “Incas sí, indios no: Notes on Peruvian Creole Nationalism and Its Contemporary Crisis”, Journal of Latin American Studies 1.28 (1996), 197-225. Menzel, D., “Style and Time in the Middle Horizon”, Nawpa Pacha 2.1 (1964), 1-106. Patterson, T., “Pachacamac, An Andean Oracle under Inca Rule”, in P. Kvietok and D. Sandweiss (eds.), Papers from the Second Annual Northeast Conference on Andean Archaeology and Ethnohistory (Ithaca, 1985). Patterson, T., J. McCarthy, and R. Dunn, “Polities in the Lurín Valley, Peru, During the Early Intermediate Period”, Nawpa Pacha 20 (1982), 61-82. Quilter, J., “Architecture and Chronology at El Paraíso, Peru”, Journal of Field Archaeology 12 (1985), 279-97. Quilter, J., “Late Preceramic Peru”, Journal of World Prehistory 5.4 (1991), 387-438. Ravines, R., Pachacamac: Santuario Universal (Lima, 1996). Richardson, J., “Looking in the Right Places: Pre-5000 B. P., Maritime Adaptations in Peru and the Changing Environment”, Revista de Arqueologia Americana 15 (1998), 33-56. Rostworowski, M., “Breve ensayo sobre el Señorío de Ychma o Ychima”, Boletín del Semi­ nario de Arqueología, 4 (1972), 35-51. Rostworowski, M., “Urpay Huachac y el símbolo del mar”, Arqueología P.U.C. 14 (1973), 13-22. Rostworowski, M., El señorío de Pachacamac: el informe de Rodrigo Cantos de Andrade de 1573 (Lima, 1999). Rostworowski, M., “La religiosidad andina”, in K. Makowski (ed.), Los dioses del antiguo Perú: Colección, Arte y Tesoros del Perú (Lima, 2000), pp. 185-222. Rostworowski, M., “Pachacamac y el Señor de los Milagros, Una trayectoria Milenaria; El Señorío de Pachacamac: El Informe de Rodrigo Cantos de Andrade; Señoríos indígenas de Lima y Canta”, in Obras Completas II (Lima, 2002). Rowe, J., “Stages and Periods in Archaeological Interpretations”, Southwestern Journal of Anthropology 18.1 (1962), 40-54. Salazar Bondy, A., Lima la horrible, (Lima, 1964). Schneider, S. and I. Peyré Tartaruga, “Territorio y enfoque territorial: De las referencias cognitivas a los aportes de los procesos sociales rurales”, in M. Manzanal, G. Neiman, and M. Lattuada (eds.), Desarrollo rural: Organizaciones, instituciones y territorio (Buenos Aires, 2006), pp. 71-102. Seguras, R., Rito y economía en Cajamarquilla, Investigaciones arqueológicas en el Con­ junto Arquitectónico Julio C. Tello (Lima, 2001).

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Seguras, R., “La cerámica Lima en los albores del Horizonte Medio y algunas notas para el debate”, in L. Villacorta, L. Vetter, and C. Ausejo (eds.), Puruchuco y la sociedad de Lima: Un homenaje a Arturo Jiménez Borja (Lima, 2004), pp. 97-118. Shady, R., “Cultura Nievería y la interacción social en el mundo andino en la época Huari”, Arqueológicas 19.5 (1982), 5-18. Shady, R., “La época Huari como interacción de las sociedades regionales”, Revista Andina 6.1 (1988), 67-99. Shimada, I., “Pachacamac Archaeology: Retrospect and Prospect”, in I. Shimada (ed.), Pachacamac a Reprint of the 1903 edition by Max Uhle (Philadelphia, 1991). Silva, J., “Prehistoric settlement patterns in the Chillon Valley, Peru” (PhD Dissertation, University of Michigan, Ann Arbor 1996). Stone Miller, R., “An Overview of ‘Horizon’ and ‘Horizon Style’ in the Study of Ancient American Objects”, in D. Rice (ed.), Latin American Horizons (Washington DC, 1993), pp. 15-39. Stumer, L., “Population Centers of the Rímac Valley Peru”, American Antiquity 20.2 (1954), 130-48. Tello, J. and C. Angeles Caballero, Vida y obra de Julio C. Tello (Lima, 2007). Villacorta, L., “Los palacios en la costa central durante los periodos tardíos: De Pacha­ camac al Inca”, Bulletin de I’Institut Francais d’etudes Andines 33.3 (2004), 539-70.

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Chapter 2

Before Lima: The Rímac-Lurín Area on the Eve of Spanish Conquest  Peter Eeckhout The nature of late pre-hispanic society in the Ychsma polity of the Lima region has mainly been studied and described on the basis of ethnohistorical sources. However, the past decade has seen increased interest in the archaeology of the area, while burgeoning rescue archaeology and heritage management programs have resulted in greatly enhanced archaeological data resources. Inca period settlements in the area now encompassed by contemporary Lima occupied an area delineated by the the Lurín and Rímac rivers and were home to substantial populations with complex cultural traditions. This chapter synthesizes archaeological and historical data to create a more holistic picture of the sociopolitical organization of the Lima region during the Inca Empire (c.ad 1470-1533). According to the standard version of Inca imperial history, the Pacific Coast region, including the Rímac-Lurín area, was conquered and integrated into pre-hispanic Tawantinsuyu, as the Inca Empire was known, around ad 1470.1 Spanish chroniclers explain that once the central coast had been conquered, the Incas divided it into three hunu [provincial units]. A hunu corresponds to an Inca administrative designation determined by demographic data and geographic position. In the Rímac-Lurín area, hunu a included 10,000 tributaries, governed by a tucrikuk [Inca-approved governor] who was appointed directly by the apu [senior counselor of his regional district] in this case the Chinchaysuyu, the northern district of the Inca Empire. The population was hierarchically divided into segments commanded by traditional leaders who had been integrated into the imperial organization.2 The leading settlements were ­Hunus Carabayllo (Chillón), Maranga (Rímac), and Armatambo (Rímac and Lurín).3 The 17th-century Spanish chronicler Bernabe Cobo states that the

1 J.H. Rowe, “Inca Culture at the time of the Spanish Conquest”, in J. Steward (ed.), Handbook of South American Indians (Washington DC, 1946), vol. 2, pp. 183-330. 2 M. Pärssinen, Tawantinsuyu, El estado inca y su organización política (Lima, 2003). 3 B. Cobo, Historia del Nuevo Mundo (Madrid, 1956 [1653]), pp. 301-2.

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2019 | doi:10.1163/9789004335363_004

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three hunus formed the Ychsma province, also called Pachacamac, where the eponymous site was the capital.4 Most conclusions regarding the status and extent of settlements in the Rímac-Lurín area are based on ethnohistorical sources that celebrate the ideal of the hunu as a demographic model. These accounts estimate the population of the province to have been home to about 30,000 tributaries, that is to say, heads of families, and hence a total population of around 150,000 people.5 Jane Feltham led a palaeodemographic study of the Lurín valley that was based on the critical review of census records from the beginning of the colonial period, the density of residential archaeological sites, and the average agricultural production of available acreage.6 I have previously estimated the valley’s population to have been approximately 6500 residents based on archaeological research and Feltham’s findings.7 The substantial difference between the ethnohistorical and archaeological estimates does not yet provide a definitive answer to the question. Various scholars have addressed the process of imperial expansion in general terms and continue to explore how local people were incorporated into the imperial system through the organization of provinces. Inca state settlement in the conquered territories was not necessarily reflected in architectural patterns since local resources were used by Inca officials when existing infrastructure was compelling enough to merit attention from the Inca state. Although, administrative and other facilities were built where local structures were not sufficiently developed8. This is incontestable in areas where the degree of social complexity was relatively low before the Inca conquest, such as the Andean highlands where huge Inca settlements were consequently built. Conversely, coastal land in Peru was long occupied by dense populations with highly developed craft traditions, monumental architecture, and a high degree of social complexity, such as the Chimu or the Chincha. For the Ychsma in the 4 Ychsma was renamed Pachacamac by the Incas when they took control of the area (M. Rostworowski, El Señorio de Pachacamac, El informe de Rodrigo Cantos de Andrade de 1573, Lima 1999). Unfortunately, we do not have sufficient data to determine the limits of that territory, nor to enter into the details of the internal organization of this tripartite structure. (Pärssinen, Tawantinsuyu, p. 302.) 5 Pärssinen, Tawantinsuyu, p. 264. 6 J. Feltham, “The Lurín Valley, Peru: AD 1000-1532” (PhD dissertation, London, 1983), p. 354. 7 P. Eeckhout, “Monuments, temps et pouvoir, Force de travail et structure de l’autorité à Pachacamac, côte centrale du Pérou”, in P. Eeckhout and J. Malengreau (eds.), Itinéraires belges aux Amériques, Actes du 1er Colloque de la Société des Américanistes de Belgique (Brussels, 2001), p. 206. 8 D. Menzel, “The Inca Occupation of the South Coast of Peru”, Southwestern Journal of Anthropology 15 (1959), 125-42.

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Figure 2.1 Subdivisions of the province of Pachacamac during Inca times Source: Photograph courtesy of the author

Rímac-Lurín area, integration took a different form, which has been investigated previously through artifacts rather than architecture. Indeed, it is difficult to decode the impact of Inca intrusion from architectural remains since the Incas often expanded existing facilities using local styles and construction techniques.9 Reorganization imposed by the Incas did not mean the removal or replacement of all local authorities. On the contrary, even if some form of hierarchization was established, chiefdoms and local leaders were integrated into the regional distribution of power (Fig. 2.1). Ethnographic texts reflect the existence of these chiefdoms at the time of the Spanish conquest. Through an analysis of archaeological remains in the Rímac-Lurín area, I will describe this sociopolitical organization, its relation to religious and ritual practice, and the 9 P. Eeckhout, “Le temple de Pachacamac sous l’Empire inca”, Journal de la Société des Américanistes 84 (1998), 9-44; E. López-Hurtado and J. Nesbitt, “Provincial Religious Centers in the Inka Empire: Propagators of Official Ideology or Spaces for Local Resistance?”, in R. Cutright, E. López-Hurtado, and A. Martin (eds.), Comparative Perspectives on the Archaeology of Coastal South America (University of Pittsburgh Memoirs in Latin American Archaeology) (Pittsburgh and Lima, 2010), pp. 213-30; C. Mackey, “Elite Residences at Farfán, A Comparison of the Chimú and Inka; Morris, C., “Inka strategies of incorporation and Governance”, in G. Feinman and J. Marcus (eds.), Archaic States (Santa Fe, 1998), pp. 293-310.

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economic aspects related to the region’s integration into the Inca Empire as indicated by material culture remains. 1

Sociopolitical Organization

The pre-Inca organization of power on the coast was built on the principles of hierarchy and duality that placed people in ordered sets of lineage groups.10 The system is similar to a moiety model in which one group commands another according to identifiable levels of authority.11 Rostworowski insisted on the importance of the hierarchy in pre-hispanic Andean señoríos [complex chiefdoms].12 Thus, a dual or quadripartite organization is the model of government that is most often reflected in ethnohistorical sources, particularly for coastal societies like the Rímac-Lurín area.13 It seems that the situation can be summarized as follows: the basic lineage group is the ayllu. Each ayllu or group of ayllus is controlled by two curacas, and can therefore be called curacazgo [chiefdom] according to 16th-century Spanish terminology. A number of chiefdoms recognized a common identity within a señorio, at the head of which was one (or several) hatun apu [grand lord] or hatun curaca [grand chief]. There seems to have been a certain hierarchy between the chiefdoms that shared the Rímac and Lurín valleys, but we will see that the sources are rather vague about it. Alborñoz uses the name “Ychima” to refer both to the Lurín chiefdom and the inhabitants of the Rímac and Lurín valleys.14 According Rostworowski, the 10 11 12 13 14

P.J. Netherly, “Out of Many, One: The Organization of Rule in the North Coast Polities”, in M.E. Moseley and A. Cordy-Collins (eds.), The Northern Dynasties, Kingship and Statecraft in Chimor (Washington DC, 1990), p. 463. Netherly, “Out of Many, One”, pp. 463-65. Rostworowski de Díez Canseco, M., Costa Peruana Prehispánica (Lima, 1989), p. 71. Netherly, “Out of Many, One”, p. 470. C. Alborñoz, “La Instruccion para Descubrir Todas las Guacas del Piru y sus Camayos y Haziendas”, in P. Duviols (ed.), Journal de la Société des Américanistes 56.1 (1967), 7-39. Ychsma is found to be written in a number of different ways in colonial chronicles (Ichma, Ichima, Irma, etc.), although it seems that the correct spelling was Ychsma, as it is explained in Rodrigo de Andrade’s 1572 report (M. Rostworowski, El Señorio de Pachacamac, El informe de Rodrigo Cantos de Andrade de 1573, [Lima, 1999]). This spelling has become popular in the academic milieu since the Lima congress in 2004. It was both the name of the deity, main settlement, people, chiefdom and river. When the Incas conquered this area, the deity was renamed Pachacamac (Creator of the Universe), as well as the main site, while the river was renamed Lurín, a probable reference to “Hurin”, the lower side according to Inca worldview (P. Eeckhout, “Reyes del Sol y Señores de la Luna: Incas e Ychsmas en Pachacamac”, Revista Chungara 36.2 (2004), 17-48). The River Rímac name remained unchanged (Rostworowski, Senorios Indigenos de Lima y Canta).

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Figure 2.2 Map of the Central Coast of Peru with approximate localization of chiefdoms and hunus in Inca times Source: Photograph courtesy of the author

Ychsma polity was divided into seven chiefdoms, with six in the Rímac valley. For the Rímac valley, available archives are unfortunately vague and fragmentary, especially regarding the territory and respective limits of each chiefdom.15 15

Rostworowski, Senorios Indigenos de Lima y Canta, pp. 52-53; L. Villacorta, “Los palacios en la Costa central durante los períodos Tardíos: de Pachacamac al Inca”, in P. Eeckhout (ed.), Arqueologỉa de la Costa Central del Perú en los Periodos Tardios (special volume of Boletín del IFEA 33.3) (Lima and Paris, 2004), pp. 539-71.

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Figure 2.3 Map of Rímac-Lurín area with sites mentioned in the text (adapted from an original by A. Gavazzi) Source: Photograph courtesy of the author

As a working hypothesis, Rostworowski proposed that each chiefdom had been linked to an eponymous main channel (Table 2.1 and Figs. 2.2-2.3).16 16

Rostworowski, Senorios Indigenos de Lima y Canta, p. 53.

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Table 2.1

Local chiefdoms in the Lower Rímac Valley (after Rostworowski 1978)

Chiefdom

Corresponding location in nowadays Lima

Callao Maranga

Callao, Bellavista, La Perla Campus UNSM, PUCP, Parque de las Leyendas, Cercado, Breña, La Legua, San Miguel, Pueblo Libre Cercado, Breña, Pueblo Libre, Magdalena del Mar El Agustino, La Victoria, San Borja, San Luis, Jesús María, Lince, San Isidro

Lima Guatca Sulco Lati

Comments

Two moieties (Maranga and Guala) Two moieties (Lima and Amancaes)

Santiago de Surco, Surquillo, Miraflorès, Barranco, Chorillos Ate, Vitarte, La Molina

The area of ​​Lima in the Rímac valley has been unevenly explored from an archaeological point of view, so that available remains must be analyzed with caution. In addition, Lima has suffered from an exponential urbanization process since the 20th century. Consequently, many sites have been destroyed in recent generations. In some cases, only partial and fragmentary testimonies remain. It is clear however that today’s available corpus is greatly reduced and reflects only a part of the archaeological reality. Because of the relative paucity of data, it is sometimes difficult to determine site chronology. Indeed, some authors are at pains to differentiate the Late Intermediate period (LIP) or Ychsma period, from the Late Horizon (LH), or the period corresponding to incorporation by the Inca Empire. The situation is different in the Lurín valley. On the one hand, post-conquest urbanization was less intense and occurred at a later date, which has provided archaeologists with the opportunity to document many sites. And on the other, the amount of archaeological research in this little valley is relatively expansive, as is reflected in the number of related publications.17 All this explains why we know more about the Lurín than the Rímac valley for the late pre-hispanic periods. Nevertheless, significant archaeological developments have occurred in this area since the early 2000s. Indeed, especially in the Rímac valley, 17

G. Marcone and E. López-Hurtado, “Dual Strategies of the Rural Elites: Exploring the Intersection of Regional and Local Transformations in the Lurín Valley, Peru”, Latin American Antiquity 26.3 (2015), 401-20.

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many rescue and development projects were funded by various local institutions or private groups as part of legal provisions concerning archaeological heritage. Very important sites such as Huantinamarca, Mateo Salado, and Huantile have been preserved and studied. The same trend is observed in the Lurín valley, especially through the Capac Ñan Project.18 In the Rímac valley, ethnohistorical data allows us to roughly draw the boundaries of each chiefdom.19 The chiefdom of Callao occupied the right bank of the Rímac river from the mouth up to 10 km inland (Figs. 2.2-2.3). The only known site in the chiefdom of Callao is that of Piti Piti, which would have included two moieties: Viejo and Nuevo, but the settlement seems to have been abandoned in the Late Horizon.20 Many scholars consider this area largely subject to the Chillón Colli at this time and relate sites in this area to this chiefdom.21 This is also reflected in the ceramic material, which seems to belong to a different tradition on the right bank (Colli) than on the left bank of the river (Ychsma).22 The chiefdom of Maranga occupied the left bank of the Rímac facing the ­island San Lorenzo (Figs. 2.2-2.3).23 The eponymous capital Maranga was a very important complex occupied since the Early Intermediate period (200 BC18

19 20 21

22 23

Villacorta, “Los palacios en la Costa central durante los períodos Tardíos”; H. Yarushka, “El Complejo arqueológico monumental de Mateo Salado y su relación con el proyecto circuito turístico nocturno de Lima”, Logos 4.1 (2014), 1-16; M. Guillén, “Descubrimientos arqueológicos en Huaca Huantile, valle bajo del Rímac, durante el período Intermedio Tardío”, Arqueología y Sociedad 24 (2012), 371-92. Villacorta, “Los palacios en la Costa central durante los períodos Tardíos”. S. Agurto Calvo, Lima Préhispánica (Lima, 1984), p. 124. A. Raymondi Cárdenas and L. Mejía Araguren, “Ocupaciones prehispánicas tardías en el valle bajo del Chillón: una aproximación desde la Huaca Pro”, Arqueología y Sociedad 28 (2014), 9-42. Colli is the name of the señorio that ruled over the lower Chillón valley in the late pre-hispanic periods: Rostworowski, Senorios Indigenos de Lima y Canta. J. Guffroy, “Recherches archéologiques dans la moyenne vallée du Chillon”, Bulletin de L’Institut Français d’Etudes Andines 6.3-4 (1977), 25-62. In 1534, Maranga became the encomienda [a tribute granting institution in the Iberoamerican world by which Spanish individuals were imbued with authority over indigenous groups] of Nicolas de Ribera, it was headed by Don Diego Vilca Chaya: Rostworowski, Senorios Indigenos de Lima y Canta, p. 88. It is interesting to note that during a visit made in 1549, the curaca appeared in the company of his “mainmen” (principales), one of whom was head of the fishermen while another represented a “Mochica” (i.e. Northern Pacific Coast) colony established in Maranga. Rostworowski points out that the existence of a group of specialists such as fishermen is also attested in Quilcay near Pachacamac while the “Mochica” probably corresponds to a Chimu mitmaq: Rostworowski, Senorios Indigenos de Lima y Canta, p. 93. (The Chimu formed a great expansionist LIP kingdom from the North Coast of Peru which was conquered by the Incas around 1475 and subject to the transfer of citizens across their empire to ensure the subject community’s docility.)

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AD 600).24 It includes a series of Ychsma sacred structures, some of which continued to be occupied under the Incas (Fig. 2.4). A palace was built during the Late Horizon precisely in the Maranga Chayavilca-sector, which includes double door jambs, characteristic of Inca elite architecture, in a place where the tucrikuk of the Maranga hunu lived.25 Nearby is another major complex known as the Huaca Pando (also referred to as Huaca Tres Palos) which includes Huaca Corpus I and II, Luz, and Cerro Culebras.26 Several other large sites in the chiefdom have recently been the subject of conservation and restoration, including Mateo Salado and Huaca Huantinamarca.27 Ongoing research at Mateo Salado suggests that many pyramids were not abandonned at the arrival of the Incas who used the site to make burial offerings and constructed a large walled-path built across the site that leads to the Maranga complex.28 All these Rímac valley settlements attest to the scale and monumentality of the occupation. Pyramidal platforms made of adobe and tapia [mud formwork] are surrounded by courts, patios, and precincts. There are also architectural complexes similar to the pyramids with ramps in the Lurín, such as Tres Palos and La Palma.29 These monumental buildings are elite structures serving both as residences for leaders and population management.30 Other minor

24 25 26

27 28 29 30

J. Canziani Amico, Ciudad y territorio en los Andes, Contribuciones a la historia del urbanismo prehispánico (Lima, 2009). Canziani, Ciudad y territorio en los Andes. “Huaca” in the Spanish colonial Andes referred to sacred things and, by extension, to ancient ruins and buildings. The term was adopted by 20th-century archaeologists when naming ancient sites. Angeles Falcón, R., Arqueología de Lima, El Cercado (Lima, 2009); J. Ramos de Cox, “Informe Preliminar sobre le Proyecto de Arqueología y Computación del material del Complejo Pando”, Boletín del Seminario de Arqueología del Instituto Riva Agüero-PUCP 15-16 (1974-75), 7-12; J. Vivar Anaya, Restos Humanos de Huacas Pando (Lima, 1996). P. Espinoza, Arqueología de Lima: Mateo Salado, Lima 2009; Yarushka, “El Complejo arqueológico monumental de Mateo Salado”; Zela, V., Arte y Arqueología en Mateo Salado (Lima, 2012). Zela, Arte y Arqueología en Mateo Salado, pp. 10-13. Eeckhout, P., Pachacamac durant l’Intermédiaire récent, Etude d’un site monumental préhispanique de la Côte centrale du Pérou (Oxford, 1999), pp. 454-57. P. Eeckhout, “The Palaces of the Lords of Ychsma, An Archaeological Reappraisal of the Function of Pyramids with Ramps at Pachacamac, Central Coast of Peru”, Journal of American Archaeology 17-18-19 (2000), 217-54; C. Farfán Lovatón, “Aspectos simbólicos de las pirámides con rampa”, in P. Eeckhout, Arqueologỉa de la Costa Central del Perú en los Periodos Tardios (special volume of Boletín del IFEA 33.3), (Lima and Paris, 2004), pp. 449-64; E. López Hurtado, “Ideology and the Development of Social Power at the Site of Panquilma, Peruvian Central Coast” (PhD dissertation, Pennsylvania State University, 2011); Villacorta, “Los palacios en la Costa central durante los períodos Tardíos”.

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Figure 2.4 Sketchmap of the Maranga Complex, Rímac Valley (redrawn from an original by J. Canziani) Source: Photograph courtesy of the author

sites also belonged to the chiefdom of Maranga, including Huaca Puente Chacra and Panteón Chino.31 The chiefdom of Lima was east of Maranga extending to the right bank of the Rímac river upstream from the Callao chiefdom. The Lima chiefdom encompassed the area corresponding to the historical center of the current city (Figs. 2.2-2.3). Angeles Falcón and Agurto Calvo have argued that in 1533 the palace of the local curaca of the Lima chiefdom was located on the site of what 31

M.A. Cornejo, “Pachacamac y el canal de Guatca en el bajo Rímac”, in P. Eeckhout (ed.), Arqueologỉa de la Costa Central del Perú en los Periodos Tardios (Lima and Paris, 2004), pp. 783-814; R. Ravines, Inventario de Monumentos Arqueologicos del Peru, Lima Metropolitana (Primera Approximacion) (Lima, 1985), p. 63.

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later became the main plaza of colonial Lima.32 Indeed, the chiefdom of Lima was chosen as the site of the new Spanish capital by Francisco Pizarro in 1535. When the Spaniards arrived in the mid-16th century, Taulichusco was the curaca of Lima, who ruled with his son Guachimano. Caxapaxa was the chief of Amancaes, Lima’s corresponding moiety.33 All three local leaders had been appointed by the Incas and Caxapaxa was of Inca lineage.34 Among the sites listed in the chiefdom of Lima, that of Huantile was unquestionably among the most important.35 Recent excavations by Guillén have confirmed the chiefdom’s Ychsma cultural affiliation.36 The chiefdom of Huatca developed along the Río Huatica canal and its tributaries in what today is considered the center-south of Lima (Figs. 2.2-2.3).37 The temple at Santa Catalina (also known as Vista Alegre or Catalina Huanca) and Huaca San Borja (a recently restored structure just behind the building of the contemporary Ministry of Culture) were probably part of a larger group called Limatambo during the Ychsma occupation.38 A series of staggered platforms at Huaca Santa Cruz was re-used as a cemetery under the Incas.39 A portion of Huaca Santa Cruz known as El Olivar de San Isidro, included a pyramid ramp that was destroyed in 1951.40 Huallamarca (also known as Pan de Azucar) was heavily restored, but many funerary contexts attest to the site’s occupation

32 33 34 35 36

37 38

39 40

Angeles Falcón, Arqueología de Lima, El Cercado, p. 10; Agurto Calvo, Lima Préhispánica, p. 123. Rostworowski, Senorios Indigenos de Lima y Canta, p. 79. In general terms, the two moieties were on equal footing; however, the Lima moiety was slightly more important and ultimately more powerful than Amancaes. Rostworowski, Senorios Indigenos de Lima y Canta, pp. 78-79. Some consider Huantile a part of Huantinamarca. (Villacorta, L.F., Huaca Huantinamarca, Arqueología y transformación urbana en la Lima del siglo XXI, [Lima, 2011], p. 30.) Guillén, “Descubrimientos arqueológicos en Huaca Huantile”. Other sites have not been so fortunate, such as the Huaca Santa Rosa, virtually destroyed (Angeles Falcón, Arqueología de Lima, El Cercado, p. 24.) There is also Cerro la Milla and Palao in the municipality of San Martín de Porres, about which virtually nothing is known: A. Gavazzi, Lima, Memoria prehispánica de la traza urbana, [Lima, 2014], p. 121; Ravines, Inventario de Monumentos Arqueologicos del Peru, pp. 25-27. Agurto Calvo, Lima Préhispánica, p. 122. Cornejo, “Pachacamac y el canal de Guatca en el bajo Rímac”; H. Buse, Guía Arqueológica Lima Pachacamac (Lima, 1960), p. 31; Gavazzi, Lima. Memoria prehispánica de la traza urbana, p. 21; R. Shady Sólis and J.J. Narváez Luna, Historia Prehispánica de Lima: Arqueología de la Huaca San Marcos (Lima, 2000), p. 33. Cornejo, “Pachacamac y el canal de Guatca en el bajo Rímac”. L. Casas and C. Dolorier Torres, “Una pirámide con rampa en el Olivar de San Isidro”, Arqueología y Sociedad 24 (2012), 333-70.

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since the end of the Middle Horizon to the Late Intermediate period.41 The Huaca Pucllana or Juliana is undoubtedly the most famous site in this area; although it must be stressed that it is primarily an Early Intermediate period structure which was later reused as a cemetery and offering site until the arrival of the Spanish.42 The chiefdom of Sulco extended to the east and south of of Huatca, encompassing the largest coastal area (Figs. 2.2-2.3).43 Four major lineage groups originated at Sulco: Calla, Ydcay, Centaulli, and Cuncham as well as suburbs, each corresponding to a channel.44 Armatambo, the capital, is close to the seafront and perhaps included a haven.45 The exact area of ​​the site at the time is unknown, but it contained several huacas in the form of pyramids with ramps firmly attributed to the Ychsma occupation period: Cruz de Armatambo, Los Laureles (or Lechuza), Marcavilca, San Pedro, and Virgen del Morro (Fig. 2.5).46 Investigations at Cruz de Armatambo have demonstrated that pyramid-like structures continued to be built under the Inca Empire along with intrusive Inca-style structures with ornamental paintings (Fig. 2.6). Cruz de Armatambo gained status following its conquest by the Inca and enjoyed a high rank as an imperial settlement, probably that of the capital of the eponymous hunu. A wall along the site is closely associated with the Capac Ñan, the great inca road network.47 The chiefdom of Lati occupied the eastern end of the valley and was the only chiefdom without access to the sea (Figs. 2.2-2.3). The huge neighboring 41 42 43 44 45 46

47

C. Dolorier Torres, “Cronología, organización social, especialización laboral y género definidos como producto del análisis de los contextos funerarios registrados en los “diarios de campo” de Huallamarca, años de 1958 y 1960” (Tesis de Licenciatura, Lima, 2013). I. Flores Espinoza, Pucllana: esplendor de la Cultura Lima (Lima, 2005). J. Hyslop and E. Mujica, “Investigaciones de A.F. Bandelier en Armatambo (Surco) en 1892”, Gaceta Arqueologica Andina 22 (1992), 63-86. Rostworowski, Senorios Indigenos de Lima y Canta, pp. 57-58. Sulco was part of a general irrigation system which had several levels of canals. Each major group within the Sulco chiefdom was related to a major canal in the overall chiefdom irrigation system. L. Díaz Arriola, “Armatambo y la sociedad Ychsma”, in P. Eeckhout (ed.), Arqueologỉa de la Costa Central del Perú en los Periodos Tardios (Lima and Paris, 2004), pp. 571-94. L. Díaz Arriola and F. Vallejo Berríos, “Identificación de contextos Ichma en Armatambo”, Arqueología y Sociedad 19 (2002), 47-76; L. Díaz Arriola, “Le territoire ychsma et ses différences culturelles pendant l’intermédiaire récent sur la côte centrale péruvienne” (PhD dissertation, Paris, 2011); F. Vallejo, “Desarollo y complejización de las sociedades tardías de la Costa Centra: el caso de Ychsma”, Arqueología y Sociedad 19 (2008), 83-114. It should be noted in this respect that the name given to the site by the Incas (Irma-Tambo) refers to the fact that it was a stopover for pilgrims en route to the site of Pachacamac on the Inca road network. Diáz highlights the influx of luxury goods to the site in the Late Horizon citing an increasing amount of exotic spondylus shells that were probably introduced through the capital’s haven: Diáz, “Armatambo y la sociedad Ychsma”.

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Figure 2.5 Sketchmap of Armatambo (redrawn from an original by R. Ravines) Source: Photograph courtesy of the author

Figure 2.6 A small pyramid at Armatambo Source: Photograph courtesy of Luisa Díaz

site of Cajamarquilla, founded in the Early Intermediate period, was probably abandoned before the arrival of the Incas.48 Puruchuco, a 2000 m2 site, may have been the capital of the chiefdom because it was home to one of the most notable Inca palaces in the Rímac valley.49 The tapia and adobe palace, which seems to have been built in a single phase, is situated on a hillside adapted to the site’s natural relief (Fig. 2.7). The palace’s main building is roughly rectan48 49

J.J. Narváez Luna, Sociedades de la Antigua Ciudad de Cajamarquilla (Lima, 2006). Cornejo, “Pachacamac y el canal de Guatca en el bajo Rímac”; Buse, Guía Arqueológica Lima Pachacamac; Shady and Narvaez, Historia Prehispánica de Lima.

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gular with a separate room adjoining the west side (Fig. 2.8). External walls are several meters high, ensuring security and privacy, while the internal walls are 2-3 m high. The palace itself has only one entrance, on the northwest corner. It is accessed via a ramp next to a platform. The interior space is divided into two: to the west a large courtyard with a ramp and platform; to the east a series of rooms and corridors. The nature of the finds made during the conservation and restoration process (ceramic furniture, khipus [Inca fiber information recording devices], precious metals balances, funerary bundles) as well as some architectural features (triangular niches, double-jamb doors) date the construction to the Late Horizon and confirm the elite character of the occupation.50 Comparative analysis of the spatial syntax of the palace shows that it belongs to the same genotype as local pyramids with ramps (PWR).51 PWR structures date to the end of the Late Intermediate period, while the palace of Puruchuco belongs to the period of Inca ocupation.52 Nevertheless, similarities observed in the spatial syntax of each building could be interpreted precisely as a way for the Incas to exercise power using local models. Indeed, they dominated the region militarily and constructed buildings for their officials and for local subjugated potentates. The Incas designed these facilities by taking inspiration from the way local spaces were built and articulated in their specific cultures, in particular when related to the display of power across interregional relationships. This process allowed them to establish their local leadership more efficiently. The middle and high Rímac valley was occupied by a non-Ychsma chiefdom known as Lurihuanchos with its capital at Mangomarca.53 Although the exact 50

51 52

53

A. Jiménez Borja, Puruchuco (Lima, 1973); G. Urton and C. Brezine, “Information Control in the Palace of Puruchuco: An Accounting Hierarchy in a Khipu Archive from Coastal Peru”, in R. Burger, C. Morris, and R. Matos Mendieta (eds.), Variations in the Expressions of Inka Power (Washington DC, 2007), pp. 347-86. P. Eeckhout, “ Dans les pas des Incas. Architecture précolombienne et syntaxe de l’espace”, CLARA Architecture/Recherche 1 (2013b), 61-80. It is unlikely that the palace of Puruchuco was the headquarters of an Inca hunu. Most authors follow the ethnohistorical sources which point to Maranga or Mateo Salado for the Maranga hunu, and Armatambo for the hunu of the same name: Agurto Calvo, Lima Préhispánica. In the nearby quebrada, Huaquerones included several PWR sites (C. Farfán Lovatón, “Informe sobre entierros prehispánicos en Huaquerones, valle del Rímac”, Arqueológicas 24 (2000), 273-302; E. Tabio, Excavaciones en la costa central del Perú (Havana, 1965). Huaycán of Pariachi is a fine example of local Ychsma architecture. Very few other sites have been studied, such as the cemetery of La Rinconada, despite the fact that evidence of numerous Ychsma funerary remains has been found there. Fernandez, Los Ruricancho. Orígenes prehispánicos de San Juan de Lurigancho; J. Abanto, “Lurigancho, un curacazgo Ychsma de la margen derecha del valle bajo del Rímac”, Arqueología y Sociedad 19 (2008), 159-78.

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Figure 2.7 The Palace of Puruchuco Source: Photograph courtesy of the author

Figure 2.8 Plan of the Palace of Puruchuco (redrawn from an original by J. Borja) Source: Photograph courtesy of the author

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extent of the chiefdom is unknown, the archaeological record documents the abandonment of some sites during the Late Horizon: Huacas Corpus and San Marcos (Maranga), Huaca San Borja and Santa Cruz (Huatca), Monterrey and Bellavista (Lati), and Huacas San Pedro and Lechuza/Los Laureles (Sulco). Many sites seem to retain a sacred aura and were used as cemeteries, like those near Puruchuco/Huaquerones and Rinconada Alta.54 Conversely, some buildings or parts of sites seem to have been created or mainly occupied under the Incas, as in the case of case of the Huaca Felicia (Huatca), San Juan Pariachi (Lati), and Huacas Palomino and La Palma Maranga.55 In 1573, the visiting Spanish inspector Rodrigo Cantos de Andrade reported his findings from the Lurín valley. Andrade’s Visita is the most comprehensive document regarding the sociopolitical organization of the Lurín valley in the early colonial period.56 Andrade’s findings demonstrate that in the early colonial period there was a hierarchical structure in the Lurín valley consisting of at least three tiers of leaders: an upper tier with a chief who dominated all the valley’s political and geographical subdivisions (Caringas, Anan Ychsma, and Hurin Ychsma); a middle tier with leaders of those subdivisions; and a lower tier with heads of settlements.57 Andrade also indicates that there was a systematic bipartition of each subordinate settlement at every level of power from the upper tier down through the settlement level tier. The two leaders who were responsible for the same territory were not equals; one always ruled over the other, as in the case of Luis Alonso Loyan who commanded Alonso Sabat. This system of dual rulership by a main curaca with the aid of a secondary leader reflects the model present in other Central and North Coast sites.58 This fractured system of governance must be understood within the general 54

55 56 57 58

Cornejo, “Pachacamac y el canal de Guatca en el bajo Rímac”; D. Guerrero Zevallos, “Cronología cerámica y patrones funerarios del valle del Rímac: una aproximación a los periodos tardíos”, in L.F. Villacorta (ed.), Puruchuco y la Sociedad de Lima: Un homenaje a Arturo Jiménez Borja (Lima, 2004), pp. 157-78; Cock, G., and E. Goycochea Díaz, “Puruchuco y el cementerio inca de Huaquerones”, in L. Villacorta (ed.), Puruchuco y la Sociedad de Lima: Un homenaje a Arturo Jiménez Borja (Lima, 2004), pp. 179-98; M. Frame, D. Guerrero, M. Vega, and P. Landa, “Un fardo funerario del Horizónte Tardío del sitio Rinconada Alta, valle del Rímac”, in P. Eeckhout (ed.), Arqueología de la Costa Central del Perú en los Períodos Tardíos (Special volume of Boletín del IFEA 33.3) (Lima and Paris, 2004), pp. 815-60. Canziani, Ciudad y territorio en los Andes, p. 393. Andrade [1573]; Archivo Nacional de Santiago de Chile-Varios, vol. 64, F8va to170v (Rostworowski de Díez Canseco, M., El Señorio de Pachacamac, El informe de Rodrigo Cantos de Andrade de 1573, [Lima 1999]). P. Eeckhout, “Poder y jerarquias Ychsma en el Valle de Lurín”, Arqueología y Sociedad 19 (2008), 223-40. Netherly, “Out of Many, One”.

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framework of intersecting bipartition, quadripartition, and dualism that was commonly found in coastal settlements and social divisions among groups before and after Inca domination. Once incorporated into the Inca realm, the Ychsma polity underwent profound changes that included the renaming their cultural group. Under Inca rule, the Ychsma became known as Pachacamac. The Incas completely disrupted traditional structures and boundaries by giving middle valley Ychsma lands to highland Yauyos groups. Furthermore, the Inca transformed the pilgrimage center of Pachacamac into a high-ranking imperial site, much more integrated into the state network than it had been previously. The Anan Ychsma no longer had any territory of their own, and social divisions that remained were probably those corresponding to Urin Ychsma ayllus, such as Manchay and Pachacamac.59 By the end of the 16th century four ayllus occupied the valley under Inca rule: the Pachacamac, the Manchay, the Caringa, and the Quilcaycuna.60 The geographical distribution of Late Horizon settlements in the Lurín valley can be summed up as follows: ayllu Pachacamac (located between the contemporary settlement of Pachacamac town and its eponymous archaeological site), ayllu Manchay (from the contemporary settlement of Pachacamac to that of Cieneguilla), ayllu Caringa (on the outskirts of the Lurín valley to the south and out to the “Lomas de Caringas” around Chilca), ayllu Quilcaycuna (found between the coast and the contemporary town of Lurín).61 These ayllus were ruled by a lord decended from a single dynasty of curacas known as the Saba who lived in one of the four ayllus.62 Settlement pattern studies suggest that the boundaries of the chiefdom changed over time, especially under the pressure of highland Yauyos taking control of coca fields in the middle valley.63 The Anan Ychsma suffered the 59 60

61

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Eeckhout, “Poder y jerarquias Ychsma en el Valle de Lurín”. Cobo, Historia del Nuevo Mundo, vol. 2, p. 319. Alonso Saba was a local lord who ruled the area in the 16th century. His will provides contrasting details about the political organization of the time. Despite the passage of four centuries, toponymy and traditions, as well as ethnographic evidence gathered in recent times, confirm these conclusions (W. Espinoza, “Bosquejo Historico del Pueblo de San Salvador de Pachacamac”, in J. Matos Mar et al. (ed.), El Valle de Lurín y el pueblo de Pachacamac: cambios sociales y culturales (Lima, 1964), p. 136; J. Matos Mar, El Valle de Lurín y el pueblo de Pachacamac: cambios sociales y culturales, [Lima, 1964], p. 19.) The ayllu Quilcaycuna was the original village of San Pedro de Quilcay, which was the first name of the contemporary town of Lurín: Espinoza, “Bosquejo Historico del Pueblo de San Salvador de Pachacamac”, p. 136; Matos Mar, El Valle de Lurín y el pueblo de Pachacamac, p. 19. Matos Mar, El Valle de Lurín y el pueblo de Pachacamac, p. 19. Eeckhout, “Poder y jerarquias Ychsma en el Valle de Lurín”.

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consequences of these changes, including the settlement of Yauyos colonies in middle valley sites. The capital of the chiefdom was undoubtedly the monumental site of Pachacamac.64 Pampa de Flores was the second most important site in the lower valley because it was home to the second highest ranking local official.65 The Urin Ychsma sites are characterized by the spread of PWR structures which functioned as symbols of power in the capital and Pampa Flores, as well as in Tijerales, Panquilma, and Colca.66 Some of these pyramids were even built under the supervision of the Inca Empire with a mixture of exotic ornamental and functional features, such as in Huaycán.67 The issue of Inca impact on the Lurín valley has been recently addressed in several essays. Changes introduced by Inca administration in the Lurín valley can be classified in three major categories: the introduction of foreign population, the construction of infrastructure, and the cooption and sometimes suppression of local leadership. The extensive transformation carried out on behalf of the Incas in the monumental center of Pachacamac was also experienced in the communities under earlier leadership in the Lurín valley. 2

Rímac and Pachacamac, Pan-Andean Oracles

Inca administrators in the Lurín valley worked to introduce foreign populations into the area, construct additional infrastructure to support the expanding Inca imperial presence in the region, and suppress local leadership as needed. Adjustments to outlying communities in the Lurín valley mirror the extensive transformation carried out on behalf of the Incas at Pachacamac. The Spanish chronicler Pedro de Cieza de Leon described the Inca conquest of the Lurín valley, particularly the site that became known as Pachacamac, in the following terms:

64 65 66 67

Eeckhout, Pachacamac durant l’Intermédiaire récent, Etude d’un site monumental préhispanique de la Côte centrale du Pérou; Uhle, M., Pachacamac, Report of the William Pepper, M.D., LL.D. Peruvian Expedition of 1896 (Philadelphia, 1903). P. Eeckhout, “Ancient Monuments and Patterns of Power at Pachacamac, Central Coast of Peru”, Beiträge zur Allgemeine und Vergleichenden Archäologie 23 (2003), 139-82. Eeckhout, Pachacamac durant l’Intermédiaire récent, Etude d’un site monumental préhispanique de la Côte centrale du Pérou; Lopéz-Hurtado, Ideology and the Development of Social Power at the Site of Panquilma, Peruvian Central Coast. A. Bueno Mendoza, “Huaycán”, Revista Espacio 1.1 (1978), 66-71.

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The Incas, principal lords, ruled the kingdom and had made a habit of ordering the construction of temples and shrines for the Sun in all the lands they conquered. When they arrived in the Pachacamac valley and saw the greatness of its temple and its great antiquity, the great authority he had on all the people of the area and that all showed great devotion to him, it seemed very difficult to discard it. So they said they would deal with local lords and ministers of the god or demon, and that this temple of Pachacamac would remain under the authority and with the service he had. So they built another great temple and they took the highest place for the Sun.…68 Available archaeological evidence supports this version of events. The complete elimination of the local religion was unimaginable from an Andean perspective. The oracle at Pachacamac was universally respected and feared, and it was also said that if it moved, it would cause earthquakes so the Inca could not kidnap the idol, as they commonly did at other sites.69 Moreover, Pachacamac was a important symbolic place for the Incas since they wanted to seize “the other end of the world” and have “the Lowlands Creator”, as Pachacamac was also known, as a regional ally.70 All this explains why the conqueroring Incas favored a “gentleman’s agreement” with local authorities in which local authorities accepted the Inca sun cult and the Incas conceded to allowing the cult dedicated to Pachacamac to retain its regional influence. The Spanish chronicler Inca Garcilaso de la Vega reported the negotiation of the oracle’s management among Inca and local authorities as follows: The great lord Cuismancu, warned of the approach of the Incas, received their ambassadors in the middle of his court and his captains, all dressed for war.71 He rejected their proposals, saying he worshiped Pachacamac, Creator of all things, and therefore much higher than the sun deity … The Incas were very pleased to learn that these Yunga worshiped the great god Pachacamac they themselves worshiped in their hearts. So they 68 69 70 71

P. Cieza de Leon, “La Crónica del Peru”, in J. Le Riverend (ed.), Crónicas de la Conquista del Perú (Mexico, 1965 [1551]), pp. 372-73. All translations in this chapter are by the author, unless otherwise stated. F. Avila, Rites et Traditions de Huarochiri, Paris 1980 [1608?]. Eeckhout, “Reyes del Sol y Señores de la Luna”. Garcilaso has probably confused the Ychsma leader with the Cajamarca leader Cuismancu. This explains why in ancient and contemporary sources the chiefdom of Ychsma is systematically designated as “the kingdom of Cuismancu”: Rostworowski, Señorios Indigenos de Lima y Canta, p. 49; S. Watanabe, “El Reino de Cuismacu; orígen y transformación en el Tahuantinsuyu”, Boletín de Arqueología PUCP 6 (2002), 107-36.

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decided to get to them by reason and good promises, without using force … new emissaries explained … they [the Inca] were ready to adore him [Ychsma-Pachacamac] and worship him as did the Yunga, provided that they agree in part-cons to worship the Sun.…72 The alliance is concluded, on several conditions: the construction of a temple of the Sun and a convent of the Virgins; acknowledgment of Inca sovereignty; compliance with Inca laws and customs (including the worship of the Sun); abolition of human sacrifice and destruction of idols from the temple of Pachacamac.73 For their part, the Incas promised to venerate “the oracle of Rímac” and to order that the oracle be respected throughout their kingdom.74 The name of the valley, and later the city of Lima, is derived from the word Rímac, a Quechua word meaning “the one who speaks”, and refers to a famous oracle whose shrine was in the lower valley. Rostworowski has argued that the sanctuary was in the back of the Santa Ana Hospital, near the Concepción monastery on the left bank of the river, in the Church of Santa Ana which was founded in 1534.75 The idol was destroyed by ecclesiastical authorities because it was an important figure of pre-hispanic indigenous worship.76 This site of Pachacamac was of particular importance in the eyes of the Incas, both for its strategic position on the central coast and for its multiple roles in regional political, religious, and social relations (Fig. 2.9).77 No matter what 72 73 74

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I. Garcilaso de la Vega, Comentarios Reales de los Incas, (Lima, 1991 [1609]), book 6, chapter 29. These two latter conditions are certainly due more to the imagination of Garcilaso than to Inca diplomacy. I believe, following Uhle, that the Incas rather wanted to show their exclusive right to practice human sacrifices. (M. Uhle, Report of the William Pepper, p. 89.) There were two oracles in the region: Ychsma in the lower Lurín valley, and Rímac in the the eponymous valley. When the Incas arrived, they decided that the first one would be called Pachacamac and would be consulted for important matters, while the second would keep its original name and be consulted for common business. Rostworowski, Señorios Indigenos, pp. 69-72; M. Curatola Petrocchi, “Oracles”, in G. Urton and A. Von Hagen (eds.), Encyclopedia of the Incas (Lanham, 2015), p. 210. Excavations carried out by Farfán in the colonial crypt of the Church of Santa Ana have concluded there was no pre-hispanic occupation there (C. Farfán Lovatón, “Arqueología de la Iglesia de santa ana de Lima”, in R. Chuhue and P. Van Dalen (eds.), Lima Subterránea: Arqueología Histórica: Criptas, Bóvedas, Canales Virreinales y Republicanos (Lima, 2014), pp. 77-100). Some scholars have located the sanctuary in the Huaca Huantile (G. Squier, Un Viaje por Tierras Incaicas, Crónica de una Expedición Arqueologica (1863-1865) (La Paz–Cochabamba, 1974 [1865]), pp. 83-85) or Mateo Salado (J.C. Tello, Arqueología del Valle de Lima (Lima, 1999), p. 102; Zela, Arte y Arqueología en Mateo Salado) without providing convincing evidence for their claims. Eeckhout, “Le temple de Pachacamac sous l’Empire inca”; Eeckhout, “Reyes del Sol y Señores de la Luna”; P. Eeckhout, “Imperial Strategies in a Regional Context: Chimus and

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Figure 2.9 Map of the monumental site of Pachacamac Source: Photograph courtesy of the author

the exact modalities of conquest, what stands out in these stories is the symbolic and religious importance of the cult of the creator and oracular god Ychsma, whose shrine was in the most restricted part of the settlement, what is now known as the Sacred Precinct (Fig. 2.10). The Incas, specifically Topa Inca Yupanqui and his lineage (c.1471-1493) profoundly transformed the site from Incas at Pachacamac”, in P. Eeckhout and G. Le Fort (eds.), Wars and Conflicts in Prehispanic Mesoamerica and the Andes (Oxford, 2005), pp. 110-27; López-Hurtado, “Ideology and the Development of Social Power at the Site of Panquilma”; López-Hurtado and Nesbitt, “Provincial Religious Centers in the Inka Empire”.

Before Lima

Figure 2.10

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3-D reconstruction of the Sacred Precinct at Pachacamac, with the Sun Temple at above right Source: Photograph courtesy of the author

1475 onward, changing it completely, from its name to its very design.78 The new name chosen by the Incas – Pachacamac, “the Creator of the Universe” – is an indication of the aspect of most interest to the site’s new masters, that is religion and cult.79 Indeed, during the reign of Topa Inca Yupanqui and his successors, Pachacamac became one of the most important pilgrimage centers in the empire, and the oracular god was included in the highest level of the imperial pantheon.80 The new monumental structures added under Inca occupation attest to the symbolic role given to the site. For example, the Inca built an imposing Temple of the Sun, which housed a shrine for the Inca sun diety known as Inti and another new temple for the local deity Pachacamac.81 This temple was probably built above an earlier building. It adopts a stepped-terrace design and is constructed of adobes, typical traits of Inca vernacular architecture. We also observe large niches in the Inca style on the main facade 78

79 80 81

T. Patterson, “Pachacamac, An Andean Oracle Under Inca Rule”, in P. Kvietok and D. Sandweiss (eds.), Recent Studies in Andean Prehistory and Protohistory, Papers from the Second Annual Northeast Conference on Andean Archaeology and Ethnhohistory (Ithaca, 1983), pp. 159-76. H. Santillán, “Relación del orígen, descendencia, politica y gobierno de los Incas”, in Tres Relaciones de Antigüedades Peruanas (Madrid, 1879 [1563]), pp. 32-33. Pachacamac was considered by the Incas to be one of the ends of the world, like the Island of the Sun in Lake Titicaca (B. Bauer and C. Stanish, Ritual and Pilgrimage in the Ancient Andes, The Islands of the Sun and the Moon, [Austin, 2001]). Eeckhout, “Le temple de Pachacamac sous l’Empire inca”.

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Figure 2.11

Southeast terraces of the Temple of the Sun, Pachacamac Source: Photograph courtesy of the author

looking toward the sea. The Temple of the Sun also featured large Inca-style niches on the main façade facing towards the sea (Fig. 2.11). This mixture can be explained in both pragmatic terms (the direct use of local methods and labor force) and in symbolic ones where Inca domination was represented using architectural forms traditionally associated with local worship. 3

Regional Economy and Material Culture

Economic growth and its concomitant production of material culture in the pre-hispanic Rímac-Lurín area has only recently been subject to scholarly investigation. The Inca established displaced labor colonies in response to military and logistical demands.82 Research on the role of storage facilities (in particular Building E8) at Pachacamac in the northern portion of the site demonstrates the specificity of Inca logistical strategy in the coastal region 82

Frame et al., “Un fardo funerario del Horizónte Tardío del sitio Rinconada Alta”; K. Makowski, “Arquitectura, Estilo e Identidad en el Horizonte Tardío: El Sitio de Pueblo Viejo-Pucará, Valle de Lurín”, Boletín de Arqueología PUCP 6 (2002), 136-70.; Cornejo, “Pacha­camac y el canal de Guatca en el bajo Rímac”; Eeckhout, “Poder y jerarquias Ychsma en el Valle de Lurín”; Espinoza, Arqueología de Lima.

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reflected in an increased storage capacity under the Incas (Fig. 2.9).83 The Incas gathered at Pachacamac in greater numbers than previous occupants placing larger demands on resources than earlier Ychsma users. Over time, the site’s permanent population grew as imported laborers arrived from other parts of the empire and as local groups fulfilled their required labor tax at Pachacamac. A satellite labor colony dedicated to fishing called Quilcay was established near the site in the Late Horizon.84 The Incas’ requirements in terms of tribute were higher than previously demanded by local leadership and augmented the traditional duties of local populations. Jane Feltham’s study of cloth tribute at the site during the Late Horizon explores the demands of Inca labor and tribute exacted in the area through analysis of textile production at the site; Feltham demonstrates a clear link between economic demands and material culture production from textiles excavated at Pachacamac.85 She suggests that this tribute was burdensome for common people, who were forced to economize when making their own clothes. Tribute cloth produced in the region was made following standards set by the Incas that were more time-consuming than local methods of production. She argues that textile workers developed faster manufacturing techniques in order to accommodate increased demands from their Inca overlords. Furthermore, prestigious cloth in the Inca style was woven by women serving the Inca Empire at Pachacamac in specialized workshops under close supervision (Fig. 2.10).86 Inca overlords also initiated building projects in the Rímac-Lurín area. The Incas typically built their own administrative and management facilities at new settlements, but in this case they adapted architectural sites to reconcile local and imperial demands. At Pachacamac, they used traditional building techniques and architectural design in the construction of specific management facilities. Logistical support structures were separated from elite residences. In this respect, Inca building practices differed significantly from their Ychsma predecessors who included storage areas in the precinct of elite PWR structures. Inca facilities also demonstrate comprehensive site management with tight control of regional resources to support the ceremonial aspects of 83 84 85 86

P. Eeckhout, “Inca Storage and Accounting Facilities at Pachacamac”, Andean Past 10 (2012), 212-38; P. Eeckhout and M. Luján Dávila, “Un complejo de almacenamiento del período inca en Pachacamac”, Revista Studium 17 (2013), 227-86. Eeckhout, Pachacamac durant l’Intermédiaire récent, p. 403. J.P. Feltham, “Nuevos datos sobre los tejidos de Pachacamac: urdimbres pareadas del Horizónte Tardío”, in V. Solanilla Demestre (ed.), Actas de las III Jornadas Internacionales sobre textiles precolombinos (Barcelona, 2006), pp. 261-80. A. Tiballi, “Imperial Subjectivities, Archaeological Materials from the Cemetery of the Sacrificed Women, Pachacamac, Peru” (PhD dissertation, New York University, 2010).

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the site, as suggested by Pizarro in the conquest period: “en todos los llanos y mas alla no tributan al Cuzco sino a la mezquita [all over the lowlands and beyond they did not pay their tribute to Cuzco but to the local temple].”87 Ethnohistorical sources indicate that storage designated to support the state cult may have been considered separate from storage related to other state functions which explains why storage capacities at the site increased yet remained modest throughout Inca occupation of the area.88 In this sense, Pachacamac cannot be considered a state settlement like the tambos [Inca regional storehouses], used to supply transient imperial groups in places as dispersed as Huanuco Pampa, Hatun Xauxa, or Pumpu where the storage capacity was five to ten times larger than that of Pachacamac. The latter seems aimed primarily at religious (especially pilgrimage) and administrative functions (as in the palace of Tauri Chumpi). Furthermore, Building E8 may have played a hybrid role as both a tool for local management and as a tambo for Inca officials in transit. Logistical structures were dedicated to imperial management at a local level correspond to what Snead classified as “Storage at Secondary State Facilities.”89 Building E8 shows characteristics of a gran tampu [storage facility with a large capacity] comparable to the sites of Tambo Colorado in the southern Pisco valley or Quebrada de la Vaca in Chala. The Incas invested more in cult facilities than in large-scale storage facilities for two reasons. First, the Ychsma region consisted of a hierarchical and well-developed network of sites equipped for the management and control of the chiefdom’s resources.90 There was no need for the Incas to build more infrastructure where they could simply take advantage of what existed. This context was not the same in the highlands where they established sizable sites like Pumpu, Hatun Xauxa, or Huanuco Pampa, which processed surplus crops coming from highly-productive regions.91 Second, the population of the Ychsma chiefdom was not so large, nor its production surplus so impressive as to justify a massive deployment of resources to construct hundreds of storage rooms and facilities for managing them.92 87 88 89 90 91 92

H. Pizarro, “A Letter of Hernando Pizarro to the Royal Audience of Santo Domingo, November 1533”, in C. Markham (ed.), Reports on the Discovery of Peru, III (London, 1872 [1533]), p. 123. James E. Snead, “Imperial Infrastructure and the Inka Storage System”, in T. LeVine (ed.), Inka Storage Systems (Norman, 1992), p. 72. Snead, “Imperial Infrastructure and the Inka Storage System”, p. 69. Eeckhout, “Poder y jerarquias Ychsma en el Valle de Lurín”. Snead, “Imperial Infrastructure and the Inka Storage System”. Eeckhout, “Monuments, temps et pouvoir, Force de travail et structure de l’autorité à Pachacamac”; Feltham, “The Lurín Valley, Peru”, pp. 354-60. To this can be added the general comments of Snead (“Imperial Infrastructure”, pp. 82-86) regarding the “Sierra-Costa dichotomy” in state storage politics. Indeed, within the sample of 71 sites he investigated,

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Figure 2.12 Late Horizon blackware painted bowl from ­Pachacamac Source: ­P hotograph courtesy of the author

Figure 2.13 Inca textile from Building B15, Pachacamac Source: Photograph courtesy of the author

Ychsma material culture is also manifest in developed ceramics traditions, which continued to be produced under the Incas with some innovations. Late Horizon Ychsma ceramic production goes by the name of Late Ychsma B.93 It is well known that after their conquest of the valley, the Incas brought Chimu

93

the total number of Incas qollqas on the coast represents no more than 3 per cent of all qollqas in the empire. Following Snead, I think this reflects indirect control of the state in the regions whose degree of social integration was already high, and where the type of social labor force management was different, therefore explaining the relatively low amount of pre-Inca coastal storage rooms. J. Feltham and P. Eeckhout, “Hacia una definición del estilo Ychsma: aportes preliminares sobre la ceramic tardía de la pirámide III de Pachacamac”, in P. Eeckhout (ed.), Arqueologỉa de la Costa Central del Perú en los Periodos Tardios (special volume of Boletín del IFEA 33.3) (Lima and Paris, 2004), pp. 643-64.

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potters from northern coastal Peru to Pachacamac in order to improve the local production of ceramics. Blackware ceramic production increased during the Late Horizon and resulted in new forms known as Inca-Chimu style and Pachacamac-Inca blackware.94 Additionally, local Late Horizon polished black bowls were decorated with incisions painted in black, white, red, and yellow after firing (Fig. 2.12). Ornamental modeled birds or toads were sometimes placed around the edges of the bowls in a fusion of north coast and local ornamental strategies. Besides the production of textiles for common mit’a which has already been alluded to, prestige cloth in the Inca style was also woven, probably by the acllas at Pachacamac (Figure 2.13). What emerges from this review is the contrast between the relative discretion of the Incas in most settlements and the major reorganization they oversaw at the large site of Pachacamac. The Incas began by formalizing access to the sacred precinct, through the construction of corridors and passages that obligated visitors to pass into the pilgrims’ plaza, the endpoint of the famous pilgrimage to the site’s oracle. The Incas also boosted the visual impact of the site by investing heavily in monumental architecture from new construction to the enlargement of existing structures. The Incas eroded the indigenous power base at Pachacamac by replacing the site’s paramount leaders, redefining kingroup territories in the valley, and introducing labor colonies such as the Quilcaycuna.95 They were pragmatic and not above hijacking local architectural forms symbolic of power and authority (PWR structures, for example) when it suited them at Pachacamac, and in the Rímac and Lurín valleys.96 In addition to physically remodeling the site, the Incas socially transformed public perception of the ritual center. They went to great lengths to sanctify the cult of the oracle and the temple access routes, and reconfigured the site for the specific purposes of mass pilgrimage. Most of the second precinct was given over to the pilgrims; the lack of internal structuring in this area suggests that they were free to occupy it as they wished.97 94 95 96

97

D. Menzel, Pottery Style and Society in Ancient Peru, Art as a Mirror of History in the Ica Valley, 1350-1570 (Berkeley, 1976), p. 122. Eeckhout, “Monuments, temps et pouvoir, Force de travail et structure de l’autorité à Pachacamac”. Casas and Dolorier, “Una pirámide con rampa en el Olivar de San Isido”; Eeckhout, “Inca Storage and Accounting Facilities at Pachacamac”; Díaz and Vallejo Berríos, “Identificación de contextos Ichma en Armatambo”; Lopez-Hurtado, “Ideology and the Development of Social Power”; L. Villacorta, “Los palacios en la Costa central durante los períodos Tardíos: de Pachacamac al Inca”, in P. Eeckhout (ed.), Arqueologỉa de la Costa Central del Perú en los Periodos Tardios (special volume of Boletín del IFEA 33.3) (Lima and Paris, 2004), pp. 539-71. P. Eeckhout, “Las pirámides con rampa de Pachacamac durante el Horizónte Tardío”, in R. Romero Velarde and T. Pavel Svendsen (eds.), Arqueologia en el Perú, Nuevos aportes para

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Figure 2.14

Scattered objects on the floors of Building B15, Pachacamac Source: Photograph courtesy of the author

This is the situation as it was first seen by Spanish conquistadores in 1533.98 When Hernando Pizarro arrived in the region at the end of January of that year, his hopes were commensurate with the journey he had just undertaken. Sent from Cajamarca by his brother the conquistador Francisco Pizarro, some three weeks earlier, he crossed Peru’s central coast in search of the gold and wealth of the great ceremonial center, Pachacamac. The Spaniards stayed about a month in the settlement, looting temples, houses, and cemeteries.99 After the Spanish conquest of the region, the site was abandoned and its inhabitants moved to the Rímac valley where they participated in building the new colonial capital established as Lima, Ciudad de los Reyes.100 During this

98 99 100

el estudio de las sociedades andinas prehispánicas (Lima, 2010), pp. 415-34. Rostworowski de Díez Canseco, M., Pachacamac y el Senor de los Milagros, Una Trayectoria Milenaria (Lima, 1992). M. de Estete, “Relación de la Conquista del Perú”, in Historia de los Incas y Conquista del Perú, Coleccion de Libros y Documentos Referentes a la Historia del Peru (Lima, 1924 [1533]), vol. 8.2ª, p. 40. Cobo, Historia del Nuevo Mundo.

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Figure 2.15

Restored Inca-Chimu vessel from Building B15, Pachacamac Source: Photograph courtesy of the author

traumatic period, local cults were banned and their priests were jailed and burned as heretics under Spanish Catholic rule.101 A recent discovery demonstrates how extraordinary this abrupt transition was in the Rímac and Lurín valleys. In 2014, a series of polychrome wall paintings was discovered at Pachacamac. The paintings were discovered during an investigation of Structure B15, a small adobe building that had not been explored previously by archaeologists. Offerings scattered across the rooms and corridors of Structure B15 included extremely diverse objects from across the Andean region: parrot feather adornments and seeds from the Amazon; black stones from the highlands, chosen for their unusual shapes; unmodified and sculpted shells from the Equatorial region; ornate cups inlaid with mother-ofpearl in the style of the Northern Coast, metals, and Inca state ceramics (Figs. 2.14-2.16). This rich cache attests to the scale of long-distance pilgrimage when Pachacamac was occupied by the Inca. The offerings may have been placed within and around the structure at the moment of its ritual abandonment fol101

P. Duviols, La lutte contre les religions autochtones dans le Pérou colonial, “L’extirpation de l’idôlatrie” entre 1532 et 1560 (Lima, 1971).

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Figure 2.16 Restored local Inca drinking cup from Building B15, Pachacamac Source: Photograph courtesy of the author

lowing the Spanish invasion of the site. Indeed, with the exception of the stones, all the objects have been deliberately destroyed, torn, damaged and dismantled, with their fragments scattered throughout the rooms and corridors. Thus, the abandonment ceremony of Building B15 must be understood not only as a simple discarding of objects and destructurion of a building that could no longer be used, but as a real death, followed by the burial of a series of entities that were active at a supernatural and sacred level. The irreversible nature of the operation and the specific context in which it took place – the chaotic time of conquest – poignantly recalls the process by which a new order was established with no room for ancient cults and traditions.

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Costa Central del Perú en los Periodos Tardios (Special volume of Boletín del IFEA 33.3) (Lima and Paris, 2004), pp. 815-60. Gavazzi, A., Lima, Memoria prehispánica de la traza urbana (Lima, 2014). Guerrero Zevallos, D., “Cronología cerámica y patrones funerarios del valle del Rímac: una aproximación a los periodos tardíos”, in L.F. Villacorta (ed.), Puruchuco y la Sociedad de Lima: Un homenaje a Arturo Jiménez Borja (Lima, 2004), pp. 157-78. Guffroy, J., “Recherches archéologiques dans la moyenne vallée du Chillon”, Bulletin de L’Institut Français d’Etudes Andines 6.3-4 (1977), pp. 25-62. Guillén, M., “Descubrimientos arqueológicos en Huaca Huantile, valle bajo del Rímac, durante el período Intermedio Tardío”, Arqueología y Sociedad 24 (2012), 371-92. Hyslop, J., and E. Mujica, “Investigaciones de A.F. Bandelier en Armatambo (Surco) en 1892”, Gaceta Arqueologica Andina 22 (1992), 63-86. Jiménez Borja, A., Puruchuco (Lima, 1973). La Torre, F., and C. Caja, El Qhapaq Ñan en la ruta del Chinchaysuyu entre Xauxa y Pachacamac (Lima, 2005). López Hurtado, E., “Ideology and the Development of Social Power at the Site of Pan­ quilma, Peruvian Central Coast” (PhD dissertation, Pennsylvania State Uni­versity, 2011). López-Hurtado, E., and J. Nesbitt, “Provincial Religious Centers in the Inka Empire: Propagators of Official Ideology or Spaces for Local Resistance?”, in R. Cutright, E. López-Hurtado, and A. Martin (eds.), Comparative Perspectives on the Archaeology of Coastal South America (University of Pittsburgh Memoirs in Latin American Archaeology) (Pittsburgh and Lima, 2010), pp. 213-30. Mackey, C., “Elite Residences at Farfán, A Comparison of the Chimú and Inka Occu­ pations”, J.J. Christie and P.J. Sarro (eds.), Palaces and Power in the Americas From Peru to the Northwest Coast (Austin, 2006), pp. 313-52. Makowski, K., “Arquitectura, Estilo e Identidad en el Horizonte Tardío: El Sitio de Pueblo Viejo-Pucará, Valle de Lurín”, Boletín de Arqueología PUCP 6 (2002), 136-70. Marcone, G., and López-Hurtado, E., “Dual Strategies of the Rural Elites: Exploring the Intersection of Regional and Local Transformations in the Lurín Valley, Peru”, Latin American Antiquity 26.3 (2015), 401-20. Matos Mar, J., El Valle de Lurín y el pueblo de Pachacamac: cambios sociales y culturales (Lima, 1964). Menzel, D., “The Inca Occupation of the South Coast of Peru” Southwestern Journal of Anthropology 15 (1959), pp. 125-42. Menzel, D., Pottery Style and Society in Ancient Peru, Art as a Mirror of History in the Ica Valley, 1350-1570 (Berkeley, 1976). Morris, C., “Inka strategies of incorporation and Governance”, in G. Feinman and J. Marcus (eds.), Archaic States (Santa Fe, 1998), pp. 293-310. Narváez Luna, J.J., Sociedades de la Antigua Ciudad de Cajamarquilla (Lima, 2006).

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Netherly, P.J., “Out of Many, One: The Organization of Rule in the North Coast Polities”, in M.E. Moseley and A. Cordy-Collins (eds.), The Northern Dynasties, Kingship and Statecraft in Chimor (Washington DC, 1990), pp. 461-88. Pärssinen, M., Tawantinsuyu, El estado inca y su organización política (Lima, 2003). Patterson, T., “Pachacamac, An Andean Oracle Under Inca Rule”, in P. Kvietok and D. Sandweiss (eds.), Recent Studies in Andean Prehistory and Protohistory, Papers from the Second Annual Northeast Conference on Andean Archaeology and Ethno­ history (Ithaca, 1983), pp. 159-76. Ramos de Cox, J., “Informe Preliminar sobre le Proyecto de Arqueología y Computación del material del Complejo Pando”, Boletín del Seminario de Arqueología del Instituto Riva Agüero-PUCP 15-16 (1974-75), 7-12. Ravines, R., Inventario de Monumentos Arqueologicos del Peru, Lima Metropolitana (Primera Approximacion) (Lima, 1985). Raymondi Cárdenas, A., and L. Mejía Araguren, “Ocupaciones prehispánicas tardías en el valle bajo del Chillón: una aproximación desde la Huaca Pro”, Arqueología y Sociedad 28 (2014), 9-42. Rostworowski de Díez Canseco, M., Senorios Indigenos de Lima y Canta (Lima, 1978). Rostworowski de Díez Canseco, M., Costa Peruana Prehispánica (Lima, 1989). Rostworowski de Díez Canseco, M., Pachacamac y el Senor de los Milagros, Una Trayectoria Milenaria (Lima, 1992). Rostworowski de Díez Canseco, M., El Señorio de Pachacamac, El informe de Rodrigo Cantos de Andrade de 1573 (Lima, 1999). Rowe, J.H., “Inca Culture at the time of the Spanish Conquest”, in J. Steward (ed.), Handbook of South American Indians (Washington DC, 1946), vol. 2, pp. 183-330. Shady Sólis, R., and J.J. Narváez Luna, Historia Prehispánica de Lima: Arqueología de la Huaca San Marcos (Lima, 2000). Snead, James E., “Imperial Infrastructure and the Inka Storage System”, in T. LeVine (ed.), Inka Storage Systems (Norman, 1992), pp. 62-106. Squier, G., Un Viaje por Tierras Incaicas, Cronica de una Expedicion Arqueologica (18631865) (La Paz–Cochabamba, 1974 [1865]). Tabio, E., Excavaciones en la costa central del Perú (Havana, 1965). Tello, J.C., Arqueología del Valle de Lima (Lima, 1999). Tiballi, A., “Imperial Subjectivities, Archaeological Materials from the Cemetery of the Sacrificed Women, Pachacamac, Peru” (PhD dissertation, New York University, 2010). Uhle, M., Pachacamac, Report of the William Pepper, M.D., LL.D. Peruvian Expedition of 1896 (Philadelphia, 1903). Urton, G., and C. Brezine, “Information Control in the Palace of Puruchuco: An Account­ing Hierarchy in a Khipu Archive from Coastal Peru”, in R. Burger, C. Morris,

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and R. Matos Mendieta (eds.), Variations in the Expressions of Inka Power (Washing­ ton DC, 2007), pp. 347-86. Vallejo, F., “El Estílo Ychsma: características generales, secuencia y distribución geográfica”, in P. Eeckhout (ed.), Arqueologỉa de la Costa Central del Perú en los Periodos Tardios (Special volume of Boletín del IFEA 33.3) (Lima and Paris, 2004), pp. 595642. Vallejo, F., “Desarollo y complejización de las sociedades tardías de la Costa Centra: el caso de Ychsma”, Arqueología y Sociedad 19 (2008), 83-114. Villacorta, L., “Los palacios en la Costa central durante los períodos Tardíos: de Pachacamac al Inca”, in P. Eeckhout (ed.), Arqueologỉa de la Costa Central del Perú en los Periodos Tardios (special volume of Boletín del IFEA 33.3) (Lima and Paris, 2004), pp. 539-71.Villacorta, L., Puruchuco y la Sociedad de Lima: Un homenaje a Arturo Jiménez Borja (Lima, 2004). Villacorta, L.F., Huaca Huantinamarca, Arqueología y transformación urbana en la Lima del siglo XXI (Lima, 2011). Vivar Anaya, J., Restos Humanos de Huacas Pando (Lima, 1996). Watanabe, S., “El Reino de Cuismacu; orígen y transformación en el Tahuantinsuyu”, Boletín de Arqueología PUCP 6 (2002), 107-36. Yarushka, H., “El Complejo arqueológico monumental de Mateo Salado y su relación con el proyecto circuito turístico nocturno de Lima”, Logos 4.1 (2014), 1-16. Zela, V., Arte y Arqueología en Mateo Salado (Lima, 2012).

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Chapter 3

Taxation, Obligation, and Corporate Identity in 16th-Century Lima  Karen B. Graubart Lima was founded in 1535 by Francisco Pizarro, who would be Peru’s first governor, and its initial vecinos [citizens with political privileges and obligations] were a group of conquistadores who had requested the move from less hospitable settlements. The conquistador-vecinos [conquerors-citizens] of Jauja and San Gallán were invited to move to the new site to receive solares [residential plots of land] and become its constituent governing members.1 Because the terms of Jauja’s cabildo [town council] members had expired during the move, Pizarro chose from among the vecinos to appoint Lima’s first municipal government. For a few years after, he shared appointment power with the sitting cabildo members and the Crown; eventually the governor’s role was taken over by a royal official. The cabildo was charged with promoting the bien y pro [public good] of the Spanish urban center, or republic.2 The founders of these republics formed a community with roughly equal rights and obligations, required to populate permanent residences and defend the settlement, and they received important tax benefits for their initial period of citizenship as well as access to the commons and other shared resources.3 After the founding, however, new citizens were made through two very different mechanisms: the Crown appointed encomendero-vecinos [labor-grantholding citizens], who were required to establish residence in the city closest to their encomienda [a tribute granting institution in the Iberoamerican world by which Spanish individuals were imbued with authority over indigenous groups]; and the cabildo acted on petitions from non-grantees who wished to receive a solar and the status of vecino.4 Many more men and women joined 1 See the foundational act of 18 January 1535, transcribed in B. Cobo, “Historia de la fundación de Lima”, in Monografías históricas sobre la ciudad de Lima (Lima, 1935 [1639]), pp. 18-20. 2 The political language of república, bien, and común is used throughout most mandates; for an example see Viceroy Toledo’s ordinances for the city of Cuzco (F. de Toledo, Disposiciones gubernativas para el virreinato del Perú, ed. M.J. Sarabia Viejo [Seville 1986], p. 166). 3 J. Moore, The Cabildo in Peru Under the Hapsburgs. A Study in the Origins and Powers of the Town Council in the Viceroyalty of Peru 1530-1700 (Durham, 1954), p. 50. 4 On the changing definition of vecino in the 16th century, see T. Herzog, Defining Nations. Immigrants and Citizens in Early Modern Spain and Spanish America (New Haven, 2003), pp. 17-

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2019 | doi:10.1163/9789004335363_005

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the settlement, as dependents within vecino households, or as temporary or permanent immigrants without residential property or political status (known as residentes or moradores). Not all elites were vecinos of the city. The status was not extended to Spaniards holding important political positions who did not intend to be permanent residents, for example, or indigenous elites who lived in Lima but maintained their affiliation in the community they governed. But vecinos, as members of the cabildo, had the power to craft municipal policies. Pizarro had received the site under ambiguous terms from Taulichusco, the cacique of the regional Ychsma polity.5 Pizarro laid out his grid in conformation with the footprint of existing structures including an administrative center that became the Spanish plaza.6 It was set to the south of the Rímac River, which descended from the Andes into the valley and fed into the Pacific Ocean. Acequias [man-made irrigation channels] diverted the river in places to draw water to indigenous settlements. Pizarro placed public buildings and residential solares strategically to assure access to water, lumber, roads and other resources, but also to indicate hierarchy and status within the nascent community. During the decade after the founding, Pizarro and the cabildo assigned spaces, utilizing temples, administrative and ritual spaces for new functions from the governor’s residence and cabildo offices to churches and hospitals. Each encomendero received a solar for his residence, and in 1538 each was given a second site to house indigenous laborers who came to the city on temporary work rotations. The settlement rapidly expanded beyond the initial 13×9 block grid. Recipients of solares were overwhelmingly of Spanish descent, although there was no explicit requirement for citizenship: don Martín, an indigenous translator, received one of the early grants.7 The cabildo continued to distribute them to settlers, including some with fairly menial occupations considered 42. Encomienda was a royal grant, usually in recognition of military service, that entitled the recipient to receive commodities, income, and/or services from members of a particular indigenous political unit. 5 The three river valleys of the central coast had two main indigenous governing groups, Taulichusco’s Ychsma and that of Collique to the north. Taulichusco may have believed he was renting the lands to Pizarro; in any case, his son later sued for more compensation (Rostworowski, M., Señoríos indígenas de Lima y Canta [Lima, 1978]). 6 Morgado, P., “Un palimpsesto urbano, Del asiento indígena de Lima a la ciudad española de Los Reyes” (PhD dissertation, Universidad de Sevilla 2007), p. 207. 7 E. Saldemando (ed.), Libro primero de cabildos de Lima (Paris, 1888), vol. 2, p. 418. In less central cities, indigenous and African-descent men occasionally did receive vecino status and solares: K. Graubart, “The Creolization of the New World: Local Forms of Identification in Urban Colonial Peru, 1560-1640”, Hispanic American Historical Review 89.3 (2009), 480).

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necessary to the establishment of the city: the petitions of a barbero [barbersurgeon] and a carpenter were approved in 1535.8 But as Lima’s importance as an administrative center, and then viceregal capital, grew and available land became scarce, the Crown’s role in creating new citizens predominated over the cabildo’s granting of formal petitions. This made citizenship more exclusive, and especially marginalized non-Europeans, who sought other ways to claim status but were largely excluded from an active role on the cabildo. In this regard Lima was an outlier, as many smaller cities recognized nearly all permanent settlers as vecinos.9 But the cabildo found itself in the position of requiring those who were excluded from power to carry out its mandates. That struggle colored their attempts to collect taxes, organize labor, and turn the city into a site that promoted the health and well-being of its residents. The cabildo’s mission was tied to the Crown’s policy of using urban spaces to promote policía, a term that encapsulated the values of civility gained from living in an orderly and Christian manner, which underlay the justification for colonization.10 The physical ordering of the city was recognized as a task of fundamental importance. As Fernando II of Aragon had ordered in 1513, regarding the foundation of the town of Natá [Panama], solares had to be “distributed according to the person’s calidad [status] and should be begun in that order, so that once the solares are distributed, the town appears orderly”.11 Felipe II would argue sixty years later in his own ordinances on new settlements that a city needed to be beautiful and well-ordered, placed to maximize physical health, and should impart a sense of wonder and permanence on

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10

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B.T. Lee, S. Bromley, and E. Harth-Terré (eds.), Libros de Cabildos de Lima (Lima, 1935), vol. 1, p. 43. This contrasted with Spain, where menial laborers were often vecinos of cities and towns and were recognized as important contributors to the common good: R. Mackay, “Lazy, Improvident People:” Myth and Reality in the Writing of Spanish History (Ithaca, 2006), pp. 46-49. Herzog, Defining Nations, p. 48. Indigenous and African-descent men and women claimed to be vecinos in 16th-century New Granada and Trujillo (Peru), though it is not clear that any ever sat on a cabildo: Graubart, “The Creolization of the New World”; Max Deardorff, personal communication. R. Kagan, Urban Images of the Hispanic World, 1493-1793 (New Haven, 2000), pp. 26-28; J. Mumford, Vertical Empire: The General Resettlement of Indians in the Colonial Andes (Durham, 2012), p. 45; D. Nemser, “Primitive Accumulation, Geometric Space, and the Construction of the ‘Indian’”, Journal of Latin American Cultural Studies 24.3 (2015), 335-52. E. Tejeira Davis, “Pedrarias Dávila y sus fundaciones en Tierra Firme, 1513-1522”, Anales del Instituto de Investigaciones Estéticas 69 (1996), 44-45. All translations in this chapter are by the author, unless otherwise stated.

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those who enter it.12 As Covarrubias stated in his 1611 dictionary, policia was a synonym for res publica, or the commonwealth.13 The cabildo was to guide policía within the urban population, the majority of whom proved not to be of Spanish heritage and thus in even greater need of instruction. Architecture, urban planning, governance, and order would create peace, well-being, physical health, and prosperity.14 While royal and ecclesiastic authorities recognized that even Christians were easily led down the wrong path, they theorized non-Europeans as having not only inferior cultures but also temperaments that might draw them inevitably towards poor behavior.15 While there was debate around the particular contours of their cultures and personalities, as well as about their ultimate perfectability under Christian rule, Spanish authorities deemed Indians and Africans in need of exceptional discipline and oversight. Outside the city, policía was created through reducciones [resettlement programs], a massive policy to relocate dispersed indigenous polities into centralized, self-governed towns or republics, under the tutelage of ecclesiastic and royal officials. While Indians were recognized as free vassals (and thus tributaries to their monarch) and Africans, having arrived through coercive enslavement, were not, both slavery and encomienda emerged as institutions that claimed to place barbarous men and women in orderly units under good Christian role models and priests, and subject to work discipline. Lima’s cabildo promoted the commonwealth by debating and producing municipal ordinances. Among the cabildo’s greatest concerns in the second half of the 16th century were ensuring the city’s access to food, water, and ­other resources, regulating commerce, maintaining sanitation and public health, and securing public order.16 It used the Rímac river as a natural boundary against unwholesome elements, placing the city’s leper hospital, the barracks 12 13 14 15 16

Z. Nuttall, “Royal Ordinances Concerning the Laying Out of New Towns”, Hispanic American Historical Review 5.2 (1922), 249-54; A. Osorio, Inventing Lima: Baroque Modernity in Peru’s South Sea Metropolis (New York, 2008), p. 33. S. Covarrubias Horozco, Tesoro de la lengua castellana o española, ed. Ignacio Arellano y Rafael Zafra (Navarre, 2006 [c.1611]), p. 1369. Fraser, The Architecture of Conquest, chapter 1. On theories of race, environment, and behavior in the early modern Iberian world, see N. Wey Gómez, The Tropics of Empire: Why Columbus Sailed South to the Indies (Cambridge, 2008). Public health was one of the cabildo’s most pressing concerns (K. Kole de Peralta, “The Nature of Colonial Bodies: Public Health in Lima, Peru, 1535-1635” [PhD dissertation, University of Notre Dame, 2015]); R. Rivasplata, “Salud público impulsada por el Cabildo de Lima durante la Colonia”, Anuario Colombiano de Historia Social y de la Cultura 41.1 (2014), 239-73).

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for quarantined slaves, the butcher yards and tanneries on its northern bank, thus informally connecting to the region’s indigenous pueblos and agricultural spaces. While the cabildo had no jurisdiction over those Indian towns, it did monitor and regulate the provision of indigenous labor to the city, the movement of Lima’s Spaniards and Africans into the countryside, the maintenance of roads and way stations linking city and countryside, and access to water for Spanish renters and owners of property outside the city. Its efforts to do so were often frustrated because of an inability to produce accountable and legitimate lines of control between the communities and Spanish authorities. But the tenure of Viceroy Francisco de Toledo (r. 1569-1581) marked an important turning point, as he formalized reducciones for rural indigenous communities, placing Spanish governance within closer reach. Lima’s cabildo drew upon Indian town governance for its own negotiations over resources, money, and labor, but it lacked similar institutions to harness the work of its internal indigenous and African populations. The Spanish republic in Lima, ironically, required Indian and African republics in order to carry out its plan for a commonwealth. 1

Policía in the Pueblos de Indios

The city was surrounded by indigenous cacicazgos [polities headed by an indigenous cacique] recognized by the Crown as self-governed units to delegate responsibility for rule (including tribute collection and labor allocation) away from encomenderos and cabildos, whom the Crown feared would become powerful and tyrannical.17 The original inhabitants in 1535 were relocated to two sites to the west of the Spanish grid. These settlements, like the other cacicazgos that inhabited the Rímac valley, were, in the 1560s and 1570s, were reduced as pueblos de indios [indigenous towns] under Governor Lope García de Castro and, later, Viceroy Toledo. Their transformation required physical changes intended to promote policía: they became nucleated settlements, placed on a grid with a central plaza, church, and institutional buildings at their core. As the Franciscan Toribio de Benavente “Motilinía” put it in 1550, “[being moved] would be of no small benefit to their evangelization and policia humana since in their current state they live more like savages than men, and we know of no other way they might be taught and informed of the things 17

The policy developed out of a similar strategy in Spain for constraining the power of nobles by chartering towns (H. Nader, Liberty in Absolutist Spain: The Habsburg Sale of Towns, 1516-1700 [Baltimore, 1990]).

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Figure 3.1 Juan de Matienzo’s design for towns to be established in the Viceroyalty of Peru From Juan de Matienzo, Gobierno del Perú [1567] Source: Reprinted with permission of Obadiah Rich Collection, Manuscripts and Archives Division, The New York Public Library, Astor, Lenox, and Tilden Foundations

of God.”18 By the middle of the 16th century, the many pre-hispanic cacicazgos of the Rímac valley became six colonial pueblos de indios: Magdalena, Surco, Late, Lurigancho, Carabayllo, and Pachacamac.19 These were measured and counted so that tribute rates could be established, and laid out in imitation of Spanish towns, though the particular internal organization was left to the discretion of indigenous officials. The template for designing the pueblo in the Andes was set out in 1567 by Juan de Matienzo, president of the Audiencia of Charcas, in a document recommending juridical reforms to the viceroy (Fig. 3.1). His design for the layout of the new towns reflected a belief in the forces that would shape Indian citizens: the central plaza would be bounded by a Catholic church, a house for its priest, a hospital, a site for the Spanish corregidor de indios [royal magistrate] and for the tucurico [manager of labor], and an Indian cabildo, made up of men of policía rather than the tyrannical caciques who currently governed them. The native nobility, because they were natural lords, would not be 18 19

Quoted in Nemser, “Primitive Accumulation”, p. 337. On the relationship between colonization and civilization, see A. Pagden, The Fall of Natural Man: The American Indian and the Origins of Comparative Ethnology (Cambridge, 1987). Rostworowski, Señoríos indígenas de Lima y Canta, ch. 2; P.Charney, Indian Society in the Valley of Lima, Peru, 1532-1824 (Lanham, 2001).

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ousted but sidelined to collect tribute, to “be lazy, and drink, and tell stories,” and “govern in general but not command in particular”.20 That command would be carried out by the new Christian, literate, and hispanized elected leadership. Each pueblo de indios elected its own leadership to its cabildo, men often chosen from among caciques and other elites despite laws to the contrary.21 They would exercise limited jurisdiction over the town’s subjects, using their customary law insofar as it did not conflict with ecclesiastical or royal law, and reserving serious crimes to the jurisdiction of Spanish authorities.22 The line between those jurisdictions was confused and porous, in part because Spaniards often considered their interests to extend into indigenous realms. In 1565 the Crown created the office of corregidor de indios as a corrective, to protect indigenous towns from interventions by Spanish agents. He mainly managed relations between Spanish citizens, the city, and the repúblicas de indios.23 The corregidor theoretically adjudicated claims which fell between the legal repúblicas, as when Indians were placed as apprentices with Spanish masters, or Indian landholders rented property to Spanish tenants. In the pueblos de indios, indigenous governance continued to have valence, although it was subordinated to law established by the church and royal authorities, and had to accommodate relationships with Spanish individuals.24 This bifurcated but often overlapping system did not, however, mean that Lima’s cabildo had no business in the pueblos de indios. Conflicts over resources brought them into unhappy contact. The towns and city were, for example, united through acequias or irrigation canals that brought water from the mountains down through the desert valleys in veins that branched off the Rímac river. These acequias had previously been maintained by pre-hispanic 20

21 22

23 24

J. de Matienzo, Gobierno del Perú, Manuscripts and Archives Division, The New York Public Library, 1567, p. 16. On Andean pueblos de indios, see T. Abercrombie, Pathways of Memory and Power: Ethnography and History among an Andean People (Madison, 1998). On Viceroy Toledo’s reducción campaign, see Mumford, Vertical Empire. Charney, Indian Society, p. 92. On the theoretical bases of overlapping jurisdiction, see L. Benton, Law and Colonial Cultures: Legal Regimes in World History, 1400-1900 (Cambridge, 2001); K. Graubart, “Learning from the Qadi: The Jurisdiction of Local Rule in the Early Colonial Andes”, Hispanic American Historical Review 95.2 (2015), 195-228. G. Lohmann Villena, El Corregidor de indios en el Perú bajo los Austrias (Lima, 2001). On local self-governance in pueblos de indios, see J.C. de la Puente Luna, and R. Honores, “Guar­dianes de la real justicia: alcaldes de indios, costumbre y justicia local en Huarochirí colonial”, Histórica 40.2 (2016), 11-47; K. Graubart, “Competing Spanish and Indigenous Jurisdictions in Early Colonial Lima”, in K. Mills (ed.), Oxford Research Encyclopedia in Latin American and Caribbean History (New York, 2016).

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polities to supply water for agricultural production. The reorganization of the pueblos de indios detached some towns from their former water supplies, and the rush of many Spaniards to purchase, seize or rent agricultural lands in the valley disrupted indigenous access to water. The conflicts became dramatic enough that Lima’s cabildo created the position of juez de aguas [water inspector] in 1556 to adjudicate claims and set regulations, on the grounds that an adequate food supply and the resource rights of its residents were in the city’s interest.25 While the judge acted to protect indigenous access to water, his acts incorporated valley acequias and the water supply into the city’s jurisdiction. Lima thus was a Spanish-controlled city but located within a network of indigenous polities over which it did not have jurisdiction but with whom it competed for resources. The reorganization of indigenous polities into selfgoverned pueblos de indios created institutional links to Spanish authorities through which evangelization, labor provision, and negotiation over resources could be managed. But the city itself was home to many people of indigenous and African descent, who were not organized under their own leadership. The conundrum of Spanish governance would require harnessing that urban population to its benefit. 2

Policía in the Multi-Ethnic City

In the second half of the 16th century, with the end of the warfare between Spanish factions and against Inca uprisings, Lima rapidly became a political and economic center in Spanish South America. The city never had a Spanish majority, as it was surrounded by indigenous towns which fed it a stream of migrants, and Spanish settlers brought African slaves in numbers roughly equal to their own. A parish census taken in 1593 reported some 6700 free and enslaved people of African descent within a total population of more than 12,000.26 By the 1613 census the city’s population had doubled to more than 25,000, of whom nearly 12,000 were categorized as Spaniards and almost the same number were Black.27 Most of the Black population was enslaved, but many were free: a 1604 census counted 690 free persons of African descent in

25 26 27

K. Kole de Peralta, “Public Health and Municipal Water Policies in Lima, Peru, 1535-1635”, Water History 8.115 (2016), 115-36. F. Bowser, The African Slave in Colonial Peru, 1524-1650 (Stanford, 1974), Appendix A; Charney, Indian Society. B. Salinas y Córdova, Memorial de las historias del nuevo mundo Pirú (Lima, 1957), p. 245.

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the city, mostly women.28 All censuses ignored the transient indigenous population, which was in the thousands, and the permanent indigenous and Black residents on the poor outskirts of the city. By any measure, men and women of solely Spanish parentage were a minority of the expanding urban population, as was likely also true in most early Spanish settlements. Citizenship entailed obligations to entrench and sustain the Spanish settlement. In 1537 Lima’s vecinos petitioned for and received permanent (and alienable) ownership of their solares in exchange for promises of service to the Crown and permanent residence in the city.29 Those who did not occupy their houses, fence in their property, and contribute to the settlement were, however, in danger of losing their solares to another petitioner.30 The cabildo regularly issued ordinances expressing civic obligations to keep the city orderly, clean, and safe, though repetitious debates in their records suggest they had difficulty enforcing them. Nonetheless, Lima proved attractive enough that there was little difficulty establishing occupation, and the urban footprint vigorously expanded. Urban life was also supposed to help mold indigenous and African-descent peoples towards policía. While in the pueblos men of policía were expected to be elected as officials who could guide plebeian subjects, in the cities such direct authorities were more elusive. The cabildo stepped in to restrain what it saw as dangerous elements, for example addressing the city’s Black population by criminalizing its mobility: restricting access to Indian towns, setting curfews, and prohibiting them from congregating in particular places or in groups. But the cabildo also expressed concern about the growing numbers of indigenous and free Black residents who lived “sueltos”, or free from appropriate oversight, as ordinances in the 1550s put it.31 Not all free people of color were sueltos. Many Indians came to the city in large work crews, supervised by their own officials and in service to Spanish vecinos. Indigenous and Black servants were often attached to Spanish households, living and working in close proximity to “civilizing” forces. But many Indians and free Blacks came to Lima independently, seeking work and cheap accommodations. They notoriously rented rooms in crowded callejones, alleys with shared kitchens and patios between the city’s houses, or in marginal 28 29 30 31

Seville, Spain. Archivo General de Indias [AGI], Tribunal de cuentas de Lima, 105; see the discussion by R. Escobedo Mansilla, “El tributo de los zambaigos, negros y mulatos libres en el virreinato peruano”, Revista de Indias (1981), 48. Lee et al. (eds.), Libros de Cabildos de Lima, vol. 1, p. 138. See the case of Hernando de Horvaneja in 1535, Lee et al. (eds.), Libros de Cabildos de Lima, vol. 1, p. 31. AGI, Patronato Real 187 r 14 (1550) “Ordenanzas para el buen gobierno”.

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neighborhoods like San Lázaro, across the Rímac River and home to slaughterhouses, a barracks for newly-arrived slaves, and a leper hospital. They lived as independent, if generally impoverished, agents in the city. The cabildo tried many times to reel them in, requiring indigenous immigrants, for example, to live with temporary work crews from their place of origin so that their leaders could care for them in illness and bring them to mass.32 This solution was unworkable, as many immigrants likely sought to evade tribute and thus the officials who collected it. For those unattached to a natal community, the cabildo demanded that they take on a master and an occupation in the city, under penalty of one hundred lashes.33 Perhaps because of this threat, many indigenous and African men became apprentices and then craftsmen in this period, and many women found work in Spanish households as servants. Nonetheless, the cabildo perceived the city’s permanent Indian and Black populations as refusing to contribute to the commonwealth despite the benefits they received. But it also lacked legitimate and accountable leadership structures into those communities through which it could enforce its demands. Unlike Cuzco, where the creation of an aristocracy out of the city’s Inca nobles led to the foundation of an Inca cabildo, Lima’s Indians had no such institution of their own, as they were mostly plebeians, and came from all over the viceroyalty and beyond.34 The Real Audiencia attempted to create some governance for urban Indians in October of 1550 by placing the city’s Indian permanent residents under the jurisdictions of the caciques of nearby Magdalena and Huarochirí. The Real Audiencia extended the office of executor [judicial officer] in Lima to the two caciques, along with a “vara de justicia con unos caxquillos de plata encima y en ellos las armas reales [the staff of justice with some silver casings on them and the royal arms]”. While urban Indians were not added to Magdalena’s and Huarochirí’s tribute rolls, the caciques were charged with requiring them to attend church and punishing them for stealing and other crimes.35 The extension of their authority appears to have failed, and they were replaced by a series of Indian alcaldes [mayors], who assisted the corregidor in arranging apprenticeships and service contracts.36 32 33 34

35 36

AGI, “Ordenanzas para el buen gobierno”, fol. 9. AGI, “Ordenanzas para el buen gobierno”. D. Garrett, “‘His Majesty’s Most Loyal Vassals’: The Indian Nobility and Tupac Amaru”, Hispanic American Historical Review 84.4 (Nov. 2004), 583. (M. de Contreras, Padrón de los indios de Lima en 1613, ed. N.D. Cook [Lima, 1968]) is useful for understanding the dispersed origins of Lima’s Indians. AGI, “Ordenanzas para el buen gobierno”, fols. 2-3. R. Konetzke, Colección de documentos para la historia de la formación social de Hispanoamérica, 1493-1810 (Madrid, 1953), vol. 1, pp. 502-03; L. Lowry, “Forging an Indian Nation:

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Finally, in 1568, Governor Lope García de Castro began construction of Santiago del Cercado, an unusual walled urban pueblo de indios on the city’s edge.37 Originally intended to house not only those temporary residents on mita [a required labor draft], but also all the “loose” Indians of the city, it turned into a dynamic urban center for a politicized permanent population, who lived under a web of indigenous governance and the watchful eye of the Jesuit fathers who maintained the walled neighborhood. While at least two-thirds of the city’s indigenous population continued to live outside the Cercado (as the neighborhood was known), it did produce an effective mechanism for selfgovernance, and formed an indigenous intellectual community with a long pedigree of litigation.38 Lima’s Indians arranged themselves in heterogeneous corporate bodies, including guilds and confraternities, but the Cercado’s mayor and other leaders formed a mechanism through which the residents could both exercise self-governance and be made to participate in urban life according to the demands of Spanish authorities. In contrast, the growing population of free people of African descent had no obvious path towards self-governance. While indigenous communities drew upon the language of natural lordship and territorial rights, displaced Africans could not. Their status as unwilling immigrants and vassals of foreign powers made them difficult to assimilate, and their inherent connection to still-enslaved men and women rendered them a danger.39 Lima’s cabildo, Real Audiencia, and even the Spanish Crown expressed exasperation over their lack of control of free and enslaved Blacks, issuing ordinances on slaves, runaways, and those who abetted them on a regular basis from 1535 on. In February 1549, the cabildo ordered newly freed men and women to appear before its scribe, “so that their sources of income and how they became free might be verified”.40 Municipal officials expressed concern not only that slaves were posing as freed persons, but that they were living among, and from, indigenous residents,

37 38

39 40

Urban Indians Under Spanish Colonial Control, Lima, Peru, 1535-1765” (PhD dissertation, University of California, 1991), pp. 136-37. Many cities, notably Mexico City and Cuzco, had indigenous neighborhoods at their outskirts, but the Cercado was unique in not drawing from a pre-conquest settlement, and it was the only one constructed behind a wall. On the Cercado, see A. Coello de la Rosa, Espacios de exclusión, espacios de poder: el Cercado de Lima colonial (1568-1606), Lima 2006. On its intellectual spaces, see J.C. de la Puente Luna, “Many Tongues of the King”, Colonial Latin American Review 23.2 (2014), 143-70; and A. Dueñas, “The Lima Indian Letrados”, The Americas 72.1 (2015), 55-75. On the status of Africans as dangerous foreigners, see Herzog, Defining Nations; S. Bryant, Rivers of Gold, Lives of Bondage. Governing through Slavery in Colonial Quito (Chapel Hill, 2014). Lee et al. (eds.), Libros de Cabildos de Lima, vol. 4, p. 124.

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­ ossibly in criminal ways. Black mobility was portrayed as a threat, while inp digenous mobility was simply a fiscal misfortune. 3

Labor and Governancee

The cabildo’s ongoing concern about indigenous and Black governance stemmed in part from its own unmet demand for cheap labor, as the city expanded. The cabildo purchased a pair of slaves in 1549 to assist with public works, including building its new offices.41 But along with the constant need for labor for public works, even more pressing was the need for agricultural support, as rural depopulation threatened the flow of tribute payments of wheat and corn to the city’s residents. Spaniards acquired agricultural properties around the city, but lacked consistent labor to plant or harvest them. In 1550, the cabildo requested its own encomienda from the Crown, which was rebuffed, but the royal Audiencia ordered that Indian labor could be appropriated for the city’s purposes.42 During the harvest period of May through midJuly of that year, any Spaniard with a farm could requisition the labor of any Indian not already engaged in agriculture, regardless of his or his employer’s desire. In the 1570s, Viceroy Toledo would formalize the mita de la plaza, a forced labor rotation that brought some 1300 indigenous laborers each year to the city for regional agricultural and construction work.43 Although it acquired this mechanism for using the labor of pueblos de indios, the cabildo continued to be frustrated by the failure of the city’s Indian and Black permanent residents to provide labor for the common good. Ironically, it required them to step up where Spanish vecinos faltered. In the 1550s, the city experienced a sanitation crisis: while vecinos were required to remove waste from the streets and ditches adjacent to their homes and workplaces, many were not complying.44 Householders and business owners dumped filth in the city’s water supply, indigenous and Black washerwomen laundered clothes in the river, and rubbish heaps piled mysteriously alongside convents, left illegally under cover of night.45 The streets reeked with human and animal filth, which were not only offensive but, according to early modern under41 42 43 44 45

Lee et al. (eds.), Libros de Cabildos de Lima, vol. 4, p. 156. Lee et al. (eds.), Libros de Cabildos de Lima, vol. 3, p. 254; AGI, “Ordenanzas para el buen gobierno”, fol. 8. N. Sánchez-Albornoz, “La mita de Lima. Magnitud y procedencia”, Histórica (Dec. 1988), pp. 193-210. Torres Saldamando (ed.), Primer Libro de Cabildos de Lima, p. 53. Kole, “The Nature of Colonial Bodies”, ch. 5.

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standings of disease, polluted groundwater and produced miasmas which sickened inhabitants. The cabildo attempted, unsuccessfully, to enforce sanitation rules on vecinos and shopkeepers. They increasingly discussed the situation as a health crisis. In December 1555, the cabildo decided that free Black limeños [residents of Lima] had for too long enjoyed the city’s amenities and services without payment and ordered that all free Black men and women “are obliged to clean at their own expense, all of the streets and plazas of this city”. They chose a free man of African descent, Francisco Hernández, to be almotacén executor, with the right to apprehend and punish those who refused to work, as well as the obligation to round up runaway slaves and stolen goods. While the value of the slaves and goods he collected were to pay the costs of the cleaning, the cabildo did not give him a salary.46 Nor did they seem optimistic about his success, as they noted “if [the free Blacks] do not want to do it, the executor can take prisoners from the public jail” to do the cleaning. This effort failed, unsurprisingly, Hernández resigned, and the municipality noted the difficulty of finding candidates for the unpaid office.47 Throughout the 1560s, the cabildo made feeble attempts to pay for labor and supervisors, finally hiring a salaried Indian alguacil [sheriff] who mustered crews of Indians in the city on mita, until the cabildo instituted a tax on vecinos to pay cleaning costs in the 1580s, including a salaried Spanish official.48 By the turn of the 17th century, the Indian alguacil was simply a man who swept and cleared the room where the Spanish cabildo met.49 Thus, the cabildo resolved its cleaning crisis by outsourcing the work to the mitayos coming to the city from the pueblos de indios, rather than by compelling its own indigenous and Black populations. The cabildo still attempted to force free Blacks to labor for the common good from time to time. During a measles outbreak in 1589 that hit the city’s Indian population particularly hard, the cabildo appointed a group of Spanish vecinos to walk through parishes to make sure that the sick were being treated or were taken to hospital. The 46

47 48 49

Lee et al. (eds.), Libro de Cabildos de Lima, vol. 4, pp. 356-57. The expectation that free Blacks would round up runaway slaves was common. Cimarrón [runaway slave] communities that were turned into free pueblos de negros [Black towns] were often charged with this kind of policing. See J. Landers, “Cimarrón and Citizen: African Ethnicity, Corporate Identity, and the Evolution of Free Black Towns in the Spanish Circum-Caribbean”, in J.G. Landers and B. Robinson (eds.), Slaves, Subjects, and Subversives: Blacks in Colonial Latin America (Albuquerque, 2006), pp. 111-46. Lee et al. (eds.), Libros de Cabildos de Lima, vol. 4, p. 516. Lee et al. (eds.), Libros de Cabildos de Lima, vol. 5, p. 27; vol. 7, p. 582; vol. 9, p. 435; vol. 12, p. 45. Lee et al. (eds.), Libros de Cabildos de Lima, vol. 13, p. 521; vol. 14, p. 199.

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cabildo advised that these vecinos might oblige free Blacks and mulatos [individuals of mixed African and Spanish parentage] to care for those poorer Spaniards who could not afford a doctor.50 But the city was largely unsuccessful in forcing free Blacks or non-mita Indians to work for a common good that rarely took their needs into consideration. 4

Self-Governance as a Fiscal Problem

The Crown relied heavily upon cabildos and other local corporate entities to collect taxes and revenues. The alcabala [royal sales tax] was levied on manufacturers at the level of cities and towns, whose cabildos also collected numerous exceptional local taxes and penalties. Tax exemption was an unequivocal sign of status, in Lima as in Spain, with indigenous nobles joining Spanish aristocrats in reserving themselves from most payments: to be listed on a tax roll as a pechero [tributary] constituted a denial of one’s hidalguía [minor nobility].51 Indeed, taxation was a sore point for many permanent residents, who felt that it marked them as having lower status, and collection was difficult without an extensive bureaucracy and the means to calculate obligations or enforce collection. In 1593, Viceroy Andrés Hurtado de Mendoza (r.1556-61) apologized to his monarch for his failure to collect certain taxes because “[t]he term alcavala [sic] has become much reviled in these lands, and those people born and raised here take it as a synonym for pechero”.52 While Lima was founded by adventurers whose service to the Crown was rewarded with encomiendas and stipends, by midcentury a small and exclusive group monopolized power. For Spanish residents of the city, paying a tax that marked them as commoners placed them at a social disadvantage, and they tended to identify it with the tax placed upon non-noble Indians, known as tribute.53 Tax collection, then, posed a challenge for local governments. Felipe II appointed Francisco de Toledo viceroy in 1569 with the charge of implementing reforms, many targeting more efficient tax collection. Among Toledo’s accomplishments was a revision of the tribute system, rolled out theatrically through 50 51 52 53

Lee et al. (eds.), Libros de Cabildos de Lima, vol. 11, pp. 113-14. Carlos V issued patents of hereditary nobility to Inca nobles in the 1540s, exempting them from taxes (Garrett, “His Majesty’s Most Loyal Vassals”, 583). R. Levillier, Gobernantes del Perú, Cartas y Papeles Siglo XVI, Madrid 1921, vol. 13, p. 13; M. Macleod, “Aspects of the Internal Economy”, in L. Bethell (ed.), Colonial Spanish America (Cambridge, 1987), p. 340. C. Milton, and B. Vinson III, “Counting Heads: Race and Non-Native Tribute Policy in Colonial Spanish America”, Journal of Colonialism and Colonial History 3.3 (2002).

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a visita or multi-year inspection of the viceroyalty.54 As each indigenous polity was reduced to a pueblo de indios, its members were enrolled on a tax census. Tribute and mita rates could then be assessed by counting the number of healthy adult males, and applying a formula. Caciques immediately responded by litigating to argue that the census numbers were inflated. By simplifying and systematizing the process of setting, contesting, and collecting tribute, Toledo concretized a set of relations that had previously been ambiguous. In the Lima valley, the visitas began in 1571 under inspector Juan Martínez de Rengifo, and were followed up in 1573 by tribute schedules and a regularized mita.55 As noted above, the mita of the plaza resolved many of the labor problems that had plagued the city, particularly by assigning regular crews to work on the farms and ranches owned or rented by Spaniards around the Lima valley, stabilizing food provision to the city. It was regularly staffed with workingage men, organized by their own leaders, and housed within the Cercado, recently completed in 1570. But Indian permanent immigrants to the city and their descendants largely evaded tribute, denying a connection to the caciques of their home villages and even coining the term “indios criollos” [creole Indians] to establish their natal connection to Lima rather than to an indigenous community.56 While Indian officials were vested in a variety of spaces – from the alcaldes and caciques with jurisdiction over civil complaints to officers of confraternities and parish church assistants – these proved less adequate at collecting fiscal levies. Frustration over perceived tax evasion led to an effort early in the 17th century to register every Indian living or working in Lima. The 1613 census of the Indians enlisted all of the city’s Indian officials, from the city’s two alcaldes ordinarios (the tailor Miguel Sánchez and the farmer Gregorio Hernández) and alguacil mayor (the butcher Juan Payco) to representatives of its labor organizations (for example tailors, the most common profession for Lima’s indigenous men) to officers in church organizations. These men assisted the notary, who went door to door, taking names and ages and birthplaces, but also the names of the caciques responsible for their tribute payments.57 But the tribute owed by the city’s Indians was in some ways a minor issue. Their communities were responsible for the tribute of those who had fled and their caciques were charged with ensuring collection, litigating for a reduction, or paying their share. More problematic was another category of evasive 54 55 56 57

On viceregal politics, Toledo’s claims, and actual reforms see Mumford, Vertical Empire. T. Vergara, “Hombres, tierras y productos: Los valles comarcanos de Lima (1532-1650)”, Cuadernos de Investigación (Instituto Riva Agüero) 2, 1995, 13. Graubart, “The Creolization of the New World”, 488-98. Contreras, Padrón.

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tributary, free men and women of African descent.58 Most people of African descent had come to the Americas as slaves, and all were considered subjects of foreign rulers and involuntary immigrants. To the extent that they were incorporated into the Spanish kingdoms, it was through the heads of households that owned them as property.59 But freed slaves and their descendants posed a conundrum; freedom did not explicitly render them vassals of the Crown, and their tax status was unclear. Tribute was legally tied to the institutions of encomienda and reducción, and these were associated with self-governance. Thus free people of African descent were largely overlooked. In 1574, Felipe II issued an order from Madrid to his American possessions stating that: We are informed that many of the male and female slaves, Black men and women, mulato men and women, who have come to our Indies and have resided and live with its great wealth, and that thus, for just reasons and especially because they live in our lands and are maintained in peace and justice, and have left slavery and are at present free. As well, because in their native lands they have the custom to pay their kings and lords tribute, and a great deal of it, with justice and legal title it is possible to ask them to pay it to us, and it will be one mark of silver every year…60 The ordinance had its peculiarities. Certainly, few free Blacks in the Americas possessed great wealth. Lima was home to one of the largest free Black populations in the Spanish colonies at the time, and a small number of them owned a house, a plot of land, or even slaves of their own. The care to include Black and mulata women in the rolls – when indigenous women were not identified as tributaries, but their labor was subsumed under adult males in their households – speaks to the relative success women had with manumission. But the vast majority of free Black people were impoverished and would have had to struggle to make even token payments.61 Most problematic was the fiction that they “had the custom to pay their kings and lords in their homelands tribute in great quantities”. This line, a 58 59 60 61

The children of indigenous mothers and Black fathers had already been categorized as Indians, out of concern that they might evade both enslavement and tribute (Milton and Vinson, “Counting Heads”, 11-12; Escobedo Mansilla, “Tributo de los zambaigos”). Bryant, Rivers of Gold, p. 117. C. Jopling, Indios y negros en Panama en los siglos XVI y XVII (Antigua, 1994), p. 441. In Panamá, where tribute collection was carried out sporadically in the 1570s, most free Black residents were found to be impoverished and only capable of paying small sums. (Jopling, Indios y negros, pp. 440-54.)

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reference to the exclusion of Atlantic Africans from Spanish vassalage because of their involuntary immigration and suspicious loyalty, also exposed that New World Blacks did not enjoy access to their ethnic lords or elected officers, as did indigenous peoples. Although occasionally free Blacks were organized into indigenous-style reducciones or placed under their own leadership, this was far from the norm.62 As a result of these two factors, poverty and a lack of accountable leadership, tribute proved nearly impossible to collect in Lima. In 1580, Viceroy García Hurtado de Mendoza (r. 1590-1596) wrote to the Crown to express his frustration regarding “a great quantity of Blacks and Indians and yanaconas [former Inca servants] and others who have fled their repartimientos, and some who go about selling their labor to people under the guise of artisans, and all those without paying any kind of tribute”.63 He promised to collect tribute from these immigrants to Lima to support the costs of the Armada and other royal demands. By 1593, however, he was explaining to the Crown that such collection was going slowly, with “great difficulties and that had necessitated a lot of work”.64 Finally, between 1603 and 1604 Viceroy Luís de Velasco (r.1596-1604) turned the task over to the corregidor of the Cercado, the Spanish magistrate with jurisdiction over the Indians of the city and the nearby towns. The corregidor was charged with collecting taxes, fines, and other payments from the 630 free Blacks and mulatos. In 1611, he still owed the treasury most of the funds, and his successor refused to make any collection attempt on the grounds that his agents were being met by “tributaries” armed with knives and other weapons. No new collector could be found, and treasury officials appear to have made the payments themselves.65 The Real Audiencia abandoned this approach, trying on and off to find a new political formula for taxing free people of color. Working through confraternities and guilds were suggested and rejected, and eventually the contribution was made “semi-voluntary”.66 But it largely went uncollected in Lima, as in most of the viceroyalty, with the absence of an accountable and legitimate system of governance to enforce it. While municipal and royal officials agreed that royal subjects owed taxes to support the project of colonization and settlement, those subjects often sought to evade payment. Spaniards sought exemptions on the basis of their perceived status; they also evaded other taxes they considered onerous, such as the sales 62 63 64 65 66

Landers, “Cimarrón and Citizen”. Levillier, Gobernantes del Perú, vol. 12, Part I, pp. 164-65. Levillier, Gobernantes del Perú, vol. 13, Part II, p. 14. Bowser, The African Slave in Colonial Peru, pp. 305-07. Bowser, The African Slave in Colonial Peru, p. 306.

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taxes, and occasionally revolted over unjust excises. Indigenous residents of Lima often explicitly distanced themselves from their community of origin as a tactic to avoid paying tribute or serving in mita. While some, especially elites, maintained close ties to their community of origin because of the status or access to resources this gave them, many others considered themselves part of new urban communities, refusing distant ties and obligations. Blacks proved the most recalcitrant to group-based taxation, and with no mechanism for holding an individual responsible for the debt of the group, Spanish officials ultimately were defeated. 5

Conclusion: Jurisdictional Failures in Lima

Lima was constituted as a commonwealth, a self-governed republic with its own interests, but functioned both as an urban center and as the center of the Spanish Empire in South America. Its cabildo, occupied by a handful of powerful men born in Spain or of Spanish descent, acted on behalf of their understanding of the common good, which led them to require the fiscal and physical cooperation of the city’s politically disenfranchised men and women. Because the justification for colonial rule was the civilizational uplift of inferior peoples, demands for labor and taxes often addressed indigenous and African-­ descent residents specifically. But without a corporate structure to create accountable leadership (as was common in the rural pueblos de indios), urban Africans and Indians proved elusive and frustrating targets. Black and indigenous residents of Lima did, at times, see themselves as members of corporate groups. The urban walled Cercado is the best example, as it became the site of important indigenous leaders who redefined themselves not as tributaries but as householders, slave-owners, artisans, militia members, and experienced litigants. Black and indigenous Catholics joined confraternities where they not only came together in worship but also to define their social position in the city, often in public formats such as the calendar of processions. The city also boasted guilds, multi-ethnic neighborhoods, hospitals and other institutions that opened spaces for people to come together and define their common needs. But these spaces did not readily serve the common good of the city as it was defined by its governing elite, the Spanish vecinos who occupied cabildo offices. Those men largely staked out positions in competition with the royal officers who also governed Lima as viceregal capital, and they attempted to instrumentalize Black and indigenous residents to serve those purposes. Free Blacks and Indians were, in their eyes, beneficiaries of a city of buena policía,

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with healthy landscapes and urban services to promote the king’s vassals. But all of those had to be maintained by labor and taxes, and Spanish elites understood that part of creating policía was disciplining indigenous and Africandescent peoples to work, to pay for services, and to be part of the civic order. This surely was, also, in their minds an extension of using their own domestic servants and slaves to perform the work they owed the city. The study of indigenous and Black self-governance in Lima reveals the interdependence of urban life. As inhabitants of a true city of immigrants, limeños identified and organized themselves according to a variety of commonalities. In early Lima, we can see the clash between the ways that group identities evolved and how they were (often unsuccessfully) called into being by others. While urban Indians and Blacks could and did elude certain onerous obligations, they were still liable to be regularly harassed by the ruling minority.

Bibliography



Primary Sources



Secondary Sources

Cobo, B., “Historia de la fundación de Lima”, in Monografías históricas sobre la ciudad de Lima (Lima, 1935 [1639]). Contreras, M. de, Padrón de los indios de Lima en 1613, ed. N.D. Cook (Lima, 1968). Covarrubias Horozco, S., Tesoro de la lengua castellana o española, ed. Ignacio Arellano y Rafael Zafra (Navarre, 2006 [c.1611]). Konetzke, R., Colección de documentos para la historia de la formación social de Hispano­ américa, 1493-1810, vol. 1 (Madrid, 1953). Lee, B.T., J. Bromley, S. Schofeld and E. Harth-Terré (eds.), Libros de Cabildos de Lima (Lima, 1935). Levillier, R., Gobernantes del Perú, Cartas y Papeles Siglo XVI (Madrid, 1921). Matienzo, J. de, Gobierno del Perú, Manuscripts and Archives Division, The New York Public Library (1567). Salinas y Córdova, B., Memorial de las historias del nuevo mundo Pirú (Lima, 1957). Toledo, F. de, Disposiciones gubernativas para el virreinato del Perú, ed. M.J. Sarabia Viejo (Seville, 1986). Torres Saldamando, E. (ed.), Libro primero de cabildos de Lima, 3 vols. (Paris, 1888).

Abercrombie, T., Pathways of Memory and Power: Ethnography and History among an Andean People (Madison, 1998). Benton, L., Law and Colonial Cultures: Legal Regimes in World History, 1400-1900 (Cam­ bridge, 2001).

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Bowser, F., The African Slave in Colonial Peru, 1524-1650 (Stanford, 1974). Bryant, S., Rivers of Gold, Lives of Bondage. Governing through Slavery in Colonial Quito (Chapel Hill, 2014). Charney, P., Indian Society in the Valley of Lima, Peru, 1532-1824 (Lanham, 2001). Coello de la Rosa, A., Espacios de exclusión, espacios de poder: el Cercado de Lima colonial (1568-1606) (Lima, 2006). de la Puente Luna, J.C., “Many Tongues of the King”, Colonial Latin American Review 23.2 (2014), 143-70. de la Puente Luna, J.C., and R. Honores, “Guardianes de la real justicia: alcaldes de indios, costumbre y justicia local en Huarochirí colonial”, Histórica 40.2 (2016), 11-47. Dueñas, A., “The Lima Indian Letrados”, The Americas 72.1 (2015), 55-75 Escobedo Mansilla, R., “El tributo de los zambaigos, negros y mulatos libres en el virreinato peruano”, Revista de Indias (1981), 43-54. Garrett, D., “‘His Majesty’s Most Loyal Vassals’: The Indian Nobility and Tupac Amaru”, Hispanic American Historical Review 84.4 (Nov. 2004), 575-617. Graubart, K., “The Creolization of the New World: Local Forms of Identification in Urban Colonial Peru, 1560-1640”, Hispanic American Historical Review 89.3 (2009), 471-99. Graubart, K., “Learning from the Qadi: The Jurisdiction of Local Rule in the Early Colonial Andes”, Hispanic American Historical Review 95.2 (2015), 195-228. Graubart, K., “Competing Spanish and Indigenous Jurisdictions in Early Colonial Lima,” in K. Mills (ed.), Oxford Research Encyclopedia in Latin American and Caribbean History (New York, 2016). Herzog, T., Defining Nations. Immigrants and Citizens in Early Modern Spain and Spanish America (New Haven, 2003). Jopling, C., Indios y negros en Panama en los siglos XVI y XVII (Antigua, 1994). Kagan, R., Urban Images of the Hispanic World, 1493-1793 (New Haven, 2000). Kole de Peralta, K., “The Nature of Colonial Bodies: Public Health in Lima, Peru, 15351635” (PhD dissertation, University of Notre Dame, 2015). Kole de Peralta, K., “Public Health and Municipal Water Policies in Lima, Peru, 15351635”, Water History 8.115 (2016), 115-36. Landers, J., “Cimarrón and Citizen: African Ethnicity, Corporate Identity, and the Evolution of Free Black Towns in the Spanish Circum-Caribbean”, in Slaves, Subjects, and Subversives: Blacks in Colonial Latin America, J.G. Landers and B. Robinson (eds.) (Albuquerque, 2006), pp. 111-46. Lohmann Villena, G., El Corregidor de indios en el Perú bajo los Austrias (Lima, 2001). Lowry, L. “Forging an Indian Nation: Urban Indians under Spanish Colonial Control, Lima, Peru, 1535-1765” (PhD dissertation, University of California, 1991). Mackay, R., “Lazy, Improvident People:” Myth and Reality in the Writing of Spanish His­ tory (Ithaca, 2006).

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Macleod, M., “Aspects of the Internal Economy,” in L. Bethell (ed.), Colonial Spanish America (Cambridge, 1987), pp. 315-60. Milton, C. and Vinson III, B., “Counting Heads: Race and Non-Native Tribute Policy in Colonial Spanish America”, Journal of Colonialism and Colonial History 3.3 (2002). Moore, J., The Cabildo in Peru Under the Hapsburgs. A Study in the Origins and Powers of the Town Council in the Viceroyalty of Peru 1530-1700 (Durham, 1954). Morgado, P., “Un palimpsesto urbano, Del asiento indígena de Lima a la ciudad española de Los Reyes” (PhD dissertation, Universidad de Sevilla, 2007). Mumford, J., Vertical Empire, The General Resettlement of Indians in the Colonial Andes (Durham, 2012). Nader, H., Liberty in Absolutist Spain: The Habsburg Sale of Towns, 1516-1700 (Baltimore, 1990). Nemser, D., “Primitive Accumulation, Geometric Space, and the Construction of the ‘Indian’”, Journal of Latin American Cultural Studies 24.3 (2015), 335-52. Nuttall, Z., “Royal Ordinances Concerning the Laying Out of New Towns”, Hispanic American Historical Review 5.2 (1922), 249-54. Osorio, A., Inventing Lima: Baroque Modernity in Peru’s South Sea Metropolis (New York, 2008). Pagden, A., The Fall of Natural Man: The American Indian and the Origins of Comparative Ethnology (Cambridge, 1987). Rivasplata, R., “Salud público impulsada por el Cabildo de Lima durante la Colonial”, Anuario Colombiano de Historia Social y de la Cultura 41.1 (2014), 239-73. Rostworowski, M., Señoríos indígenas de Lima y Canta (Lima, 1978). Sánchez-Albornoz, N., “La mita de Lima. Magnitud y procedencia”, Histórica (Dec. 1988), 193-210. Tejeira Davis, E., “Pedrarias Dávila y sus fundaciones en Tierra Firme, 1513-1522”, Anales del Instituto de Investigaciones Estéticas 69 (1996), 41-77. Vergara, T., “Hombres, tierras y productos: Los valles comarcanos de Lima (1532-1650)”, Cuadernos de Investigación (Instituto Riva Agüero) 2, 1995. Wey Gómez, N., The Tropics of Empire: Why Columbus Sailed South to the Indies (Cam­ bridge, 2008).

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Chapter 4

Making Urban Colonial Lima (1535-1650): Pipelines and Plazas  Martha G. Bell and Gabriel Ramón 1

Early Hispanic American Colonial Urbanism: from the Caribbean to the Andes

The Ordenanzas [Ordinances] of Felipe II for colonial urbanism were published in 1573.1 These are typically understood as instructions for how to plan and build a Spanish colonial city and include guides for everything from locating the settlement to its morphology. Yet before the Ordenanzas were promulgated, the Spanish had already founded three hundred cities in the Americas, including Lima (1535).2 Thus, it becomes important to consider to what extent these instructions formalized and improved older urban practices, and to what extent these pre-Ordenanzas urban practices followed a fundamental set of rules and guidelines – written or unwritten. Evidence from the Caribbean, the region where Hispanic American colonial urbanism originated, suggests that an interactive process between the conquistadores’ plans and designs (written or internalized through practice) and the local conditions (both social and environmental) shaped this urban planning process and resulted in very different cities that exhibited certain common features, most notably the urban grid with the Plaza Mayor [central square].3 Important buildings and institutions were often placed around the Plaza Mayor, with church, cabildo [city council], 1 Nuevas ordenanzas de descubrimiento, población y pacificación de las Indias (13 July 1573), in F. de Solano (ed.), Normas y Leyes de la Ciudad Hispanoamericana (1492-1600), vol. 1 (Madrid, 1996), pp. 194-218. 2 After the first mention of any city its foundation date is included in parentheses; A. Musset, Ciudades nómadas del Nuevo Mundo, trans. José María Ímaz (México DF, 2011), p. 43. 3 See a detailed discussion on early colonial urbanism in Hispanic America in A. Durston, “Un régimen urbanístico en la América Hispana colonial: el trazado en damero durante los siglos XVII y XVII”, Historia 28 (1994), 59-115. Among other documents, the initial legislation related to the Caribbean phase includes: Instrucciones a Nicolás de Ovando (Zaragoza, 20 and 29 March 1503), in F. de Solano (ed.), Normas y Leyes de la Ciudad Hispanoamericana (1492-1600), vol. 1 (Madrid, 1996), pp. 24-27; Instrucciones a Diego Colón (Valladolid, 3 May 1509), in F. de Solano (ed.), Normas y Leyes de la Ciudad Hispanoamericana (1492-1600), vol. 1 (Madrid, 1996), pp. 34-35; Instrucciones a Pedrarias Dávila (Valladolid, 2 and 9 August 1513), in F. de Solano

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2019 | doi:10.1163/9789004335363_006

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and other government buildings typically located along its edges. Yet even among these common features, many divergences can be noted. For instance, at the earliest sites from La Hispaniola (current Dominican Republic and Haiti), significant differences within urban design are recognizable. Archaeological analysis of Concepción de la Vega (1494) revealed a church wall, but could not conclusively identify a Plaza Mayor or any of the main institutional buildings typically associated with the Plaza Mayor. Conversely, Santo Domingo (1496/1502) has two main plazas, a pattern that perhaps is attributable to internal hierarchical disputes. Lima was founded 41 years after La Vega, after the major cities of the Caribbean and Mesoamerica were established, and, especially, after Mexico City was designed (1523).4 Thus when exploring the Rímac river valley in 1534 to select a suitable site for the new capital city, the Spaniards were already skilled in founding urban settlements and already had developed the basic urban principles they introduced to the South American continent.5 This chapter examines the foundation of Lima’s urban space and its development as a result of the interaction between this legal and semi-legal set of guidelines or rules for early colonial cities and the local conditions encountered, including aspects of Lima’s natural and social landscapes. The initial occupation of the Caribbean and southern Mesoamerican areas was characterized by “nomad cities”, which were urban settlements that moved and/or disappeared.6 Among these, Concepción de la Vega was practically abandoned in the 17th century, and Santo Domingo was relocated across the Ozama river in 1502. Such uncertainty also marked the foundation of the capital city of the Peruvian viceroyalty. Jauja (1533), located near the Inca administrative center of Hatunjauja in the central Peruvian highlands, between the important Spanish cities of San Miguel de Piura (1532-1534) and Cuzco (Spanish occupation from 1534), was initially intended to be the new capital. However, this highland city was rapidly replaced by Lima. Several problems relating (ed.), Normas y Leyes de la Ciudad Hispanoamericana (1492-1600), vol. 1 (Madrid, 1996), pp. 22, 34-35, 36-39, 47-51. 4 For the main cities see Centro de Estudios Históricos de Obras Públicas y Urbanismo, La Ciudad hispanoamericana, El sueño de un orden (Madrid, 1989), pp. 286-89; and the maps in J. Hemming, The Conquest of the Incas (New York, 1970), maps 1-6. See also G. Ramón, “Bourbon Manoeuvres in the Plaza: Shifting Urban Models in Late Colonial Lima”, Urban History 44 (2017), 622-46. 5 The Mexican phase of urban development is also reflected in a legal corpus, such as the Instrucción a Hernán Cortés (1523), in F. de Solano (ed.), Normas y Leyes de la Ciudad Hispanoamericana (1492-1600), vol. 1 (Madrid, 1996), pp. 70-72. 6 Musset, Ciudades nómadas.

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to Jauja’s location prompted this move. The Spanish had a difficult time adapting to Jauja’s high elevation (3389 m above sea level), which especially affected the livestock. The distance to a seaport was great, and access to shipping was crucial for exporting the resources of the new territory. Finally, Jauja was located at a great distance from the homes of the coastal Indians that had been assigned to the encomenderos [Spaniards awarded with groups of tribute-paying Indians] and vecinos [principal Spanish residents] living in Jauja, and it proved inconvenient for the native labor force to be based so far away.7 After debating the possibility of establishing two cities – Jauja in the highlands, and a second city on the coast­­– the vecinos of Jauja decided to relocate. On 8 January 1535, three experienced conquistadores were sent to select the new setting: they followed the Inca road out of Jauja and down the western slope of the Andes to the coastal site of Pachacamac, and began their search.8 2

Founding Lima’s Urban and Hydraulic Space

The site of the future capital of the Viceroyalty of Peru was selected along the Rímac river, approximately 10 km from the Pacific Ocean and what was to become the port of Callao (1537). After their trip, the three explorers recorded individual testimonies about the criteria used to select the location for the new coastal city. Juan Tello, Alonso Martín de Don Benito, and Ruy Díaz, all of whom were Pizarro’s companions and veteran conquistadores, agreed that the proximity between the port and the pueblo [the term used to refer to the future urban settlement of Lima] was favorable, and concurred that it was a healthy and “well-aired” place, with “good water”, firewood, and land for agriculture.9

7 Archivo de la Municipalidad de Lima [AML, Libros de Cabildo de Lima [records of Lima’s city council] [LCL], 29 November 1534. The paleographic version has been published for 1534-1639 and there is online access to some of the originals, which are held at AML, . B. Cobo, “Funda­ción de Lima”, in Obras del padre Bernabé Cobo (Madrid, 1956 [1639]), vol. 2, pp. 280-469 and J. Bromley and J. Barbagelata, Evolución Urbana de Lima (Lima, 1945), are two of the most valuable studies of early colonial Lima, and both are heavily based on the LCL. 8 Pachacamac was an important ancient religious center, located about 27 km south of Lima. For more information on this site see M. Uhle, Pachacamac: Report of the William Peper Expedition of 1896 [Philadelphia, 1903]) and Eeckhout, Chapter 2, this volume. This coastal area was already known to the Spaniards, who maintained a military station at San Gallán, founded in 1534 in the Pisco valley, see J. Chávez Blancas, “Lima la vieja revisitada”, Boletín de Lima 126 (2001), 10. 9 AML, LCL, 13 January 1535.

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Significantly, these three details were later mentioned in guidelines for how and where to found Peruvian cities.10 Moreover, Tello indicated that: “the Indians who will serve the vecinos in it [the pueblo] will not be given too much work since they live in the ­surrounding area”, and Díaz added that the new city could be established “without causing harm to the Indians”.11 Reflecting on this, Bernabé Cobo, the Jesuit priest who wrote a history of the foundation of the city of Lima, suggested that the explorers selected the Rímac valley since there was already human occupation there, thus demonstrating that it was a habitable and safe area. However, he also observed that the Indian “constructions and houses” where so “feeble, simple and inexpensive” that they could easily be relocated.12 Cobo, who arrived to Lima in 1599 but whose writings contain incredible detail, did not describe any significant precolonial constructions within Lima’s central urban zone; he only mentioned nearby settlements. In later works, he referenced a pueblo de indios in the Rímac valley, without providing precise locational details.13 Taken together, these descriptions indicate that in contrast to Mexico City, Quito (1534), Cajamarca (1532), and Cuzco, Lima was not founded on the site of a large precolonial settlement. The most impressive remains of late precolonial occupation in the immediate area are located to the southwest, outside of colonial urban Lima.14 There were, however, a series of acequias [irrigation 10 11

12 13

14

Instrucciones al Virrey del Perú para hacer nuevos descubrimientos y poblaciones (Valladolid, 13 May 1556), in F. de Solano (ed.), Normas y Leyes de la Ciudad Hispanoamericana (1492-1600), vol. 1 (Madrid, 1996), pp. 158-62. AML, LCL, 13 January 1535. Original Spanish: Tello: “y los indios que han de servir en él a los vecinos no recibirán mucho trabajo por estar como están en comarcas dél”; Díaz: “sin perjuicio de los indios”. All translations in this chapter are by the author, unless otherwise stated. Cobo, “Fundación de Lima”, pp. 288-89. Additional details on the relation between these Indian settlements and the future Spanish city of Lima can be found in Cobo, “Fundación de Lima”, p. 301, who recorded that the three main administrative units [hunos] of the valleys Chillón, Rímac and Lurín during the Inca empire had their centers in Caraguayllo, Maranga, and Surco. There are no systematic studies of the evidence for a precolonial occupation of the city center of Lima, which at the end of the 17th century became the intramural area. There are only some rather accidental archaeological explorations: an introductory examination of colonial urban archaeology in Lima can be found in J. Mogrovejo, Arqueología urbana de evidencias coloniales en la ciudad de Lima (Lima, 1998), pp. 18-21. In the intramural area there was some pre-hispanic occupation. Among other evidence: (a) the findings at the Casa de Osambela (two blocks west of the Plaza Mayor) where material from the Early Intermediate period was found: I. Flores, “Arqueología restauración de monumentos histórico artísticos: Estudio de la Casa Osambela”, in V. Rangel (ed.), Arquitectura y arqueología, pasado y futuro de la construcción en el Perú (Chiclayo, 1988), pp. 229-37; (b) the early allusions and references to the pre-hispanic water system (see below); (c)

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canals] drawn from the Rímac river that flowed to the large precolonial structures in the area around the city, at least two of which crossed through the space occupied by the colonial city (Fig. 0.2). In 1535, Lima’s cabildo suggested that this hydraulic system should be preserved: “as it used to run before the city was founded”.15 Based on this information, it is possible to identify two distinct models for the organization of urban and hydraulic systems. The first is precolonial, showing main settlements located at a certain distance from the Rímac river, probably to avoid annual flooding. The second, is Spanish colonial, and follows the European pattern of building cities immediately next to, and indeed on either bank of a river. Without a doubt Lima’s original traza was laid out in relation to the course of the Rímac river. The chronicler Cieza de Leon tells us that this river formed the northern boundary of the city, effectively limiting its growth in that direction during the colonial period, with only a rather small neighborhood ­– San Lázaro (now called Rímac) – located across the water.16 The construction of the stone bridge linking San Lázaro with the city center, completed in 1610, was an important public works project, and its maintenance was an issue of continuous concern.17 Life in the city was also influenced by the seasonal cycle of the river. From October to March, which is the rainy season in the Rímac’s high Andean catchment zone, Lima residents feared strong flows and flood events that could damage structures built near the riverbank. Beginning in 1561, the cabildo undertook a series of levee and containment wall projects, seeking to

15 16

17

the testimony of Cobo, “Fundación de Lima”, p. 312; and (d) the documental references presented by M. Rostworowski, Señoríos de Lima y Canta (Lima, 1978), pp. 67-88. There is no evidence, however, to support the architectonical complex supposedly located in the Plaza Mayor, as imagined by E. Harth-terré, “El asiento arqueológico de la ciudad de Lima. Las 5 huacas de la Plaza de Armas”, El Comercio, 18 January (1960), p. 3. During archaeological excavations of the Plaza Mayor (1996) investigators dug down to the sterile level without finding a single precolonial sherd (from L. Huertas, “Introducción al estudio de la Plaza Mayor de Lima”, Historia y Cultura 23 (1999), p. 290; personal communications from archaeologists Camilo Dolorier and Miguel Pazos; T. Muñoz-Nájar, “Testimonio central”/“Ventana mayor”, Caretas 5 September (1996), pp. 52-54. Harth-terré’s mistake is repeated in J. Gunther and G. Lohmann, Lima, Madrid 1992, and Huertas, “Introducción al estudio de la Plaza Mayor de Lima”. AML, LCL, 11 March 1535. P. Cieza de León, La crónica del Perú. Primera Parte, in M. Ballesteros (ed.) (Madrid, 1984), pp. 283-85. At least since 1538 a community of Indian fishermen lived there (AML, LCL, 6 December 1538), and a leprosarium was erected in 1563, Bromley and Barbagelata, Evolución Urbana, p. 57. Bromley and Barbagelata, Evolución Urbana, p. 64.

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protect the city from these floods.18 During the dry months of the year, April to September, river flow decreased dramatically, often shutting down gristmills and other water-powered devices, while also making it possible to work on levee and canal maintenance. In addition, at least 17 major acequias madres [mother canals] were derived from the Rímac, with numerous smaller canals draining from these larger ones.19 These canals irrigated the many fields surrounding Lima, making it possible to produce the food needed to support the growing city in what is predominantly a desert climate. Two of these irrigation canals crossed through the city, and also provided services within the urban space: irrigation of huertas [home gardens and orchards], cleaning and sanitation, and power for turning mill wheels. The river was initially considered the primary source of drinking water for city residents. However, already in 1557, complaints of pollution and contamination indicate that this was not sufficient for the city’s needs.20 Consequently, cabildo authorities sought other sources of potable water, and decided in the 1550s that an area with a concentration of springs, located approximately 6 km northeast of the Plaza Mayor, would be most appropriate.21 During the 16th century, environmental challenges beyond flooding and irrigation control confronted cabildo authorities and illustrated some of the differences between the urban plan and the urban reality. A wide range of chronic problems, as well as specific extreme events, including pests, pollution, and droughts occupied the cabildo’s attention. For instance, on 20 April 1554, cabildo authorities were concerned to learn “that in the city surroundings … there are large populations of mice that have caused great harm to the fields and orchards, and to the fruits of these, that the republic has suffered and continues to suffer great damages, and this has been … the reason supplies fail and 18 19

20 21

See M.G. Bell, “Agua y poder colonial: ciclos, flujos y procesiones en el manejo hidráulico urbano en Lima durante el siglo XVII”, Boletín del Instituto Riva Agüero 37 (2014), 82-92 for a full description of the tajamares [levees, containment walls]. N. Domínguez, “Aguas y legislación en los valles de Lima: El repartimiento de 1617”, Boletín del Instituto Riva Agüero 15 (1988), 119-54. The two mentioned canals are visible in the 17thcentury map: B.C. Príncipe, Planta de la muy yllustre ciudad de los reyes corte del reino del Peru (Lima, 1674) (Fig. 0.2). Library of Congress Geography and Map Division Washington, DC [https://www.loc.gov/resource/g5314l.ct003208/]. On pre-hispanic canals see J. Narváez, “Sistemas de irrigación y señorios indígenas en el valle bajo del Rímac durante el siglo XVI”, Boletín del Instituto Riva-Agüero 37 (2013-2014), 81-128. AML, LCL, 9 August 1557. See also G. Cogorno, Agua e hidráulica urbana de Lima: espacio y gobierno, 1535-1596 (Lima, 2015), p. 40. AML, LCL, 15 January 1552, 17 November 1649. See also Bromley and Barbagelata, Evolución Urbana, p. 41. This is described in more detail below, section: “Supplying Drinking Water to the City”.

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prices rise, and it is important to remedy [the situation]”,22 With no solution at hand, the cabildo contacted Ecclesiastic authorities, who likely applied a magical “cure” common of the time, the excommunication of animals.23 Religious solutions were also applied to cases of drought, when cabildo members led efforts to call upon San Marcelo [Saint Marcellus], Lima’s officially appointed patron of crops, fruits, and rain, to intercede on behalf of the city with the supreme deity in order to bring rains.24 Problems with pollution and deforestation, while falling more under the human purview, were equally difficult to solve. This was especially complicated in the area where the springs that fed the city with drinking water were located. Here, overcutting of trees for firewood and the grazing of cows and sheep combined to compact soils and consequently to decrease water infiltration and aquifer recharge rates, as well as to contaminate water supply with animal excrement and even dead carcasses.25 Taken together, these floods, droughts, plagues, and poor management practices indicate that the ideal city plan and the actual settlement of a site could vary greatly, depending on local environments and land management prac­tices. As part of the foundational act of the city of Lima, on 18 January 1535, urban land was distributed among the new Spanish residents in patterns clearly reflecting local social and political hierarchies. The traza, which was the grid-like plan that made up the central urban zone, contained 117 city blocks, each of which was divided into four smaller square sections called solares. The more 22

23 24 25

AML, LCL, 20 April 1554, original: “que por quanto en los terminos desta cibdad son ynformados de muchas personas que ay muy gran cantidad de Ratones que an fecho mucho daño así en las sementeras como en los arvoles e fruta dellos de que la rrepublica a Rescebido y Rescibe mucho dano y a sydo e podria ser cabsa de que los mantenimientos falten e se encarezcan y concierne poner Remedio en ello” (the word “republic” here refers to civic government or public government). On this practice in European contexts, see E. Cohen, “Law, Folklore and Animal Lore”, Past & Present 110 (1986), 6-37, at 13-15, 28, 31. Bell, “Agua y poder colonial”, 114-17. True rain rarely occurs in Lima, here the reference is actually to fog-mist precipitation, locally called garúa. For a description of this phenomenon see C. Peñaherrera, Geografía (Lima, 2004), p. 65. These problems were especially apparent in the mid-17th century, after the municipal pipeline system had been fully constructed, and when the number of users was increasing rapidly. For some cabildo discussions of maintaining the springs, see AML, LCL, 3 August 1571, 11 March 1602, 7 August 1606, 1 September 1617, 6 October 1617, 2 January 1618, 9 August 1619, 11 August 1621, 24 September 1621, 13 March 1623, 12 January 1626, 23 January 1632, 13 July 1635, 20 September 1650, 28 July 1654, 19 June 1669, 23 May 1670, 29 October 1671, 20 October 1674, 23 February 1677, 9 January 1691. More discussion in A. Raimondi, Aguas minerales y potables del Perú: autoridad científica y nuevos espacios de consagración republicanos (Lima, 2009 [1824]), p. 258; and Bell, “Agua y poder colonial”, 94-98.

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important vecinos typically received one or two solares “among the blocks nearest to the plaza”.26 As described above, the Plaza Mayor was the center and most prominent part of the city. The distance of these solares from the Plaza Mayor, and consequently the important centers of viceregal, church, and cabildo power, directly corresponded to sociopolitical status, and thus served as a scale by which to characterize city residents. With time, distance from the Plaza Mayor became a more direct economic index: urban real estate prices increased as distance to the central square decreased.27 Besides the residential solares, some vecinos received urban land for their Indian servants. However, from the earliest years of the colonial regime, authorities insisted that the solares for Indians be placed outside the city.28 Later, the pueblos de indios [Indian neighborhoods] established in Lima remained on the periphery. Evidence of this policy can be found in the cabildo’s reaction to the creation of a pueblo de indios on the west side of the city: next to the San Sebastian parish. The cabildo observed that this introduction “could harm the republic” (emphasis added), adding that if the city continued growing, “the Indians would remain in between the Spanish, which is something neither convenient nor good for the republic”.29 The vecinos wanted the Indians outside the Spanish urban space, while at the same time they required the Indian labor force to keep the city going. This perpetual clash between colonial political theory (the idea of the separate republics, one for Indians and one Spaniards) and actual urban necessities shaped city life since early colonial times.30 The 26 27

28 29 30

Cobo, “Fundación de Lima”, p. 302. See also Ramón, “Bourbon Maneuvers in the Plaza”. This situation was legally confirmed in 1666 with the so-called Diego Maroto’s rule. Diego Maroto, a Dominican priest and appraiser of urban property, formalized the norm of estimating property values (based on the square vara, a vara was approximately 77-83 cm) according to distance from the Plaza Mayor. This system was reinforced during cabildo discussions after the earthquake of 1746. For more details on this urban pattern in Lima see G. Ramón, “El umbral de la urbe: usos de la Plaza mayor de Lima (siglos XVIII-XIX)”, in C. Aguirre, M. Dávalos, and M. Ros (eds.), Los espacios públicos de la ciudad siglos XVIII y XIX, (México DF, 2002), pp. 265-88, p. 270. Maroto was also involved in the design of parts of the drinking water pipeline (AML, LCL, 13 May 1670). AML, LCL, 1 January 1539. AML, LCL, 12 August 1577. See M. de Contreras, Padrón de los indios de Lima en 1613, in N.D. Cook (ed.), Seminario de Historia Rural Andina (Lima, 1968). Additional discussion in P. Charney, “El indio urbano: un análisis económico y social de la población india de Lima en 1613”, Histórica 12 (1988), 5-34, at 19-20; J. Flores, “Hechicería e idolatría en Lima colonial (siglo XVII)”, in H. Urbano (ed.), Poder y violencia en los Andes (Cuzco, 1991), pp. 53-74, at 53-54; and Quiroz, “El indígena urbano. Incorporación del poblador indígena a tareas económicas urbanas. Lima colonial (siglo XVI)”, in Actas del IV Congreso Internacional de Etnohistoria (Lima, 1998), vol. 1, pp. 277-308, at pp. 288-98; all these works reproduce the eloquent testimony of the alguacil mayor on the necessity of the Indian labor force within the traza, found in AML, LCL, 24 May 1603.

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situation became even more complex after the introduction of black slaves to Lima, whose numbers grew substantially by the late 16th century. In 1613, 41.9 percent of Lima’s urban population was black slaves, 38.9 percent Spaniards, and only 7.9 percent Indians.31 This relatively low number of urban Indians was related to the creation of special Indian settlements, the reducciones, like Carabayllo to the north of Lima, Magdalena to the southwest, and, especially, Santiago del Cercado (1568) directly east of the city center. During its first century, Lima grew from a small military settlement with the legal status of a city, to a bustling colonial metropolis. Population increased from approximately one hundred Spaniards (plus their indigenous and black servants) in 1535, to 14,262 people in 1599, and to 25,154 people 14 years later.32 This vibrant early phase of urbanization can best be illustrated through analysis of the establishment and construction of the city’s main sectors and buildings, and especially through consideration of two key features: the public squares (plazas and plazuelas [lesser squares]) and the drinking water pipelines. Through analysis of these two features, we will show how the “official” plan for a Hispanic city interacted with local conditions. 3

The Plaza Mayor as a Multifunctional Center

Multiple types of activities were carried out in the early colonial city’s core, the Plaza Mayor. This was not accidental: colonial cities were planned from that central public space, and so initially the Plaza Mayor served numerous functions than only later were disaggregated (or distributed) across the growing city. The Plaza Mayor was originally administered by an official called the verdugo [hangman], who was paid a salary by the cabildo to call out pregones [official announcements], perform public punishments (including torture and executions), regulate the tianguez [Indian market] as alguacil [inspector], and regularly clean the public space.33 These responsibilities together serve as an introduction to the multiple uses of public space and to the multiple intersections between urban development and public life.34 31 32 33 34

Charney, “El indio urbano”, p. 24. Bromley and Barbagelata, Evolución Urbana, p. 63; Contreras, Padrón de los indios de Lima en 1613, pp. II, III. Besides his salary, the verdugo was allowed to send a black slave to sell clothes at the almoneda [auction] periodically held on one side of the Plaza Mayor, e.g., AML, LCL, 10 March 1550, 29 May 1551, 26 June 1551, 20 September 1563. In addition to the Plaza Mayor, during the 16th century there were two plazas (Santa Ana and Inquisition) both on the east side of the city, and several plazuelas (Estanque, two

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First, the pregón or public announcement and diffusion of official information, was performed in the plaza. The tolling of the Cathedral’s bells after Vespers called the attention of the vecinos, at which point the pregonero (usually the same person as the verdugo) shouted the news.35 The presence of the vecinos was compulsory and the act was officially recorded. For example, on 7 January 1550, “in the public plaza of this city by the voice of Pedro de la Peña pregonero of this city the following ordinance was announced before many people”, with the official witnesses listed as including two vecinos, two escribanos [scribes or secretaries] from the cabildo, and one royal escribano.36 Second, punishments, tortures, and executions (the verdugo’s eponymous job) were significant public spectacles in an urban center with a large slave population. On 7 June 1549 the city’s high court and the cabildo approved a list of punishments for black horros [maroons or escaped slaves]. These punishments all shared one feature: they were required to take place in the Plaza Mayor.37 For example, in the case of black slaves committing fraud while selling firewood, the penalty was confiscation of the product and one hundred lashes given while “tied to the rollo [stone column serving as a stake]”.38 The castigation of Indians was also carried out in public. For instance, if a common Indian was found carrying wine, his hair was to be cut off in the Plaza Mayor.39 Public punishment should be understood as a performance of official power intended to intimidate the main contingent of the urban labor force, it was targeted “to the other slaves that watched and knew it to be an example that they should not be absent, nor run away from their owners or their service”,40 Since the foundation of the city, the symbol of this sort of pedagogical violence was the rollo, initially placed at the center of the Plaza Mayor. However, in the early 1560s the rollo was moved to the south bank of the Rímac river, behind

35 36 37 38 39 40

named María Escobar, de Garzón, La Merced, Nicolás de Ribera el mozo and San Sebastián, among others), see G. Ramón, “La Plaza Mayor, las plazas y las plazuelas: espacios públicos en Lima (s.XVI)”, in L. Gutiérrez (ed.), Lima Siglo XVI (Lima, 2006), pp. 103-32, at pp. 123-29. AML, LCL, 15 November 1535. AML, LCL, 7 January 1550. Original: “en la plaça publica desta çibdad por boz de pedro de la peña pregonero desta çibdad se pregono esta hordenança ante mucha gente…” AML, LCL, 7 June 1549. AML, LCL, 21 July 1559. Original: “le den luego atado al Rollo cien aç[o]tes”. AML, LCL, 1 July 1555. “Common Indian” refers to someone who was not a community leader, like a cacique. AML, LCL, 7 April 1549. Original: “a los otros esclavos que lo vieren o supieren exenplo para que no se ausentar ni huir de sus amos ni servicio”.

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the Casas Reales, indicating expansion and diversification of public spaces within the city.41 Third, the tianguez was held in the Plaza Mayor. From the foundation of the city, both black slaves and Spaniards were barred from selling in the tianguez, which represents a specific example of what was a more general pattern during the 16th century: Indian spaces were not to be used by people of other ethnic groups.42 However, Cobo observed that: “more than one quarter of it [the Plaza Mayor], in front of the Cathedral, is occupied by the market or tianguez, which in this city we call ‘el gato’ where every kind of fruit and provision is sold, all is sold by black and Indian women, in such great numbers that it seems like an anthill”.43 This early 17th century description suggests that market sellers were not exclusively Indian. Other early accounts also provide more description. According to the 1613 census, Indian sellers had shops [cajones] next to the central fountain.44 At one end of the Plaza Mayor clothes were sold,45 and in another section blacks and Indians sold hay and forage for livestock.46 The concentration of commercial activities in the Plaza Mayor facilitated surveillance of buyers and sellers by the authorities, including for inspection and quality control. For instance, cabildo authorities worried about resale and fraud when dealing with certain products (e.g., bacon, bread, pig entrails, vegetables) and consequently determined that these products could only be legally sold in the Plaza Mayor.47 Likewise, fish could only be sold in the Plaza Mayor by Indian fishermen, and offenders would be punished with “one hun41

42

43 44 45 46 47

The reason for this move was: “parescido conveniente a la puliçia y ornato desta çiudad de los Reyes e por otros buenos fines y Respetos que para ello a avido e acordado quel Rollo della se deshaga y quite y pase de la plaça publica desta dicha ciudad donde al presente esta y se pase junto al Rio y puente del” (AML, LCL, 23 October 1562). See also Cobo “Fundacion de Lima”, p. 309 and AML, LCL, 15 October 1574, AML, LCL, 29 October 1590. On certain occasions punishments were still performed in the Plaza Mayor. On the uses of the rollo see V. Fraser, The Architecture of Conquest: Building in the Viceroyalty of Peru, 1535-1635 (Cambridge, 1990), pp. 57-63. AML, LCL, 3 April 1535, 4 January 1546, 15 July 1548, 9 November 1554. The first references to the tianguez do not specify its location (e.g., AML, LCL, 3 April 1535). There is no conclusive evidence about the use of the plaza as a market in the first half of the 16th century. However, in the LCL and in Cobo, “Fundación de Lima”, pp. 309-10, there is no mention of its move from a previous location; and also, as already indicated, the verdugo was in charge of the Plaza Mayor and was the alguacil [inspector] of the tianguez (AML, LCL 26 June 1551, 30 July 1551). Cobo, “Fundación de Lima”, p. 309. Contreras, Padrón de los indios de Lima en 1613, pp. 213, 216. AML, LCL, 15 September 1553, 20 August 1554, 29 November 1555. AML, LCL, 21 August 1559. AML, LCL, 17 August 1551.

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dred lashes and the fish [worn] around the neck” (to be carried out in the Plaza Mayor of course).48 These observations should not lead us to think that everything was sold in the Plaza Mayor. Already in the 16th century, the commercialization of certain products was officially restricted to other locations. For instance, meat was only sold in the rastro [abattoir and meat market] certain days of the week. On 25 January 1552, an individual applied for an official permit to sell meat in the Plaza Mayor, but was rejected. Cabildo authorities observed that it would have been harmful “because being in the plaza there would be many flies and vultures and loud cries and it would be very inconvenient for celebrating mass in the Cathedral of the city and [also] for the officials … in the Cabildo”,49 The rastro was located on the bank of the Rímac river.50 Likewise, wheat and certain other grains and legumes were sold at the alhóndiga [municipal granary], which was the only legal site of wheat and flour sales between 1557 and 1622, and which was conveniently located near the rastro, the Plaza Mayor, and many of the urban gristmills.51 In the early 17th century, besides the Plaza Mayor, the plaza of Santa Ana (in existence at least since 1550), was the second main market.52 Taken together, these examples demonstrate that during the mid to late 16th century Lima became a real, working city, with different public spaces acquiring different functional specializations. Fourth, the verdugo was in charge of keeping the plaza clean so it could serve as the main stage for public festivals, an aspect documented in detail by previous researchers.53 Within the annual calendar of festivities, one case, related to the official attitude about bailes de negros [African/black dances] is especially illuminating. Apparently black slaves typically performed their celebrations in the streets, which according to cabildo authorities interfered with the normal order of the city. Therefore, in 1563 it was resolved that “from today 48 49

50 51 52 53

AML, LCL, 8 May 1557, 31 May 1557. Original: “cien açotes e pescado al pescuezo”. AML, LCL, 25 January 1552. Original: “porque estando en la plaça avria muchas moscas y gallinazos y bozes y seria muy gran ynconveniente para el celebrar los divinos ofiçios en la yglesia mayor desta çibdad y para los dichos señores Justicia e Regimento quando esten en su Cabildo”. During the 16th century the rastro was located next to the alhóndiga, in front of the San Francisco convent, but was later moved across the river to the San Lázaro neighborhood, see Bromley and Barbagelata, Evolución Urbana, p. 35. M.G. Bell, “‘Wheat is the nerve of the whole republic’: spatial histories of a European crop in colonial Lima, Peru, 1535-1705”, Journal of Historical Geography 59 (2018), 40-51. Ramón, “La Plaza Mayor, las plazas y las plazuelas”, pp. 121-23. R.M. Acosta, Fiestas coloniales urbanas (Lima–Cuzco–Potosí) (Lima, 1997); Bromley, “Recibimientos de virreyes en Lima”, Osorio “The King in Lima”, Ramón, “La Plaza Mayor, las plazas y las plazuelas”, pp. 113-14.

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onwards they will not dance or play their drums or other instruments for dancing unless [they are] in the public plaza of this city or that [plaza] of Nicolas de Ribera the younger”,54 Here the cabildo is referring to the Plaza Mayor and to a smaller plazuela located next to the solar of the vecino Nicolás de Ribera the younger, two blocks away from the Plaza Mayor.55 If the slaves failed to follow this new rule, they would be punished with two hundred lashes, their musical instruments would be broken, and the slave owners would be fined one peso for each guilty slave. Since the 1540s, strict rules (with severe punishments) were enacted in order to control the black population, and these especially targeted their public dances.56 These official orders indicated how such festivities were to be performed: they were to be carried out in congregations, in the slaves’ cofradía [brotherhood] or in the cathedral, on Sunday or special festival days at specific times. However, these early measures seem not to have had much effect. In the 1560s cabildo authorities further refined their strategy through additional focus on spatial restriction and visibility of the slaves’ activities. Like the surveillance strategies the cabildo applied to commercial activities, the simplest approach was to place the observed subject in front of the authorities (e.g., the Plaza Mayor, literally in front of the cabildo, the viceroy, and the Cathedral, and not far from the jails), or as near as possible (e.g., Nicolás de Ribera’s plazuela). Slaves were a subordinate group and the placement of their performances in the city center did not signify privilege, instead it should be understood as a tactic used to limit and control their activities. Such understandings make very clear the interpretation of the Plaza Mayor as a multifunctional space.57 4

Supplying Drinking Water to the City

A final function of the Plaza Mayor was to serve as the crowning symbol of the successful completion of the project to pipe spring water into the city to supply residents with clean, safe, and copious drinking water. The fountain in 54 55

56 57

AML, LCL, 13 August 1563. Original: “de oy en adelante no baylen ni toquen a tambores ni otros ynstrumentos para baylar sino fuere en la plaça publica desta cidbad y en la de Nicolas de Ribera el moço”. The solar of Nicolás de Ribera the younger was located at what is currently the intersection of Jirón Ica and Jirón de la Unión, see J. Riva-Agüero, “Añoranzas”, in Monografías históricas de la ciudad de Lima (Lima, 1935), vol. 1, pp. 225-258, at p. 243 and Bromley and Barbagelata, Evolución Urbana, Fig.1. AML, LCL, 15 August 1548, 21 January 1549, 7 June 1549. On the official control of black slave population see F. Bowser, El esclavo africano en el Perú colonial (1524-1650) (Mexico DF, 1977), pp. 198-241.

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Figure 4.1 Map of Lima’s municipal pipeline network showing public fountains, c.1613, Based on: Bromley/Barbagelata, Evolución Urbana, pp. 41-43 and Fig. 3; Clemente Principe, Planta de la muy illustre; and the 18th century map of Lima’s water system: Plan[o] Topográfico (1787), published and described in Ramón, “Ilustrar la urbe”, pp. 62-79. See also Bell, “Historical Political Ecology”, Figs. 2-4 Source: CARTOGRAPHY COURTESY OF M. BELL

the Plaza Mayor was the result of a process that officially began in 1552,58 and lasted over 25 years, with water flowing for the first time to the fountain on 21 December 1578.59 This fountain was the most visible component of the hydraulic system jointly designed by the cabildo and the viceroy,60 which brought water from the springs outside the city to a central water tank near the Plaza Mayor, and then divided it into three municipal pipelines crossing the city grid. This water was distributed among residents, institutions, and public fountains, with drainage eventually ending up in the city canals and the river (Fig. 4.1).

58 59 60

AML, LCL, 15 January 1552. Bromley and Barbagelata, Evolución Urbana, p. 41. Actually four separate viceroys participated in this project: Antonio de Mendoza, Andrés Hurtado de Mendoza, Conde de Nieva, and Francisco de Toledo.

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The puquios [springs] that the city sought to take advantage of were located about six kilometers to the northeast of the Plaza Mayor, in an area where water from the aquifer located below Lima is easily accessed.61 Here, the city incorporated two puquios, the first was alternately called “Quiroz”, “Cacahuasi” or “la Atarjea” – for the hacienda owner where the spring was located, the supposed original indigenous name, or for the water conduit and tank infrastructure that was later constructed there.62 The second, incorporated in the early 17th century, was named for the local hacienda owner Esteban Pérez. Before being incorporated into the municipal water system, both springs had been used for irrigation, and both were in perpetual danger of being contaminated by pastoral activities, as well as by runoff from nearby agricultural fields. In appropriating this water for urban use the cabildo was thus taking control or ownership of “rural” waters, extending its hydraulic reach outside of the urban sphere. As mentioned above, the cabildo showed great interest in conserving spring water quality, concluding that of primary importance was the “cleanliness and security of the stated waters … for it is the same as if they [the pipelines] had never been built if they do not have any water”.63 This spring water was conducted via partially covered aqueduct to the main city water tank, called the Caja de Agua de la Caridad [Caridad Water Tank] for its location next to the Caridad hospital.64 From this point, which was immediately next to the Plaza de la Inquisición and five blocks from the Plaza Mayor, the three main municipal pipelines were designed to cross the city grid at regular intervals (approximately every two blocks) in a lateral direction from (approximately) east to west (Fig. 4.1). The first pipeline, completed by 1588, served the fountain of the Plaza Mayor, and continued on to the Santo Domingo monastery. The second pipeline, constructed by 1596, passed two blocks south of the first, extending to the San Augustín convent and the public fountain in the San Sebastián plazuela (Fig. 4.2).65 The third, finished in 1612, flowed two blocks 61 62 63 64 65

For detailed discussion of the springs, see Bell, “Agua y poder colonial”, 94-98. The Real Academia Española defines “atarjea” as “a small channel of masonry, at ground level or elevated on arches, that serves to circulate water [canal pequeño de mampostería, a nivel del suelo o sobre arcos, que sirve para conducir agua]”. AML, LCL, 29 October 1671. Original: “la limpiesa y seguridad de dhas aguas…. pues es lo mismo que si no se hubiesse hecha [las cañerias] si no tiene[n] agua”. For more information on the construction of this network see M. Bell, “Historical Political Ecology of Water: Access to Municipal Drinking Water in Colonial Lima, Peru (1578-1700)”, The Professional Geographer 67 (2015), 504-526. On the San Sebastian fountain see AML, LCL, 28 July 1595, 22 September 1595, 19 April 1596. This was the third public fountain (after those of the Plaza Mayor, and the Inquisition Plaza), it was the first located in a plazuela. See also Ramón, “La Plaza Mayor, las plazas y las plazuelas”, p. 127.

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Figure 4.2 San Sebastián plaza and public fountain, Lima Source: Photograph COURTESY OF G. RAMÓN

south of the second, though it broke the set pattern and branched into two main forks, serving the Encarnación Monastery, the Merced Convent and public fountain, the Jesuit Novitiate College, and finally the public fountain in the San Marcelo plazuela. These are only some of the notable locations served by the municipal pipelines; many other connections were installed to draw water for private homes, religious institutions (including hospitals), public institutions (e.g., the cabildo), and public fountains (e.g., neighborhood fountains located in plazuelas). To obtain one of these connections, the interested party had to apply to the cabildo for a license to install a private connection to withdraw specific amounts of water from the municipal water pipelines.66 The first such permit was issued in 1588 for the Santo Domingo convent, and during the remainder of the 16th century the cabildo reviewed about 16 more. By 1700 the cabildo had dealt with over 60 permit requests, and in total more than 80 connections can 66

The most common measurements were the paja and real. Both were units of measurement of water based on circumference of pipe opening, which were based on the size of coins. The real was bigger than the paja. A. Cerdán de Landa Simón Pontero, Tratado jeneral [sic] sobre las aguas que fertilizan los valles de Lima (Lima, 1828), pp. 23-24, provides definitions: real: “una moneda de un medio real de a ocho segoviano”; paja: “un peso de moneda americana”. The Real Academia Española lists the paja as equivalent to 1/16 of a real of water.

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be documented between 1588 and 1700.67 The majority of permits issued were for private homes (approximately 61 percent), but the majority of water was allocated to religious institutions (approximately 82 percent of total volume conceded). Potential water users either paid for their permits or were awarded them in recognition of services provided to the city (many religious or charitable institutions received water with no charge). One result of this system was that most connections for private homes were awarded to influential and/or wealthy vecinos. For example, more than half of the connections for private homes were granted to members of the cabildo or to their immediate family, and among the other half, many awardees were royal or viceregal officials, church officials, university rectors, or other high-status individuals. From the early 17th century, permits were administered, monitored, and installed by the comisarios de cañerías [pipeline commissioners, who were two members of the cabildo annually appointed to this position beginning in 1611] and by the fontanero mayor [chief fountaineer, a city engineer specializing in pipelines and fountains, named from 1609].68 This, however, did not fully serve to control the installation of illegal connections and other related abuses.69 A second aggregate effect of this licensing system was that neighborhoods located near pipelines ended up with many private water connections. Consequently, these came to be known as the wealthier and more prestigious sectors of the city, the close relationship between infrastructure, water access, and social status was developed. These sociospatial patterns followed the flow of water through the pipes. Areas near the upper portion of the three municipal pipelines, just “downstream” from the Caridad water tank, enjoyed greater amounts of running water than those neighborhoods located at the end of the pipes and lower in the flow of water. This situation was the result of the “upper” users taking the water out of the system before it reached the “lower” users.70 Neighborhoods (centered around plazuelas) like La Merced, La Encarnación, San Sebastián, San Marcelo, and Guadalupe came to be called the “far neighborhoods”, “the bottom half of the city”, and “below the principal plaza” – referring to both their real topographic position below the water tank, but also to

67

68 69 70

See Bell, “Historical Political Ecology of Water”, 509-22, tables 4-7 and figs. 3-4, for a complete list and map of these petitions and connections, and for more detailed discussion of the socio-spatial patterns of water access. Some buildings and institutions, like the cabildo or viceregal palace, did not require petition for license. Bell, “Historical Political Ecology of Water”, 506-07. See for example, AML, LCL 21.I.1605, 7.I.1611, 2.I.1636. AML, LCL, 9 March 1606, 11 August 1621, 20 March 1629.

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their poverty with respect to water access.71 Of course, this was not necessarily a coincidence. The cabildo played a key role in designing the pipeline routes, which directly served many of its own members: the traza that had been designed clearly described the large storage tank to be placed near the Caridad hospital, privileging the region northeast of the Plaza Mayor.72 The water infrastructure enhanced – and materialized – existing social, political, and economic relationships within the city. The urban hydraulic system provides a second hierarchical traza (superimposed and not necessarily coincident) with the original one laid out by the founders of Lima and described by Cobo. The Plaza Mayor was, therefore, not the only reference point for interpreting the urban grid. Options for city residents who did not have private connections included collecting water from the public fountains distributed across the city, buying water from the aguateros [water sellers] who transported drinking water via mule, or getting it from the river directly (although this source was not necessarily clean or healthy to drink).73 The public fountains were likely the best of these choices, although they were not without complications. By the time the three municipal pipelines were completed, according to LCL descriptions there were seven public fountains located in the city’s plazas and plazuelas: Plaza Mayor (1578), Plaza de la Inquisición (no date, but c.1588),74 San Sebastián plazuela (completed 1596, but with delay in water flow), the street fountain near house of Lorenzo Estupiñán de Figueroa (no date, but c.1596), La Merced plazuela (1602), San Marcelo plazuela (completed 1605, water flowing 1612), San Pedro plazuela (1605), and the street fountain at the Marmol de Carvajal [Carvajal’s marble] (1605) (Fig. 4.2). All of these were located below the Caridad water tank, and San Sebastián, San Marcelo and the Mármol de Carvajal can be considered “far neighborhoods” with respect to the greater water network. In some cases, this distance meant delays and setbacks in construction, for instance a petition for the San Marcelo fountain was submitted in 1595 by residents of that neighborhood, but water did not flow there until 1612. Other cases show neighborhoods completely lacking in public fountains. While the “far neighborhoods” below the Caridad water tank often experienced water shortages and low flow levels, the zones above the Caridad water 71 72 73 74

AML, LCL, 28 November 1651, 20 March 1629, see also AML, LCL 9 March 1620, 29 October 1671. AML, LCL, 9 June 1595, reference to “la traça que estaua fecha”. AML, LCL, 11 August 1621, 20 March 1629. Some houses also had private wells, but data on these is not available in the cabildo records of the period. In 1593, the cabildo described this fountain as small and poorly built (AML, LCL, 12 November 1593).

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tank had no connections whatsoever in the initial municipal water network plan. Significantly this included the Indian neighborhood of Santiago del Cercado, which only later received a single public fountain in its plaza, drawn from the aqueduct above the Caridad water tank. Later in the 17th century, recognizing this overall deficiency as well as the unfortunate reality “that most of the public fountains in this city were without water and had been for more than a year and a half”, the cabildo implemented two solutions.75 The first was the construction of two new municipal pipelines, to bring additional water to the areas served by two of the original municipal pipelines, which comprised zones with great concentrations of users (albeit already existing users). These were the new Plaza Mayor pipeline (planned 1647, constructed 1650) and the new San Marcelo pipeline (planned 1668, not completed until the 1690s).76 The second was the construction of private pipelines, drawn from the Caridad water tank or from the aqueduct upstream from this water tank (closer to the water source in the springs). These private pipelines were designed to serve only their final users, which were primarily religious institutions. The first private pipeline was for the Santa Ana plaza (1606), which was exceptional in that it was paid for by residents seeking a public fountain, and not by a larger religious institution.77 Between 1606 and 1700, the cabildo approved and supervised the construction of about 20 additional private pipelines. These permits usually came with the obligation of installing and maintaining a public fountain, but a cabildo report from 1670 concluded that these public fountains were plagued with problems, frequently were out of commission, and some had never even been built.78 The infrastructure designed in the mid-16th century influenced not only early patterns of water access, but also the later 17th and 18th century adjustments and additions to this system, with long term consequences for sociospatial patterns of water access. The cabildo touted the ideal of providing water to all: “the first thing given attention in the foundation of all of the cities of the world [is] that this element, inexcusable for human life, is provided with clean75 76 77 78

AML, LCL, 5 July 1621. Original: “las mas de las fuentes publicas desta ciudad estauan sin agua y lo abian estado mas de año y medio”. Bell, “Historical Political Ecology of Water”, pp. 519-21, table 7 (list of pipelines). San Cristóbal, Obras civiles en Lima durante el siglo XVII, pp. 206-33, contains additional details on private pipelines. AML, LCL, 11 May 1620, see also 9 March 1606, 21 August 1609. AML, LCL, 3 September 1670; see also 25 February 1671, 12 May 1671. Previous complaints about damaged pipes and fountains include: AML, LCL 8 August 1608, 5 July 1621, 4 September 1623, 21 March 1630, 8 July 1630, 20 September 1631, 1 July 1632, 13 August 1632, 20 July 1635, 27 July 1643, 13 December 1654, 12 July 1654.

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liness and security”;79 but this was not something fully achieved in reality. Likewise, the future development of the urban space came to be closely linked to the pipeline infrastructure, suggesting a reinterpretation of the traza plan of the city with respect to water access. While previously distance from the Plaza Mayor had been the principal metric for understanding property value and prestige within the urban zone, it is necessary to add water access potential and the spatial relationship with pipelines to this equation. Areas near pipelines and public fountains became more valuable and prestigious than areas outside the system, and these outer areas lost status and in effect became poorer over time. Plazas and plazuelas became secondary centers of neighborhoods and parishes, and served to articulate the hydraulic system and the public space. 5

Conclusion

The foundational plan for Lima, based around the single Plaza Mayor and its related power centers (cabildo, Cathedral, viceregal court), rapidly expanded to include a series of plazas and plazuelas associated with a series of smaller churches. These lesser plazas and churches became micro-centers of urban life, where some of the main functions of the Plaza Mayor were repeated, at least on a smaller scale. Among these was the installation of public fountains, intended to provide drinking water to a wider range of city residents. Fountains and drinking water access thus became a general attribute of the public space of a plaza or plazuela. In other cases, plazuelas became centers devoted to more specialized urban functions, with some of the original functions of the Plaza Mayor being dispersed to new locations. This included the relocation of the rollo and shows an overall expansion and diversification of the urban space. In the same way, the hydraulic system that had originally been designed around the Plaza Mayor and urban grid, quickly grew beyond the original plan, and had to be adjusted to incorporate more neighborhoods, typically through the installation of fountains in plazuelas. This only increased the importance of plazuelas to daily urban life. Analysis of the drinking water pipelines also reveals how the original design of water infrastructure had long-term impacts on the socioeconomic development of the city. Neighborhoods and spaces 79

AML, LCL, 17 November 1649. Original: “Lo primero que se atiende en las fundaciones de todas las ciudades del mundo [es] que este elemento inescusable a la vida umana benga cumplido y con linpieza y seguridad.”

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included in the original design were cemented as more prestigious, while neighborhoods excluded from the original plan struggled to expand the system or to exist outside of it. Both aspects of urban life (public spaces and public drinking water access) provide great insight into how the cabildo sought to govern the city, as well as into the conflicts and divergence between the plan – based on legal concepts and urban traditions of Spain – and the local limeño reality. These local conditions, both social and environmental, shaped the placement of the city, the design and functioning of the hydraulic system, and the flows of everyday life through the urban space. Focusing on the creation and distribution of plazas and pipelines, it is possible to observe the development of hierarchical distinctions within the urban grid, which are not apparent in the original plan. The first full map of Lima, the Plan de la muy Yllustre ciudad de los reyes… [1674], while still an understudied document, suggests graphically the importance of secondary spaces such as the plazas and plazuelas (Fig. 0.2). This prominence is confirmed by the reconstruction of the drinking water network using the LCL. The materialization of these (and other) networks of power within the urban space demonstrates the transformation of Lima from a theoretical plan to an actual city. Only two urban features were considered here, but a range of others may be studied from a similar perspective, to portray a more sophisticated image of early colonial Lima.

Bibliography



Primary Sources

Cieza de León, P., La crónica del Perú. Primera Parte, in M. Ballesteros (ed.), La crónica del Perú (Madrid, 1984 [1553]). Cobo, B., “Fundación de Lima”, in F. Mateos (ed.), Obras del padre Bernabé Cobo (Madrid, 1956 [1639]), vol. 2, pp. 280-469. Contreras, M. de., Padrón de los indios de Lima en 1613, in N.D. Cook (ed.), Seminario de Historia Rural Andina (Lima, 1968).  Instrucciones a Diego Colón (Valladolid, 3 May 1509), in F. de Solano (ed.), Normas y Leyes de la Ciudad Hispanoamericana (1492-1600), vol. 1 (Madrid, 1996), pp. 34-35.  Instrucción a Hernán Cortés (1523), in F. de Solano (ed.), Normas y Leyes de la Ciudad Hispanoamericana (1492-1600), vol. 1 (Madrid, 1996), pp. 70-72.  Instrucciones a Pedrarias Dávila (Valladolid, 2 and 9 August 1513), in F. de Solano (ed.), Normas y Leyes de la Ciudad Hispanoamericana (1492-1600), vol. 1 (Madrid, 1996), pp. 36-39.

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 Instrucciones a Nicolás de Ovando (Zaragoza, 20 and 29 March 1503), in F. de Solano (ed.), Normas y Leyes de la Ciudad Hispanoamericana (1492-1600), vol. 1. (Madrid, 1996), pp. 24-27.  Instrucciones al Virrey del Perú para hacer nuevos descubrimientos y poblaciones (Valla­ dolid, 13 May 1556), in F. de Solano (ed.), Normas y Leyes de la Ciudad Hispano­ americana (1492-1600), vol. 1 (Madrid, 1996), pp. 158-62.  Instrucción dada a los frailes de la Orden de San Jerónimo (13 September 1516), in F. de Solano (ed.), F., Normas y Leyes de la Ciudad Hispanoamericana (1492-1600), vol. 1 (Madrid, 1996), pp. 47-51.  Libros de Cabildos de Lima, in B.T. Lee and J. Bromley (eds.) (Lima, 1935-1964 [15341637]).  Nuevas ordenanzas de descubrimiento, población y pacificación de las Indias (13 July 1573), in F. de Solano (ed.), Normas y Leyes de la Ciudad Hispanoamericana (14921600), vol. 1 (Madrid, 1996), pp. 194-218. Príncipe, B.C., Planta de la muy yllustre ciudad de los reyes corte del reino del Peru (Lima, 1674). Library of Congress Geography and Map Division Washington, DC [].



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Acosta, R.M., Fiestas coloniales urbanas (Lima–Cuzco–Potosí) (Lima, 1997). Bell, M.G., “Agua y poder colonial: ciclos, flujos y procesiones en el manejo hidráulico urbano en Lima durante el siglo XVII”, Boletín del Instituto Riva Agüero 37 (2014), 75-121. Bell, M.G., “Historical Political Ecology of Water: Access to Municipal Drinking Water in Colonial Lima, Peru (1578-1700)”, The Professional Geographer 67 (2015), 504-26. Bell, M.G. “‘Wheat is the nerve of the whole republic’: Spatial Histories of a European Crop in Colonial Lima, Peru, 1535-1705”, Journal of Historical Geography 59 (2018), pp. 40-51. Bowser, F., El esclavo africano en el Perú colonial (1524-1650) (Mexico DF, 1977). Bromley, J., “Recibimientos de virreyes en Lima”, Revista Histórica 20 (1953), 5-108. Bromley, J., and J. Barbagelata, Evolución Urbana de Lima (Lima, 1945). Centro de Estudios Históricos de Obras Públicas y Urbanismo, La Ciudad hispanoamericana, El sueño de un orden (Madrid, 1989). Cerdán de Landa Simón Pontero, A., Tratado jeneral [sic] sobre las aguas que fertilizan los valles de Lima (Lima, 1828). Charney, P., “El indio urbano: un análisis económico y social de la población india de Lima en 1613”, Histórica 12 (1988), 5-34. Chávez Blancas, J., “Lima la vieja revisitada”, Boletín de Lima 126 (2001), 10-21. Cogorno, G., Agua e hidráulica urbana de Lima: espacio y gobierno, 1535-1596 (Lima, 2015).

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Cohen, E., “Law, Folklore and Animal Lore”, Past & Present 110 (1986), 6-37. Domínguez, N., “Aguas y legislación en los valles de Lima: El repartimiento de 1617”, Boletín del Instituto Riva Agüero 15 (1988), 119-54. Durston, A., “Un régimen urbanístico en la América Hispana colonial: el trazado en damero durante los siglos XVII y XVII”, Historia 28 (1994), 59-115. Flores, J., “Hechicería e idolatría en Lima colonial (siglo XVII)”, in H. Urbano (ed.), Poder y violencia en los Andes (Cuzco, 1991), pp. 53-74. Flores, I., “Arqueología restauración de monumentos histórico artísticos: Estudio de la Casa Osambela”, in V. Rangel (ed.), Arquitectura y arqueología, pasado y futuro de la construcción en el Perú (Chiclayo, 1988), pp. 229-37. Fraser, V., The Architecture of Conquest: Building in the Viceroyalty of Peru, 1535-1635 (Cambridge, 1990). Gunther, J. and G. Lohmann, Lima (Madrid, 1992). Harth-terré, E., “El asiento arqueológico de la ciudad de Lima. Las 5 huacas de la Plaza de Armas”, El Comercio, January 18 (1960), p. 3. Hemming, J., The Conquest of the Incas (New York, 1970). Huertas, L., “Introducción al estudio de la Plaza Mayor de Lima”, Historia y Cultura 23 (1999), 281-336. Mogrovejo, J., Arqueología urbana de evidencias coloniales en la ciudad de Lima (Lima, 1998). Muñoz-Nájar, T., “Testimonio central”/“Ventana mayor”, Caretas September 5 (1996), 52-54. Musset, A., Ciudades nómadas del Nuevo Mundo, trans. José María Ímaz (México DF, 2011). Narváez, J., “Sistemas de irrigación y señorios indígenas en el valle bajo del Rímac durante el siglo XVI”, Boletín del Instituto Riva-Agüero 37 (2013-2014), 81-128. Osorio, A., “The King in Lima: Simulacra, Ritual, and Rule in 17th-century Peru”, Hispanic American Historical Review 84 (2004), 447-74. Peñaherrera, C., Geografía (Lima, 2004). Quiroz, F., “El indígena urbano. Incorporación del poblador indígena a tareas económicas urba­nas. Lima colonial (siglo XVI)”, in Actas del IV Congreso Internacional de Etnohistoria, Lima 1998, vol. 1, pp. 277-308. Raimondi, A., Aguas minerales y potables del Perú: autoridad científica y nuevos espacios de consagración republicanos (Lima, 2009 [1824]). Ramón, G., “El umbral de la urbe: usos de la Plaza mayor de Lima (siglos XVIII-XIX)”, in C. Aguirre, M. Dávalos, and M. Ros (eds.), Los espacios públicos de la ciudad siglos XVIII y XIX (México DF, 2002), pp. 265-88. Ramón, G., “La Plaza Mayor, las plazas y las plazuelas: espacios públicos en Lima (s.XVI)”, in L. Gutiérrez (ed.), Lima Siglo XVI (Lima, 2006), pp. 103-32. Ramón, G., “Ilustrar la urbe: planos de Lima borbónica”, Illapa 7 (2010), 62-79.

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Ramón, G. “Bourbon Manoeuvres in the Plaza: Shifting Urban Models in Late Colonial Lima”, Urban History 44 (2017), 622—646. Riva-Agüero, J., “Añoranzas”, in Monografías históricas de la ciudad de Lima (Lima, 1935), vol. 1, pp. 225-258. Rostworowski, M., Señoríos de Lima y Canta (Lima, 1978). San Cristóbal, A., Obras civiles en Lima durante el siglo XVII (Lima, 2005). Uhle, M., Pachacamac: Report of the William Peper Expedition of 1896 (Philadelphia, 1903).

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Chapter 5

Lima: A Legal City in the Early Colonial Andes (1538-1600)  Renzo Honores Lima was a “legal city” since its founding in the mid-16th century.1 The city gradually became an active forum for the practice of law and the administration of justice. At the end of the century, Lima was home to a visible community of legal specialists, courts of first and second instances (in secular and spiritual jurisdictions), and a prominent scholarly center for legal education: the University of San Marcos. The legal profession was made up of formal and informal practitioners, a complex and diverse group that has been the subject of recent studies.2 Scribes were the first group of legal specialists to settle down in the city; they became the facilitators par excellence for private agreements and commercial exchanges. In fact, notaries were privileged actors in the legal activities of settlers during and after the conquest in the formative decade of the 1530s.3 One of the first notaries of Lima was Pedro de Castañeda who also 1 The term “legal city” was coined by Lenard Berlanstein for 18th-century Toulouse. He defined a “legal city” as an urban space for legal practice, a center for learning law, and a forum for dispute resolution: L. Berlanstein, The Barristers of Toulouse in the Eighteenth Century (17401793) (Baltimore, 1975), pp. 1-2. The concept has been employed for other cities, like 16thcentury Barcelona which went through a period of change and economic decline at that time: J. Amelang, “Barristers and Judges in Early Modern Barcelona”, The American Historical Review 89.5 (1984) p. 1266. “Legal city” is a category that can be applied to colonial capitals in Spanish America with a high court of justice, such as Lima or the city of Santiago de Guatemala (today’s Antigua) in which the court of justice was central to the life of the city: R. Herrera, Natives, Europeans, and Africans in Sixteenth-Century Santiago de Guatemala, Austin, 2003, pp. 101-09. 2 In litigation, procurators and advocates played a pivotal role as special agents of the parties. Although they were in charge of the cases of litigants, other agents contributed to the march of the trials. In recent scholarship, Andean historiography has highlighted the important role of interpreters in litigation as advisors and intermediaries. Legal agents such as Felipe Guaman Poma de Ayala made use of their own experiences for accumulation of land and other resources. For studies of this class of specialists and their careers in the Andes, see J. De la Puente Luna, “The Many Tongues of the King’: Indigenous Language Interpreters and the Making of the Spanish Empire”, Colonial Latin American Review 23.2 (2014), pp. 143-44. 3 For a historical study of the early importance of scribes, see K. Burns, “Notaries, Truth, and Consequences”, American Historical Review 110.2 (2005), pp. 351-52 and K. Burns, Into the Archive, Writing and Power in Colonial Peru (Durham, 2010), pp. 42-67. James Lockhart has

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2019 | doi:10.1163/9789004335363_007

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worked as the scribe of the city in the town council from 1537.4 Castañeda’s private protocols recorded transactions, transferences, and obligations in Lima’s formative years.5 While scribes were dedicated to negotiation, procuradores de causas [procurators] and advocates (lawyers admitted to litigate before a court) were the most prominently placed legal agents in the dispute resolution system of early colonial Lima. This dual system of representation originated in the High Middle Ages (and for Castile in the 13th century) and was exported to the Americas during the conquest. In the 16th century, this model of legal representation was clearly established and became a central factor for the professionalization of legal services. This system shaped litigation representation until the mid-19th century when lawyers started to monopolize legal representation by replacing procurators. Political factors ensured the centrality and legal preeminence of Lima among nascent Spanish American cities in the Viceroyalty of Peru. The “City of the Kings” was the residence of the first conquerors as well as the colonial authorities: the viceroy, the Audiencia, and the archbishop.6 In 1542, the Crown, alarmed by the situation in the colonies and the question of the encomienda [a tribute granting institution in the Iberoamerican world by which Spanish individuals were imbued with authority over indigenous groups], as consequence examined the class of scribes within the wide group of legal specialists in the early years of Lima. The main scribe that he studied was Pedro de Salinas, active as notary of the municipality since 1539 (J. Lockhart, Spanish-Peru, 1532-1560 (Madison, 1968), pp. 70-76). Before the formal founding of Lima and when the capital was Jauja, the scribe of the town council was Juan Alonso “escribano de dicho cabildo”: Concejo Provincial de Lima, Libros de cabildos de Lima (Lima, 1935), p. I, 3. 4 His was appointed as scribe by replacing Domingo de la Presa (the first scribe of the municipality) on 28 May 1537 (Concejo Provincial de Lima, Libros de cabildos de Lima, p. I, 153). His last entry as scribe of the cabildo [city council] was on 28 September 1538, when he was replaced by Pedro de Salinas (Concejo Provincial de Lima, Libros de cabildos de Lima, p. I, 248). 5 The protocolo ambulante [itinerant legal record] is a good example of the early transactions of the conquerors. In 1535, García de Contreras and Alonso de Alvarado sold two African slaves to Diego de Alvarado for the price of 300 pesos. The transaction took place in Pachacamac. On the same date, conqueror Francisco de Villacastín signed a power to be represented in lawsuits (G. Lohmann Villena, “Indice del ‘Libro primero de escrituras,’ 1533-1531,” Revista del Archivo Nacional del Perú 17.1 (1942), p. 51). 6 The list of encomenderos [land grantees] from 1561 recorded by order of Marquis of Cañete included the identities of these notable personages in the main cities of colonial Peru: T. Hampe, “Relación de los encomenderos y repartimientos del Perú en 1561”, Historia y Cultura 12 (1979), pp. 75-117. According to his records, limeño encomenderos like Antonio de Ribera were leading citizens, had rural properties, and managed distant encomienda grants. In addition to being a successful encomendero, Ribera was mayor of Lima. For more detailed studies on encomenderos who controlled local municipalities, see S. Ramírez, Provincial Patriarchs: Land Tenure and the Economics of Power in Colonial Peru (Albuquerque, 1986) for the case of Trujillo, in northern Peru.

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of Lascasian rhetoric, decided to send magistrates to supervise the settlers and more forcefully impose royal authority. The New Laws of 1542-43 created the Audiencia of Lima, and the Audiencia was set up in June 1544. For a couple of years, Lima had depended on the jurisdiction of the Audiencia of Panama, but the new Audiencia conferred a position of privilege to the city.7 Lima soon became the pinnacle of the canon law dispute resolution system after the city became an episcopal see. The Audiencia Arzobispal was the main court of justice in canon law and litigants journeyed there to discuss their rights. This chapter examines the history of the Lima as a legal hub in the 16thcentury Iberoamerican world. The city was a forum for its inhabitants and outsiders in ecclesiastical and secular courts, tuning into one of the most influential legal communities in the colonial period. This chapter explores the construction of the local limeño [Lima] legal apparatus and the roles of agents and litigants in its making on the ground in the South American viceregal capital. I argue that, as a result of its political centrality as the viceregal capital, Lima rapidly became an important imperial legal center – a “legal city” – with a vibrant professional class of legal specialists. By the end of the 16th century, Lima’s emerging upper class produced a local group of legal advocates that pursued legal actions on both sides of the Atlantic. This history of the early practice of law in Lima sheds light on an important episode in Spanish American juridical history wherein a new legal culture emerged in the wake of profound sociopolicial changes throuhgout the Viceroyalty of Peru. 1

Early Limeño Courts and Jurisdictions

During the conquest, Spaniards began to import their political institutions into the Americas, especially those stemming from the Castilian legal tradition. The primary agent of local and judicial power in early colonial Lima was the cabildo. Lima’s town council represented the power of local government as one of the most prominent government agencies involved in dispute resolution across the early modern Iberoamerican world. In the 16th century, the early cabildos were made up of members of the rising local elite, namely the aristocratic class

7 The Audiencia of Panama was established in 1538. In the early years before the installment of Lima’s Audiencia, several cases from South America were addressed to this court. Indigenous South American caciques were also involved in litigation in Panama; Ramírez has studied the cases brought by northern Andean lords in the 1530s: S. Ramírez, The World Upside Down. Cross Cultural Contact and Conflict in Sixteenth-Century Peru (Stanford, 1996), p. 17.

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of encomenderos [Spaniards awarded with groups of tribute-­paying Indians].8 The encomendero elite was central to the management of local affairs in Lima and other nascent South American cities. In the first decades of the postconquest era, encomenderos dominated large cities such as Lima, Cuzco, and Trujillo. Led by the alcalde ordinario [local administrator and judge] who was elected by fellow members of the council, the town council served as the judge in municipal disputes brought before it.9 In 1539, Francisco de Ampuero was elected as alcalde of the city. Between 1538 and 1550, many of the alcaldes of Lima possessed encomienda land grants. Councilmen participated in the deliberation of local affairs. The council minutes illustrate how it discussed legal aspects of the city and demonstrates how it valued the advice of legal experts. In medieval Castile, alcaldes exerted civil and criminal jurisdiction between one and five leagues around the town. This rule was exported throughout the Iberoamerican world and became common in many Spanish cites in the Americas.10 Jurisdiction was a legal concept that in the early modern period referred to the authority to judge and process disputes. In the early 17th century, Juan de Hevia Bolaño, the author of procedural practical manuals, defined jurisdiction as the capacity to solve disputes, one of the duties of rulers.11 Boundaries were also other important idea associated with a vast district. Most colonial cities defined themselves by their términos, which were great territorial units under their authority. In 1561, a list of encomenderos was organized on the basis of the cities where they resided with the enumeration of the respective districts or términos, including Huamanga, La Paz, Cuzco, La Plata, and Trujillo. In 1561, the city of Lima argued that its términos extended in the south to the valley of Cañete, in an inspection ordered by the local authorities. Between 1535 and 1544, the cabildo was the court of judicial affairs in the city, meaning that all local disputes were to be solved under its umbrella. The cabildo was a civil jurisdiction that oversaw civil (patrimonial and commercial disputes) and criminal cases. The records of the cabildo’s scribe around 1556, Diego Gutiérrez, demonstrate that civil and criminal cases commonly went before the limeño cabildo in the 16th century.12 Aside from the cabildo and its 8 9 10

11 12

A. Presta, Encomienda, familias y negocios en Charcas colonial, Los encomenderos de La Plata 1550-1600 (Lima 2000) and G. Lohmann Villena, Los regidores perpetuos del cabildo de Lima (1535-1821), Crónica y estudio de un grupo de gestión (Seville 1983). J. Schwaller, “Alcalde vs. Mayor: Translating the Colonial World”, The Americas 69.3 (2013), pp. 391-400. A league was equivalent to six kilometers, the distance that a human being can walk in an hour. On medieval justice and jurisdiction, see M. Huerta, “La aportación castellana,” in W. Borah (ed.) El gobierno provincial en la Nueva España, 1570-1787 (Mexico City, 1987), p. 19. A royal cédula of 1539 decreed that Mexico City had a jurisdiction of 15 leagues. J. Hevia Bolaños, Curia Philipica: Primero y Segundo Tomo (Madrid, 1989 [1797]), p. I, 19. Archivo General de la Nación, Lima, Peru (AGN-RA), Causas Civiles 1, Leg. 3, 1550. fol. 1.

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mayor, the city had several magistrates and officers who were dedicated to assigning rights, enforcing the law, and solving local and small claims. The courts of first instance attended to the properties of the deceased, water disputes, arbitration, and commercial concerns. A court of posthumous estates was established in the mid-16th century to oversee the properties of the deceased, a practice that was becoming increasingly common. The fieles ejecutores [dedicated executors] enforced ordinances to maintain order in the day-to-day operations of the city. Lima had a corregidor [royal administrator] for a couple of years during the 16th century. In 1554, Juan de Luna served as the corregidor of Lima; Luna participated in the assemblies of the city council among other duties.13 In the Spanish legal tradition, the corregidor was a supervisor of local affairs, and the role was associated with the absolutist government of the Catholic Monarchs; however, Lima’s city council assumed the duties of the corregidor and the role did not gain traction in early colonial Lima. In 1544, the Real Audiencia [high court of justice] of Lima was established in the capital, dramatically altering the city’s legal ecosystem. The establishment of the Audiencia of Lima localized high court judicial proceedings for South American litigants, which had been processed by the Audiencia of Panama until that time. The high court, as a tribunal of appeals, diminished the prestige and importance of the municipal council; however, it simultaneously revitalized the importance of the city as an urban legal enclave. Lima served as a court of appeals for the entire viceroyalty, therefore many litigants came from distant corners of the viceroyalty to have their cases heard. The resolution of disputes became an important activity for this new legal capital, especially in the Real Audiencia. An array of legal professionals worked to bring cases before the high court. As the Real Audiencia consolidated its position in Lima’s legal landscape, the status of the cabildo as a limeño judicial authority shifted. Because the Audiencia became the authoritative court of appeals for the viceroyalty, the high court usurped the Lima city council as the most important center for legal dispute resolution in the Andes. The high court was formulated according to the model of the Spanish high courts, the Chancillería of Valladolid, created in 1370. When Antonio de Mendoza (1495-1552) served as the viceroy of New Spain (r. 1535-1550), he promulgated the first ordinances of the Audiencia of Mexico in 1548. Later, in 1552, he did the same for Lima. Before the foundation of the Audiencia of Lima, ­litigants directed their appeals to the Audiencia of Panama. The limeño high court was

13

This document enumerates the civil cases and the name of litigants as well as the length of the case. Lohmann Villena is the best study about the corregidores of Lima, an office that was exceptional in the city. G. Lohmann Villena, “El corregidor de Lima: Estudio histórico-jurídico”, Revista Histórica XX (1953), pp. 153-80.

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closed during the rebellion led by Gonzalo Pizarro, only to be reopened in 1549 and regained its position as an important center for Peruvian viceregal litigation. Individuals from as far away as Cuzco, Huamanga, and Potosí brought their cases to the distant high court. Once the Lima high court was operational, caciques and indigenous Andean leadership brought their cases to the viceregal capital. Encomenderos did the same. For example, don Pedro de Portocarrero traveled to Lima to have his case heard in the early days of the high court’s operation, hiring a procurator and one advocate to defend his rights.14 The Audiencia of Lima had a vast jurisdiction when it was founded; however, with the creation of two Audiencias at Charcas and Quito. In 1561 and 1563, the situation changed. The Lima high court’s jurisdiction was locally adjacent to ecclesiastical jurisdiction, another important terrain in the legal world of the Peruvian viceroyalty.15 During the 16th century, spiritual legal order was an important component of legal practice. The archbishop resided in the viceroyalty’s capital city and served as the head of the Audiencia arzobispal, the high tribunal in canon law in the region. The ecclesiastical council’s judge (and advisor) was called the provisor, and he was usually a specialist in canon law, like the prominent provisor Feliciano de Vega in the early 17th century.16 Although canon law was widely represented in the archival records of the 17th century, documentary evidence for the 16th century is sparse. However, canon law was an important space of legality in the early decades of the colonial period in Lima and its concomitant viceroyalty because it regulated several aspects of the lived experience of colonial subjects. The Lima archbishop and the ecclesiastical council heard appeal cases from Huamanga, Arequipa, and Cuzco, among other regional towns and cities. Furthermore, as an arbiter of the family affairs, personal status, and patrimonial disputes, the limeño ecclesiastical council was as influential as the Real Audiencia. In the 17th century, authors such as the Jesuit Bernabé Cobo, the Franciscan Buenaventura de Salinas y Córdova, and the Dominican Juan de Meléndez described the secular and ecclesiastical tribunals of Lima. Their narratives show the importance and interrelations of the two bodies while also highlighting 14 15 16

AGN-DI, Leg. 1, Cuad. 1, 1552. In the 16th century, caciques and indigenous litigants ­traveled to Madrid, see J. de la Puente Luna, Andean Cosmopolitans. Seeking Justice and ­Reward at the Spanish Royal Court (Austin 2018). On the influence in concepts and practices of canon law, see J. Brundage, The Medieval Origins of the Legal Profession: Canonists, Civilians, and Courts (Chicago, 2008) and also his Medieval Canon Law (London, 1995). Archivo Arzobispal de Lima, Peru [AAL], Leg. Cuad. 1. I thank Michelle McKinley information about this important personage. An intellectual biography of Feliciano de Vega, in J. Barrientos “Un canonista peruano del siglo XVII: Feliciano de Vega (1580-1640)”, Revista Chilena de Historia del Derecho 18 (1999-2000), pp. 101-18.

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their contributions to the development of a limeño legal culture. For Cobo, Lima’s legal culture was a primary attribute of the city that was so important he enumerated all of the city’s tribunals in the first pages of his text. Cobo also described the court of the consulate and the courts created by Viceroy Luis de Velasco (r. 1596-1604) at the end of the 16th century. Other authors, such as Buenaventura de Salinas y Córdova and Felipe Guamán Poma de Ayala, also described Lima as a “legal city” that was home to powerful local tribunals. Lima’s legal landscape, which had been born out of the conquest period, matured in the 17th century and produced a specialist legal culture that made the city an international nexus of legal debate throughout the early modern period. 2

The Legal Profession

Initially, during the conquest period of the mid-16th century, lawyers and procurators were forbidden from obtaining passage to Spanish America.17 Spanish officials restricted the emigration of legal experts to avoid litigiousness in the new American territories. Iberian authorities feared their American subjects would reproduce the reputed “negative legal habits” prevalent among early modern peninsular Spaniards. High levels of litigation were endemic to legal practice in 16th-century Castile and legal professionals were blamed for this saturation.18 The 1529 legal agreement between the Spanish Queen Joanna and Charles V and the Peruvian conquistador Francisco Pizarro culminated in a ruling prohibiting legal professionals from settling in the Peruvian viceroyalty, echoing a long history of legislation limiting the rights of Spanish attorneys.19 Despite this normative framework, the presence of juridical specialists became 17

18

19

Numerous regulations were enacted in the Spanish American world. The first one was for Cuba, in 1509, and the following for New Spain, in 1521. The regulations continued and passage to mining centers such as Potosí was also forbidden. There was an extensive literature of anti-lawyering see J. Malagón, Historia menor (Mexico City, 1976), pp. 23-4. The cause of this negative reputation of professionals was the “boom” of Castilian litigation in the 16th century. One social assumption was that the usage of courts was promoted irresponsibly by facilitators: R. Kagan, Lawsuits and Litigants in Castile, 1500-1700 (Chapel Hill, 1981), pp. 128-50. The capitulation of 17 August 1529 said in point XXIV: “Asymismo q. mandaremos e por la presenta mandamos e defendemos q. destos nros. Reynos no vayan ny pasen A las dhas. trras. nyngunas personas de las prohibidas q. no pueden pasar A aquellas p. so las penas qas. en las leys e hordenanças e cas. nras. q. çerca desto por nos e por los rreys catholicos estan dadas ny letrados ny procuradores para husar de sus ofiçios”: Francisco Pizarro: Testimonio, Documentos oficiales, cartasy escritos varios, ed. G. Lohmann Villena (Madrid, 1986), p. 243.

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necessary in the Peruvian viceroyalty as the legal and economic needs of settlers demanded attention. Contracts, legal obligations, discussions over rights, and the role of nascent local governments required the participation of educated legal facilitators. Legal disputes created opportunities for entrepreneurial Spanish procurators and advocates willing to set up offices in South America. In 1538, the city council of Lima approved the formal appointment of two procurators for advising limeño litigants: Alonso de Navarrete and Pedro de Avendaño. The latter developed an impressive and profitable career after this appointment, becoming an example of rapid American social mobility. In 1556, Avendaño became the favorite and personal secretary of Viceroy Andrés Hurtado de Mendoza (r. 155661) and was later appointed secretary of the Audiencia of Lima.20 The minutes of the Lima city council offer rich details regarding legal disputes and the appointment of professionals to assist locals making legal complaints. From 1538 on, the city council approved the admission of procurators into its court. Between 1538 and 1544 prior to the constitution of the Audiencia of Lima, the most important procurators in the city worked in the cabildo. They were the foremost experts in litigation in Lima at the time. Pedro de Castañeda, later an important personage in local politics, and Alonso de ­Navarrete were among the first procurators admitted by the town council. In ­December 1538, Alonso de Navarrete was accused of demanding high salaries for his legal services. While the council enjoyed a monopoly on the appointment of scribes and procurators in Lima, legal professionals were subject to examination by city council officials in order to be formally approved as legal practitioners. Once they received the official approval, legal facilitators were enrolled as formal procurators or scribes and were allowed to represent clients in legal cases. In the decade of the 1540s, a growing class of procurators went to work in the city.21 In 1544, Marco Pérez, Diego Hurtado, and Francisco de Talavera worked as procurators. Because procurators were the primary agents in local litigation proceedings, they were responsible for representing cases through every stage of the legal process from the submission of procedural petitions to the declaration of witnesses. Procurators also became the nexus between claimants and advocates. 20 21

He was also accused in 1561 during the inspection of the visitadores and his case was elevated to the Council of Indies. In 1567, he was in Lima and appeared in some legal cases before the Audiencia of Lima. There are just a few judicial records of the early period. Notarial protocols gave information on the identity of these early procurators. See BNP, A-396, 1544, ff. 74r-74v, 87r.

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As Lima’s legal landscape intensified, the city council required increased l­ egal representation to manage civic administration and patrimony. Licentiate Juan Blásquez was named as the municipality’s first lawyer in 1538. Blásquez advised the city council in its legal cases between 1539 and 1540. The appointment of Blásquez blatently violated the capitulation of 1529. However, local circumstances determined policy in the limeño city council. The councilmen recognized the need for legal counsel, and, the municipality contracted the services of a permanent legal representative. A couple of years later, in 1543, Licentiate Martel de Santoyo, who also was a conspicuous Lascasian, occupied this post following Blásquez.22 The city council’s early lawyers offered invaluable advice at a time when the council was required to pass judgment on legal matters in local government. Between 1550 and 1570, the Lima city council hired prominent attorneys to be its representatives, such as Polo de Ondegardo in the 1540s, Diego de Pineda in the 1550s, and Marcos de Lucio and Francisco Falcón in the 1550s and 1560s. By 1550, Lima was home to a growing community of litigating advocates. Nicola María de Oliva had been appointed as the governing dean of all the city’s practicing jurists. At this time, Lima’s Real Audiencia began to monopolize the admission of procurators and advocates, usurping a role historically filled by the city council. In 1549, the high court approved the 19-year old Joan de Arrandolaça as a procurator of the Audiencia, an controversial appointment that violated the principles of Spanish law because he was so young. ­Arrandolaça, however, became a very successful lawyer representing encomenderos [Spanish land-grantees], convents, proprietors, and notable limeños. Throughout the 1550s, Arrandolaça was joined by Joan Sánchez de los Ríos and Joan Sánchez de Aguirre, the procurator who represented the Pizarro family after the defeat of Gonzalo Pizarro. By 1561, the Audiencia was maturing and required imperial oversight. When Viceroy Diego López de Zúñiga (r. 1561-64) took office, he was accompanied by a commission leading an inspection tour of the viceroyalty, including the operations of Lima’s high court. The resulting imperial inspection addressed the administration of justice and legal services in Lima. Visiting inspectors gathered testimonies from important local attorneys, such as Nicola María de ­Oliva, Licentiate García de León, Licentiate Jerónimo López Guarnido, Doctor Marcos de Lucio, and Licentiate Antonio del Prado.23 They described their duties and declared that they never required the payment of excessive monetary 22 23

On the early Lascasian ideas of Licentiate Martel de Santoyo, see G. Lohmann Villena, “Exponentes del movimiento criticista en el Perú en la época de la conquista”, Revista española de antropología americana XIII (1983), pp. 146-47. Archivo General de Indias, Sevilla, Spain [AGI], Justicia 475, ff. 239-289r.

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compensation for their services.24 This topic in particular had been a special concern in Spain since mid-1550s, when the Peruvian viceroy had required advocates to turn in a summary of their incomes generated by legal services in litigation proceedings.25 1561 also marks the beginning of the career of Lincentiate Francisco Falcón, one of Lima’s most prominent 16th-century advocates. After working in New Granada as a legal assistant for several years, Falcón moved to Lima to pursue a legal vocation. Throughout his 26-year career, Falcón represented mine owners, widows, and indigenous caciques. In fact, indigenous Andean leaders made up a significant subset of his clientele. Falcón was the most prominent representative of indigenous leadership until 1574 when Viceroy Francisco de Toledo (r. 1569-81) created a system of public representation for indigenous people. Falcón famously defended indigenous rights in the 1567 Second Council of Lima; however, he regularly represented the interests of caciques in ­Lima’s Real Audiencia, such as the caciques of the Valley of Orimana in contemporary northeastern Peru in a case of the granting of an encomienda in their territory. Falcón also represented the miners of Huancavelica who filed suit in 1569 regarding their rights as workers in the region’s mercury mines. Although the Toledan reforms of the second half of the 16th century aimed to limit indigenous litigation in the Peruvian viceroyalty, Falcón maintained a vital legal practice litigating on behalf of a diverse clientele, while also conducting business throughout the viceroyalty and in Panama City.26 Although the first generation of legal advocates in Lima was primarily of Spanish descent, reforms in the Escuela del Rosario (created by the Dominican order in 1551) and its transformation into the University of San Marcos in 1576 provided education for a new generation of creole advocates. The University became a center for the juridical elite, and Lima’s most successful attorneys taught there. Jerónimo López Guarnido, Marcos de Lucio, and Feliciano de Vega (who later became a famous canonist and was appointed archbishop in Mexico City) were among the professional staff who taught civil law and canon

24

25 26

This was one of the first critiques of the practice of lawyering and the fact that lawyers demanded high payment from litigants. This was a common expression of dissatisfaction in 16th-century administrative language and remained and area of contention for a long period. This is a neglected topic in Peruvian legal history; the role of the Marquis was central in this process of debate in the mid-16th century. Lohmann Villena, “El licenciado Francisco Falcón (1521-1587). Vida, escritos y actuación en el Perú de un procurador de los indios”, Anuario de Estudios Americanos XXVII (1970), pp. 131-94.

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law in the Faculty de leyes y cánones.27 With practicing lawyers at the helm, the University of San Marcos became a center for the study of Roman and canon law in the viceroyalty. Born and raised in Lima and the Viceroyalty of Peru, the new crop of lawyers educated in Lima’s university were the descendants of the first generation of Spanish conquerors and early settlers, such as Diego de Salinas, the son of a limeño merchant, and Miguel Díaz de San Miguel, who descended from a Huamanga-based family, two of the first creole lawyers to begin practicing in Lima in the 16th century. As a formative legal center, the University of San Marcos attracted students from regional viceregal cities, as well as residents of the viceregal capital. Nicolás Flores de Aguilar, a member of the local elite in the highland city of Potosí, traveled to Lima for a legal education at the University. Early creole lawyers cultivated important legal careers and demanded positions in American Audiencias, resulting in gradual transformation of the Iberoamerican legal landscape. This crop of young students formed the basis of a generation of creole letrados [educated intellectuals] who contributed to shaping Lima into a space for the dissemination of juridical ideas. In addition to practicing lawyers, Lima’s burgeoning legal culture required support from educated notarial scribes in increasing numbers. The use of notarial documents was an obligation by law, but it was incorporated into common legal practice in early Lima. Diego Gutiérrez, Pedro de Castañeda, and Nicolás del Grado were among the first practicing scribes in the city during the 16th century. Although scribes were lower ranking in the hierarchy of legal professionals working in early colonial Lima, their work was essential to the judicial process and to disseminating legal ideas throughout the Iberoamerican world. Literate scribes supported Lima’s commercial and legal economies by providing essential bureaucratic documentation that set the colonial legal system in motion. Scribes were minor legal officials who provided assistance to claimants and contributed to the daily practice of the law. They also served as translators and fulfilled paralegal functions. Because the earliest scribes working in Lima were employed by the cabildo, they participated in executing the first contracts issued in the city. Gutiérrez, Domingo de la Prensa, and Pedro de Salinas worked for the cabildo as scribes over careers that spanned more than ten years. Many of the first scribes were of Spanish descent; however, as the colonial period progressed, indigenous and creole scribes became visible throughout the viceroyalty.

27

Local legal education was enriched in the 17th century with the publication of books and legal manuals. See Carlos Alberto González Sánchez, Chapter 17, this volume.

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Notarial practice, while legal in nature, was essential for maintaining the local economy and accomplishing quotidian juridical business. The sheer number of notaries employed in early colonial Lima is indicative of the importance the city placed upon contractual practices. Commercial negotiation was common in the city’s commercial realm from the initial decades of the colonial period.28 Notaries created documents that allowed individuals and ­corporate groups to sell items, form corporations, and establish contractual obligations. Conquest, mining, and trade all required legal documentation that notaries were required to provide.29 In statistical terms, most common contracts drawn up before notaries were powers of representation (for trials and business) and letters of sales and obligations (debts, payments, professional services). Notaries were also essential in the transfer of goods and services; several clients hired the scribe Juan Cristóbal de Frías in 1550 to legally transfer their property, including slaves.30 Notaries employed formats that were popularized in Spanish notarial practical literature. As legal specialists, some of them were trained in workshops where they acquired a familiarity with forensic legal terminology.31 That legal terminology was taken from medieval Roman law (the ius commune) and also from medieval Castilian law. The clauses of notarial contracts relied on extensive statements in Latin or in Spanish. The extended use of notarial instruments reveals an acute formalism in legal practice. Notarial formalism demonstrates a dependence on strict legal terminology and the use of public documents to confer veracity to acts with legal relevance.32 “Good faith” and the authenticity of information (the publica fides) were central premises that conferred a great importance notarial practice. Notaries working in early 28

29

30 31 32

The town council of Lima conferred the power of representation to Licentiate Rodrigo Niño to represent the interests of the city in the Council of the Indies, among other institutions (Biblioteca Nacional del Perú, Lima, Peru [BNP], A-396, 1544, fols. 67r-68vta; Lima, 29 July 1544). J. A. Guevara Gil, Propiedad agraria y Derecho colonial. Los documentos de la hacienda Santotis Cuzco (1543-1822) (Lima, 1993) and also his “Una hipótesis de trabajo sobre la función de la carta de venta en el Derecho colonial peruano: ¿Formalidad esencial o legalismo obsesivo”, Revista de Estudios Histórico-Jurídicos XVIII (1996), pp. 197-205. Antonio de Baldovino sold to Sebastián Rodríguez “mi esclavo negro que e a nombre de Anton de diez y siete años natural de Lisboa” the price was 485 pesos of gold or 450 maravedies (BNP-430, 1550, fol. 31r, Lima, 29 January 1550). The copy of documents in practice manuals was common in the early modern period. The knowledge of scribes was important in terms of rights, obligations, economic situation, and the use of clauses (Burns, Into the Archive). For the Peruvian case, the study of Guevara enumerated the clauses and principles used in the 16th century contractual practice, such as “non numerate pecunia”, “in solidium”, and other legal principles central to business activities see Guevara, Propiedad agraria y Derecho colonial, pp. 298-304, and chart 16.

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colonial Lima followed the legal requirements to complete contracts in accordance with the Siete Partidas whether they were working for moradores [inhabitants] or vecinos [leading citizens] of Lima. Notarial documents were also used in litigation. Powers of attorney were solemnly given before notaries, especially in judicial cases when individuals sought to empower their procurators. As evidence, notarial documents carried more weight in judicial proceedings, especially in contrast to oral testimonies which did not have the sacrosanct authority of notarial intervention. Scribal culture emerged out of this process, and its usage marked the practice of law throughout the colonial period. Although the use of notarial services was widespread, the fees for those services were high. The cabildo regulated aranceles [notarial fees], but clients regularly lamented notarial costs.33 As early as 1536, the cabildo enacted the first strict regulation of scribes, an action it repeated regularly throughout the colonial period (1536, 1539, and 1555, the city enacted further legislation to control and avoid the high costs associated with notarial activities). The debate on the ethics of legal professionals emphasized economic considerations with the goal of avoiding overpayment. The same regulations were repeated throughout the 16th century with reference to other officials as well. Over decades of working together, it was not uncommon for scribes and lawyers to come into conflict with each other; however, an increasing demand for legal services among Lima’s growing population required the collaboration of legal professionals of all ranks. 3

A Market for Legal Services and the Rise of Legal Culture

Limeños of all ethnic and socioeconomic backgrounds turned to the law for support during the early colonial period. A cross-section of viceregal society used the law in both its judicial and notarial domains. Following the advice of their legal representatives, limeños employed the law creatively by manipulating the advantages of their social status, personal connections, and education. Even the city’s poorest residents had access to legal representation through the office of the procurador de los pobres, a city attorney appointed to represent the poor in the Audiencia. Indigenous caciques used the Spanish judicial system so frequently during the 16th century that they gained a reputation for being particularly litigious; however, Spanish conquistadors, immigrants, and creoles brought their disputes before American courts in equal numbers. Not 33

Concejo Provincial de Lima, Libros de cabildos de Lima p. I, p. 278, Lima, 30 December 1538.

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only were individuals litigants in Lima’s legal cases; corporations (convents, monasteries, universities, town councils, religious brotherhoods, and companies) also filed suits. The Spanish monarchy also brought cases involving royal patrimony and revenue to the Audiencia of Lima through the royal prosecutor.34 Diego Gutiérrez, one of the earliest scribes of the municipality, provides a valuable testimony on the state of judicial litigation in early colonial Lima. Gutiérrez recorded a detailed list of the lawsuits filed in the city around 1556. Gutiérrez’s list is an exceptional document because it offers information about the number of disputes in progress before the cabildo and magistracies of the city with reference to the names of litigants, the subject of disputes, and lengths of documents. The documents referring to most of the proceedings mentioned by Gutiérrez are now lost, such as the cases brought by Andrés Farfán regarding issues with his slave Domingo, the descendants of Luis Pérez regarding the distribution of goods following his death, and Francisco Ampuero who sued the heirs of Francisco Fuentes.35 Notwithstanding, Gutiérrez’s valuable enumeration provides scholars with an overview of the types of disputes that the city’s early settlers confronted. Gutiérrez also demonstrates how the early colonizers made use of the law in civil and criminal cases to their benefit in the Viceroyalty of Peru. The Audiencia of Lima compiled another list of cases in 1561 which, like Gutiérrez’s list from around five years earlier provides information on lawsuits, the types of controversies that erupted in early colonial Lima, and the diverse identities of litigants bringing cases before the high court. The Audiencia list was compiled for Briviesca de Muñatones’ commission investigating the perpetuity of encomiendas, one of the most pressing legal and socioeconomic issues of the time. The document shows the rates of litigation in the court and details the names of litigants and the subjects of their cases. Between 1556 and 1561, the Real Audiencia was commonly used as a forum for dispute resolution in the city; however, this does not mean that individuals were dependent upon official channels for solving their differences. Rather, when circumstances required them to do so, individuals had a legal framework they could turn to for support. Frequently, individuals appointed arbitrators, who were also jurists and advocates like López Guarnido, to judge their cases.36 Following the 34

35 36

Premo offers the best reflections on this facet of the king: B. Premo, Children of the Father King: Youth, Authority, and Legal Minority in Colonial Lima (Chapel Hill, 2005); on the role of prosecutors in 16th-century Lima, see S. Angeli, “Un temprano juicio de residencia colonial: El licenciado Juan Fernández primer fiscal de la Audiencia de Lima”, Investigaciones y Ensayos 60 (2014), pp. 437-57. AGN-RA, Causas Civiles Leg. 1, Cuad. 3, 1550. fol. 1r. AGN, Protocolos Notariales, 38, 1560-1566, fol. 459v, Lima, September 13th, 1565.

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practice emerging in 16th-century Europe, limeños began to appoint arbitrators and commission letters for arbitration in order to avoid the juridical tournaments of traditional litigation.37 Because Lima was the governmental capital of the viceroyalty, litigants traveled to the city seeking justice in legal matters. These migrant litigants came from all parts of the viceroyalty to have their cases heard in the city’s two high courts, the civil Real Audiencia and the episcopal high court. Traveling brought business and wealth to Lima, which capitalized on the infusion of resources and investment. As early as the 1550s, encomenderos such as Alonso de Orejuela, Pedro de Hinojosa, and Pedro Alonso Carrasco from Cuzco were ­visiting Lima regularly to file and present cases before the high courts. Their counterparts, indigenous highland caciques, also traveled to Lima in large numbers to argue for their rights in legal terms using Spanish judicial tradition as justification.38 Although the mobilization of indigenous litigants has been well-documented by historians, highland merchants and mine owners also made the journey to Lima to personally bring their cases to the viceroyalty’s highest court. For individuals who sought to bring suits but could not travel to Lima, Castilian law provided an option for them to distribute power of attorney to their representatives in Lima. Notarial scribes were often invested with this power on behalf of their highland clients. Spanish litigants who traveled back and forth between Lima and Spain also empowered their local representatives. In 17th century, the Marquises of Santiago de Oropesa, a very wealthy and influential Cuzqueño family, hired the prominent local limeño advocates to act as their representative when they left the city. The family had a book in which they conferred power to their limeño legal representatives (advocates and procurators). The use of legal channels for dispute resolution and notarial services forged a colonial legal culture in the Peruvian viceregal capital. On the one hand, it strengthened the dependence of residents on professional legal experts. Although the legal services were provided by specialists, Spanish legal precedent and promulgated law necessitated regular appeal through the court system for the administration of justice. On the other hand, the users became familiar with the legal order and sought to use it to their advantage. This was a process of building a shared legal consciousness across limeño society. For that reason, 37

38

In 1544, Antonio Carón and Hernando Cuyo appointed as arbitrators of their dispute Bartolome Sfolego and Diego García “nombramos e señalamos, elejimos y escogemos por nuestros jueces árbitros, arbitradores, amigables componedores de paz y sosiego” (BNP, A-396, fol. 64r; Lima, 28 July 1544). In July 1550, don Diego, “cacique of Hacari in the kingdoms of Peru”, entrusted his power to Mateo Valdez who was in Lima (BNP, A-427, 1550, fol. 1r).

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even in the early colonial period, it was not unusual for subjects to have a basic understanding of their minimal rights. In this early age of Spanish Atlantic ­legal consciousness, litigants provided their own narratives and ideas about justice that were recreated by their agents in American courts. Throughout this legal polyphony, individuals enlisted an increasing number of legal professionals to represent their rights. 4

Conclusion

Lima became an important forum for legal debate in the 16th century Ibero­ american world. The political centrality of the city and the existence of two main tribunals, the Audiencia of Lima and the episcopal high court were key factors in the city’s legal development. Additionally, the education of young creole lawyers at the University of San Marcos was a crucial factor in expanding Lima’s growing legal landscape. After the initial conquest period, immigrant and creole youth studied law as a means to assert their status at the pinnacle of the Spanish Audiencias in South America. By the 17th century, American legal professionals became some of the leading figures in the Spanish colonial administration. Advocates and procurators, who had begun their careers in the Audiencia of Lima, were the primary agents of dispute resolution in the viceroyalty. In addition to defending the rights of their clients, these legal professionals began to publicly assert arguments regarding their status and professional abilities as markers of social distinction. Along with their notarial counterparts, attorneys represented increasing numbers of litigants that brought their cases before the highest court in the region. Lima became a legal destination as the seat of important lower and high courts. The city’s market for legal services only increased in the 17th century as corporate litigants brought more cases before the courts. As subjects and legal representatives sought the administration of justice, Lima was transformed into a legal city with a vibrant colonial legal practice.

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AGI, Archivo General de Indias, Justicia 475, Seville, Spain. AGN-RA, Causas Civiles 1, Leg. 3, 1550. Archivo General de la Nación, Lima, Peru AGN, Protocolos Notariales, 38, 1560-1566. Archivo General de la Nación, Lima, Peru. AAL, Archivo Arzobispal de Lima, Peru, Leg. Cuad. 1. BNP, Biblioteca Nacional del Perú, Lima, Peru, A-396, 1544. Cobo, B., Fundación de Lima (Madrid, 1956 [1639]).

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Concejo Provincial de Lima, Libros de cabildos de Lima (Lima, 1935). Falcón, F., Representación ante el II concilio provincial de Lima (Lima, 1919 [1567]). Hampe, T., “Relación de los encomenderos y repartimientos del Perú en 1561”, Historia y Cultura 12 (1979), 75-117. Hevia Bolaños, J., Curia Philipica: Primero y Segundo Tomo (Madrid, 1989 [1797]).  Francisco Pizarro: Testimonio, Documentos oficiales, cartasy escritos varios, ed. G. Lohmann Villena (Madrid, 1986). “Ordenanzas y copilacion de leyes hechas por el muy ilustre Sr. D. Antonio de Mendoza, visorey e gobernador destos Reinos del Pirú, e presidente del Audiencia Real de S.M., que reside en esta ciudad de Los Reyes y por los señores licenciados Andrés de Cianca, doctor Bravo de Saravia, licenciado Hernando de Santillán, oidores della, para la buena gobernación y estilo de los oficiales de ella. Año de 1552”, in Colección de documentos inéditos relativos al descubrimiento, conquista y organización de las antiguas posesiones españolas de América y Oceanía (Madrid, 1864), pp. 55-101.  Recopilación de leyes de las Indias (Madrid, 1974).



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Amelang, J., “Barristers and Judges in Early Modern Barcelona”, American Historical Review 89.5 (1984), 1264-84. Angeli, S., “Un temprano juicio de residencia colonial: El licenciado Juan Fernández primer fiscal de la Audiencia de Lima”, Investigaciones y Ensayos 60 (2014), 437-57. Berlanstein, L., The Barristers of Toulouse in the Eighteenth Century (1740-1793) (Balti­ more, 1975). Barrientos Grandón, J., “Un canonista peruano del siglo XVII: Feliciano de Vega (15801640)”, Revista Chilena de Historia del Derecho 18 (1999-2000), 101-18. Bouwma, W., “Lawyers and Early Modern Culture,” American Historical Review 78.2 (1973), 303-27. Brundage, J., Medieval Canon Law (London, 1995). Brundage, J., The Medieval Origins of the Legal Profession: Canonists, Civilians, and Courts (Chicago, 2008). Burns, K., “Notaries, Truth, and Consequences”, American Historical Review 110.2 (2005), 350-79. Burns, K., Into the Archive, Writing and Power in Colonial Peru (Durham, 2010). Flusche, D., “The Tribunal of Posthumous Estates in Colonial Chile, 1540-1679: Part III”, Colonial Latin American Historical Review 9.2 (2000), 379-428. Garriga, C., La Audiencia y las chancillerías castellanas (1371-1525): Historia política, regimen jurídico y práctica institucional (Madrid, 1994). Guevara Gil, J. A., Propiedad agraria y Derecho colonial. Los documentos de la hacienda Santotis Cuzco (1543-1822) (Lima 1993).

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Guevara Gil, J. A., “Una hipótesis de trabajo sobre la función de la carta de venta en el Derecho colonial peruano: ¿Formalidad esencial o legalismo obsesivo”, Revista de Estudios Histórico-Jurídicos XVII (1996), 197-205. Graubart, K., With Our Labor and Sweat: Indigenous Women and the Formation of Colo­ nial Society in Peru, 1550-1700 (Stanford, 2007). Herrera, R., Natives, Europeans, and Africans in Sixteenth-Century Santiago de Guate­ mala (Austin, 2003). Herzog, T., Mediación, archivos y ejercicio, Los escribanos de Quito (siglo XVII) (Frankfurt am Main, 1996). Herzog, T., Upholding Justice. Society, State, and the Penal System in Quito (1650-1750), Ann Arbor 2004. Hespanha, A., Como os juristas viam o mundo, 1550-1750: Direitos, estados, pessoas, coisas, contratos, açôes e crimes (Lisbon, 2015). Huerta, M., “La aportación castellana”, in Woodrow Borah (ed.) El gobierno provincial en la Nueva España, 1570-1787 (Mexico City, 1987), 18-27. Kagan, R., Lawsuits and Litigants in Castile, 1500-1700 (Chapel Hill, 1981). Lockhart, J., Spanish-Peru, 1532-1560 (Madison, 1968). Lohmann Villena, G., “Indice del ‘Libro primero de escrituras,’ 1533-1531”, Revista del Archivo Nacional del Perú 17.1 (1942), 51-69. Lohmann Villena, G., Las minas de Huancavelica en los siglos XVI y XVII (Lima, 1998 [1949]). Lohmann Villena, G., “El corregidor de Lima, Estudio histórico-jurídico”, Revista Histó­ rica 20 (1953), 153-80. Lohmann Villena, G., El corregidor de indios en el Perú bajos los Austrias (Madrid, 1957). Lohmann Villena, G., “Indice del cartulario de Pedro de Castañeda (1537-1538)”, Revista del Archivo Nacional del Perú 27 (1963), 27-87. Lohmann Villena, G., “Indice del cartulario de Pedro de Castañeda (1537-1538) (Conclusión)”, Revista del Archivo Nacional del Perú 28 (1964), 59-132. Lohmann Villena, G., “El licenciado Francisco Falcón (1521-1587): Vida, escritos y actuación en el Perú de un procurador de los indios”, Anuario de Estudios Americanos 28 (1970), 131-94. Lohmann Villena, G., Los regidores perpetuos el cabildo de Lima (Seville, 1983, 2 vols.). Lohmann Villena, G., “Exponentes del movimiento criticista en el Perú en la época de la conquista”, Revista española de antropología americana XIII (1983), 143-53. Martines, L., Lawyers and Statecraft in Renaissance Florence (Princeton, 1968). Mirow, M., Latin American Law: A History of Private Law and Institutions in Spanish America (Austin, 2004). Moore, J., The Cabildo in Peru under the Habsburgs: A Study in the Origins and Powers of the Town Council in the Viceroyalty of Peru 1530-1700 (Durham, 1954).

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Pike, F., “The Municipality and the System of Checks and Balances in Spanish American Colonial Administration”, The Americas 15.2 (1958), 139-58. Premo, B., Children of the Father King: Youth, Authority, and Legal Minority in Colonial Lima (Chapel Hill, 2005). Presta, A., Encomienda, familias y negocios en Charcas colonial. Los encomenderos de La Plata 1550-1600 (Lima, 2000). Puente Luna, J. de la, “The Many Tongues of the King’: Indigenous Language Interpreters and the Making of the Spanish Empire”, Colonial Latin American Review 23.2 (2014), 143-70. Puente Luna, J. de la, Andean Cosmopolitans. Seeking Justice and Reward at the Spanish Royal Court (Austin 2018). Ramírez, S., Provincial Patriarchs: Land Tenure and the Economics of Power in Colonial Peru (Albuquerque, 1986). Ramírez, S., The World Upside Down, Cross Cultural Contact and Conflict in SixteenthCentury Peru (Stanford, 1996). Rocha, M., Papéis Selados: Carreira juridical, estratégias de reputaçâo e poder na Nova Espanha (1580-1730) (Rio de Janeiro, 2010). Schwaller, J., “Alcalde vs. Mayor: Translating the Colonial World”, The Americas 69.3 (2013), 391-400. Van Deusen, N., “Diasporas, Bondage, and Intimacy in Lima, 1535 to 1555”, Colonial Latin American Review 19.2 (2010), pp. 247-77. Van Deusen, N., Global Indians. The Indigenous Struggle for Justice in Sixteenth-Century Spain (Durham 2015). Varón Gabai, R., Francisco Pizarro and His Brothers, Illusion of Power in SixteenthCentury Peru (Norman, 1997). Vega, J., “Juristas sin ley en la conquista del Perú”, Revista de Deecho y Ciencias Políticas 30 (1966), 149-54.

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Chapter 6

Don Juan de Padilla y Pastrana (1596-1670), Advocate of Peru’s Indigenous Population?  Alexandre Coello de la Rosa The 20th-century historian Marc Bloch warned fellow historians about the danger of accepting historical testimonies at face value. Sometimes, the narratives they contain are truthful; but more often than not, Bloch cautioned, material traces have been falsified, misinterpreted, or decontextualized.1 Despite Bloch’s warning and the profound theoretical and methodological reflections that have transformed the field of history during the past five decades, some historians still unquestioningly reproduce canonical notions regarding certain, renowned historical figures without confirming their historical veracity. Thus, some established historiographical narratives are transformed into leitmotivs that condition the present’s sociocultural common sense regarding the past. In one exemplary case, Don Juan de Padilla, one of the first creole administrators of Lima’s Real Audiencia [high court], has gone down in history as an exemplary 16th-century Peruvian man whose concern for indigenous populations inspired him to write the now famous Parecer, or Memorial (Lima, 1657) in which he denounced the injustices, exploitation, and abuse suffered by indigenous groups in the early colonial period.2 In the 19th-century formative myth of the Peruvian nation, Padilla embodied “the good Hispanidad [Spanishness]” of the limeño [Lima] creole, standing in contrast to metropolitan Spanish oppressors. According to this early interpretation of Padilla’s biography, the nation of Peru was a seamless outgrowth of the colonial past, a continuation of the positive values of creole modernity.3 Thus, various ideologues of Lima-based patriotism, such as Manuel de 1 M. Bloch, Introducción a la historia (Mexico, 1992), p. 65. 2 Memorial was published for the first time in R. Vargas Ugarte, Historia General del Perú, Virreinato (1596-1689) (Lima, 1966), vol. 2, pp. 459-90. A modern version was published by E. de la Torre Villar, “Introducción”, in Los pareceres de don Juan de Padilla y Diego de León Pinelo acerca de la enseñanza y buen tratamiento de los indios, ed. E. Torre Villar (Mexico, 1979), pp. 107-25. See also J. García Cabrera, Ofensas a Dios, Pleitos e injurias, Causas de idolatrías y hechicerías, Cajatambo, siglos XVII-XIX (Cuzco, 1994), p. 55. 3 F. Quiroz Chueca, De la patria a la nación, Historiografía peruana desde Garcilaso a la era del guano (Lima, 2012).

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2019 | doi:10.1163/9789004335363_008

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Mendiburu (1805-85), had no doubts when describing Padilla as “a well-deserving [creole] magistrate of great knowledge and incorruptible probity”.4 In this same vein, Mexican academic Ernesto de la Torre Villar (1917-2009) referred to Padilla as one of the very first creole magistrates and a defender of indigenous rights following in the footsteps of Bartolomé de las Casas.5 Peruvian Jesuit Rubén Vargas Ugarte hailed Padilla’s Memorial as a “serene judgement”; Vargas Ugarte believed that Padilla’s life and work embodied liberty and royal sincerity, behaviors exemplary for “our republican governments”.6 With such illustrious defenders, it is no wonder then that 20th-century Peruvian nationalist and conservative historiography would transform Padilla into a (Peruvian) model of virtue. Like 19th-century Lima creoles who felt pride in their Hispanic heritage, Padilla embodied the honest and virtuous magistrate who had sacrificed his personal interests for the wellbeing of Peru’s “miserable Indians”.7 However, not all specialists espoused such laudatory views of Padilla. Peruvian historian Guillermo Lohmann Villena (1915-2005) pointed out, with a hint of sarcasm, that “due to his Lascasian inspiration he was considered the greatest enemy of the viceregal plutocracy”. Lohmann Villena also doubted the integrity and honesty of the creole magistrate. Padilla had indeed been accused of corruption in the Viceroyalty of New Granada before he moved to Peru, where he had business interests in the region of Pisco. Lohmann Villena was the first to highlight these interests and conflicts, but other academics have failed to consider their relevance and import within the larger context of early colonial Peruvian history.8 My archival research, however, confirms and expands Lohmann Villena’s interpretation of Padilla’s career. In this essay, I demonstrate that Padilla’s privileged position as a public officer allowed him to divert public attention away from personal scandals disrupted his household and to prevent scrutiny into the means by which he accumulated a small fortune while serving in public office. I also suggest that Padilla’s defense of Jesuit missionary activity in Peru must be framed within the Crown’s struggle to resume full jurisdiction over the native population. 4 M. Mendiburu, Diccionario histórico-biográfico del Perú (Lima, 1881-1934), vol. 6, p. 223. All translations in this chapter are by the author, unless otherwise stated. 5 De la Torre, “Introducción”, p. 28. 6 Vargas Ugarte, Historia General del Perú, vol. 3, p. 299. 7 For an understanding of the term “miserable” see C. Cunill, “El indio miserable: nacimiento de la teoría legal en la América colonial del siglo XVI”, Cuadernos inter-c-a-mbio 9 (2011), 240; R. Sánchez-Concha Barrios, “De la miserable condición de los indios a las reducciones”, in R. Sánchez-Concha Barrios, Del régimen hispánico, Estudios sobre la conquista y el orden virreinal peruano (Arequipa, 2013), pp. 165-69. 8 G. Lohmann, El Conde de Lemos, Virrey del Perú (Seville, 1946), pp. 233-35. See also Manuel M. Marzal, La transformación religiosa peruana (Lima, 1983), p. 122.

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Padilla in the High Court of New Granada

Don Juan de Padilla y Pastrana was born in Nazca, Peru, in 1596 to Don Fernando de Padilla, from Jerez de la Frontera (Cadiz), and Doña Isabel de Paredes, a Nazca-area creole.9 Padilla was one of the first creoles to study law at the University of San Marcos in Lima. In 1624, he wrote a relación de méritos [summary of achievements] to certify his ancestors’ services to the Crown. Acknowledging his loyal ascendancy, the Council of the Indies included Padilla in the list of candidates for the office of judge in the Real Audiencia of the Kingdom of New Granada that it sent to Felipe III in the 1620s, and the king chose him. A royal dispatch written on 20 October 1627 confirmed Padilla’s appointment as a judge in the New Granada high court.10 This suited his purposes of temporarily (at least) removing himself from Lima, where he was accused of firing a gun at city councilman Francisco de Torres for marrying Padilla’s sister without his consent.11 By 23 August 1628, Padilla was already installed as a judge on the New Granada Real Audiencia. When the royal inspector, Antonio Rodríguez de San Isidro Manrique arrived from Spain, he had little to say about Padilla other than the fact that he had been a judge for a very brief period and was 30 years old. However, by 1636, Rodríguez had observed Padilla’s indiscretions for long enough that Padilla was permanently removed from office, “accused of committing certain offences” that were so serious as to merit his expulsion from Santa Fe de Bogotá in addition. First, Padilla had publicly declared the city of Lima would be the best in the world, “if only it had a natural lord and king”. These words were taken as signs of disloyalty to the Spanish Crown, and it did not help that some among the Santa Fe elite regarded him as racially suspect, considering him a mestizo [ethnically mixed individuals of Spanish and indigenous descent]. Padilla was given the opportunity of refuting the charge against him, but three years after he was formally accused, he had only gathered a handful of witnesses in his favor.12 9

10 11 12

Some sources provide a different date of 1602. Archivo General de Indias (AGI, Sevilla), Santafé, 193, c. in M. Lucena Salmoral, Historia Extensa de Colombia, Nuevo Reino de Granada, Real Audiencia y Presidentes, Presidentes de capa y espada (1605-1628) (Bogotá, 1965), vol. 3, p. 26. See also Lohmann, El Conde de Lemos, p. 233; Vargas Ugarte, Historia General del Perú, vol. 3, p. 301. F. Mayorga García, La Audiencia de Santafé en los siglos XVI y XVII (Bogotá, 1991), pp. 52 and 101. AGI, Audiencia de Lima, 102, Declaration by Don Jacinto de Lastras, corregidor of Trujillo, “Refiere los excesos de don Juan de Padilla…” (Lima, 8 July 1657). Mayorga, La Audiencia de Santafé, pp. 276-77.

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Padilla was also involved in sexual scandals, known at the time as offences against “morality and public order”.13 Suggesting either cynicism or hypocrisy, on 5 October 1628, Padilla had condemned Jacinto Vázquez for cohabiting with Juana Clavijo without their being married.14 Two years later, on 24 August 1630, he also initiated a process against Sergeant Juan de Soto for living in sin with a married woman. Arguing that such conduct set a bad example for the Spaniards and the region’s natives, the sergeant was shackled and incar­ cerated.15 Thirdly, Padilla had requested and obtained large credits from several wealthy and influential personages, which was strictly forbidden for members of the royal high courts. According to reports included in Rodriguéz’s visita, Padilla had a cumulative debt of 11,000 pesos de a ocho reales (although there were indications that he owed another 4000 or 5000). Padilla had apparently incurred these debts to maintain an opulent lifestyle that his own income as a judge could not support, which included banqueting, attending and hosting galas, and hunting.16 As we will see, when he became alcalde del crimen [criminal lawyer] in Lima’s high court, Padilla continued to ask for loans, which provided his rivals’ critiques with constant fuel.17 A fourth charge against him was his mistreatment of the head cacique of the neogranadino province of Sopó and several of his captains and subjects. Apparently, the cacique had refused to carry out a resolution passed by Padilla in which the village lost out to the interests of the encroaching encomenderos [Spaniards awarded with groups of tribute-paying Indians]. Instead, the cacique and his captains went to the high court to request modification of the resolution, but Padilla’s response was to order their arrest and have them brought to him with their hands bound. But he did not stop there: he had the cacique stripped, pilloried, and publicly whipped.18 Padilla was not moved, but ordered that the cacique be taken to his inn to avoid any public disturbance, and there he, along with his captains and the Indians who had tried to defend him, was again tied to a post and whipped. Finally, Padilla ordered that the cacique and three of his captains and members of the local indigenous

13 14 15 16 17 18

J. Rodríguez Freyle, El Carnero, p. 391. Archivo General de la Nación (Bogotá, Colombia), Sección Colonia, Fondo Juicios Criminales, Sección 19 (1628), vol. 16 D.20, pp. 724r-729v. AGNC, Sección Colonia, Fondo Juicios Criminales, Sección 19 (1630), vol. 12 D. 9, pp. 636r639v. Mayorga, La Audiencia de Santafé, p. 276. Mayorga, La Audiencia de Santafé, p. 270. Mayorga, La Audiencia de Santafé, pp. 270-71.

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council were to have their hair cut off to publicly shame and humiliate them.19 This incident vividly captures Padilla’s disdain for indigenous people and his public disregard for the laws that protected them.20 In mid-1633, Padilla’s affairs again came under the scrutiny of Rodríguez de San Isidro, who was by then carrying out the last stage of his inspection in the Andean regions of Mariquita, Muzo, and Las Lajas.21 By then, it was clear that Padilla had engaged in serious misconduct as a high court justice. Rodriguéz de San Isidro decided to arrest him in his home and suspend him from his office in the court. According to a royal decree dated 26 August 1633, Padilla’s behavior evinced not only a total absence of commitment to the administration of royal justice, but also a clear “lack of prudence, maturity, modesty, and intelligence in how to conduct himself”.22 Rodríguez de San Isidro fined him with 1000 ducats that would be used to cover the cost of his investigation, particularly the salaries of the officers involved; however, this fine was a symbolic payment for the price of Padilla’s many and grave indiscretions. Padilla avoided the fine by declaring himself insolvent after he transferred part of his properties to resolve another, unrelated debt.23 By mid-1635, Rodríguez de San Isidro had concluded his work, and two years later, on 4 June 1637, the Council of the Indies ratified his inspection, including his critique of Padilla. On 16 July 1637, the Council replaced Padilla by promoting neogranadino fiscal [tax official] Sancho de Torres y Muñetones to judge in the Audiencia of Santa Fé. After his removal, Padilla traveled to Spain in 1638 to answer for the charges against him.24 Padilla was found guilty and discharged from his post; however, he was able to purchase royal favor and soon found himself exculpated. The Colombian historian Lucena Salmoral sardonically explains that Padilla’s explanations must have been very convincing because he soon left Madrid for Peru where he was promoted into the post of Lima’s criminal lawyer, a role recently vacated by the departure of Juan González de Peñafiel.25 As Renzo 19 20 21 22 23 24 25

Mayorga, La Audiencia de Santafé, pp. 270-71. In fact, Padilla’s actions are reminiscent of those of reviled Don Cristóbal Clavijo, who collected tribute among the Tinsac’a (Teusacá) natives using similar tactics (Lucena, Nuevo Reino de Granada, vol. 3, pp. 103-05). AGNC, Fondo Miscelánea, Sección 39, vol. 72 D. 50, Cargos contra Oidor y Alcalde de la Real Audiencia de Santa Fe (1633), pp. 633-36. This area is often described as New Granada’s “Zacatecas,” a region known for its ample gold and emerald deposits. Lucena, Nuevo Reino de Granada, vol. 3, p. 92. Mayorga, La Audiencia de Santafé, p. 275. Lucena, Nuevo Reino de Granada, vol. 3, p. 47. In a similar vein, Rodríguez Freyle found that, once in Castile, Padilla “found in the Royal Council of the Indies someone to take up his defense” (Rodríguez Freyle, El Carnero, p. 393).

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­ onores discusses in Chapter 5 of this volume, the Jesuit historian Bernabé H Cobo (1582-1657) reports that in Lima minor judicial officers and lawyers grew and multiplied at the time Padilla took his post in the viceregal capital.26 Oidores [judges], who despite their relatively meager salary occupied a position of political and social privilege. Padilla married the limeña Constanza de Mendoza even though it was legally forbidden by conflict of interest laws for a member of the high court who was born in an Audiencia’s seat to marry a woman from the same district.27 Royal officials such as Padilla commonly married the daughters of prominent local families that wanted to secure hereditary legitimacy.28 This left judges such as Padilla compromised when passing judgment in cases that came before them, many of which were related to their new families via entangled kinship networks and sociopolitical alliances.29 In practice, the sale of offices increased local creole power at the same time it diluted royal authority across the Iberoamerican world.30 2

A Corrupt Official in Early Modern Lima

Economic crisis and the Crown’s inability to properly pay its officers undermined the monarchy’s power in the Peruvian viceroyalty. The sale of high offices further undermined royal authority because key posts were often filled by 26 27

28 29

30

R. Honores, “Un vistazo a la profesión legal legal: abogados y procuradores en Lima, 15501650)”, in L. González Vale (ed.), Actas y Estudios del XIII Congreso del Instituto Internacional de Historia de Derecho Indiano (San Juan, 2003), p. 444. Lucena, Nuevo Reino de Granada, vol. 3, pp. 47 and 92; Recopilación de las Leyes de Indias, vol. 3, Book XVI, Title 1, Law 32, c. in V. Kluger, “¿Existió un derecho de familia indiano?”, in L. González Vale (ed.), Actas y Estudios del XIII Congreso del Instituto Internacional de Historia de Derecho Indiano (San Juan, 2003), p. 198. Kluger, “¿Existió un derecho de familia indiano?”, p. 215. To have his marriage approved, Padilla had requested a license exempting him from this norm – a request that had to be accompanied by a “donation” of 14,000 silver ducats to the Junta de Vestir la Casa. This board, in charge of selling venal posts in the colonies, granted Padilla his exemption as well as his post. The Council of the Indies opposed such sales, lamenting that American offices were sold to “men condemned and suspended through sentences that considered them unworthy of the seat they occupied in His Majesty’s service”. The “Casa” that the name referred to was the royal household (R. Konetzke, Colección de Documentos para la Historia de la Formación Social de Hispanoamérica (1493-1810), 2 vols. (Madrid, 1958), vol. 2, First Book, p. 361). Francisco Gil Martínez, La Junta de Vestir la Casa (1636-1643). Juntas, financiación de la Corte y venalidad (Madrid, 2017) and F. Gil Martínez, “La venta de cargos de Indias en tiempos de Olivares: el conde de Castrillo”, Anuario de Estudios Americanos 74.1, pp. 97-126. A. Amadori, Negociando la obediencia, Gestión y reforma de los virreinatos americanos en tiempos del conde-duque de Olivares (1621-43) (Madrid, 2013), p. 182.

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individuals who could purchase them and not necessarily by people who were qualified to occupy the positions. In the summer of 1636, even city council doormen’s posts were sold.31 The Council of the Indies had expressed its profound disagreement with the sale of royal offices from the high ranking Audiencia judges or tax officials all across the Iberoamerican world; however, the Council’s own treasury sold offices throughout the 16th and 17th centuries.32 The members of the Council were not far from the truth in their condemnation of this practice. By 15 September 1647, the oidores of the Audiencia of Lima, one of whom was Rodríguez de San Isidro who had condemned Padilla in his report to the Council of the Indies over ten years earlier, denounced Padilla who was serving as the city’s presiding alcalde del crimen [criminal attorney] at the time. Padilla was accused of abusing his authority in the high court.33 The following year, Lima’s procurador general [attorney general], Alonso de Santander y Mercado informed the Council of the Indies of new abuses committed by Padilla and asked that a solution be found to end Padilla’s corrupt abuse of power.34 Padilla’s behavior had now begun to cause consternation in the capital of the Peruvian viceroyalty in the same way it had disturbed the New Granada capital two decades earlier. Members of Lima’s city council accused Padilla of hindering the implementation of justice by his constant questioning of their authority. In 1647, councilman Francisco Arce de Sevilla (1613-75), sentenced a man to 100 lashes for selling meat at a price that exceeded what was legally established, but Padilla freed him, upset that he had not been consulted before the punishment was rendered. In a similar case, Arce and fellow council member Pedro Bedoya de Guevara sentenced several bakers for speculating on the price of bread. Padilla not only overturned the sentence; he fined the councilmen and executor 200 pesos each for proceeding without his direct authorization.35 In 1648, San­ tander y Mercado informed the Council of the Indies and the king of new abuses committed by Padilla and asked them to mitigate the situation.36 Daily administration of civic justice in Lima discharged by two local authorities was systematically hindered by Padilla, who used his authority to undermine the rule of law.

31 32 33 34 35 36

E. Schäfer, El Consejo real y supremo de las Indias, Historia y organización del Consejo y de la Casa de Contratación de las Indias (Madrid, 2003), pp. 254-55. Konetzke, Colección de Documentos, vol. 2, First Book, p. 360; Schäfer, El Consejo real y supremo de las Indias, pp. 254-55. AGI, Audiencia de Lima, 102. AGI, Audiencia de Lima, 102. AGI, Audiencia de Lima, 102. AGI, Audiencia de Lima, 102.

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As a criminal attorney in Lima’s high court, Padilla again accumulated several large debts. Padilla’s position and influence made it hard for residents of the city to deny his requests for money. In one example, Padilla used his authority to acquire the indebted vineyard properties in Pisco’s Cóndor valley that his wife had inherited from her father, Pedro Gutiérrez de Mendoza. Furthermore, Padilla used his position at in the high court to acquire one of the most productive agricultural estates in the Ica region, a property which was valued at 150,000 pesos, in a 1647 public auction “arranged with the creditors of the properties inherited by his wife”.37 Padilla also monopolized indigenous labor to serve his personal interests leading to various complaints among regional estate owners who drew from the same indigenous labor pool. Finally, he was accused of retaining almojarifazgo [royal duties collected on trade] to the detriment of the royal treasury. Paradoxically, the archbishop of Lima, Pedro de Villagómez (1588-1671), praised Padilla’s punctuality and righteousness, and he even recommended Padilla for a promotion.38 Padilla, it seems, had been careful to foster relations with powerful clergy in Lima as he had in New Granada 15 years earlier. In 1646, Villagómez carried out the first pastoral visit of his diocese, traveling through the provinces of Chancay and Santa, and part of Checras, Cajatambo, and Huaylas. This visit led to several legal cases prosecuting idolatry and witchcraft in the archdiocese.39 Lima’s archbishop published Carta pastoral de exhortación e instrucción contra las idolatrías de los indios del arzobispado de Lima in 1649 in response to increased legal pressure being placed on indigenous idolaters. This letter contained a manual for inspectors and stressed the need for these campaigns, through which the devil, who was responsible for the continuation of idolatry and the natives’ “ordinary drunkenness”, would be thwarted.40 It seems that Padilla was not very enthusiastic about this letter’s contents, particularly the remarks that linked drunkenness with demonic intervention, largely because Padilla complemented his salary with income earned from the his wife’s familial vineyards that supplied wine to the region’s indigenous con37 38 39

40

AGI, Audiencia de Lima, 102; Don Francisco de Bustamante, don Francisco Arce de Sevilla, Diego de Bermúdez et al., “Trata de los excesos del licenciado Juan de Padilla, alcalde del crimen” (Lima, 15 September 1647). Marzal, La transformación religiosa peruana, p. 123. Marzal, La transformación religiosa peruana, p. 144; J. García Cabrera, “Idólatras congénitos o indios sin doctrina? Dos comprensiones divergentes sobre la idolatría andina en el siglo XVII”, in J. Traslosheros and A. Zavalla Beascoechea (eds.), Los indios ante los foros de justicia religiosa en la Hispanoamérica virreinal (Mexico, 2010), p. 104. Marzal, La transformación religiosa peruana, p. 139; García Cabrera, “Idólatras congénitos…”, p. 105; N. Griffiths, The Cross and the Serpent, Religious Repression and Resurgence in Colonial Peru (Norman, 1996), p. 43.

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sumers.41 The archbishop’s extirpations of idolatry and its related drunkenness impeded not only Padilla’s interests, but those of the region’s Jesuits who also produced alcoholic beverages for profit.42 By the mid-17th century, Jesuits administered important estates in the Nazca and Pisco valleys that provided the local and regional markets with agricultural products that included wine and aguardiente. Demand was the decisive factor behind the development of these estates.43 According to the annual Jesuit report of 1646, “wine [from the Pisco region] is so privileged that it never goes sour”.44 The exploitation of vineyards required the periodic purchase or use of mules, earthenware jugs, and tar pitch, as well as the employment of slaves and overseers.45 Every year, Padilla would spend a few weeks at his vineyard, which was around 30 leagues north of Lima, to supervise the production and distribution of wine. He obtained loans from the Caja de Censos de Indios and the convent of the Poor Clares in Lima to sustain this enterprise, and again, he did not always pay back these loans promptly, accumulating debts in excess of 60,000 pesos.46 Padilla also visited the region’s chicherías [liquor stores], speculating on the price of wine to undercut his competitors like the Jesuits. He was accused of securing his earnings illicitly. When an arroba of wine sold for three pesos, he sold it “for seven pesos, a price that only he could propose, because he was exempt from the gabelas tax,” an advantage gained by his official position in the 41 42

43 44 45

46

Lohmann, El Conde de Lemos, pp. 234-35. The expansion of Jesuit missions in the region of Pisco was regarded with apprehension by the ecclesiastical cabildos [councils]. In May 1623, the Lima ecclesiastical council informed the king of the foundation of a school in the region “with the largest and most valuable vineyards and estates of this entire archbishopric”: G. Ramos, “Diezmos, comercio y conflictos sociales a inicios del siglo XVII”, in G. Ramos, (ed.), La venida del Reino. Religión, evangelización y cultura en América. Siglos XVI-XX, Centro de Estudios Regionales Andinos “Bartolomé de Las Casas” (Cuzco, 1994), p. 263. Cajavilca Navarro, “Plantaciones y esclavitud y esclavitud en las haciendas jesuitas de Pisco. Siglos XVII-XVIII”, Diálogos en Historia, p. 26. ARSI, Provincia Peruana, Peruana Litterae Anuae, vol. 15, fol. 206v. As Cushner pointed out, “the absolute decline of the Indian coastal population as well as legislation – que desde 1601 prohibía a los indios trabajar en haciendas de azúcar y viñedos a menos que se les pagara un salario – forced colonists to turn to African Blacks for the bulk of hacienda labor force”: N. Cushner, Lords of the Land: Sugar, Wine, and Jesuit Estates of Coastal Peru, 1600-1767 (New York, 1980), p. 81. Lohmann, El Conde de Lemos, p. 234. See also Marzal, La transformación religiosa peruana, p. 122; P. Bradley, Society, Economy and Defence in 17th-Century Peru: The Administration of the Count of Alba de Liste (1655-61) (Liverpool, 1992), pp. 107-08. Don Jacinto de Lastras, corregidor of Trujillo, “Refiere los excesos de don Juan de Padilla…”: Lima, 8 July 1647, AGI, Audiencia de Lima, 102.

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Lima high court.47 Soon Iván Sánchez de la Rocha, procurador general de pobres [attorney appointed to the poor] in Lima’s criminal court, opened an investigation into Padilla’s business affairs. During the investigation, Antonio de Oro, the official in charge of administering the royal alcabalas [sales taxes], testified on 22 February 1650 that Padilla pre-sold the year’s second anticipated harvest of “10,000 to 12,000 arrobas [15kg bushels]” to Miguel Núñez y Felipe de Malpartida, a pair of Lima-based winemakers. Padilla used their advance payment of 11,000 pesos to purchase 12 African slaves.48 Other illustrious citizens of Lima spoke about these irregularities to the current procurador general, Joseph de los Ríos y Berriz during his investigation, but when their complaints were raised before Padilla’s peers on the high court, they dismissed them with contempt.49 Lima’s city council ultimately responded to the public outcry by recommending that Padilla be transferred to the Audiencia of Mexico, “to avoid the inconveniences of having him in Lima”.50 3

Padilla and the Jesuits

Complaints against Padilla increased in the 1650s. Accusations against the high court justice ranged from rampant impartiality to biased favoritism. On 7 January 1652, the reigning viceroy Diego García Sarmiento de Sotomayor (c.15951659) wrote to the king about the accusations raised against Padilla, including those of hindering ordinary justice, defrauding the royal treasury of tax income, incurring debts that remained unpaid, and scandalous personal behavior.51 However, when the next royal inspector Juan de Carvajal y Sande undertook his royal inspection of the Lima high court, his secret investigation into Padilla’s private life was inconclusive. Carvajal closed his investigation by concluding that Padilla was innocent of all the charges levied against him. Emboldened by this positive report, and still smarting from the complaints against his person that had reached Madrid, Padilla wrote a letter to Felipe IV r. 1621-1640 dated 15 October 1654 to regain his social standing. In it, Padilla 47 48 49 50 51

Lohmann, El Conde de Lemos, p. 234. Padilla already had 80 Black workers on his wife’s Pisco estate at this time. AGI, Audiencia de Lima, 102, “Declaración de la nobleza de Lima contra don Juan de Padilla…” (Lima, 1647). AGI, Audiencia de Lima, 102, “Declaración de la nobleza de Lima contra don Juan de Padilla…” (Lima, 1647). AGI, Audiencia de Lima, 102, “Declaración de la nobleza de Lima contra don Juan de Padilla…” (Lima, 1647). AGI, Audiencia de Lima, 102, Letter to Felipe IV (Lima, 7 January 1652).

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complained that visiting inspectors sent by the Crown were young, inexpert men “chosen only because of their lineage or other such recommendations so that they reap some benefit from the inspection, which they do”.52 He suggested that the royal inspections, which in his own case had rendered contradictory reports, did not serve the purpose for which they had been created. Most importantly, he used this opportunity to denounce the negligence of limeño clergy in the matter of their parishioners’ spiritual erudition. Many Indians, he said, died without having received the sacrament of confirmation, because bishops did not perform pastoral visits.53 Indeed, Archbishop Villagómez’s delicate health kept him from carrying out pastoral visits across his dioceses after 1646, leaving a gap of more than ten years in which certain sacraments and services were suspended for the dioceses’ residents.54 Padilla prosed the following solution: first, the appointment of the visiting royal inspector should fall to experienced men without the need or desire for pecuniary or other benefits. Second, to ensure pastoral visits, bishops should be assisted by coadjutors. Third, and most important, the Jesuits should be favored for their unparalleled missionary worth and virtue. Padilla reiterated this program in a later letter to Felipe IV, written on 20 July 1657 where he went even further by suggesting that the Jesuits should be granted an Indian parish in each jurisdiction.55 Padilla’s preference for the Jesuits stands in contrast with his apparent dismissal or silencing of a fundamental Jesuit thesis regarding Peruvian Indians’ deficient Christianity. In his Historia del Nuevo Mundo (1653), the Jesuit Cobo echoed the opinion of many government officials at the time when he complained that Peru’s indigenous peoples were prone to drunkenness.56 For example, the limeño official Francisco Valenzuela argued that fornication, 52 53

54 55

56

García, Ofensas a Dios, p. 57. See also García, “Idólatras congénitos”, p. 108. J. Padilla y Pastrana, Parecer sobre los trabajos, agravios e injusticias que padecen los indios el Perú en lo espiritual y temporal, in E. Torre Villar (ed.), Los pareceres de don Juan de Padilla y Diego de León Pinelo acerca de la enseñanza y buen tratamiento de los indios (Mexico, 1979 [1657]), p. 107. See also D. León Pinelo, “Parecer”, in E. Torre Villar (ed.), Los pareceres, pp. 4 and 8. Vargas Ugarte, Historia General del Perú, vol. 3, p. 299; De la Torre, “Introducción”, p. 22; Marzal, La transformación religiosa peruana, pp. 143-44. R. Vargas Ugarte, Historia de la Compañía de Jesús en el Perú, (Burgos 1963-65), vol. 2, pp. 118, 328-31. As De la Torre pointed out, “León Pinelo opposed the measure of giving all the doctrinas [jurisdictional territories] to the Jesuits and proposed instead that they be assigned one doctrina in each province, so that through their good example, the other religious orders would be forced to improve theirs” (De la Torre, “Introducción”, p. 30). B. Cobo, Historia del Nuevo Mundo y Fundación de Lima, ed. F. Mateos, 2 vols. (Madrid 1956 [1653]), vol. 2, p. 21.

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drunken feasting, and “other public sins” allowed for the reproduction of prehispanic beliefs, or idolatry, among the Indians.57 In his view, indigenous moral and spiritual depravity was caused not by the devil, but by alcohol and idolatry: the first was sold to them by local elites, and the second was allowed by lax and negligent parish priests.58 Yet, Padilla made no mention of drunkenness in his famous Memorial sobre los trabajos, agravios e injusticias que padecen los indios del Perú en lo espiritual y temporal, diverting attention away from his personal investment in the wine business. Archival records do not reveal what kind of relations existed between Padilla and the Jesuits, if any. What they do reveal is that from their base in the San Pablo school in Lima, the Jesuits acquired numerous vineyards in the valleys of Ica and Pisco, where Padilla’s family also owned vineyard properties. Already in 1617, Pedro Vera de Montoya and his wife Juana de Luque y Alarcón had invited the Jesuits to settle in the Pisco valley by offering its members the estate that they owned in San Clemente. This gift was formalized on 6 April 1622, supplemented with a 50,000-peso donation in the form of mortgage deeds.59 This large donation encouraged others, so that the Jesuits later received various tracts of land and estates that allowed Hernán Frías to establish a school in the area by 1627.60 From the 1630s on, important people in the viceregal government protested the existence of American vineyards and the development of a local wine industry in Peru. Royal accountant Hernando de Valencia, for instance, wrote a Memorandum in August 1633 recommending the prohibition of American wine production to increase Spanish wine imports.61 Inspired by the writings of Benito de Peñalosa, high sales taxes were imposed on local wine products. Along with the earthquakes that struck Lima on 13 November 1655, and the IcaPisco region on 12 May 1662, these attacks may have ended Padilla’s business in that area.62 In any case, both Padilla and Valenzuela ultimately agreed that to end indigenous drunkenness and ancestor worship, it was necessary to estab57 58

59 60 61 62

C. Salazar-Soler, “Embriaguez y visiones en los Andes, Los jesuitas y las ‘borracheras indígenas’ en el Perú (siglos XVI y XVII)”, in T. Saignes (ed.), Borrachera y memoria, La experiencia de los sagrado en los Andes (La Paz, 1993), pp. 35-42. León Pinelo, Parecer, p. 3. On the prohibition of the sale of wine and chicha [fermented corn beverage] to Lima’s Indians, slaves, and mulattos, see M. Sarabia Viejo and G. Lohmann (eds.), Francisco de Toledo, Disposiciones gubernativas para el Virreinato del Perú (15751580) (Seville, 1989), vol. 2, p. 357. Cajavilca Navarro says that the donation was in the region of 2500 pesos ensayados. (Cajavilca Navarro, “Plantaciones”, p. 22.) Cajavilca Navarro, “Plantaciones”, p. 22. AGI, Lima, 162, Memorial or Parecer. Vargas Ugarte, Historia General del Perú, vol. 3, p. 283.

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lish Jesuit-administered missions that imitated their existing settlements at Santiago del Cercado, Juli and Chavín de Huantar.63 Before these changes could be implemented, the situation rapidly changed. In February 1655, Luis Enríquez de Guzman (c.1600-1667) arrived in Lima to take office as the new viceroy.64 Viceroy Enríquez de Guzmán proved to be a more sensible and perhaps, daring viceroy than his predecessors. He sent the Granada-born Dominican friar Francisco de la Cruz, who a year earlier had been appointed bishop of Santa Marta, to carry out a first-hand investigation into indigenous labor conscription. In his report, the friar was asked to include recommendations for the reform of this conventional tax.65 On 31 August 1656, Padilla supported Cruz’s recommendations by denouncing the use of children in textile mills, as well as the payment of paltry wages and deplorable working conditions suffered by indigenous laborers.66 One wonders why Padilla had not denounced these issues earlier, since these abuses had been going on for decades. One possible reason was that he was trying to divert the viceroy’s attention away from the personal scandals that threatened to destabilize his political career. Shortly before Viceroy Enríquez de Guzmán arrived in Lima, Captain Sánchez de la Rocha had fled the American capital for Madrid where he publicly denounced Padilla at court. Padilla again deflected criticisms against his personal indiscretions by claiming to support indigenous workers and decrying the continued ineptitude of visiting inspectors and ecclesiastical authorities, whom he blamed for moral, spiritual, and religious prostration among Lima’s indigenous population.67 4

Padilla’s 1657 Memorial

Padilla published his most important critique on 20 July 1657. Memorial sobre los trabajos, agravios e injusticias que padecen los indios del Perú en lo espiritual y temporal is divided into 150 chapters in which Padilla describes the abuses and extortions committed by regional administrators and parish priests against 63 64 65 66 67

Padilla, Parecer, p. 110. See also García, “Chavín de Pariarca en el siglo XVII”, p. 47; García, Ofensas a Dios, pp. 58-59. Vargas Ugarte, Historia General del Perú, vol. 3, p. 299; De la Torre, “Introducción”, pp. 2223; Bradley, Society, Economy and Defense, p. 66. Vargas Ugarte, Historia General del Perú, vol. 3, p. 289; and Marzal, La transformación religiosa peruana, p. 128. León Pinelo, Parecer, pp. 39-40. See also Bradley, Society, Economy and Defense, pp. 62-63. Marzal, La transformación religiosa peruana, pp. 148-49; Bradley, Society, Economy and Defense, p. 57.

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indigenous groups in contexts like mines and textile mills. Set within the context of contemporary arbitrismo [critical political and economic] literature that swept through the court of Felipe IV, Padilla’s account denounced the various evils of the Peruvian viceroyalty’s body politic by pointing to their causes and suggesting possible solutions for the “bad government” that plagued the American territory. The text reminds the monarch of his duty to protect the “miserable Indian”, which was one of the legal arguments behind the creation of a separate “republic of Indians” in the early colonial period. Besieged by numerous critiques against him personally, Padilla sought to reinvent himself in this text. He positions himself as a loyal servant of the king who wishes to inform the distant monarch of the serious wrongdoings committed against his most vulnerable subjects that he has observed from his prominent position in the Peruvian viceroyalty. Padilla’s Memorial did not go unheeded. On 21 July 1657, Archbishop Villagómez wrote a letter to the king in which he acknowledged that he had indeed failed to carry out pastoral visits since 1646, claiming that it was his health problems, and not negligence which had kept him from this duty. He also defended himself against the rest of Padilla’s accusations, arguing that Padilla was misinformed about the religious reality regarding Peru’s indigenous groups.68 On 17 July 1660, Felipe IV responded in a letter forgiving the archbishop and releasing him from performing pastoral visits due to his advanced age. While the viceroy suggested that a titular bishop should be appointed to assist Villagómez, the monarch seemed to prefer a coadjutor, as Padilla had recommended.69 A few months later, on 21 September 1660, the king ordered the formation of an advisory board that would consider and propose solutions to the grave problems described by Padilla in his Memorial.70 The board convened on 20 May 1661. At the first meeting Padilla presented the complaints of various ethnic lords, such as Andrés de Azabache, cacique of Lambayeque, who claimed that provincial governors were exploiting native children as young as six years old, prompting families to leave their towns and settlements to avoid this outrage.71 Padilla also accused rural priests of forcing indigenous 68 69 70

71

Marzal, La transformación religiosa peruana, p. 124; Bradley, Society, Economy and Defense, pp. 66 and 150. Lissón Chaves, Colección de documentos para la historia de la iglesia en el Perú, que se encuentran en varios archivos (Seville, 1944-45), vol. 5, p. 369. “Relación del estado del reino hecha por la Real Audiencia de Lima al Conde de Lemos, Virrey del Perú, Tierra Firme y Chile, etc., del estado del Reino, y materias principales de tiempo que ha estado por gobernado por muerte del Excelentísimo Señor Virrey Conde de Santisteban al Conde de Lemos, a su llegada al Perú”, Lima, 15 November 1667, Biblioteca Nacional del Peru, B245, fol. 35v. See also De la Torre, “Introducción”, pp. 25-26. Padilla, Parecer, p. 108. See also Bradley, Society, Economy and Defense, p. 61.

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people to give “offerings” at Mass while exploiting them as cheap labor and neglecting their religious instruction. He also claimed, again, that the bishops, especially the Lima archbishop, did not visit their dioceses, leaving the Indians unprotected.72 Padilla’s critiques were supported by fiscal Valenzuela, who on 17 October 1654 denounced indigenous abuses throughout the Peruvian viceroyalty.73 These accusations were echoed by Diego de León Pinelo (1608-71), the creole brother of the renowned chronicler of Lima’s history Antonio de León Pinelo, who had been appointed protector of Indians by Viceroy Enríquez de Guzmán in 1656.74 Immediately afterwards, Leon Pinelo compiled a detailed commentary known as Parecer. Written in Lima on 21 September 1660, the account contested some of Padilla’s claims.75 This response was presented in the board’s second session, held on 13 June 1661.76 Perhaps unwittingly, Pinelo’s reply to Padilla’s Memorial was one of the most significant factors in Padilla’s canonization, so to speak, as a champion of indigenous rights in the 19th and 20th centuries. In his Parecer, Pinelo praises what he perceives to be the good intentions that led Padilla to write his account. Pinelo points out that the Crown and the Council of the Indies had dictated laws to protect the Indians of Peru, and that if these Indians were being abused. Following Padilla’s account, Pinelo suggests that it was because the Crown’s representatives in Peru failed to apply these laws. Many of those negligent government officials were Spanish-born.77 It is not hard to perceive a certain creole solidarity between Padilla and Pinelo: for both, the king and his most direct representatives – the viceroys – were not to blame for the problems that they identified, but rather the bad disposition of the friars, visitors, and official servants, most of them were not fluent in Quechua, thus failing to fulfill the royal dispositions.78

72 73 74

75 76 77 78

Padilla, Parecer, p. 109. García, “Chavín de Pariarca en el siglo XVII”, pp. 46-47. De la Torre, “Introducción”, p. 26; C. Ruigómez Gómez, “La mita de Potosí en tiempos del Virrey conde Alba de Liste: los Pareceres de don Juan de Padilla y don Diego de León Pinelo y la Visita de fray Francisco de la Cruz”, Cuadernos de Investigación Histórica 13 (1990), 160; J. Saravia Salazar, Los Miserables y el Protector, Evolución de la protectoría de indios en el Virreinato peruano, Siglos XVI-XVIII (Lima, 2012), p. 12. León Pinelo, Parecer, pp. 1-73. See also Vargas Ugarte, Historia General del Perú, vol. 3, p. 300; S. Zavala, El servicio personal de los indios del Perú (Mexico, 1979), p. 242; De la Torre, “Introducción”, pp. 16, 27-34; Bradley, Society, Economy and Defense, pp. 64-65. Lohmann, El Conde de Lemos, p. 237. De la Torre, “Introducción”, p. 28. John Charles, Allies at Odds: The Andean Church and its Indigenous Agents, 1583-1671, Alburquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 2010, p. 184.

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León Pinelo’s reply to the “affectionate and well-intentioned plea” presented by Padilla was distributed widely across the Peruvian viceroyalty after its publication.79 This won Padilla a few more enemies, especially among the religious orders that he accused of exploiting indigenous groups for their economic benefit.80 When the new viceroy, Diego de Benavides (1607-66) arrived in Peru, he advocated for Padilla and Pinelo’s positions on the advisory board that was studying these issues.81 Viceroy Benavides was a vocal adversary of indigenous labor exploitation. In 1663, viceregal officials considered new formulas for evangelization coupled with new regulations on indigenous working conditions in textile mills. In fact, one of the first measures taken by the viceroy was the passage of the Ordenanza de Obrajes [Regulations of Textile Mills], divided into 29 chapters, written in Lima on 14 July 1664. There was a discernable link between this ordinance and the broad and rapid reaction generated by Pinelo’s reply to Padilla’s Memorial.82 Padilla’s text also had concrete effects on the reconfiguration of ecclesiastical policy. Some historians have suggested that both Padilla and Valenzuela were firmly against the extirpation of idolatry campaign initiated in 1646 by Archbishop Villagómez in his dioceses.83 In October 1648, the bishop of Cuzco informed his superior that “while visiting some province in the bishopric, it seemed that the faith had not yet entered and that some Indians still live as gentiles”.84 Villagómez concluded that the problem was caused by the devil’s “cunning and diligence” and not by deficient evangelization efforts among his clergy. Moreover, Villagómez did not have the support of the civil authorities that Pablo Joseph de Arriaga (1564-1622) had enjoyed in his campaigns to extirpate idolatry in the early 17th century. He was criticized not only for the deficient Christianization of his dioceses’ indigenous residents, but also for the numerous cases of abuse of power and corruption involving rural parishes in his jurisdiction. According to the historian García Cabrera, the extirpation of idolatry carried out during Villagómez’s administration were a smoke screen to divert attention away from severe problems across the viceroyalty by pointing toward indigenous populations as groups that “possessed congenital vices” that Villagómez’s church was working to eradicate. 79 80 81 82 83 84

León Pinelo, Parecer, p. 73. On Padilla’s accusations against doctrinero’s exploitation of indigenous labor, see Padilla, Parecer, p. 108; Marzal, La transformación religiosa peruana, p. 150. Lohmann, El Conde de Lemos, p. 239. Vargas Ugarte, Historia General del Perú, vol. 3, pp. 299-301; Bradley, Society, Economy and Defense, p. 65. García, “Idólatras congénitos”, p. 105. Marzal, La transformación religiosa peruana, pp. 125-26.

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But one important question remains: why did Padilla and his acolytes confront Villagómez by criticizing the archbishop and his rural clerics for their supposed “pastoral negligence”? Archival evidence suggests that they wanted to reduce the archbishopric’s influence over private and public enterprises, as demonstrated in its monopolization of indigenous labor. Priests and friars, under the prelate’s administration, manipulated their religious authority for economic gain. Padilla’s virtuous relations with the Church, therefore, stopped at the door of his economic ambitions. Furthermore, Padilla repeatedly tried to deflect attention away from his egregious wrongdoings by accusing higher-ranking officials of failing to fulfill their duties. Padilla’s arguments were supported by various local authorities, including indigenous caciques such as Azabache at Lambayeque who denounced the extortions suffered by his subjects who were forced to work for the priests. Within the framework of his confrontation with the secular ecclesiastical authorities, Padilla’s praise for Jesuit doctrines made sense. Recall that as a high court judge in New Granada Padilla had seen how the Jesuits had enjoyed the support of archbishops like the in­fluential Bartolomé Lobo Guerrero (1542-1622). In mid-17th-century Peru, however, Villagómez struggled to win over the Jesuits with his extirpation campaigns, and Jesuit provincials resisted submission to diocesan authority.85 Thus, hoping to reduce the power of lower-ranking priests in the region, Padilla and Valenzuela sought allies among the Jesuits by proposing jurisdictional reforms that greatly bolstered their power.86 5

Padilla’s Exile

In the mid-17th century, the Jesuits were trying to improve relations with Peruvian secular authorities. Padilla believed that the Jesuits could be key allies in his campaign against the power of competitive religious orders, which exploited indigenous laborers. Padilla celebrated the Jesuits’ reputation as exemplary missionaries, and in his account he identified them as the models that would bring about the moral regeneration of the viceroyalty. It is likely that Padilla cultivated his knowledge of Jesuit customs during his residence in Santa Fe de Bogotá, where the Jesuits were closely tied to the civil authorities like the judges of the Real Audiencia. Situating himself on the side of the Jesuits’ allowed Padilla to present himself as a champion of indigenous rights and as an advo85 86

Griffiths, however, has argued that “the principal motive was the Company’s fear that the Indians’ respect for them would be lost and their pastoral work would be undermined if they continued to assist the Visitors in their work” (The Cross and the Serpent, p. 44). Marzal, La transformación religiosa peruana, pp. 151-52; García, “Idólatras congénitos…”, p. 107. García, “Chavín de Pariarca en el siglo XVII”, p. 47; García, Ofensas a Dios, p. 61.

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cate for evangelization in a way that successfully diverted attention from the wrongdoings or blemishes of his career in the South American audiencias where he served for decades. Padilla’s plan, however, faltered when Viceroy Enríquez de Guzmán accused him along with magistrate Sebastián de Alarcón y Alcocer (1642-66) of being “weighed down by business affairs and relatives, marriages of their children and dependents, so that they often did not fulfill their obligations”.87 Enríquez de Guzmán recommended Padilla’s transfer to another high court “in keeping with his quality and service” that would free him from the interests and relations that he had in Lima.88 On 24 April 1660 a royal decree was issued transferring Padilla, the “oldest alcalde in the sala del crimen”, to the high court of Mexico City where he would serve in the position of high court justice. The same royal order simultaneously opened an official investigation into his actions as a public official in New Granada and Peru.89 The promotion, as Mendiburu points out, was not done in good faith, for the candidate was ridden by debt and disease, and he was nearly 70 years old.90 Indeed, Padilla’s case reveals that oftentimes an appointment to a higher office was not a reward for years of service, but the best way to get rid of a political rival. It also shows the intricate relations woven between elite families and colonial officials. Padilla’s case is just one example of how rivalries and alliances influenced the professional paths of government representatives and shaped imperial policy-making in the early colonial period. Through his position, Padilla’s relatives and network had acquired so much power in Lima that the Crown deemed it time to remove him from the city to curb his authority. In January 1662, Padilla wrote a letter to the president of the Council of the Indies thanking him for his transfer to the Audiencia of Mexico and used the opportunity to repeat his denunciations of the abuses that were still committed against indigenous groups. He also lamented that his critical stance against rural administrators and priests had been made public through the publication of León Pinelo’s text.91 This, he said, aggravated the situation for indigenous victims. For instance, he argued that after the 12 May 1664 Ica earthquake he decided that the church, convents, town square, and municipal council 87 88 89 90

91

G. Lohmann Villena, Los ministros de la Audiencia de Lima (1700-1821) (Seville, 1974), p. lvii. J. de la Puente Brunke, “Las estrellas solo lucen cuando el sol se pone. Los ministros de la Audiencia de Lima en el siglo XVII y sus expectativas”, Illes i Imperis 14 (2012), 64. The residencia [examination] was not completed: Saravia Salazar, Los Miserables y el Protector, p. 287. According to Lohmann, Padilla “suffered terrible pains caused by lithiasis, and he was also afflicted by galling hemorrhoids. His wife (and cousin) Doña Constanza de Mendoza was barely able to get out of bed due to bouts of choking caused by a tumor” : El Conde de Lemos, p. 234; Marzal, La transformación religiosa peruana, pp. 122-23. Vargas Ugarte, Historia General del Perú, vol. 3, p. 301.

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houses should be rebuilt in a safer location. Contrary to his recommendation, Ica’s administrator Francisco Cabrero de Avendaño opposed his resolution and even though he was given license to initiate the move, he did nothing.92 The Audiencia of Lima wrote to the Crown on 4 June 1666 to address the difficulties that the aging Padilla would face if he actually relocated to Mexico City. Padilla preempted any royal response to the audiencia’s request when he renounced his new office on 13 September 1666.93 By then, he was no longer serving as a criminal judge. Since the 1662 and 1664 earthquakes had destroyed his properties in Pisco, Padilla was again debt-ridden. Padilla soon found himself suffering “extreme need and poverty”.94 Despite his health problems, advanced age, and economic depravity, Padilla participated in the councils’s last session convened on 3 July 1670, which suppressed forced indigenous labor in the highland mine at Potosí and radically reformed indigenous labor conditions in the Peruvian viceroyalty.95 Ruben Vargas Ugarte, the renowned Peruvian Jesuit historian, described Padilla as a good magistrate who exemplified the moral virtues behind Spanish colonial civilizing labors in Peru. For Vargas Ugarte, Padilla embodied limeño patriotism because his Memorial was not the work of an indigenous activist, but of a Peruvian civil servant who was concerned with the values of justice and liberty, as opposed to those selfish and corrupt representatives of the Catholic church or Spanish imperial state, which marred the colonial period. As evidence presented in this essay demonstrates, Padilla was not an innocent, noble champion of indigenous rights. He was an economic and political agent linked with particular networks of economic and political interests in the regions where he served as magistrate. Padilla’s motivation for writing an impassioned defense of indigenous rights was motivated by the desire to obtain personal political and economic gain for himself and his network of relations. The near-canonization of the creole judge Juan de Padilla and his defense of indigenous labor rights by Vargas Ugarte and others was an attempt to legitimize the postulates of 20th-century nationalist and conservative historiography regarding the leadership of Peruvian creoles in the struggle for Peru’s independence.96 92 93 94

95 96

“Relación del estado del reino hecha por la Real Audiencia de Lima al Conde de Lemos…”, pp. 56-57. Marzal, La transformación religiosa peruana, p. 123; Lohmann, El Conde de Lemos, p. 234. Because the vineyards had been destroyed, they were “burdened by debts; and given his absence, lost and mismanaged, and their situation worsened every day”. Without an income from the state or his properties, it is indeed likely that he ended his days in poverty. (“Relación del estado del reino hecha por la Real Audiencia de Lima al Conde de Lemos…”, p. 48; De la Puente, “Las estrellas solo lucen”, p. 64.) Lohmann, El Conde de Lemos, pp. 271-77. F. Quiroz Chueca, “La historia del Perú según Viscardo y Guzmán”, Sílex 3 (2014), 59-78.

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Cobo, B., Historia del Nuevo Mundo y Fundación de Lima, ed. F. Mateos, 2 vols. (Madrid, 1956 [1653]). García Cabrera, J., Ofensas a Dios, Pleitos e injurias, Causas de idolatrías y hechicerías, Cajatambo, siglos XVII-XIX (Cuzco, 1994). Konetzke, R., Colección de Documentos para la Historia de la Formación Social de Hispanoamérica (1493-1810), 2 vols. (Madrid, 1958). León Pinelo, D., “Parecer”, in E. Torre Villar (ed.), Los pareceres de don Juan de Padilla y Diego de León Pinelo acerca de la enseñanza y buen tratamiento de los indios (Mexico, 1979), pp. 1-73. Lissón Chaves, E., Colección de documentos para la historia de la iglesia en el Perú, que se encuentran en varios archivos (Seville, 1944-45). Lucena Salmoral, M., Historia Extensa de Colombia, Nuevo Reino de Granada, Real Audiencia y Presidentes, Presidentes de capa y espada (1605-1628), Bogotá 1965. Mendiburu, M., Diccionario histórico-biográfico del Perú, 10 vols. (Lima, 1881-1934). Padilla y Pastrana, J., Parecer sobre los trabajos, agravios e injusticias que padecen los indios el Perú en lo espiritual y temporal, in E. Torre Villar (ed.), Los pareceres de don Juan de Padilla y Diego de León Pinelo acerca de la enseñanza y buen tratamiento de los indios (Mexico, 1979 [1657]), pp. 107-25. “Relación del estado del reino hecha por la Real Audiencia de Lima al Conde de Lemos, Virrey del Perú, Tierra Firme y Chile, etc., del estado del Reino, y materias principales de tiempo que ha estado por gobernado por muerte del Excelentísimo Señor Virrey Conde de Santisteban al Conde de Lemos, a su llegada al Perú”, Lima, 15 November 1667, Biblioteca Nacional del Peru, B245. Rodríguez Freyle, J., El Carnero: conquista y descubrimiento del Nuevo Reino de Granada, ed. D. Palomino Urbano (Madrid, 1994 [1636-38]). Rodríguez Freyle, J., El Carnero, según el otro manuscrito de Yerbabuena, ed. M. Germán Romero (Bogotá, 1997 [1636-38]). Sánchez de la Rocha, I., Memorial de desagravios del capitán Iván Sánchez de la Rocha, vecino de la Ciudad de los Reyes del Perú, Madrid 1651, John Carter Brown Library, B651 S211c 1-SIZE.  Francisco de Toledo, Disposiciones gubernativas para el Virreinato del Perú (1575-1580), ed. M. Sarabia Viejo and G. Lohmann Villena (Seville, 1989). Zavala, S., El servicio personal de los indios en el Perú (Mexico, 1979).

Amadori, A., Negociando la obediencia, Gestión y reforma de los virreinatos americanos en tiempos del conde-duque de Olivares (1621-43) (Madrid, 2013).

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Amadori, A., “Presentación”, Anuario de Estudios Americanos 71.1 (2014), 15-24. Angeli, S., “¿Buenos e rectos jueces?: La visita a la Audiencia de Lima por el licenciado Briviesca de Muñatones, 1560-1563”, Jahrbuch für Geschichte Lateinamerikas 50 (2013), 9-27. Bloch, M., Introducción a la historia (Mexico, 1992). Bradley, P., Society, Economy and Defense in 17th-Century Peru: The Administration of the Count of Alba de Liste (1655-61) (Liverpool, 1992). Cajavilca Navarro, L., “Plantaciones y esclavitud en las haciendas jesuitas de Pisco. Siglos XVII-XVIII”, Diálogos en Historia, pp. 19-37. Charles, J., Allies at Odds: The Andean Church and its Indigenous Agents, 1583-1671 (Alburquerque, 2010). Cunill, C., “El indio miserable: nacimiento de la teoría legal en la América colonial del siglo XVI”, Cuadernos inter-c-a-mbio 9 (2011), 229-48. Cushner, Nicholas P., Lords of the Land: Sugar, Wine, and Jesuit Estates of Coastal Peru, 1600-1767 (New York, 1980). De la Puente Brunke, J., Encomienda y encomenderos en el Perú. Estudio social y político de una institución colonial (Seville, 1991). De la Puente Brunke, J., “Notas sobre la Audiencia de Lima y la “protección de los naturales” (siglo XVII)”, in S. O’Phelan Godoy and C. Salazar Soler (eds.), Passeurs, mediadores culturales y agentes de la primera globalización en el mundo ibérico (siglos XVI-XIX) (Lima, 2005), pp. 231-48. De la Puente Brunke, J., “Codicia y bien público: los ministros de la Audiencia en la Lima seiscentista”, Revista de Indias 66 (2006), 133-48. De la Puente Brunke, J., “Las estrellas solo lucen cuando el sol se pone. Los ministros de la Audiencia de Lima en el siglo XVII y sus expectativas”, Illes i Imperis 14 (2012), 49-62. De la Torre Villar, E., “Introducción”, in Los pareceres de don Juan de Padilla y Diego de León Pinelo acerca de la enseñanza y buen tratamiento de los indios, ed. E. Torre Villar (Mexico, 1979). Fernández Albadalejo, P., La crisis de la monarquía, Historia de España (Barcelona, 2009). García Cabrera, J., “Chavín de Pariarca en el siglo XVII”, Boletín del Instituto de Riva Agüero 19 (1992), pp. 45-64. García Cabrera, J., “Idólatras congénitos o indios sin doctrina? Dos comprensiones divergentes sobre la idolatría andina en el siglo XVII”, in J. Traslosheros and A. Zavalla Beascoechea (eds.), Los indios ante los foros de justicia religiosa en la Hispanoamérica virreinal (Mexico, 2010), pp. 95-110. García Cabrera, J., Ofensas a Dios, Pleitos e injurias, Causas de idolatrías y hechicerías, Cajatambo, siglos XVII-XIX (Cuzco, 1994).

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Gil Martínez, F., La Junta de Vestir la Casa (1636-1643), Juntas, financiación de la Corte y venalidad (Madrid, 2017). Gil Martínez, F., “La venta de cargos de Indias en tiempos de Olivares: el conde de Castrillo”, Anuario de Estudios Americanos 74.1 (2017), 97-126. Griffiths, N., The Cross and the Serpent, Religious Repression and Resurgence in Colonial Peru (Norman, 1996). Herzog, T., Ritos de control, prácticas de negociación: pesquisas, visitas y residencias en las relaciones entre Quito y Madrid (1630-1750) (Madrid, 2005). Honores, R., “Un vistazo a la profesión legal: abogados y procuradores en Lima, 15501650)”, in L. González Vale (ed.), Actas y Estudios del XIII Congreso del Instituto Internacional de Historia de Derecho Indiano (San Juan, 2003), pp. 431-50. Kagan, R., Los Cronistas y la Corona (Madrid, 2010). Kluger, V., “¿Existió un derecho de familia indiano?”, in L. González Vale (ed.), Actas y Estudios del XIII Congreso del Instituto Internacional de Historia de Derecho Indiano (San Juan, 2003), pp. 185-226. Lohmann Villena, G., El Conde de Lemos, Virrey del Perú (Seville, 1946). Lohmann Villena, G., Los ministros de la Audiencia de Lima (1700-1821) (Seville, 1974). Marzal, Manuel M., La transformación religiosa peruana (Lima, 1983). Mayorga García, F., La audiencia de Santafé en los siglos XVI y XVII (Bogotá, 1991). Mayorga García, F., Real Audiencia de Santa Fe en los siglos XVI-XVII: historia, visitas, quejas y castigos del primer tribunal con sede en la ciudad (Bogotá, 2013). Medina, J., La imprenta de Lima (1584-1824) (Santiago, 1904). Mills, K., Idolatry and Its Enemies, Colonial Andean Religion and Extirpation, 1640-1750 (Princeton, 1997). Moreno Durán, R., “El Carnero: la escritura de las fundaciones”, in J. Rodríguez Freyle (ed.), El Carnero, Conquista y descubrimiento del Nuevo Reino de Granada (Madrid, 1994), pp. 15-54. Nieto Vélez, A., Francisco del Castillo, el Apóstol de Lima (Lima, 1992). Quiroz Chueca, F., “La historia del Perú según Viscardo y Guzmán”, Sílex 3 (2014), 59-78. Quiroz Chueca, F., De la patria a la nación, Historiografía peruana desde Garcilaso a la era del guano (Lima, 2012). Ramos, G., “Diezmos, comercio y conflictos sociales a inicios del siglo XVII”, in G. Ramos, (ed.), La venida del Reino. Religión, evangelización y cultura en América. Siglos XVI-XX, Centro de Estudios Regionales Andinos “Bartolomé de Las Casas” (Cuzco-Perú, 1994), pp. 229-81. Ruigómez Gómez, C., “La mita de Potosí en tiempos del Virrey conde Alba de Liste: los Pareceres de don Juan de Padilla y don Diego de León Pinelo y la Visita de fray Francisco de la Cruz”, Cuadernos de Investigación Histórica 13 (1990), 155-66.

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Salazar-Soler, C., “Embriaguez y visiones en los Andes, Los jesuitas y las ‘borracheras indígenas’ en el Perú (siglos XVI y XVII)”, in T. Saignes (ed.), Borrachera y memoria, La experiencia de los sagrado en los Andes (La Paz, 1993), pp. 23-42. Sánchez-Concha Barrios, R., “De la miserable condición de los indios a las reducciones”, in R. Sánchez-Concha Barrios, Del régimen hispánico, Estudios sobre la conquista y el orden virreinal peruano (Arequipa, 2013), pp. 165-78. Saravia Salazar, J., Los Miserables y el Protector, Evolución de la protectoría de indios en el Virreinato peruano, Siglos XVI-XVIII (Lima, 2012). Schäfer, E., El Consejo Real y Supremo de las Indias, Historia y organización del Consejo y de la Casa de Contratación de las Indias (Madrid, 2003). Vargas Ugarte, R., Historia de la Compañía de Jesús en el Perú (Burgos, 1963-65). Vargas Ugarte, R., Historia General del Perú, Virreinato (1596-1689) (Lima, 1966).

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Part 2  Society



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Chapter 7

Lima and the Introduction of Peru into the Global Trade of the 16th Century  Margarita Suárez Lima was founded in 1535 by Francisco Pizarro for the purpose of having an urban center that enabled administrative control of the regions recently seized from the Inca Empire and allowed for sea connection with the Iberian Peninsula through a good port at Callao, located a few miles from the capital city.1 Unlike the Inca, who preferred to situate political and administrative centers in the highlands, Pizarro preferred the territory bathed by the rivers Rímac, Chillón, and Lurín. Although in the period of Inca occupation these valleys did not have the relevance of others such as Cuzco or Quito, this site of the Lymacyungas was essential due to the existence of two important oracles of the curacazgos [indigenous leaders] of Yschma, that of the Rímac and, above all, that of Pachacamac, the great oracular center promoted by the Inca state. This PanAndean sacred web encouraged the transmission of the knowledge of astronomy and omens and, therefore, interwove an extensive network of exchanges and circulation of products.2 Pizarro was particularly drawn to the site’s access to the maritime network of supplies of the always-hard-to-find weapons and peninsular products provided by Lima’s coastal location. Together with the circuits connecting Mexico, Guatemala, and Peru, which permitted the mobility of goods and troops (always eager to find better spoils of war), the Panama route was the shortest way of connecting with peninsular Spain. Through this route the conquering companies of Pizarro and Almagro were connected to their funding sources, which were located separately from (and sometimes in conflict with) the other exploratory expeditions. Keeping these contacts solid and free-flowing 1 This text is part of the project “Remesas e imperio” ID 429, financed by the Vicerrectorado de Investigación of the Pontificia Universidad Católica del Perú through its Dirección de Gestión de la Investigación. 2 J. Villanueva Hidalgo, “Lima, la antigua comarca de Rímac y Pachacamac, las huacas oráculos Ychma. Una visión a través de sus frisos y pinturas murales del tiempo de los incas”, in Concurso Juan Gunther, Investigaciones históricas sobre Lima (Lima, 2014), pp. 13-82; M. Curatola, “¿Fueron Pachacamac y los otros grandes santuarios del mundo andino antiguos verdaderos oráculos?”, Diálogo Andino 38 (2011), 5-19.

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2019 | doi:10.1163/9789004335363_009

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was essential to the consolidation of Spanish power; as Europeans advanced throughout the southern territory which grew to be known as the Viceroyalty of Peru, they became the main landowners and the beneficiaries of the distribution of forced tribute. Indigenous people were required by means of the encomiendas [a tribute granting institution in the Iberoamerican world by which Spanish individuals were imbued with authority over indigenous groups]. Besides, this route was the channel of communication with the Crown, essential to guarantee the legitimacy of conquest initiatives pursued by soldiers, merchants, and financers and, at the same time, the course through which shipments resulting from looting were sent to the Crown. Praised and empowered, Peru’s conquistadores [European conquerors] soon entered into an endless series of conflicts among themselves and with the Crown itself. In fact, the conquest dragged on beyond the capitulation of the Inca State. Frustrated by the unjust distribution of territory that, in his opinion, had been imposed on him by his partner Francisco Pizarro, Diego de Almagro engaged in a civil war that would end with Pizarro’s death in 1541. Soon after, Almagro the younger rose up against Cristobal Vaca de Castro, the officer in charge of investigating the causes of civil war among the conquistadores. But, undoubtedly, the most dangerous uprising was that of Gonzalo Pizarro, who led the “great rebellion” of the encomenderos [Spaniards awarded with groups of tribute-paying Indians] against the Leyes Nuevas [New Laws] promulgated by the Spanish monarchy in 1542 and against the newly appointed viceroy Blasco Núñez Vela (r. 1544-46), who was in charge of applying the new legal constraints in Peru. Influenced by Bartholome de las Casas, the Crown decided to put an end to the abuses of the encomenderos against the indigenous and promulgated by-laws regulating indigenous people’s work. Concomitantly, the Viceroyalty of Peru and Lima’s high court were created in order to increase the power of royal officers. As a result, several heads rolled in Peru, including that of the first viceroy and those of Gonzalo Pizarro and his lackeys. In 1554, once the insurgent encomenderos in the new Viceroyalty of Peru were defeated, Lima consolidated itself as the political center of the territory. Although the issue of the perpetuation of the encomiendas had not yet been fully solved and there was an Inca opposition in Vilcabamba that drew attention away from the issue, the newly appointed Spanish officials in Lima were changing course by establishing control over the distribution of the rents confiscated from the traitors. They also started negotiating with the religious orders to implement protection measures for the indigenous population. This situation of “unstable equilibrium” was faced and relatively dealt with by the reforms of the fifth viceroy of Peru, Francisco de Toledo (r. 1569-81).3 Although 3 M. Merluzzi, Gobernando los Andes, Francisco de Toledo virrey del Perú (1569-1581) (Lima, 2014), pp. 36-115.

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they may seem modest by today’s standards, the measures undertaken by Toledo’s government instigated a profound change in the position Lima and the Viceroyalty of Peru held within the Spanish Empire. In addition to stabilizing the kingdom at a political level, Toledo introduced economic reforms that succeeded in efficiently articulating the Potosi-Huancavelica mining axis and imposing the mining mita [forced labor tribute] paid by select indigenous populations in Peru. In a few decades Lima became one of the most important poles of the empire and one of the most visible marketplaces of the world trade at that time. Despite the relevance of the role of Peru and Lima in shaping this vital commercial apparatus, there are few studies analyzing this period of conformation of the mercantile companies in hands of peruleros [Spaniards who, after making their fortune, stayed in Peru or returned to Spain] in the context of the mining boom. The objective of this chapter is to show how Lima and its peruleros became protagonists of a complex mechanism connecting the Peruvian viceroyalty with Europe and the Eastern world. As will be seen, those who would be known as the great merchants of Lima in the first decades of the 17th century began their business thanks to the knowledge and contact established with the Corsican network established in Peru in the 16th century. Soon after, the peruleros set up their own mercantile consortiums and established connections with the decayed encomendero elite of Peru. 1

The Age of the Encomenderos

Following the tradition of the Iberian Reconquista, city councils were key institutions from which the political and economic power of the conquistadores was deployed. From there justice was imparted, lots and lands were assigned, water was distributed, and the supply of the city was decided. Prices, weights, and measures were controlled by the city councils, as well as communication with peninsular officers and institutions. Nevertheless, the population growth of early modern Spanish cities was discreet in the 16th century. For example, in Lima, in 1535, the newly founded city council had 8 regidores [district magistrates] and only 70 Spanish residents. Two years later the city housed 380 Spaniards and 14 Spanish women. Around 1568, soon after the civil wars ended, 32 encomenderos and 2500 residents were registered as Lima residents. It would not be until 1600 that the number of inhabitants would increase to 14,262, including Blacks, indigenous people, and mestizos [ethnically mixed individuals of Spanish and indigenous descent].4 The census ordered by Viceroy Juan de 4 G. Lohmann Villena, Los regidores perpetuos del cabildo de Lima (1535-1821), Crónica y estudio de un grupo de gestión, 2 vols. (Seville, 1983), vol. 1, pp. 269-70.

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Mendoza y Luna (r. 1607-15) in 1613 showed that there were 2113 indigenous people in Lima, of whom 1917 were from “these kingdoms” while the rest came from Chile, China, India, and Japan. The existence of a total of 25,454 inhabitants is attributed to this same survey, although the references are indirect since only the count of the indigenous people survived.5 The next highest figure is that of 1620, estimating the existence of 9000 to 10,000 Spanish limeños [residents of Lima] inplus 50,000 indigenous, Blacks, and mestizos.6 Likewise, since the 16th century there were also floating populations of Italians, Corsicans, Flemish, Greeks, and Portuguese, among other foreigners, most of whom dedicated themselves to activities connected to trade and shipping. In 1642, Viceroy Pedro Álvarez de Toledo (r. 1638-48) estimated that there were about 500 Portuguese in Lima, a figure close to 2 percent of the total population.7 These data reveal that the city established itself belatedly in the 16th century due to the civil wars. Throughout the second half of the century, the population grew and attracted people from faraway places with which the capital had been in contact. The management of the city of Lima was in the hands of the feudatory citizens, that is to say, of the encomenderos who, as a reward for their participation in the conquest received incomes from tributes of the indigenous people under their jurisdiction. By law, the encomenderos had to dwell in the city closest to the region of their encomienda, and it is evident that the most important tributary population was located in the Peruvian sierra and not on the coast, where Lima was situated (Table 7.1). Despite this, Lima had the appeal of being the political center (even Francisco Pizarro had taken four estates belonging to Taulichusco and encomiendas in the area), and for this reason the encomenderos of other provinces had properties and spent seasons in the capital city.8 Even so, the number of feudatory residents in Lima was smaller (32 out of 2500 residents in 1562) than in cities like Cuzco (80 out of 500 residents).9 However, Lima’s jurisdiction was large and included 51 encomiendas, some of them very important in the early years, such as Chincha (25,000 5 G. Sullón Barreto, Extranjeros integrados, Portugueses en la Lima virreinal, 1570-1680 (Madrid, 2016), p. 57; Biblioteca Nacional de España (BNE), Mss 3032, “Padron de los indios que se hallaron en la ciudad de los Reyes del Piru hecho en virtud de comisión del Excmo señor marqués de Montesclaros virrey del”, por Miguel de Contreras escribano de S.M. año de 1613, fol. 246v. 6 Lohmann, Los regidores, vol. 1, p. 270. 7 Sullón, Extranjeros integrados, pp. 56-57. M. Rodríguez Vicente, “Los extranjeros en el reino del Perú a fines del siglo XVI”, in Homenaje a Jaime Vicens Vives, 2 vols. (Barcelona, 1967), pp. 533-46. 8 J. Lockhart, El mundo hispanoperuano, 1532-1560 (Mexico, 1982), p. 32; R. Varón Gabai, La ilusión del poder. Apogeo y decadencia de los Pizarro en la conquista del Perú (Lima, 1996), pp. 279, 315. 9 M. Evans, The Landed Aristocracy in Peru: 1600-1680 (London, 1972), p. 18.

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Global Trade Of The 16th Century Table 7.1

Indigenous taxes by provinces, in pesos ensayados (pesos minted in the royal mints in America)

Province

Year 1561

 Year  1572

Year 1625

Century XVII

119,920

101,895

60,000

65,180

45,052

8,000

62,100

52,554

20,000

Lima

55,600

Huánuco

55,650

Trujillo

63,800

Chachapoyas

27,600



21,390

6,224



Piura

33,800

12,890

2,898

2,000

Arequipa

93,700

98,335

83,566

25,000

Huamanga

65,914

12,861 118,314 (112,440) 84,254

101,435

59,576

8,000

377,000

324,492

380,835

323,300

130,000

Cuzco



Year 1592

66,654

Source: Author’s elaboration, based on Evans, “The Landed Aristocracy”, p. 28.

taxpaying indigenous people), Chisquis and Moro (50,000 indigenous people), Huanca (9000 indigenous people), Huaylas (3300 indigenous people), Choque, and Requay (3199 indigenous people total).10 The first limeño [Lima resident] city councilmen were the conquerors of the territory, such as Nicolás de Ribera the elder or Cristobal de Peralta, both present at the Isla del Gallo (an island where Pizarro and his followers waited for reinforcements and supplies in 1527).11 From the beginning the encomenderos displayed aristocratic ambitions: they had to own a casa poblada [a household that included a Spanish wife, servants, slaves, Spanish servants, and a stable], as well as fine clothes, agricultural land, livestock, and, of course, a seat in the city council. For this reason, around 1533, one of the dignitaries of Lima “fed daily in his property 40 people at his table”.12 Many of the most conspicuous allies of Gonzalo Pizarro were defeated in the civil wars and few dynasties managed to survive. Those that did, such as those of the Aliaga, Ribera, or Ampuero, had to adapt themselves to changing political, social, and economic circumstances. In 1561 all the appointments in the cabildo [city council] made by Viceroy Andrés Hurtado de Mendoza (r. 1556-61) were revoked and, in 10 11 12

J. de la Puente Brunke, Encomienda y encomenderos en el Perú. Estudio social y político de una institución colonial (Seville, 1992), pp. 160, 429-47. Lohmann, Los regidores, vol. 1, pp. 35-36. Lockhart, El mundo, pp. 32-33.

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addition, money was accepted as a requirement to having the benefit of a seat on the city council.13 At the same time, the issue of the perpetuity of encomiendas was still yet to be decided by the Crown. Moreover, the indigenous population was showing signs of contraction, especially in coastal areas. This meant that the encomenderos had to struggle to maintain their incomes from the natives and, at the same time, to enter into businesses that would safely secure the family fortune, such as investing in haciendas [working farms and ranches], mines, mercantile activities, or marital alliances. The case of Nicolás de Ribera the elder and his descendants has been extensively studied. In the second half of the 16th century, two clans controlled the Lima city council: the descendants of Nicolás de Ribera the younger and those of the Ampuero family.14 Nicolás de Ribera the younger (b. 1506, Salamanca, d. 1582, Lima) arrived in Peru in 1532 and participated in the siege of Cuzco, for which he was awarded with the encomiendas of Maranga, Magdalena, Huaura, and Canta. In 1537, he married Ines Bravo de Lagunas, whose dowry of 2,000 pesos in gold enabled him to found a mayorazgo [family estate] amounting to 74,000 pesos ensayados in 1562. Among the properties were the family residence, worth 13,000 pesos; another property in the main square, with a warehouse and 13 stores (14,000 pesos); lands and a mill next to the Rímac River (14,000 pesos); an orchard in Santa Ana (3500 pesos); vineyards in Maranga (3500 pesos); a farm of basic crops in Huaura (2000 pesos) with a herd of cattle (8000 pesos); 32 Black slaves (8000 pesos); assorted household goods valued at 2500 pesos; and, finally a deposit in Spain of 5500 pesos.15 From the very beginning he set up businesses such as, for example, establishing fishing companies into which he contributed money and indigenous people from his encomienda in Maranga.16 Nicolás de Ribera the younger managed to survive thanks to the trust of Francisco Pizarro and the fact that he did not support Gonzalo in the great ­rebellion. He ensured the continuation of his family’s dynasty by creating a network connecting his family with encomenderos and merchants in the Vice­ royalty of Peru. Furthermore, his clientele controlled the Lima city council from around 1577.17 His daughter Mariana de Ribera married Jerónimo de Silva, who would be mayor and regidor [councilman] in Lima in the second half of 13 14 15 16 17

Lohmann, Los regidores, vol. 1, p. 49. J. de la Riva-Agüero, “El primer alcalde de Lima Nicolás de Ribera el viejo y su posteridad”, in Obras completas de José de la Riva-Agüero, 8 vols. (Lima, 1983), pp. 165-249; Evans, The Landed Aristocracy, pp. 45-47. Lohmann, Los regidores, vol. 2, pp. 264-65. Lohmann, Los regidores, vol. 2, p. 264. Lohmann, Los regidores, vol. 1, p. 65.

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the 16th century. Silva served as mayordomo [seneschal] and procurador general [attorney general] of Lima in the decade 1545-54 and, as such, the person in charge of justifying before the Real Audiencia [high court] the reason why the personal service of the natives should be maintained. Being mayor of Lima, he was granted a lot in Callao in order to store the goods produced by his hacien­das. Thanks to his first marriage he obtained the repartimiento [colonial tribute system imposed on the indigenous populations] of Huanchoyauyos, to which was added the encomienda of Magdalena that Nicolás de Ribera the younger gave him when he married Ribera’s daughter. In addition, the Count of Nieva granted him the encomiendas of Totoca, Chimata, Lípez, and others. Years later, Viceroy Toledo would commission him to visit Jauja and Huamanga as part of the viceroy’s general inspection tour.18 Likewise, his son Antonio Bravo de Lagunas married Isabel Galindo de Loaysa, the sister of Francisco de Valenzuela Loaysa who was familiar del Santo Oficio [special informant of the Inquisition], the corregidor [local governing official] of Pisco and Carangas, regidor in Lima, and owner of one of the most important ships sailing the route connecting Lima with the Viceroyalty of New Spain.19 The Ampueros also had an outstanding family trajectory in Lima and became the mestizo clan of the city par excellence. The founder of the family in Peru, Francisco de Ampuero y Cocas (1515-78) served as the page of Francisco Pizarro, who arranged his marriage to his first indigenous wife, the Inca princess Ines Huaylas, daughter of the Inca Huayna Capac and of Contar Huacho, a high-ranking lady of Huaylas.20 He received the repartimientos of Yauyos and Chaclla and was involved in the business of cattle and wheat on behalf of the city, besides owning a ship that sailed to Panama. He was a regidor in the Lima cabildo and joined Gonzalo in the confrontation against Viceroy Núñez Vela, although he was not charged with treason. He had a mestizo descendant, Martín de Ampuero Yupanqui, encomendero de Huanchihuaylas, who was also a member of the Lima cabildo and founded a mayorazgo with his first wife, Leonor Barba Cabeza de Vaca, the daughter of the conquistador Ruy Barba Cabeza de Vaca, who benefitted from the encomienda of Piscas. The bond included Ampuero’s residence in front of the church of La Merced in Lima, another lot in the city, an orchard and a hacienda in Ñañac, an encomienda in this same valley, and several rental properties in Spain. In 1582, he acquired the lands of the Pacayal and more estates in Ñañac. In total, he accumulated an

18 19 20

Lohmann, Los regidores, vol. 2, pp. 300-02. Lohmann, Los regidores, vol. 2, pp. 317-18. Varón Gabai, La ilusión, p. 133; Lohmann, Los regidores, vol. 2, p. 37.

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income of 14,000 pesos per year.21 He was also alguacil mayor [chief constable], second officer in command of the corregidor, horse captain in Lima, and city attorney. He even asked for a military uniform around 1595. Ampuero became the leader of the Lima cabildo with Nicolás de Ribera the younger in the last third of the 16th century.22 The family networks of the conquistadores’ descendants were essential to guaranteeing their pre-eminence in the 16th century. Possessing encomiendas, the best lands, mayorazgos, positions in the administration, good lineage, and a casa poblada allowed the encomenderos to survive after the wars. In addition, the application of distributive justice forced the monarchy to give them rents and government positions because, thanks to the conquistadores and their descendants, the kingdom had been acquired and preserved. Nevertheless, these dynasties faced several obstacles. The first was the advance of the royal administration itself, which took a dim view of granting of encomienda rents in perpetuity to a group that had revolted against the Crown and which no longer had military obligations or the function of ensuring the integrity of the indigenous populations. In addition, both the peninsular and Peruvian administrations were now facing new demands resulting from their patronage and, consequently, had to have positions and income available to distribute among their clientele at the expense of the meritorious descendants of the conquistadores. The second problem, perhaps more serious than the first, was the steady decline of the indigenous population, which would become more pronounced in the 17th century. In some cases, indigenous groups migrated so as to evade tax burdens, but they were also dying of diseases against which they had no biological defenses. Thus, the revenues from the encomiendas were greatly reduced. Finally, in the 16th century new social forces were born in the viceroyalty sheltered by the mining and commercial bonanza. These would replace or rescue the powerful families of the conquistadores affected by the increase of royal power and the collapse of the indigenous population during the 17th century. 2

Traders and Investors in Times of Turbulence

The expeditions for the conquest of Peru were set up at Panama and were made up not only by men of war but also by merchants and investors. The latter were in charge of supplying the companies with weapons, horses, and 21 22

Lohmann, Los regidores, vol. 2, pp. 39-42. Lohmann, Los regidores, vol. 1, p. 65; ibid., vol. 2, p. 41.

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provisions so that the explorers managed to survive the different stages of the conquest. There is no doubt that it was licentiate Gaspar de Espinosa who provided the funds required for the success of the expedition company formed by Pizarro and Almagro. Born in Medina de Rioseco, Espinosa arrived very early in America (with Pedrarias in Panama in 1513) and then acquired experience in Santo Domingo, where the commercial and financial networks put in place on the continent had been set up; in fact, many of Gaspar’s operations were carried out by family members and in correspondence with his relative in Seville, the banker Pedro de Espinosa.23 The Spaniards’ main remittances in the first three decades of the conquest were in gold, which was easily obtained either by looting or on the riverbanks. But the ransom offered by the Inca Atahualpa in Cajamarca was an indicator that not only gold was to be found in the new lands, but silver as well. It has been estimated that 59 percent of the gold and 44 percent of the silver found in Peru during the decade 1531-40 were obtained in the repartos [distribution of looting] of Cajamarca (1532) and Cuzco (1534).24 The rest was the result of the gold mines in Carabaya, Chuquiabo, Chayanta, and La Paz; the exploitation of Inca silver deposits in Porco by Hernando Pizarro (1538); and the discovery of silver in Potosí (1545). The discovery of precious metals in America generated an extraordinary expectation among the professional merchants of Castile and throughout Europe. Professional merchants, unlike encomenderos who earned income from indigenous tributary obligations, accumulated wealth through the buying and selling of goods or by lending money. Thus, despite not having the skills of soldiers, they got involved in the wars of Peru and, of course, during peacetime, kept supplying the goods required by the new settlers.25 Unsurprisingly, once Seville became the natural nucleus of the Iberian Atlantic expansion, the Andalusian merchants cornered the Peruvian market. The companies operating in Peru were connected through family ties and client networks. Business collectives always signed contracts: compañías [companies], recibos [merchant contract for sending money], fletamientos [merchant contract that stipulates the shipment], and factorajes [merchant contract that stipulates the transport and sale of goods within the realm], among others. These contracts bonded 23 24

25

Varón Gabai, La ilusión, p. 48-51; E. Otte Sander, Sevilla, siglo XVI, siglo XVI: materiales para su historia económica (Seville, 2008), p. 224. J. TePaske, A New World of Gold and Silver, ed. K. Brown (Leiden, 2010), p. 142; N.D. Cook, “Atahualpa”, in Encyclopedia of Latin American History and Culture, vol. 1 (New York, 1996), pp. 231-32; M. Moreyra Paz Soldán, La moneda colonial en el Perú: capítulos de su Historia (Lima, 1980), pp. 35-45. Lockhart, El mundo, p. 123.

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them temporarily in order to carry out one or more negotiations, following, in this way, the Italian trading tradition of the early Middle Ages.26 Other contracts were used for loans, such as obligaciones [obligations, binding agreement committing a person to a payment], deudos [debts], lastos [payment documents given to individuals who pay the debts of someone else], or cesiones [assignments], which ensured the collection of the owed revenues in case of non-compliance.27 These contracts were signed in Seville as well as in Panama, Lima, or other parts of the viceroyalty. As Lockhart has pointed out, the trend of these companies, at least before 1560, was to have the principal investor in Seville and operate with relatives in Panama, Lima, and the provinces. Panama was substantial in order to guarantee the reception of merchandise from Seville and the export of metallic goods to Europe, while Lima was the foothold for businesses committed to the acquisition of metals in Peru. Usually, they were against specialization and settling down; few family names of this period continued in Peru during the 17th century. Merchants who grew rich in Peru returned to Seville; once there, they sent their factores [business agents] to Peru to manage indigenous business affairs. Along this Seville–Lima axis, the ones making the decisions and dominating the trading companies were the residents in Seville. Moreover, they opposed any real estate investment in the Andean territories.28 The merchants of Lima, whose shops were on Mercaderes [Merchants] Street, were very skilled in handling the chaotic multiplicity of payment methods in Peru. In fact, before the Lima and Potosí mints were founded in 1568 and 1575 respectively, there were no coins. Payments were made with pieces of gold and silver, plates, or engraved silver, which were valued in units of account: for silver, the pesos ensayados (subdivided into tomines and granos), and gold pesos.29 Juan Antonio Corzo, purported in the early modern period to be “the greatest merchant and the richest that Peru has had”, allegedly created a rate of all the goods that “are manufactured and made throughout the world”. According to the chronicle of the “Portuguese Jew”, Corzo’s method consisted of taking the wholesale items of the goods brought from Spain in pesos ensayados

26 27 28 29

M. Suárez, Comercio y fraude en el Perú colonial. Las estrategias mercantiles de un banquero (Lima, 1995), pp. 58-60. M. Suárez, Desafíos transatlánticos. Mercaderes, banqueros y el estado en el Perú virreinal, 1600-1700 (Lima, 2001), pp. 141ff. Lockhart, El mundo, pp. 104-5; Suárez, Comercio y fraude, p. 33. M. Suárez, “Metales preciosos, moneda y comercio. La participación del Perú en el mundo ultramarino, siglos XVI-XVIII”, in C. Contreras (ed.), Historia de la moneda en el Perú (Lima, 2016), p. 168.

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and converting them to the prices in Peru, that is to say, to “current prices”.30 In this way, it was easy to know if the prices were adequate; if they were not, then they were readjusted, including the damages and “additions”, that is, the differences in quality. In fact, in this chronicle, reference is made to the use of the current pesos of nine reales, which was a mathematical artifice invented by Juan Antonio to facilitate monetary conversions from pesos ensayados to pesos of real de a ocho (eight reales), and vice versa.31 Thus, wholesale purchases and many of the loans were made, even in the 17th century, using this method of rapid counting designed by Corzo. Corzo was famous by then, “All merchants are very skilled in buying, but there is one such merchant that gathers all the items that go out on the marketplace to be sold, and rates them all in a short time … With it, the merchants of Lima can deal and sell, from the viceroy to the archbishop.”32 Since the handling of the payment methods was very complex, it was common for ecclesiastical and secular corporations, as well as the royal treasury administration, to request for merchants’ expertise. In 1549, for example, the merchant Diego Díaz Becerril was entrusted with the task of finding out the financial maneuvers of the veedor [inspector of accounts] Garcia de Salcedo; and the same was done with the books of accountant Juan de Cáceres and the treasurer Bernaldino de San Pedro.33 However, officers more often called on merchants in order to finance the royal treasuries [offices in charge of controlling and collecting royal revenues in America]. The merchants of the capital city contributed to the military campaigns of Governor Vaca de Castro, Viceroy Núñez Vela, and President La Gasca, as specified in the libros de contaduria [accounts ledger]. The opposing side did the same thing: the rebel oidor [highcourt judge] Diego Vásquez de Cepeda requested 40,500 pesos ensayados to support Gonzalo Pizarro’s fight against La Gasca. Among the contributors were famous merchants, such as the Illescas or Francisco de Escobar.34 Once the last uprising of encomendero Hernandez Girón was suppressed, merchants continued loaning to the officers, taking advantage of the prevailing lack of control within the American royal treasuries. The conduct of Viceroy Hurtado de Mendoza, who arrived in Peru in 1555, shows that tensions 30 31 32 33 34

Reference from the chronicle written by the “Portuguese Jew” Pedro de León Portocarrero at the beginning of the 17th century, in B. Lewin (ed.), Descripción del virreinato del Perú, Crónica inédita de comienzos del siglo XVII (Rosario, 1958), p. 59. Suárez, “Metales preciosos”, p. 170. Suárez, “Metales preciosos”, p. 61. T. Hampe, “Actividad mercantil del puerto de Lima en la primera mitad del siglo XVII”, Anuario de Estudios Americanos 42 (1985), 566. Hampe, “Actividad mercantil”, 564-65.

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were still running high. Infatuated, as the historian Guillermo Lohman has described, “by a disproportionate conception of his rank”, Viceroy Hurtado de Mendoza considered himself the “king alive in flesh”.35 Viceroy Mendoza ordered a judge from Lima’s high court Diego González Altamirano to be executed in his bed; and of the 3000 adventurers who prowled the kingdom demanding some stipend for their war performances, he ousted and slit the throats of the most restless, around 800 subjects.36 The situation was very complicated for the new viceroy. Of the 8000 Spaniards who lived in the kingdom, only 1000 could receive some benefit, including miscellaneous positions and the 480 encomiendas that were distributed in the viceroyalty; it is worth remembering that they had already assassinated a viceroy before Hurtado de Mendoza arrived. Thus, while still in Panama, he decided to create a company of alarbaderos [viceregal court royal guards] for his protection, chosen from among the members of the entourage accompanying him. Viceroy Hurtado de Mendoza was aware that the encomenderos were still unsatisfied and demanded the recognition of their privileges, for which they sent Antonio de Ribera to Madrid to negotiate their rights in the Spanish royal court. To make matters worse, the Crown issued a royal order that forbade him from making appointments until the negotiation was complete. Fearful of the situation, he stockpiled a sala de armas [hall of arms] and then, in order to restrain the military power of the encomenderos, he founded the Companía de Gentileshombres Lanceros [Company of Gentlemen Lancers] made up of 80 men who were paid a stipend of 1000 pesos a year.37 He even surrounded the viceregal palace with soldiers: 10 squires guarded his chamber and 12 the hall of arms. He also personally managed the viceregal finances.38 Following the example of his viceregal predecessor, he turned to the merchants of Lima to advance the moneys needed to shore up the new guard (which was made up mostly of loyalist fighters). Both viceroys asked for loans on the income taxes of Lima’s empty royal treasuries, but did not pay the 42,126 pesos ensayados that the merchants handed over to the guards. Thus, in 1565, in the name of the merchants of Peru, Francisco Lopez pursued litigation before the Council of the Indies, requesting that they be paid what was owed them in pesos de oro, for they were “destroyed

35 36 37 38

G. Lohmann Villena, “Las compañías de Gentileshombres Lanzas y Arcabuces de la Guarda del virreinato del Perú”, Anuario de Estudios Americanos 13 (1956), 145; I. Sánchez Bella, “El gobierno del Perú, 1556-1564”, Anuario de Estudios Americanos 17 (1960), 424-25. Lohmann, “Las compañías”, 148; Sánchez Bella, “El gobierno”, 425-27; L. Hanke, Los virreyes españoles en América durante el gobierno de la Casa de Austria, Perú (Madrid, 1978), vol. 1, p. 41. Lohmann, “Las compañías”, 150. Hanke, Los virreyes españoles, vol. 1, p. 41.

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and at loss due to the interest rates”.39 Hence, the bond between merchants and the administration was very important for the implementation of the early viceregal government in the pre-Toledo period. This alliance was consolidated over the next decades sheltered by the mining bonanza, and turned out to be an essential cog for the financial functioning of the viceroyalty. 3

Lima, the Silver Capital City

The discovery of mercury mines in Huancavelica and the implementation of the mining mita [forced labor system imposed on the indigenous groups in Peru] in Potosí produced a spectacular increase in the silver production from the 1570s. This mining boom was part of Viceroy Toledo’s restructuring. Toledo was willing to increase the revenues and the exercise of royal power to implement a more efficient production process in the mining of precious metals. Under his governance, royal mandates provided Peruvian mining centers with workers subject to compulsory manual labor. As silver prices increased, silver alloys forged from mercury displaced the pre-conquest indigenous technique of oxidation in huayras [kilns].40 If we observe the figures for silver production in the 16th century, it is clear that in Toledo’s decade production increased by 50 percent, and by the 1580s it tripled. This means that Peru contributed 64.67 percent of American silver production in the 1580s and in the decade of 1590, produced 42.82 percent of the world’s production (Fig. 7.1 and Table 7.2). The counterpart of the increase in production was the dramatic increase in revenue of Lima’s caja real [royal treasuries], which in 20 years produced almost 66 million pesos de a ocho, colossal figures when compared to pre-Toledo revenues. The Lima royal treasury was also able to send substantial remittances to the Crown that helped cover the costs of European wars. In the years 1596 and 1597, respectively, 84 percent and 78 percent of the outflows of the royal treasuries were sent to Spain, record remittances for the entire viceregal period (Tables 7.3 and 7.4). At this time, merchants lent less money to the monarchy (941,220 pesos in 20 years) (Table 7.5). This would later increase in the first three decades of the 17th century, when public banks appeared in the city and treasury administrators forged unbreakable bonds with Lima’s financial elites. Undoubtedly, the dramatic increase in the production of metals placed the Peruvian viceroyalty on the world circuit of silver circulation, and Lima with its port at Callao became the capital of South American silver exchange. Mining production accelerated exchanges with faraway regions and connected Lima 39 40

Archivo General de Indias (AGI), Justicia 438, n. 4. Suárez, “Metales preciosos”, p. 157.

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Figure 1. Peru Registered Silver Production, 1531 - 1600 (by Decade, in Pesos of 8 Reales) 80,000,000

in Millions of Pesos of 8 Reales

70,000,000 60,000,000 50,000,000 40,000,000 30,000,000 20,000,000 10,000,000 0 1531

1541

1551

1561

1571

1581

1591

1531 = 1531 - 1540

Figure 7.1 Peruvian silver production, 1531-1600, by decade in pesos of eight reales Source: TePaske, A New World, pp. 181-82, 212 Table 7.2 Mining production of Peru compared to that of America and the world, 1531-1600 Decade

Total Peruvian Total American Total world Total production production production of production (in Kg.) (in Kg.) Perú (in pesos (in Kg.) de 8 reales)

% of the % of the American world production production

1531-1540

5,100,000

130,360

192,980

900,000 67.55%

14.48%

1541-1550

17,330,000

442,970

718,765

2,843,000 61.63%

15.58%

1551-1560

23,630,000

604,120

1,091,599

3,116,000 55.34%

19.39%

1561-1570

21,130,000

540,120

1,432,762

2,995,000 37.70%

18.03%

1571-1580

31,440,000

803,520

1,826,711

2,995,000 43.99%

26.83%

1581-1590

64,800,000

1,656,300

2,561,225

4,190,000 64.67%

39.53%

1591-1600

70,200,000

1,794,340

2,898,548

4,190,000 61.90%

42.82%

233,630,000

5,971,730

10,722,590

21,229,000 55.69%

28.13%

Total

Source: TePaske, A New World, pp. 181-82, 212

with the most important maritime and terrestrial commerce routes on the Pacific. Thanks to the shipyard of Guayaquil, Lima shipowners were able to set up a merchant fleet – later joined by the Armada del Mar del Sur [Navy of the Southern Sea], which connected the various ports on the coast, from Valdivia to Acapulco. These routes involved various products, such as earthenware, tobacco, cocoa, basic crops, and wines and brandy, the latter produced in the regions of Ica and Arequipa. Such was the scale of wine production in Peru

185

Global Trade Of The 16th Century Table 7.3 General summary of the Caja de Lima (Royal Treasuries), 1580-1600 Year

Incomes

Expenses

1580

2,170,023

2,154,526

1581

2,601,873

2,597,037

1582

2,100,229

2,097,486

1583

1,546,461

1,538,430

1584

2,793,778

2,783,408

1585

3,150,286

3,144,501

1586

6,221,022

6,220,826

1587

2,118,407

2,120,188

1588

3,154,727

3,154,391

1589

2,931,898

2,928,773

1590

3,230,383

2,525,977

1591

4,449,880

4,450,066

1592

2,986,515

2,986,399

1593

3,234,055

3,233,879

1594

3,326,210

3,326,027

1595

2,994,972

2,833,312

1596

4,041,146

4,202,731

1597

3,269,322

3,269,309

1598

3,348,979

3,348,513

1599

3,417,170

3,416,779

1600

2,812,050

2,812,058

Total

65,899,386

65,144,616

Source: TePaske and Klein, The Royal Treasuries, p. 284

that in a short time the consumption of Andalusian wines in the southern region of America collapsed.41 Eventually, these mercantile circuits complemented the overseas routes that connected Peru with Europe and Asia. The commercial route with Spain connected the Pacific and the Atlantic Oceans through a small passage of land, Tierra Firme. Before 1598 (when the famous Portobelo fairs were inaugurated), peninsular traders and Peruvian 41

M. Suárez, “The Alternative Circuits of Silver: Lima and the Inter-Colonial Trade in the Pacific during the 17th Century”, in J. Martínez Ruiz (ed.), A Global Trading Network, The Spanish Empire in the World Economy (1580-1820) (Seville, 2018), pp. 239-60.

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Suárez

Table 7.4 Remittance to Castile of the expenses of the Caja Real of Lima, 1591-1600

Year

Remitted to Castile

Expenses

%

1591

2,420,600

4,450,066

54.4

1592

1,600,765

2,986,399

53.6

1593

2,181,712

3,233,879

67.5

1594

1,983,319

3,326,027

59.6

1595

407,237

2,833,312

14.4

1596

3,531,905

4,202,731

84.0

1597

2,570,258

3,269,309

78.6

1598

1,803,655

3,348,513

53.9

1599

1,595,370

3,416,779

46.7

1600

1,591,883

2,812,058

56.6

Total

19,686,705

33,879,073

58.1

Source: TePaske and Klein, The Royal Treasuries, p. 284 Table 7.5 Loans to the Caja Real of Lima, 1586-1600

Year

Loans

Expenses

% of the loans

1586 1587 1588 1589 1590 1591 1592 1593 1594 1595 1596 1597 1598 1599 1600

247,205 73,338 108,411 0 31,469 90,787 225 0 0 0 0 68,496 18,495 118,679 184,117

6,221,022 2,118,407 3,154,727 2,931,898 3,230,383 4,449,880 2,986,515 3,234,055 3,326,210 2,994,972 4,041,146 3,269,322 3,348,979 3,417,170 2,812,050

3.97 3.46 3.44 0.00 0.97 2.04 0.008 0 0 0 0 2.10 0.55 3.47 6.55

Total

941,220

51,536,736

1.83

Source: TePaske y Klein, The Royal Treasuries, pp. 284ff

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merchants exchanged their products in Nombre de Dios, a small port east of Portobelo. In 1541, Italian traveler Girolamo Benzoni described the fairs in Nombre de Dios as modest, expensive, and of little importance if compared to those that took place in Venice.42 According to Loosley, who follows Bernardo de Ulloa, these fairs were the result of the agreement between peninsular and Peruvian merchants to meet at this point so as not to invade the areas of ​​their respective routes.43 However, since the 16th century the peruleros [the business agents of Peruvian merchant houses in Atlantic commerce] appeared on the scene; their presence in the Atlantic trade was a constant headache for the Andalusian monopoly into the 17th century. On some occasions, traders who had made their fortune in Peru settled in Seville.44 But in the commercial realm this name was given by the factores of the Peruvian houses, who often avoided trading at the isthmus fairs in order to carry out their transactions directly in Europe.45 According to Lorenzo Sanz, they were indiscriminately known under the name of “indianos, pasajeros que vienen a emplear, peruleros [Indians, travelers who travel to engage in trade, Peruvian merchants]”. However, the most frequent denomination of these Peruvian traders was simply pasajeros [transient merchants].46 Consequently, from the end of the 16th century Peruvian merchants were an important presence in Seville. Not only did they appear as literature characters, but they also had to regulate their activities, as evidenced by a royal order of 1592 forbidding the sale of merchandise to be paid for in the Indies, one of the strategies used by the merchants of Lima to expand their deal with foreign houses.47 In 1590, the Consulate of Seville affirmed that they constituted “the greater part of the fleet”; in fact, during that decade the registration records of the Tierra Firme fleets reveal a record number of 123 peruleros on board traveling toward Seville.48 In the 17th century, with the problems inherent to the registration systems imposed on the 42 43 44

45 46 47 48

G. Benzoni, La historia del mondo nuouo (Venice, 1565), fol. 79v. A. Loosley, “The Puerto Bello Fairs”, Hispanic American Historical Review 13.3 (1933), 314-35. E. Vila Vilar, “Las ferias de Portobelo: apariencia y realidad del comercio con Indias”, Anuario de Estudios Americanos 39 (1982), 296. Covarrubias defines it as “he who came rich from the Indies of Peru”. S de Covarrubias, Tesoro de la lengua castellana o española (Madrid, 1995 [1611]), p. 818. The “factor” is the itinerary merchant who receives money through a notarial contract named “Recibo”. It is the classic Italian commenda. He also took his own money. Suárez, Comercio y fraude, p. 58. E. Lorenzo Sanz, Comercio de España con América en la época de Felipe II, 2 vols. (Valladolid, 1979), vol. 1, p. 108; M. Suárez, “Monopolio, comercio directo y fraude: la élite mercantil de Lima en la primera mitad del siglo XVII”, Revista Andina 11.2 (1993), 492. Suárez, Comercio y fraude, p. 50. L. García Fuentes, Los peruleros y el comercio de Sevilla con las Indias, 1580-1630 (Seville, 1997), p. 56; Lorenzo Sanz, Comercio de España, vol. 1, p. 108.

188

Figure 2. Peru Registered Silver Production and Estimates of American Bullion Shipments to Europe (by decade in Millions of Pesos of 8 Reales)

Suárez

120

100

80

60

40

20

0

Peru Registered Silver Production

Hamilton

Morineau

Figure 7.2 Production of Peruvian silver and its exportation from America, by decade in millions of pesos Source: TePaske, A New World, p. 314

fleets, they would be held responsible when Seville lost control of the Peruvian market.49 The intervention of the peruleros was intertwined with the increase of American silver exports, whose most important bulk came from Peru (Fig. 7.2).50 This reveals that during the last decades a transformation in the commercial networks of the early 16th century took place, since they operated exclusively as subsidiaries of the Sevillian headquarters. How this change occurred has not yet been sufficiently studied for this specific century, but the case of the Corsican clan can illustrate an aspect of this phenomenon. In fact, one of the most important mercantile networks in Peru was that of the merchants who left Corsica to participate in Mediterranean trade that connected Genoa and Seville. Between 1595 and 1606, 56 Corsicans resided in Peru.51 Undoubtedly, the famous and wealthy Juan Antonio Corzo Vicentelo was the pioneer, who arrived in Peru in the 1540s and was present in all civil wars: he lent money and horses to the royalist cause, and trafficked slaves and whatever goods were needed in Peru. When he returned to Seville in 1558, he left factores in Lima and all of Peru, and a branch in Panama known as the Casas del Corzo [Corzo’s houses]. It is estimated that between 1560 and 1587 he received

49 50 51

Suárez, Comercio y fraude, p. 43; Suárez, Desafíos, ch. 1. E. Hamilton, El tesoro americano y la revolución de los precios en España, 1501-1650 (Barcelona, 2000), p. 56; M. Morineau, Incroyables gazettes et fabuleux métaux: les retours des trésorsaméricains d’après les gazettes hollandaises (London and Paris, 1985), p. 242. Rodríguez Vicente, “Los extranjeros”, p. 543.

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1,345,384 pesos ensayados from Peru, although some small quantities were dispatched from New Spain and Honduras.52 The agents left by Corzo Vicentelo in Peru were paisanos [countrymen] settling under the shelter of the stability and bonanza provided by metals. Juan Batallón Corzo married the niece of Corzo Vicentelo, died in Lima, and was buried in the chapel of Santa Catalina in the convent of San Francisco, which he had founded.53 Nicolas Corzo Vicentelo, Corzo Vicentelo’s brother, married the daughter of his uncle Antonio Corzo, and was considered another of the great barons of Lima. Between 1562 and 1565, he left 80,000 pesos ensayados as a legacy passed on to Lima’s convent of Santo Domingo and to the construction of the Hospital of Santa Ana.54 Carlos Corzo de Lecca, another of Lima’s lords, invented a new process for refining silver, was tax collector of Potosí and alcalde mayor [mayor] of the mines.55 Of course, he corresponded with Corzo Vicentelo and was known to have as many lackeys and Spanish pages as the viceroys and governors.56 There were also other less important Corsicans, such as Antón Paulo Corzo, who was named by Viceroy Toledo as second-in-command in the expedition to the Strait of Magellan led by Pedro Sarmiento de Gamboa.57 The Corzos were bound by family ties to another Corsican family, the Mañaras. Francisco, Domingo, and his nephew, Tomás de Mañara, dedicated themselves to Peruvian commerce following in the steps of the merchant network established by Juan Antonio Corzo and his agents. Tomás, born in Calvi in 1575, arrived in Peru in the last decade of the century. Thanks to a “donation” of 100 pesos he deposited into the viceregal coffers, he obtained a license to trade in the viceroyalty from Viceroy Luis de Velasco (r. 1550-64).58 With an extraordinary ability for business and with new contacts and networks, he amassed a fortune of 300,000 pesos. He was promoted to administrator of the averia [convoy tax] and later became consul of the Seville court and estab-

52 53 54 55 56 57 58

E. Vila Vilar, Los Corzo y los Mañara: Tipos y arquetipos del Mercader con América (Seville, 1991), pp. 37, 63-77, 112, 301-5. Vila Vilar, Los Corzo, p. 70. M de Mendiburu, Diccionario histórico-biográfico del Perú (Lima, 1933-34), IV, p. 228; Vila Vilar, Los Corzo, p. 73. Suárez, Comercio y fraude, p. 52. Vila Vilar, Los Corzo, p. 72. Mendiburu, Diccionario, X, p. 114. G. Lohmann Villena, “Cartas de mercaderes. Secretos y confidencias en el comercio privado”, in A. Acosta, A. González Rodríguez, and E. Vila Vilar (eds.), La Casa de Contratación y la navegación entre España y las Indias (Seville, 2001), p. 816.

190

Suárez

lished a mayorazgo [family estate] once back in Seville in 1610.59 In spite of having his eyes set on Seville, Tomás de Mañara’s network was central to the formation of a new trading elite in Lima. His success was achieved by settling in the Peruvian territory, establishing personal and financial relationships with the city’s distinguished elites, and controlling the viceroyalty’s economy by combining banking functions with the creation of powerful merchant consortiums. Although these corporations were deployed in the early 17th century (when there were seven public banks in Lima), they began operating in the 1590s or even before in Lima. At the turn of the century, figures such as Antonio de la Cueva (brother of the famous banker Juan de la Cueva), Miguel Ochoa, Bernabé de Munive, Juan de la Fuente Almonte, and many other merchants from Lima, along with the bankers Baltasar de Lorca and Juan López de Altopica, worked together. They simplified financial transfers within the territory, made it easier to obtain financial liquidity when necessary, and efficiently handled the current accounts with their correspondents in Peru and Spain. By concentrating large sums of silver for export to Spain, the factores of the Peruvian companies achieved enormous advantages in Atlantic trade. The limeño merchant class distinguished itself from the Sevillian houses and fashioned Lima into a leading trade center between America and Europe.60 4

The Dream of the Eastern World

For Lima, the Pacific Ocean was not only the means for exchanging American products or of reaching the isthmus in order to gain access to European trade; it was also the means to establish contacts with Central America and with the Viceroyalty of New Spain. After 1565, the Pacific also provided Lima with direct access to the Philippines and beyond into Chinese ports.61 Expecting huge profits, special royally sanctioned companies were set up between Peru and Asian Pacific ports. The most famous were those led by Gonzalo Ronquillo de Peñalosa and his nephew, Diego de Ronquillo. The first, who was governor of the Philippines in 1580, planned to send the ship Nuestra Señora de la Cinta directly from Manila to Lima in order to send artillery to the Peruvian viceroy. The real motive was soon known: to send Chinese goods to a group of buyers made up of merchants, city councilmen, high court judges, and servants of the 59 60 61

Suárez, Comercio y fraude, pp. 51-52; G. Lohmann Villena, Plata del Perú, riqueza de Europa, Los mercaderes peruanos y el comercio con la Metrópoli en el siglo XVII (Lima, 2004), p. 19. Suárez, Comercio y fraude, pp. 51-52; Suárez, Desafíos, pp. 21-314. W. Borah, Early Colonial and Navigation between Mexico and Peru (Berkeley, 1954).

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viceroy.62 His nephew Diego de Ronquillo also sought to take advantage of the circumstances; he proposed the Spanish king conquer China by sending 8000 men from Peru, and favored the return of the ship to Manila. The vessel, loaded with silver and merchants, fled from Manila and landed in Macao, where Jerónimo de Aliaga and his fellow travelers closed a deal with the Portuguese.63 The Andalusian merchants strongly protested against the metal drain to China, so Asian trade was restricted, which limited and finally closed commercial exchange between Peru and Mexico (the American gateway for the Manila galleons) in 1634.64 However, the closure of this traffic went through hard bargaining and, in any case, Lima–Acapulco navigation was still accepted into the 16th century, although trade in Asian products was restricted. Apparently, these regulations were largely overlooked. For example, when Tomás de Mañara came to Peru, his intention was to establish a trading venture with the “kingdom of the Philippines of China”, for which he received money from various merchants.65 The Lima notary records of later years also reflect that there was a network of Peruvian and Mexican merchants who maintained the free-flowing exchange of Asian and European products along this route.66 On the other hand, the Mexicans did not really intend to sever Asian trade with Peru, because Peruvian silver not only fed Eastern trade, but Atlantic commerce as well. For example, in 1585 Viceroy Álvaro Manrique de Zúñiga (r. 158590) authorized two Mexican merchants to carry Chinese goods to Peru. Once he understood that royal prohibitions limited direct commerce between the Philippines and Lima, he capitalized on the technicality that permitted Asian goods to be traded between Mexico and Lima. Viceroy Manrique de Zúñiga stated, “The damage of this contract is not that the products from China after arriving here are transferred to Peru and other regions, but in the large amount of money that is taken every year from here to be used there, which is a huge export and that silver would benefit this kingdom rather than enrich the foreigner in exchange for cheap merchandise.”67 The viceroy clearly supported the merchants of New Spain; however, the same was not true concerning the 62 63 64 65 66 67

F. Iwasaki, Extremo Oriente y el Perú en el siglo XVI (Lima, 2005), p. 40. AGI Filipinas, 79, n. 13, Relación del segundo viaje del jesuita Alonso Sánchez a China en 1584, Manila, 20 May 1585. M. Suárez, “Sedas, rasos y damascos. Lima y el cierre del comercio triangular con México y Manila en la primera mitad del siglo XVII”, América Latina en la Historia Económica 22.2 (2015), 101-34. Lohmann, Plata del Perú, p. 22. Suárez, “Sedas, rasos y damascos”, 120-21. AGI, México, 20, n. 119, Letter from Viceroy Marquis de Villamanrique to the King. México, 17 December 1585. On the complaints registered in the books of the Mexican cabildo, see G. del Valle Pavón, “Los mercaderes de México y la transgresión de los límites al comercio

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presence of peruleros in the northern viceroyalty. In 1588, Viceroy Manrique de Zúñiga placed limits on the Peruvian merchants trading out of Mexico when the ship Santa Maria de Jesus from the Philippines arrived in Acapulco. The viceroy complained that Peruvian merchants had arrived with large sums of money for buying supplies that had been transported in the aforementioned vessel. To make matters worse, in a decree of 1589, he made reference to the complaints made by Mexico City’s city council, claiming that the largest fleet from Castile to date had arrived, but that prices had nevertheless risen and supplies were scarce because, Merchants arriving from the kingdoms of the Peru, having trafficked a great deal of linen, paper, and other merchandise to transfer to the mentioned kingdoms, that if they were allowed to take them, the remaining ones would be so few that they would be so expensive once again, and would be worth so much that besides not being enough for the necessary provision of this kingdom, nobody could benefit with what was necessary, from which great harm would be inflicted on the whole republic.68 The controversy caused by trading Asian goods and by trading with Mexico became more severe as problems in Atlantic trade started to appear in the 17th century. But while the Pacific traffic persisted, many merchants took advantage of the lull in European trade to profit from porcelain, furniture, silks, and oriental spices arriving from the Pacific. Likewise, Peruvian trade with Spain was maintained through Mexico, probably due to the very high costs of shipping through the Panamanian isthmus. Thus, this trade was an important part of the mercantile strategies of limeño businessmen during the 16th century. 5

Conclusion

The economic development of Lima in the 16th century was marked by the wars of the conquest and by growth in the production of metals. Despite the confrontations between Spanish administrators, conquerors, and American merchants, the colonization of Peru was successful by the end of the century. On the other hand, the encomendero elite of Lima, sustained by work, rents, and the expropriation of land belonging to the indigenous population, ­managed to survive the civil wars by making concessions to the viceregal

68

pacífico en Nueva España, 1550-1620”, Revista de Historia Económica – Journal of Iberian and Latin American Economic History 23.1 (2005), 220. AGI, México, 22, n. 1, Carta del virrey marqués de Villamanrique, México, 11 February 1589; Valle Pavón, “Los mercaderes”, p. 220. All translations in this chapter are by the author, unless otherwise stated.

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administration and forging matrimonial alliances. However, its pre-eminence was doomed to failure by the increase in royal power, the decline of the indigenous population, and the rise of a powerful trading sector. The limeño business elite was simultaneously the rescuer of privileged families and the exponent of the new role of Lima would play in global trade. With two continents eager to consume the metals flowing from Potosí, Lima succeeded in successfully inserting itself in the world market, articulating Iberoamerican economic spaces and pursuing advantages that resulted from controlling Peruvian exports since the last third of the 16th century.  Translation by Susan Leaman and Elena O’Neill

Bibliography

Benzoni, G., La historia del mondo nuouo (Venice, 1565). Borah, W., Early Colonial Trade and Navigation between Mexico and Peru (Berkeley, 1954). Cook, N.D., “Atahualpa”, in Encyclopedia of Latin American History and Culture (New York, 1996), vol. 1, pp. 231-32. Covarrubias Orozco, S. de, Tesoro de la lengua castellana o española (Madrid, 1995 [1611]). Curatola, M., “¿Fueron Pachacamac y los otros grandes santuarios del mundo andino antiguos verdaderos oráculos?”, Diálogo Andino 38 (2011), 5-19.  Descripción del virreinato del Perú, Crónica inédita de comienzos del siglo XVII, ed. B. Lewin (Rosario, 1958). Evans, M., The Landed Aristocracy in Peru: 1600-1680 (London, 1972). García Fuentes, L., Los peruleros y el comercio de Sevilla con las Indias, 1580-1630 (Seville, 1997). Hamilton, E., El tesoro americano y la revolución de los precios en España, 1501-1650 (Barcelona, 2000). Hampe, T., “Actividad mercantil del puerto de Lima en la primera mitad del siglo XVII”, Anuario de Estudios Americanos 42 (1985), 549-71. Hanke, L., Los virreyes españoles en América durante el gobierno de la Casa de Austria, Perú (Madrid, 1978). Iwasaki, F., Extremo Oriente y el Perú en el siglo XVI (Lima, 2005). Lockhart, J., El mundo hispanoperuano, 1532-1560 (Mexico, 1982). Lohmann Villena, G., “Las compañías de Gentileshombres Lanzas y Arcabuces de la Guarda del virreinato del Perú”, Anuario de Estudios Americanos 13 (1956), 141-215.

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Lohmann Villena, G., Los regidores perpetuos del cabildo de Lima (1535-1821), Crónica y estudio de un grupo de gestión, 2 vols. (Seville, 1983). Lohmann Villena, G., “Cartas de mercaderes. Secretos y confidencias en el comercio privado”, in A. Acosta, A. González Rodríguez, and E. Vila Vilar (eds.), La Casa de Contratación y la navegación entre España y las Indias (Seville, 2001), pp. 815-43. Lohmann Villena, G., Plata del Perú, riqueza de Europa, Los mercaderes peruanos y el comercio con la Metrópoli en el siglo XVII (Lima, 2004). Loosley, A., “The Puerto Bello Fairs”, Hispanic American Historical Review 13.3 (1933), 314-35. Lorenzo Sanz, E., Comercio de España con América en la época de Felipe II, 2 vols. (Valla­ dolid, 1979). Mendiburu, M. de., Diccionario histórico-biográfico del Perú (Lima, 1933-34). Merluzzi, M., Gobernando los Andes, Francisco de Toledo virrey del Perú (1569-1581) (Lima, 2014). Moreyra Paz Soldán, M., La moneda colonial en el Perú: capítulos de su Historia (Lima, 1980). Morineau, M., Incroyables gazettes et fabuleux métaux: les retours des trésorsaméricains d’après les gazettes hollandaises (London and Paris, 1985). Otte Sander, E., Sevilla, siglo XVI: materiales para su historia económica (Seville, 2008). Puente Brunke, J. de la, Encomienda y encomenderos en el Perú, Estudio social y político de una institución colonial (Seville, 1992). Riva-Agüero, J. de la, “El primer alcalde de Lima Nicolás de Ribera el viejo y su posteridad”, in Obras completas de José de la Riva-Agüero, 8 vols. (Lima, 1983), pp. 165-249. Rodríguez Vicente, M., “Los extranjeros en el reino del Perú a fines del siglo XVI”, in Homenaje a Jaime Vicens Vives, 2 vols. (Barcelona, 1967), pp. 533-46. Sánchez Bella, I., “El gobierno del Perú, 1556-1564”, Anuario de Estudios Americanos 17 (1960), 407-524. Suárez, M., “Monopolio, comercio directo y fraude: la élite mercantil de Lima en la pri­ mera mitad del siglo XVII”, Revista Andina 11.2 (1993), 487-502. Suárez, M., Comercio y fraude en el Perú colonial, Las estrategias mercantiles de un banquero (Lima, 1995). Suárez, M., Desafíos transatlánticos, Mercaderes, banqueros y el estado en el Perú virreinal, 1600-1700 (Lima, 2001). Suárez, M., “Sedas, rasos y damascos. Lima y el cierre del comercio triangular con México y Manila en la primera mitad del siglo XVII”, América Latina en la Historia Económica 22.2 (2015), 101-34. Suárez, M., “Metales preciosos, moneda y comercio. La participación del Perú en el mundo ultramarino, siglos XVI-XVIII”, in C. Contreras (ed.), Historia de la moneda en el Perú (Lima, 2016), pp. 155-97.

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Suárez, M., “The Alternative Circuits of Silver: Lima and the Inter-Colonial Trade in the Pacific during the 17th Century”, in J. Martínez Ruiz (ed.), A Global Trading Network, The Spanish Empire in the World Economy (1580-1820) (Seville, 2018), pp. 239-60. Sullón Barreto, G., Extranjeros integrados, Portugueses en la Lima virreinal, 1570-1680 (Madrid, 2016). Tepaske, J., A New World of Gold and Silver, ed. K. Brown (Leiden, 2010). Tepaske, J. and H. Klein, The Royal Treasuries of the Spanish Empire in America, 3 vols. (Durham, 1982). Valle Pavón, G. del, “Los mercaderes de México y la transgresión de los límites al comercio pacífico en Nueva España, 1550-1620”, Revista de Historia Económica – Journal of Iberian and Latin American Economic History 23.1 (2005), 213-40. Varón Gabai, R., La ilusión del poder, Apogeo y decadencia de los Pizarro en la conquista del Perú (Lima, 1996). Vila Vilar, E., “Las ferias de Portobelo: apariencia y realidad del comercio con Indias”, Anuario de Estudios Americanos 39 (1982), 275-340. Vila Vilar, E., Los Corzo y los Mañara: Tipos y arquetipos del Mercader con América (Seville, 1991). Villanueva Hidalgo, J., “Lima, la antigua comarca de Rímac y Pachacamac, las huacas oráculos Ychma. Una visión a través de sus frisos y pinturas murales del tiempo de los incas”, in Concurso Juan Gunther, Investigaciones históricas sobre Lima (Lima, 2014), pp. 13-82.

196

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Chapter 8

Indigenous Populations in Early Lima: Origins, Possessions, and Networks  Gabriela Ramos Indigenous Andeans living in 16th-century Lima did not have much in common, except that they were descendants of the original inhabitants of the Andes and occupied a subordinate position with respect to the Spanish. Lima Indians were a diverse group indeed. What was this diversity about and what does it tell us about the city in particular and colonial society at a broader level? Admittedly, the Indians of Lima were a small group but not insignificant. The archival records that document their lives are not abundant, but they give us a window into their lives, their varied origins, and the directions they took. This chapter is based on the study of the wills of 54 indigenous men and women who lived in Lima during the last three decades of the 16th century. I should note that these cases have not been selected specifically: I have found them perusing notarial records in the Lima archives.1 I set out this study by looking at the places of origin of this group of indigenous Andeans. Then I examine the scant information available about their occupations. I study the items they owned and consider what their possessions might reveal about their owners. Finally, I examine the social networks of which they were part, as this can help us understand their position in society and therefore gain a better understanding of the inhabitants of the capital of the Peruvian viceroyalty in the 16th century. Although there is as yet no comprehensive study that could allow us to calculate the size of the population of the valley of Lima at the time of Spanish arrival we know that this population was ancient and that it was scattered among a number of settlements that dotted the fertile territory formed by the rivers that converge in the area.2 The valley’s capacity to support a large 1 At the time I conducted archival research at the Archivo General de la Nación, Lima, Peru [AGN], the earliest 16th-century notary books were not available to the public, as they were being restored and catalogued. The records used for this study start in 1571. 2 M. Rostworowski, Señoríos indígenas de Lima y Canta (Lima, 1978). There is a growing literature of archaeological studies of the Lima valley. L. Díaz Arriola, “Aproximaciones hacia la problemática del territorio Ychsma”, Arqueología y sociedad 19 (2008), 115-27; Marcone, Chapter 1, and Eeckhout, Chapter 2, this volume.

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2019 | doi:10.1163/9789004335363_010

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population was enhanced by several irrigation canals that were under the care and control of the chieftaincies of the area. The people of the valley of Lima were among the most vulnerable in the Andes to the impact of the Spanish invasion in the early 16th century.3 Men and women died not only as an effect of Old World disease, against which they had no immunity, but were also victims of violence, and of the lethal effects of dispossession and relocation.4 It is likely that we will never know the extent of the mortality in the area where the Spanish city of Lima was founded. The testimony of observers such as Domingo de Santo Tomás, a Dominican friar who lived in early colonial Peru, alerted the Spanish Crown to the many indigenous dead who passed away with no spiritual assistance.5 Migration and cultural exchange were also common among the indigenous population of pre-Hispanic Lima. Trade, the use and administration of resources not available locally, population transfers to supply labor and know-how, and political alliances several chieftains made with people established in distant regions suggest active movement in the centuries preceding the arrival of the Europeans.6 After the Spanish invasion, population loss in Lima was compensated by a continuous and, in fact, increasing migration from different corners of the viceroyalty to the capital city. Indigenous Andeans moved to Lima because of varied reasons, from the Spanish demand for labor, to the need to obtain cash to pay tax, to the search of means of subsistence and opportunities, among many others.7 The evidence I have gathered gives us some indication of the origins of the Indian residents of Lima, although unfortunately in most cases they do not reveal the exact reasons why they migrated and, even less, how they made the journey. 1

Origins

In the small group I have examined, most came from a range of regions and towns situated north, east, and south of Lima. They came from places as far away as Quito, Túcume, Arequipa, Cajamarca, Saña, Trujillo, and Cuzco. 3 4 5 6

D. Cook, Demographic Collapse: Indian Peru, 1520-1620 (Cambridge, 1981). G. Ramos, Death and Conversion in the Andes, Lima and Cuzco, 1532-1670 (Notre Dame, 2010). Ramos, Death and Conversion, p. 142. I have discussed these migrations and exchanges in G. Ramos, “Language and Society in Early Colonial Peru”, in P. Heggarty and A. Pearce (eds.), Language and History in the Andes (London, 2011), pp. 19-38. 7 Cook, Demographic Collapse, pp. 150-57. In fact, this phenomenon is not unique to Lima but characteristic of most pre-industrial societies.

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Interestingly, several men and women who were not born in Lima came from the northeastern province of Huamachuco. This province is at a considerable distance from Lima (roughly 700 km), and the reasons for this migration are not apparent. Elsewhere I have suggested that migration of Huamachuco natives – especially from the indigenous elite – to Lima could have been facilitated by the friars of Saint Augustine. The activities of members of this religious order in the province of Huamachuco are well documented.8 The strategy of most if not all religious orders was to approach the indigenous youth elites and take them under their wing, as they thought it was one of the most effective ways to secure conversions. When these young elites moved to Lima they could have found shelter and support from the Augustinian friars. The close relationship of the Huamachuco indigenous elite with the Augustinians in the 17th century is further demonstrated by their membership in confraternities sponsored by the Augustinians, their alms and bequests to the order’s convent and church, and their requests for burial in their convent.9 However, an examination of 16th-century examples suggests that such a link was not yet consolidated as the migrants of this period appear to have been commoners. María de Jesús, a native of Huamachuco, was strongly committed to the fathers of the Society of Jesus, whose teachings had turned her into a devout Catholic. María and her late husband were the founders and active members of a confraternity the Jesuits sponsored in their church.10 Other migrants from the same province seem to have cultivated ties with the Dominican order, while still others were close to their parish priests at Santa Ana, whose specialty was to care for the spiritual education of the Indians of Lima.11 Most men and women in this group came from villages situated fairly near Lima, such as Mama, Chilca, Huarmey, and Huamantanga. In the following decades these places would provide a continuous flux of people to the city.12 Several residents of Lima were originally from the reducciones [Indian villages] created in the surrounding area, such as Lurigancho, Lati, Carabayllo, and 8 9

10 11 12

A. de la Calancha, Corónica moralizada del orden de San Agustín, 6 vols. (Lima, 1974 [1638]). G. Ramos, “‘Mi tierra’: Indigenous Migrants and their Hometowns the Colonial Andes”, in D. Velasco Murillo, M. Lentz, and M. Ochoa (eds.), City Indians in Spain’s American Empire: Urban Indigenous Society in Colonial Mesoamerica and Andean South America, 1530-1810 (Brighton, 2012), pp. 128-47. AGN, Protocolos Notariales (PN), 16th century, Diego Jiménez 102, fol. 836v, last will and testament of María de Jesús, Lima, 4 August 1598. AGN, PN, Marcos Franco de Esquivel 33, fol. 582, Ana, Lima, 27 June 1576, and AGN, PN, 16th century, Rodríguez de Torquemada 145, fol. 28v, last will and testament of Alonso Guachaguaman, Lima, 18 January 1597. Ramos, Death and Conversion, pp. 94-95; Ramos, “Mi tierra”, pp. 130-31.

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Maranga.13 It is likely that the former were able to travel occasionally from their places of origin to Lima, while the inhabitants of the reducciones closer to Lima moved frequently between their villages and the city.14 2

Occupations

In our group of 54 men and women, we know of or can figure out the occupation of less than half of them.15 Understanding how women supported themselves is especially difficult. Women usually did not describe themselves as having an occupation or a job, even if it was clear that they had to work to make a living. In fact, the only woman who said she regularly carried out an activity to earn money was Elvira, a native of Jauja, who said she owned some “merchandise” she used to sell at Lima’s marketplace.16 Some women seem to have worked as servants when younger, and perhaps this is linked to the story of how they arrived in the city. Thus the interpretation of the language used could mean a special type of relation between two women, indigenous and Spanish. Perhaps it was an asymmetrical relation that, because of the past situation of material dependence, had the seal of loyalty. In 1573, Beatriz, a woman from Quito, appointed a María Ruiz, whom she referred to as “mi señora” (my mistress) as the executor of her will. Beatriz’s inventory of possessions does not seem to correspond to someone of low social standing. Another brief reference in Beatriz’s will suggests that at an earlier time in her life she was either at the 13 14

15

16

On the subject of reducciones, see J. Mumford, Vertical Empire: The General Resettlement of Indians in the Colonial Andes (Durham, 2012). At the time of Spanish arrival, it seemed that a considerable number of the indigenous Andean population did not live in agglomerations, but were dispersed throughout an extensive area. This is an important contrast with settlement patterns existing in Mexico. To facilitate Christian indoctrination, tax collection, and social surveillance, and because, according to the Spanish, civilized life was only possible in cities, indigenous Andeans were forced to relocate to towns designed according to ideals of order. On this subject see R. Kagan and F. Marías, Urban Images of the Hispanic World, 1493-1793 (New Haven, 2000), and Mumford, Vertical Empire. For comprehensive studies on the range of indigenous Andean women’s occupations in colonial times, see K. Graubart, With Our Labor and Our Sweat: Indigenous Women and the Formation of Colonial Society in Peru, 1550-1700, Stanford 2007, and J. Mangan, Trading Roles: Gender, Ethnicity, and the Urban Economy, Potosi, 1545-1700 (Durham, 2005). See also Chapter 3 by Graubart in this volume. The notary used the word “tianguez” or tianguis, a nahuatl word meaning marketplace. We do not know if Elvira and the people of Lima also used the same term. The word is not still in use in the Andes. AGN, PN, Marcos Franco de Esquivel, 33, fol. 303, last will and testament of Elvira, Lima, 15 April 1572.

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service, or under the protection, of María Ruiz. At the end of the document, Beatriz appoints Ruiz as heiress “because she is my mistress and she had me many years in her home”.17 The only other possible female occupation for which there is some plausible evidence is that of beer brewer, or chichera, normally a trade performed by women in Andean cities. No woman in the group I have analyzed described herself as such, but in a few cases the list of possessions included a range of earthenware, which supports this hypothesis. For example, in 1579 Luisa Gallega, a native of Jauja, a province situated in the Andes to the east of Lima, listed among her belongings some earthenware vessels consisting of pots and barrels, which she left to her goddaughter, an indigenous woman who had been in her service.18 It is likely then that Luisa made a living brewing and selling chicha, a beer made of maize, widely consumed among the indigenous people of the Andes since pre-Columbian times.19 I will return to the discussion about possible trades among women as I examine other evidence as inventories and social ties. Details about occupations among men, although scarce, is a little less elusive than those of women. Artisans are the only ones who clearly stated their trade, perhaps because prestige and identity were tied to an occupation that demanded a fair degree of training.20 Pedro, a man further described by the notary as “Guanca” and a native of Mito, a village situated in the highlands of central Peru, described himself as a carpenter in his will, written in 1571.21 Pedro was not a permanent resident of Lima, as was common with many 17

18 19 20 21

“la dicha María Ruiz porque es mi señora y me ha tenido mucho tiempo en su casa”. AGN, PN, Juan Gutiérrez 71, fol. 509, last will and testament of Beatriz, Lima, 11 May 1573. It is possible that Beatriz appointed her mistress as heir under pressure, but this is not applicable to this chapter’s discussion about occupation. “mando que las ollas botijas barricas e baratijas de casa e una frezada de las que yo tengo se den a Maria yndia mi ahijada por lo que me ha servido …” : AGN, PN, Juan Gutiérrez 73, fol. 764, last will and testament of Luisa Gallega, Lima, 28 July 1578. J. Jennings and B. Bowser (eds.), Drink, Power and Society in the Andes (Gainsville, 2009). I should say “artists and artisans”, as at the time there was no clear distinction between the two. Guancas were members of an ethnic group who inhabited the central highlands of today’s territory of Peru. They were conquered by the Incas and many of them supported the Spanish at the time of their conquest. Guancas remained an identifiable group throughout the colonial period. There is a growing archaeological and historical literature on the Guancas or Huancas. See W. Espinoza Soriano, Los huancas, aliados de la conquista: tres informaciones sobre la participación indígena en la conquista del Perú, 1558, 1560, 1561 (Huancayo, 1971); T. D’Altroy, Provincial Power in the Inka Empire (Washington, 1992); and C. Hastorf, “The Xauxa Andean Life”, in T. D’Altroy and C. Hastorf (eds.), Empire and Domestic Economy (New York, 2001), pp. 315-24.

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indigenous men and women at the time. It is unclear then where he normally conducted his trade, but it seems that he did do some work in Lima. At the time he issued his last will and testament, he was staying at the house of a Spanish captain, and had his tools and some pieces of finished work with him.22 Francisco Xuarez or Suarez, a painter born in Huarochirí, described himself as a resident of Lima when he issued his will in 1572.23 The introduction to his will stands out because of the statements confirming his status as a fervent Catholic.24 Either himself or the notary thought that such declaration was necessary, possibly because of the responsibility his trade involved. Xuarez stated that a clergyman he refers to as father Francisco de Molina owed him money for the paintings he had completed at the “said hospital”. Unfortunately, the document does not say which hospital he was referring to. It is unclear if Xuarez meant the Santa Ana Hospital for Indians or if it was the San Andrés Hospital, which was for Spaniards.25 It is possible that it was the latter, since Francisco de Molina was its administrator.26 It also appears that he had painted religious images for a confraternity of Blacks at the San Francisco church. Given the importance religious painting had in colonial society, and considering that Xuarez had been commissioned to paint in such a public place as a hospital, it is likely that his job provided a reasonable income and perhaps a certain degree of social prestige. Xuarez stated that his beginnings had been quite humble: when he married Magdalena, a native of the province of Canta, neither of them possessed much. At the time he wrote his will, he and his wife owned cash and possibly the house in which they lived. Xuarez requested a fairly lavish funeral for an indigenous person in 16th-century Lima, and specified that his three indigenous servants should receive mourning clothes. There 22 23

24 25 26

AGN, PN, Juan de Salamanca 150, fol. 553, last will and testament of Pedro, Lima, 26 February 1571. The province and town of Huarochirí are situated in the highlands of Lima. The connection between Huarochirí and the city of Lima was intense because in the colonial period Huarochirí was on the route to Cuzco. An important number of people from Huarochirí moved to Lima either on a temporary or permanent basis. The region is known because of the intense missionary activity conducted there by both Jesuits and secular clergy during the colonial period. There is an ample literature on its history and particularly on its indigenous lore. For a comprehensive view of Huarochiri’s pre-Columbian and colonial history, see K. Spalding, Huarochiri: An Andean Society under Inca and Spanish Rule (Stanford, 1984). AGN, PN, Marcos Franco de Esquivel 33, fol. 293, last will and testament of Francisco Xuarez, Lima, 6 January 1572. On colonial hospitals, see G. Ramos, “Indian Hospitals and Government in the Colonial Andes”, Medical History 57.2 (2013), 186-205. Archivo General de Indias [AGI], Lima 208, n.12, Informaciones de oficio y parte, Francisco de Molina, Lima, 1586.

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is no detailed description of his belongings in his will, perhaps because he had no children and, as he appointed his wife as both heiress and executor, it was not necessary to divide up their possessions. It is likely that some indigenous men who learned a trade and achieved a position within a guild of artisans in a city like Lima were introduced into the profession by becoming apprentices and servants of Spanish masters. The ties linking Lima indigenous artisans to their masters seem to have lasted throughout their lives, contributing to the formation of the intricate social and ethnic links between people of diverse origins that characterized the city. In 1597 Juan Alonso, a skilled tailor [oficial de sastre] originally from Huamachuco, called a Gaspar de los Reyes, also a tailor, “mi amo y maestro sastre” [my master/boss and master tailor]. Alonso stated that de los Reyes owed him a large sum of money, and that there were two notary documents attesting to the debt. It is difficult to know why or how de los Reyes owed money to a subordinate, although such practice was not uncommon. Perhaps de los Reyes owed Juan Alonso his salary. Such debt could have turned into a contingency fund for Alonso: he also said that de los Reyes was paying for the costs derived from his illness. De los Reyes acted both as a patron and guardian of his own interests and Juan Alonso’s, who also appointed his master as his executor. Apparently, this was not simply a case of a Spanish master taking advantage of an indigenous subordinate, but an example of a more complex trajectory of an indigenous man living in Lima who eventually managed to consolidate his position within his trade.27 In contrast, his colleague, Diego Tantaquileche, appears to have followed a slightly different path. A native of Cajamarca, Tantaquileche did not mention having a special link with a Spanish master. The practice of his trade involved forming part of a web of relations characteristic of colonial Lima where people often owed each other small amounts of money. In Tantaquileche’s case, this was either because of work he had made remained unpaid, or because he had advanced cash to some individuals, and still others had given him cash. These transactions normally occurred with all participants pawning a range of objects that had an exchange value. For example, Tantaquileche kept pieces of cloth from defaulting clients and advanced cash to others in exchange for small jewels.28 It seems then that in 16th-century Lima the practice of a trade could give an indigenous person a certain degree of economic security, but it is also likely that for both economic and non-economic reasons an 27 28

AGN, PN, Rodrigo Gómez de Baeza 56, fol. 43, last will and testament of Juan Alonso, Lima, 17 January 1597. These included a gold ring and a small amber bead. AGN, PN, Rodríguez de Torquemada 141, fol. 864v, last will and testament of Diego Tantaquileche, Lima, 8 June 1589.

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artisan could not make a living exclusively from the exercise of his trade. Pedro de Lesana, a prosperous man, a tailor resident in the indigenous district of El Cercado, combined this trade with a possibly more economically rewarding occupation as a farmer.29 Lesana’s case brings our attention to a small and diverse group of men for whom farming was an activity – partial for some, full-time for others – that normally involved interacting with people of different backgrounds and demanded for a few some degree of spatial mobility. Since the early years of the Spanish settlement in the Lima valley, selling and renting land became a usual practice among people from all walks of life. Indigenous people originally from the valleys, as well as new arrivals, participated along with Europeans, Africans, and mestizos in commercial farming and in the land market. Shortly after the city was founded some caciques [ethnic chiefs] sold or rented land they owned or it was made available because of population losses. For caciques, putting land on the market was a way to earn cash or some form of income to cover their own needs and aspirations, in addition to facing the state’s demand for taxes. Don Hernando Anchiguaman, cacique of Lurigancho, owned land in noncontinuous areas of that valley. In his properties, Don Hernando produced crops to meet the demands of diverse consumers. Anchiguaman had a farm or chacra, half of which, as he declared in his will, issued in 1578, he had received as the only component of his wife’s dowry. This property was not small since several Indians of his repartimiento worked in it growing wheat. Anchiguaman also owned an orchard that benefitted from its proximity to one of the many irrigation canals that crisscrossed the fertile Lima valley. He grew maize in yet another plot of land he had inherited from his father. A reading of his will suggests that by growing wheat he not only had a produce of commercial value among Spanish consumers, but he also had in his hands a product he could use in his interactions with other individuals and groups. He produced and sold wheat to get the cash needed to pay tribute, and occasionally also lent the grain to caciques of the neighboring pueblos. While it seems that Anchiguaman farmed most of the land he owned, he also leased small plots to individuals; in 1578 this included, for example, a man of African descent, a Spaniard or mestizo, and an Indian.30

29 30

AGN, PN, Rodrigo Gómez de Baeza 52, fol. 1073, last will and testament of Pedro de Lesana, Lima, 3 November 1592. AGN, PN, Alonso Cueva 28, fol. 210, last will and testament of Hernando Anchiguaman, Lima, 28 July 1578.

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At the other end of the social spectrum, among farmers we find men like Alonso Caxa, a native of Quizquiz. Caxa’s position as a resident of Lima suggests that Indians could move away from their encomiendas [tributes granting institution in the Iberoamerican world by which Spanish individuals were imbued with authority over indigenous groups] but perhaps remained related to their places of origin.31 Caxa was definitely settled in Lima, where he rented two small pieces of land he described in his will as pepinares.32 Tomás Palta, a native of Conchalvo lived on similar small means and was probably unable to make a living out of the small plot of land he owned. In his will issued in 1572, Palta said the lot had yielded only half a fanega of maize.33 It is likely then that men like Caxa and Palta earned a living through other means, possibly working for other farmers or transporting produce between the highlands and the city of Lima. Both men owned horses and Palta stated in his will that at least one of them was in the sierra or highlands. Some owned or were able to acquire land in the city and its surroundings and made a living by farming their plots and orchards themselves, by farming in partnership with another small landowner, or by leasing their property. Andrés Grimache, a man born in Lima of parents from Cuzco, was the owner of two orchards, one of which he leased to a town crier whilst the other he apparently worked himself. It is unfortunate that nothing in his will informs us how a man of apparently humble origins and a migrant acquired these properties.34 Beatriz Barcia, a native of the northern town of Saña, also owned a farm in the valley of Lurigancho where she grew wheat. Taking part in commercial agriculture allowed her to have cash she occasionally lent to others.35 Antón Atao, a native of nearby Carabayllo, explained through the interpreter taken to the room where Atao lay severely ill, that he had a certain amount of corn already harvested and stored in a farm belonging to a woman named Ana de la Paz. Within de la Paz’s property, Atao said, he had a hut where he stayed overnight. Although this statement could suggest Atao’s means were rather pre31

32 33 34 35

Pedro de Cáceres, encomendero of Quizquiz, is mentioned in Caxa’s will. The encomienda of Quizquiz was originally granted to Juan de Cáceres, possibly Pedro’s grandfather, by Francisco Pizarro. For more details see AGI, Lima 199, n. 1, 1554, Confirmación de encomienda de Quizquiz. It is unclear if pepinar meant cucumber farm or simply the size of the plot Caxa farmed, or if it was something close to the French word pepinière, which is a plant nursery. A fanega weighs about 43 kilos. AGN, PN Marcos Francos de Esquivel 33, fol. 311, last will and testament of Tomás Palta, Lima, 20 February 1572. AGN, PN Marcos Francos de Esquivel 34, fol. 303, last will and testament of Andrés Grimache, Lima, 29 May 1579. AGN, PN Ramiro Bote 14, fol. 1933, last will and testament of Beatriz Barcia, Lima, 26 March 1597.

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carious, he added that he also owned land in a place named Lacay, which he leased to a man that was perhaps Spanish or mestizo. Moreover, Atao was involved in a legal dispute with another Spanish man over land Atao claimed as his. Atao was probably representative of the children of caciques who no longer held the same privileges their ancestors had. Atao stated that he was not exempted from tribute. Individuals like Atao struggled constantly with the precariousness of earning a living and against the threat of being dispossessed.36 Lima was also the abode of fishermen, from camaroneros that collected shrimp from the Rímac River, to those who labored at the ponds and lagoons situated to the south of the city, to the fishermen settled in the small towns and coves of Surco, Callao, Lurín, and Lancón (a small bay to the north of Lima known today as Ancón) and constantly traveled between their villages and the city.37 Documentary evidence suggests that fishermen who settled on the central coast of Peru and particularly in Lima and its surroundings had family links with people from the north, that these ties predated the Spanish conquest, and that they account for a degree of cultural and linguistic connections as well as for their mobility along the Peruvian coast during the colonial period.38 These links are manifest, for example in the proliferation of Quingnam words and names in the Lima valley.39 Francisco de Guasquanquiche’s will is an interesting example of the places frequented by fishermen and of the social ties people in this trade maintained. Guasquanquiche was a native of Mansiche, in the northern province of Trujillo. Where exactly he resided is unclear, as it seems that he was either a parishioner of San Marcelo in the city of Lima, or a frequent visitor to this church, where he requested burial. He owned a small fishing boat or chinchorro, which his brother kept in a cove in Surco, very likely in the area known today as Chorrillos. A widower, Guasquanquiche had married Ana, a woman from Trujillo, in the port of Callao. Francisco saw it necessary to note in his will that Ana had brought ten hens as her dowry, that the couple gave two hens to the priest as payment for officiating the wedding, and that Ana’s daughter had taken the remaining eight hens when Ana passed away. Guasquanquiche’s material situation could not be described simply as poor. He did not have enough cash to pay for his burial, but trusted that his brother would be willing to help him to cover the costs. Guasquanquiche had lent small amounts of cash to fishermen settled in places like Pachacamac and 36 37 38 39

AGN, PN Bartolomé Rodríguez de Torquemada 141, fol. 871, last will and testament of Antón Atao, Lima, 20 June 1589. M. Rostworowski, Recursos naturales renovables y pesca, siglos XVI y XVII (Lima, 2005). Ramos, “Language and Society in Early Colonial Peru”, pp. 19-38. On Quingnam, Andean languages, and their geographic distribution, see W. Adelaar and P. Muysken, The Languages of the Andes (Cambridge, 2004).

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Cañete. His belongings amounted to a couple of cotton garments and a wooden box one of his acquaintances kept for him in the port of Callao.40 Trying to understand the population of Lima through their occupations gives us a rich but only partial view. In a society where very few were specialized workers most people had to perform several jobs and depended on varied means and often diverse people to earn a living. Looking at the possessions men and women had can give us a view not only of their material means, but also hints at their worldview. 3

Possessions

Understanding the Andean early colonial material world from documentary sources provokes some questions about how ideas about material possessions were shaped and how information available on a wide range of objects was collected and conceptualized. It is likely that for many indigenous Andean men and women in the 16th century to make a personal inventory of possessions, assign a monetary value to each of its components, and/or decide what to do with each and all of those objects were not easy tasks. Although in theory for a notary, the procedure could be simple and routine, conducting an inventory involved difficulties, such as how to describe objects that were not necessarily familiar and assign them an exchange value.41 In contrast to 16th-century Cuzco, appraisals of indigenous objects in Lima were rare or even non-existent.42 Objects most obviously identified as ‘valuable’ were made of silver and – rarely – gold. Interestingly, among the group of people whose wills I analyze here, most owners of silver and gold objects were women. The tupus [pins] used to hold together the two ends of the llicllas [mantles] women customarily wore around the shoulders were often made of silver and occasionally of gold.43 40 41 42 43

AGN, PN, Rodrigo Gómez de Baeza 43, fol. 262, last will and testament of Francisco de Guasquanquiche, Lima, 14 June 1583. While, in Cuzco, mestizo and Indian notaries were familiar with indigenous culture, Lima notaries were Spanish and, at least in the 16th century, probably not thoroughly acquainted with Andean customs. Ramos, Death and Conversion, p. 119. Throughout my research I have found documentary evidence of appraisals and auctions of indigenous objects, usually undertaken with the participation of an indigenous notary, in early colonial Cuzco but not in Lima. For example, in 1577 Inés Chimbo, a woman from Cuzco, listed among her belongings two hammered silver tupus. To describe their value, Inés or the notary remarked that the items’ weight was two and a half pesos: not much, but this small sum could still be important to a woman with limited possessions. AGN, PN, Marcos Franco de Esquivel 34, fol. 243, last will and testament of Inés Chimbo, Lima, 2 April 1579. A few men also listed topos

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They were valued both as positive identity markers and also because of their exchange value. Other silver objects usually owned by the better-off were European-style cups, drinking vessels known as aquillas or cocos – usually appearing in pairs – and tableware such as jugs, salt shakers, and spoons, reflecting the gradual adaptation of European customs and taste among the Andean indigenous elites, an adaptation that did not involve doing away with symbols of prestige such as aquillas and tupus that continued to be made and used throughout the colonial period and beyond.44 Among the most refined silver objects documented were those belonging to Don Bartolomé Guamac Chumbi, cacique of Guanchallay. Don Bartolomé listed in his will a silver staff – which perhaps he used for ceremonial purposes and as an indicator of his social standing – and two silver flutes.45 Indigenous Andeans residing in Lima listed among their belongings ordinary textiles and garments. For many, a piece of clothing was precious because of its potential to be exchanged for cash or another object.46 Besides their practical use and exchange value, garments were also markers of social status, of gender and ethnicity, and of local identity. They were important for ritual purposes and as mementoes. The lists of garments owned by the indigenous inhabitants of Lima in the 16th century suggest a material world slightly different from that of Cuzco. In the ancient Inca capital both fine and ordinary textiles made of wool proliferated, and designs and colors representing provincial styles were still in use in the early colonial period.47 Most 16th-century Lima Indians listed cotton garments among their possessions.48 The customarily

44

45 46

47 48

among their possessions. In 1579, Hernando Guamanchaguas, a native of Mama, a town in the Lima highlands, noted “two large silver topos [tupus] with bells”. AGN, PN, Marcos Franco de Esquivel 34, fol. 265, last will and testament of Hernando Guamanchaguas, Lima, 10 March 1579. The practice of attaching tiny bells to tupus continued throughout the colonial period and beyond. AGN, PN, Juan Gutiérrez 71, fol. 517, last will and testament of Inés Pérez, Lima, 20 May 1573. For examples belonging to the late colonial and post-independence periods, see , accessed 19 June 2016. AGN, PN, Marcos Franco de Esquivel 33, fol. 730, last will and testament of Bartolomé Guamac Chumbi, Lima, 20 March 1577. This attitude towards textiles and clothing was not unique to the Andes, but was also characteristic of early modern European societies, especially the lower classes. See M. Rosenthal, “Cultures of Clothing in Late Medieval and Early Modern Europe”, Journal of Medieval and Early Modern Studies 39.3 (2009), 459-81. G. Ramos, “Los tejidos y la sociedad colonial andina”, Colonial Latin American Review 19.1 (2010), 115-49. For example, Beatriz Guanca, originally from Huánuco, owned a painted lliclla [female mantle] made of a thin fabric known as telilla. AGN, PN, Marcos Franco de Esquivel 33, fol.

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brief descriptions found in wills indicate that some of those textiles and garments were painted and that the town of Lunaguaná, about 150 kms south of the city, was a center where cotton garments were produced perhaps at a larger scale than in other places.49 A few women seemed to have woven cotton themselves, as they had among their belongings balls of cotton yarn. For example, María Maclla, a woman from Chilca, a small fishing town situated also south of Lima, stated in the will she produced while she was in prison awaiting to be hung for murdering her husband, that she had 100 balls of cotton yarn.50 How these textiles and garments were produced and traded, and how the indigenous people of Lima acquired them during the 16th century, is unknown to historians and textile scholars. It is likely that the pieces made of wool – especially the finest ones known as cumbi [the highest quality cloth of the finest weave] – were brought to the city from the highlands, possibly by their owners themselves. The production of cotton textiles and garments was perhaps confined to the coastal towns as the documentary evidence suggests. The use of imported fabrics is noticeable, especially among the most affluent. Women continued dressing in indigenous attire, but garments such as mantles were often made from fabrics imported from China with an attractive appearance and texture, such as satin, velvet, and damask. The existence of these garments in the wardrobes of indigenous women suggest that the consumption of Asian textiles was not restricted to the Spanish elite, as it is usually assumed.51 Both

49

50

51

703, last will and testament of Beatriz Guanca, Lima, 20 April 1577. Antón Guallarima owned a blue cotton mantle which was painted. AGN, PN, Marcos Franco de Esquivel 34, fol. 383. In the following century the number of documented examples of painted cotton textiles increases notably. References to cotton garments made in Lunaguaná do appear in the 16th century and become even more frequent in the following century. It is intriguing that nothing is known about this textile production. See, for example, the last will and testament of Juana, who in 1571 listed an anaco [female dress] from Lunaguaná. AGN, PN, Marcos Franco de Esquivel 33, fol. 189, last will and testament of Juana, Lima, 18 May 1571. Magdalena Calvaquije’s last will and testament listed an anaco from Lunaguaná “con su pieza entera de ropa todo nuevo por estrenar [a complete set, probably including a dress and a mantle, brand new and to be worn for the first time]”. AGN, PN, Rodríguez de Torquemada 141, fol. 890v, last will and testament of Magdalena Calvaquije, Lima, 9 June 1589. Maclla stated that the balls of yarn did not belong to her but to an acquaintance. Nevertheless, it is worth noting that besides the production of cotton textiles in centers like Lunaguaná, domestic production was possibly also quite common. AGN, PN, Rodríguez de Torquemada 144, fol. 295v, last will and testament of María Maclla, Lima, 19 September 1595. For example, Cecilia de Avila owned a pink satin dress, a black satin mantle, and two yards of Mexican woolen flannel. AGN, PN, Rodríguez de Torquemada 141, fol. 782v, last will and testament of Cecilia de Avila, Lima, 4 May 1589. Magdalena Calvaquije listed a dress made of Castilian woolen flannel, a green velvet mantle decorated with golden

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men and women listed garments made of woolen flannel woven in Mexico or Spain. As for other related objects, such as linens, references are scarce. In the 16th century very few indigenous Andean Lima residents owned bed linen, and pillows were almost entirely unknown. Only the well-to-do appear to have had them. When we try to figure out the composition of interior domestic spaces inhabited by indigenous Andeans living in 16th-century Lima, the image that emerges is of barely furnished homes. Most probably lived in single-room accommodations. The very few and most fortunate listed a cuja, bed or bedstead, and a few also owned mattresses. Diego de Prado, a native of Trujillo, had a bedstead, two mattresses, and bed linen, but his was an exceptional case: before living alone in a rented room, Prado had served Inquisitor Juan Ruiz de Prado for 13 years and while in that role had traveled to Spain.52 Don Bartolomé Guamac Chumbi, a cacique and the wealthiest of the group considered in this study, owned five chairs and a bench.53 Catalina Cecilia, possibly a chichera, listed six stools and a table in addition to the earthenware vessels needed to brew maize beer.54 Maybe because their possessions were of little value or because they or the notary thought it was not necessary to proceed with an inventory, some men and women appear to have referred to the contents of their homes as menudencias [trifles] or trastos [junk]. Whether the homes of these men and women were furnished or not is not only relevant to understand the material conditions in which they lived, but also because their capacity to afford beds, benches, and tables aside, the Church associated sleeping and eating on the floor and not having separate beds for the children with immorality.55 From this viewpoint, acquiring Spanish-style furniture was a sign of material improvement and a way to avoid social stigma. While the cost of garments, linen, and furniture accounts for the small number of these objects appearing in personal inventories, an additional reason – linked to the lack of means – was not having a place to stay and thus to keep one’s belongings. Only 33 of the 54 men and women in this group owned their

52 53 54 55

braid, and a crimson damask mantle decorated with silver braid. AGN, PN, Rodríguez de Torquemada 141, fol. 890v, last will and testament of Magdalena Calvaquije, Lima, 9 June 1589. Prado had been assaulted and wounded the night before he issued his will AGN, PN, Diego Jiménez 103, fol. 496, last will and testament of Juan Ruiz de Prado, Lima, 12 October 1599. AGN, PN, Marcos Franco de Esquivel 33, fol. 730, last will and testament of Bartolomé Guamac Chumbi, Lima, 20 March 1577. AGN, PN, Rodríguez de Torquemada 145, fol. 163, last will and testament of Catalina Cecilia, Lima, 6 June 1597. R. Vargas Ugarte, Concilios Limenses (1551-1772), 3 vols. (Lima, 1951), vol. 2, p. 373.

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home.56 Most did not have a fixed residence. Some lived in individual rooms and feared their possessions could be easily lost or stolen. The item that most owned was a trunk: an object that allowed the owner a certain degree of mobility when deprived of a safe place to stay. Several of the men and women whose wills are analyzed here lived in precarious conditions. Because most of them had migrated to the city of Lima, it is likely that many lacked connections and basic support when arriving in the city. Although some came to Lima in groups to stay temporarily as draft laborers or to fulfill labor taxes, most had to count on varied forms of assistance or build their own networks.57 4

Networks

Indigenous Andeans moving to the city of Lima relied on two possible sources of support that could roughly be described as vertical, consisting of masters, encomenderos [Spaniards awarded with groups of tribute-paying Indians], members of the clergy, and bosses, and horizontal, meaning members of kin and other people from the same place of origin or of the same ethnicity or social status. In the opening section, I hypothesized that some men and women could have counted on the support of the religious orders active in their regions of origin, as the case of the Huamachuco elites and the Augustinians suggests. Other men and women appear to have traveled from their towns to Lima accompanying their encomenderos and possibly former soldiers, and settled in the city as domestic servants. Women in particular seem to have continued a relation of dependence and loyalty with their former masters and mistresses even after they had moved out to live independently, as some examples discussed in the section about occupations suggest. Such relations provided material support, a safe place to keep belongings or important documents, and a link with a person of power and authority required to act as a tutor and executor of wills. The latter was not extraordinary – it was expected. Indians and other individuals from subaltern groups were supposed to know the name of their cacique or master and to acknowledge a relation of subordination. Social ties and networks in deeply unequal and stratified societies can be more complex than we tend to think. This applies to individuals in all echelons of society. Sixteenth-century Lima was no exception. Several indigenous 56 57

This stands in stark contrast to the inhabitants of Cuzco. Most of the latter had a place they could call their own, even if it was very humble. Elsewhere I have analyzed the situation of indigenous Andeans migrating to the city of Lima during the early colonial period, focusing on the links that several maintained with their hometowns. Ramos, “‘Mi tierra’”, pp. 128-47.

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Andeans whose wills have survived were not entirely disadvantaged. It is worth noting that at this time people did not aspire to be independent and in fact the contrary was valued. It was imperative to be part of a network. Closeness to the powerful was highly appreciated and represented a form of insurance against adversity and was also a warranty of safety. The ambit of “the powerful” was, to a certain extent, wide and varied: most of them were men holding positions in the administration. Wealth and a proximity to political power were especially valued by their acquaintances. Links with both indigenous and Spanish people were appreciated. For example, in 1571 Juana, a woman described as a Lima resident, stated that she owned 70 silver pesos that were in the custody of a man named Juan de Espinar. Juana appointed Frutos de Espinar and Mencia Gallega, Espinar’s parents, as executors of her will, and chose the Santa Ana Hospital for Indians as sole heir. Was Juana a servant of the Espinars? Her will does not say so, but it is likely there was a strong tie between her and Espinar’s family. A few years after Juana issued her will, in 1577, Juan applied for the prestigious post of royal scribe. This would amount to a promotion from his position as escribano de provincia. As part of his application, an investigation was held in Spain over his ‘purity of blood’ and fitness for the post. A native of Salamanca, Espinar had moved to Peru with his parents in 1541. He claimed his assets were valued at over 100,000 maravedís.58 This seems a large sum: in silver pesos it would amount to almost 3000. Why did Espinar look after Juana’s money? As suggested earlier, individuals like Espinar offered the safety and stability of their homes and kept money, trunks of clothing, documents, and other items belonging to people under their protection.59 Another intriguing case is that of María Cuticunca, a woman born in Lima. She appears to have enjoyed a comfortable life: she was affluent enough to leave bequests for individuals and institutions, including the Santa Ana Hospital for Indians and San Juan de la Penitencia, a recogimiento [religious house] for mestizo women.60 Cuticunca owned a house and a grove, which she had 58 59

60

AGI, Lima 178, n. 22, 1577, “Confirmación de oficio. Juan de Espinar”. On the post of notary in colonial Peru, see K. Burns, Into the Archive: Writing and Power in Colonial Peru (Durham, 2010). Owning silver pesos presented not only the difficulty of keeping it safe, but of understanding its value and avoiding being cheated. In this period and beyond, few were able to figure out currency and silver conversions. M. Suárez, “Reforma, orden y concierto en el Perú del siglo XVII: el arbitrio de Joan de Belveder”, Anuario de Estudios Americanos 71.1 (2014), 33-36. On recogimientos in colonial Lima, see N. Van Deusen, Between the Sacred and the Worldly: The Cultural and Institutional Practice of Recogimiento among Women in Colonial Lima, Stanford 2001. On the status of mestizo women in convents, see K. Burns, Colonial Habits: Convents and the Spiritual Economy of Cuzco, Peru (Durham, 1999).

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inherited from her father, Don Hernando Manongo, possibly a cacique. However, María and her husband did not live there and, instead, leased her house to a Sebastián de Rivas, a Spaniard who apparently had been involved in the encomendero rebellion.61 In 1572 Rivas enjoyed a position as head of the city’s regiment of “gentlemen lancers”. Cuticunca lived in the house of Pedro Mayz, a powerful indigenous man who held several important positions in the city of Lima, including that of general language interpreter at the Real Audiencia or judicial court. It is likely then that Cuticunca and her husband were under Mayz’s wing, although we lack more precise information on the ties linking both couples. Cuticunca appointed her husband and Mayz as executors of her will, which indicates that both she and her husband trusted Don Pedro’s expertise in managing both wealth and political and social connections.62 For others, the Church, or church-related institutions and individuals, represented the most accessible source of support, and provided a space where they could socialize.63 In all likelihood clergymen situated in key positions took control of the loyalty and property of men and women with either modest or considerable patrimony and no relatives. This said, we cannot overlook the sincerity of those men and women that joined confraternities and gave alms to those in most need.64 A few could count on both kin and confraternity administrators, while others relied on individuals who lived in their neighborhood or who came from the same town or region. The examples available are admittedly sparse for the 16th century. In the following decades, horizontal ties increased, although the voids in documentary information for the earlier period could explain in part the contrasts between the 16th and the 17th centuries. A larger number of cases covering a longer time period within the century of initial contact and colonization would furnish a more consistent picture.

61 62 63

64

AGI, Justicia 1060, 1564, Autos entre partes. Sebastián de Rivas, vecino de la villa de Rada, con el Conde de Nieva, virrey de Lima y los jueces, el licenciado Briviesca de Muñatones y Ortega de Melgosa, sobre el tormento que le dieron en el Perú. AGN, PN, Marcos Franco de Esquivel 33, fol. 285v, last will and testament of María Cuticunca, Lima, 23 January 1572. On Pedro Mayz, see Ramos, Death and Conversion, pp. 19192. Ramos, Death and Conversion, pp. 109-13. On the same subject with regard to colonial Cuzco, see C. Dean, “Familiarizando el catolicismo en el Cuzco colonial”, in J.J. Decoster (ed.), Incas e indios cristianos, Elites indígenas e identidades cristianas en los Andes colonials (Cuzco, 2002), pp. 169-94. For several examples, see Ramos, Death and Conversion, pp. 203-13.

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Conclusion

The indigenous Andean population of Lima in the 16th century was diverse, mobile, and in flux. Most of the inhabitants of Lima classified as Indians, although, of course, initially did not identify themselves as such, were originally from different parts of the Andes, especially from areas close to the city. This proximity to their places of origin allowed for a fair degree of mobility among some, especially those involved in trade or with property and kin in their places of origin. Indigenous Andeans living in 16th-century Lima were a diverse group holding different social and economic positions. This heterogeneity, the result of their own origins and/or the forms by which they had adapted to the new circumstances that emerged after the conquest and the slow consolidation of Spanish rule, is worth noting to abandon assumptions about an early “Indian” identity and a fundamental opposition between “Indians” and Spaniards. Their origins, occupations, material possessions, and ways of relating to others reveal that these men and women followed different paths as they gradually became a distinct group. They encountered privilege and discrimination, lived on very modest means and uncertainty, or managed to get by through working at specialized occupations as artisans, as providers of services, as sellers of indigenous beverages and food, or as vendors at the city’s marketplace. Some even achieved comfortable living conditions as a result of their privileged origin, as in the case of a few caciques, or through their association with powerful Spaniards. Indigenous Andeans living in Lima were at the center of several currents of change: one represented by new arrivals from other Andean provinces who brought their own dialects, customs, and expectations under new political, economic, and cultural conditions. Another current was represented by Europeans, Africans, Asians, and people from other parts of the Americas who continued to arrive in the city: some enticed by stories of the immense prosperity found in the Andes, many others taken by force to labor in homes, workshops, and plantations. A third transformative current was represented by institutions and authorities. The experience of living in Lima offered the opportunity to witness the presence of the viceroy, archbishop, the Inquisition, the court of justice, hospitals, convents, and confraternities, and eventually relate to them in different forms and degrees of proximity. The Indians of 16th-century Lima also experienced an early contact with the material world brought by Europeans, Asians, and Africans, more rapidly and perhaps more intensely than the people living in other parts of the Andes. Although indigenous Andeans were soon outnumbered by other ethnic groups such as Africans and Europeans, they continued to be a significant presence at the most important urban center of South America.

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Bibliography



Primary Sources



Secondary Sources

Calancha, A. de la, Corónica moralizada del orden de San Agustín, 6 vols. (Lima, 1974 [1638]). Vargas Ugarte, R., Concilios Limenses (1551-1772), 3 vols. (Lima, 1951).

Adelaar, W. and P. Muysken, The Languages of the Andes (Cambridge, 2004). Burns, K., Colonial Habits: Convents and the Spiritual Economy of Cuzco, Peru (Durham, 1999). Burns, K., Into the Archive: Writing and Power in Colonial Peru (Durham, 2010). Cook, D., Demographic Collapse: Indian Peru, 1520-1620 (Cambridge, 1981). D’Altroy, T., Provincial Power in the Inka Empire (Washington, 1992). Dean, C., “Familiarizando el catolicismo en el Cuzco colonial”, in J.J. Decoster (ed.), Incas e indios cristianos, Elites indígenas e identidades cristianas en los Andes colonials (Cuzco, 2002), pp. 169-94. Díaz Arriola, L., “Aproximaciones hacia la problemática del territorio Ychsma”, Arqueo­ logía y sociedad 19 (2008), 115-27. Espinoza Soriano, W., Los huancas, aliados de la conquista: tres informaciones sobre la participación indígena en la conquista del Perú, 1558, 1560, 1561 (Huancayo, 1971). Graubart, K., With Our Labor and Our Sweat: Indigenous Women and the Formation of Colonial Society in Peru, 1550-1700 (Stanford, 2007). Hastorf, C., “The Xauxa Andean Life”, in T. D’Altroy and C. Hastorf (eds.), Empire and Domestic Economy (New York, 2001), pp. 315-24. Jennings, J. and B. Bowser (eds.), Drink, Power and Society in the Andes (Gainsville, 2009). Kagan, R. and F. Marías, Urban Images of the Hispanic World, 1493-1793 (New Haven, 2000). Mangan, J., Trading Roles: Gender, Ethnicity, and the Urban Economy, Potosi, 1545-1700 (Durham, 2005). Mumford, J., Vertical Empire: The General Resettlement of Indians in the Colonial Andes (Durham, 2012). Ramos, G., Death and Conversion in the Andes, Lima and Cuzco, 1532-1670 (Notre Dame, 2010). Ramos, G., “Los tejidos y la sociedad colonial andina”, Colonial Latin American Review 19.1 (2010), 115-49. Ramos, G., “Language and Society in Early Colonial Peru”, in P. Heggarty and A. Pearce (eds.), Language and History in the Andes (London, 2011), pp. 19-38.

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Ramos, G., “‘Mi tierra’: Indigenous Migrants and their Hometowns the Colonial Andes”, in D. Velasco Murillo, M. Lentz, and M. Ochoa (eds.), City Indians in Spain’s American Empire: Urban Indigenous Society in Colonial Mesoamerica and Andean South America, 1530-1810 (Brighton, 2012), pp. 128-47. Ramos, G., “Indian Hospitals and Government in the Colonial Andes”, Medical History 57.2 (2013), 186-205. Rosenthal, M., “Cultures of Clothing in Late Medieval and Early Modern Europe”, Journal of Medieval and Early Modern Studies 39.3 (2009), 459-81. Rostworowski, M., Señoríos indígenas de Lima y Canta (Lima, 1978). Rostworowski, M., Recursos naturales renovables y pesca, siglos XVI y XVII (Lima, 2005). Spalding, K., Huarochiri: An Andean Society under Inca and Spanish Rule (Stanford, 1984). Suárez, M., “Reforma, orden y concierto en el Perú del siglo XVII: el arbitrio de Joan de Belveder”, Anuario de Estudios Americanos 71.1 (2014), 25-46. Van Deusen, N., Between the Sacred and the Worldly: The Cultural and Institutional Practice of Recogimiento among Women in Colonial Lima (Stanford, 2001).

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Chapter 9

Society and Education: The University of San Marcos in the 16th Century  Pedro M. Guibovich Pérez Joyful cradle of so many dignitaries, counsellors, bishops and archbishops; sweetest part of all provinces of Peru; perfect heavenly climate; primary office of virtue; workshop of literature and most fecund mother of unique and numerous children.1

⸪ With these quaintly observed words, the Franciscan Buenaventura de Salinas y Córdova described the academic merits of the University of San Marcos in 1630.The eulogistic terms of this description should not surprise us since, as other creoles born in Lima, the Franciscan writer was proud of the city’s university. Almost a century after its foundation, the University of San Marcos had achieved institutional strength and become a prestigious learning center, keystone of the political and social organization of the Viceroyalty of Peru. Salinas not only deserves mention for being the first to write a historical outline of the university, but also because he inaugurated a reading of its history which may well be defined as apologetic, that is, keen on highlighting the seniority of its foundation over the universities of Santo Domingo and Mexico, both established in the 16th century. This reading remains relevant even today. There is a wide range of studies on the history of the University of San Marcos since colonial times. Two lines of work have predominated in the historiography of the university: scholarly monographs and published documents. Very few researchers have ventured to write lengthy works or attempted interpretations beyond the simple descriptive level.2 Albeit valuable, especially because 1 B. Salinas y Córdova, Memorial de las historias del Nuevo Mundo Pirú (Lima, 1957), p. 162. All translations in this chapter are by the author, unless otherwise stated. 2 P. Guibovich, “La educación en el Perú colonial. Fuentes y bibliografía”, Histórica 17.2 (1993), 271-96.

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2019 | doi:10.1163/9789004335363_011

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of the information it supplies, such a bibliography, considered as a whole, appears limited in comparison to that existing, for example, for the University of Mexico.3 Our current limited knowledge of the limeño university can be attributed to three factors. In the first place, the lack of documentary sources has truncated the possibility of scholarly research. Since the mid-16th century, the authorities of San Marcos were particularly thorough in the preservation of its institutional archive, which was kept undamaged until the second half of the 19th century. However, the Peruvian war with Chile dramatically impacted the university’s archive. In 1881, the Chilean army occupied the city of Lima and used the university as its barracks. The soldiers plundered the furniture, demolished walls to turn classrooms into stables, and, with no regard for its historical value, destroyed the archive. A second aspect to be considered is the prejudice against study of the university’s colonial history that has prevailed among local historians. For a long time, the university has been regarded as an institution dominated by religious fundamentalism, dissociated from the progress of modern knowledge characterized by scientific experimentation. Unquestionably, San Marcos, as many of its peer institutions in Europe, was not a space in which debate was encouraged, since it was considered dangerous to the preservation of religious orthodoxy. The university was, together with the Inquisition, one of the bastions of doctrinal conformity. It suffices to remember that its lay and religious professors were not only carefully chosen, but also were sworn to defend Catholic doctrine. Additionally, the colonial-period university was not a research center, since that was not characteristic of universities until the late 19th century. Thus, appraising the colonial university based on the features of present-day institutions is a mistake. A third, often-overlooked element is the major role reserved for the university in the political and social structure of the early colonial Viceroyalty of Peru. The university provided graduates who held positions in civil and ecclesiastical administrations, as emphasized by Córdova y Salinas in the quotation at the beginning of this chapter. University professors also worked as advisors to the viceroys and, as such, participated in governmental decision-making. This chapter reframes and studies the institutional history of Lima’s University of San Marcos since its foundation in 1551 until the promulgation of its third constituciones [governing constitution] by Viceroy Francisco de Toledo in 1581. This institutional history begins with the analysis of the three primary 3 There is an extensive bibliography on the Universidad de México. Despite having been written some time ago, C. Ramírez González’s “La Real Universidad de Mexico en los siglos XVI y XVII, Enfoques recientes”, in M. Menegus and E. González (eds.), Historia de las universidades modernas en Hispanamérica (Mexico, 1995), pp. 269-96, provides a good account of the state of affairs.

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university projects of the 16th century: the Dominican, the episcopal, and the royal governance of the institution. The history of the limeño university between 1551 and 1581 is that of its conversion from an institution under the regular clergy to one under the guardianship of the Crown. To understand the social role of the university during the 16th century, this chapter begins by explaining the characteristics of colonial instruction and of the types of universities in the early modern Iberoamerican world. As I show, the foundation of a royal university in the Viceroyalty of Peru was the result of the convergence of the interests of an emerging local elite and the administration of Felipe II. For the latter, university studies were essential not only as a way to gratify settlers, but also to strengthen royal authority in South America. 1

Regular Clergy and Royal Universities

Nowadays, university studies constitute the culmination of a progressive instruction process in educational programs. But in colonial times it was different, because no educational program divided into primary, secondary, and university studies existed. According to the historian Martín Monsalve, studies in the 16th century were divided into three levels: primeras letras [first literacy], estudios menores [grammar schools], and estudios mayores [university studies]. Primeras letras involved learning to write, to read, and to calculate. Once this stage was completed, one moved on to the estudios menores, composed of Latin grammar, humanities, and rhetoric courses. Having completed these studies, students could pursue the estudios mayores, which began with the subjects of arts (or philosophy) and continued with those of civil law, ecclesiastical law, theology, or medicine. Learning Latin was essential for all students because it enabled them to continue their studies.4 Usually primeras letras and estudios menores were carried out with a private teacher in a private school or a convent school. Arts and theology lessons were dictated in the latter as well. As Monsalve appropriately observes, it is a common mistake to suppose that the modern primary school corresponds to first literacy and the secondary to convent study centers. Estudios menores lessons could be given in the university or in convent schools, covering, other than Latin, arts, and theology.5

4 M. Monsalve, “Del Estudio del Rosario a la real y pontificia Universidad Mayor de San Marcos”, Histórica 22.1 (1998), 53-79, 55. 5 Monsalve, “Del Estudio”, 56.

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In the 16th century there were two kinds of universities in Spanish America: those of the regular clergy (or private studies) and those royally sponsored. Religious orders taught Latin grammar, philosophy, and theology in their convents to satisfy the demands of their ministry. The regular clergy was exempt from the authority of the bishop and of the royal justice; except for serious cases and heresy, their offences were adjudicated internally by their superiors. Therefore, when establishing university studies in their cloisters or schools, the regular clergy did not consider the study of canon or civil law necessary. They could teach and grant degrees in philosophy and theology, but not in civil law, canon law, and medicine. Additionally, convent schools had no properties. They did not choose their dean, a position to be filled by a member of the order, and the lay faculty members were often segregated from the electoral process and from teaching.6 The king permitted royally sanctioned universities to rule themselves. Each institution called period assemblies of their doctors, which were known as claustros [faculty meetings]; these meetings also included the dean and a team of assistants known as the conciliaries who were elected by the community itself. The faculty meetings dictated their rules of governance, but sometimes had to submit them for review by the Real Audiencia [high court of justice] or even the King of Spain. If a royal visitor prepared new statutes related to university governance, they had to be validated by the university faculty with an affirmative vote of the majority, after which they would be approved and promulgated. Because the university was mandated by the Spanish monarchy, it was subordinate to the supervision of the Real Audiencia and other viceregal authorities, such as the bishop, who also intervened in several ways. This oversight did not, however, deprive the institution of its autonomy.7 The royal universities owned and managed their own patrimony. In faculty halls, scholars assembled to deal with common issues plaguing the institution. They also managed general classrooms where the lower academic grades were taught, the library, and the chapel.8 Spanish royal universities, notes Enrique González, inherited an essential feature from their medieval ancestors: they were collegiate bodies, corporate bodies of students and scholars. The Leyes de las XII Partidas [The Twelve Part Code] dictated in the 13th century, defined the university or general study center as a ayuntamiento [council of teachers and students], which is in fact in some place, with a will and understanding to 6 E. González, “Jesuitas y universidades en el Nuevo Mundo: conflictos, logros y fracasos”, in P. Bianchini, De los colegios a las universidades, Los jesuitas en el ámbito de la educación superior (Lima, 2014), pp. 103-04. 7 González, “Jesuitas y universidades en el Nuevo Mundo”, p. 101. 8 González, “Jesuitas y universidades en el Nuevo Mundo”, p. 101.

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learn knowledge”. The key word in this description, continues González, is “council”, which describes a collegiate body of teachers and/or students devoted to fostering knowledge. This was dictated through the five traditional faculties adopted from European universities: arts, theology, civil law, ecclesiastical law, and medicine. Royal universities had a unique monopoly on the ability to graduate their students as bachelors, licentiates, and doctors.9 2

The Dominican Project

The Dominican order is credited with the establishment of the university in Lima. The Dominicans played a key role in the conquest of Peru. One important Dominican, Fray Vicente Valverde, was appointed to demand the vassalage of the Inca Atahualpa to King Carlos V of Spain in the Cajamarca interview which preceded his capture. Later Valverde was the first organizer of the Catholic Church in the former Inca lands. Favored by conquerors and encomenderos [Spaniards awarded with groups of tribute-paying Indians], the Dominicans acquired agricultural lands and encomiendas [tributes granting institution in the Iberoamerican world by which Spanish individuals were imbued with authority over indigenous groups] in some of the most populated and wealthy areas of the recently conquered territory. They built convents in all of the important towns founded by the conquering Spaniards. As in Europe, the Dominican convents in Peru were not only residences for priests, they also operated as centers for educational instruction. Young Dominican friars continued their education in Latin grammar, arts, and theology, while neophyte parishioners and their children were exposed to catechesis. In 1548, the Dominicans formalized the establishment of a study center in their convent in Lima. They sought royal permission to teach arts and later continue with theology. Fray Pedro de Ulloa was appointed by the Dominicans in Peru to apply for royal approval of the university, as well as an economic subsidy from the Crown. Ulloa departed for Spain in February 1549. On 15 October 1549, Carlos V approved the Dominican university plan. He ordered the Real Audiencia of Lima to approve the transfer of additional land for “mainly the building of a school and study center” in Lima.10 This transfer expanded the territory previously allotted for a Dominican monastery by the Lima city council and ensured the development of the city’s first university.

9 10

González, “Jesuitas y universidades en el Nuevo Mundo”, pp. 101-02. L.A. Eguiguren, La Universidad en el siglo XVI, 2 vols. (Lima, 1951), vol. 2, p. 485.

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The ongoing rebellion of encomenderos, who had seriously defied the Crown’s authority for four years, also came to an end in 1548. Consequently, there was a prevailing will among settlers in the Viceroyalty of Peru to reach reconciliation with the Crown. The clergy were freed to intensify their evangelization efforts which had been stymied by ongoing social conflicts across the continent. The cabildo [city council] of Lima was responsible for managing aspirations between settlers, the clergy, and the Crown in the viceregal capital; however, precedents set in Lima resonated throughout the viceroyalty. The Lima city council was made up of members who were representative of local political and economic interests. In late January 1550, the council appointed Jerónimo de Aliaga and the Dominican Tomás de San Martín as their attorneys before the Spanish court. Aliaga and San Martín were instructed to secure several royally granted privileges for the town council, the encomenderos of Peru, the children of Francisco Pizarro, and the city of Lima. One of the instructions precisely addressed the foundation of a university in Lima. It stated that Aliaga and San Martín should ask the king to establish in the monastery of Santo Domingo, “of this city, a general study center with the same privileges and exemptions and capitulations as those of the general study center of Salamanca”. They justified the request by citing Lima’s distance from Spain, considering that “for the children of the residents and natives to be sent to study in Spain would entail large expenses, and due to the unlikelihood of the possibility, some will remain ignorant”.11 The Crown took up the attorneys’ request, and on 12 May 1551 issued a royal order temporarily establishing a general study center in the convent. The royal approval cited testimony from San Martín which had informed royal officials that the study center would operate out of the aforementioned convent and that its establishment would enable the offspring of limeño [Lima] settlers to be “indoctrinated” and acquire skills beneficial for the growth of the new Spanish American colony.12 The royal order was received in Lima on 1 April 1552. Immediately, Viceroy Antonio de Mendoza and the oidores [judges] communicated it to the Santo Domingo Provincial, Domingo de Santo Tomás.13 By 1553, the first university of Lima was probably operating at the Dominican monastery in Lima; however, its existence remained precarious for years after its foundation. On 20 August 1553, the Dominicans Domingo de Santo Tomás, 11 12 13

Concejo Provincial de Lima, Libros de Cabildos de Lima, Libro cuarto, Años 1548-1553 (Lima, 1935), p. 258. D. Angulo, “La Universidad y Estudio general de la ciudad de Los Reyes en su primer periodo, 1551-1571”, Revista Histórica 9 (1928), 394. R. Levillier, Correspondencia de presidentes y oidores. Audiencia de Lima 1549-1564 (Madrid, 1922), p. 42.

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Gregorio de Cuadra, Francisco de San Miguel, Pedro de Toro, and Pedro Calvo wrote to the king addressing the order’s status in the Viceroyalty of Peru. Among their concerns was the general study center in their Lima convent. In their letter, the group stated that “there are no schools or general studies in this house, which is in the first priority of the Study Center”. They went on to request that the monarchy order local authorities to support the construction of the physical infrastructure required for the normal functioning of a university.14 The education provided in the limeño Dominican university was eminently religious and destined to train priests. The Dominican Francisco de la Cruz summarizes the goals of the early university in a letter to the king dated 25 January 1566. De la Cruz stated that, to prevent limeño youths from traveling to Spain to take the holy orders, the monarchy might consider allocating economic resources to the convents where study centers could be developed, particularly in Lima’s Santo Domingo convent. De la Cruz argued that this adjustment would save the Crown money because youths would stay in Peru to study and expenses would decrease as the demand for priests from Spain would decline. Furthermore, de la Cruz concluded, the Crown’s support of the local study centers would foster the training of theologians, which were in high demand in the Peruvian viceroyalty.15 Despite its founders’ enthusiasm, in its first decade, Lima’s Dominican university struggled to gain a foothold. Contemporaries agree in noting that only Latin grammar, arts and theology courses were offered. Added to the limitation of the study plan were other economic and disciplinary problems. In 1562, Fray Domingo de Santo Tomás once again requested an economic subsidy from the Crown to complete the classrooms.16 3

The Episcopal Project

While the Dominican university began to take shape a few blocks away from the city’s main square, Lima’s archbishop, the Dominican Jerónimo de Loayza, began to contemplate the possibility of establishing an episcopal university under his oversight. Loayza was himself an academic, having studied in San Gregorio, Valladolid, one of the most prestigious Dominican centers of learning in Spain. When the Lima diocese was created in 1541, Loayza was transferred 14 15 16

E. Lissón, La Iglesia de España en el Perú, Colección de documentos para la historia de la Iglesia que se encuentran en varios archivos, 4 vols. (Seville, 1943-47), vol. 2, pp. 41-42. Lisson, La Iglesia, vol. 2, pp. 307-08. G. Lohmann, La Universidad ante el Quinto Centenario, Actas del Congreso Internacional de Universidades (Madrid, 1992), p. 242.

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there and took over its seat in 1543. He ordered the establishment of its church as a cathedral and, to promote evangelization within local society, summoned two provincial councils, one in 1551 and the other in 1567. A dedicated ecclesiastical leader and a political force, Loayza was among the most influential Spaniards in mid-16th-century Lima. It was Loayza who enforced the decrees of the Council of Trent, the assembly summoned by Pope Paul III with the purpose of reforming the Catholic Church and redefining doctrine in the face of the attacks from Protestant groups. Although the Tridentine decrees (whose sessions ended on 4 December 1563) were published in Lima on 28 October 1565, it is highly probable that Loayza knew the conclusions of the assembly in advance. There is no other way to explain his distinct concern for educating the clergy, one of the most extensively addressed issues in the Council of Trent, which had precisely legislated regarding the creation of seminary schools in cathedral churches. Loayza adopted this proposal and conceived the idea of establishing a university attached to the Lima Cathedral. With the aim of achieving the Crown’s support and authorization for his project, the archbishop wrote to the king in early August 1564. Despite not saying so explicitly, it is clear that he intended for the Study Center to be founded in the cathedral, where Latin grammar lessons had been offered for several years. In his opinion, Lima was the ideal place for the new foundation, being geographically located in the middle of the kingdom. To justify the need for a new university, he argued that he had seen an increasing number of sons of vecinos [inhabitants], legitimate and illegitimate, become interested in studying, particularly in becoming clergymen. He noted that the benefit of the university would be greater in Peru, since “it is necessary to occupy the people in virtuous matters”. He requested that the Crown, while evaluating his project, allocate 500 pesos with which to appoint a professor for the teaching of Pedro Lombardo’s Libro de las Sentencias, which had been suspended when the officers of the royal treasury had withdrawn the earlier subsidy.17Two years later, on 1 March 1566, the tenacious archbishop addressed a new letter to the king reiterating his university project. First, he reminded the king that he had authorized the provisional functioning of a general study center at the Santo Domingo convent until the Crown provided otherwise. Eager to discredit the existing university institution, he even said it was displeasing (“odious”) to the other religious orders. Consequently, he noted that the right place for a university to function was his cathedral, which “as mother and common to all, would be more adequate”. Additionally, he recalled that the Council of Trent had ruled for theology and Holy Scriptures to be taught and a school 17

Lissón, La Iglesia, vol. 2, p. 281.

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to function in the cathedrals for the nurture and education of the children of the vecinos of the cities. In the prelate’s opinion, the functioning of both the university and the school in the cathedral would be very beneficial, as it would grant greater “authority” to both institutions, save the Crown’s money, and allow for the degrees to be conferred “more respectably”.18 It is also clear, as Monsalve claims, that Loayza intended with his project to educate future priests under the full responsibility of the bishopric and thus favor the secular clergy in the subsequent appointment of rural parishes.19 Possibly the most effective way for the inhabitants of Peru to make themselves heard in the Spanish court residing in Madrid was through their agents there. Since the early times of the Spanish colonization of America, conquerors, encomenderos, councilors, and members of the clergy had agents at court in charge of making their requests heard and their claims satisfied. Loayza was no exception to this practice. Alonso de Herrera, his representative at court, carried the archbishop’s requests regarding his educational project. This generated two royal orders, one signed in Segovia on 13 September 1565 and the other in El Pardo on 19 October 1566, addressed respectively to Governor Lope de García de Castro and the Real Audiencia in Lima, for them to report on the convenience of the archbishop’s proposal.20 4

The Crown’s Project

There is no record of the high court’s reply, but there is related correspondence from García de Castro. García was a member of the Royal Council of the Indies when he was sent to serve as president of Lima’s high court and as the interim viceroy of Peru while the king appointed a new permanent viceroy. He arrived in Lima on 25 October 1564 and fulfilled his double role until the arrival of Viceroy Francisco de Toledo on 26 November 1569. Castro was not only lawabiding in his management, but thoroughly honorable; although Levillier states that his initiative was somewhat lacking, as well as his ability to manage the behavior of the settlers.21 His predecessors in the government of the Viceroyalty of Peru, Viceroys Andrés Hurtado de Mendoza and Diego López de Zúñiga, had not distributed encomiendas nor granted income to those conquerors who most deserved them, but to the leaders whom they feared might 18 19 20 21

Lissón, La Iglesia, vol. 2, p. 318. Monsalve, “Del Estudio”, 64. Lissón, La Iglesia, vol. 2, pp. 328-29; R. Levillier, Gobernantes del Perú. Cartas y papeles, 14 vols. (Madrid, 1921-26), vol. 3, p. 101. Levillier, Gobernantes del Perú, vol. 3, pp. v-vi.

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threaten the peace of their governments. García de Castro had to please a multitude of petitioners who demanded favors from the Crown; the best way was to “feed them”, using an expression of the time, through granting encomiendas of indigenous people, a post in the colonial militia, or a position in the administration which guaranteed them income.22 García realized one way of satisfying the settlers was by economically strengthening the Dominican school. In a letter to the king, signed in Lima on 23 September 1565, he stated that university studies were essential because they allowed the children of conquerors and other settlers to “occupy themselves in virtuous acts and not be raised in the manner they are currently raised, which is truly sad”. Therefore, he requested that the taxes of the encomienda of Yauyos, which was the Crown’s property, be assigned to the university.23 García de Castro’s correspondence makes it possible for us to trace his increasing awareness of the need to establish a royal university as a means of social and political control. In a letter signed in Lima on 5 June 1566, he requested that the king provide economic resources to found a university in which Latin, arts, law, theology, and medicine would be offered. Like his contemporary Loayza and as he himself had established the previous year, university studies were necessary for the children of the settlers to be “raised virtuously”. Aware that the period of conquest was past, he noted that “not everyone can live for chivalry”. The riches obtained in the expeditions could still benefit a few children of the conquerors, but it would be more beneficial and long-lasting if they occupied positions in the Peruvian Catholic Church, which would help them support their parents and marry off their sisters. In stating that the training of clergymen would save the Crown the need to send such children away from the peninsula and, thereby, spend money, he agreed with Loayza. García criticized the peninsular clergy, whom he accused of being greedy, estimating that they only came to Peru with the intention of becoming wealthy and, after staying for four or five years, wished to return to Spain.24 In September 1567 he wrote to the Crown once again, this time more vehemently, to state that the foundation of a royal university was necessary because, up to then, the sons of the settlers “were raised on horseback holding an harquebus, and being important personages and having nothing to eat, Your Majesty may realize they will be up to no good”. The fear of a possible rebellion is evident in this declaration. For García, the ecclesiastic career was the best way to satisfy the demands of the petitioners. “Most of the needs of those kingdoms are 22 23 24

Levillier, Gobernantes del Perú, vol. 3, pp. vi-vii. Levillier, Gobernantes del Perú, vol. 3, p. 101. Levillier, Gobernantes del Perú, vol. 3, p. 172.

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remedied by the church and the same would occur in these [kingdoms]”, wrote the governor.25 Finally, responding to a royal decree from the previous year in which his opinion regarding the convenience of supporting the archbishop’s university model was requested, he insists once more on his own project in December 1567. He claims that they should be allocated the income of an encomienda in Huarochirí to establish the faculties of logic, medicine, and law. However, it was not García de Castro who would be responsible for establishing a royal university in Lima, but his successor, Francisco de Toledo. The appointment of Toledo as viceroy of Peru is evidence of the new metropolitan colonial policy implemented by Felipe II in the late 1560s. With the purpose of finding solutions to the problems in his American territories, the king summoned a council of statesmen in Madrid. The council dictated a series of measures directed to strengthen the authority of the Crown, defend its dominions from the threats of Spain’s rival powers, promote the evangelization among the indigenous population, and increase mining revenues. Only the instructions on religious matters received by Toledo from his superiors are known; but the fact that none of them refers to the University in Lima suggests that his policy concerning its establishment was initiated by himself.26 Toledo’s project would not have been successful were it not for the social and political conditions existing in the viceregal capital in the mid-16th century. At this time, reform projects with great support from among the lay faculty and staff of the university, who were in favor of the election of the dean and emancipation from the guardianship of the priors-deans of the Dominican convent, began to appear. The friars themselves had contributed to creating this situation, having come to monopolize the curriculum. They eventually made the school it inaccessible to other members of the clergy, overlooking the fact that the institution was the part of the city’s heritage according to the historian Domingo Angulo.27 Furthermore, the fact that only arts and theology courses were offered must have disappointed the descendants of Spaniards, who saw in the studies of civil or canon law greater opportunities for social promotion. Barely two months after arriving in Lima, Toledo wrote to Felipe II regarding the importance of university studies in a colonial society such as that in Peru. The city was not only in need of channels for social mobility, but it also needed to strengthen its loyalty to the Crown. In this regard, Toledo explained to the 25 26 27

Levillier, Gobernantes del Perú, vol. 3, pp. 261-62. M. Merluzzi, Gobernando los Andes, Francisco de Toledo, virrey del Perú (1569-1581) (Lima, 2014), pp. 86-115. Angulo, “La Universidad y Estudio General de la ciudad de Los Reyes en su primer periodo, 1551-1571”, p. 417.

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king that with education “the land is increasingly secured”, allowing settlers to know who their king and natural master was. It was necessary that the second and later children of the conquerors who had not received encomiendas were not “lost” for not having a trade, occupation, or upbringing. Toledo’s letter was written in very similar terms to that of his predecessor, García de Castro, which suggests the possibility of communication between the two leaders. Toledo, for example, repeats the assertion that university studies will allow the royal treasury to save money in travel expenses for clergymen from Spain and the children of the local elites to take over – as clergymen and attorneys – civil and ecclesiastic administrative roles in the viceroyalty.28 The cabildo of Lima, unquestionably influenced by Toledo, in its session of 12 March 1571, decided to address a petition to the king for the foundation of a university “in a comfortable and convenient place”, proposing as an example the University of Mexico. With this declaration, the city council insinuated that the existing institution did not meet such conditions.29 Three days later, the town hall granted power of attorney to Miguel de Saidía, who was about to travel to Spain, to request at court the foundation of a university in Lima to instruct on “the necessary sciences for this kingdom to grow and for the Spaniards residing in it to be indoctrinated and so that order and doctrine be enforced”. Additionally, Saidía was instructed to request enough funds to sustain the new institution.30 The cabildo took up the cause of the new educational institution, four months after Toledo left Lima to inspect the inland regions of the viceroyalty. Despite the many political, social, and economic issues on the viceroy’s agenda, he did not disregard the need for a royally sponsored university in Peruvian territory. So, in a letter from Cuzco on 25 March 1571, addressed to Felipe II, he reported having ruled that the friars of Santo Domingo ceased to be the university’s deans. To justify such action, he claimed that the deans should not be 28 29

30

Levillier, Gobernantes del Perú, vol. 3, p. 384. G. Lohmann, “La Universidad de San Marcos de Lima”, in La Universidad ante el Quinto Centenario, Actas del Congreso Internacional de Universidades (Madrid, 1992), p. 244. Mexico’s University was founded in 1551 by Carlos V and opened its doors in June 1553. The monarch, in his role as patron, entrusted its organization to the viceroy and the high court. The income assigned by the Crown was insufficient in the first five decades, to the point where the university needed to rent buildings as it had no premises of its own. But in 1584 this situation was changed when the viceroy, Archbishop Pedro Moya de Contreras, ordered the purchase of lands near the main square for establishing university buildings (E. González, “La universidad: estudiantes y doctores”, in R. García (ed.), Historia de la vida cotidiana en México II La ciudad barroca (Mexico, 2005), p. 265). Concejo Provincial de Lima, Libros del Cabildo de Lima, Concejo Provincial de Lima (Lima, 1935), pp. 97-98.

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exempted from royal authority and that it would not be convenient for the king to allow the foundation of universities in friars’ monasteries because it diverted them from their tasks. He questioned whether they were capable of teaching subjects which were not in their nature, such as “law, grammar, medicine, and other human sciences, because arts and theology are enough for them as a purpose and means to pursue their profession, which is to enlighten souls and help save them”. Furthermore, Toledo believed that universities should be autonomous and not “attached to the shelter of some monastery, as are those in Spain, and I believe all around the world”.31 5

The Foundation of Lima’s Royal University

Pursuant to Toledo’s actions regarding the university’s directorship, on 11 May 1571, the Real Audiencia dictated a ruling (which was ratified on 21 June 1571) authorizing teachers and graduates in the higher faculties to establish a full faculty assembly aimed at electing a new secular dean who would promote the radical reform of the institution. The Dominicans strongly opposed this course of action and refused to relinquish their monopoly of university studies in Lima. However, in the session, Pedro Fernández de Valenzuela, chief justice of the high court and a member of the viceroy’s entourage, was elected as the university’s first secular dean.32 Meanwhile, the convent’s attorney, Fray Diego de Corvalán, lodged a claim of dispossession before the Real Audiencia and demanded the annulment of Fernández de Valenzuela’s election. The Audiencia, however, dismissed the petition and sustained the legality of the election on the basis that the faculty meeting was convened in response to a ruling issued by the viceroy himself.33 Thus encouraged, the faculty requested that Corvalán allocate to them a “comfortable place to assemble and to examine and grant degrees to those graduating and for faculty reading”. The response of provincial friar Alonso de la Cerda was to file a new lawsuit. The Audiencia ordered the provincial to allow the faculty to act, providing them with the premises where the school functioned, and stated that, if the order was not fulfilled within three days, the scholars and teachers were authorized to assemble elsewhere. But as the provincial friar did not obey the order of the Audiencia, the faculty submitted the case to the Sala 31 32 33

Levillier, Gobernantes del Perú, vol. 3, p. 522. Lohmann, “La Universidad”, p. 245. Angulo, “La Universidad y Estudio General de la ciudad de Los Reyes en su primer periodo, 1551-1571”, 420-24.

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del Crimen [Criminal Tribunal]. Despite the existing tensions, the faculty endeavored to reconcile with the friars, and so scholars and teachers, led by Dean Fernández de Valenzuela, went to the Dominican convent on 19 July 1571 and tried to meet with Fray Antonio de Hervías, the dean dismissed by Viceroy Toledo. The friar reproached their behavior and held them responsible for the future condition of the university. Furthermore, he claimed that, since he had not been notified of the viceroy’s order to elect a lay dean and the friars of the order (who, by right, should have participated in the election) had not been summoned, he would not allow a secular agent to work in the convent. Consequently, the faculty requested that the Audiencia move the university out of the convent and into the school of the Jesuits. So as not to offend the Dominicans, the Jesuits excused themselves from hosting an institution that was not affiliated with the Society of Jesus, having a government of their own and lacking space to lodge the university. At this point, the faculty decided to attempt a new reconciliation with the friars in order to reestablish instruction. On the afternoon of 21 July 1571, while the friars celebrated a religious service, scholars and teachers entered the convent to hold a faculty meeting. Suddenly Prior Hervías interrupted the interlopers and cried out angrily: “Go with God; you are not holding an assembly here. You will only hold the assembly I order as dean.” One of the attendants, Doctor Antonio Sánchez Renedo replied: “Leave us alone and do not disturb us”; to which the prior responded: “I will not consent for you to do anything in this house, of which I am single master, against my will; I am prior and dean of the university.” Sánchez Renedo again asked the prior to let them hold the faculty meeting, but the prior called other friars to his aid. The shouting intensified and the spirits grew increasingly bitter. Then some Black slaves arrived, carrying the seats and hangings that Fernández de Valenzuela had ordered to be brought for the celebration of the session. The arrival of the slaves further irritated the prior who ordered the friars to throw them out, which they did immediately. Again, Fernández de Valenzuela tried to overcome the prior’s resistance, although he was unsuccessful. Amid the frenzy, the prior tried to lock the faculty in a room, but he was stopped by some attendants; the parties continued to exchange insults. When Fernández de Valenzuela realized the impossibility of assembling in the convent, he turned to the Audiencia to ask their authorization for the degrees and academic acts to be held in the cathedral. Through a decree signed on 23 July 1571, the Audiencia approved the request and immediately notified Hervías and Corvarán, who did not respond or present any opposition. Without a physical home in which to fulfill its academic responsibilities, the university was adrift and only existed in name; lessons were dictated in faculty homes and the weekly conclusions had been suspended. Although Dean

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Fernández de Valenzuela exerted a powerful influence and tried to negotiate an agreement with the prior of Santo Domingo with the help of inquisitors, regidores [community offcials], and Jesuits, he did not succeed in having the university function in the convent again.34 The battle for control over the university appeared to be lost for the Dominicans in Lima, but not in Rome. Perhaps to counter the increasing influence of the laymen and other society members who were against the university remaining in the cloisters of Santo Domingo, the Dominicans had appointed Francisco de Vitoria as attorney of the order before the Spanish court and the Roman Curia in 1569. Vitoria’s job was to obtain the apostolic confirmation and protection for the limeño University. The papal brief was signed on 25 July 1571. This achievement by the friars before the Roman Curia was of little consequence because, in late 1571, the Crown approved Toledo’s action and informed the Audiencia, responding to the requests of Miguel de Saidía in the court, that the viceroy had been instructed to proceed with reforming the university in terms of “founding a Study Center in comfortable and convenient place”, to allocate an income to sustain the salaries of the faculty, and to grant privileges similar to those granted to the royally sponsored university in Mexico.35 With the aim of strengthening the nascent institution, the faculty (Fernández de Valenzuela, Diego de Zúñiga, Francisco Franco, Sánchez Renedo, and Juan Meneses) assembled on 11 October 1571 and submitted its first official bylaws (composed of 44 provisions) to Viceroy Toledo for approval. They began by establishing that the dean should be lay, elected by the faculty in a secret vote, and be appointed annually. The roles of the dean, beadle, and notary were also detailed. Other articles were devoted to dealing with the constitution of the faculty assembly and the requirements to aim for the degrees in theology, civil law, ecclesiastical law, medicine, and arts.36 In preparing the by-laws, the professors had taken a major step in constituting a royal university, but there were two pending requisites: having their own physical location and sufficient economic income to sustain the institution. In the final months of 1572, the university professors returned to the classrooms of Santo Domingo, by virtue of an agreement with the friars, but since the latter intended to control the management and the voting, and the members of other religious orders did not want to teach, study, or attend academic 34 35 36

Angulo, “La Universidad y Estudio General de la ciudad de Los Reyes en su primer periodo, 1551-1571”, p. 424. B. Cobo, Historia de la fundación de Lima (Lima, 1882), pp. 234-35; Lisson, La Iglesia, vol. 2, p. 569. Eguiguren, La Universidad en el siglo xvi, pp. 7-29.

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acts there, the professors decided to look for another location to gather their students.37 In mid-July 1574, the Augustinian friars moved out of a convent within Lima’s city limits, in the neighborhood later known as San Marcelo. The faculty bought the building and moved in some time later. During one of their meetings, they tried to choose a patron saint to give the university a name and attributes. Some proposed Saint Thomas Aquinas, others Saint Augustine or Saint Bernard, or the four evangelists. Since no agreement was reached, on 22 December 1575, they met to choose the patron saint by vote. They introduced the names of the saints in an amphora and a child pulled the note with the name of San Marcos [Saint Mark].38 The academic life of the Universidad de San Marcos continued to be quite modest after the difficult chapter of its foundation. Licentiate Ramírez de Cartagena, in early April 1575, wrote that, in the new premises, Marcos Lucio taught ecclesiastical law; Jerónimo López Guarnido, civil law; Sánchez Renedo, “the sphere” (or cosmography); and notes that they “instruct the subjects of Grammar, Arts, and Theology” for free. Ramírez de Cartagena believed that this situation was temporary until Viceroy Toledo returned to the capital after his inspection tour.39 Once returned to Lima on 10 November 1575, Toledo continued his involvement in the university’s governance. The former Augustinian convent was small and ill-suited for the development of the university’s activities, so the faculty requested the viceroy to assign them the building occupied by the home for mixed-breed women called San Juan de la Penitencia, an institution designed to shelter poor women of indigenous origin. As only a few women lived there, the viceroy did not hesitate in granting the university’s request. On 3 October 1576, Toledo ordered the handover of the building “with its waters, lands, and enclosures” to the university and entrusted it with caring for the women who had inhabited it.40 Despite the achievement, there was still an important matter to be resolved: the assignment of economic resources. On 24 January 1577, Toledo decreed that 13,000 pesos be assigned per year to the university for the establishment of 17 faculties. The viceroy explicitly stated in the document that such a measure was meant to complement the assignment of the premises of San Juan de la Penitencia. The faculties were 37 38 39 40

Angulo, “La Universidad y Estudio General de la ciudad de Los Reyes en su primer periodo, 1571-1572”, p. 161; Levillier, Gobernantes del Perú, vol. 7, p. 278. Angulo, “La Universidad y Estudio General de la ciudad de Los Reyes en su primer periodo, 1571-1572”, pp. 162-63; L.A. Eguiguren, Alma mater, Orígenes de la Universidad de San Marcos (1551-1579) (Lima, 1939), pp. 288-89. Levillier, Gobernantes del Perú, vol 7, p. 278. Cobo, Historia de la fundación de Lima, pp. 237-40.

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distributed as follows: Arts (3), Grammar (2), Quechua (2), Theology (2), Holy Scriptures (1), Ecclesiastical Law (2), Civil Law (4), and Medicine (1). As a way to reaffirm his authority, Toledo reserved for himself for the first and only time the appointment of all the faculty, albeit with the advice of “scholarly advisors”. Once the faculty was appointed, it remained free to appoint new members pursuant to the university’s by-laws.41 Additionally, the viceroy was swift to reform the first by-laws since he considered them very short “and lacking and defective in many areas”.42 So, on 23 January 1578 he established new, more numerous and detailed by-laws. His changes were mostly inspired by those of the University of Salamanca in Spain. Among the provisions regarding the election of the rector, besides insisting on that he should be lay and in no way religious, Toledo established that, in the event of a tie in the vote between candidates, the viceroy would decide who should be dean. This provision was modified four years later in the new and final by-laws, in which the will of the viceroy to symbolically reaffirm the authority of the Crown in the university sphere was made evident once more. The by-laws of 1581 were the result of a university inspection performed by two of Toledo’s commissioners, the alcalde del crimen [judge in criminal cases] Diego de Zúñiga and Knight of Alcantara Pedro Gutiérrez Flórez, both members of the university faculty. They contain 268 provisions, broken down into 13 titles, plus the oath formulas. These by-laws governed the institution for many years, with slight later additions.43 As for the election of the dean, it was stated that in the case of a tie between two candidates, it would be resolved by draw. However, a particularly significant ritual was added: once the electoral act concluded, the faculty, together with the new dean, had to go to the viceroy’s palace to notify him of the result of the election. By this apparent courtesy visit, the faculty acknowledged the precedence of the royal authority incarnated in its representative. The issue of the third set of by-laws for the university was one of Toledo’s last governing acts before he left Peru for Spain in early May 1581. He had managed to establish a royally sponsored university in the capital of the viceroyalty and thus satisfy one of the major demands of the emerging local elite. As a result of this accomplishment, local historians designated Toledo as the foundational hero of the university. A contemporary of Buenaventura de Salinas y Córdova, the Jesuit Bernabé Cobo, stated that it was only after 1577, when 41 42 43

L.A. Eguiguren, Diccionario histórico cronológico de la Real y Pontificia Universidad de San Marcos y sus colegios, Crónica e investigación, 3 vols. (Lima, 1940-51), vol. 2, pp. 979-81. Eguiguen, La Universidad en el siglo XVI, vol. 2, p. 34. A. Rodríguez Cruz, “La universidad del Perú, Fuentes y bibliografía crítica, metodología y estado de la cuestión”, Estudios de historia social y económica de América 16-17 (1998), 160.

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Toledo granted income to San Marcos, that the university “began to take the shape and nature of a university, and previously it had had but the name”; Cobo added, “we could truly say that in him [Toledo] lay its foundation”.44 Furthermore, Cobo wrote that the considerable number of graduates in the civil and ecclesiastical administrations and the increase in the faculties were unquestionably consequences of the viceroy’s administrative talent.45 6

Conclusion

In this chapter, I have reconstructed and researched the history of the University of Lima between 1551 and 1581. During those years there were three university projects: the Dominican, the episcopal, and the royal efforts to found and nurture a university for South America’s viceregal capital. The institutional history of the university is that of its transformation from an institution in charge of the regular clergy to one under the guardianship of the Crown. As has been demonstrated, the foundation of a royal university in the Viceroyalty of Peru was the result of the convergence of interests between the emerging local elite and the administration of Felipe II, which was keen on strengthening the authority of the Crown in its South American territories. The university was chartered to educate the emerging local elite and to promote its inclusion in civil and ecclesiastical administrations. The creation of a local clergy also saved money for the royal treasury. To achieve these goals, the university was placed under royal jurisdiction and managed by Toledo during the years of his government.  Translation by Susan Leaman and Elena O’Neill

Bibliography



Primary Sources

Cobo, B., Historia de la fundación de Lima (Lima, 1882). Concejo Provincial de Lima, Libros de Cabildo de Lima, libros cuatro y septimo, año 15421543 (Lima, 1935). Levillier, R., Gobernantes del Perú. Cartas y papeles, 14 vols. (Madrid, 1921-26).

44 45

Cobo, Historia de la fundación de Lima, p. 231. Cobo, Historia de la fundación de Lima, pp. 251-52.

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Levillier, R., Correspondencia de presidentes y oidores. Audiencia de Lima 1549-1564 (Madrid, 1922). Lisson, E., La Iglesia de España en el Perú, Colección de documentos para la historia de la Iglesia que se encuentran en varios archivos, 4 vols. (Seville, 1943-47). Salinas y Córdova, B., Memorial de las historias del Nuevo Mundo Pirú (Lima, 1957).



Secondary Sources

Angulo, D., “La Universidad y Estudio General de la ciudad de Los Reyes en su primer periodo, 1551-1571”, Revista Histórica 9 (1928), 388-425. Angulo, D., “La Universidad y Estudio General de la ciudad de Los Reyes en su primer periodo, 1571-1572”, Revista Histórica 12 (1939), 152-82. Eguiguren, L.A., Alma mater, Orígenes de la Universidad de San Marcos (1551-1579) (Lima, 1939). Eguiguren, L.A., Diccionario histórico cronológico de la Real y Pontificia Universidad de San Marcos y sus colegios, Crónica e investigación, 3 vols. (Lima, 1940-51). Eguiguren, L.A., La Universidad en el siglo XVI, 2 vols. (Lima, 1951). González, E., “La universidad: estudiantes y doctores”, in R. García (ed.), Historia de la vida cotidiana en México II La ciudad barroca (Mexico, 2005), pp. 261-305. González, E., “Jesuitas y universidades en el Nuevo Mundo: conflictos, logros y fracasos”, in P. Bianchini, De los colegios a las universidades, Los jesuitas en el ámbito de la educación superior (Lima, 2014), pp. 95-123. Guibovich, P., “La educación en el Perú colonial. Fuentes y bibliografía”, Histórica 17.2 (1993), 271-96. Lohmann, G., “La Universidad de San Marcos de Lima”, in La Universidad ante el Quinto Centenario, Actas del Congreso Internacional de Universidades (Madrid, 1992), pp. 235-48. Merluzzi, M., Gobernando los Andes, Francisco de Toledo, virrey del Perú (1569-1581) (Lima, 2014). Monsalve, M., “Del Estudio del Rosario a la real y pontificia Universidad Mayor de San Marcos”, Histórica 22.1 (1998), 53-79. Ramírez González, C., “La Real Universidad de México en los siglos XVI y XVII, Enfoques recientes”, in M. Menegus and E. González (eds.), Historia de las universidades modernas en Hispanamérica (Mexico, 1995), pp. 269-96. Rodríguez Cruz, A., “La universidad del Perú, Fuentes y bibliografía crítica, metodología y estado de la cuestión”, Estudios de historia social y económica de América 16-17 (1998), 151-80.

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Chapter 10

Women Writers and Hispanic Hegemony in the 17th-Century Viceroyalty of Peru: The Cases of Clarinda and Amarilis  Martina Vinatea Recoba There is a widespread misconception regarding the intellectual lives of women in the early Viceroyalty of Peru.1 From the earliest days of the colony, there were centers for the education of young women and girls in the viceroyalty’s capital city, Lima. Following the conquest, European nuns immigrated to Lima where they established powerful convents that housed schools which became responsible for educating the viceroyalty’s elite women. Limeñas [Lima residents] were educated in private homes and in schools supported by convents.2 In fact, most elite women received some kind of formal or informal education during childhood and puberty. The education of elite women in the Peruvian viceroyalty during the 16th century was part of the development of humanist intellectual projects in the Spanish Empire that asserted that literacy was a basic yet fundamental skill required of men and women in order to ensure the success of a modern society.3 The institutional education of young men and women facilitated the preservation of Spanish peninsular traditions, such as the conservation of Catholic religiosity and the retention of the family model brought from Spain to South America after the conquest.4 Contemporary Spanish historian Luis Martín affirms that, from the first moment of the conquest, great importance was given to female education, so much so that in the mid-17th century, in Lima alone, there were four convent schools for women and several institutions founded by private benefactors for the education of orphans, mestizos [ethnically mixed individuals of Spanish 1 R. Palma, Tradiciones peruanas completas, Madrid 1961, pp. 258-59; C. Perilli, “Los enigmas de una dama y la fundación de la crítica latinoamericana, el Discurso en loor de la poesía”, Etiópicas 1 (2004-05), 136. 2 P. Gonzalbo Aizpuri, Las mujeres en la Nueva España, Educación y vida cotidiana (Mexico, 1987); L. Martín, Las hijas de los conquistadores: mujeres del virreinato del Perú (Barcelona, 2000); J. Muriel de la Torre, Conventos de monjas en la Nueva España (Mexico, 1946). 3 N. Baranda Leturio, Cortejo a lo prohibido, Lectoras y escritoras en la España moderna (Madrid, 2005), pp. 66-67. 4 T. Vergara, “Aporte femenino a la creación de la riqueza”, in C. Meza and T. Hampe (eds.), La mujer en la historia del Perú (siglos XV al XX) (Lima, 1998), pp. 114-15.

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and indigenous descent], and Spanish girls. Among these institutions were the school of Nuestra Señora del Monte del Carmelo, the school of San Juan de la Penitencia, the Santa Cruz school, a girls’ school linked to the Hospital de la Caridad, and another to the church of the Jesuit mission in the Cercado. Also, several convents in Lima accepted female students: the convent of La Concepción, the convent of La Encarnación, the convent of the Santísima Trinidad, and the convent of Santa Catalina. According to Martín, these convent schools, which offered high-level instruction, seemed to have been reserved for the daughters of prominent families, while poor Spanish girls were educated in the other private institutions.5 The intensity and quality of education provided to young women in these schools depended on the roles that women might fulfill in the future, especially as wives and mothers, since marriage was one of the fundamental pillars of viceregal society. It served as the basis of legitimation for the descendants of conquistadors [conquerors] born in Peru and allowed creole communities to build a social fabric around kinship relations. The education of well-placed women was essential for many families who sought to consolidate their social position in an emerging regional hierarchy. In this way, the formal instruction of woman corresponded to the social rank of her family, so that the daughters of encomenderos [Spaniards awarded with groups of tribute-paying Indians] were not educated in the same places or manner as the daughters of officials or indigenous nobles.6 Convents were instrumental in establishing Spanish American cities in the early colonial period. They became vital instruments in the Spanish hegemonic process, especially in the Viceroyalty of Peru.7 Nuns who arrived in South America from Spain were often highly educated; most were literate, composed music, and regularly wrote letters.8 If we look at the foundations of the first convents in Peru, the urgency with which they were founded is striking. Many early convents were founded when the region still convulsed with fighting among the indigenous populations and with civil strife between invading Spaniards struggling in the consolidation of power. Between the mid-16th century and the mid-17th century, seven of the eight convents founded in Lima were established by powerful widows and family groups of women who had 5 Martín, Las hijas de los conquistadores, pp. 78-79. 6 A. Lavrin, “América latina colonial: población, sociedad y cultura”, in L. Bethell (ed.), Historia de América Latina (Barcelona, 1990), p. 111. 7 K. Burns, Hábitos coloniales, Los conventos y la economía espiritual del Cuzco, trans. Javier Flores Espinoza (Lima, 2008), p. 17. 8 M. Fernández López, Obra poética completa, ed. M. Vinatea Recoba (New York, 2015), pp. 69-96.

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the means and resources to set up a convent largely for their own benefit.9 The first convent founded in Lima during the 1550s was the Convent of La Encarnación (Santa Clara followed in Cuzco in 1558). La Encarnación was responsible for protecting on one hand the widows and Spanish orphans (or creole daughters of the conquerors) and, on the other, the mestiza daughters of Spaniards and indigenous parentage. This system of education separated Spanish and creole young women from the indigenous culture and indoctrinated them in Spanish religion and cultural customs.10 Moreover, the female descendants of Inca nobility were educated in separate schools where they were also hispanized and betrothed to Spanish husbands, such as in the famous case of Beatriz Clara Coya, daughter of the Inca Sayri Tupac and the Coya Cusi Huarcay, who, after many intrigues married the Spaniard Martín García de Loyola. The education of women of all backgrounds in convents was costly. Parents had to pay a high dowry, defined by the historian Kathryn Burns as a spiritual currency which subsidized convent coffers.11 Young women entered the convent schools for a term of six to seven years. Although their education focused on religion and household management, they also had lessons in reading, writing, mathematics, and, in many cases, basic Latin. They were also taught how to sing and to play musical instruments. Most convent schools operated independently of male oversight. In fact, female convents constituted a closed female aristocracy whose members had the highest level of education among women in Peru, the greatest economic power, and unprecedented social influence.12 Nevertheless, convent schools functioned as powerful sites of acculturation that homogenized Spanish, creole, mestiza, and indigenous noble 9

10 11 12

For example, the Convento de la Encarnación (1558) was founded by Doña Mencía de Sosa, the widow of Francisco Hernández Girón, the infamous encomendero who rebelled against the Crown in the second half of the 16th century, and by Doña Leonor de Portocarrero, the widow of Hernando Alonso de Almarás, treasurer of the Real Hacienda [Royal Treasury]. Furthermore, the Convento de la Concepción (1573) was founded by Doña Inés de Muñoz, the widow of the conquistador Martín de Alcántara (the younger brother of Francisco Pizarro), and by Doña María de Chávez, the widowed daughter-in-law of Doña Inés de Muñoz. The Convento de la Santísima Trinidad (1579) was founded by Doña Lucrecia de Sansoles, the widow of Hernando de Vargas. The convent of the Concepcionistas descalzas was founded by Doña Inés de Rivera and Doña Beatriz de Horosco, sisters of the Marquis de Mortara, who were nuns in Chuquisaca, along with Doña María de Horosco, who convinced them to found their new convent in Lima. The Monasterio del Prado (1640) was founded by Doña María de Poblete with help from Doña Ángela de Zárate y Recalde, sister of the Marquis de Valparaíso. Burns, Hábitos coloniales, p. 22. Burns, Hábitos coloniales, p. 113. Martín, Las hijas de los conquistadores, p. 334.

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women through a process of “painful and abrupt cultural reorientation”.13 Within this complex cultural climate, convent schools produced many educated women. Many became writers, like the well-known Mexican humanist Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz. In early colonial Lima, two women, Clarinda and Amarilis, wrote poetry of great refinement. Although they masked their true identities under pseudonyms (as was customary among female writers producing texts in Spanish American convents), the striking quality of their compositions has drawn the attention of contemporary researchers who continue to investigate the mystery of their elusive identities. Like their well-known contemporaries in the Academia Antártica [Antarctic Academy], Clarinda and Amarilis produced intensely heroic poetry infused with an unmistakable undercurrent of humility that can be traced to their education in Lima’s early convent schools. 1

Catalina María Doria or Clarinda

Catalina María Doria was born in Milan around 1560.14 After she lost her parents at a young age, she attended a school for orphan girls founded in Milan by Cardinal Carlos Borromeo. Following her education, Catalina María was chosen as a maid of honor in the home of Doña Brianda Portocarrero de Guzmán, the wife of the Spanish governor of Milan, Sancho de Guevara y Padilla (r. 158083).15 In that capacity, she met Domingo Gomez de Silva, whom she married. Shortly thereafter, she traveled with her new husband to the Viceroyalty of Peru. The first reference to the arrival of Catalina María Doria to the Viceroyalty of Peru is linked to a legend about the foundation of the chapel of Carmen de la Legua. The ship that transported Catalina María and her husband almost sank on its way to Peru. At that moment, the couple entrusted themselves to an image of the Virgin del Carmen that they had brought with them on their transatlantic 13 14

15

Burns, Hábitos coloniales, p. 45. All translations in this chapter are by the author, unless otherwise stated. M. Vinatea Recoba, “Catalina María Doria y las escritoras del siglo xvii”, in Stefano Tedeschi and Sergio Botta (eds.), Rumbos del hispanismo en el umbral del cincuentenario de la AIH, vol. 4: Hispanoamérica (Rome, 2012), pp. 91-97; and M. Vinatea Recoba, “Catalina María Doria, Fundadora del Convento de las Carmelitas descalzas de Lima, Perú”, in Francisco Javier Campos and Fernández de Sevilla (eds.), La clausura femenina en el mundo hispánico: Una fidelidad secular (Madrid, 2011), pp. 1147-57. Doña Brianda Portocarrero de Guzmán was the daughter of Lope de Guzmán, a judge in the Real Audiencia [high court] of Granada and a member of the distinguished order of Sanitago, who also served at the court of Felipe II.

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voyage. In their moment of peril, they offered to found a hermitage dedicated to her following their safe arrival in the South American capital. When they docked in Callao, they founded a such a chapel one league away from where their boat landed, that is, between Callao and Lima. The mules that carried wood salvaged from the ship intended to build the chapel miraculously stopped exactly a league away from Lima, so it was at that exact place it was founded in 1605.16 Following her extraordinary arrival in Lima, Catalina María Doria began to teach young women in their homes, primarily the daughters of important members of early colonial society. By 1615, she had gained a reputation for educating several successful young maidens, from poor orphans to creole descendants of the first conquerors. Shortly thereafter her husband petitioned Viceroy Francisco de Borja y Aragón (r. 1615-21) to allow his wife to found a religious school for the education of young women under the auspices of the Virgin del Carmen. Catalina María’s school was approved and founded as the Colegio del Monte Carmelo during the reign of Viceroy Diego Fernández de Córdoba (r. 1621-29). Gomez de Silva provided the land for the school and a brotherhood of 24 members was created to sustain the institution. By 1641, the female boarding school was well established and its success did not go unnoticed. During that year, Catalina María (now widowed) and the cleric Diego de Mayuelo petitioned Viceroy Pedro Álvarez de Toledo (r. 1639-84) to allow them to establish another convent and school, the Convento de monjas Carmelitas Descalzas [Convent of the Discalced Carmelites] or the Convento del Carmen after the Virgin del Carmen.17 It seems that Catalina María, now widowed and childless, wanted to spend the final years of her life protected in a convent. Furthermore, by this time, the support of convents had become instrumental in buttressing one’s social prestige. Catalina María, like many from limeño families, used this opportunity to gain social capital while supporting the education of young women and the Spanish hegemonic project simultaneously.18 In this respect, her sponsorship of the Convento del Carmen followed a pattern: the foundation of female convents and schools throughout the viceroyalty and the Spanish Empire overall which became the domain of local elite women during the 16th century and continued into the 17th century. The historian Angela Atienza López draws particular attention to the conditions surrounding the foundation or patronage of 16 17 18

A. Vázquez de Espinoza, Compendio y descripción de las Indias Occidentales, Madrid 1969, p. 311. This was the first chapel dedicated to the Virgin del Carmen in Peru; it is now known as Carmen de la Legua. Catherine Maria Doria offered a house, garden, and chapel for this project, as well as a stipend of over 20,000 pesos; Diego de Mayuelo offered a stipend of 100,000 pesos. Á. Atienza López, Tiempos de conventos (Madrid, 2008), p. 307.

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17th-century female convents; she suggest that these institutions were established as the result of “self-fashioning” by driven women who sought to enable their own convenience by setting up institutions to serve their personal agendas and publicly demonstrate their piety.19 In the case of the Convento del Carmen, it is evident that Catalina María intended to use the convent as her personal retreat. She wanted to reproduce her ideal environment in a religious and intellectual context. In order to achieve these ends, Catalina María Doria and Diego de Mayu entered into a formal contract with Lima’s ecclesiastical authorities. They identified 14 conditions that had to be met upon the convent’s founding, including criteria regarding environment and commitment to education (Table 10.1). For example, in the third condition Catalina María specified the number of nuns who should inhabit the cloister: 33 nuns with black veils and 6 with white veils.20 This ambitious number exceeded the 21 and 3 nuns of each respective rank required by the Carmelite order for the foundation of a new convent. This condition was proposed because Catalina María wanted to ensure several of her students would be able to enter the new convent. It is evident that she wanted to surround herself with women who were part of her social circle. Likewise, the sixth condition points to her interest in the daughters of her nephew Francisco Gómez de Silva, who were allowed to enter the new convent as black-veiled nuns with no dowry, food, or wax requirement. In addition to having a select social group form the initial convent community, she wanted to ensure that her family was present in the cloister. The eighth condition is informed by Catalina María’s interest in the education of women. Here, she required that women be appointed to educate the order’s novices, including two nuns of the black veil from other convents who would enter the Convento del Carmen without having to pay a dowry. This condition was central to the educational work that Catalina María Doria had supported since her arrival in Peru. Catalina María was not the only limeña to support the education of women in the early colonial period. This became particularly relevant when elites realized that educating women in religious 19 20

Atienza López, Tiempos de conventos, p. 307. In early modern Catholic convents, nuns were ranked according to their socioeconomic status and personal abilities. Each community included nuns of the highest rank, who wore the black veil. These women paid a higher dowry when entering a convent. Nuns who wore the white veil were of lower rank. While they paid a lower dowry price, they usually possessed a valuable skill that enhanced the community, such as musical ability. Sometimes, such nuns did not pay any dowry at all. Convents were also home to other women, such as poor widows, Spanish or creole orphans, and servants and slaves who had been donated or purchased.

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    Table 10.1 Conditions Surrounding the Foundation of Lima’s Convento del Carmen in 1643

Conditions Description 1

2 3

4

5 6

7 8

9

10

The Convent of the title [Convento del Carmen] and title of discalced nuns of the Holy Mother Teresa of Jesus should be founded. In the Convent, the rules and constitutions should be kept. They must be subject to the Most Illustrious Archbishop of this city [Lima] and his successors. That all the nuns who enter the said convent must assume the habit of the religious order of the Holy Mother Teresa of Jesus. That the said convent is founded so that in it there are ordinarily 33 black veiled nuns who are Spanish and must enter with dowries of 2000 pesos and 100 pesos for food from the day of their entrance until they effectively profess. And 200 pesos to eight reales of gratuities and four arrobas of wax. That there must be more than six white-veiled nuns, Spanish and virtuous people whose dowry must be half of what the black veils pay and the same must be understood in terms of food, tips, and wax. That what is given of gratuities distributed between the abbess and other religious officials is rendered in the form that is customary and done in the other convents. That as founder and by the obligation of Domingo Gómez de Silva and Catalina Maria they have to promise their 3 nieces (the daughters of Francisco Gómez de Silva, the nephew of Domingo Gómez de Silva) will enter the convent and assume the black veil without dowry, tips or wax, or contributions for food; with the provision that if all or one of them died before professing one has to replace another or others in her absence. That in the church of that convent they can bury people who have the devotion to be interned in the same form as in other convents. That the said Catalina Maria has to appoint with the faculty of her most illustrious lordship the nuns who from another convent are to come to teach at the Convento del Carmen and that one of them be an abbess the first year under whose obedience they must have the year of novitiate; Catalina Maria must be perpetual abbess as founder of the said convent. That in each year and forever in the Church of the said convent three masses should be sung: one on the day of Santo Domingo, the other on the day of Santa Catalina and another on the day of the commemoration of the dead at the expense of the convent founders Domingo Gómez de Silva and Catalina Maria and their deceased family members. That if at any time if the religious wanted to adopt any other dedication, the said donation is repealed.

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    Table 10.1 Conditions Surrounding the Foundation of Lima’s Convento del Carmen in 1643 (cont.)

Conditions Description That the donations made to this convent must be administered with the aforementioned conditions and without prejudice to this endowment. That this donation contract and financial transfer must be logged in the archive of the convent, a copy submitted to the prelate and another for the patron. That as the founder Catalina Maria is said to be the first patroness for all the days of her life and to assist the convent as such patroness, by off-setting the expenses of the said convent, administering them, and after her days, the abbesses who were named each at their time. The lawyer by the name of Nicolás Mastrilli Durán, provincial of the Jesuit Society of Jesus, will oversee the financial state of the convent following Catalina Maria’s death. And Doña Paula de Figueroa and Doña Catalina Velásquez must also be admitted as nuns of the black veil because they are honest and virtuous maids who must be received without paying dowry, food, tips and wax.

11 12 13

14

convents facilitated acculturation and the spread of Spain’s political hegemony in the viceroyalty.21 The conditions also specified that young women should be educated in Latin, a language that supported religious education and carried cultural implications as well. This facet of the convent school’s curriculum set the Convento del Carmen apart in early colonial Lima.22 Luis Martín has argued that many important 17th-century Peruvian Latinists were educated in Catalina María’s school in the Convento del Carmen. Following this line of inquiry, I suggest that Catalina María Doria is the author known as Clarinda who wrote the Discurso en loor de la Poesía. This text appeared in the Primera parte del Parnaso antártico de obras amatorias de Diego Mexía de Fernangil.23 As an educated woman with a substantial social network that included Lima’s intellectual elites, Catalina María was well positioned to have connections with the literary community known as the Academia Antártica. This group of poets identified themselves with Renaissance literary ideals and styles. Their intention was to create a “project to promote an intercontinental humanism, a new universal21 22 23

N. Van Deusen, Entre lo sagrado y lo mundano (Lima, 2007), p. 175. B. Cobo, Historia de la fundación de Lima, ed. M. González de la Rosa (Lima, 1882); Vázquez de Espinoza, Compendio y descripción de las Indias Occidentales. D. Mexía de Fernangil, Primera parte del parnaso antártico de obras amatorias (Rome, 1990 [1608]).

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ism … that could claim the colony as a locus of culture capable of challenging the very foundations of European exclusivism”.24 Formal aspects of the Discurso demonstrate that the author had an impressive command of Latin, was familiar with classical European poetry traditions, and wanted to create a unique work of literature when composing the work. In general, when studying the problem of authorship of among anonymous poets, it is most effective to look for some data within the poem itself that can be traced genealogically. I attribute the Discurso to Catalina María Doria based on an analysis of the text’s metrics, references, and other related information. I also suggest that she was associated with the poets of the Academia Antártica. The meter of the Discurso follows a pattern of tercets linked together in the same manner that Dante used in his famous Comedia. This strophic form is adapted the Discurso for the exposition of doctrinal or didactic characters and precisely coincides with the pragmatic intention of the poem: it is a praise of doctrinal character whose purpose is didactic. This approach stems from Catalina María’s work as a teacher and her interest in proving the “goodness” of poetry. Here she links educational pedagogy with knowledge of the classics. The Discurso also displays knowledge of the work of early Italian writers. As an Italian, Catalina María Doria had been educated in Italian literature and history at the school of Cardinal Borromeo. The Discurso contains several references to Italian and Spanish geography, traditions, and texts, as well as biblical citations, that would have been part of Catalina María’s curriculum as a young student in Italy. The Discurso also contains a large number of references to biblical and classical female characters and authors. Clarinda mentions four Jewish women who were prominent in biblical contexts: Jael, Deborah, Judith, and the Virgin Mary herself.25 Female figures from Greek mythology also come into play in the Discurso, such as Cirene, Hipocrene, Piérides, and the Muses.26 Female personalities from Roman cultural contexts include Damófilia, Pola Argentaria, Proba Valeria, and Elpis Herodia.27 Moreover, in one example, Clarinda compares the Italian Mount Etna to a Peruvian mountain or volcano.28 There are several references to people who wrote in Italian and/or Latin, such as San Paulino de Nola, Juvenco, Battista Mantovano, Giovanni Battista Fiera, Jacopo Sannazaro, Benito Arias Montano, Cicero, Ennius, Strabo, Virgil, 24 25 26 27 28

M. Moraña, Mujer y cultura en la Colonia hispanoamericana (Pittsburgh, 1996), p. 11. Mexía de Fernangil, Primera parte del parnaso antártico de obras amatorias, v. 167, 170, 96, 205, 211-16. Mexía de Fernangil, Primera parte del parnaso antártico de obras amatorias, v. 1, 2, 25, 22. Mexía de Fernangil, Primera parte del parnaso antártico de obras amatorias, v. 432-33, 437, 192. Mexía de Fernangil, Primera parte del parnaso antártico de obras amatorias, v. 53.

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Pomponius Mela, Horace, Silius Italicus, Catullus, Martial, Valerius Maximus, ­Seneca, Avienus, Lucretius, Juvenal, Persius, Tibullus, Ovid, Lucan “the Spaniard”, Poliziano, Tasso, and Dante.29 In fact, other than the members of the Academia Antártica, Clarinda limits her references to works written mainly in Latin. The Discurso also employs several descriptive phrases that originate in classical contexts. For example, reference to “la dignidad de la camena [the dignity of poetry]” conflates Greek muses with Roman nymphs; a stylistic choice that is only replicated in one other source published in Rome dated to 1617.30 Clarinda also uses the adjective “romúlidas” referring to the cantos [songs or poems] composed in honor of the occasion of the foundation of Rome.31 In an interesting twist, she poses a rhetorical question to an allegory of Rome asking her to decide who is the best poet, Pliny or Strabo. If the poet’s inspiration had been more localized, perhaps she would have chosen Cuzco or Lima as the audience for her rhetorical proposition; however, for Catalina María the choice of Rome would have been a natural one, since it was the capital of her Italian homeland and the ancient city was a Western cultural center during the early modern period.32 In the Discurso, Catalina María as Clarinda positions poetry as a social defense against vulgar influences in society. She expresses concern regarding her ability to complete her work since the writing of poetry is such a noble yet demanding enterprise. To offset the pressure of completing the task before her, Clarinda asks for supportive intercession from Cyrene, Orpheus, Amphion, Eco, and Homer.33 She implores these classical precedents as muses who can inspire her to complete her task. Here we see Catalina María’s familiarity with Greek and Latin mythology first hand. She refers to Anfión in the following manner: “la célebre armonía milagrosa / de aquel cuyo testudo pudo tanto / que dio muralla a Tebas la famosa”. She continues with Eco, “el platicar suave, vuelto en llanto / y en sola voz, que a Júpiter guardaba / y a Juna entretenía y daba espanto”. She does not limit herself to merely namedropping ancient poets, she demonstrates a true understanding of Ovid’s Metamorphosis, among other texts.34 29 30 31 32 33 34

Mexía de Fernangil, Primera parte del parnaso antártico de obras amatorias, v. 236-40, 313, 316, 321, 323, 354-57, 409-12, 415, 427, 609. C. Suárez and M. Bascuñana López, El pasajero (Barcelona, 1988) and Mexía de Fernangil, Primera parte del parnaso antártico de obras amatorias. Mexía de Fernangil, Primera parte del parnaso antártico de obras amatorias, v. 297. Mexía de Fernangil, Primera parte del parnaso antártico de obras amatorias, v. 323. Mexía de Fernangil, Primera parte del parnaso antártico de obras amatorias, v. 1, 5, 7-9, 1012. Ovid, Las metamorfosis, ed. A.R. Elvira (Madrid, 2002), pp. 355-80.

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Catalina María’s unquestionable familiarity with classical authors is perhaps most clear in the Discurso’s references to the divine origins of poetry. The anonymous Clarinda affirms throughout her text that poetry is a grace. She describes the act of writing poetry as akin to participating in the essence of God. The idea of poetry as a servant of one’s faith was not uncommon in Renaissance poetry and its references to classical authors. For example Giulio Cesare Scaligero (1484-1558) and Alonso López Pinciano (c.1547-1627) (though perhaps less so) describe poetry as an imitative art that is highly emotional without any need to be emotional.35 Clarinda’s treatment of the depth of poetry as an art form and her attitude toward poets is similar to approaches seen in Antonio Sebastiano Minturno (1500-1574) and Francesco Robortello (15161567). Minturno and Robortello support prudence in the act of writing poetry; while Robortello does not propose an overtly moral approach to poetry, he inevitably mentions vices and virtues in his work. Renaissance poets commonly preferred to allow readers to delight in the beauty of their work without foregoing the possibility that readers might also educate themselves and find moral exemplars in their works.36 The author of the Discurso was not alone in her reliance on classical European models in composing her work. Spanish and Peruvian poets, including members of the Academia Antártica, were aware of the same sources and regularly incorporated references to those traditions in their work as well. Comments by the anonymous author identified as Diego Mexía de Fernangil in the Primera parte del Parnaso antártico de obras amatorias support my contention that Catalina María was the author of the Discurso. Mexía de Fernangil states that, “Discurso en loor de la Poesía, is addressed to the author [Mexía de Fernangil], and was composed by a principal lady of this kingdom, well versed in the Tuscan and Portuguese language, at whose request and in just respect her name is not written (for being a heroic lady), to begin our heroic epistles.”37 Mexía de Fernangil clearly declares that the author of the Discurso is an important, educated woman, who would likely have been the product of Catalina María’s schools or one like them, if not the patroness herself. Furthermore, Catalina María possessed the economic resources and social prestige needed to maintain the convent school and Convento del Carmen. As an immigrant 35

36 37

I.C. Escalígero, Poetices Libri Septem, ed. A. Vicentum (Stuttgart, 1964 [1561]), and A.L. Pinciano, Philosophia Antigua Poetica, ed. A.C. Picazo (Madrid, 1953 [1596]). See also L. PérezBlanco, “‘Discurso en loor de la poesía’, El otro lazarillo ético-estético de la Literatura Hispanoamericana del Siglo XVII”, Quinto Centenario 16 (1990), 221. C. Bobes, “Teoría de la comedia en la Poética toscana de Sebastiano Minturno”, Revista de Literatura 70.140 (2008), 371-404. Mexía de Fernangil, Primera parte del parnaso antártico de obras amatorias, v. 1-3.

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from Italy, she was well versed in the Tuscan language, for her mother tongue was Italian, and she also spoke Spanish and Portuguese (which was one of the languages ​​of the Spanish Empire), initially learned during her time at court in the service of Doña Brianda Portocarrero de Guzmán. Knowledge of the personal history of Catalina María Doria allows us to appreciate that she was a cultivated woman who, from her arrival in Lima until the end of her days, sought to create an environment similar to the one she had experienced in Milan or Madrid. At the same time, she dedicated herself to her true vocation: teaching and learning. The Discurso, like contemporary European poetry, praises the dignity of the writers who compose it, especially if the writer is a woman. The text goes so far as to present a list of women who should be remembered for being successful poets: Sappho, Damófila, Proba Valeria, the Sibyls, Tiresias Manto, other Roman poets, and “three ladies in Peru who have composed heroic samples”.38 Notably, there is no mention of a female Spanish author in the Discurso. Clarinda, or Catalina María, if you will, only mentions these three anonymous and heroic Peruvian female poets. Although the three women remain anonymous, it is not unreasonable to suggest that Catalina María Doria (Clarinda) and Ana Garcés (Amarilis) could be two of these women. The text clearly demonstrates their literary lineage can be traced through biblical heroines, Greco-Roman texts, and Renaissance literary revivals that inspired their works. As a limeña associated with the poets of the Academia Antártica, Catalina María was positioned to write the Discurso. She was expert in Latin, educated in European courts, and possessed a high level of social refinement. Furthermore, her dedication to the education of women, her elevated social rank, and her familiarity with Italian and Spanish poetry provided her with a solid foundation from which to undertake the writing of this early Peruvian poem. The Discurso itself stands as a testament to the successful education of elite women in early colonial Lima in schools like the convent school of the Convento del Carmen that Catalina María supported at the end of her life. This example does not stand alone in Lima’s early history; the Epístola de Amarilis a Belardo [Epistle of Amarilis to Belardo] presents similar circumstances that highlight the role of women in education and literary production in early colonial Peru.

38

Pérez-Blanco, “‘Discurso en loor de la poesía’”, p. 221.

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Ana Garcés or Amarilis

Few colonial works have had a critical history as copious as the Epístola de Amarilis a Belardo. Since its publication, in La Filomena y otras diversas rimas [La Filomena and Other Rhymes] by Félix Lope de Vega (1562-1635) in 1621, the mystery of Amarilis has attracted the attention of national and international critics. The attraction for the Epistle exists primarily in the author’s identity: a supposed Peruvian nun who wrote a poem that was an expression of an intense and impossible love. The author, known as Amarilis, lived in a distant place, masked her identity, and, tantalizingly, left only a few vague clues to her true identity. The audacity of this unidentified nun would have remained anecdotal if the work had not had the artistic merits necessary to transcend the passage of time. However, in a tragic paradox, the desire to discover the identity of the author has overtaken the study of the work itself. As we have seen in the analysis of Clarinda’s Discurso, an author’s identity can be hypothesized through a comprehensive analysis of the text itself. The author of the Epístola is purportedly a Peruvian writer known as Amarilis, a literary name that also appears in the work. The central theme of the Epístola revolves around the admiration of an Amerindian woman for Lope de Vega himself and is followed by the Spaniard’s response to her in a related epistle where he expresses his admiration of such an inspired letter written with such mastery.39 The Epístola is addressed to Belardo (Lope de Vega used this pseudonym to refer to himself in his comedies; it is a name that was commonly used in pastoral poetry); Amarilis uses the text to express her love for Belardo, a love that has inspired her to write the text. The first and second stanzas of the Epístola explore Amarilis’ reasons for composing the letter, namely the love that has arisen in her as a result of hearing the literary work of Lope de Vega. Amarilis is very familiar with Lope de Vega’s work and wishes to correspond with him. The Epístola makes it very clear that she is aware that her love is impossible, but she does not cease in her efforts because she is a daring soul coming from another world, the New World’s Viceroyalty of Peru. A formal reading of the Epístola suggests that the text’s author may have been inspired by a (or an actual) highly educated elite limeña like Catalina María Doria when creating the character of Amarilis. Formal aspects of the text and its European, classical influences parallel Clarinda’s Discurso. The character Amarilis first reveals that she hails from Peru in the eighth stanza of the Epístola. In this passage, Amarilis describes the Viceroyalty of Peru as a 39

There are ten epistles in this text, the sixth is Amarilis a Belardo and the seventh is Belardo a Amarilis.

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“hidden empire that the South washes”.40 She continues by framing the his­tory of Peru in terms of Francisco Pizarro’s conquest of the region in the early 16th century, specifically battles fought in the valley near Huánuco, the Ciudad de los Caballeros de León. Huánuco was the site of Francisco Hernández Girón’s fateful rebellion waged against Pizarro.41 A key episode in the conquest history of Peru, Amarilis states that her grandparents supported forces loyal to Pizarro and the Spanish monarchy during Girón’s rebellion. This descriptive passage is particularly important because it provides details regarding the Peruvian conquest and settlement that were largely unknown in the Spanish metropolis where Lope de Vega’s text primarily circulated. In the 11th stanza, Amarilis provides additional autobiographical details. She explains that she and her sister are orphans. She continues in the 12th stanza by revealing her sister’s name to be Belisa and her own to be Amarilis. She also confides to Belardo that she enjoys writing poetry and lives consecrated to God. This telling detail provides an interesting parallel to Catalina María Doria’s biography. Not only is Amarilis an educated young woman, she is herself a poet who lives in a convent. Amarilis celebrates her female religious identity and her dedication to the art of poetry throughout the Epístola. As the poem continues, Amarilis offers her “pure soul” to Belardo (stanzas 15 and 16). By stanzas 17 and 18, she asks Belardo to honor Saint Dorothy, to whom she and her sister are devoted. In the poem’s close (stanza 19), Amarilis does not properly say farewell to Belardo, rather she addresses the verses of the poem themselves. She requests that the poetry travel and reach its destination with Belardo because they carry her soul, which can only travel by means of poetry. Following the characteristic end of Petrarchist poems, the passage emphasizes Amarilis’ interest in her Peruvian communication reaching her metropolitan Spanish audience. The Epístola is particularly striking in its mastery of the Petrarchan song as a stanza form. Its form and content also reproduce aspects of the lexicon from Os Lusíadas, especially in the case of place names. As we have seen in the case of Catalina María Doria and the Academia Antártica, classical and Renaissance sources were strong influences in 16th- and 17th-century Peruvian literature. European immigrants and Peruvian creoles were educated in these traditions and the texts circulated throughout the viceroyalty. Portuguese mining specialist and scholar Enrique Garcés (1523-1595) traveled to Peru in the 16th century. Garcés, who was an expert of both Petrarchan song and the lexicon of Luís de Camoens, supported Viceroy Toledo’s mining 40 41

Fernández López, Obra poética completa. See Chapter 12 by Brosseder, in this volume.

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reform efforts. Before working with Toledo, Garcés supported Spanish troops in arresting Hernández Girón. Garcés’ wife was also related to Miguel de la Serna, who was an important member of the Spanish forces that mobilized at Huánuco to capture Hernández Girón. During this period, Garcés and his family lived in Huánuco and his son became the commissioner of the Holy Office of the Inquisition in that region. At the same time, Huánuco was home to the poet Diego de Hojeda, who wrote La Cristíada and was devoted to Saint Dorothy.42 Diego de Aguilar, who wrote El Marañon, also lived in the area.43 Both authors were friends of Garcés, and his family would have been acquainted with them. After his work in Peru, Garcés translated Petrarch’s songbook and Os Lusíadas de Camoens. Garcés himself could not be the author of the Epístola because the text refers to works by Lope de Vega that were published after Garcés died in 1595. However, Garcés had a Peruvian creole daughter Ana, who was a highly educated nun and was herself a writer. The Epístola demonstrates that a woman with an impressive literary background originating in the Peruvian viceroyalty could be an inspiration for Spanish literature, if not its source. Classical references in the Epístola suggest an awareness of the literary education of young women in the early colonial Viceroyalty of Peru and its capital Lima. The poem begins with the female narrator praising Lope de Vega’s work by telling him that he has been favored by the mythological Greek god Apollo. As we have seen in Catalina María Doria’s biography, it is unremarkable that a young female Peruvian nun would reference Greco-Roman mythology and Italian Renaissance poetry traditions in reality. While the Epístola may have had a cloistered Peruvian female author or been inspired by such a woman, the text more broadly supports the notion that educated female Peruvians could become poets who engaged with a rich body of classical and early modern precedents. The history of Catalina María Doria, Ana Garcés, Clarinda, and Amarilis reveals the early colonial Viceroyalty of Peru and its capital to be the home of a poetic revolution fueled by the education of young women in convent schools, the circulation of a wide variety of literary texts, and the efforts of writers such as the members of the Academia Antártica.

42 43

D. Hojeda, La Cristíada (Madrid, 1995). D. Aguilar, El Marañon, ed. J. Díez Torres (Madrid, 2011).

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Conclusion

Early colonial Lima saw the expansion of education geared toward supporting young women, particularly elite women of European, creole, and indigenous descent. Although not all women had access to education, several convent schools, such as the Convento del Carmen, were established with the intention of supporting the education and intellectual lives of women. The educated Peruvian woman was a powerful cultural figure that became a trope of early modern Spanish literature, as evinced by characters known to us as Clarinda and Amarilis. Female literary education became an essential component of viceregal society in Lima throughout the continent it governed. The biographies of female poets and educators show that literary erudition was valuable social capital in early modern Lima. Knowledge of classical traditions, Renaissance literature, and contemporary Spanish works was essential for educated limeñas. Writers in South America and throughout the Spanish Empire described Peru as a particularly fertile ground for literary production. Cross-pollination among American and European literary sources at this time were integral to Spanish hegemonic expansion and the development of viceregal society in Lima and other South American cities. Studies of European and American libraries from the time reveal that books circulated throughout the empire to an extent previously unimagined.44 Lope de Vega’s books, for example, were among the most popular of the time. Female writers like Catalina María Doria and Ana Garcés, the Academia Antártica, and even writers working throughout Spain’s European territories were innovators of a transnational poetic tradition. Their cultivation of humanist models produced literary works that transcended the traditional boundaries of Spanish imperialist expansion that reserved foundational roles for men.

Bibliography



Primary Sources

Aguilar, D., El Marañon, ed. J. Díez Torres (Madrid, 2011). Cobo, B., Historia de la fundación de Lima, ed. M. González de la Rosa (Lima, 1882). Escalígero, I.C., Poetices Libri Septem, ed. A. Vicentum (Stuttgart, 1964 [1561]). Fernández López, M., Obra poética completa, ed. M. Vinatea Recoba (New York, 2015). 44

See the online database Corpus Diacrónico del Español de la Real Academia Española (CORDE), .

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Hojeda, D., La Cristíada (Madrid, 1995). Mexía de Fernangil, D., Primera parte del parnaso antártico de obras amatorias (Rome, 1990 [1608]). Ovid, Las metamorfosis, ed. A.R. Elvira (Madrid, 2002). Petrarch, F., Los sonetos y canciones del Petrarcha, trans. H. Garcés de Lengua (Madrid, 1591). Pinciano, A.L., Philosophia Antigua Poetica, ed. A.C. Picazo (Madrid, 1953 [1596]).



Secondary Sources

Atienza López, Á., Tiempos de conventos (Madrid, 2008). Baranda Leturio, N., Cortejo a lo prohibido, Lectoras y escritoras en la España moderna (Madrid, 2005). Bobes, C., “Teoría de la comedia en la Poética toscana de Sebastiano Minturno”, Revista de Literatura 70.140 (2008), 371-404. Burns, K., Hábitos coloniales, Los conventos y la economía espiritual del Cuzco, trans. Javier Flores Espinoza (Lima, 2008). García Gutiérrez, R., “Arias Montano en el Perú, La Academia Antártica de Lima y su Discurso en loor de la poesía”, in Anatomía del Humanismo, Benito Arias Montano 1598-1998, Homenaje al profesor Melquíades Andrés Martín, Actas del Simposio Inter­ nacional celebrado en la Universidad de Huelva del 4 al 6 de noviembre de 1998 (Huelva, 1998), pp. 319-39. Gonzalbo Aizpuri, P., Las mujeres en la Nueva España, Educación y vida cotidiana (Mexico, 1987). Latasa Vasallo, P., “Transformaciones de una élite, el nuevo modelo de nobleza de letras en el Perú (1590-1621)”, in Élites urbanas en Hispanoamérica (De la conquista a la independencia) (Seville, 2005), pp. 256-65. Lavrin, A., “América latina colonial: población, sociedad y cultura”, in L. Bethell (ed.), Historia de América Latina (Barcelona, 1990). Lavrin, A., “Cofradías novohispanas: economías material y espiritual”, Históricas digital, 2015, , pp. 49-64, accessed 13 June 2018. Martín, L., Las hijas de los conquistadores: mujeres del virreinato del Perú (Barcelona, 2000). Moraña, M., Mujer y cultura en la colonia hispanoamericana (Pittsburgh, 1996). Muriel de la Torre, J., Conventos de monjas en la Nueva España (Mexico, 1946). Muriel de la Torre, J., La sociedad novohispana y sus colegios de niñas (Mexico, 2004). Palma, R., Tradiciones peruanas completas (Madrid, 1961). Pérez-Blanco, L., “‘Discurso en loor de la poesía’, El otro lazarillo ético-estético de la Literatura Hispanoamericana del Siglo XVII”, Quinto Centenario 16 (1990), 209-37.

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Perilli, C., “Los enigmas de una dama y la fundación de la crítica latinoamericana, el Discurso en loor de la poesía”, Etiópicas 1 (2004-05), 130-43. Rose, S., “Hacia un estudio de las élites letradas en el Perú virreinal, el caso de la academia antártica”, in M. Quijada and J. Bustamante (eds.), Élites intelectuales y modelos colectivos, Mundo ibérico (Madrid, 2003), pp. 105-35. Rose, S., “La formación de un espacio letrado en el Perú virreinal”, Cuadernos Hispano­ americanos 655 (2005), 7-13. Tauro, A., Esquividad y gloria de la Academia Antártica (Lima, 1948). Valdés, A.“El espacio literario en la colonia”, in A. Pizarro (ed.), América Latina, palabra, literatura y cultura (San Pablo, 1994), pp. 12-48. Van Deusen, N., Entre lo sagrado y lo mundano (Lima, 2007). Vázquez de Espinoza, A., Compendio y descripción de las Indias Occidentales (Madrid, 1969). Vergara, T., “Aporte femenino a la creación de la riqueza”, in C. Meza and T. Hampe (eds.), La mujer en la historia del Perú (siglos XV al XX) (Lima, 1998). Vinatea, M., Epístola de Amarilis a Belardo (Madrid, 2009). Vinatea Recoba, M., “Catalina María Doria, Fundadora del Convento de las Carmelitas descalzas de Lima, Perú”, in Francisco Javier Campos y Fernández de Sevilla (ed.), La clausura femenina en el mundo hispánico: Una fidelidad secular (Madrid, 2011), pp. 1147-57. Vinatea Recoba, M., “Catalina María Doria y las escritoras del siglo xvii”, in Stefano Tedeschi and Sergio Botta (eds.), Rumbos del hispanismo en el umbral del cincuentenario de la AIH, vol. 4: Hispanoamérica (Rome, 2012), pp. 91-97.

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Chapter 11

“Para el aumento del servicio de Dios [For the intensification of service to God]”: Formalization of Piety and Charity in Lima’s Confraternities during the 16th and 17th Centuries  Diego Edgar Lévano Medina The origins of Lima’s religious cofradías [brotherhoods] can be traced to the medieval period when the collectives of devoted men and women honored the saints and incited popular Catholic devotion throughout the Iberian Peninsula. Following the Council of Trent (1545-63), the Spanish American viceroyalties were identified as the perfect place for the propagation of reformed practices of Christian piety and devotion. The large number and variety of documents and printed sources existing in the historical archives of Peru and Spain demonstrates the importance the cofradía had as an American institution in the religious, economic, judicial, and social sectors of viceregal Peru. In Lima, the cofradías reflected the diversity of the city’s urban population. In this chapter, we explore the form and function of the cofradías limeñas [Lima residents] as collective institutions designed to provide for the spiritual and material welfare of the residents of the viceregal capital. Lima’s brotherhoods successfully managed a considerable patrimony derived from the donations of generous patrons. This accumulation and circulation of financial assets resulted in the foundation of a local material and spiritual economy devoted to the salvation of Peruvian souls. In terms of their organization, cofradías took shape in similar ways throughout the Iberoamerican world. Cofradías were governed by a hierarchical structure composed of two leading mayordomos, followed by a prioste [steward], diputados [deputies], hermanos veinticuatro [24 brothers/members with voting rights], and the cofrades [general membership] at the base of the pyramid. Admission policies varied on a case-by-case basis. There were cofradías abiertas [open confraternities] where the payment of alms or an admission fee sufficed to obtain membership, while cofradías cerradas [closed brotherhoods] required candidates for membership be introduced to the general assembly whereupon admission was then subject to a vote by secret ballot. Other groups only admitted new members upon the death of one of the veinticuatro. In

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2019 | doi:10.1163/9789004335363_013

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most cases, admission was predicated on the receipt of secret information on the life and habits of the applicant.1 Because the cofradías were founded on the mandate of providing for the spiritual and material welfare of their communities, members were required to contribute weekly, monthly, or yearly donations and/or alms, among other required payments. These financial contributions supported the brotherhood’s philanthropic and festive activities, such as the celebration of their patron saint, aid for the sick, dowries for needy women, loans to fellow brothers, and the organization’s own operating expenses. The cofradías’ patron saints were celebrated annually with a mass, a banquet, and other festive rituals. They also participated in the processions in the central festivities of the liturgical calendar, publicly exhibiting acts of penance.2 Members were also required to contribute common membership fees to support the offering of masses in the name of the brotherhood and to sponsor funeral services as needed. Brotherhoods also provided social welfare to their members and impoverished community members in cases of illness, accident, old age, death, or general help­lessness. The costs of burials, orphan girls’ dowries, or posting bail for imprisoned cofrades were also sponsored by the brotherhoods. 1

Background and Regulation in the Kingdoms of Spain

Like all the European institutions that were transplanted to the Americas, the cofradías have ancient origins. Indeed, mutual aid associations originated in ancient Rome, where they were known as collegia or fraternita. By the 8th century, we find small village associations affiliated with a patron saint managed by parish churches, which regulated religious and social life in smaller settlements.3 These associations promoted social relationships grounded in new collective identities precipitated by changes in ways of thinking and living.4 Early cofradías attacked participants by satisfying the material and spiritual needs of their membership. As the historian María Alba Pastor indicates, the organization of society around collective, membership-based groups became

1 M.A. Pastor, Crisis y recomposición social, Nueva España en el tránsito del siglo XVI al XVII (Mexico, 1999), pp. 120-22. 2 O. Celestino and A. Meyers, Las cofradías en el Perú: región central (Frankfurt am Main, 1981), p. 58. 3 Celestino and Meyers, Las cofradías en el Perú, p. 47. 4 I. Arias de Saavedra and M. López Guadalupe, “Cofradías y su dimensión social en la España del Antiguo Régimen”, Cuadernos de Historia Moderna 25 (2000), 201.

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a basic strategy shared by both the Church and state.5 This initial form of cofradía arose from a budding spirit of sociability among the settlers of medieval Europe. Regulations governing these corporations can be found in the Councils of Arles (1234), Sens (1528), Trent (1545-63), even that of Narbonne (1609), giving the cofradía official approval and authorization from a consortium of bishops. In the early modern period, cofradías were subject to episcopal jurisdiction, a position endorsed by the papal bulls of Clement VIII (1604, 1606) and Paul V (1610).6 The Bula qua ecumque of 1604 laid the foundations for official legislation governing cofradías in the Catholic Church. In the early modern Iberoamerican world, the cofradías were ruled by the laws and provisions of the Patronato Regio [Royal Patronage], Leyes de Castilla [Laws of Castile], and those of the peninsular kingdoms and the Derecho Indiano [Indian Law]. Moreover, the apostolic letters Inter caetera, Eximiae devotionis, and Universalis ecclesiae granted to the monarchs of Spain and their successors by the Roman pontiffs between 1493 and 1508 also influenced the governing of cofradías. These letters granted the monarchs the exclusive right to found and endow churches, monasteries, and religious institutions in the Americas.7 Thus, third parties without a royal license could not establish cofradías. In the case of the Americas, the Consejo de Indias [Council of the Indies] was the institution authorized by the monarchy to examine and grant authorization to foundations like cofradías in order to safeguard the Patronato Regio.8 The edicts of the Concordia de Burgos [Burgos Concord] of 1512 formalized the organization of the Spanish American Church following the model of the Iglesia de Sevilla [Church of Seville] in the Andalusian city of Seville.9 Spanish American Catholic religious institutions were required to adopt regulations and constitutions, as well as liturgical, ritual, and ecclesiastical customs like the cofradías, based on the Sevillian model. Like all the corporations established in the jurisdiction of the Corona de Castilla [Crown of Castile], cofradías owed their foundation to Law 3, title 14, book 8 of the Recopilación de Castilla [Collection of Laws of Castile], which stated that in order to found cofradías, 5 Pastor, Crisis y recomposición, p. 95. 6 A. Martínez de Sánchez, “Hermandades y cofradías. Su regulación jurídica en la sociedad indiana”, in F. Barrios Pintado (ed.), Derecho y administración pública en las Indias hispánicas, Actas del XII Congreso Internacional de Historia del Derecho Indiano (Cuenca, 2002), pp. 1035-64. 7 E. Arizmendi Echecopar, “Un caso de derecho canónico indiano: el marco jurídico dela cofradía limeña de finales del Virreinato”, Ita Ilus Esto, Revista de Estudiantes de Derecho Universidad de Piura 3 (2009), 139. 8 J.M. Ots Capdequi, El Estado español en las Indias (Mexico, 1993), p. 67. 9 Arizmendi Echecopar, “Un caso de derecho canónico indiano”, 160.

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the king’s license and ecclesiastic authorization were required.10 These authorizations were ratified by Law 25, title 4, book 1, regarding the compliance of hospitals and cofradías with requirements outlined in the Recopilación de Leyes de Indias [Collection of Laws of the Indies]. In 16th-century Lima, the Concilios Limenses [Councils of Lima] regulated the number of cofradías allowed to operate in the viceregal capital. The council of 1551 declared that, “some moved by zeal, order cofradías, which have grown and grow in such numbers that may cause damage, that make statutes in them which, not being carefully examined, are ruled by inconveniences”.11 As a result the limeño council ordered that “forthwith, no cofradías will be made or established again without our or the bishop’s express license”. In constitution 85 of the 1567 limeño council proceedings, officials outlined protocols for the visiting and reform of cofradías in the city. The Concilio of 1583 sought to restrict the number of brotherhoods in Lima, ordering officials “not to grant license for others again without cause of great importance”.12 The instructions for members of the Third Council of Lima were particularly forceful, directing officials to “exercise great scrutiny on their [cofradías’] abuse, render them well reformed and harmonized in the service of God” before approving their establishment.13 The provisions of the Third Council of Lima sought to reduce the disproportionate number of cofradías, restrict the foundation of new brotherhoods, control the statutes governing local cofradías, manage the income generated by brotherhood membership, and also oversee public demonstrations.14 Religious historian Rodríguez Mateos emphasizes that the Peruvian Catholic Church reserved the jurisdictional right to sanction and approve the constitutions of local cofradía corporations when applying for their royal license. Finally, the Synod of 1636 established formal regulations governing the number of cofradías allowed to be established in each church, parish, or monastery in the Peruvian viceroyalty: There should not be in each [church] more than three cofradías publicly begging for alms on the streets. And in the churches of the towns of 10 11 12 13 14

Martínez de Sánchez, “Hermandades y cofradías”, p. 1041. Constitución Nº 40, Primer Concilio Limense, in R. Vargas Ugarte, Historia de la Iglesia en el Perú (Lima, 1953), p. 62. Acción tercera, cap. 44, Segundo Concilio Limense, 1582, in M. Marzal, La transformación religiosa peruana (Lima, 1983), p. 405. Archivo General de Indias [AGI], Patronato, 248, R. 3. Instrucción para visitadores, N° 20, 1583. J. Rodríguez Mateos, “Las cofradías de Perú en la modernidad y el espíritu de la contrarreforma”, Anuario de Estudios Americanos 52.2 (1995), 37. Arizmendi Echecopar, “Un caso de derecho canónico indiano”, 159.

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Spaniards there may be another cofradía of indigenous people and another of blacks … And in the annexes of the main doctrines there may not be more than one cofradía.15 All this regulation reflected the concern of the Peruvian Catholic Church regarding the governance of lay associations that were to be included within church institutions. The Catholic Church particularly feared the proliferation of countless cofradías that would potentially impact its income and the collection of alms. As more cofradías were founded in parishes and neighborhoods and their concentration intensified, devout limeños were forced to choose from an expanding pool of religious brotherhoods. 2

Cofradías in the Archbishopric of Lima

The rapid diffusion of the cofradías as institutions with pious goals was made possible by the spiritual need and demand for public assistance directed toward the city’s sick and poor. Lima’s cofradías became a primary tool in the evangelization of South America’s indigenous populations. Above all, religious brotherhoods reinforced and maintained traditional Catholic religious customs. The earliest cofradía founded in Lima was the brotherhood of Purísima Concepción housed in the Cathedral of Lima around 1536; Francisco Pizarro was one of the founders.16 The brotherhood of Santísimo Sacramento (also located in Lima’s Cathedral) was organized by limeño Dominicans and founded between 1538 and 1540. The latter became one of the most popular in the Viceroyalty of Peru. Its main objective was to safeguard the Holy Eucharist and to administer to the city’s sick. Constitution 85 of the Third Council of Lima established additional obligations for the brotherhood: “the cofradía of Santísimo Sacramento is obliged by its relation to the Apostolic See to serve cathedrals and parishes, and thus to provide the pallium and the oil for the lamps, and the custody as well”.17 15 16

17

AGI, Lima, 301, 1619. All translations in this chapter are by the author, unless otherwise stated. Archivo Arzobispal de Lima, Peru [AAL], Cofradías, Leg. 3, Exp 19. 1729. Archival evidence indicates that the cofradía was established by Francisco Pizarro and other gentlemen and neighbors of the city (in 16th-century Hispanoamerica the founders and first settlers of new cities were known as vecinos, or “neighbors”). Its license was issued by the first Archbishop of Lima, Jerónimo de Loayza. Related documentation also indicates that the cofradía de la Concepción was founded in the convent of San Francisco in 1561. Vargas Ugarte, Historia de la Iglesia en el Perú, p. 59.

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In Lima, the diversity of social groups sharing the same space was reflected in the foundation of cofradías. For example, the membership of the brotherhood of Nuestra Señora de Rosario included Spaniards, indigenous people (after 1554), and individuals of African descent (after 1562). Guilds also organized religious brotherhoods, such as the carpenters’ cofradía dedicated to Saint Joseph based in Lima’s Cathedral. Some cofradías were reserved for particular ethnic groups, such as the brotherhood of Nuestra Señora de Aránzazu organized by Basque limeños; others restricted membership on the basis of social prominence as in the brotherhoods of Veracruz, Santo Cristo de Burgos (in the convent of San Agustín), and Jesús Nazareno (in the convent of Santo Domingo), which were reserved for elite limeños living in the city’s most affluent neighborhoods. As Lima’s population grew following increases in immigration, settlement, and proliferation, the number of cofradías in the city swelled. In 1613, the Jesuit chronicler Bernabé Cobo counted 25 cofradías reserved for Spaniards, 13 for indigenous people, and 19 for individuals of African heritage.18 By 1619, there were over sixty cofradías in the viceregal capital.19 During the 1639 celebration of Corpus Christi in Lima, 26 Spanish, 19 indigenous, and 40 cofradías of African descent officially participated in the program, in addition to informal brotherhoods not formally recognized by the archbishopric.20 From the foundation of Lima until the end of the 17th century, there were 47 active cofradías in Lima dispersed across the most prominent religious venues in the city (Table 11.1). Influential parishioners together with parish priests were the main promoters of individual cofradías. Groups of neighbors, peasants, traders and merchants, or guild officers organized members to support collective devotion directed toward the Virgin Mary, Jesus Christ, a related saint, or a powerful Christian relic. Each cofradía had a special mission that distinguished it from the larger pool of brotherhoods that saturated Lima’s spiritual economy. Cofradías actively supported the spiritual well-being of their members, with brotherhoods often requesting favors for the benefit of their constituents. Cofradías were regularly rewarded with bulls and indulgences that reduced the number of days in purgatory for deceased members or supported collective masses celebrated in honor of living members. For example, in 1595 the mayordomos of the clergy cofradía de San Pedro (in Lima’s Cathedral) entrusted Bachelor Pedro Romero, who was sailing for Spain, with the responsibility for 18 19 20

B. Cobo, Historia de la fundación de Lima (Lima, 1882 [1629]), pp. 455-56. E. Lissón Chávez, La iglesia de España, Documentos para la historia de la Iglesia en el Perú (Seville, 1943), pp. 249-59. AAL, Cofradías, Leg. 32-A, Exp. 46, 1689.

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“para El Aumento Del Servicio De Dios” Table 11.1 Brotherhoods active in 16th-century Lima

Church

Brotherhood

Guild / Casta

La Merced

NuestraSeñora de Aguas Santas Santa Justa y Santa Rufina (1559) Nta Sra de la Piedad San Laurencio o San Lorenzo

Blacks Mulattos

Nta Sra de la Purísima Concepción Santo Domingo Nta Sra del Rosario Nta Sra del Rosario (1562) Nta Sra del Rosario (1554) Santísimo Sacramento Veracruz Santa Catalina de Sena Catedral Santísimo Sacramento (1540) Nuestra Señora de la Antigua Benditas Ánimas Nuestra Señora de la Visitación Nuestra Señora de Copacabana San Crispín y San Crispiniano San José / San Jusepe Romo San Pedro Nuestra Señora de la Purísima Concepción (1536) San Agustín Santo Cristo de Burgos Santo Crucifijo San Nicolás de Tolentino San Eloy y la Misericordia (1570) Santa Lucía San Francisco Nuestra Señora de los Reyes Nuestra Señora de la Purísima Concepción (1561) Nuestra Señora de la Candelaria San Antonio Santa Catalina del Monte de Sinaí San Antonio de Padua (1553) Nuestra Señora de la Soledad Fray Juan de Buenaventura

hosiers, locksmiths and blacksmiths Spaniards Blacks and Mulattos Indigenous

dyers colored people

shoemakers clergy

silversmiths slave and free colored people

Indigenous people pirates

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Table 11.1 Brotherhoods active in 16th-century Lima (cont.)

Church

Brotherhood

Guild / Casta

Santa Ana

Nuestra Señora de Loreto Nuestra Señora de Santa Ana San Bartolomé San Antón Nuestra Señora de los Remedios Santísimo Sacramento Nuestra Señora de la Caridad

Indigenous people

San Marcelo

Hospital de la Caridad San Sebastián

Nuestra Señora de la Victoria Santísimo Sacramento Monasterio de la Nuestra Señora del Carmen Santísima Trinidad Cárceles de la Hermandad de las Cárceles o de la Ciudad Misericordia (1564) Hermandad de Navegantes del Mar del Sur Source: Archivo Arzobispal de Lima, Sección Cofradías. Archivo General de la Nación, Notary Protocols, 16thCentury

procuring favors for the cofradía from the Spanish king and the Council of the Indies.21 It was not uncommon for brotherhoods to capitalize on members traveling throughout the Iberoamerican world. In 1583, the mayordomos of Nuestra Señora de la Concepción (in the convent of San Francisco) empowered pilot Pedro Rodriguez to found cofradías dedicated to their Marian advocation on their behalf in Manila and other cities of Philippines “to add and receive cofrades and grant to them the indulgences awarded by Our Lady”.22 The rapid expansion of Lima’s cofradías is reflected in wills. We sampled over 240 last will and testaments of individuals affiliated with religious brotherhoods between 1560 and 1660; 77 percent of individuals who participated in one or more cofradías referred to their respective cofradías in the document 21 22

Archivo General de la Nación, Lima, Peru [AGN], Protocolos Notariales, Bartolomé Rodriguez de Torquemada, Protocolo 144, 1595. AGN, Protocolos Notariales, Esteban Pérez, Protocolo 132, 1583.

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“para El Aumento Del Servicio De Dios” Table 11.2 Brotherhoods mentioned in 16th- and 17th-century wills in Lima

Years

Hermano 1 cofradía Over 2 Registration Alms to 1 Alms to 24 cofradías by will cofradía over 2 cofradías

1540-1600 1601-1620 1621-1640 1641-1660

3 5 2 7

27 32 45 54

2 1 5

1 1

2 1 1

8 2 2 8

Source: AGN, Serie Fáctica, leg. 1, 1-A and 2. Notary Francisco de Acuña, protocols from 31 to 40, Rodrigo Gómez de Baeza, protocols from 51 to 56; Bartolomé Rodriguez de Torquemada, protocols 142 to 145

(Table 11.2). In one telling example, Doña Juana Pasña, an elite indigenous limeña, identified herself as a devout member of several Lima cofradías in her notarized testament: “hermana veinticuatro of three cofradías … in that of the Santísimo Sacramento, that of Nuestra Señora del Pilar de Zaragoza, and in the Ánimas del Purgatorio [Souls of Purgatory]”. She requested in writing that the mayordomos of the cofradías “attend my burial with the customary wax offerings according to the brotherhood’s constitution, this is my will”.23 Individuals, regardless of socioeconomic background, exploited the city’s extensive cofradía network to obtain the best possible benefit for themselves, making the institutions exceedingly popular even in the early colonial period.24 The popularity of cofradías was also motivated by a pervasive concern for spiritual salvation, which could be procured through the proper sponsorship of masses and a privileged place of burial. Because life was fragile in early colonial Lima, individuals feared being abandoned at the time of their deaths without someone to interceded on behalf of the salvation of their souls. Membership in a religious collective ensured proper burial and escort into the afterlife. Immigrants from the provinces of Álava, Vizcaya, Guipúzcoa, Navarra, and Santander founded the cofradía of Nuestra Señora de Aránzazu in the convent of San Francisco in 1612 with the aim of spiritually and materially ensuring the protection of people from these regions and their legitimate descendants, in 23 24

AGN, Serie Fáctica, testamentos de indios, Leg. 1, 1617. A. Lavrin, “Cofradías novohispanas: economía material y espiritual”, in M. Martínez López-Cano, G. von Wobeser, and J. Muñoz Correa (eds.), Cofradías, capellanías yobras pías en la América colonial (Mexico, 1998), p. 54.

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the earthly realm and after their deaths.25 Likewise, in 1616 the priests of the Atocha hospital, together with 30 people, founded the cofradía of Nuestra Señora de la Regla, and two years later sought to transfer it to the church of San Agustín.26 The priests of the church of Santa Ana requested license to found their own cofradía dedicated to the Santísimo Sacramento, like similar brotherhoods found in other parishes, in 1618.27 In 1636, Lázaro de Velásquez, an attorney for the Mercedarian order in Peru, representing some worshipers, presented a request before the Lima archbishopric to dedicate an altar and chapel to the Santo Ángel Custodio [Holy Guardian Angel], as well as to host an annual celebration in honor of the devotion. In an unprecedented display of austerity, they declined the right to beg for alms or possess a standard and emblems. Instead, their objective was to observe the commandments and divine precepts to be accounted on the final judgment day … for the benefit of Christian souls … and venerate the saints, who are permanently interceding on our behalf … and under their patronage erect brotherhoods and congregations … an obligation all Christians have.28 The impact of cofradías on the spiritual well-being of Lima’s general population can be traced through their alms collection account books, mass contracts, and the libros de asientos de hermanos [register of members]. The cofradía of San Eloy (in the convent of San Agustín) kept a mass contract book that recorded the schedule of masses to be celebrated on the occasion of the death of members. Between 1622 and 1648, around 2600 masses were celebrated for deceased brothers, or almost 10 percent of the city’s total population.29 The main objective of these corporate brotherhoods was to grant spiritual relief to their members. Cofradías promised to deliver the Viaticum and the Extreme Unction. Records indicate that the brothers of Nuestra Señora de la Piedad (in the convent of La Merced) made sure that their fellow brothers received these sacraments at the time of their deaths. The brotherhood went so far as to commission the Mercedarian choir to sing the Creed on behalf of dying members. In order to receive these benefits, members of Nuestra Señora de la Piedad were required to pay alms of one real per week,30 or four reales per 25 26 27 28 29 30

Archivo de la Beneficencia Pública de Lima, Peru [ABPL], Cuaderno 8179, 1612-1750. AAL, Cofradías, Leg. 55, Exp. 1, 1616. AAL, Cofradías, Leg. 60, Exp. 2, 1618. AAL, Cofradías, Leg. 27, Exp. 2, 1636. ABPL, Cuaderno 4362, 1648. AGN, Cofradías, Leg. 3, 1784.

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263

week for members of the cofradía de Nuestra Señora de la Soledad (in the convent of San Francisco).31 These fees served as advance payments for future funeral services and associated offerings. The indulgences, masses, and spiritual favors granted to congregants were highlighted in the cofradía constitutions. Examples abound; for instance, the cofradía del Niño del Perdón (in the convent of San Marcelo) in its spiritual contract offered to rescue the souls of members from the purgatory by helping them “pay all their debts and the penances they owed for their sins, until they are released from purgatory”. In addition, the cofradía offered a monthly mass on behalf of the deceased, apart from monthly masses sponsored by individual members.32 The cofradía of the Benditas Ánimas del Purgatorio [Blessed Souls of the Purgatory], based in Lima Cathedral, became well known for its sponsorship of pro anima masses. Registered members benefitted from a series of masses and indulgences earned from the moment they registered as brothers. Furthermore, in this cofradía it was compulsory to “sponsor sung masses for each of the brothers who died, in addition to other prayed masses”. During a given year the cofradía of the Benditas Ánimas del Purgatorio sponsored, “15,000 masses and a few more; alms of eight reales were offered at each mass”, indicating the financial commitment reflected in the practices of this particularly active cofradía. The cofradía of San Eloy also created a patronage that benefitted its congregants with communal masses offered in the church of the Augustinians. The members of this cofradía were known locally as hermanos de misa [brothers of the mass] for their commitment to offering masses on behalf of deceased members. These brothers gathered alms so that prayed masses could be offered regularly. Additionally, cofradía mayordomos begged for alms in the streets for the masses of the deceased. Between 1622 and 1648, this brotherhood collected 4000 pesos worth of alms to support masses offered on behalf of the deceased.33 Funeral benefits provided by the brotherhoods were specified in letters of servitude. Benefits included coffin, cross, sacristan, a sung or prayed mass, and a burial. In the cofradía of Nuestra Señora de la Soledad (in the convent of San Francisco) each brother paid four reales a week, to obtain the benefit of having a “high cross, priest, and sacristan, thurible and gold cape for wherever they were buried … and Saint Francis’s habit for a funeral shroud”.34 The cofradía of 31 32 33 34

AAL, Cofradías, Leg. 16, Exp. 15, 1684. AAL, Cofradías, Leg. 40, Exp. 25, 1683. ABPL, Libro 4362, 1648. AAL, Cofradías, Leg. 16, Exp. 15, 1684.

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the Pura y Limpia Concepción (in the Hospital of San Bartolomé) offered, in addition to the basic benefits just outlined, to place: A platform tumulus, table, skirts, altar candle, rug, sconces, and candelabra … while the burial is underway; there shall burn on the tumulus 12 lights which the cofradía shall place at its cost … and the brotherhood will provide a coffin for the deceased with a cushion, velvet cloth, and four golden sconces.35 In the cofradías of San Felipe Neri, Cristo Crucificado, and el Señor de la Salud (in San Marcelo), when the members were warned that a brother lay on the verge of death at home or in some hospital in the city, they had a member ring the “campana de la agonía” [bell of agony] to announce the impending death, and besides the usual ornaments in the funeral proceedings, they provided standards carried by six poor people. Other cofradías offered small, corner chapels to place the body of the deceased during the burial ceremony. The mayordomos of the cofradías were aware that the success of their corporation lay in their compliance with offering of masses and demonstrable funeral assistance; therefore, they made sure they had the chapels and crypts needed for the masses and burials of their congregants. Additionally, esclavitudes [slave brotherhoods] appended to the main cofradías, were exclusively devoted to spiritual relief and aid in the passage to death; they were spiritual servants of the brotherhood. Nuestra Señora de la Piedad, founded by the cofradía of San Eloy in San Agustín, was supported by an esclavitude cohort. Devoted members honored the Marian advocation as a guardian during earthquakes and in the passage to death. Clemente VIII endorsed the brotherhood by granting indulgences and jubilees; however, the brotherhood was required to accept male and female members, mestizos [ethnically mixed individuals of Spanish and indigenous descent], indigenous people, and people of African descent as brethren. All members were required to accumulate indulgences by praying the Lord’s Prayer and Hail Mary prayers every day in addition to evangelizing among the city’s inhabitants.36  Esclavas [honorific spiritual servants of the brotherhood] were appended to the main cofradías. They were devoted to the care of the brotherhood’s chapel and the practice of spiritual exercises. The esclavitud of Nuestra Señora de la Presentación was associated with the cofradía of Nuestra Señora del Rosario

35 36

Biblioteca Nacional del Perú (BNP), Sala de Manuscritos, C2164, 1755. AAL, Cofradías, Leg. 19, Exp, 1670.

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265

(in the convent of Santo Domingo).37 The esclavas of Nuestra Señora del Rosario founded in 1630 (in the convent of Santo Domingo) were honored members of the brotherhood, “requiring everyone know them and consider them as esclavas of so divine a Lady, they will carry their rosary around their necks with an emblem of an S and a nail as a sign of their fortunate esclavitud to the Virgin Mary”.38 The role of women in cofradías was not limited to decorating altars and images or esclavitud. Women also assumed administrative positions within the brotherhoods. Thus, we may find mayordomas, mayorales [overseers], or priostas in charge of alms collection and responsible for the wise investment of that money. Examples of these positions can be found in the cofradías of Santa Cruz (in the convent of Santo Domingo), Agua Santa, Nuestra Señora de los Ángeles, San Gabriel (in the convent of La Merced), San Antón (in the convent of San Marcelo), and Nuestra Señora de la Antigua (in Lima Cathedral). The density of cofradías in early colonial Lima often resulted in inter-brotherhood conflict, especially among the more well-established organizations. The cofradías of Santo Cristo de Burgos (in the convent of San Agustín), Nuestra Señora de la Soledad (in the convent of San Francisco), Nuestra Señora de la Piedad (in the convent of La Merced), Nuestra Señora de la Concepción (in the Hospital of San Bartolomé), and Nuestra Señora de los Remedios banded together and lodged a claim against the rest of the Lima cofradías in 1673. In their official complaint, the consortium argued that the large number of brotherhoods in the city created a congested environment, to the detriment of the brotherhoods that had been established in the viceregal capital since the early colonial period: With the myriad brotherhoods that have been created recently … his ­Majesty … is requested to … swiftly remedy the damage threatening … the availability of alms to be collected by the brothers … which due to the increase in new brotherhoods may not … support the expenses which they have been authorized to cover … having introduced the new ones. Neglecting the old cofradías may impact their ability to bear the burden of covering the costs of their processions and their requirement of curing the poor.39 One of the consequences of the saturated market of cofradías in early colonial Lima was that some brotherhoods began to suffer from neglect resulting from 37 38 39

AAL, Cofradías, Leg, 31, Exp. 21, 1661. ABPL, Casilla 48E, Cuaderno 08004, 1630. AAL, Cofradías, Leg. 59-B, Exp. 7, 1673-74.

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the death of their founders, deficient administration, and lack of competitiveness. Limeño brotherhoods competed for access to indulgences, crypts, and mass sponsorships, leading to a high turnover among members looking for greater access to favors in exchange for minimal financial contributions. Thus, when a group of parishioners in the neighborhood of Santa Ana became aware of that the brotherhood of San Bartolomé had been abandoned, they organized a community of members and requested a license for refounding the cofradía.40 To prevent the dissolution of precarious cofradías, some mayordomos opted to relocate their altars to other parishes or churches that might be more accommodating. The most common arguments for relocation were access to a greater number of parishioners and increased space for the construction of crypts. In one instance, the mayordomos of the cofradía of Santa Elena (in the Hospital of San Pedro) partnered with the abbess of the Monasterio de la Concepción and transferred their cofradía to the monastery’s church. An alternative to relocation was the fusion of two or more cofradías, as in the case of Nuestra Señora de los Remedios y Ángel de la Guarda and Nuestra Señora de la Redención de Cautivos (in the convent of La Merced), which opted to merge in the 1660s. The mayordomos of both cofradías sought to combine so that neither group would lose its existing obligations or favors. When arguing the case for the merger, the public prosecutor requested: The promotion of both brotherhoods so that the divine worship of either brotherhood is not reduced or lost due to a lack of members, … and that the collection of the alms from the Redención de Cautivos, so pious and so fair, exercising Christian piety, is not forfeited for there not being legal or intelligent individuals for such office.41 The terms of the merger were based on careful review of the administration of both organizations. The foundation constitutions, the member registry book, the accounts of the mayordomo, and the property accounts were analyzed. At the time of the merger, the congregants of the cofradía de los Remedios numbered 27 and those of the Redención only 3. The aggregation of the imbalanced brotherhoods therefore involved a reform of their constitutions, bringing objectives together and maintaining the distinctive features of each cult. The archbishopric looked favorably on this merger and gave its approval, stating:

40 41

AAL, Cofradías, Leg. 33-A, Exp. 21, 1697. AAL, Cofradías, Leg. 10-B, Exp. 22, 1668.

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267

They may be joined and aggregated into one, since it is convenient to, in this manner, extinguish such number of existing cofradías, and for the enormous benefit derived from such charity as is the redemption of the poor in power of the uncouth unfaithful, enemies of Our Holy Catholic Faith and mainly for the children, who for so many reasons are in greater danger.42 As this, among other examples, indicates, the cofradías were very dynamic in their organization and institutional life, covering all the strata of the colonial society; however, their main objective always remained ensuring the salvation of the soul and the eternal rest of temporal bodies. 3

Community Welfare and the Cofradías

Ecclesiastical law governed the constitutions of the cofradías, which outlined institutional organization and operation, as well as the spiritual duties expected of each independent brotherhood. A contract, known as carta de hermandad o esclavitud [letter of brotherhood or slavery], between the individual member and the corporation was signed upon acceptance into the brotherhood. Each contract outlined the benefits and sacrifices allotted to the individual member upon entry. Furthermore, each new member was required, “as every faithful Christian, to request eternal salvation and perform works of mercy to merit the grace of God”.43 The constitutions of the first cofradías limeñas were particularly attentive to ensuring the proper burial of members and the salvation of their souls, in addition to encouraging works of charity to benefit the poor and unprotected, such as the sick and orphans. The most common benefits of membership in Lima’s early cofradías included: the spiritual growth of members (achieved by encouraging private and communal spiritual practices, such as masses and festive celebrations); the care and protection of deceased members (including the offering of private and community masses, provisions for burial, funeral accompaniment, and distribution of alms to ­family members); and the organized administration of charitable care by members of the brotherhood (among the sick, women, children, the poor, the imprisoned, and the lonely). The city recognized the importance of the cofradías to the stability and growth of its population. However, the leaders of Lima’s cofradías often 42 43

AAL, Cofradías, Leg. 10-B, Exp. 22, 1668. AGN, Real Audiencia, Juzgado de Cofradías, Leg. 12, Cuaderno 13, 1725.

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publicly defended their contributions to the urban life of the viceregal capital. The mayordomos of the cofradía of Nuestra Señora de la Caridad (in the hospital of la Caridad) summarized their work in a letter to the Archbishop of Lima dated 1564. This included: “giving relief to the poor who often died without the sacraments and without anyone by their deathbed, being so far from their land … and providing funeral aid, as well as offering help to the sisters in their hospital and the orphans in their school”.44 The cofradía of Lima’s prisons (Capilla de San Pedro y San Pablo, prison of the cabildo), promoted by the Lima city council, was founded around 1564 and assisted the poor prisoners of the four jails existing in the city.45 It provided food, as well as paying for a doctor, barber, surgeon, and medicines. The cofradía also paid for a sacristan and the priests who came to administer the sacraments in those facilities.46 In turn, the cofradía de la Caridad (in the Hospital of la Caridad) around 1616 granted three scholarships to orphaned and poor maidens who wanted to attend their school.47 Many cofradías prioritized assistance to Lima’s sick residents. For example, in the cofradía de Aránzazu (in the convent of San Francisco) a number of brothers regularly visited the sick and poor of the city.48 In Santo Cristo de Burgos (in the convent of San Agustín), members cared for sick nuns and dedicated part of their offertory budget “to help them, by sending a doctor to their houses to cure them and give them the necessary medicines from the apothecary of the cofradía without their paying any interest whatsoever”.49 Other brotherhoods provided dowries for the daughters of needy members by allocating sums of money (from 50 to 500 pesos) for young women to secure husbands or placement in convents. Women were selected for this bounty based on criteria unique to each individual brotherhood; however, recipients were usually expected to participate in the brotherhood’s religious celebrations by accompanying processions, “so as to show which were appointed for nuns and which others for marriage”.50 In Nuestra Señora de la Soledad, the recipients of dowries were ceremonially drawn at random from a pool of young women related to and the hermanas de esclavitud. In front of an assembly of members, the priest drew lots for a daughter of an hermano veinticuatro and two from the hermanas de esclavitud, “each with a dowry of 500 pesos, which shall be 44 45 46 47 48 49 50

Lissón Chávez, La Iglesia de España, II, p. 285. AML, Libros del Cabildo de Lima [LCL], Libro V, 1564, fol. 256v. AGI, Lima 210, n. 2, 1593. ABPL, Casilla 54D, doc. 9207, 1622-1791. ABPL, Casilla 54D, Cuaderno 8179, 1612. AAL, Cofradías, Leg. 59-A, Exp. 2, 1669. AAL, Cofradías, Leg. 2, Exp. 7, 1674.

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Table 11.3 Status of the maidens of the cofradía de Nta Sra del Rosario de españoles (Santo Domingo), 1625-85

Years

Appointed Married Religious Deceased With full Not Maidens receipt found

1625-1650 1651-1660 1661-1670 1671-1680 1681-1685

53 86 77 55 4

18 41 48 35 1

9 19 14 7 3

8 11 7 6 0

9 0 0 0 0

9 15 8 7 0

Total

106 172 154 110 8

Source: ABPL, Book 4221, Receipt book and expenses in relation to the orphans and maidens that join the procession of the cofradía de Nuestra Señora del Rosario, founded in the convent of Santo Domingo. Lima, 1648-1750.

given upon the presentation of official testimony of having married or entered into religious life”.51 In the cofradía of Rosario de Españoles (in the convent of Santo Domingo), each selected maiden was appointed a godfather, who was one of the mayordomos, diputados, or hermanos veinticuatro of the cofradía. The godfather offered alms on her behalf, which fluctuated between 50 and 200 pesos.52 Between 1562 and 1598, we have found in the notary protocols 21 dowry allocations by three cofradías: Caridad (85 percent), Concepción (10 percent), and Rosario (5 percent). In the case of Caridad, the allocations fluctuated between 150 and 280 pesos. The person in charge of making the payments was the diputado de doncellas [maidens’ deputy]. Seventeenth-century documents reveal more detail, for instance, between 1625 and 1685, the cofradía del Rosario de españoles assisted 275 maidens, of whom 52 percent favored marriage and 19 percent religious life, while 12 percent passed away before making a choice (Table 11.3).53 Through efforts like these, cofradías met their goals of providing material relief to their congregants and undertaking acts of charity toward their fellow limeños.

51 52 53

AAL, Cofradías, Leg. 16, Exp. 11, 1684. ABPL, Libro 4221, 1648-1750. ABPL, Libro 4221, 1648-1750.

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Administration of the Material Property of Lima’s Cofradías

In order to maintain their temporal existence in Peru’s viceregal capital, Lima’s cofradías had to maintain financial viability and independence. Most cofradías generated capital through admission fees and weekly, monthly, and annual alms requirements. Some alms requirements were compulsory, such as the entry and burial fees, while others were voluntary. It was not uncommon for the cofradías to also assess tithes, garner rental income on houses, shops, estates, or chaplaincies, and benefit from legacies bequeathed by former members of the brotherhoods. Admission fees varied based on the reputation of the cofradía. For example, the respectable brotherhood of Nuestra Señora del Rosario de españoles (in Santo Domingo), charged 100 pesos for admission in 1617.54 In Nuestra Señora de la O (in San Pedro) they paid 72 pesos around the same time.55 The indigenous cofradía Santa Rosa (in San Marcelo) charged an hermano veinticuatro 6 pesos and an hermano simple [common brother] 3 pesos to become members.56 The mayordomos of the Niño Jesús del Perdón brotherhood in San Marcelo requested 20 pesos from new members and in San Cristóbal de indios (in San Lázaro), they indicated that: If some indigenous person wished to enter as an hermano veinticuatro, he had to pay 10 pesos if he was a river fisherman, and those outside the trade would give 3 pesos and 4 reales; and if some Spaniard wished to enter as an esclavo or worshiper, he had to pay for his admission 4 pesos and 4 reales.57 Daily, weekly, or monthly alms served to pay for masses and funeral expenses of deceased brothers. In the cofradía de Nuestra Señora la Piedad (in La Merced) one real a week was requested as alms from members.58 In Nuestra Señora la Soledad (in San Francisco), members were required to offer four reales a week in alms.59 Through the payment of these alms, members ensured access to all the benefits provided by the collective. Many cofradías obtained their most substantial financial income from levying tithes on urban properties. Several property-owning brothers imposed the financial burden of their cofradía membership on their properties so that the 54 55 56 57 58 59

ABPL, Casilla 48E, Leg. 8002, 1620. ABPL, Casilla 55D, Leg. 8229, 1632. AAL, Cofradías, Leg. 20, Exp. 12, 1671. AGN, Juzgado de Cofradías, Exp. 243, 1681. AAL, Cofradías, Leg. 14, Exp. 24, 1687. AAL, Cofradías, Leg. 16, Exp. 15, 1684.

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“para El Aumento Del Servicio De Dios” Table 11.4 Transactions by cofradías, 16th century

Year

Lease Tithe Property Donations Loans Donation Total collection purchase in favor through tithe

1545-1555 1556-1565 1566-1575 1576-1585 1586-1595 1596-1605 Total

11 19 3 4 8 11 56

– – 3 5 16 11 35

1 1 – – – 2 4

– 1 2 2 2 3 10

– – – – – 1 1

– – 1 1 1 6 6

12 21 9 12 27 34 115

Source: AGN, Notary Protocols, 16th century

income those properties generated was donated in the form of alms. Real estate was often presented as a guarantee for brotherhood membership. Rooms, shops, and other types of rental properties were also levied by cofradía foundations. The custom of donating personal property to worthy cofradías originated in the early colonial period. As early as 1576, María de Córdova donated several homes she owned in Lima to the cofradía del Rosario (in Santo Domingo).60 Julián Cartujo, a Spanish settler from Ocaña (Toledo) specified in his will recorded in Lima in 1578 that he wanted to provide an endowment for the cofradía de Nuestra Señora de la Concepción (in San Francisco) based on the property in his ownership upon his death.61 In addition to the direct ­transfer of personal property to beneficiary cofradías, some individuals levied tithes over their properties on behalf of cofradías, such as Diego Colcol and his wife,62 who passed on monies colleced from their properties to the confraternity of the Conception (in San Francisco).63 Around the same time, Baltazar de los Reyes Mejía and Gregorio López also levied a tithe in favor of the cofradía de la Veracruz (in Santo Domingo) on some farms they owned.64 Out of 150 financial transactions registered by Lima’s cofradías in 16th-century notarial records, 76 percent record economic transactions favorably improving finances (Table 11.4). In addition, 49 percent of lease transactions observed in early co60 61 62 63 64

AGN, Protocolos Notariales, Ambrosio de Moscoso, Protocolo 119 1-2, 1576. AGN, Protocolos Notariales, Esteban Pérez, Protocolo 130, 1578. Diego Cocol worked as an interpreter in Lima’s Real Audiencia and was the cacique principal of Chasmal (Cajamarca) AGN, Protocolos Notariales, Cristóbal de Aguilar, Protocolo 7, 1599. AGN, Protocolos Notariales, Cristóbal de Aguilar, Protocolo 7, 1599.

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lonial Lima were executed on behalf of cofradías, indicating that property donations were among the first ways religious brotherhoods accumulated capital resources. Archival records bear witness to the popularity of religious brotherhoods in early colonial Lima, where they were able to capitalize on the spiritual and material support they provided for the residents of the viceregal capital. 5

Conclusion

As the research presented in this chapter demonstrates, the foundation of Lima’s cofradías was regulated since the first years of the Spanish occupation in the region. Rapid population growth fueled the need for social and spiritual assistance among the city’s residents and made the fast diffusion of cofradías in the urban environment feasible. Consequently, cofradías quickly came to the aid of their members, who in return offered alms and financial legacies for their support. The financial security of cofradías and support from Lima’s ecclesiastical authorities provided the brotherhoods with social stability. Indeed, the importance of the cofradías transcended the sphere of their spiritual influence to include the material welfare of many vulnerable limeños. Among their functions, besides the service and worship of God and their holy patrons, the cofradías promoted cultural and spiritual rituals in which not only members participated, but that spread to the entire city. The cofradías of Lima were local institutions that persisted throughout the colonial period, preserving their main features and adjusting to changes of the times to maintain their cultural authority. Cofradía memberships came to reflect the socioeconomic diversity of the city overall. Spiritual brotherhoods adapted their constitutions to serve the needs and objectives of different subsections of Lima’s growing urban population. Each cofradía was unique in its social incorporation, expression of religious life, administration of property, and mobility objectives, but they all responded to the same moral code grounded in the charitable and the religious. The economic management of the cofradías was very complex and turned them into an essential link in the city’s colonial economic system, since they performed a substantial role in capital circulation and in the money market. Lima’s cofradías became known as good financial administrators, which ­increased their ability to raise money through alms, donations, charities, chaplaincies, and, above all, tithes. Such funds were employed toward different ends, the main being bearing the expense of the masses of their benefactors,

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encouraging charitable assistance among the brothers, and the worship of their patron saints.  Translation by Susan Leaman and Elena O’Neill

Bibliography



Primary Sources



Secondary Sources

Cobo, B., Historia de la fundación de Lima (Lima, 1882 [1629]). Cobo, B., Historia del nuevo mundo, 2 vols. (Madrid, 1964 [1653]).

Arias de Saavedra, I. and M. López Guadalupe, “Cofradías y su dimensión social en la España del Antiguo Régimen”, Cuadernos de Historia Moderna 25 (2000), 189-232. Arizmendi Echecopar, E., “Un caso de derecho canónico indiano: el marco jurídico dela cofradía limeña de finales del Virreinato”, Ita Ilus Esto, Revista de Estudiantes de Derecho Universidad de Piura 3 (2009), 137-98. Bazarte Martínez, A., La cofradía de españoles en la ciudad de México (Mexico, 1989). Bazarte Martínez, A., “Las limosnas de los cofrades: su administración y destino”, in M. Martínez López-Cano, G. von Wobeser, and J. Muñoz Correa (eds.), Cofradías, capellanías y obras pías en América Colonial (Mexico, 1998), pp. 65-74. Bazarte Martínez, A. and C. García Ayluardo, Los costos de la salvación: las cofradías y la ciudad de México (siglos XVI al XIX) (Mexico, 2001). Celestino, O. and A. Meyers, Las cofradías en el Perú: región central (Frankfurt am Main, 1981). Garland Ponce, B., “Las cofradías en Lima durante la Colonia. Una primera Aproxi­ mación”, in G. Ramos (ed.), La venida del reino. Religión, evangelización y cultura en América, siglos XVI-XX (Cuzco, 1993), pp. 199-228. Lavrin, A., “Cofradías novohispanas: economía material y espiritual”, in M. Martínez López-Cano, G. von Wobeser, and J. Muñoz Correa (eds.), Cofradías, capellanías yobras pías en la América colonial (Mexico, 1998), pp. 49-64. Lissón Chávez, E., La Iglesia de España en el Perú, Documentos para la historia de la Iglesia en el Perú (Seville, 1943). Martínez de Sánchez, A., “Hermandades y cofradías. Su regulación jurídica en lasociedad indiana”, in F. Barrios Pintado (ed.), Derecho y administración pública en las Indias hispánicas, Actas del XII Congreso Internacional de Historia del Derecho Indiano (Cuenca, 2002), pp. 1035-64. Marzal, M., La transformación religiosa peruana (Lima, 1983).

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Montoya Estrada, K., “El real juzgado de cofradías en Lima a fines del periodo colonial”, in R. Chuhue, A. Coello, C. del Águila, and A. Maticorena (eds.), Historia de Lima, XVII Coloquio de Historia de Lima (Lima, 2010), pp. 153-66. Ots Capdequi, J.M., El Estado español en las Indias (Mexico, 1993). Pastor, M.A., Crisis y recomposición social, Nueva España en el tránsito del siglo XVI al XVII (Mexico, 1999). Pastor, M.A., “La organización corporativa de la sociedad novohispana”, in M.A. Pastor and A. Mayer (eds.), Formaciones religiosas en la América colonial (Mexico, 2000), pp. 81-140. Rodríguez Mateos, J., “Las cofradías de Perú en la modernidad y el espíritu de la Con­ trarreforma”, Anuario de Estudios Americanos 52.2 (1995), 15-43. Vargas Ugarte, R., Historia de la Iglesia en el Perú (Lima, 1953). Von Wobeser, G., “Las fundaciones piadosas como fuente de crédito en la época colonial”, Historia Mexicana 38.4 (1998), 25-44.

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Chapter 12

Unsettling and Unsettled Readings: Occult Scripts in 16th-Century Lima and the Challenges of Andean Knowledge  Claudia Brosseder For the otherwise sober and keen observer of everything Indian and Spanish in Peru, the Spanish Jesuit Bernabé Cobo, the city of Lima was built on an occult script that directly analogized the city’s birth to the birth of Christ.1 According to Cobo, on 6 January 1535, Francisco Pizarro sent off three “wise men” – Ruy Díaz, Juan Tello, and Alonso Martín de Don Benito – from the adobe brick temple structure of Pachacamac to search for a place with good access to fresh water and the ocean with enough space to raise pigs. To make Lima’s birth coincide with the departure and arrival of the biblical three kings who honored the Christ Child with their visit shortly after his birth, however, Cobo added the date to Pizarro’s instructions, which he otherwise copied faithfully.2 It was left to later historians to debate whether 6 or 18 January 1535 was the true date of Lima’s foundation. On the 18th, conquistadors [invading European soldiers] put in place either the city’s foundational picota [pillar] or, according to others, the first foundation stone of the cathedral in Lima’s sand.3 Most 16th- and 17thcentury creoles, Spaniards, Indians, and Africans living in Lima, however, celebrated the city’s connection with the biblical kings as an uncontested fact.4 1 Early modern scholars trained in the various early modern European traditions of natural philosophy believed in the powers of occult forces (usually located within the supralunar spheres) that influenced nature on earth and to a certain degree human actions. In this chapter I use the term “occult script” broadly to designate Spanish and creole beliefs in occult forces (such as stellar constellations and comets) as they were considered to be a script decipherable by a specific hermeneutics. As I will show in this chapter, some Spaniards and creoles also came to think of Andean wak’a [sacred loci or forces] as part of this world of occult forces, which required an Andean hermeneutics. 2 B. Cobo, “Fundación de Lima”, in F. Mateos (ed.), Obras del P. Bernabé Cobo, vol. I (Madrid, 1964), pp. 286-87; Libros de Cabildos de Lima, ed. B. Lee, vol. I (Lima, 1935), pp. 10-12. The internal chronology of the documents could also have suggested 7 January as the date for departure. Cobo finalized his “Fundación de Lima” while he resided in Mexico in the 1630s. 3 R. Porras Barrenechea, Pequeña antología de Lima, El río, el puente y la alameda (Lima, 1965). 4 J. Aliaga Aliaga, “Símbolos de poder: El escudo de armas, el pendón real y los arcos triunfantes”, in L. Gutiérrez Arbulú (ed.), Lima en el siglo XVI (Lima, 2005), pp. 607-99. See also the sermon

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2019 | doi:10.1163/9789004335363_014

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The Spanish king showed his agreement through the coat of arms of Lima, the City of Kings: a golden star connecting three crowns. Although Lima’s three wise men lacked a guiding comet or other significant star in the night sky, their departure on 6 January connected them to the star of Bethlehem and likewise hinted at qualities that uninstructed eyes might not have seen right away. According to the Augustinian Antonio de la Calancha, seen generally as a more or less faithful – but always creative – interpreter of Rome’s decrees, the city’s true grid mirrored the stellar constellations of the southern sky. Because Calancha lacked what he considered a reliable astronomy that dated back to the year 1535, his reading also required a retrospective authorial conjecture: a horoscope. A favorable constellation of the sun in Pisces, the house of Jupiter, in combination with Gemini dominating and the moon in the seventh house, suggested Lima’s grandeur, as exhibited in its general happiness, its many churches and convents, its nobility, and its beautiful women. Some of its inhabitants “would strive for more than their nature suggested”, but that was considered a minor defect.5 Only in times without a king would Lima encounter difficulties. One hundred years earlier, in founding Lima, Pizarro did not publicly or secretly avail himself of a biblical or astrological subtext. The association of Lima’s birth with an occult script reveals much, of course, about 17th-century authorial strategies to please the trained eyes of church loyalists and to bypass the decrees of the Inquisition.6 But this prelude also raises questions about the history of occult knowledge in 16th-century Lima and the viceroyalty, before astrology turned into the first true global transatlantic science.7 So far, and most importantly, the establishment of the Inquisition in preached in Lima on 6 January 1678 by the Jesuit José de Aguilar, in J. de Aguilar, Sermones varios predicados en la ciudad de Lima […] (Brussels, 1684). 5 A. de la Calancha, Coronica moralizada del orden de San Agustín en el Perú[…] (Barcelona, 1639), pp. 239-41. His retrospective horoscope is devised for 18 January, between 10 and 11 am. He drew on standard astrological literature in the wider Atlantic world (Cortés, Garcaeus, Origano, Cardano, Ptolemy, Martínez), and he refers to his undertaking to connect astrology with the laying of the cornerstone to Juntino, Leopold of Austria, and Clavius. He also justifies it by citing the Jesuit Bautista de Poza, whose Elucidarium Deiparae (1627) was indexed and again revoked. Calancha’s book was printed in Barcelona and bears a frontispiece that allowed for a double Catholic and Andean reading of the sun and the moon. 6 See P. Guibovich Pérez, Censura, libros e Inquisición en el Perú colonial, 1570-1754 (Seville, 2003), p. 190. 7 It should be noted in this context that Spanish royal decrees on the observation of eclipses (1577), on the erection of a clock in the Audiencia of Lima on 11 December 1570, and on the Council of the Indies’ official astronomical astrological handbook by Rodrigo Zamorano published in 1585 began to exert their influences on 17th-century astrology but not before. Even the king’s preoccupation with the improvement of the astronomical training of pilots (c.1552) had no direct impact on 16th-century Peruvian intellectual history.

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1570 has been seen as its watershed moment in colonial society. Before the 1570s Spanish society, especially in Lima, was at most indifferent toward practitioners of Europe’s occult knowledge.8 Little more is known about Peru’s early promoters of necromancy and thus talismanic astrology, chiromancy, physiognomy, and cryptography than their names – Sarmiento de Gamboa, Cabello de Valboa, Diego López de Zúñiga, and Francisco de la Cruz, to name the most famous. Handwritten booklets from Europe’s occult traditions are known to have passed clandestinely through the hands of all sorts of people in early colonial Peru, including Augustinians, Mercedarians, Franciscans, Dominicans, and the secular clergy.9 More recently, the young colonial societies’ preoccupations with Europe’s occult knowledge in the transatlantic world has been interpreted from the perspective of Indian “agency”, as Indians’ deliberate play on Spanish beliefs in “magic” ultimately enabled the pursuit of their own political agenda.10 To this day we are largely uninformed about how colonial Spanish and creole assumptions and practices about occult forces in nature deviated from multicultural Spanish and European traditions. The Iberian Peninsula had a long and complex history of different occult knowledge traditions reaching way back into the medieval period.11 In the 16th century, two alternative attitudes toward occult forces reigned on the Iberian mainland: opposition channeled by the Spanish Inquisitions tribunals and by anti-sorcery treatises such as Martin de Castañega’s Tratado de las supersticiones y hechizerías of 1529 and Pedro de Ciruelo’s Reprobación de las supersticiones y hechicerías of 1541. At the same time, Spain had much sympathy toward the implementation of occult knowledge for human ends, transgressing religious, class, and ethnic boundaries. Lima’s promoters of Europe’s occult knowledge could draw on a rich number of Latin and vernacular magical treatises while knowing that certain performances came under greater ecclesiastical surveillance over the course of the 16th century. The history of occult knowledge in Lima and the Viceroyalty of Peru overall, however, is neither a simple copy nor extrapolation from Iberian (or even European) precedents. For, as this chapter shows, the history of European occult knowledge traditions in the 16th-centu8 9 10 11

Guibovich Pérez, Censura, p. 235. Guibovich Pérez, Censura, p. 235. See, for example, Archivo Histórico Nacional de Madrid [AHN], Inquisición, libro 1027, fol. 134: Diego de la Rosa (1580), fol. 280: Fray Pedro de Mendoza chiromantico. Tirso de Molina also characterized Diego de Porres as an astrologer. G. Lamana, “What Makes a Story Amusing: Magic, Occidentalism and Overfetishization in a Colonial Setting”, Journal of Latin American Cultural Studies 19.1 (2010), 87-102, with reference to Gonzalo Fernández de Oviedo. M. Tausiet, Urban Magic in Early Modern Spain: Abracadabra Omnipotens, trans. Susannah Howe (Basingstoke, 2014) and J. Atienza, Cara oculta de Felipe II (Barcelona, 1998).

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ry Viceroyalty of Peru cannot be properly understood without acknowledging its dialogue with colonial Andean “occult” knowledge traditions.12 This chapter reinterprets the role of occult knowledge in Hernandéz Girón’s alzamiento [uprising, sometimes referred to as “rebellion”] from November 1553 to December 1554 in light of Andean voices.13 The defeat of the former soldier and Cuzco-based encomendero [Spaniard awarded with groups of tribute-paying Indians] marks the end of the 16th-century civil wars in Peru. Girón’s alzamiento is usually considered a struggle over power between an insurgent encomendero elite from Cuzco to Arequipa and beyond and loyal forces siding with the Real Audiencia and the Spanish king, or as a struggle over power over indigenous people.14 Its stimulus was discords among encomenderos about new laws issued by the Real Audiencia of Lima in September 1553 that further restricted and institutionalized the use of Indian labor on encomiendas [tribute granting institutions in the Iberoamerican world by which Spanish individuals were imbued with authority over indigenous groups].15 As a consequence, in the highland’s wet season of 1553, Girón gathered a militia to fight against royalist armies led by the Real Audiencia of Lima. The fighting left a trail of bloodshed in the regions of southern Peru, the central highlands, and the central coast.16 After Girón’s execution in December 1554 and the first renderings of his alzamiento in Spanish historiographies, the encomendero’s character appears as enigmatic; the actions of this “indecisive, fate-ridden” personality are seen as dictated by his trust in astrology and “magic”.17 By interpreting two distinct Andean subtexts and one European one on occult forces as agents in Girón’s alzamiento in the chronicles of Diego Fernández’s Primera y la segunda parte de la historia del Perú (1571) and Guaman Poma de Ayala’s Nueva Corónica y Buen Gobierno (1615) we gain understanding of

12 13 14 15 16 17

I use the term Andean occult knowledge traditions to refer here to colonial Andean beliefs in wak’a forces, as colonial Andeans as well as others held that they exerted occult forces on human beings, which specialists needed to interpret. In what follows I will leave the Spanish term alzamiento untranslated to underscore that the term “rebellion” assumes the royal perspective and that this chapter offers a different interpretation. R. Vargas Ugarte, Historia general: vol. 2: 1551-96 (Lima, 1971), pp. 32-52. Vargas Ugarte, Historia general, p. 32. Vargas Ugarte, Historia general, pp. 32-52. Vargas Ugarte, Historia general, pp. 32-52, on his character. The echo of Palentino’s characterization in Girón’s trust in the occult forces can be heard in the 19th-century account “Rebelión de Francisco Hernandez Girón en el Perú en 1553”, in Colección de libros españoles raros y curiosos, Varias relaciones del Perú y Chile y conquista de la isla de Santa Catalina 1535 á 1658 (Madrid, 1879), pp. 199-235.

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why the perception of Girón’s alzamiento through Lima’s creole elite should be considered the decisive watershed moment in the history of European and Andean occult knowledge traditions in the Viceroyalty of Peru – and not the establishment of the Inquisition or the so-called Taki Onkoy Movement. The subtexts in both of these texts reveal how Andean interpretations and memorizations of Girón circulated in Charcas in 1553, in Lima from 1553 to the mid1570s, and in the Lucanas Andamarca Huancayo region up until the late 16th and early 17th centuries. When collating them with contemporary Spanish perceptions it appears that Girón was driven by an attempt to fuse Andean beliefs in the power of wak’a [sacred loci or forces] with European occult knowledge traditions, to have these Andean- and European-defined occult forces favorably impact his military fortunes. But both, the Andean as well as the European, memorizations surrounding Girón reveal even more. They show that Lima’s Spanish ecclesiastical and civil elite from the 1550s to the 1570s was gripped by fear of the powers of a conflation of distinct occult knowledge traditions, which culminated in the aged Archbishop Jerónimo de Loaysa. It was Girón’s search for and conflation of Andean- and European-defined occult forces that was the true subscript for Lima’s fearful perception of his alzamiento. It also turned into the subscript for the perception of the Taki Onkoy priests’ beliefs and of Sarmiento de Gamboa’s and Francisco de la Cruz’s interest in occult arts. Girón’s interest in occult knowledge thus had far-reaching impacts on Andean, European, creole, and mixed-race peoples and their respective interests in occult scripts – way beyond Girón himself. By diving deep into the history of perceptions, by aligning Girón’s alleged cara oculta [occult leanings] with Andean historical memory and Andean rituals, and the history of the steadily expanding and refined Spanish knowledge about Andean knowledge, this chapter shows how clear-cut chronological, spatial, and social dividing lines in colonial Peruvian society, whose metropole was Lima, may be called into question.18 European occult knowledge did not halt at the city limits on the Rímac river. It circulated freely from Lima into the wider spaces of Cuzco, Charcas, and other areas sometimes viewed as peripheries – and vice versa. Knowledge about occult forces circulated freely among people from Andean, Spanish, creole, and Afro-Peruvian cultural backgrounds and was reinterpreted constantly and in many forms. For some 16th-century Spaniards and creoles neither Andean knowledge that required Andean ritual specialists for interpretation nor European occult knowledge respected social hierarchies, and we are just beginning to grasp their various kinds of interactions. 18

I have borrowed the term from Atienza’s description of Felipe II’s interest in occult forces.

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Andean Knowledge “Without Writing”

At seven o’clock in the morning on 13 January 1553, in Porco, Charcas, 1300 miles away from Lima, a reddish, fire-like comet appeared: three suns, a reddish one in the middle and two dark red on either side; two white moons with a tinge of red almost the color of blood; and two blue “and colored” arcs, stretching between the outside suns and the moons. The light of the suns was so bright that it almost blinded the beholders.19 The first to describe this unusual celestial phenomenon was Diego Fernández de Palencia, commonly known as Palentino, when he was Viceroy Andrés Hurtado de Mendoza’s officially appointed – but not uncontested – chronicler of Gonzalo Pizarro’s and Girón’s alzamientos, a duty he performed from 1556 to 1561 (Fig. 12.1).20 According to Girón, the celestial appearance reinforced an alleged prophecy by a Nicaraguan Indian of Tarragona, who had warned the former anti-Gonzalo Pizarro military leader Pedro de Hinojosa to accept his duty as corregidor [administrator] of Charcas.21 Andean diviners who “consulted their wak’as” upon this strange phenomenon declared that it also hinted at the death of an “Apu [chief]” and at “war”.22 Apu, according to the earliest dictionary, created in 1560 by Domingo de Santo Thomas, meant “gran señor” or “chief”, a person of high esteem in Incan society. Palentino correlates the death of the Apu with the “muerte del general”, the death of Pedro de Hinojosa, shortly thereafter in ­Potosí, and with the alzamiento of Girón, which was to start ten months later

19

20

21 22

In the following, I will cite from both the 1571 and the 1963 editions of Palentino’s work. The Porco comet is depicted only in the 1571 edition. D. Fernández [Palentino], Primera y segunda parte de la historia del Perú (Seville, 1571), segunda parte, libro segundo, ch. 13, pp. 38r-39v. Compare D. Fernández [Palentino], Primera y segunda parte parte de la historia del Perú, vol. 164, ed. Juan Perez de Tudela Bueso (Madrid, 1963), pp. 311-12. Fernández’s history was divided into two parts: “Primera parte” (subdivided into two books) dealing with Gonzalo Pizarro and “Segunda parte” (subdivided into three books) dealing with Girón, the Marques de Cañete, and the Incas. In the 1963 edition the first book of the “segunda parte” is part of vol. 164 and books two and three of vol. 165. The cabildo of Lima does not mention the 1553 comet. On the political background, see J. Pérez de Tudela Bueso, “Prólogo”, in J. Pérez de Tudela Bueso (ed.), Primera y la segunda parte de la historia del Perú, vols. 164 and 165 (Madrid, 1963), pp. lxxvii-lxxxv; F. Pease, “Fernández, Diego, El Palentino (c.1520-81)”, in J. Pillsbury (ed.), Guide to Documentary Sources for Andean Studies, 1530-1900 (Norman, 2008), vol. 2, pp. 213-15. Fernández [Palentino], Primera y segunda parte, segunda parte, libro segundo, ch. 13, pp. 38r-39v. Fernández [Palentino], Primera y segunda parte, p. 39r.

Unsettling And Unsettled Readings

Figure 12.1 “The 1553 Apparition at Porco” Source: D. Fernández (Palentino), Primera y segunda parte de la historia del Perú, Seville: Hernando Díaz, 1571, segunda parte, libro segundo, cap. XIIII, fol. 39v. Photograph courtesy of Archive.org

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on 13 November 1553 in Cuzco. Girón died in December 1554.23 As later authors made clear, this Andean divination predicted Girón’s death. After 1571, Palentino’s description of this celestial phenomenon circulated freely in the transatlantic world. Mexico’s astronomical adept, Henrico Martínez, copied it word for word in 1606, as did the always creative historian of Potosí, Arzáns de Orsúa, who loved exceptional, and perhaps invented, stories. He added more details in 1700, identifying Palentino’s unnamed diviner (“Puma Soncco”) and quoting him: “Dos lunas de poca luz a ser soles subirán, y del cerco del mayor caída sangriente darán.”24 According to Arzáns de Orsúa y Vela, this proclamation clearly foreshadowed Girón’s rise and fall. Allegedly Girón rose three times as a sun (in his victorious battles) and twice as a moon (in his imprisonment and death). A third commentator on this celestial apparition, the Dominican Juan D. Meléndez, when writing his Tesoros verdaderos de las Yndias (1682) and taking note of the much more famous 1680 comet, was more concerned with a faithful Catholic reading of the nightly apparition than was either Palentino or Arzáns de Orsúa y Vela. Simply dropping the reference to the Andean diviners, he suggested that the comet was the primary celestial script for the upheavals that began with Pedro de Hinojosa’s death by the hand of another rebellious captain who had emerged from the civil wars, Sebastían de Castilla, and culminated in Girón’s alzamiento.25 In good old European fashion, the comet prophesied Girón’s unhappy fate.26 Arzáns de Orsúa clearly has the lengthiest Andean subtext to this incident. Besides “inventing” the diviner’s name and prediction, he also adds that Indians from Chaquí (east of Porco), which housed another famous three-part wak’a (as we will see in the next section), were consulted. Most important here is that all three agreed that Hernández Girón’s fate seems to have been sealed 23 24 25 26

See Vargas Ugarte, Historia general, pp. 33-52. B. Arzáns de Orsúa y Vela, Historia de la villa imperial de Potosí, vol. 1, ed. L. Hanke and G. Mendoza L. (Providence, 1965), pp. 80-82. Vargas Ugarte, Historia general, p. 25; J.D. Meléndez, Tesoros verdaderos de las Yndias, 3 vols. (Rome, 1681), vol. 1, p. 344. On the pre-mid-16th-century European meanings of comets, see, for example, Pliny, Natural History in Ten Volumes, I-XXXVII, with an English translation by H. Rackham (London, 1969), vol. 2, pp. 23, 91, 235; Ptolemy, Tetrabiblos, ed. F.E. Robbins (Cambridge, 1940), vol. 2, pp. 9, 90, 193-95; H. Schedel, Weltchronik: Register des Buchs der Croniken und Geschichen mit Figur und Pildnissen von Anbegin der Welt bis auf diese unsere Zeit (Nuremberg, 1493); G. Pontano, Liber de meteoris (Strasbourg, 1545). Meléndez was also influenced by F. Ruiz Lozano’s Tratado de cometas, observación, y iuicio del que se vio en esta ciudad de los Reyes, y generalmente en todo el Mundo, por los fines del año de 1664, y principios deste de 1665, Compuesto por el Capitan Francisco Ruiz Lozano Cosmografo mayor deste Reyno, y Cathedratico de Prima de Mathematicas en esta dicha ciudad (Lima, 1666).

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in Porco’s night sky. It began as a kind of prelude with the death of Pedro de Hinojosa. Although Palentino and Arzáns de Orsúa showed some concern to insert the Andean interpretation into a European framework of interpretation, both authors captured the fact that Spaniards in 1553 immediately consulted Andean diviners. Since the First Council of Lima of 1551, Spaniards were forbidden to consult indigenous hechizeros [sorcerers].27 But in Porco in 1553, Andean knowledge seems to have promised greater insights than the European astrological tradition. Just as Palentino and his fellow historians held this Andean prediction of Hinojosa’s and Girón’s fate to be correct, so too another famous politician of Peru’s viceregal times found it highly credible. Polo de Ondegardo, a lawyer and keen observer of Andean customs who rose to be a favorite in Lima’s high society in the 1550s and early 1560s, had certainly heard of Porco’s fearful apparition and the diviner’s prediction.28 Present when Pedro de Hinojosa was murdered in La Plata, he subsequently fled to elsewhere in Charcas. When Polo composed his “Errores” in 1559, the accuracy of the Andean diviner’s prediction about Porco seemed such important evidence for the unrivaled skills of Andean divination practices that he referred to it indirectly. Reprinted in 1585, this report shaped Spanish perceptions of Andean skills at knowing remote happenings until at least mid-17th century.29 When Cobo deviated from Polo de Ondegardo and dropped this information silently, he nevertheless exclaimed “these fortune tellers made extraordinary inquiries”.30 Thus, Palentino, Polo de Ondegardo, and many other Spaniards clearly viewed Andean consultations of wak’a as providing true and reliable information. Not “Their Way of Writing” but Their Way of Reading: an Andean Subtext31 From the fine-grained studies about Qarakara-Charcas by Tristan Platt, Thérèse Bouysse-Cassagne, and Olivia Harris, we know that the ruling Incaelite and pre- and post-Spanish conquest Andean native peoples (Andeans) in 1.1

27 28 29 30 31

R. Vargas Ugarte, Concilios Limenses (1551-1772) (Lima, 1951), vol. 1, p. 73 (constitution No. 60). On his biography see T. Hampe Martínez, “El Licdo. Polo de Ondegardo”, in G. Lamana (ed.), Pensamiento colonial crítico, Textos y actos de Polo de Ondegardo, Estudio biográfico de Teodoro Hampe Martínez (Cuzco, 2012), pp. 89-139. “Instrucción contra las ceremonias y ritos que usan los indios”, in Doctrina cristiana y catecismo para instrucción de los indios (Madrid, 1985), p. 275. B. Cobo, Historia del nuevo mundo (Madrid, 1964), vol. 2, book 13, ch. 36, p. 230. I am borrowing the title from G. Urton and E. Hill Boone, Their Way of Writing: Scripts, Signs, and Pictographies in Pre-Columbian America (Washington, DC, 2011).

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the highland areas of the Viceroyalty of Peru held mines to be wak’a.32 Porco, a mine with the precious tacana silver and lead, east of Potosí, was one of the central wak’a of the Qarakara-Charcas territory during pre-Inca, Inca, and early colonial times.33 Porco’s wak’a was a wak’a triple (a wak’a with three components), consisting of three stones and a piece of particularly high-quality tacana silver. After 1539, when Porco was given to the Spaniards, the Wisijsa and other surrounding ethnic groups transferred Porco’s wak’a to the wak’a Caltama; there it was worshipped clandestinely until 1570, when a Spanish priest began to extirpate it. While being clandestinely worshipped, wak’a Porco, according to Andean diviners from Porco, made its celestial appearance in 1553 in the form of three reddish suns, two white moons, and two blue rainbows. Several factors support this Andean reading, taken over by Spaniards, that these three suns hinted at wak’a Porco’s true nature as a wak’a triple.34 Among the Qaraqara, Charka, Chuy, Chicha, and ruling Inca, wak’a Porco was venerated as a wak’a of war, providing the surrounding people with victory in battles consistent with the 1553 forecast of imminent warfare.35 Moreover, as harbinger of victory for certain people, wak’a Porco was connected with the cult of Illapa, the deity of war and also a tripartite sacred entity. Illapa, in turn, was connected with silver and its color, and silver was linked to the moon.36 32 33

34

35 36

On the following see T. Platt, O. Harris, Th. Bouysse-Cassagne, Qaraqara-Charka. Mallku, Inka y Rey en la provincia de Charcas (siglos XV-XVII). Historia antropológica de una confederación aymara (Lima, 2006), pp. 135-81. Platt et al., Qaraqara-Charka, pp. 139 and 159. Tacana in colonial Quechua meant that it could be worked upon with a hammer. (D. González Holguín, Vocabulario de la lengua general de todo el Peru llamada lengua Qquichua, o del Inca (1608), Edición facsimilar de la versión de 1952 (Lima, 1989), p. 334. M. Van Buren, C.R. Cohen. “Technological Changes in Silver Production after the Spanish Conquest in Porco, Bolivia”, Boletin del Museo Chileno de Arte Precolombino 15. 2 (2010), 29-46). According to Palentino, the apparition’s related Andean prognosis was again retrospectively confirmed by Andean diviners sometimes before Palentino finished his manuscript around 1561. Fernández [Palentino], Segunda parte, vol. 164, p. 312. We have no more information about this incident. Platt et al., Qaraqara-Charka, pp. 169-74. Platt et al., Qaraqara-Charka, pp. 169-74. See also Siracusano on bermellón (Siracusano, Gabriela. El poder de los colores: de lo material a lo simbólico en las prácticas cuturales andinas: siglos XVI-XVIII (Buenos, Aires 2005)). Azogue (mercury) was used in Potosí from 1571 onwards. It is worth noting that Cobo refers to the tacana of the triple wak’a of Porco in the context of Qoricancha walls. The belief that Illapa was a triple deity (as Cobo mentions in the same context as well), its association with silver, and its threefoldedness might also hint at some not yet defined connection between the Incan Illapa and wak’a Porco. In colonial times, Spaniards connected triple wak’a beliefs with an Andean preknowledge of the Trinity (perhaps because of Porco’s apparition in the sky).

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Pedro Pizarro provides further evidence that apparently (mining) wak’a among Andean people of the southern Andes occasionally voiced their wills through celestial apparitions. A few years after Palentino had finished his manuscript, Pizarro described the encomendero Lucas Martín’s encounter with an Andean interpretation of what Pizarro calls a solar eclipse (perhaps the one of 1543, though Spaniards labeled any deviation observed by Andeans from the usual appearance of the sun or moon “eclipses”). At that time, the caciques of the Lucas Martín’s encomienda in Tarapacá, west of the Salar de Uyuni, did not want to reveal this silver mine to him: the solar eclipse confirmed to the regional hechizeros that Andeans would die and their fields would remain sterile if they showed the mine to Spaniards.37 Much as in Porco, a silver mine, a wak’a, and a celestial phenomenon are all interpreted as one meaningful script by Andean diviners. By the time Palentino wrote his history in Lima, his contemporaries had already learned that both Andeans and Inca saw solar and, even more, lunar eclipses as highly significant. By the late 16th century, Spaniards knew that they caused great fears among Andean people.38 Astronomical data suggest that in the 1540s and 1550s several eclipses occurred.39 In 1553, a solar eclipse could probably be seen in and north of Cuzco, and it was probably partially visible south of the Inca capital as well – yet if such an eclipse lies behind the Porco apparition, its rendering in historical narrative and its interpretation by Porco’s Andean diviners show it to have been considered not a standard eclipse but rather a signal by wak’a Porco.40 Meléndez was alone in giving priority to the comet, but he wrote influenced by a contemporary comet, at a time when astronomy was being celebrated as the first global science.41 Despite suggestions that estrellas fugaces [shooting 37 38 39 40 41

P. Pizarro, Relación del descubrimiento y conquista de los Reinos del Peru, Notas biográficas y concordancias con las crónicas de Indias por H. Urteaga. Biografía de Pedro Pizarro por C.A. Romero (Lima, 1917), pp. 137-38. “Instrucción”, p. 259. This passage is not in Ondegardo’s Errores. (see, for example, Lamana’s edition of the Errores in G. Lamana (ed.), Pensamiento colonial crítico). B. Bauer and D. Dearborn, Astronomía e Imperio en los Andes (Cuzco, 2003), pp. 173-80. Spanish conceptions of eclipses can be inferred from R. Zamorano, Cronología y reportorio de la razón de los tiempos, El más copioso que hasta hoy se ha visto (Seville, 1594), libro III, cap. 55-63. On the 1680 comet see M. Suárez, “Ciencia, ficción e imaginario colectivo: la interpretación de los cielos en el Perú colonial”, in M. Lemlij and L. Millones (eds.), Historia, memoria y ficción (Lima, 1996), pp. 312-19. The transformation of astronomy and astrology into the first true global science was driven especially by the Jesuits and the well-known Kircher correspondence. See also the many astrological prognostications in Lisbon, e.g., Archivo Nacional de Lisboa [ANL], Manuscritos da Livraría, no. 2275: juicos dos astros de 1623-1627; H. Leitão, “Entering Dangerous Ground: Jesuit Teaching Astrology and Chiro­ mancy in Lisbon”, in J. O’Malley, G.A. Bailey, S.J. Harris, and T.F. Kennedy (eds.), The Jesuits II: Cultures, Sciences, and Arts 1540-1773 (Toronto, 2006), pp. 371-90.

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stars] are today associated in the Andes with death and illness, we have little evidence of how pre-Inca and Inca cultures viewed comets and whether they shared the European belief that they were ominous.42 When piecing together the evidence, Palentino obviously captured an Andean interpretation of the activities of wak’a Porco that rose from hiding into the sky in order to announce the death of an Apu. Looking back, Spaniards in Charcas and in Lima held this to be true and unsettling foreknowledge. For the Charkan diviners, however, it might have been a comforting forecast, because the Apu to whom wak’a Porco was not favorable was very likely a Spaniard. They would have remembered the good old times of the Qarakara confederacies, when wak’a Poro had bestowed victory on the ethnic groups of the region or even to the Inca. What does this Andean reading mean for how Girón’s fate was perceived and interpreted in Lima’s society not only in 1553 but by members of the Audiencia of Lima and Archbishop Loaysa when Palentino’s first (and only) edition appeared in Seville in September 1571? What does this Andean subtext reveal about the status of occult knowledge in Lima’s society of the 1550s and 1560s, prior to the establishment of the Inquisition and prior to rumors reaching Lima about Parinacocha’s Taki-Onkoy priests’ beliefs? To answer these questions, we must first analyze Palentino’s attraction to occult knowledge and add another local Andean memory of Girón’s rebellion. We will then return to Lima’s society and put the different interpretations in the context of Loaysa’s treatment of Sarmiento de Gamboa to gain a clearer sense of how occult knowledge was viewed in Lima’s and across viceregal society. Of the Promise and Grandeur of Occult Scripts: Palentino’s Rendering of Hernández Girón’s “Rebellion” According to Palentino, the fate of Girón depended wholly on the timely transfer of knowledge within and across the combating camps. For Palentino, a head start in knowledge was the most important military strategy. Who knew what at what time was his guiding preoccupation when he sat down to piece 1.2

42

Even though Francisco Xérez, Cieza de León, and Pachacuti Yamqui all referred to prophesies of a ruling Inca’s death upon viewing a comet, the reading presented here rather accords with Zuidema’s indirect suggestion that comets were a European reinterpretation rather than an Andean tool for prognosis. See T. Zuidema, “Calendario, presagios y oráculos en el mundo Inca”, in M. Curatola Petrocchi, and M.S. Ziólkowski (eds.), Adivinación, Oráculos y Civilización Andina (Lima, 2008), pp. 205-19. Bauer and Dearborn’s Astronomía, pp. 180-84, is based on Ziólkowski’s research. F. Guaman Poma de Ayala, Nueva corónica y buen gobierno, 3 vols., ed. Franklin Pease (Lima, 2005), mentions that comets have both a positive and negative meaning: pp. 885 [899]. European astronomical data does not mention a comet for 1553 for the southern hemisphere. See A. Pingré, Cométographie, ou, traité historique et théorique des comètes (Paris, 1783), vol. 1, pp. 501-02.

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together the evidence: letters of encomenderos, instructions by Girón and Alvarado, decisions by Lima’s Audiencia, and his own observations gleaned when fighting for the Audiencia in Pucará. Apparently he also drew on unnamed indigenous informants and close advisers from Girón’s camp (of morisco or Spanish background) who had deep knowledge of Europe’s different kinds of occult scripts. Palentino himself was clearly a great follower of cryptography, which he claimed was then highly popular in Lima (a statement for which no other support has yet been found).43 To be sure, diplomats of the Mediterranean and European courts were often highly skilled in many different ways to secretly transmit information, including the use of cryptography – the art of deciphering encrypted messages.44 As is well known, Palentino’s narrative encountered severe opposition both in Lima and Seville, even though what he wrote in 1561 and later published in 1571 appeared at first sight to be a loyal royalist reading of Girón’s rebellion. He presented Girón’s beheading on 7 December 1554 as justified and as halting the various civil wars, and thus as the first step toward (re)organizing Peru’s colonial society. Girón’s end in a way curtailed the political (not necessarily local) power of encomenderos. Spain persecuted those of Girón’s followers who had not accepted offers of amnesty far into the peripheries of the wider transatlantic world.45 (One who was later captured in Panama had his arm cut off.) But in a marked departure from the usual process of printing historical narratives in early modern Europe, the Council of the Indies’ censor, Juan López de Velasco, heeded objections raised by Hernando de Santillán, a member of the Audiencia of Lima (and apparently Palentino’s personal enemy), after Palentino’s book was already in press and ordered that the remaining copies be withdrawn from the market.46 He advised the Audiencia to review this book again to verify its truth. The writings of Guaman Poma, Murúa, Cobo, and others show that Palentino’s history was, nonetheless, soon in wide transatlantic circulation. Santillán’s 68 objections are usually blamed for the book’s withdrawal, but its occult subtexts surely did not help Palentino win support. Girón moved through the viceroyalty from Cuzco through Pachacamac, Chuquinga, Pucará near Lake Titicaca, and Jauja. At almost every decisive stage, Palentino noted how occult knowledge influenced his actions. Accord­­ ing to Palentino, Girón was a dreamer who believed that dreams are prophetic. Around Girón’s attack on two members of Cuzco’s high society in November 43 44 45 46

Fernández [Palentino], Segunda parte, vol. 165, pp. 43-8 (see also ch. 52) drew his knowledge from Giambattista della Porta’s De furtivis literarum notis vulgo de ziferis libri IIII (Naples 1563), which borrowed from Trithemius’ Poligraphiae libri VI ([Oppenheim] 1518). A.S. Rous and M. Mulsow (eds.), Geheime Post. Kryptologie und Steganographie der diplomatischen Korrespondenz europäischer Höfe während der Frühen Neuzeit (Berlin, 2015). See Vargas Ugarte, Historia general, II, pp. 49-50. Pérez de Tudela Bueso, “Prólogo”, lxxxiii.

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Figure 12.2

Pythagorean wheel, 17th century Source: Archivo Nacional de Chile, Fondo Varios, vol. 33. Photograph courtesy of the author

1553, he dreamed of cows in a corral that were almost starved to death. In his dream, Girón fed and liberated them: “Since then … the cows loved the rich surrounding pastures.”47 In Girón’s second meaningful dream, San Francisco appeared and suggested that he continue with his “empresa”. This mission was imprinted in a golden rueda de Pitagoras [Pythagorean wheel] possessed by a 47

Fernández [Palentino], Segunda parte, vol. 164, p. 358.

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certain Horquixo or Urquixo.48 It was inscribed with Psalm 22:26 (22:27): “Let the humble eat and be satisfied.” According to Palentino, such a wheel was a standard tool among intellectuals in Italy’s Rome, and Girón’s marshal, Piedrahita, possessed one as well.49 In fact, Pythagorean wheels were quite popular in Lima and beyond from the 16th to the 17th centuries. A hand-drawn example from the 17th century in Santiago de Chile’s archive instructs curious readers on how to read two different types of Pythagorean wheels to answer questions of personal and public interest (Fig. 12.2).50 One simply had to combine the right numbers on a given date. Palentino gave other examples of Girón’s reliance on occult knowledge. In his first battle in Pachacamac around March 1553, Girón, perhaps relying on the advice of a man named Valladares, whom the historian characterized as a “saludador y interprete of facciones [greeter and interpreter among warring factions]” and who above all had the skill to interpret signals of human beings and of horses and animals, tried to trick his enemies by fastening candles to the horns of cows at night.51 In Pucará, where Alonso de Alvarado tricked Girón, he, in turn, attempted a trick (again, and characteristically, at night) by clothing his men in white, to distinguish his men from the enemy’s men and to invoke the Apostle Santiago.52 Palentino, who was obviously in Alvarado’s camp, precisely noted the moon’s position, which steered Girón’s movements. Again, he may have acted on the advice of one skilled in the occult – in this case, the secular priest Gonzalo Vázquez, who was a connoisseur of “astrology, physiognomy, chiromancy, and hydromancy”, arts that were finally outlawed in Peruvian ecclesiastical circles by the 1559 Spanish index of prohibited books and the 1564 Tridentine index, but which had already been criticized in Spain

48 49 50 51 52

Fernández [Palentino], Segunda parte, vol. 164, p. 357. He had obviously been there before coming to Peru as a conquistador. He mentions Rome and Italian scholars several times. Archivo Nacional de Santiago de Chile [ANC], Fondo varios, vol. 33. The two “ruedas [interpretive wheels]” were adapted to a (17th-century) colonial context. Fernández [Palentino], Segunda parte, vol. 164, p. 357. The famous drawing in the Archivo General de Indias [AGI], MP, Peru y Chile, 89 of the “Fuerte de Pucara”, includes an instruction from the perspective of a member of the troops of the Real Audiencia of Lima. It seems to have been for a drawing that should appear on a banner, which was meant to feature the military architecture of Pucará, the lake and river, and a brave soldier on horseback, in full military attire with his face covered and a lance, riding against the enemies who leave the fortress. The script placed into the water source (that should also be painted) was added later on. It has nothing to do with cryptography, as one might infer at first hand. A censor erased instructions to include the natural features of the landscape such as pine trees and an instruction placed between two crosses that only said that one should not included anything between the two crosses.

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by Martín de Castañega in 1529 and by Pedro de Ciruelo in 1541 as well as in in other Iberian indices in the early 1550s.53 In both these instances, like most others cited by Palentino, Girón’s deployment of occult knowledge was unsuccessful. Similarly, ineffective was an Andean ritual specialist from Huarochirí, who halfway between Jauja and Pachacamac informed the Real Audiencia troops that he had seen flags and people sleeping in tents. After some Audiencia members had faithfully followed him for one day and one night without seeing an enemy, the Indian wanted to kill himself. He felt misled by a wak’a (the demon, according to Palentino) but still trusted in its prediction of his suicide.54 In Palentino’s entire history, only four different occult scripts were presented as reliable: the Charcan consultation of wak’a Porco; dream interpretation; his favored cryptography, with its underlying astrological script; and the supernatural pursuits of the Moriscan Lucía de Herrera, who had apparently learned from Andean ritual specialists. In Girón’s decisive victory at Chuquinga (near modern-day Chalhuanca, halfway between Pachacamac and Cuzco) on 21 May 1554, Girón was helped by a most skilled and reliable Moorish woman (in Palentino’s description), Lucía de Herrera.55 She was considered a hechizera, who before the decisive battle had gathered Spanish women around a table in Cuzco in order to begin their unusual intervention. The women twisted fat into small balls, aligned them along two lines in analogy to the battle lines of Girón versus the Lima Audiencia’s troops, and pushed them across a table. When the balls that represented the Audiencia troops fell off the table, Girón’s victory was allegedly sealed. Here Palentino’s detailed description refers to Morisco, Spanish, and, indirectly, indigenous religious beliefs. Andean ritual specialists in the southern Andes of the time widely shared the belief that the fat of the balls stood for empowerment. Colonial Andean ritual specialists consulting a wak’a also often aligned two opposing (in Andean thought this would have been complementary) lines on a “mesa [table]”. By “table” Palentino may have meant not a physical table 53

54

55

Fernández [Palentino], Segunda parte, vol. 164, p. 357. Except for natural astrology all arts that the Spaniard Pedro Ciruelo, for example, disapproved of in his Reprobación (1541). See M. de Castañega, Tratado de las supersticiones y hechicerías (Madrid, 1946), and C. Brosseder, The Power of Huacas: Change and Resistance in the Andean World of Colonial Peru (Austin, 2014), pp. 16-25. Fernández [Palentino], Segunda parte, vol. 164, p. 363. It is noteworthy that this Indian addressed the Dominican Domingo de Santo Tomás, as we will see later that the Dominicans played a crucial role in the history of occult knowledge in the 1560s and 1570s in Lima; a history that has yet to be written. According to Palentino, the diviner’s information caused ineffective and unnecessary upheaval. Fernández [Palentino], Segunda parte, vol. 165, pp. 19-20.

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but the Andean religious specialist’s arrangement for a ritual to which Spaniards applied the same term. Thus Palentino captured the application of Andean occult knowledge by a Moorish ritual specialist and Spanish women. According to Lucía Herrera and her Spanish women (and likewise also according to Palentino, though he was careful not to emphasize the point) Andean occult knowledge in the hands of learned Europeans and Arabs was the most effective, and perhaps the joining of occult knowledge from three different cultural backgrounds was very effective and could directly influence human actions. Closer to the actual battle site in Chuquinga, where Girón barricaded himself and his men high above in Andean terraces, another occult adviser of Girón might have come into play.56 Palentino named a certain Becerra to have possessed two barillas [poles], which he perhaps held in his hands in imitation of (and perhaps with the help of) such staff-bearing gods of Chavín and Tiwanaku; this performance enabled him to solve “every doubt and question”.57 The performance’s true cultural background though cannot be decided for sure at this point. Of the advisers mentioned, Palentino clearly held the Moorish ritual specialist Lucía de Herrera in highest esteem, despite characterizing her performance as “ugly witchcraft”.58 When Palentino crafted his narrative of Girón, he showed himself to be rather unskilled at concealing his own likings. Such concealment, dissimulation, and Palentino’s different types of cryptographies seem to have been ­widely accepted in times of war. Even in the crucial months before Girón’s official alzamiento, the already nervous inhabitants of Cuzco were filled with disquiet, according to Palentino, relying on letters written by a certain Juan de Mendoza in “magic” ink that could only be read when dipped into water, concealing in dry conditions the secret intentions of the opponents to the Leyes Nuevas.59 To “dissimulate” was, of course, a literary topos in Tacitus, as 56

57 58 59

Ethnohistoric and archaeological analysis of Chalhuanca territory is still lacking. There is no obvious fortress structure as of today, but many platforms remain northeast of modern Chalhuanca with ruins of buildings on top, close to a ravine. Palentino only referred to “high ravines” as places used by Girón for defence. Early insights on the Aymarais under Inca and colonial rule can be gained from A. Arteaga, J. Cavero Torres, and E. Prada Torres, Patrimonio arqueológico y arquitectónico de Soraya, Aymaraes, Apurimac (Lima, 2000); B. Bauer, Kellett, L.C. and M. Aráoz Silva, The Chanka: Archaeological Research in Andahuaylas (Apurimac), Peru (Los Angeles, 2010), p. 111; and G. Viñuales and R. Gutiérrez, Historia de los pueblos de indios de Cusco y Apurímac (Lima, 2014), pp. 132-38. Fernández [Palentino], Segunda parte, vol. 164, p. 357. Fernández [Palentino], Segunda parte, vol. 164, p. 357. Compare with his account in Fernández [Palentino], Segunda parte, vol. 165, pp. 19-20. Fernández [Palentino], Segunda parte, vol. 164, p. 273. The ink was created “con un cierto bitumen y que despúes en ninguna manera se podría leer, si no fuese echando la carta en

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Sabine MacCormack has shown, and popular in those times in Cieza de León and Agustin de Zárate.60 But even more, in the 1550s and 1560s dissimulation turned into a social preoccupation in Lima society and in within the viceroyalty more broadly; it affected all spheres of society in peacetime as well. As Quiroga’s Barchillon exclaimed in despair in the Coloquios de verdad, it was almost impossible in Peru to guard a secret; one could not even confide a secret to one’s best friend.61 The 1551 Council of Lima tried to uncover clandestine behavior among Andeans by letting priests know about “clandestine marriages”, the secret consultation of hechizeros, and the Andean concealment of their own baptism.62 This attempt to uncover undesirable secret behavior was complicated by the simultaneous attempt to teach Christian belief in a hidden God, hidden angels, and demons. This type of hidden knowledge, which was according to the authors of the First Council of Lima hidden because of ceguedad [human blindness], became “transparent” only in books “that God left behind” and through “what he had said”.63 The Andeans, much like Spaniards in times of war (and peace), quickly learned to conceal their own behavior.64 Of course, such concealment was standard procedure for those who believed that nature’s occult qualities could be transformed into tools to retrieve information and steer the actions of human beings, such as Sarmiento de Gamboa, Diego López de Zúñiga, Francisco de la Cruz, and, as we will see, Jerónimo de Loaysa as well. 2

The Hidden Pact between Andeans and Girón: Guaman’s Rendering of Girón’s Rebellion

While Andean diviners from Porco had prophesied an Apu’s death, it remains unclear whether the local Andean people of Charcas bemoaned this death or perhaps had their hopes raised by Hernandez Girón, similar to the messianic

60 61 62 63 64

el agua [with a certain bitumen that afterwards could not be read without soaking the letter in water]”. Compare with G. Della Porta, Magiae naturalis sive de miraculis rerum naturalium libri IIII (Antwerp, 1560), book 2, chapter 12. S. MacCormack, “Classical Traditions in the Andes, Conversations across Time and Space”, in J. Pillsbury (ed.), Guide to Documentary Sources for Andean Studies, 1530-1900 (Norman, 2008), vol. 1, pp. 29-30. P. de Quiroga, Coloquios de la Verdad, edited by Daisy Rípodas Ardanaz, (Valladolid, 1992), p. 83. Vargas Ugarte, Concilios Limenses, I, pp. 17-21. Vargas Ugarte, Concilios Limenses, I, pp. 30-31. González Holguín, Vocalubario, p. 667, captures six different Quechua terms associated with “secreto [secret]”. The Andean pre-colonial history of the term “secret” has yet to be analyzed.

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hopes tied in some regions to the memory of Inka Pachacuti in later times. Further evidence suggests that Girón’s behavior did leave a lasting imprint on local Andean people 1000 miles away from Porco in the former Chinchaysuyo, a few hours’ march away from Parinacochas where the alleged Taki Onkoy upheaval began to spread into the Andes by the mid-1560s. When Guaman Poma de Ayala wrote his letter to the Spanish king, having roamed through the entire viceroyalty, he could not conceal his affinity with his hometowns and to the people from the Lucanas Andamarca ethnic groups that were his kin. In painting and writing about Hernández Girón, he voiced an Andean interpretation of Girón’s fate that captures not only Guaman Poma’s personal history but also a vivid local Andean memory and the vigor of Andean knowledge.65 At the same time, it reveals much about Girón’s involvement with Andeans and his impact on colonial Andean society. Knowing Palentino’s historical account, Guaman Poma consciously rewrote it.66 In Guaman Poma’s narrative, Girón’s course had a different chronology and involved different combatants, and each place is given a very different meaning than that bestowed by the unfortunate lover of cryptography. According to Guaman Poma, Girón’s voyage led him from Cuzco to Pucara Hatun Colla (Pucará, close to Lake Titicaca), on which Guaman Poma comments only briefly. From there he fled to Yanavara, to Cuzco, and then to Pachacamac; he continued his flight to Chuquinga in the province of the Aymarais and Quichiuas (for the second time). There, Girón successfully duped Alvarado, who fled: Girón pursued him until he reached Vachi Vapiti Vancacocha, where the Lucanas people defeated Girón decisively.67 There followed Girón’s flight heading north into the Mantaro valley until he reached the “estancia de los Chongos” southeast or modern-day Huancayo, where he was “taken […] very poor, naked, and without arms” by the Chongos.68 Here, Girón left instructions to the 65

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Guaman Poma, Nueva corónica y buen gobierno, vol. 1, fols. 429 [431]–35 [437]. This passage has been studied, albeit insufficiently, by R. Porras Barrenechea, Los cronistas del Perú (1528-1650), ed. F. Pease (Lima, 1986), vol. 2, p. 622, and R. Adorno, Guaman Poma: Writing and Resistance in Colonial Peru (Austin, 2000), pp. 17-18, who largely follows the latter. Guaman Poma clearly knows Palentino’s narrative as he recounts instances that only figure in Palentino’s text (e.g. Girón’s “Pachacama invention” of using candles fastened to the horns of oxen for a night battle). See , fn. 1, and Adorno, Guaman Poma. The annotated edition by the Royal Library in Copenhagen does not mention the meaningful deviations discussed below. Guaman Poma provides different spellings of these places. In pre-Inca times, the Chongos, Xauxas (Jaujas), and Wanka were three different groups. Under Inca rule they were administered as Ananwanka, Lurinwanka, and Hatunxauxa.

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Andeans on how to commemorate him before he passed Vatacocha and finally reached Jauja, where he was ultimately captured by the Wanka of Jauja “where he was arrested as a woman among the Guanca Indians”.69 The alterations in Guaman Poma’s chronology and emphases reflect various Andean subtexts. Most important is the priority of sacred spaces in the Andean world. Certain Andean places endowed either Girón or the Indians who defeated him with victorious qualities. In Guaman Poma’s rendering, an Andean wak’a helped Girón achieve a temporary victory in Chuquinga. This “fortaleza de los indios antiguos de Aucaruna [ancient fortress of the ancient Aucaruna Indians]” had a noteworthy double doorway, “the main door and behind its false door”, which he presents as the key to Girón’s success.70 While Alvarado besieged Girón in this “fortress”, some of Girón’s men slipped out through the (false) door and attacked Alvarado’s men from behind. As we know from Pachacama, Pumapunku in Tiwanaku, Porco, and other wak’a in Andean local memory, a punku had sacred quality.71 Such doors in some cases were known to be watched over by an Andean guardian who was believed to have particular relationship with the wak’a and access to its powers. Even more important, according to Guaman Poma, was the place where Girón was defeated, Vachi Vapiti Vancacocha, where a confederation of Lucanas and Chanka people prevailed despite being outnumbered four to one.72 Vachi Vapiti Vancacocha is located between the Lucanas Andamarcas and Hatun Lucanas Laramati territories.73 Three captains, one of whom was Guaman Poma’s father, defeated Girón at this lake. As is true of many other Andean lakes,

69

70 71 72

73

See T. D’Altroy, Provincial Power in the Inka Empire (Washington, London, 1992), pp. 47-70. Guaman Poma, Nueva corónica y buen gobierno, fols. 433 [435]. The role of the Chongos in Guaman Poma’s interpretation of the defeat of Girón is not entirely clear. This also does not seem to accord with an Andean observation of a star that, like a shooting star, penetrated mother earth at the time of Girón’s final defeat, but rather hints at Girón’s weakness. Guaman Poma, Nueva corónica y buen gobierno, fols. 431 [433]. Platt et al., Qaraqara-Charka, pp. 166-67. For Pachacamac, Guaman Poma finds Girón’s trick with the cows and the candles especially noteworthy. One hundred Indian men defeated Girón’s 400 soldiers, 300 of whom were Spaniards, the rest “mestizos” and “mulatos”. Furthermore, 200 of those were defeated and the other 100 soldiers fled. This is not mentioned in Palentino. On the Chanca, see Bauer, Chanka, pp. 36-38. Northeast of San Francisco de Hantunlucanas of Hatun Lucanas territory and slightly northwest of La Concepción de Guayllapampa de Apcara (also described as Huachahuapiti Huancacocha by Guaman Poma). See also K. Schreiber, “The Inca Occupation of the Province of Andamarca Lucanas, Peru”, in M. Malpass (ed.), Provincial Inca: Archaeological and Ethnohistorical Assessment of the Impact of the Inca State (Iowa City, 1993), pp. 76116.

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local people likely considered this lake a wak’a. In the 1580s, while Cristobál de Albornoz was persecuting Taki Onkoy priests (accompanied by Guaman Poma), he claimed to have destroyed 710 wak’a in the territory of Lucanas Andamarca (347 in Hanan Lucanas, 320 in Hurin Lucanas, and 54 in Laramati).74 While one wak’a being associated with the Aymarais and Quichiuas by Guaman Poma helped Girón, the other wak’a, Vancacocha, favored the Lucanas Andamarcas people. It is well known that Guaman Poma traced his ancestry to the Lucanas and Huamanga region and was active in Lucanas from 1600 onward.75 In singling out the heroic deed of his father, Don Martín Guaman Malque de Ayala Cápac Apo (or Cápac Apo don Martín de Ayala), Guaman makes him representative of the entire Lucanas Andamarcas people. In Inca times, the Lucanas people had served as carriers of the Inca rulers’ litters (those adorned with Porco’s tacana silver). During the early colonial period the Lucanas people maintained great pride in their language and textile traditions.76 Guaman Poma bestowed on them a new kind of heroic role, making the role of the Chanka and the Wanka in Girón’s alzamiento secondary. In Guaman Poma’s eyes, these groups acted the way that history had defined their roles. The Chanka were honored as strong defenders against invaders, such as the conquering Inca.77 The Wanka were seen since earliest colonial times as loyal helpers to the first conquistadors led by Francisco Pizarro on his march to ­Cuzco.78 They, in Guaman Poma’s interpretation, were the ones who finally surrendered Girón to the king. Guaman Poma also hints at some agreement between Girón and the Chongos that the Inca had administered as Ananwanka saya that no Spaniard captured. Guaman notes that he gave the people of los Chongos cryptic instructions on how to commemorate him. After he was killed by chiefs and Indians, as he desired, the Andean people should “spread salt on their fields and raise game, foxes, and lions for memory”. They should remember that “there was no war nor fight but with the king for Indians and tributes”.

74

75 76 77 78

M. Mölders, “Lucanas: eine peruanische Provinz im Spiegel der ethnohistorischen Quel­ len, Von der vorspanischen Zeit bis zum Anfang des 17 Jahrhundert” (MA Thesis, Bonn University, 2010). The main mountain wak’a in Lucanas Andamarca was Nevado Carhuarazo (Ccarhuaraso). Guaman Poma, Nueva corónica y buen gobierno, fols. 1094 [1104]; Adorno, Guaman Poma, p. 39. L. de Monzón, “Descripción de la tierra del repartimiento de los Rucanas Antamarcas […] año de 1586”, in M. Jiménez de la Espada (ed.), Relaciones geográficas de Indias: Perú, vol. 1 (Madrid, 1965), pp. 237-48, 241 Bauer, Chanka, pp. 36-38. H. Scott, “Más allá del texto: recuperando las influencias indígenas en las experiencias españolas del Perú”, in P. Drinot, and L. Garofalo (eds.), Más allá de la Dominación y la Resistencia: Estudios de historia peruana, siglos XVI-XX (Lima, 2005), pp. 22-47.

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These directions are rich in Andean meanings. The Quechua cachi [salt] was, of course, highly important in many Andean contexts. The local people of Lucanas Andamarca won salt from the “Pueblo del Sal” from early in the Inca period. In Girón’s specific context, “to spread salt on fields” is rendered meaningful through a modern-day ethnographic account from Ecuador. There it means to “fortify a piece of land”, to nourish a field.79 Game, foxes, and lions all have distinctive Andean meanings in pre-colonial and early colonial times.80 The relaciones geográficas [geographic descriptions] for the Mantaro valley describe these animals as inhabitants of the plains and mountains.81 Guaman Poma refers to lions and foxes as the animals that punished Andeans, especially “warriors and evildoing delinquents”, in the primary prison of the Incas.82 The Huarochirí people, on the other hand, placed different values on Quechua taruca [game], atoc [fox], and puma [lion]. They remembered the lion and the fox as having survived the Great Flood.83 While they generally held the lion in great esteem, the fox, was “despised” by people on Cuni Raya Vira Cocha’s instructions.84 At the same time, the fox was seen as a knowledgeable animal and as a bit of a trickster with respect to humans.85 Different types of deer are remembered by the Huarochirí people as being trapped and hunted by humans.86 Thus, when Girón instructed the people of Los Chongos to spread salt on the fields and raise lions, foxes, and deer in his memory, he probably wanted to fortify Andean memory and be remembered for his positive strength (like the lion), for his tricky cleverness (like the fox), and for being hunted (like the deer).87 79 80

81

82 83 84 85 86 87

B. Wörrle, De la cocina a la brujería: La sal entre indígenas y mestizos en América Latina (Quito, 1999), p. 39. On the various meanings of these animals in modern-day myths captured by ethnographers see R. Sánchez Garrafa, “Mito Andino: El Zorro entre los Mundos”, Tupac Yawari: Revista Andina de Estudios Tradicionales (2008), pp. 109-51; G. Taylor, “Curas y zorros en la tradición oral Quechua”, Museo del Oro 16 (1986), pp. 59-65. A. de Vega, “ La descripción que se hizo en la provincia de Xauxa por la instrucción de S.M. que a la dicha provincia se invio de molde”, in M. Jiménez de la Espada (ed.), Relaciones geográficas de Indias: Perú (Madrid, 1965), vol. 1, pp. 166-175, 170 and P. de Ribera, “Relacíon de la ciudad de Guamanga y sus términos año de 1586”, in Jiménez de la Espada (ed.), Relaciones geográficas de Indias: Perú, pp. 181-204, 192. Guaman Poma, Nueva corónica y buen gobierno, fol. 303 [305]. The Huarochirí Manuscript: A Testament of Ancient and Colonial Andean Religion, ed. F. Salomon and G.L. Urioste (Austin, 1991), ch. 3, section 32. Huarochirí MS, ch. 2, sections 21 and 22. Huarochirí MS, ch. 5, sections 42-46, 58; Huarochirì MS, ch. 6, sections 86 and 87. Huarochirí MS, ch. 11, section 160; Huarochirí MS, supplement 1, section 453. The lion as symbolic link to an increase in human power is suggested in many different contexts. For the 17th century, for example, see Archivo Arzobispal de Lima, Peru [AAL], Hechizerías (Huamantanga, 1650), legs. 3 and 9. In Huamantanga, a wak’a also appeared as a fox to ritual specialists. See AAL, Hechizerías (Huamantanga, 1650), legs. 3 and 9.

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Guaman Poma’s changes to Girón’s chronology and emphasis on Girón’s employment of animal metaphors might reflect also an Andean astronomical and calendrical subtext. It is noteworthy that Guaman Poma identified the greatest astrologer in the Andes as one of the Hatun Lucanas Laramati.88 Juan Yunpa, who was allegedly 150 years old and even in old age enjoyed good eyes and teeth, was a good Christian whose only defect was his inability to read and write. A highly knowledgeable “filósofo astrólogo [philosopher astrologer]” and connoisseur of the Andean calendar, Yunpa observed meaningful stellar constellations of women and men, llamas with their offspring, the bird “perdiz”, a shepherd, a grinding stone, a lion, and deer – some of which have been identified by modern historians interested in Inca and Andean astronomy and calendars.89 It cannot be verified that Girón aimed at making his instruction of how to commemorate him coincide with an Andean observation of the rise of the constellations of the fox and the puma.90 A calendaric subtext rather indirectly slipped into Guaman Poma’s description. In Palentino’s chronology, the battle in Chuquinga occurred on 20 May and another in Pucara, on 7 October. In Guaman Poma’s chronology, Girón was most decisively defeated in May (instead of October), the month in which the harvest is tallied up and stored, and when local Andean farmers usually have time for occupations away from their fields. Girón’s downfall was thus perhaps aligned with the end of the fertile season in May. Girón’s temporary victory would then have been achieved in October (instead of May), a month in which Andean people had to implore deities for water. He would then have met his final defeat (Vancacocha) sometime in November, the Inca month of the dead. Girón died at the beginning of December, right before the Andean (agrarian) calendar starts anew.

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His hometown was Uchucmarca Lucana, which in colonial times became Santa Madalena de Tambo/Uchurmarca. Guaman Poma adds, in joining his Andean astrologer with a European astrological conviction, God revealed his secrets to men in the heavens. Guaman Poma, Nueva corónica y buen gobierno, fols. 884 [898]–85 [899]. See also Bauer and Dearborn, Astronomía, and A. Durston, Pastoral Quechua: The History of Christian Translation in Colonial Peru, 1550-1650 (Notre Dame 2007), pp. 263-65. On the puma constellation see Cobo, Historia del nuevo mundo, book 13, ch. 6, p. 159. Both Polo de Ondegardo and Pachacuti Yamqui characterized Chuquichinchay as a jaguar. People in twentieth-century Misminay observed “Choque-chinchay [a golden cat]” and the dark-cloud constellation of the fox. See G. Urton, At the Crossroads of the Earth and the Sky: an Andean Cosmology (Austin, 1981), pp. 99, 187-89. The birth of baby foxes from October to December is related to the sun entering the constellation around the December solstice.

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Guaman Poma’s narrative may be shaped by a rather fuzzy calendaric subtext that he found in local memory, but in his eyes, time was never as important as space. Sacred spaces, local wak’a were the true historical agents not stellar influences (of either European or Andean interpretation). Guaman Poma’s account might be seen as a counter narrative that tries to disprove European assumptions about the possible help afforded by Europe’s talismanic astrology in times of war (as illustrated, for example, in Palentino’s Pythagorean wheels or in talismanic rings).91 According to Guaman Poma, local wak’a de guerra were more potent in times of war than Europe’s contemporary occult expertise. Girón seems to have thought likewise. An Unsettling Reading of an Occult Subtext: Girón as Liberator of the Andeans When the three subtexts (the Charcan interpretation of Porco’s apparition, Palentino’s occult subtexts, and Guaman’s Andean subtext) are all read together, Girón’s role in Peruvian history as seen from the perspective of Andean people and promoters of occult knowledge takes on a new appearance. Not only did local Andean people commemorate Girón in their own ways (as inscribed in sacred spaces), but Girón also seems to have presented himself to Andeans as their liberator, not as their suppressor and exploiter, as official Iberian Spanish and Lima’s Audiencia interpretations suggested. Palentino alleged that Girón’s maxim, which was written down in his Pythagorean wheel, was to liberate the poor like the starved cows in the corral that he dreamed about. In Girón’s memorial instructions to the Wanka, Guaman Poma likewise suggested that Girón had sided with the Indians. The Indians should nourish their memory (or in an Andean language, raise beliefs on their fields) of him as an ally that fought with the king for Indians. Indeed, Girón seems to deliberately have sought out Andean wak’a as sources of help and advice in times of war. This is suggested by Guaman Poma’s subtext concerning Chuquinga, in which the encomendero won with the wak’a.92 The Charcan interpretation of the apparition in Porco and Palentino’s 2.1

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This accords with the assumption that wak’a beliefs in the Andes gained particular prominence as a reaction to Catholicism. See F. Salomon, “Introductory Essay” to The Huarochirí Manuscript: A Testament of Ancient and Colonial Andean Religion, ed. F. Salomon and G.L. Urioste (Austin, 1991), pp. 1-38, 3. According to Guaman Poma, Girón also journeyed via Vatacocha (very likely another Andean wak’a) after his defeat. A Huatacocha is located north of Huancavelica and south of Los Chongos. In Guaman Poma’s chronology it seems though that Girón passed through Vatacocha after having reached Los Chongos and headed north to Jauja. It seems again that Guaman puts the importance of chronology second to that of wak’a spaces.

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insistence that Girón always made significant strategic changes in these fortalezas / wak’a also support this conclusion. All three interpretations indicate that Girón followed some sort of occult advice provided in these Andean spaces.93 That advice might have derived from the occult scripts of the European tradition, as Palentino suggested, or might have been based exclusively on the religious scripts of the Andean people. Girón might also have been attempting to blend Europe’s occult traditions and Andean local religious memory in order to defeat his enemies. Pythagorean wheels and talismanic rings gave clear instructions to their devotees on how to achieve victory. Wak’a Pucará (and probably Chuquinga by local people) and, of course wak’a Pachacamac at Lima, were spaces that had long been consulted by local Andean people and the ruling Inca to gain their favor in battle.94 And even though Girón was not in Charcas, and Porco was not one of Girón’s way stations as he sought to evade Alvarado’s and the Audiencia’s troops, wak’a Porco was also held by local people to be a wak’a de guerra. The way that Palentino places the Andean diviners’ interpretation of its reappearance in the sky in the context of Girón’s war and death, together with his reference to a second verification of the Charcan diviner’s own prediction, might indicate that Girón also clandestinely consulted wak’a Porco.95 All of this might hint at yet another subtext. When Girón consulted Andean wak’a de guerras, Palentino’s move to place Girón’s alzamiento in the context of consultation of wak’a Porco hints at a retrospective Charcan interpretation according to which Charcan diviners viewed Porco as the most potent wak’a de guerra left intact in the Andes.96 Even though wak’a Porco operated only in secrecy, its vigor was, according to Andean diviners, unimpaired (this was confirmed by its stellar apparition). According to Guaman Poma, however, it was 93

94

95 96

For the moment it does not matter whether the advice was considered futile or not by Palentino. On Pucará see A. Kolata, The Tiwanaku: Portrait of an Andean Civilization (Cambridge, 1993), p. 71; C. Stanish, Ancient Titicaca: The Evolution of Complex Society in Southern Peru and Northern Bolivia (Berkeley, 2003), p. 284; C. Julien, Hatunqolla: A View of Inca Rule from the Lake Titicaca Region (Berkeley, 1983), pp. 14, 85. On a critical reappraisal of the role of Pachacamac as supra-regional oracle in the Late Horizon see P. Eeckhout, “El oráculo de Pachacamac y los peregrinajes a larga distancia en el mundo andino antiguo”, in M. Curatola Petrocchi and M. Ziólkowski (eds.), Adivinación, Oráculos y Civilización Andina (Lima, 2008), pp. 161-80. Palentino clearly refers to a revision and subsequent confirmation of the 1553 forecasts through the same or other Andean diviners after the wars had taken place. Modern historians have attributed Girón’s failure to his inability to get the powerful Charca’s encomenderos on his side: J.M. Barnadas, Charcas 1535-1565. Orígines Historicos de una sociedad colonial (La Paz, 1973), p. 122. Palentino refers to a revision and subsequent confirmation of the 1553 prognoses through the same or other Andean diviners after the wars were over.

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not wak’a Porco but wak’a Vancacocha who was the most potent wak’a de guerra and had helped the local people defeat Girón. In one way or another, local Andean people remembered Girón’s alzamiento as a war guided by wak’a: their (and Palentino’s) key narrative strand is that they all guarded their powers against Girón. Wak’a Porco, Pucará, and Pachacamac were not on Girón’s side, even though he apparently presented himself to Andeans as their liberators. In Palentino’s telling, victory was achieved when Andean knowledge, its use, and Moorish/Spanish European occult knowledge were combined. Therefore, Girón won in Chuquinga. But in general without this joint performance of knowledge and because of the wak’a decision not to help a Spaniard and instead to bestow help exclusively on Andeans, Girón’s attempt to consult with different wak’a echoed the unfortunate attempts of the Inca ruler Huayna Capac. Huayna Capac had consulted Andean wak’a in vain, in Guaman Poma’s eyes.97 His death was kept a secret, because he, unlike other Inca rulers before him, did not die an Andean death. Huayna Capac’s death ended the stability of Inca lineage, social order, and religious systems. Likewise, Girón consulted wak’a de guerra in vain. He also wanted to die an Andean death (Girón hoped to be killed by Andeans) and reached out for an Andean commemoration among the Wanka subgroup Chongos. In the end, an Andean death was denied to him as well. Instead, Girón died the Spanish death of a rebel and his memory was clothed in Spanish language and culture. We can take this interpretation a final step further. Palentino’s various occult subtexts regarding Girón’s activities might be viewed as more than evidence of how Europe’s occult tradition circulated in the viceroyalty. These subtexts seem also to have been an attractive way to present the strong appeal of Andeans and their knowledge systems to Spaniards. To Palentino, the language of the interpretation of dreams and the Pythagorean wheels that bore Girón’s secret intentions seemed appropriate for voicing Girón’s desire to help Andeans.98 This secret collaboration of Spaniards and Andeans (in particular, Girón’s attempt to conflate Andean and European occult knowledge traditions for the purpose of liberating Andean people) seems to have been the subtext that truly shocked Loaysa (as discussed in the next section), the members of Lima’s Audiencia, and other members of Lima’s Spanish society in the 1550s and 1560s. Girón became a case study in 97 98

Guaman Poma, Nueva corónica y buen gobierno, fol. 113 [114]. See also Zuidema, “Calendario”, p. 216. Antonio de Herrera’s account became the official Spanish account of Girón’s history. He avoids any of Palentino’s references to occult knowledge in his history. (Herrera, A. de, Historia general de los hechos de los Castellanos en las Islas, y Tierra-Firme de el Mar Occeano, books 8-10 (Buenos Aires, 1947).

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how Spaniards could draw on occult scripts from the European tradition and become rebels who took up arms against the king because they felt betrayed by the “new laws” and their subsequent corrections. Girón: the Aftermath and Impact on both Lima Society and the Viceregal Society at Large The impact of both Girón’s behavior and the Spanish and Andean subtexts that interpreted it spread through Lima society in the 1560s and 1570s. The spread of these interpretations had a marked effect on the circulation of Europe’s occult knowledge and on Spanish perception and treatment of alleged Andean occult knowledge. One resident of Lima who had been directly involved in opposing Girón’s alzamiento was Archbishop Jerónimo de Loaysa (c.1541-75), who was appointed general of the Real Audiencia troops in their fight against Girón. Back in 1553, while in Guamanga, Girón sent a letter to Jerónimo de Loaysa (using the cleric Francisco Humanes de Ayala as his postman) that offered his services to the archbishop.99 According to Palentino, upon receiving the letter, the archbishop briskly rebuffed Girón’s request, imprisoned and tortured the cleric, and then sent him on a ship to Spain.100 Palentino clearly disapproved of the archbishop’s behavior. He also cites Girón’s letter, though it sheds little light on Girón’s motives or the archbishop’s swift action; it simply contains Girón’s offer of armed service to the archbishop. Girón might have appealed indirectly to the Dominican’s Las Casian impulse to care for the poor. But ten years later, in late 1564, when two new disturbing pieces of information about Andean occult knowledge and Europe’s occult knowledge reached Loaysa, he decided to intervene in the circulation of both kinds of expertise. One report suggested a resurrection of Andean wak’a; the other suggested that Sarmiento had given occult advice to Viceroy López Zúñiga. In late 1564, Loaysa was informed about Andean religious beliefs that a priest named Guerrero had detailed to the vicar of Parinacochas in a letter of 11 August 1564.101 Guerrero told the vicar that for Andeans of Parinacochas sightings of the constellations Oncoy [the Pleiades] and Choque Chinchay [the puma] predicted cosmic upheaval.102 As is well known, this information triggered the Spanish suppression of Andean religious beliefs in and around the so-called Taki Onkoy Movement. Around the same time, rumors and then evi2.2

99 100 101 102

Porras Barrenechea, Los cronistas, II, p. 623. Fernández [Palentino], Segunda parte, vol. 164, p. 358. P. Gose, Invaders as Ancestors: On the Intercultural Making and Unmaking of Spanish Colonialism in the Andes (Toronto, 2008), pp. 82-85. At this point, a historical connection between this reference to the puma constellation and Girón’s instruction of commemoration cannot be established.

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dence in form of talismanic rings reached Loaysa that promised to help clarify the still mysterious death (possibly murder) of the Viceroy Diego López de Zúñiga on 18 February 1564. Back in February, members of the Real Audiencia kept the death secret for some days and did not discuss it among themselves.103 Sarmiento de Gamboa, who had allegedly been in close contact with the murdered viceroy, was suspected of necromancy. Therefore, on 2 December, Loaysa summoned Sarmiento to his palace to ask six specific questions, which reveal his familiarity with approaches to instrumentalizing occult properties in nature.104 He interrogated Sarmiento about magic ink similar to the ink Loaysa had heard about in 1553, as well as talismanic rings and secret booklets that Sarmiento had given to the now deceased Viceroy López de Zúñiga.105 The archbishop wanted to know whether the fabrication of the talismanic rings was accompanied by any movements of Sarmiento’s body that would hint at secret appeals to demons. He interrogated the captain about the meaning of the letters incised on the rings and asked whether they were associated with a specific planet. Sarmiento denied any allegations of unorthodox behavior. He further denied knowledge about any magic ink and explained that the rings simply held Chaldaic names and letters in orthodox quinque linguae [five languages], an indirect hint perhaps at the Spanish conviction that Indians were descendants of Noah’s son Sem.106 The booklets contained instructions on the fabrication of rings that bore astronomical data as well as orthodox inscriptions that he had already confessed to the Dominican Francisco de la Cruz, who had soothed Sarmiento’s conscience by saying that these rings only followed simple rules of nature and mathematics. After Sarmiento confessed that he had fabricated these rings in Lima with no ill will or intention to violate Catholic belief, Loaysa agreed to keep secret the knowledge he just unearthed.

103 104 105

106

Libros de Cabildos de Lima, ed. B. Lee, vol. 6, pp. 190-93. Medina, J.T., La primitiva Inquisición Americana (1493-1569): estudio histórico (Santiago de Chile, 1914), p. 377. Talismanic rings made of silver, gold, or lead seem to have been highly valued by Spaniards in 16th- and 17th-century Peru. Gaspar de Bustamente, Diego de la Rosa, Sarmiento, López de Zúñiga, and Francisco de la Cruz all possessed rings with special qualities (such as to attract a loved one or to lend power in times of war). The Charcan by election, Diego D’Avalos y Figueroa, in his Miscelanea Austral (1602), sees godlike Prometheus as the inventor of both astrology and the (wedding) ring (colloquio 21) and thus gives his own interpretation of the connection between rings and so-called love magic. Rings as such have no outstanding precedents in Andean cultures; but, of course, silver, gold, and lead were imbued with powerful properties. In the early Christian Church, the “five languages” are those of the descendants of Shem: Syrian, Hebrew, Babylonian, Persian, and Elamitian.

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No one present, Sarmiento, Francisco de la Cruz, the Franciscan Juan del Campo, nor the archbishop, was allowed to reveal it, under threat of severe punishment. As is well known, Loaysa later lifted his requirement of secrecy for various reasons. Between 6 December 1564 and 8 May 1565 when Loaysa finally revoked his condemnation of Sarmiento for “destierro perpetuo [perpetual exile]”, the Tridentine Index had arrived.107 At the same time a political power struggle between the archbishop and Lope García de Castro, the temporary head of the Real Audiencia of Lima (1564-69), had emerged, fueled in particular by the latter’s irresoluteness in pursuing his duty to uncover the truth about the death of Viceroy López de Zúñiga. Last but certainly not least, during his 1564 interrogation of Sarmiento, Loaysa realized that Francisco de la Cruz, his fellow Dominican brother, had turned into his personal rival. Cruz had been sought out for occult knowledge by Sarmiento and other members of Lima’s society. As Cruz would testify in long interrogations conducted before the Inquisition after 1570, Loaysa may have known in the 1560s that the Dominican also conflated Andean religious knowledge with Europe’s occult arts. During his final years, the archbishop witnessed testimonies about Cruz’s intimate adviser, the angel Gabriel, who helped him heal sick and demon-possessed people. This angel had also announced to the Dominican that he was an Andean Job and a liberator of Andean souls. Cruz kept the angel’s image – painted as an Indian boy – always close to his heart. This Andean angel instructed the Dominican about the liberation of Andean souls.108 Twenty years earlier, Girón had likewise advocated clandestine Andean occult knowledge when he sought the advice of Andean wak’a. Both Girón and Cruz aspired to liberate Andeans, in different ways, but both relied on wisdom imparted through “occult” knowledge of both Andean and the European tra­ ditions. Thus, when Loaysa received news in 1564 about the Taki Onkoy ­Movement, he began to suspect Sarmiento’s involvement in Viceroy López de Zúñiga’s death. Furthermore, when Loaysa was notified of Francisco de la Cruz’s unorthodox beliefs that conflated Andean and Europe’s knowledge, his very personal memory of Girón’s alzamiento and the public memory of the 107

108

In the witness reports, Loaysa refers to the Tridentine catalogue and not the 1559 Spanish Index that he had read aloud in the cathedral some time before 6 December 1564. In this time, (before 6 December), Loaysa interrogated three further witnesses: Francisco de Lima, Gaspar de Losada (the viceroy’s secretary), and Juan de Velasco (the viceroy’s son). Loaysa focused on the three (or even more) rings used for love magic and in times of war, on possibly more secret papers that were confessed before or after the proclamation of the Index and were probably burned, and on a mirror that was used to foresee things. AHN, Inquisición, leg. 1650.

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conflation of Andean and European knowledge came immediately alive for the archbishop. Loaysa no doubt vividly recalled that Girón’s alzamiento and its disturbing occult subtexts had brought about much discord in Spanish circles, almost splitting Lima’s Spanish society. As Palentino put it, it had inhibited the members of the Real Audiencia of Lima from taking quick action against Girón resulting in much bloodshed. The Taki Onkoy Movement’s ritual spe­ cialists were also persecuted with an unprecedented rigor. In the crucial years of the 1550s to early 1570s, more reyes magos [miraculous kinds] not only Pizarro’s wise men, who had departed from wak’a Pachacamac, had arrived in Lima, and in more than just a figurative sense. Still others were yet to arrive, challenging each generation anew either to welcome them for their promise of social and cultural harmony or to despise them. With Girón’s precedent, future Peruvian advocates of conflating Andean and European occult knowledge were able to hone their skills in concealing occult knowledge in secret subtexts.

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 The Huarochirí Manuscript: A Testament of Ancient and Colonial Andean Religion, ed. F. Salomon and G.L. Urioste (Austin, 1991). Vega, A. de, “La descripción que se hizo en la provincia de Xauxa por la instrucción de S.M. que a la dicha provincia se invio de molde”, in M. Jiménez de la Espada (ed.), Relaciones geográficas de Indias: Perú, vol. 1 (Madrid, 1965), pp. 166-175. Zamorano, R., Cronología y reportorio de la razón de los tiempos, El más copioso que hasta hoy se ha visto (Seville, 1594).



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Lamana, G., “What Makes a Story Amusing: Magic, Occidentalism and Overfetishization in a Colonial Setting”, Journal of Latin American Cultural Studies 19.1 (2010), 87-102. Leitão, H., “Entering Dangerous Ground: Jesuit Teaching Astrology and Chiromancy in Lisbon”, in J. O’Malley, G.A. Bailey, S.J. Harris, and T.F. Kennedy (eds.), The Jesuits II: Cultures, Sciences, and Arts 1540-1773 (Toronto, 2006), pp. 371-90. MacCormack, S., “Classical Traditions in the Andes, Conversations across Time and Space”, in J. Pillsbury (ed.), Guide to Documentary Sources for Andean Studies, 15301900 (Norman, 2008), vol. 1, pp. 23-64. Medina, J.T., La primitiva Inquisición Americana (1493-1569): estudio histórico (Santiago de Chile, 1914). Mölders, M., “Lucanas: eine peruanische Provinz im Spiegel der ethnohistorischen Quellen, Von der vorspanischen Zeit bis zum Anfang des 17 Jahrhundert” (MA Thesis, Bonn University, 2010). Pease, F., “Fernández, Diego, El Palentino (c.1520-81)”, in J. Pillsbury (ed.), Guide to Docu­mentary Sources for Andean Studies, 1530-1900 (Norman, 2008), vol. 2, pp. 213-15. Pérez de Tudela Bueso, J., “Prólogo”, in J. Pérez de Tudela Bueso (ed.), Primera y la segunda parte de la historia del Perú, vols. 164 and 165 (Madrid, 1963), pp. ix-cxii. Platt, T., Harris, O. and Th. Bouysse-Cassagne, Qaraqara-Charka. Mallku, Inka y Rey en la provincia de Charcas (siglos XV-XVII). Historia antropológica de una confederación aymara (Lima, 2006). Porras Barrenechea, R., Pequeña antología de Lima, El río, el puente y la alameda (Lima, 1965). Porras Barrenechea, R., Los cronistas del Perú (1528-1650), ed. F. Pease (Lima, 1986). Rous, A.S. and M. Mulsow (eds.), Geheime Post. Kryptologie und Steganographie der diplomatischen Korrespondenz europäischer Höfe während der Frühen Neuzeit (Berlin, 2015). Schreiber, K., “The Inca Occupation of the Province of Andamarca Lucanas, Peru”, in M. Malpass (ed.), Provincial Inca: Archaeological and Ethnohistorical Assessment of the Impact of the Inca State (Iowa City, 1993), pp. 77-116. Sánchez Garrafa, R., “Mito Andino: El Zorro entre los Mundos”, Tupac Yawari: Revista Andina de Estudios Tradicionales (2008), pp. 109-51. Scott, H., “Más allá del texto: recuperando las influencias indígenas en las experiencias españolas del Perú”, in P. Drinot, and L. Garofalo (eds.), Más allá de la Dominación y la Resistencia: Estudios de historia peruana, siglos XVI-XX (Lima, 2005), pp. 23-47. Stanish, C., Ancient Titicaca: The Evolution of Complex Society in Southern Peru and Northern Bolivia (Berkeley, 2003). Suárez, M., “Ciencia, ficción e imaginario colectivo: la interpretación de los cielos en el Perú colonial”, in M. Lemlij and L. Millones (eds.), Historia, memoria y ficción (Lima, 1996), pp. 312-19.

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Siracusano, Gabriela. El poder de los colores: de lo material a lo simbólico en las prácticas cuturales andinas: siglos XVI-XVIII (Buenos Aires, 2005). Tausiet, M., Urban Magic in Early Modern Spain: Abracadabra Omnipotens, trans. Susan­nah Howe (Basingstoke, 2014). Taylor, G., “Curas y zorros en la tradición oral Quechua”, Museo del Oro 16 (1986), pp. 59-65. Urton, G., At the Crossroads of the Earth and the Sky: an Andean Cosmology (Austin, 1981). Urton, G. and E. Hill Boone (eds.), Their Way of Writing: Scripts, Signs, and Pictographies in Pre-Columbian America (Washington, DC, 2011). Van Buren, M. and C.R. Cohen. “Technological Changes in Silver Production after the Spanish Conquest in Porco, Bolivia”, Boletin del Museo Chileno de Arte Precolombino 15. 2 (2010), pp. 29-46. Vargas Ugarte, R., Concilios Limenses (1551-1772), vol.1 (Lima, 1951). Vargas Ugarte, R., Historia general del Perú: vol. 2: 1551-96 (Lima, 1971). Viñuales, G. and R. Gutiérrez, Historia de los pueblos de indios de Cusco y Apurímac (Lima, 2014). Wörrle, B., De la cocina a la brujería: La sal entre indígenas y mestizos en América Latina (Quito, 1999). Zuidema, T., “Calendario, presagios y oráculos en el mundo Inca”, in M. Curatola Petrocchi, and M.S. Ziólkowski (eds.), Adivinación, Oráculos y Civilización Andina (Lima, 2008), pp. 205-16.

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Part 3  Culture



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“Reina, limpia y pura [Queen of Heaven, clean and pure]”, Italian Painters and Marian Imagery in 16th-Century Lima  Irma Barriga Calle Images had a privileged role to play in the Iberoamerican world, particularly in areas where the didactic function had to be extensively deployed since there was a population to be converted. Images nurtured specific devotions, which helped to shape and consolidate colonial society. In this sense, the Marian devotion was of the utmost importance for affirming certain values considered essential for social and political rapport, as well as for “keeping watch” over the lives of the newly converted. Images of the Virgin Mary arrived in Lima with the first Spaniards. Gestural and affective relations were established with them, and guidance was requested from them to face dangers during long navigation. In addition to the local dedications and those familiar to the settlers, we also find those of the religious orders who came with the purpose of converting the natives, the Spanish Crown’s justification for pontifical concessions. This was the vein that characterized the early stage of evangelization. Toward the last third of the 16th century, however, this came to an end and a new period began, in which the secular clergy acquired a role of greater weight, consistent with the consolidation of royal power. Inevitably, the Marian image had to acquire new nuances. In the expansion of renewed Marian imagery, three Italian painters who came to the Viceroyalty of Peru from as early as 1575 played an important part: Bernardo Bitti (1548-1610), Mateo Pérez de Alesio (1547-1628), and Angelino Medoro (1567-1631). Traditionally considered the grounds on which colonial painting was established in Lima, the work these three artists produced provided a kind of formal catalogue for the artists that came after and had a hand in paving the way for a second wave of Catholic evangelization at the turn of the 17th century. With this they contributed to the creation of a colonial society that laid its foundations for the centuries to come.1 The following pages, 1 M. Penhos, “Pintura de la región andina: algunas reflexiones en torno a la vida de las formas y sus significados”, in J. Gutiérrez (ed.), Pintura de los Reinos, Identidades Compartidas, Territorios del Mundo Hispánico, Siglos XVI-XVIII (Mexico, 2009), pp. 820-77.

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2019 | doi:10.1163/9789004335363_015

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centered on their Marian paintings, will try to prove this and to point out the transformations in comparison with previous analyses. Thus, the way the three painters approached the Marian work will enable us to observe its part as an effective ally in the actions that sought to unify visual criteria into replicable programs, thereby strengthening monarchical power. 1

Ancient, Medieval, and Miraculous

In order to see the novelties introduced by the Italian painters it is necessary to mention what existed before them, because only then will we understand the effect their works had. However, this turns out to be more complex than one might assume, since the so-called “Hispano-Flemish” period (1532-75) was marked by convulsion, violence, and destruction, although some works that allow us to get closer to what was seen in Lima before the arrival of these masters have survived. The direct import of works, the arrival of painters and sculptors, and the emergence of local artists, fueled an actively growing market. Marian themes were in high demand, both in painting and sculpture. Individuals arrived with devotional images in different formats, materials, and qualities for private devotion and to endow the religious buildings that were being erected. Secular clergy and religious orders commissioned works featuring devotional imagery related to their own orders and the Marian advocations associated with them. The Virgen de la Asunción [Assumption of the Virgin Mary] (c.1551-54) became emblematic of the city of Lima when a painting of the advocation was prominently instaled in the Cathedral of Lima. Roque Balduque’s painting of this subject was probably in the main chapel, where there were also Marian representations in relief such as the Adoración de los pastores [Adoration of the Shepherds] by Alonso Gómez.2 Other important pieces in ronde-bosse [encrusted enamel] located in preferential places were the Virgen del Rosario [Our Lady of the Rosary] (c.1558-59), the Dominicans’ devotional image also created by Balduque, the Virgen de la Merced [Our Lady of Mercy] of San Pedro Nolasco’s sons, the Augustinians’ Nuestra Señora de Gracia [Our Lady of Gratitude], probably the Franciscans’ Virgen del Milagro [Our Lady of the Miracles], and the Jesuits’ Virgen de los Remedios [Our Lady of Remedies].3 2 R. Ramos, “La grandeza de lo que hay dentro: escultura y artes de la madera”, in La basílica catedral de Lima (Lima, 2004), p. 116. 3 D. de Córdova y Salinas, Crónica franciscana de las provincias del Perú (Washington, 1957 [1651]), p. 535.

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Prayers were said facing these images, and the images fostered a strong connection within the devotee’s daily life. The same happened with the paintings, but they had a greater didactic power and ability to convey complex meanings and to demonstrate spiritual practices and values. Here we reference three paintings that synthesize the significance of Marian painting during this period, the Virgen de la Antigua [Our Lady of Antiquity], the Virgen de Rocamador [Our Lady of Rocamador], and Virgen de Guadalupe [Our Lady of Guadalupe] from Extremadura, Spain. The Virgen de la Antigua, a copy on wood of an existing mural in the Seville Cathedral that had strong emotional, thaumaturgical, and symbolic power for those who were traveling to Lima, was located in the cathedral’s retrochoir (Fig. 13.1). Copies of Virgen de la Antigua were infused with the prestige of the Sevillian original, and it is not surprising that a copy was sent to Lima. The importation of artworks like this painting helped to expand devotion and to strengthen the bond between the Crown and the peninsular Catholic Church and the Peruvian viceroyalty. The painting, which can be described in terms of an international Gothic style, shows the Virgin Mary in a typical pose holding a rose and crowned by two angels, while the Christ Child holds a goldfinch with one hand and blesses the Virgin with the other. This bird is frequently found in medieval and Renaissance works; it makes reference to the spiritual, the soul, and the possibility of communication between the earthly and heavenly realms. In the hands of the Christ Child, it becomes a sign of the fragility of life, of power over life and death, as well as of his future Passion.4 As patroness of the University of San Marcos, the Antigua presided at ceremonies and academic events; its chapel was also home to a cofradía [brotherhood] of Black slaves, for which reason it can be said that it attracted devotion across a broad social spectrum. The Virgen de Rocamador (c.1530-60) is another copy of a Spanish advocation of the Virgin Mary, in this case from church of San Lorenzo in Seville. Today the painting is in a private collection, but it was originally associated with the protection of seafarers. Possibly of Andalusian origin, the painting enables us to see changes concerning Sevillian depictions of the Virgin Mary. This particular painting is distinguished by its Gothic style and undulating lines that portray the gentle-eyed Virgin within a profusion of gold. It demonstrates an early but obvious interest in volume and anatomy, alongside a continuation of formal rigidity. The artist of this work replaced the goldfinch held by the Christ Child in the original with a globe and a rose, reinforcing the intercessory and

4 D. de Soria, Vida admirable, y heroicas virtudes del seráfico en el amor divino, esclarecido con el don de profecía el venerable siervo de Dios, fray Francisco Camacho (Madrid, 1833), p. 65.

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Figure 13.1  Nuestra Señora de la Antigua, unidentified Sevillian artist, c.1545, oil on wood Source: Museo de Arte Religioso de la Basílica Catedral de Lima, photograph by Daniel Giannoni

protective role of the painting by including depictions of San Cristobal [Saint Christopher] and San Pedro Telmo [Saint Peter Telmo].5 Although the paintings by the friar Diego de Ocaña with the Virgen de Guadalupe in Cáceres as a theme appeared somewhat later, they have similarities with the Antigua and Rocamador paintings. It is worth mentioning that this Jeronimite priest arrived in Lima in 1599 to collect the donations left to the sanctuary of Cáceres. Ocaña hoped that copies of the patron image would help to ensure devotion and therefore increase the contributions. He painted several copies of the Virgen de Guadalupe: one for a chapel on the outskirts of Lima, one for the Lima Cathedral, and others for churches in Potosí, Ica, Cuzco,

5 F. Stastny, “La Virgen de Rocamador, una tabla devocional de la conquista”, in S. Rose and J. Estenssoro (eds.), Estudios de arte colonial (Lima, 2013), p. 39.

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Figure 13.2  Virgen de Guadalupe de Extremadura, Diego de Ocaña, 1599-1600, oil on canvas Source: Museo de Arte Religioso de la Basílica Catedral de Lima, photograph by Erman Guzmán Reyes

and Chuquisaca (Fig. 13.2).6 All of Ocaña’s copies reproduce the Romanesque image venerated at the Extremadura sanctuary. The paintings were inaugurated in fully festive and ceremonial contexts, enhanced by the creation of supporting cofradías established at Ocaña’s behest. Ocaña’s Lima canvas presents the hieratic Virgin, with a sceptre in her right hand and, in her left, the Christ Child. The mother and son pair are crowned. The Christ Child wears rigid garments with designs of brocade and jewels, without folds, which results in triangular forms. The canvas shows symmetry, hieratic qualities, and majesty. It can be said that this Guadalupana [version of 6 J. Campos and Fernández de Sevilla, “El monje jerónimo fray Diego de Ocaña y la crónica de su viaje por el Virreinato del Perú (1599-1606)”, in J. Campos and E. Guzman (eds.), Fray Diego de Ocaña y la Virgen de Guadalupe en el virreinato del Perú. El lienzo de la Santa Iglesia Catedral de Lima (Lima, 2014), pp. 79-80.

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Our Lady of Guadalupe] is directly related to the myriad colonial paintings based on venerated sculptural images and presenting a pyramidal form.7 Early limeño [Lima-based] Marian imagery shares several visual characteristics. The first thing that strikes the eye is that they stem from models whose origins are legendary and are linked to primitive Christianity. It is said that the Extremaduran Guadalupana belonged to Saint Lucas – it was buried in his grave and later taken to Constantinople – and that the future Gregorio Magno took her to Europe and handed her over to Saint Isidore for the diocese of Seville.8 Legend states that Saint Pious had the Virgen de la Antigua copied from the original one belonging to Saint Lucas. When the copy was instaled on the wall of a Sevillian church, it aroused the special devotion of Saint Hermenegildo and the Gothic kings, who then abandoned Arianism. Our Lady of Rocamador was presumably sculpted by Zaqueo (or Saint Amadour), a character close to Mary who lived in a rock temple in southern France. Early Marian devotional imagery in Lima was also associated with Spanish royalty and the turbulent Reconquista period (a period spanning the Islamic conquest of Hispania in 711 to the fall of last Islamic state in Granada in 1492). Our Lady of Guadalupe and the Jeronimite monastery that supported her shrine were favoured by the Spanish Habsburgs over the centuries. The Virgen de la Antigua was taken to Seville by Saint Ferdinand. After being deposited in Seville by Saint Ferdinand or Alfonso X, Our Lady of Rocamador is credited with saving the life of Doña Sancha from Navarre.9 All three of the Spanish Marian advocations appeared out of the dark: the Guadalupe in a cave, the Antigua became visible when pulling down a wall erected around it by the Moors, and the Rocamador emerged from a rock. This related them to the chthonian deities, and it should not surprise us that the Rocamador site had a history of cults dedicated to goddesses of fertility.10 On the other hand, their power was frequently manifest in Marian contexts. These Marian “portraits”, or “true copies” as they were known, were clearly medieval in form and content; all of the images based their prestige on antiquity and miraculous powers. They were suitable for the times of the Reconquista, the discovery and colonization of the New World, and for the first decades of evangelization in Peru. Marian imagery first appeared in the Viceroyalty of Peru under the most unfavourable conditions: amid Spanish civil wars and Inca rebellions. Spanish 7 8 9 10

J. Campos y Fernández de Sevilla, “El origen del modelo ‘guadalupense’ de las vírgenes de Guadalupe del Perú”, Guadalupe 848 (2016), 17. H. Schenone, Iconografía del arte colonial, Santa María (Buenos Aires, 2008), p. 389. J. Labeaga, “Nuestra Señora de Rocamador de Sangüesa. Culto, arte y tradición”, Cuadernos de etnología y etnografía de Navarra 79 (2004), 10. Stastny, “La Virgen de Rocamador”, p. 40.

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clergy brought Marian artworks to support their efforts in the conversion of indigenous inhabitants, without a defined or unified plan of action. Communication remained tenuous as language and cultural barriers impeded clarity concerning the values to be established in indigenous communities. In spite of this, it can be said that the emphasis was placed on brotherhood, human redemption, and the possibility of salvation instead of on the apparatus of the Church or on the sacraments, other than baptism.11 This evangelization involved a tense relationship between the clergymen who conducted it, often marked by the ideas of the influential Dominican friar Bartolomé de las Casas, and the encomenderos [Spaniards awarded with groups of tribute-paying Indians]. In this context, Marian imagery emphasized what was characteristic and specific, diverse and manifold in Catholic devotion. The dissemination of Marian imagery supported evangelization, but it soon came to be complicit in maintaining the balance of power in colonial Peruvian society, especially in the capital city of Lima. During the 1560s there was a keen interest in analysing what had been accomplished in the Viceroyalty of Peru thus far, as well as understanding preHispanic society, in order to exercise more efficient control over the indigenous populations and carry out reforms, as there was a certain pessimism concerning the efficacy of evangelization. The discussion about the perpetuity of the encomienda [a tribute granting institution in the Iberoamerican world by which Spanish individuals were imbued with authority over indigenous groups] was on the table; contradictions were accentuated, for the conquistadores [first-wave conquering Europeans] were frequently confronted with a crisis of conscience and the obligation of restitution in order to be acquitted, inciting conflicts with the clergy and accusations of having a dissolute life and little commitment to the actual conversion of the native population.12 In these circumstances, the possibility of cancelling or mediating the royal patronage discussed in Rome was considered an important issue for convening the Junta Magna in 1568.13 Its aim was to determine the unlimited rights of the Spanish monarchy concerning patronage in America; in consequence, new political strategies were outlined for the Crown to ensure effective governmental control. The Junta Magna, held in Madrid, involved numerous councilors, two 11 12 13

J. Estenssoro, Del paganismo a la santidad. La incorporación de los indios del Perú catolicismo (1532-1750) (Lima, 2003), pp. 47-72. These antagonisms were not only present in the Indies. The metropolis also had many concerns, such as the problems in Flanders, Turkish and Moorish threats, the advance of Protestantism, the conflicting situation with the encomenderos in New Spain, etc. D. Ramos, “La crisis indiana y la Junta Magna de 1568”, Jahrbuch fur Geschichte Lateinamerikas – Anuario de Historia de América Latina 23.1 (1986), 1-62.

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bishops, and very few clergymen. Among the various issues addressed (taxes, mining, labor, etc.), the desire to strengthen the secular clergy stood out. The guidelines of the Council of Trent offered the necessary support for submitting both secular and regular clergymen to the authority of the bishop of their dioceses. In the same vein, it was necessary to create more parishes to be visited by bishops, and to convene periodical councils and synods where the presence of the viceroy was recommended. These measures hoped to end the differences encouraged by the religious orders concerning evangelization, which created conflicts with the unruly encomenderos, and to standardize the necessary instruments for maintaining control over indigenous groups. The establishment of the tribunal of the Inquisition was designed to unify criteria and to end dissensions. At its conclusion, the Junta Magna adopted a set of measures to strengthen the centralization of power and to weaken the power of religious organizations. Francisco de Toledo, a participant in the gathering, was designated viceroy of Peru at the time of the Junta Magna. His unrelenting character was thought to be apt for ensuring compliance with the council’s proposed resolutions. The modern and efficient Jesuit order, which in the same year sent its first cohort of clergymen to Peru, was destined to play a prominent role in the process as well. Everything was disposed so as to make the centralizing and secularizing interest of the monarchy most effective. Thus, the decisive stage for the development of colonial society began, breaking up the missionary experiments of the regular clergy period and ensuring that the legitimacy of the conquest had been firmly established.14 2

Trent, Jesuits, and Evangelization

Toledo’s administration (1569-81) not only represented the establishment of the missions, mita [colonial forced labour system imposed upon the indigenous population of Spanish South America], and indigenous tribute, as well as the end of the Incas hold-out at Vilcabamba; it also marked the strengthening of the royal patronage and the secular clergy. Analogously, an essential role was also ascribed to Toribio de Mogrovejo, head of the archdiocese between 1579 and 1606. Mogrovejo initiated the secularization of parish governance, which had been in the hands of religious orders until then. The archbishop also restructured the University of San Marcos by reducing Dominican influence over the institution. 14

Estenssoro, Del paganismo a la santidad, pp. 47-72.

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In the construction of a coherent discourse and dogma, the Jesuits were the leading voice. During the early modern period, the order dedicated itself to the education and conversion of people by means that moved the soul’s core. The Jesuits even seemed to have the forces of nature on their side. When they arrived in Peru, a solar eclipse and an earthquake occurred during the first sermon preached by the Jesuit Ruiz del Portillo. The Jesuit order acted swiftly and did not uniformly accept the dictates of political power from Spanish authorities; however, the order was an indisputable pillar of early colonial limeño society. Furthermore, the Jesuits actively participated in the Third Council of Lima (1583) where they advocated on behalf of their doctrines and catechisms, as well as the efficient use of images, in effective evangelization efforts among the indigenous population.15 José de Acosta, a leading Jesuit stationed in Peru, codified the importance of religious imagery in evangelical outreach in his Historia natural y moral de las Indias published in Seville in 1590. In this text, for example, Acosta consolidated ideas regarding Marian and Jacobian participation in the Spanish siege of Cuzco. Acosta’s version of the conquest proved favourable by underscoring “an irreversible Christian order” in the Peruvian viceroyalty and its capital city.16 Canvases depicting the Virgen de la descensión [Our Lady of the Descent] supported this conquest narrative (Fig. 13.3). Acosta arrived in Peru in 1572 (three years before Bernardo Bitti) and soon after commissioned Diego de Bracamonte to decorate Jesuit churches with “beautiful artworks”. Acosta believed that evangelical efforts were more successful if they were supported by professional beautiful paintings and sculpture.17 The second church of San Pablo was erected and, as provincial, Acosta had to participate in the decision of where sculpted and painted images should be placed. It is worth mentioning that according to Tridentine guidelines, it was the image’s task to remind, teach, motivate by example, and induce veneration. The devotee’s task was not to ask for favours and trust that the image would perform them “as the Gentiles once did, conferring their faith in the idols”.18 Therefore, sacred representations in early colonial Lima were activated in didactic contexts. Throughout Peru, Marian images were conditioned 15 16 17 18

A. Oliva, Historia del reino y provincias del Perú, Lima 1998, p. 200. F. Mateos, Historia General de la Compañía de Jesús en la Provincia del Perú, Crónica Anónima de 1600 (Madrid, 1944), p. 137. J. de Acosta, Obras, del Padre José de Acosta de la Compañía de Jesús (Madrid, 1954), p. 244. J. Estenssoro, “Construyendo la memoria: la figura del inca y el reino del Perú, de la conquista a Túpac Amaru II”, in T. Cummins (ed.), Los incas reyes del Perú (Lima, 2005), p. 119. Mateos, Historia General de la Compañía de Jesús en la Provincia del Perú, p. 245. I. López de Ayala, El sacrosanto y ecuménico Concilio de Trento (Barcelona, 1847), pp. 33031.

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Virgen del Sunturhuasi, unidentified artist, 18th century, Cuzco, oil on copper plate Source: Barbosa-Stern Collection, Lima, photograph by Daniel Giannoni

by the fact they were being used in an expanding colonial society, in which it was urgent to establish Lima as the region’s socio-political capital. Represented by Bernardo Bitti, Mateo Pérez de Alesio, and Angelino Medoro, who brought with them contramaniera [counter-mannerism] and the antimaniera [antimannerism] styles and techniques, the Italianizing chapter of painting opened

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Figure 13.4

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Coronación de la Virgen, Bernardo Bitti, c.1575-83, oil on canvas Source: Iglesia de San Pedro de Lima. Photograph by Daniel Giannoni, courtesy of ARCHI, Archivo Digital de Arte Peruano

in Lima.19 Very different from each other, these painters left indelible traces on colonial painting and Marian iconography for centuries to come. 3

Bitti: Power and Glory

Bernardo Bitti arrived in Lima in 1575 and was the most prolific 16th-century artist in the viceroyalty. Bitti was educated in mannerist and counter-mannerist approaches in Italy before immigrating to Lima. Recent studies have demonstrated that he was educated by Simone de Magistris, in his hometown. Bitti was also influenced by an artistic treatise by Giglio da Fabriano, which proclaimed an imperative return to biblical sources and a strict observance of

19

F. Stastny, “El manierismo en la pintura colonial latinoamericana”, Letras 86-87 (1977-79), 17-45.

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dogma in the creation of religious imagery.20 When he became a Jesuit, Bitti stood apart from his peers as being “docile and gentle”, “making good use of humbleness”, and because of his “self-contempt”, ideals espoused by the Society of Jesus, which modeled its behavior on the imitation of Christ.21 Soon after his arrival in Lima, Bitti painted a canvas that was anything but modest and must have impressed the inhabitants of the city, the Coronación de la Virgen [Coronation of the Virgin Mary] (Fig. 13.4). In this painting, the Virgin Mary is placed at the center of the composition. Betraying influence from Giorgio Vasari, the Virgin Mary rises to heaven with her eyes gazing up high and her arms folded in sign of humility and submission.22 She is portrayed as totally devoted to the spiritual, ethereal, weightless, and unworldly, an effect that may have been accentuated by the painting’s stark visual contrast with the nearby Virgen de los Remedios. Bitti’s painting shows a world of beauty, color and movement wherein a chorus of young angel-musicians concentrates on playing their instruments. The unusually outsized canvas is characteristically mannerist, with pastel-colored tones, white faces, elongated necks and hands, and cloths held in an absolutely unreal way evoking the Flemish style. Aware of the significance of the moment and deeply touched, the angel-musicians witness and celebrate the fact that the Virgin Mary is being crowned by the Trinity. In the lower right corner, Saint Barbara confronts the viewer. The patron saint against sudden death, storms, and lightning, Saint Barbara was also the patron saint of Bárbara Ramírez de Cartagena, wife of Juan Martinez Rengifo, one of the Jesuits’ main benefactors in Lima. Both had donated their properties in the presence of a notary in 1581; they requested the status of founders of the Colegio de San Pablo and the right to burial in the main chapel, where their weapons and statues had to be displayed “with the appropriate decency and ornamentation”.23 The donation document reveals Rengifo’s negotiating ability as well as his Marian devotion. No wonder Saint Barbara was included near her queen, a kind of guarantee that a prominent benefactor of Lima would reach heaven. It is impossible to measure the effect this work had on those attending San Pablo de Lima, but it is plausible that they were encouraged to follow in the footsteps of this couple. Art had achieved what St Ignatius longed 20 21 22 23

C. Strehlke, “Our Lady of the Expectation”, in S. Stratton-Pruitt and J. Rishel (eds.), The Arts in Latin America, 1492-1820 (Philadelphia, 2006), p. 416. Mateos, Historia General de la Compañía de Jesús en la Provincia del Perú, p. 246. All translations in this chapter are by the author, unless otherwise stated. J. Mesa and T. Gisbert, “Bitti y la evangelización en Perú y Bolivia, su influencia en Quito”, in El manierismo en los Andes, Memoria del III Encuentro Internacional sobre Barroco (La Paz, 2005), p. 57. A. de Egaña, Monumenta Peruana III (1581-1585) (Rome, 1961), pp. 47-49.

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for, to lead to an “uncreated beauty”, and it did so using painterly techniques that ascribed authenticity to the Marian icon.24 For the same church, Bitti, together with Pedro de Vargas, produced the altarpieces and painted 26 tablets with scenes from the life of Christ. An indispensable complement to the Coronación de la Virgen, however, was the display of the apotheosis of the woman who collaborated in the redemption and was rewarded as a perfect mediator. Lima’s Jesuits sponsored the creation of a counter-reformation style Virgen del Pópulo that was a copy of a Roman painting ordered by Francisco de Borja, bringing together tradition and innovation in the same building.25 We must remember that the iconography of the Coronation had its first expressions in the French sculpture of the 12th century, which were inspired by apocryphal and orthodox literary sources from the 5th century such as the enthronements of Bathsheba and Esther.26 If at the beginning it was Christ who performed the coronation, later it was the Father and the Trinity who fulfilled it.27 Together with the Tránsito and the Asunción, the Coronation theme was part of the glorification cycle, which became hugely popular in 16th-century Lima. Mónica Solórzano has emphasized the didactic and devotional sense of this canvas, which was designed to complement the Jesuit teachings and exalt Marian virtues.28 However, there are other aspects to consider, since conditions in Lima differed from those of Reformation-era Europe. The Viceroyalty of Peru was in the midst of a period of reorganization and Lima had its own peculiarities as the viceroy’s court. Spanish officials repeatedly emphasized the urgency of correcting the bad habits of its population. The Jesuits responded to this sentiment by increasingly showcasing Marian icons in the city, imbuing religious images with subtly political content. As an example, in the second week of the Jesuit exercises one is asked to imagine the call of a temporal king, “liberal and human” that leads to the contemplation of the eternal king, a passage which may have inspired Bitti in the creation of this painting.29 But could the painting’s audience read the image in the same way? It is possible to think that yes, since in Lima it soon became customary to practice practise the Ejercicios 24 25 26 27 28 29

R. Vargas Ugarte, Los jesuitas del Perú y el arte (Lima, 1963), p. 7. Vargas Ugarte, Los jesuitas del Perú y el arte, pp. 16-17. Schenone, Iconografía del arte colonial, p. 241. L. Réau, Iconografía del arte cristiano, Iconografía de la biblia, Nuevo Testamento (Barcelona, 1996), p. 644. M. Solórzano, “La Coronación de la Virgen por la Santísima Trinidad de Bernardo Bitti en el arte peruano virreinal” (MA thesis, Pontificia Universidad Católica del Perú, 2012), p. 29. J. Navarro, “Hermano Bernardo Bitti (1548-1619)”, in Anuario de la Compañía de Jesús (Lima, 2006), p. 83.

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Espirituales with the Jesuits as guides. Thus, they were able to connect the grandeur and magnificence of the celestial court by awarding Mary with the absolute prize of the Hispanic monarchy and the Lima court. In old regime societies such as Habsburg Spain, the main function of political power was the administration of justice and everything was judged as worthy of reward or punishment. Therefore, Bitti’s canvas, showing stylized characters, very white and full of beauty, contributed to affirming the superiority of temporal authorities and reinforced the image of the courtly city, magnificent and faithful to the monarchy. On the other hand, the Ejercicios urged Christians to commit themselves to the imitation of Christ, as captain and lord, before the heavenly court. Thus, the canvas was the appropriate frame for raising awareness on the need for conversion in order to attain eternal salvation and beatific vision, with Mary and the patron saints as intercessors. Furthermore, this Marian mediator was universal, inclusive, and not a Virgin of regional preferences or identified with a particular religious order. She was the splendid queen of heaven. The monarchy in its divine and temporal forms was thus exalted.30 San Pedro’s was not the only Coronation painted by Bitti. He made at least one for Cuzco (today at La Merced), another for the Jesuit church of Juli, which despite similarities also show remarkable differences. The one of Cuzco seems a reduced version of the one of Lima but without the landscape format, and with the Virgin and the Trinity showing a more accentuated volume. The angels follow the limeño type, “bittesco” (youths with extremely clear complexion, with long necks and extravagant poses), but the Marian image is less European. It can also be said that despite its beauty, the work does not reach the same feeling and splendor of the Lima painting. Juli’s version is rather an Asunción – which is explained by the patronage of the temple for which it was made – for the angels clearly contribute in the ascension of Mary. Mary prays in a contrapposto position with her eyes raised to cross glances with Jesus Christ while he and the Father hold the crown with which they hope to invest her once she reaches heaven. A great convolution in the figures is observed and, being a predominantly indigenous region, the didactic sense seems to be accentuated.31

30 31

P. de Ribadeneira, “Tratado del príncipe cristiano”, in Obras escogidas (Madrid, 1952), p. 475. The First Lima Council pointed out that “there are many things they will be told that they will not be able to understand, because they are things that exceed our understanding, they must believe them because they are true [hay muchas cosas de las que se les dirán no las podrán entender, porque son cosas que exceden nuestro entendimiento, que las crean porque son verdad]”, R. Vargas Ugarte, Concilios limenses (1551-1772) (Lima, 1951), pp. 29-30.

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Figure 13.5  Virgen de la Candelaria, Bernardo Bitti, c.1575-83, oil on canvas Source: Iglesia de San Pedro de Lima. Photograph by Daniel Giannoni, courtesy of ARCHI, Archivo Digital de Arte Peruano

The Virgen de la Candelaria, with a symmetrical composition, elongated proportions, and mannerist pose is also from Bitti’s first years in Lima, 1575 to 1582 (Fig. 13.5). The Christ Child is presented by his mother and directs his attention toward the viewer of the painting. The subject, derived from the purification of Mary, alludes to the ceremony that took place 40 days after the birth of a child in biblical times (Mary purportedly complied with the law by completing this ceremony despite not having lost her purity in conceiving her child). A basket with turtledoves lies on the floor, while angels hold candles nearby, suggesting the Christianization of a pagan festival in the ceremony. Honoring the Candelaria Virgin paralleled the sacrament of confession, which also purified the soul and freed devotees from internal impurities. The large format canvas on public display in Lima would have contributed to the dissemination of this advocation across the Peruvian viceroyalty, as well as to the association of sin with the carnal. (Bitti later painted this subject in an antimannerist painting for the church of Arequipa.) The Virgen de la Candelaria, like other Marian paintings completed by Bitti in Lima during the 16th century (such as the Virgen de la O which he created for

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the chapel of the congregation carrying the same name in San Pablo), refers to specific episodes in the life of Mary. Mary was honored by all Catholics and devotion to her was not limited to specific religious orders. Thus, paintings of Marian advocations had the required unifying nuance demanded of artworks in the counter-reformation period. In addition, the circulation of the iconography of the Virgen de la O was restricted, but Candelaria images could be widely disseminated. And besides the presence of the Tenerife Candelaria in the area, Francisco Titu Yupanqui sculpted, almost at the same time as Bitti painted in Lima, the Virgen de Copacabana [Our Lady of Copacabana] based on a Candelaria iconography, giving rise to the sacred image that later inspired in those of Cocharcas, Characato, and Caima. In Lima, devotion to the Virgen de Copacabana was widespread, and it is worth noting that although it was not easy for it to enter the cathedral premises, it constituted itself as an integrating devotion in Lima.32 4

Perez de Alesio: Milk, Nutrition, and Tenderness

Bitti also painted two impressive Inmaculadas [Immaculate Virgin Mary images] (today in Santa Teresa and La Merced, Cuzco) and produced some affectionate smaller format Immaculate Virgin paintings in which feelings of melancholy prevail. These small-scale images betray the influence of Mateo Pérez de Alesio, a fellow immigrant artist who had been active in Lima since 1589. Pérez de Alesio, probably of Spanish origin, arrived in Lima determined to make his fortune. In Rome, he had been part of the Academia de San Lucas, as well as the Congregación de los Virtuosos, then overseen by the anti-mannerist painter Scipione Pulzone. In that effervescent city, he had worked between mannerist and counter-mannerist artists. Nevertheless, his contact with Pulzone and Giuseppe Valeriano may have been decisive, since the latter convinced him to travel to Peru. Upon arriving in Lima, Pérez de Alesio capitalized on his reputation as a well-known Roman artist, which immediately enabled him to occupy a prestigious place in the court of Lima.33 The works of Pérez de Alesio on the other hand, had a strong sense of compositional clarity and simplicity along with a sentiment and character at odds with the Jesuits.34 Although it is known that he made a great deal of work for 32 33 34

G. Ramos, “Nuestra Señora de Copacabana, ¿Devoción india o intermediaria cultural?”, in S. O’Phelan and C. Salazar-Soler (eds.), Passeurs, mediadores culturales y agentes de la primera globalización en el mundo ibérico, siglos XVI-XIX (Lima, 2005), p. 179. F. Stastny, “Pérez de Alesio y la pintura del siglo XVI”, in S. Rose and J. Estenssoro (eds.), Estudios de arte colonial (Lima, 2013), p. 87. Stastny, “Pérez de Alesio y la pintura del siglo XVI”, p. 72.

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Figure 13.6  Virgen de Belén or Virgen de la Leche, Mateo Pérez de Alesio, c.1604, oil on engraved copper plate Source: Museo de Arte de Lima, Donación Colección Petrus Fernandini en memoria de Héctor Velarde Bergmann. Photograph by Daniel Giannoni, courtesy of ARCHI, Archivo Digital de Arte Peruano

the Dominicans, Augustinians, the Cathedral of Lima, and the elites, earthquakes destroyed most of his limeño mural paintings. There is, however, a magnificent Virgen de la Leche [Our Lady of the Milk] on copper, a subject he is known to have painted on more than one occasion (Fig. 13.6). Due to the painting’s small format and metal support, it was easily transportable. Inspired by Raphael’s models and following Pulzone’s works, this devotional painting had a remarkable reception in Lima. The painting’s subject is derived from a Christianization of the Egyptian mythology of Isis nursing Horus, a story which assumed various forms in both Norse and Italian medieval art.35 Pérez de Alesio’s work, now in the Museo de Arte de Lima (MALI), was done on the reverse of a copper plate he engraved and signed in 1583, reproducing the Sagrada familia del roble created in Raphael’s workshop.36 Mary is presented with her face turned towards Jesus, their hands in a tender dialogue. Absorbed in her thoughts and her grief – in clear reference to the premonition of her son’s Pas35 36

Réau, Iconografía del arte cristiano, pp. 104-05. Wuffarden, “Virgen de Belén o de la Leche”, in R. Kusunoki (ed), La colección Petrus y Veró­ nica Fernandini. El arte de la pintura en los Andes (Lima, 2015), pp. 30-45.

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sion – she holds the breast that the Child has cast aside so as to turn toward the viewer. Its type, as well as its attitude, reminds us of a drawing of the Holy Family made by Raphael, engraved by Marcantonio Raimondi and taken as a model by Marco Dente da Ravenna (excluding Saint Joseph), for a Virgen de la Leche painting.37 The Christ Child’s gaze, at the same time affectionate but firm, is turned toward the devotee, questioning and confronting him/her with the reality of death and the suffering that both he and his mother will endure for his cause. The dark background helps to circumvent any interference in communicating this complex message. Pérez de Alesio may have worked on this painting from as early as 1590. The original painting became very well known, and Pérez de Alesio and the painters of his workshop made many replicas of it in response to its remarkable success. Archbishop Mogrovejo commissioned the copy now in MALI in 1604, giving rise to doctrinal tools and catechisms where the sacrament of confession acquired a weight it had not had before.38 The Virgen de la Leche became a popular subject of devotional painting in Lima after the success of Pérez de Alesio’s early painting. Cardinal Borromeo’s censoring of the uncovered breast, which made an impact in Europe and almost led to the disappearance of the subject, was irrelevant in Lima. The survival and repeated presence of this iconography is accounted for in inventories of goods.39 It should be noted, however, that Pérez de Alesio’s work presented certain echoes of mannerist coldness and Peruvian artists preferred to emulate Bitti’s work instead. 5

Medoro: Monarchy, Unity, and Virtue

Just a year after immigrating to Lima, Angelino Medoro painted Nuestra Señora de los Ángeles [Our Lady of the Angels] (1600), the main image of the limeño Franciscan mission erected in 1595. The Lima encountered by Medoro at the turn of the 17th century was not the same one found by Bitti a generation earlier. Medoro’s Lima echoed the religiosity inclined towards the mysticism and asceticism prevalent on the peninsula. It was natural that the practices of the 37 38 39

Stastny, “Pérez de Alesio y la pintura del siglo XVI”, p. 93. Stastny, “Pérez de Alesio y la pintura del siglo XVI”, p. 92. As a small sample, this iconography is mentioned in the last third of the 18th century in the inventories of Lázaro de Lara y Albizu, Mariano Carrillo, Juan de Alva y Molviedro, Francisco Maldonado y Robles, Lorenzo Joseph de Aparicio, Cristóbal de la Parra, and Joaquina Mariana Brun de Carvajal. (Archivo General de la Nación [AGN], Protocolos Notariales, 1075: fol. 841, 1084: fol. 119, 1084: 1741, 1068: fol. 1236, 1070: 583v, 633: 689v.)

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Figure 13.7

329

Virgen de la Inmaculada Concepción, attributed to Angelino Medoro, 1618, oil on canvas Source: Orden de San Agustín, Provincia de Nuestra Señora de la Gracia del Perú, convento de San Agustín de Lima, Prior Provincial Padre Alexander Lam Alania, OSA. Photograph by Daniel Giannoni, courtesy of ARCHI, Archivo Digital de Arte Peruano

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Franciscan monastery, which commissioned work from Medoro, were followed by others. Nevertheless, the city saw a boom in the presence of numerous holy figures at the turn of the century, for example, Saints Rose of Lima, Toribio de Mogrovejo, Francisco Solano, Martin de Porres, and shortly after, Juan Macías and Pedro Urraca. The milieu became favorable for more complex and sophisticated Marian devotions. Medoro’s Virgen de los Ángeles, according to Federico Zuccaro, was based on the engraving by Cornelius Cort. The painting is a balanced composition, ­faithful to the printed original, which emphasizes feelings of tenderness and humility. The image combines aspects of the Asunción and the Inmaculada icono­graphies, for it shows a very young woman, her head looking downward, her arms together, and a crescent under her feet. However, being crowned by angels and not by the divinity presents her as queen, and the crescent at her feet, as the woman of the Apocalypse. It is worth noting that in those years the iconography of the Inmaculada itself was just being constituted, and its most frequent version was still the one of Tota Pulchra. Nevertheless, the associations of this canvas with the Inmaculada were possible and quite frequent. It was in his version of the Inmaculada or Purisima that Medoro showed his greatest ability at projection in colonial painting, where the universality of Marian devotion and the desire for a more secular representation were achieved in the same image (Fig. 13.7). It was not the case of a local devotion, resulting from the heat of a miracle, appearance, or of an image that would not be moved from a place where it had been established. It was born in the Eastern church; its foundational mythology was established through biblical suggestions interpreted according to the convenience of a history of salvation that Mary would have been forever exempted of original sin. The academic debate surrounding this issue in Lima at the time was both long and fierce, as two of the most determined promoters of the Marian devotion, Bernardo de Claraval and Thomas Aquinas, were opposed to the immaculate viewpoint.40 Earlier, in Spain, Raimundo Lulio, promoter of this devotion, played a major role in the early but determined position of the monarchs of Aragon. This was already evident in the days of Alfonso X in Castile. No wonder then that the Catholic Monarchs invoked it in the taking of Granada, that Isabel resolutely supported the new Conceptionist order of Beatriz de Silva, and Christopher Columbus named the second island to be discovered Santa Maria de la Concepción. Consequently, those images of the 40

The year 1307 was a fundamental milestone in this debate when the Franciscan Duns Scotus’ defense, held at the University of Paris, challenged the Maculist position by sustaining the sanctification of Mary in the womb, and therefore, before birth.

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Guadalupe, the Antigua, and the Inmaculada had a prominent presence among settlers. However, Carlos V and Felipe II were more cautious with the subject in order not to open another front to the Protestants.41 Nevertheless, in Spanish America, facing a different reality, the Inmaculada was an important factor of unity and integration that strengthened both the foundations of the colonial society and the monarchy, which by the 16th century had become inextricably related to the expansion of this Marian advocation. The Inmaculada was endorsed by the Franciscans, Jesuits, Augustinians, Mercedarians, and secular clergy who supported the creation of cofradías Inmaculistas [Conceptionist brotherhoods] and ordered images depicting the Marian advocation in all formats and media. Felipe III assumed the defense and promotion of the Inmaculada with a fervor that passed down to his descendants, who adopted the doctrine as a formal state policy. Felipe III formed a Junta Real [royal committee] and sent embassies to put pressure on the Roman Catholic papacy to declare the Inmaculada formal Catholic doctrine. In 1617, the Spanish monarchy succeeded in making the Sanctissimus Dominus noster forbid the public pronouncement of Mary as being conceived with original sin as long as the mystery was not defined. It was in this context that Medoro painted an Inmaculada Concepción for the Augustinians of Lima in 1618. This painting represents the Virgin Mary crowned with stars, her head downcast and her hands together, her hair falling on her shoulders, and standing on the crescent with the devil at her feet. The Virgin is surrounded by the symbols of the litanies with the sun and the moon overhead accompanied by the Holy Spirit. In this work, Medoro abandons counter-mannerist traditions for a style that is closer to the ornamental baroque which came to typify Peruvian colonial devotional painting in the 17th century. Medoro’s Inmaculada was widely influential across the Viceroyalty of Peru, especially after the creole painter Luis de Riaño copied the painting for a commission he received from the Recoleta Monastery in Cuzco.42 The decree of 1617 was followed by one in 1622 that prohibited the discussion of the Conceptionist subject in private spheres throughout the Iberoamerican world. The representations of the Purisima increased during these years, particularly in Peru where the Dominicans brokered a consensus between ecclesiastical and political authorities on the issue.43 In 1619, once the 41 42 43

S. Stratton-Pruitt, “La Inmaculada Concepción en el arte español”, Cuadernos de Arte e Iconografía Revista Virtual de la fundación Universitaria Española 1-2 (1988), pp. 20-21. J. Mesa and T. Gisbert, Historia de la pintura cuzqueña (Lima, 1982), p. 79. It should be noted that prohibitions of the kind mentioned fell on deaf ears once the discussions took place in streets and squares, as passionately as in the societies of the old regime. (Stratton-Pruitt, “La Inmaculada Concepción en el arte español”, p. 39.)

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Figure 13.8

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La Virgen-Cerro, unidentified artist, oil on canvas, 18th century Source: Museo de la Moneda, Potosí, Bolivia. Photograph by Rubén Julio Ruiz

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declarations in Rome became known in Peru, institutions such as the University staged public demonstrations in support of the Conceptionist doctrine. Coplas [ballads], chants, and processions inaugurated Purisima images throughout colonial society. The Crown knew how to encourage and benefit from the dissemination of this iconography, since there was no occasion in which its supporting role was not mentioned. The Inmaculada was connected to the Habsburgs, and the immaculate iconography was there to prove it. The Inmaculada, represented in colonial painting and sculpture, supported a broad discourse and referred to multiple imageries: it was associated with the mother and virtuosity as an ideal; it demonstrated the defeat of sin, the devil, and idolatry, which had an undeniable weight in indigenous regions; and it paralleled the rich mountain of Potosí, which had remained “immaculate”, that is, unexploited, until the arrival of the Spaniards (Fig. 13.8).44 On the other hand, by the mid-17th century, creole chroniclers began to identify the Virgen del Milagro [Virgin of the Miracle], an Inmaculada that in 1630 had manifested itself during the earthquake that struck Lima, with the Virgen de la descensión from the siege of Cuzco.45 The Inmaculada took hold of the popular imaginary, and it is not surprising that it appears on the frontispiece of the Inca Garcilaso de la Vega’s Segunda Parte de los Comentarios Reales de los Incas published in 1617. Obviously the omnipresence of the Inmaculada does not mean that specific Marian dedications, many of which had the crescent at their feet, had no place in colonial society; all of them had their space and time and contributed to the forging of regional identities. However, the Inmaculada stood as the integrating image and was deeply identified with the monarchy because she was considered to be the guardian of virtue. Bitti, Pérez de Alesio, and Medoro contributed to this belief in Lima.46 6

Conclusion

As we have seen, Bitti, Pérez de Alesio, and Medoro not only constituted sources that inspired 17th-century local painters and participated in the idealization 44 45

46

Estenssoro, Del paganismo a la santidad, p. 134. Córdova, Crónica franciscana de las provincias del Perú, pp. 535-36. R. Vargas Ugarte, Historia del culto de María en Iberoamérica y de sus imágenes y santuarios más celebrados (Madrid, 1956), p. 180. D. Franco, “Los franciscanos en Lima y la descensión de la Virgen María en el Cuzco (1631-1651)”, in Ponencia en XIX Coloquio de Historia de Lima (Lima, 2012), , p. 7, accessed 28 April 2016. J. Bernales, “Mateo Pérez de Alesio, pintor romano en Sevilla y Lima”, Archivo Hispalense 171-73 (1973), 259.

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of religious realities developed by colonial art. This trio of artists also contributed to the dissemination of devotional imagery that shaped viceregal society. They represented the updating of the Marian theme regarding the Crown’s needs of pacification and of creating consensus. Furthermore, they also fulfilled the requirements of the second evangelization in the last third of the 16th century; in that sense, it can be said that they were essential to the Habsburg regime. They presented a renewed Marian image in relation to the conquest – the Antigua, Rocamador, and Guadalupe advocations – by developing iconographies that were more modern and in tune with Tridentine guidelines. This new body of religious imagery was highly influential across early colonial Lima society. Marian advocations were tasked with inspiring personal communion with the divine. The Virgen de la Leche was effective in reminding devotees of their need to repent, likewise, the Candelaria and Purificada advocations called to mind associations with bodily filth and sinful transgressions at a time when the sacrament of confession was established as indispensable to Roman Catholic evangelical efforts in the Peruvian viceroyalty. Bitti, Pérez de Alesio, and Medoro also participated in a sort of secularization of the Virgin, in tune with what happened in other fields, such as the revision of official doctrine and the foundation of Lima’s first university. These early immigrant artists produced regal, magnificent, and visually cohesive Marian imagery that affirmed royal and courtly power in the flourishing viceregal capital, the seat of government for the monarch’s representative. In addition to introducing spectacular visual art, these artists emphasized the ideas of beauty, purity, and victory over sin in their work. This early body of work can be closely identified with the Spanish Crown and its defence of the Eucharist. Hence, Bitti, Pérez de Alesio, and Medoro contributed to shaping the splendor of the Spanish monarchy in the early viceregal capital and to strengthening a spirit of regalism throughout the region. This important early work established the power of Marian images that would resonate throughout the colonial period to the Bourbon reform period when colonial terms would again be culturally redefined.

Translation: Susan Leaman and Elena O’Neill



Bibliography



Primary Sources

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Da Fabriano, G., Due dialogi de M. Giovanni Andrea Gilio da Fabriano (Camerino, 1564). Egaña, A. de, Monumenta Peruana III (1581-1585) (Rome, 1961). López de Ayala, I., El sacrosanto y ecuménico Concilio de Trento (Barcelona, 1847). Mateos, F., Historia General de la Compañía de Jesús en la Provincia del Perú, Crónica Anónima de 1600 (Madrid, 1944). Oliva, A., Historia del reino y provincias del Perú (Lima, 1998). Ribadeneira, P. de, “Tratado del príncipe cristiano”, in Obras escogidas (Madrid, 1952). Soria, D. de, Vida admirable, y heroicas virtudes del seráfico en el amor divino, esclarecido con el don de profecía el venerable siervo de Dios, fray Francisco Camacho (Madrid, 1833).



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Bernales, J., “Mateo Pérez de Alesio, pintor romano en Sevilla y Lima”, Archivo Hispalense 171-73 (1973), 221-71. Bernales, J., “La escultura en Lima siglos XVI-XVIII”, in Escultura en el Perú (1991), 1-133. Campos y Fernández de Sevilla, J., “El monje jerónimo fray Diego de Ocaña y la crónica de su viaje por el Virreinato del Perú, (1599-1606)”, in J. Campos and E. Guzmán (eds.), Fray Diego de Ocaña y la Virgen de Guadalupe en el virreinato del Perú. El lienzo de la Santa Iglesia Catedral de Lima (Lima, 2014), pp. 10-124. Campos y Fernández de Sevilla, J., “El origen del modelo ‘guadalupense’ de las Vírgenes de Guadalupe del Perú”, Guadalupe 848 (2016), 14-17. Estenssoro, J., Del paganismo a la santidad, La incorporación de los indios del Perú al catolicismo (1532-1750) (Lima, 2003). Estenssoro, J., “Construyendo la memoria: la figura del inca y el reino del Perú, de la conquista a Túpac Amaru II”, in T. Cummins [et al.], Los incas reyes del Perú (Lima, 2005), pp. 93-174. Franco, D., “Los franciscanos en Lima y la descensión de la Virgen María en el Cuzco (1631-1651)” Ponencia en XIX Coloquio de Historia de Lima (Lima, 2012), , accessed 28 April 2016. Labeaga, J., “Nuestra Señora de Rocamador de Sangüesa, Culto, arte y tradición”, Cua­ der­nos de etnología y etnografía de Navarra 79 (2004), 5-61. Mesa, J. and T. Gisbert, Historia de la pintura cuzqueña, 1 (Lima, 1982). Mesa, J. and T. Gisbert, “Bitti y la evangelización en Perú y Bolivia, su influencia en Quito”, in El manierismo en los Andes, Memoria del III Encuentro Internacional sobre Barroco (La Paz, 2005), pp. 47-77. Navarro, J., “Hermano Bernardo Bitti (1548-1619)”, in Anuario de la Compañía de Jesús (Lima, 2006), pp. 80-83. Penhos, M., “Pintura de la región andina: algunas reflexiones en torno a la vida de las formas y sus significados”, in J. Gutiérrez (ed.), Pintura de los Reinos, Identidades

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Compartidas, Territorios del Mundo Hispánico, Siglos XVI-XVIII, 3 (México, 2009), pp. 820-77. Ramos, D., “La crisis indiana y la Junta Magna de 1568”, Jahrbuch fur Geschichte Latein­ amerikas – Anuario de Historia de América Latina 23.1 (1986), 1-62. Ramos, G., “Nuestra Señora de Copacabana, ¿Devoción india o intermediaria cultural?”, in S. O’Phelan and C. Salazar-Soler (eds.), Passeurs, mediadores culturales y agentes de la primera globalización en el mundo ibérico, siglos XVI-XIX (Lima, 2005), pp. 163-79. Ramos, R., “La grandeza de lo que hay dentro: escultura y artes de la madera”, in La basílica catedral de Lima (Lima, 2004), pp. 113-69. Réau, L., Iconografía del arte cristiano, Iconografía de la biblia, Nuevo Testamento (Bar­ ce­­lona, 1996). Schenone, H., Iconografía del arte colonial, Santa María (Buenos Aires, 2008). Solórzano, M., “La Coronación de la Virgen por la Santísima Trinidad de Bernardo Bitti en el arte peruano virreinal” (MA thesis, Pontificia Universidad Católica del Perú, 2012). Stastny, F., “El manierismo en la pintura colonial latinoamericana”, Letras 86-87 (197779), 17-45. Stastny, F., “Pérez de Alesio y la pintura del siglo XVI”, in S. Rose and J. Estenssoro (eds.), Estudios de arte colonial (Lima, 2013), pp. 85-114. Stastny, F., “La Virgen de Rocamador, una tabla devocional de la conquista” in S. Rose and J. Estenssoro (eds.), Estudios de arte colonial (Lima, 2013), pp. 37-42. Stratton-Pruitt, S., “La Inmaculada Concepción en el arte español”, Cuadernos de Arte e Iconografía Revista Virtual de la fundación Universitaria Española 1-2 (1988). Stratton-Pruitt, S., The Arts in Latin America 1492-1820 (Philadelphia, 2006). Strehlke, C., “Our Lady of the Expectation”, in S. Stratton-Pruitt and J. Rishel (eds.), The Arts in Latin America, 1492-1820 (Philadelphia, 2006), p. 416. Vargas Ugarte, R., Concilios limenses (1551-1772) (Lima, 1951). Vargas Ugarte, R., Historia del culto de María en Iberoamérica y de sus imágenes y santuarios más celebrados (Madrid, 1956). Vargas Ugarte, R., Los jesuitas del Perú y el arte (Lima, 1963). Wuffarden, L., “Virgen de Belén o de la Leche”, in R. Kusunoki (ed.), La colección Petrus y Verónica Fernandini, El arte de la pintura en los Andes (Lima, 2015), pp. 30-45. Wuffarden, L., “La trasmisión de los modelos. Hombres, modelos y obras de arte en tránsito”, in Pintura de los reinos. Identidades compartidas en el mundo hispánico (Mexico, 2011), pp. 55-71.

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Chapter 14

Fashioning Lima’s Virgin of Copacabana: Indigenous Strategies of Negotiation in the Colonial Capital  Ximena A. Gómez Tucked away in Lima’s modern Rímac district, just across the eponymous river from the historic city center, is a small, pink church that houses a colonial statue of the Virgin of Copacabana (Fig. 14.1).1 The sculpture quickly rose to fame when, on 28 December 1591, it purportedly performed a sweating miracle celebrated by the city’s indigenous, Spanish, and black residents.2 By 1645, Archbishop Pedro de Villagómez (r. 1641-71) acknowledged the importance of the Virgin of Copacabana in Lima, writing, “there is no other image in this city that is equal in status on account of having attracted as much devotion”.3 Today, however, the Virgin is virtually forgotten by limeños [Lima residents], and the Franciscan nuns who act as the guardians of the church are eager to rebuild the cult. If you visit, they will proudly tell you that their Virgencita [little Virgin] is a “true copy” of Francisco Tito Yupanqui’s Virgin of Copacabana that was sent to Lima’s indigenous people by Carlos V (1500-1558) himself.4 The story is not a recent fabrication: a book printed in 1683 claimed the sculpture was a “true copy” of the [sculpture] in the Province of Humasuyo, in the highest part of Peru”.5 The limeño cofradía [confraternity or brotherhood] dedicated to this 1 I would like to thank Megan Holmes, Stella Nair, Pamela Stewart, Paula Curtis, and Kathryn Santner for their thoughtful feedback and edits for this chapter. 2 The account of this miracle and the events that followed are found in a manuscript documenting the authentication of the cult prepared by Antonio Valcázar, an ecclesiastical judge, and approved by the Archbishop of Lima, Toribio Alfonso Mogrovejo. Archivo General de Indias [AGI], Patronato Real [PR], 248, Ramo 24, Toribio Alfonso Mogrovejo: milagros Virgen Copacabana: Lima. This account was published in “Documentos para la historia”, pp. 9-17, 34-44, 53-57, 83-90, 101-07, 126-36, 154-60, 176-83, 198-205, 222-31, 244-54, 270-77, 298-307. My citations are from the original document. 3 R. Vargas Ugarte, Historia del culto a María en Hispanoamérica y de sus imágenes y sus santuarios más celebrados (Lima, 1931), p. 187. All translations in this chapter are by the author, unless otherwise stated. 4 Sor María Consuelo de Jesús, in conversation, 26 August 2015. 5 F.A. Montalvo, El Sol Del Nuevo Mundo: ideado y compuesto en las esclarecidas operaciones del bienaventurado Toribio Arzobispo de Lima (Rome, 1683), p. 323.

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2019 | doi:10.1163/9789004335363_016

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Virgin also adopted this legend, as seen in prints distributed by the Indigenous Confraternity of Our Lady of Copacabana in the late 18th century.6 Though factually inaccurate, the story has shaped our understanding of the sculpture and its indigenous cofrades [members of a confraternity or brotherhood] and continues to impede deeper study. Examining the actual circumstances – geographical, social, religious, and artistic – of the sculpture’s creation, and its subsequent reinvention, reveals the critical decisions the indigenous cofrades made in order to establish and shape their cult, and highlights the special role played by its members from the faraway region of Chachapoyas. Historians, primarily using the documentation in the official authentication of the 1591 miracle, have addressed certain aspects of the cult of Lima’s Virgin of Copacabana, particularly those relating to the miracle and the role Archbishop Mogrovejo played in authorizing it.7 Art historians, however, have not taken much interest in the statue or its related cult. The study of the visual art of colonial Lima has heavily emphasized painting and stylistic connections with European art, neglecting three-dimensional objects and items of local manufacture that do not overtly manifest what is perceived to be a European stylistic mode.8 Ironically, Lima’s Virgin of Copacabana was, in fact, deep in 6 “siendo embiada de Carlos V. à los Naturales de esta Ciudad” La milagrosa ymagen de Nuestra Señora de Copacabana… (broadside) (Lima, en la calle de Juan de Medina, 1778). 7 The following sources address the sculpture as part of larger studies: C. García Irigoyen, Santo Toribio: obra escrita con motivo del tercer centenario de la muerte del santo arzobispo de Lima (Lima, 1906); R. Vargas Ugarte, Historia del culto a María en Hispanoamérica; T. Amino, “Las lágrimas de Nuestra Señora de Copacabana: un milagro de la imagen de María y los indios en diáspora de Lima en 1591”, Tōkyō daigaku kyōyō gakka kiyō 22 (1989), 35-65; L. Lowry, “Forging an Indian Nation: Urban Indians under Spanish Colonial Control (Lima, Peru 1535-1765)” (PhD Dissertation, University of California, Berkeley, 1991); D.E. Lévano Medina, “El mundo imaginado: La cofradía de Nuestra Señora de Copacabana y la religiosidad andina manifestada”, in F. Armas Asin (ed.), Angeli novi: prácticas evangelizadoras, representaciones, artísticas, y construcciones del catolicismo en América (siglos XVII-XX) (Lima, 2004), pp. 113-28; W. Vega Jácome, “Cofradías limeñas”, in L. Gutiérrez Arbulú and S. Aldana (eds.), Lima en el siglo XVI (Lima, 2005), pp. 703-52; A. Coello de la Rosa, “Las lágrimas de María: simbolismo, devoción popular y la Virgen de Copacabana (1590)”, in Espacios de exclusión, espacios de poder: el cercado de Lima colonial (1586-1606) (Lima, 2006), pp. 177-206; J. Costilla, “El milagro en la construcción del culto a Nuestra Señora de Copacabana (Virreinato del Perú, 1582-1651)”, Estudios Atacameños 39 (2010), 35-56; G. Ramos, “Nuestra Señora de Copacabana: ¿devoción india o intermediaria cultural?”, in S. O’Phelan and C. Salazar (eds.), Passeurs, mediadores culturales y agentes de la primera evangelización en el mundo ibérico, s. XVI-XIX (Lima, 2005), pp. 163-79. 8 There has been no substantial art historical study of the Virgin of Copacabana in Lima. The sculpture is discussed briefly in E.M. Dorta, Historia del Arte Hispanoamericano, Madrid 1950; M. Estella, “Sobre escultura Española en América y Filipinas y algunos otros temas”, in Relaciones artísticas entre España y América (Madrid, 1990), pp. 73-106; J. Bernales Ballesteros,

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Figure 14.1 Diego Rodríguez de Celada and Cristóbal de Ortega, Virgin of Copacabana (post-restoration), c.1588, polychrome wood sculpture, Church of Our Lady of Copacabana, Lima Photo courtesy of the Franciscan Sisters of the Church of Our Lady of Copacabana, Lima

stylistic dialogue with European-made visual art in both Lima and Spain. Lacking an extended study of the image, art historians have been satisfied with reaffirming the sculpture’s link to the highly venerated cult image in modern-day Bolivia of the same name, produced by Francisco Tito Yupanqui, an artist of “La escultura en Lima, siglos XVI-XVIII”, in Escultura en el Perú (Lima, 1991), pp. 1-134; R. Ramos Sosa, “Nuevas noticias del escultor Bernardo Pérez de Robles en Perú”, Laboratorio de Arte 16 (2003), pp. 453-64. On the role sculptures played in the evangelization process in Peru, see: M. Stanfield-Mazzi, Object and Apparition: Envisioning the Christian Divine in the Colonial Andes (Tucson, 2013).

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Inca descent, in 1583. As we shall see, at the time of its making, the Lima Virgin had no relationship to the highland sculpture, nor was it made in Spain. Archival documents reveal that the sculpture was created in 1588, was commissioned and paid for by the indigenous confraternity members devoted to it, and initially had the title “Virgin of the Repose”.9 This chapter uses the case of Lima’s sculpture of the Virgin of Copacabana to examine how an image derived from European aesthetics could be strategically materialized and deployed by an indigenous community to operate in the fluid religious context of early colonial Lima. I begin with the multiethnic indigenous sodality and the multiracial neighborhood of San Lázaro in which the brotherhood was founded. Next, I locate the artistic sources for the sculpture’s composition and formal conventions in three images of European origin, putting to rest the misconception that Lima’s Virgin of Copacabana is a copy of Yupanqui’s statue and revealing new evidence about the artists and the image’s manufacture. I then examine the confraternity’s choice of the Reposo title in 1588 and their decision to rename the image with the Copacabana title in 1590. Through a combination of visual analysis, a close reading of Archbishop Mogrovejo’s report of the foundation of the cult, and new information from unpublished archival sources, I argue that the indigenous sodality actively commissioned, defined, and re-interpolated its devotional image of the Virgin as the community’s location and needs shifted. The circumstances of the Virgin of Copacabana’s creation and mobilization by her devotees thus contribute to our understanding of the evolving visual and religious culture in 16th-century Lima, especially of its indigenous residents. 1

Founding Brothers in San Lázaro

The indigenous community that would later found the confraternity of Lima’s Virgin of Copacabana originally resided in San Lázaro, a multiracial neighborhood located across the Rímac River from Lima proper.10 The barrio [neighborhood] was first called “San Pedro de los Camaroneros” (Saint Peter of the Shrimpers) in reference to its indigenous residents, who had been granted 9

10

In his testimony, the sculptor of the image specified, “que puede aver tres años antes mas que menos q hizo y labro la dha ymagen en esta ciudad”. AGI, PR. 248, R. 24 fol. 60v. and Archivo Arzobispal de Lima, Peru [AAL], Cofradías [Cof.], Legajo [Leg.] 10, Expediente [Exp.] 2, fol. 146r. San Lázaro more or less corresponds to Lima’s modern Rímac district. See: D. Ángulo, Notas y monografias para la historia del barrio de San Lázaro de la ciudad de Lima: origen y principios del barrio de San Lázaro (Lima, 1917).

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exclusive permission to catch fish and shrimp there in 1538 by the city council.11 The same river that provided employment and sustenance tended to flood in the rainy season, effectively cutting off the neighborhood from the rest of the city until the first stable bridge was built around 1557. This increased accessibility led the barrio to be chosen as the site for critical, yet undesirable, services for the developing city, like the slaughterhouse, stockyards, and the leprosy hospital and church of Saint Lazarus, from which the neighborhood took its new name. The presence of the church and available jobs encouraged a relatively large population of poor Spaniards and free Afro-descendants to join the existing indigenous residents. In the 1570s, the colonial government attempted to relocate Lima’s indigenous population into a reducción named Santiago del Cercado, one of many such settlements throughout the viceroyalty established under the Toledan reforms.12 The threat of the Rímac flooding was so great, however, that indigenous inhabitants of the neighborhood of San Lázaro were allowed to remain there in exchange for shoring up the riverbanks. This combination of natural and man-made factors created a significant psychological barrier between San Lázaro and Lima, despite their being within a short walking distance of each other.13 The imagined distance from Lima posed a logistical and spiritual problem – clergy were unwilling and sometimes unable to cross the river – and threatened the stability of San Lázaro’s indigenous residents. Until the church of San Lázaro was built, they did not have a designated priest or other official means of evangelization or religious care, rendering their residence there in violation of viceregal regulations regarding indigenous settlement. In order to justify their continued presence in the neighborhood, San Lázaro’s indigenous had to make visible displays of piety. In 1555, for example, they constructed a chapel dedicated to Our Lady of the Rosary of the Bridge.14 When Toribio de Mogrovejo became archbishop in 1579, he assumed the role of spiritual protector for indigenous residents living outside of the Cercado and officially transferred the teaching of religious doctrine across the Rímac from the small shrine to the 11 12 13 14

Ángulo, Notas y monografías, p. 273. Reducciones were intended to control and evangelize indigenous people more efficiently. See: J.R. Mumford, Vertical Empire: The General Resettlement of Indians in the Colonial Andes (Durham, 2012). Lowry, “Forging an Indian Nation”, p. 84. T. Vergara, “Ladino Indians and the Construction of Indian Identity in the Archbishopric of Lima (1610-1740)” (PhD dissertation, University of Connecticut, forthcoming, ch. 1). The shrine, now known as the Capillita del Puente, still stands in Lima’s modern Rímac distract.

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church of San Lázaro. In order to quell any lingering doubts of idolatry, the barrio’s indigenous residents were also invited to join existing confraternities and to found their own.15 It was in this diverse neighborhood and under these fraught circumstances that, on 1 November 1588, “Indian shrimpers and Chachapoyanos and those that reside in the corral of San Lázaro, by their own will and in order to aid their souls”, founded their cofradía.16 According to Teresa Vergara, the shrimpers were indigenous people of the chiefdom of Amancaes, part of the province of Ychsma, which had been subject to the religious sanctuary of the oracle at Pachacamac, located in the nearby Lurín River Valley, prior to the Spanish invasion.17 The presence of a woman named Francisca de Pachacama on a list of the founding members of the cofradía potentially confirms the presence of Ychsma people in the confraternity.18 The same list contains several surnames with roots in the language spoken in the Chachapoyas region and indicates that a number of the cofrades were likely immigrants to Lima from Chachapoyas.19 That the Chachapoyanos explicitly identified themselves in the founding document is of special interest, as it signals that the identifier held some kind of stable meaning, ethnic or otherwise, and that those who claimed it had a sense of themselves as a distinct subgroup within the confraternal community. In the colonial period, “Chachapoya” referred to the societies that flourished beginning around ad 1000 in the cloud forest juncture of the northeastern Peruvian Andes and the

15 16

17

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Vergara, “Ladino Indians and the Construction of Indian Identity”, ch. 1. AAL, Cof., Leg. 72, Exp. 4, fol. 12r. “Los yndios camaroneros y chachapoyanos y los q residen en el corral de San Lazaro de nra voluntad y para ayuda de nras animas y mayor devocion con nuestra señora queremos fundar y fundamos una cofradia.” The presence of Chachapoya cofrades is noted by Amino, “Las lágrimas de Nuestra Señora de Copacabana”, p. 40, and Lévano Medina, “El mundo imaginado”, p. 121. I examine the confraternity further in my forthcoming dissertation, “Nuestra Señora: Confraternal Art and Identity in Early Colonial Lima”. Vergara, “Ladino Indians and the Construction of Indian Identity”, ch. 1. The oracle was previously known as the Lord of Ychsma, but its name was changed to Pachacamac by Tupa Inca Yupanqui around 1470. Though now discussed as an ethnic group, the Ychsma are actually better understood as a religious federation organized under Pachacamac. AAL, Cof., Leg. 72, Exp. 4, fol. 11r. The list of the founding members shows that the group was relatively small, with only forty-five members, and composed mostly of married couples. J. Zevallos Quiñones, “Onomástica prehispánica de Chachapoyas”, Revista Lenguaje y Ciencias 35 (1966), 3-18. The language spoken by the Chachapoya was lost in the early colonial period.

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upper Amazon basin.20 These “cloud forest warriors” famously resisted the Inca when they initiated their conquest of the region in 1470. In order to gain control, the Inca implemented mitma, a policy of forced resettlement. According to some accounts, up to half of the Chachapoya population was displaced throughout the Inca territories, including the Copacabana region.21 It is unclear where this specific group of Chachapoyanos originated or why they came to Lima. Aspects of their Virgin’s history, however, suggest that their story was indelibly marked by both Spanish and Inca efforts to disrupt indigenous people’s lives for the sake of administrative convenience. 2

The Commission of the Statue and the Artists

Around 1588, the confraternity also commissioned the statue that would be the focus of their devotion. They did not give the confraternity and image the title Virgin of Copacabana, as she is now known, but rather chose the title Virgen del Reposo [Virgin of the Repose].22 The indigenous community almost certainly knew about the highland Virgin of Copacabana at the time the confraternity was founded. The same networks that allowed indigenous immigrants to maintain ties to their communities could have brought the advocation to the capital.23 The highland Virgin’s story was transmitted through institutional religious channels as well. The question arises: if the cofrades knew of the Copacabana title in 1588, why did they not choose it initially? As we shall see, this was the first decision of many to form a seemingly Spanish sodality in an effort 20

21

22

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W. Church and A. von Hagen, “Chachapoyas: Cultural Development at an Andean Cloud Forest Crossroads”, in H. Silverman and W.H. Isbell (eds.), The Handbook of South American Archaeology (New York, 2008), p. 904. There is disagreement about the concept of a Chachapoya ethnic identity. Church and von Hagen argue that a regional identity emerged in the region around ad 1000 and coalesced into an ethnic category known as “Chachapoya” under the Inca. Church and von Hagen, “Chachapoyas”, p. 916. On the Chachapoya as mitmaqkuna, see: W. Espinoza, “Los señoríos étnicos de los chachapoyas y la alianza hispanochacha”, Revista Histórica 30 (1967), 224-333, and L. Rankin, “And Such Was the Custom of the Inca: The Imperial Mitmaq Policy of the Inca” (MA thesis, Trent University, 1994). AAL, Cof., Leg.72, Exp. 4, fol. 12r. Scholars have noted that the image was originally given the Reposo title but the significance of the decision has been overlooked. Amino, “Las lágrimas de Nuestra Señora de Copacabana”, p. 47, and Lévano Medina, “El mundo imaginado”, p. 121. T. Vergara, “Growing Up Indian: Migration, Labor, and Life in Lima (1570-1640)”, in O.E. González and B. Premo (eds.), Raising an Empire: Children in Early Modern Iberia and Colonial Latin America (Albuquerque, 2007), pp. 75-106.

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to project an image of peninsular Christianity and solidify their presence in San Lázaro. Lacking a surviving contract, we no longer know exactly when the cofrades commissioned the sculpture, but documents generated during the confraternity’s later time in the Cathedral of Lima confirm that the image was commissioned and paid for by the sodality.24 As the primary devotional object that would represent the cofradía in public spaces, the sculpted Virgin was an important vehicle for conveying the appropriateness of their devotion. The choice of prominent Spanish artists reflects the cofrades’ aesthetic interests for their Virgin and the financial resources that they had for the undertaking. Furthermore, the relationship that the confraternity maintained with the painter of the sculpture bears witness to the intimate involvement of the indigenous members in the process of creating their devotional image. The confraternity commissioned two Spanish artists to create the Virgin of Repose: sculptor Diego Rodríguez de Celada (c.1531-1604) and painter Cristóbal de Ortega (c.1549).25 Rodríguez testified that the sculpture was made from Nicaraguan cedar, adding another geographical reference point to its culturally plural creation.26 While few records survive of other works Rodríguez produced in the City of Kings, archival documents demonstrate that he was an itinerant artist who spent substantial periods of his professional career in Lima, with intermittent travel to other parts of the viceroyalty, including Quito, Cuzco, Arequipa, and Sucre.27 These experiences had an impact on Rodríguez’s art that ultimately informed his creation of the Virgin in Lima. The work of the similarly peripatetic, Roman-trained, Jesuit artist, Bernardo Bitti (1548-1610), stands out as particularly influential for Rodríguez, as can be seen in an image of Saint Sebastian that Rodríguez produced for the Church of La Compañía in Arequipa (1590). It is worth noting that Rodríguez was in Sucre in 1583, around the same time that Francisco Tito Yupanqui is said to have completed the ­highland Virgin of Copacabana.28 It is possible that the two artists met, and 24 25

26 27

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AAL, Cof., Leg. 72, Exp. 4, fols. 83r-114v. AGI, PR, 248, R. 24, fol. 60v. Vargas Ugarte was the first to identify the sculptor, but I identified his second surname based on documents the sculptor generated that remain at the Archivo General de la Nación [AGN] and a confraternal document at the AAL. Ortega stated he was “forty years old, more or less” in the 1591 miracle documentation. AGI, PR, 248, R. 24, fol. 52v. AGI, PR. 248, R. 24, fol. 61r. See: G.G. Palmer, “The Religious Polychromed Wood Sculpture of Colonial Quito: Its Origins and Sources” (PhD dissertation, University of New Mexico, 1973); J. de Mesa and T. Gisbert, Escultura virreinal en Bolivia (La Paz, 1972), pp. 41-42, 262-64; L.E. Tord, “La escultura virreinal en Arequipa”, in Escultura en el Perú (Lima, 1991), p. 282. De Mesa and Gisbert, Escultura Virreinal en Bolivia, p. 41.

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that Rodríguez was familiar with the famous cult statue around the time of its creation, making it that much more curious that the cofrades did not choose the Copacabana advocation in 1588. Although Ortega polychromed and gilded the sculpture, he has gone virtually unnoticed in scholarship on the cult image.29 Even less is known about his career, but we do know that after the miracle, in 1594, the mayordomos of the Confraternity of the Visitation commissioned Rodríguez and Ortega to produce decorations for their chapel in the cathedral.30 The fact that an elite Spanish confraternity also commissioned the two artists for high-profile work indicates that the cofrades successfully chose artists who could create an image with an aesthetic appealing to Spanish viewers. In addition, Ortega’s career is marked by fairly frequent documented interaction with indigenous people, complicating the concept of the “Spanish artist” and his workshop in Lima, and indicating that it is productive to reconsider the relationship between the confraternal community and the painter. In January of 1588, for example, the same year that Ortega completed the Virgin, an indigenous man from Huamanga (now Ayacucho) named Hernando Huruso Caravay entered Ortega’s service in what seems to have been an apprenticeship.31 Domingo Girnay, a self-identified indio ladino [an indigenous person who spoke Spanish and dressed according to Spanish norms] and member of the Confraternity of Our Lady of Copacabana, testified in 1604 that he saw the sculpture being made “in the house of its Spanish painter at the time that the said indios brought [the image] to the barrio of San Lázaro”, suggesting the cofrades were aware Caravay was in Ortega’s workshop.32 If so, this would have added a layer of meaning – one not visible to Spanish eyes – to the sodality’s experience of the statue. Whereas early modern Spanish art placed a high premium on the finished art object and the identity of the creator, many Andean artistic traditions valued the crafting process equally, if not more, than the final product. 3

Visual Influences on the Statue of the Virgin

The choice of Rodríguez and Ortega to produce the confraternity’s statue resulted in a sculpture that was heavily influenced by European and limeño 29 30 31 32

Estabridis Cárdenas (1993) is the only other scholar to discuss Ortega. AGN, Protocolos Notariales [PN], XVI, Protocolo [Prot.] 97, fols. 75v-76v, 142r-143v. AGN, PN, XVI, Prot. 31, fol. 1031v. “y la bio hacer este to en casa de su espanol pintor al tpo que la traxeron los dhos yndios al barrio de san lacaro” AAL, Cof., Leg. 72, Exp. 4, fol. 106r.

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Figure 14.2 Diego Rodríguez de Celada and Cristóbal de Ortega, Virgin of Copacabana (pre restoration), c.1588, polychrome wood sculpture, Church of Our Lady of Copacabana, Lima Photo courtesy of the Franciscan Sisters of the Church of Our Lady of Copacabana, Lima

typologies of the Virgin. Identifying the models helps determine the visual conversations that were taking place in Lima and, thereby, to appreciate how the Virgin’s visual aspects would have supported the confraternity in their activities and ambitions in San Lázaro. As we shall see, the Virgin appealed to viewers familiar with the religious art of the early colonial city, attracting a wider group of devotees – and their donations – than just the confraternity members. This popularity, paired with the image’s aesthetic qualities, would also have been used by the cofrades as evidence that they were ladinos whose faith was beyond reproach, under pastoral oversight within San Lázaro. Unfortunately, like many colonial artworks, Lima’s Virgin of Copacabana has suffered from heavy repainting since its creation in 1588 (Fig. 14.2). In 1993, when the Church of Our Lady of Copacabana underwent a major restoration campaign funded by the local community, the Banco de Crédito del Perú took on the task of restoring the sculpture, and Monsignor Alberto Brazzini DíazUfano, the titular bishop of Assava and auxiliary bishop of Lima, oversaw the restoration. The restorers removed modern coats of paint in order to reveal

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Ortega’s original painted and gilded decorations and made a number of substantial changes, likely at the monsignor’s instigation. The long, wavy brown hair that Rodríguez carved was removed and another material was added to extend the textile previously around the Virgin’s shoulders, transforming it into a mantle that covers the Virgin’s head. The Christ Child’s hair was also modified from wavy locks that culminated in a prominent widow’s peak to short curls that fall tightly along a straight hairline. These recent alterations have made the Virgin more closely resemble Yupanqui’s original Virgin of Copacabana.33 Looking past these lamentable changes, we can still see the typologies that influenced the limeño Virgin. The dominant artistic sources for Lima’s Copacabana Virgin were two prominently displayed polychrome sculptures, produced by the Flemish artist Roque de Balduque (d. 1561) in Seville and imported to Lima in the 1550s.34 The Virgin and Child (1551-54) had been donated by Francisca Pizarro as a memorial for her father, the city’s founder, and sat on the main altar of the cathedral (Fig. 14.3).35 The Virgin of the Rosary (1558-59), located on the high altar of the Dominican church and convent, was commissioned by the Bishop-Elect of Charcas, Friar Domingo de Santo Tomás, for the Spanish Confraternity of the Rosary (Fig. 14.4).36 Both sculptures have also been traditionally considered gifts from Carlos V, and the modern-day nuns of the Church of Our Lady of Copacabana paradoxically claim that their Virgencita was sent along with them.37 As with Lima’s Copacabana, neither of these sculpted Virgins had imperial provenance, though they were produced in the active Sevillian workshop of the celebrated Flemish artist who had immigrated to Spain in 1534.38 The export of these two statues was ultimately part of a larger trend of Sevillian artistic influence on early colonial limeño art. In establishing a visual relationship between the newly commissioned Virgin del Reposo (now Copacabana) 33 34

35 36 37 38

Sor María Consuelo de Jesús, in conversation, 26 August 2015. The earliest connection between the sculpture and the Balduquean Marian model is Estella, “Sobre escultura Española en América y Filipinas y algunos otros temas”, p. 75. However, she misattributes the Lima sculpture to “Inca Tito Yupanqui”. In 1993, Ricardo Estabridis Cárdenas also identified the Lima sculptures as possible reference points for Rodríguez’s sculpture. R. Estabridis Cárdenas, “La Mamacha Candelaria en el Arte Colonial”, Sequilao 4-5 (1993), 76. J. Bernales Ballesteros, “Esculturas de Roque de Balduque y su círculo en Andalucía y América”, Anuario de Estudios Americanos 34 (1977), 361-62. Bernales Ballesteros, “Esculturas de Roque de Balduque y su círculo en Andalucía y América”, p. 365. Sor María Consuelo de Jesús, in conversation, 26 August 2015. J. Bernales Ballesteros, “Escultores y esculturas de Sevilla en el Virreinato del Perú, siglo XVI”, Archivo Hispalense 72.220 (1989), 270.

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Figure 14.3 Roque de Balduque, Virgin and Child (now Evangelization), c.1551-54, polychrome wood sculpture, Lima Cathedral Photo courtesy of the Cathedral of Lima

and Balduque’s sculptures from Seville, the indigenous confraternity and the artists, Rodríguez and Ortega, drew on a dominant artistic style within Lima’s visual language that was associated with religious art. The Copacabana statue also displays features derived from Italianate art, another influential new visual mode in early colonial Lima. The mother and child both display an air of gracefulness: Mary’s neck and hands are attenuated, and her fingers appear especially nimble as she uses only the tips of her fingers to hold the child; the Christ Child’s long torso, daintily crossed legs, and the effortlessness with which he balances the cross and orb of power have a similar character. An emphasis on this quality of grace is associated with Italian art of the 16th century, which was transmitted to South America with the

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Figure 14.4 Roque de Balduque, Virgen del Rosario, c.1560, polychrome wood sculpture, Church of Santo Domingo, Lima Photo courtesy of the Cathedral of Lima

arrival of three celebrated Italian “Mannerist” artists.39 The first to arrive, in 1575, was the painter Bernardo Bitti.40 His paintings were singular, characterized by exaggeratedly graceful figures, a palette of pastel colors, and drapery 39

40

The first documented Italian painters to come to colonial Peru were Bernardo Bitti, Mateo Pérez de Alesio (1547-1616), and Angelino Medoro (1565-c.1633). See: C. Irwin, “Roma in Lima: Italian Renaissance Influence in Colonial Peruvian Painting” (PhD dissertation, Graduate Center, City University of New York, 2014). J. de Mesa and T. Gisbert, Bitti: Un pintor manierista en sudamérica (La Paz, 1974).

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Figure 14.5 Bernardo Bitti, Virgen de la Candelaria, 1572-76, oil on canvas. Church of San Pedro, Lima Photo courtesy of Daniel Giannoni

with sharp geometric folds. Art historical scholarship has heavily emphasized Bitti’s influence on colonial Peruvian art, even naming him the father of the so-called “Cuzco School” of painting.41 While this gives the Italian artist too much credit, Bitti was well known in Lima and throughout the viceroyalty in his time. Bitti’s painting of the Virgen de la Candelaria, made for the Jesuit Church of San Pablo during his first stay in Lima, is another of Rodríguez’s possible sources of influence (Fig. 14.5).42 Both Virgins have the same long necks and fingers, and although Bitti’s Virgin and Child are noticeably lighter and airier, this can be attributed in part to the difference in medium. That this typology was borrowed from Bitti is undeniable, as the slender-faced Virgin does not appear elsewhere in the art of colonial Lima. By invoking Bitti, Rodríguez aligned the sculpture not just with the Italian artist, but with the medium of painting as well, which Bitti’s Jesuit order valued as the key to the success of the evangelization project.43 Thus, Rodríguez achieved in sculpture the gracefulness that marked Bitti’s painting, dou41 42 43

See: J. de Mesa, Bitti y los orígenes de la escuela cusqueña (Cuzco, 1974). In reality it is not a true “school”, but rather a later designation for an artistic tradition that grew out of Cuzco and varies widely from artist to artist. The church is now known as San Pedro, but was called San Pablo in the colonial period and served as headquarters for the Jesuits in South America. Anonymous Jesuit of 1600, Historia general de la Compañía de Jesus en la Provincia del Perú (Madrid, 1944), p. 245.

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bly reinforcing the visual language that indigenous people in Lima, especially those in the Jesuit-controlled Cercado, were taught to equate with Christianity. For the Copacabana cofrades, this reference associated their Virgin with a painting by one of the most prominent European artists in the city, thereby elevating the status of their image. The modeling of the Lima Virgin of Copacabana after these Sevillian- and Italian-inflected images had many implications for the indigenous community that deployed the sculpture. The relationship of the Copacabana sculpture to two of the most prominent sculpted images of the Virgin in Lima, displayed on the high altars of major churches, as well as with Bitti’s Virgen de la Candelaria in the Jesuit church, enhanced the value and agency of the confraternity’s ­Virgin through overt visual links. This is especially true in the case of Balduque’s Virgin and Child, since this sculpture and the Virgin of Copacabana were both located in the cathedral from 1592 until 1633, and thus readily available for comparison. Moreover, since the Virgin and Child was commissioned by a direct descendant of Inca nobility – Francisca’s mother was an Inca ñusta, or princess – an early colonial indigenous viewer could have appreciated the connection between it and the Virgin of Copacabana. The cofrades may even have requested that Rodríguez use Balduque’s Virgin as a model for this reason. For the Copacabana cofrades, these visual associations with the artistic style and sacred imagery of early modern Seville ultimately indicated tacit approval of the image’s orthodox content by the city’s religious authorities, and elicited respect from artistically literate limeños, including those who had the most money to donate to the confraternity and its image cult. 4

The Virgin of the Repose

Like the artistic typologies from which the sculpture drew, the title chosen in 1588, the Virgin of the Repose, also had its origins in Europe. It was not until after the cofrades were forcibly relocated to the Cercado in October of 1590 that the Virgin was renamed and the confraternity re-founded. It is worth emphasizing that the Reposo title was not forced upon the indigenous community. On the contrary, in 1604, the cofrades clearly stated that they were the ones who chose this original title.44 In so doing, the confraternity selected a title that was purposefully multivalent, at once supporting the cofrades’ bid to stay in San Lázaro through overt European markers while also making reference to their lives as an indigenous community residing in Lima. 44

AAL, Cofradías, Leg. 72, Exp. 4, fol. 83r.

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Although the advocation was not a common one in colonial Latin America, there were multiple cults dedicated to the Virgin of the Repose in Spain.45 Considering the many visual connections the limeño Virgin had with Sevillian devotional images and artists, it is possible that the Reposo title was invoking one such image of the same advocation in Seville’s cathedral, created in 1540 by the French artist Miguel Perrin (1498-1552).46 The cofrades may have been drawn to the Sevillian Virgen del Reposo because of its reputation for aiding mothers in childbirth.47 Details in the confraternity’s records support the possibility that this was their motivation, such as the fact that their devotional image later gained a similar reputation, albeit after the sculpture had changed advocation.48 Another possible candidate is the Virgin of the Repose in Valverde del Camino in Andalucía.49 The Reposo advocation, which refers to a moment of rest during the flight into Egypt, was a fitting choice for the church in Valverde, since it served as a rest stop for merchants on the route between Aracena and the port of Huelva. The limeño cofrades, then, may have chosen the title in reference to San Lázaro’s location as the point of entry into the city of Lima from the north. Since the confraternity was composed in large part by immigrants from the north, like the Chachapoya, the Virgin’s title can also be understood metaphorically. The confraternity and their Marian image in San Lázaro operated as a physical gathering place and social resource for indigenous peoples who had experienced resettlement and migration, and had journeyed far from their homelands. This local meaning associated with the Reposo advocation could have allowed the members to subtly maintain their indigenous identity without negating the image’s visual and titular affinity to Spain and the Church. The Reposo title, whether linked to the image cult in Valverde del Camino or Seville, signaled the cofrades’ interest in Catholic devotion culture and the sacred topography of Spain. In this way, the confraternity directly addressed concerns from the viceroy and the Jesuits that they were not receiving appropriate doctrinal instruction and therefore needed to be “reduced” to the Cercado. 45 46 47 48 49

The only other Reposo confraternity in colonial Lima was founded in the church of San Lázaro after the Copacabana cofrades were relocated to the Cercado. Seville had numerous religious, artistic, and political ties to Spanish America, in large part because it had the only port officially licensed to trade with the New World. The Virgen del Reposo’s efficacy regarding childbirth comes from the legend that gave the Sevillian image her other title, “Norabuena lo pariste”. Lima’s Virgin of Copacabana is said to have worked miracles for women who were giving birth, causing pregnant women to requested that the Virgin’s mantle be brought to them. AAL, Cof., Leg. 11, Exp. 2, fol. 56v. Vergara, “Ladino Indians and the Construction of Indian Identity”, ch. 1.

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The Virgin of Copacabana in the Cercado

Despite their best efforts to remain in San Lázaro, the indigenous cofrades, along with their image, were relocated in 1590. In 1570, the Toledo administration made the first attempt to relocate Lima’s indigenous population within the walls of the Cercado, alongside Lima’s mita laborers, with mixed results.50 Crown officials continued to round up and relocate Lima’s indigenous population throughout the early colonial period, but these efforts were not successful, due in part to the resistance of the Spanish elite who did not want to lose their servants or ready access to cheap labor, and to indigenous limeños who refused to move or illicitly relocated themselves after the fact.51 The Reposo cofrades were among those who resisted the move to the Cercado and their continued presence in San Lázaro consequently placed them in the thick of Lima’s ecclesiastic and municipal politics. On one side of the struggle were the viceroy and the Jesuits and on the other was Archbishop Mogrovejo. As early as 1585, a Jesuit priest named Juan Pérez de Aguilar had petitioned the Cabildo in Lima for the relocation of the San Lazarino community, but it was not until 1590, with the arrival of the new viceroy, García Hurtado de Mendoza (r. 159096), that the situation intensified.52 On 30 August 1590, the viceroy gave the order to relocate San Lázaro’s indigenous residents, while the archbishop was away from the city. The mandate was executed under the cover of night and was marked by acute violence: the indigenous residents were forcefully taken, stripped naked, scalped, and whipped, while their houses were burned to the ground to prevent their return.53 Learning about the events, Mogrovejo was livid about the egregious undermining of his authority and took it upon himself to build a church in the Cercado for the newly displaced community.54 Unfortunately, the chapel was dismantled and no descriptions remain from the brief time it stood, but it seems to have been sufficiently completed to be used as early as 7 November 1590, which speaks to the haste in which it was constructed.55 In this new chapel, the Reposo confraternity met to re-found their sodality. It was at this time that they changed the Virgin’s title, from the Virgin of the 50 51 52 53 54 55

The mita was a system of tribute labor, originally set in place by the Inca, in which laborers were forced to do work for a limited amount of time every year. For example, Alonso de Huerta reported that when the San Lazarino indigenous community was relocated to the Cercado, 700 were removed, but over half promptly fled, leaving behind only 300 in the reducción. Lowry, “Forging an Indian Nation”, pp. 40-41. Amino, “Las lágrimas de Nuestra Señora de Copacabana”, p. 41. Coello de la Rosa, “Las lágrimas de María”, p. 278. Amino, “Las lágrimas de Nuestra Señora de Copacabana”, p. 42. AAL, Cof., Leg. 10, Exp. 2, fol. 189r.

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Repose to the Virgin of Copacabana. It would appear that a direct alignment of their image of the Virgin with the devotional culture of Spain now had less immediate relevance, and the cofrades had to devise a new strategy for the Virgin in the Cercado. In investigating the possible catalysts for this change, it becomes clear that the community continued to balance the appearance of colonial Catholic orthodoxy and their experiences as indigenous people, but did so more overtly in this new environment. Understanding the change in advocation requires a brief examination of the original highland sculpture after which it was named and the circumstances surrounding the image’s creation. The original Virgin of Copacabana was made in 1583 by the ethnically Inca artist Francisco Tito Yupanqui (c.1550-1616), and located in a town situated on Lake Titicaca in the highland Andes (Fig. 14.6).56 According to a retrospective account of the cult’s origins written by Augustinian friar Alonso Ramos Gavilán (1570-1639), drought had been crippling the Lake Titicaca region for some time. The two major moieties in the region competed to enlist the support of a Christian saint against the drought by founding a confraternity. The Anansaya, a group composed of Inca colonists and mitmaqkuna [people displaced by the mitma policy] from 42 distinct ethnic groups, chose the Virgen de la Candelaria [Virgin of Candlemas] as their patron.57 Meanwhile, the native group, the Urinsaya, picked Saint Sebastian. Yupanqui’s Candelaria sculpture ultimately prevailed and the Anansaya were able to establish their confraternity. Bipartite social divisions existed throughout the Andes, in which the Anansaya were the “upper”, or superior, group, and the Urinsaya were the “lower”, or inferior, group, a social manifestation of the concept of complementarity. This traditional Andean pattern dictated that the indigenous people of a region were Anansaya, whereas newcomers, the less privileged, were Urinsaya. The Inca, however, as conquerors of the Titicaca region, became Anansaya, together with their mitmaqkuna, displacing the local population.58 This reversal of Andean organization precipitated the social discord that played out in the late 16th century in the form of the competition to found a confraternity in the 56

57 58

The earliest source on the Virgin of Copacabana is A. Ramos Gavilán, Historia del santuario de Nuestra Señora de Copacabana, ed. I. Prado Pastor (Lima, 1988 [1621]). The major studies on the Virgin of Copacabana are: V. Salles-Reese, From Viracocha to the Virgin of Copacabana: Representation of the Sacred at Lake Titicaca (Austin, 1997), and J.M. Elías, Copacauana: Copacabana (Tarija, 1981). The Virgin of Candlemas commemorates the ceremonial purification of Mary that took place after the birth of Christ. S. MacCormack, “From the Sun of the Incas to the Virgin of Copacabana”, Representations, 8 (1984), 45.

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Figure 14.6 Francisco Tito Yupanqui, Virgin of Copacabana, c.1583, polychrome wood sculpture, Sanctuary of Our Lady of Copacabana, Copacabana, Bolivia Photo courtesy of Daniel Giannoni

Copacabana story. Thus, the creation of the Virgin of Copacabana is closely tied to interethnic conflict, a detail that would later inform the Lima cult. Less than a decade later, in the entirely different environment of Lima, the cofrades in the Cercado recalled this pre-invasion and colonial conflict through the Copacabana advocation. For the Chachapoya cofrades, the title could be understood as drawing a parallel between their recent forced resettlement to the Cercado and the Inca resettlement of Chachapoyanos to Lake Titicaca. Furthermore, since Chachapoya mitmaqkuna were part of the Anansaya moiety on whose behalf Yupanqui made his Virgin, the confraternity members in Lima may have felt a direct affinity to the image. Though the cofrades no longer needed their Virgin to justify their residence as they did in San Lázaro, it appears that the sodality members were still

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concerned with conveying Christian appropriateness, this time perhaps in an interest to leave the Cercado. Due to Yupanqui’s authorship and the sculpture’s origins in an area very sacred to the Inca, his Virgin gained a markedly highland Andean valence, a connotation perpetuated by both indigenous and colonial channels. That it is so carefully enfolded into the story of the Virgin’s making indicates that the association of image with indigeneity was deliberate, while at the same time closely linked with clerical concerns about the indigenous fabrication of Christian religious images. For example, according to the cult’s foundation legend, Yupanqui sought approval from the local bishop for a license to paint and sculpt Christian images with the bishop said to have mocked him, insisting “natives cannot make images of the Virgin, nor sculpt them.” Yupanqui only succeeded in producing the sculpture after enlisting assistance from Spanish artists and using a Spanish model from the Church of Santo Domingo in Potosí.59 The foundation legend in this way asserts that though the Virgin of Copacabana was an indigenous creation, European aesthetic principles and modes of making served as the guarantors of appropriateness and worthiness in a locally manufactured Christian sacred image.60 The polyvalence of the highland Copacabana image would seem to have appealed to the Lima confraternity. The Copacabana title allowed the newly re-founded cofradía in the Cercado to consciously invoke the highland Virgin’s apparent European Christian references, as well as its latent Andean history and qualities. With the ethnic diversity of the Cercado, there was a high likelihood that some residents also had ties to mitmaqkuna from Lake Titicaca. With the trifold presence of the Viceroy, Archbishop, and Inquisition in Lima, overt performances and public manifestations of indigenous beliefs and rituals could readily be condemned as “idolatrous” or “pagan”. An image cult such as that of the Virgin of Copacabana, generated out of Spanish colonial religious orthodoxy and highland regional religious culture and politics, offered the Lima confraternity a potentially safe religious context or frame for integrating and expressing supernatural beliefs and structuring social interactions.

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Salles-Reese, From Viracocha to the Virgin of Copacabana, p. 178. When we examine its formal properties, the entangled nature of the work is in evidence. Gabriela Siracusano’s study on the sculpture’s pigments found that Yupanqui employed atacamite, a green mineral also used, in powdered form, in Inca burials in the south-central highland Andes. G.A. Siracusano, “Mary’s Green Brilliance: The Case of the Virgin of Copacabana”, Journal of Interdisciplinary History, 45.3 (2015), 389-406.

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Conclusion

In closing, let us return to the later legend that the Lima Virgin of Copacabana was a true copy of the highland Virgin that was sent by Carlos V. The legend’s narrative simultaneously highlights the sculpture’s “indigenous” aesthetic while promoting it by using a fabricated European origin, invoking one of the most prominent figures in the history of Spanish America. While far from the image’s true history, the legend accurately insists that the miraculous image and its cult were enmeshed in a dynamic relationship between the center of imperial power and the indigenous people brought under its control in early colonial Lima. The case of the Virgin of Copacabana demonstrates the strategic way that an indigenous community operated within the confines of the colonial system in order to enhance its standing in different urban environments. Indeed, the story ends with the indigenous cofrades finally returning their devotional image to their original barrio in 1633. They not only returned to San Lázaro, but did so triumphantly, taking the Virgin to a church they had built for her with donations they had collected. Crucially, we have seen that the Virgin of Copacabana was simultaneously a devotional image through which the confraternity could experience Catholic piety, and one that supported confraternal members in integrating their ethnic histories into their daily lives in the Spanish colonial viceregal capital city of Lima. A statue of the Virgin, that in name seems to be from the highlands, and through its stylistic markers appears “European,” has turned out to be neither and both. Commissioned by an ethnically highland and Chachapoya indigenous community in Lima, made of wood from Nicaragua, sculpted and painted by Spanish artists, influenced by Italian, Flemish, and Sevillian artistic traditions, ensnared in Lima’s religious politics, and titled after a highland image, Lima’s Virgin of Copacabana is in every respect, a quintessential product of the complex negotiations characteristic of the early modern viceregal capital, and as such, stands as an enduring symbol of the City of Kings.

Bibliography



Primary Sources

Anonymous Jesuit of 1600, Historia general de la Compañía de Jesus en la Provincia del Perú (Madrid, 1944). Montalvo, F.A., El Sol Del Nuevo Mundo: ideado y compuesto en las esclarecidas operaciones del bienaventurado Toribio Arzobispo de Lima (Rome, 1683).

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Ramos Gavilán, A., Historia del santuario de Nuestra Señora de Copacabana, ed. I. Prado Pastor (Lima, 1988 [1621]).



Secondary Sources

Amino, T., “Las lágrimas de Nuestra Señora de Copacabana: un milagro de la imagen de María y los indios en diáspora de Lima en 1591”, Tōkyō daigaku kyōyō gakka kiyō 22 (1989), 35-65. Ángulo, D., Notas y monografias para la historia del barrio de San Lázaro de la ciudad de Lima: origen y principios del barrio de San Lázaro (Lima, 1917). Bernales Ballesteros, J., “Esculturas de Roque de Balduque y su círculo en Andalucía y América”, Anuario de Estudios Americanos 34 (1977), 349-71. Bernales Ballesteros, J., “Escultores y esculturas de Sevilla en el Virreinato del Perú, siglo XVI”, Archivo Hispalense 72.220 (1989), 261-82. Bernales Ballesteros, J., “La escultura en Lima, siglos XVI-XVIII”, in Escultura en el Perú, Lima 1991, pp. 1-134. Church, W. and A. von Hagen, “Chachapoyas: Cultural Development at an Andean Cloud Forest Crossroads”, in H. Silverman and W.H. Isbell (eds.), The Handbook of South American Archaeology (New York, 2008), pp. 903-26. Coello de la Rosa, A., “Las lágrimas de María: simbolismo, devoción popular y la Virgen de Copacabana (1590)”, in Espacios de exclusión, espacios de poder: el cercado de Lima colonial (1586-1606) (Lima, 2006), pp. 177-206. Costilla, J., “El milagro en la construcción del culto a Nuestra Señora de Copacabana (Virreinato del Perú, 1582-1651)”, Estudios Atacameños 39 (2010), 35-56. “Documentos para la historia, Nuestra Señora de Copacabana”, El amigo del clero: órgano oficial de la Arquidiócesis de Lima 18 (1909), 9-307. Dorta, E.M., Historia del Arte Hispanoamericano (Madrid, 1950). Elías, J.M., Copacauana: Copacabana (Tarija, 1981). Espinoza, W., “Los señoríos étnicos de los chachapoyas y la alianza hispanochacha”, Revista Histórica 30 (1967), 224-333. Estabridis Cárdenas, R., “La Mamacha Candelaria en el Arte Colonial”, Sequilao 4-5 (1993), 71-84. Estella, M., “Sobre escultura Española en América y Filipinas y algunos otros temas”, in Relaciones artísticas entre España y América (Madrid, 1990), pp. 73-106. García Irigoyen, C., Santo Toribio: obra escrita con motivo del tercer centenario de la muerte del santo arzobispo de Lima (Lima, 1906). Irwin, C., “Rome in Lima: Italian Renaissance Influence in Colonial Peruvian Painting” (PhD dissertation, Graduate Center, City University of New York, 2014). Lévano Medina, D.E., “El mundo imaginado: La cofradía de Nuestra Señora de Copa­ cabana y la religiosidad andina manifestada”, in F. Armas Asin (ed.), Angeli novi:

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prácticas evangelizadoras, representaciones, artísticas, y construcciones del catolicismo en América (siglos XVII-XX) (Lima, 2004), pp. 113-28. Lowry, L., “Forging an Indian Nation: Urban Indians under Spanish Colonial Control (Lima, Peru 1535-1765)” (PhD dissertation, University of California, Berkeley, 1991). MacCormack, S., “From the Sun of the Incas to the Virgin of Copacabana”, Represen­ tations 8 (1984), 30-60. Mesa, J. de, Bitti y los orígenes de la escuela cusqueña (Cuzco, 1974). Mesa, J. de and T. Gisbert, Escultura Virreinal en Bolivia (La Paz, 1972). Mesa, J. de and T. Gisbert, Bitti: Un pintor manierista en sudamérica (La Paz, 1974). Mumford, J.R., Vertical Empire: The General Resettlement of Indians in the Colonial Andes (Durham, 2012). Palmer, G.G., “The Religious Polychromed Wood Sculpture of Colonial Quito: Its Origins and Sources” (PhD dissertation, University of New Mexico, 1973). Ramos, G., “Nuestra Señora de Copacabana: ¿devoción india o intermediaria cultural?”, in S. O’Phelan and C. Salazar (eds.), Passeurs, mediadores culturales y agentes de la primera evangelización en el mundo ibérico, s. XVI-XIX (Lima, 2005), pp. 163-79. Ramos Sosa, R., “Nuevas noticias del escultor Bernardo Pérez de Robles en Perú”, Labo­ ra­torio de Arte 16 (2003), 453-64.Rankin, L., “And Such Was the Custom of the Inca: The Imperial Mitmaq Policy of the Inca” (MA thesis, Trent University, 1994). Salles-Reese, V., From Viracocha to the Virgin of Copacabana: Representation of the Sacred at Lake Titicaca (Austin, 1997). Siracusano, G.A., “Mary’s Green Brilliance: The Case of the Virgin of Copacabana”, Jour­ nal of Interdisciplinary History, 45.3 (2015), 389-406. Stanfield-Mazzi, M., Object and Apparition: Envisioning the Christian Divine in the Colonial Andes (Tucson, 2013). Tord, L.E., “La escultura virreinal en Arequipa”, in Escultura en el Perú (Lima, 1991), p. 282. Vargas Ugarte, R., Historia del culto a María en Hispanoamérica y de sus imágenes y sus santuarios más celebrados (Lima, 1931). Vega Jácome, W., “Cofradías limeñas”, in L. Gutiérrez Arbulú and S. Aldana (eds.), Lima en el siglo XVI (Lima, 2005), pp. 703-52. Vergara T., “Ladino Indians and the Construction of Indian Identity in the Archbishopric of Lima (1610-1740)” (PhD dissertation, University of Connecticut, forthcoming). Vergara Ormeño, T., “Growing Up Indian: Migration, Labor, and Life in Lima (15701640)” in O.E. González and B. Premo (eds.), Raising an Empire: Children in Early Modern Iberia and Colonial Latin America (Albuquerque, 2007), pp. 75-106. Zevallos Quiñones, J., “Onomástica prehispánica de Chachapoyas”, Revista Lenguaje y Ciencias 35 (1966), 3-18.

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Chapter 15

Privileging the Local: Prints and the New World in Early Modern Lima  Emily C. Floyd At the turn of the 16th century, Diego Dávalos y Figueroa, a Spaniard born in Ecija but living in La Paz, penned a series of dialogs between himself, under the pseudonym Delio, and his wife, the aristocratic and wealthy Doña Francisca de Briviesca y Arellano, under the name Cilena.1 In the text, the pair engage in a wide-ranging series of conversations, debating love, geography, Inca history, beauty, and the Italian language, among other topics, all interspersed with sonnets and references to classical authors. Among their topics of discussion are the engravings that could be viewed and purchased in La Paz. These included Abraham Ortelius’ Theatrum orbis terrarum (Antwerp 1570), the first printed atlas, and reproductive engravings after works by Michelangelo and Mateo Pérez de Alesio, an Italian artist living in Lima, who had previously completed a painting for the Sistine Chapel.2 Living in La Paz as an author of impeccable pedigree (both his parents and Doña Francisca’s were members of the Spanish nobility) and excellent education, Dávalos was somewhat unusual, but when he brought his manuscript to Lima in 1601, a literary community of likeminded thinkers welcomed him.3 Their appreciation for his work is reflected in the large number of dedicatory poems included at the beginning of his final publication, the Primera Parte de la Miscelanea Austral (1602).4 This group of intellectuals was united by their location in “austral” or “antártica” America, the southern hemisphere, a place derided by European authors as a 1 A. Colombí-Monguió, Petrarquismo Peruano: Diego Dávalos y Figueroa y la Poesía de la Miscelánea Austral (London, 1985), p. 11. Daughter of a counselor to the Spanish Crown, Doña Francisca came to Peru as the young wife of Juan Remón, a wealthy encomendero and corregidor who played an important role in the society of Alto Peru. After Remón’s death she married the younger Dávalos y Figueroa, seemingly for love. Colombí-Monguió, Petrarquismo Peruano, pp. 58-68. I thank Elizabeth Boone, Dana Leibsohn, Sally Promey, Stephanie Porras, Rachel O’Toole, Ken Ward, Emily Engel, Adrian Masters, Meg Bernstein, and Rachel Love for helpful feedback on draft versions of this chapter. 2 For more information about Alesio’s prints, see Stastny Mosberg, Estudios de Arte Colonial (Lima, 2013), vol. 1, pp. 73-75. For his painting in the Sistine Chapel, see J. Mesa and T. Gisbert, El Pintor Mateo Perez de Alesio (La Paz, 1972), p. 26. 3 Colombí-Monguió, Petrarquismo Peruano, pp. 16, 59, 85-86. 4 Colombí-Monguió, Petrarquismo Peruano, p. 87.

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2019 | doi:10.1163/9789004335363_017

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space of decadence, mental stagnation, and loose morals.5 One of the primary concerns of these viceregal intellectuals is well summarized by Inca Garcilaso de la Vega’s statement at the beginning of the first part of his Comentarios Reales (1617): “One can affirm that there is no more than one world, and that although we say Old World and New World, it is because the latter has been newly discovered for us, and not because there are two, but rather one.”6 What did it mean to live in a territory that, prior to 1492, had been unknown to Europe? Although born in Spain, Dávalos had lived in the Viceroyalty of Peru for at least 30 years by the time he published the Miscelanea Austral.7 How did inhabitants of the Americas locate themselves between these two spaces? Was there one world or two? Delio and Cilena’s discussion of prints represents one response to this question, one that reflects the impact of European authors’ pejorative descriptions of the New World as a place wholly other, a place of mental and physical decay and stagnation. Delio and Cilena do not deny the geographically situated nature of their discourse – they praise local painter Alesio’s prints as having been made by someone “whom in this kingdom we currently enjoy”, and the pair specifically reference the shop of Geronimo Rusceli as the place in La Paz where the most elegant prints can be seen.8 Nonetheless, the materials they view transcend regional boundaries both in terms of the physical circulation of the items themselves and metaphorically via the representations of cities and distant lands in the Theatrum orbis terrarum. Their discussion affirmed the interconnected nature of the viceroyalty as a cosmopolitan place in which elite visual culture, both European and local, thrived. The two strands of print culture described by Delio and Cilena are representative of the two types of printed materials available in the Viceroyalty of Peru as a whole. Early modern inhabitants of the viceroyalty had access to printed images in two forms: prints imported from Europe and prints made locally in the viceregal capital at Lima. Together these two strands helped residents of the viceroyalty reconcile their lived experience in the New World with the 5 For more about descriptions of the New World as degenerative see in particular R. Bauer and J. Mazzotti (eds.), Creole Subjects in the Colonial Americas: Empires, Texts, Identities (Chapel Hill, 2009), and J. Cañizares-Esguerra, “New Worlds, New Stars Bodies in Colonial Spanish America 1600-1650”, American Historical Review 104 (1999), pp. 33-68. 6 “Se podrá afirmar que no hay más que un mundo, y aunque llamamos Mundo Viejo y Mundo Nuevo, es por haverse descubierto aquél nuevamente para nosotros, y no porque sean dos, sino todo uno.” (R. Chang-Rodríguez, “Ecos Andinos: Clarinda y Diego Mexía en la Primera Parte del Parnaso Antártico (1608)”, Calíope 9.1 (2003), 67.) 7 Colombí-Monguió, Petrarquismo Peruano, p. 36 8 D. Dávalos y Figueroa, Primera Parte de la Miscelanea Austral (Lima, 1602), fols. 92r-92v. All translations in this chapter are by the author, unless otherwise stated.

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viceroyalty’s complicated position within the broader Spanish Empire. Imported prints like the Theatrum orbis terrarum and engravings after Michelangelo simultaneously served as models for the production of local art and architecture, including paintings and sculpture, and allowed their possessors to participate in broader global cultural trends of viewing, both devotional and educational. This chapter focuses on the second option available to 16th-century viceregal consumers: prints produced in Lima. Locally made prints often could not compete with imported prints in terms of technical sophistication, but they offered benefits that European prints could not. Their geographic place of production alone contradicted disparaging characterizations of the New World, but it also facilitated and enhanced statements of pride in and enthusiasm for regional experiences. When commissioners chose to print in Lima rather than sending away to presses abroad their choices reveal both an awareness of Lima’s place within the greater Spanish Empire and a valuing of the specifically local. Turning to printmakers working in Lima gave print patrons living in the viceroyalty direct and immediate control over print iconography and allowed them to perform their complex identities, expressing both regional pride and loyalty to the Spanish Crown. 1

Arrival of the Press in Lima

For the first 50 years after the conquest, informed by the Protestant Reformation of the power of the press as a means to spread dangerous ideas, the Spanish Crown prevented the establishment of a press in Lima, thus allowing Spain to maintain control over the printed materials found in the region.9 This practice rendered Lima dependent on foreign presses for all printed materials and forced inhabitants of the viceroyalty wishing to publish their work to send their manuscripts abroad to Mexico or Europe.10 This was acceptable for Spanish-language manuscripts, but Quechua and Aymara experts could not be expected to travel abroad in order to ensure the linguistic accuracy of their texts as they came off foreign presses.11 Italian printer Antonio Ricardo brought his press to Lima in 1581 from Mexico. At the time Lima’s cabildo [town council] and the University of San Marcos were petitioning the Crown to lift the print9 10 11

D. Guibovich Pérez, “The Printing Press in Colonial Peru: Production Process and Literary Categories in Lima, 1584-1699”, Colonial Latin American Review 10.2 (2001), 168. A. Rodríguez-Buckingham, “Colonial Peru and the Printing Press of Antonio Ricardo” (PhD dissertation, University of Michigan, 1977), pp. 54-55. Rodríguez-Buckingham, “Colonial Peru”, p. 64.

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ing ban, specifically citing the challenges of printing works in native Andean languages outside of the viceroyalty.12 Ricardo’s press helped safeguard the accurate printing of works by Peru’s Quechua and Aymara experts and initiated a period of roughly 150 years in which Lima served as the intellectual hub of the viceroyalty – the cosmopolitan center to which the other regions of the viceroyalty sent their manuscripts for publication. Ricardo printed a range of textual material, but also sold visual material, the content of which underscores the central role of his press in establishing Lima’s parity with other important early modern cities. As the 1605 bill of sale for Ricardo’s press attests, Ricardo offered a diverse assortment of visual material to the buying public.13 The document particularly emphasizes religious prints, listing 176 prints of Christ, 69 “devotional prints small and large of different saints, of our Lord, and of our Lady”, and 550 prints and images from the Flos Sanctorum (a book of the lives of saints), as well as other various devotional prints numbering in the hundreds.14 None of the loose prints described in this inventory are known to exist today, but Ricardo also included woodcut illustrations and decorative elements in a number of his surviving printed books. Antonio Manuel Rodríguez-Buckingham’s research suggests that at least some of the initial letters and small illustrations in Ricardo’s books were made in Peru, either by Ricardo himself or by one of the many Spaniards, African slaves, creoles of Spanish descent born in the Americas, mestizos [individuals of mixed European and indigenous heritage], or Indians who worked in his shop over the course of his 21 years in Lima.15 Importantly, however, it is only through careful comparative analysis of the products of Mexican and Sevillian presses that Rodríguez-Buckingham was able to demonstrate woodcut production in Ricardo’s shop. 12 13 14 15

Rodríguez-Buckingham, “Colonial Peru”, p. 62. In this document, Ricardo sells the entire contents of his shop to Francisco del Canto. See G. Lohmann Villena, “Más documentos para la historia de la Imprenta en Lima, 16021690”, Revista del Archivo General de la Nación 12 (1995), 83. “Estampas de debocion chicas y grandes de diferentes santos de nuestro señor y De nuestra Señora” : Lohmann Villena, “Más documentos”, 83. Rodríguez-Buckingham, “Colonial Peru”, pp. 75-78, 109, 113. Woodcuts are a form of relief print made by cutting into a block of wood, the “matrix” from which the print will be produced. Engravings, a form of intaglio print produced by cutting into a thin, polished copper plate with a sharp tool known as a burin, were also present in colonial Peru. However, because Ricardo lacked the specialized roller press necessary to print engravings, any engravings he may have sold would have been imported from Europe. For more information about the physical properties of early modern prints, see K. Nichols, “Physical Qualities of Early Prints”, in Altered and Adorned: Using Renaissance Prints in Daily Life (Chicago, 2011), pp. 99-100.

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Figure 15.1 Coat of Arms of the University of San Marcos, woodcut, 1602, 93 × 72 mm Source: ­P hotograph courtesy of John Carter Brown Library at Brown University

Figure 15.2 Portrait of Pedro de Oña, woodcut, 1596, 117 × 92 mm Source: Photograph ­C ourtesy of the John Carter Brown Library at Brown University

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Most of Ricardo’s woodblocks, including a small representation of the Trinity and several initial letters, are not readily identifiable as local in either content or form.16 The exceptions are a coat of arms of the University of San Marcos, imprinted on the title page of the University’s 1602 Constitutions, and a print generally recognized as the first made in Peru, the woodcut portrait of the creole author Pedro de Oña published at the beginning of Oña’s 1596 epic poem Arauco Domado (Figs. 15.1 and 15.2). It is these prints’ subject matter, as representations of a South American author and the escutcheon of a limeño university, which distinguishes them. This subject matter is significant – the first printed portrait made in Peru adorns a book dedicated to the conquest of Chile and celebrates a creole author, himself the author of one of the Miscelanea Austral’s dedicatory poems; the escutcheon of San Marcos represents a place of intellectual training that allowed Lima to compete academically with other cities. Both of these images pay tribute to Lima’s intellectual community while the visual language of the woodcuts grants authority to this local content. These woodcuts, like the other woodblocks carved in Ricardo’s shop, show minimal differences in formal qualities when compared to the numerous imported matrices that Ricardo also owned. They challenge pejorative descriptions of the New World by demonstrating that limeño printmakers were capable of producing cultural products comparable to those of Europe.17 That Ricardo’s prints were stylistically equivalent to European ones enhanced their value – not only could Ricardo compete directly with imports, but inhabitants of the viceroyalty could feel confident in the “European” quality of their press. 2

Performing Loyalty

Public festivals in early modern Lima repeatedly underscored the city’s place within imperial politics. Rituals marking the entrances of viceroys, celebrations of Spanish victories, and commemorations of the deaths and coronations of royalty all provided opportunities for Lima to demonstrate its loyalty to the Crown, but also to celebrate the city’s significance within the broader Spanish Empire. It is appropriate then that the first engraving produced in Peru commemorates just such an event: the death of Queen Margarita (1584-1611), wife of Felipe III (r. 1598-1621). The Augustinian creole Francisco Bejarano cut 16 17

Rodríguez-Buckingham, “Colonial Peru”, p. 105. As Ralph Bauer and José Antonio Mazzotti note, “a prominent response of both Spanishand British-American creoles to their ambiguous coloniality is their assertion of an identity and cultural continuity with their Old World ancestors”: R. Bauer and J. Mazzotti, “Introduction”, in Bauer and Mazzotti (eds.), Creole Subjects, p. 32.

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Figure 15.3

Francisco Bejarano, Catafalque of Queen Margarita, engraving, 1613, 345 × 464.5 mm Source: Photograph courtesy of Hispanic Society of New York

this plate, a representation of the catafalque, or ephemeral funerary structure, erected in the queen’s honor, to adorn Martín de León’s 1613 Relación de las exequias, a formal description of the ceremonies performed in Lima (Fig. 15.3).18 At their core catafalque prints and the books that contained them were statements of loyalty and allegiance to the Spanish Crown, but as with the ritual itself, they also allowed for performance of Lima’s status within the Spanish Empire. The material products of these ceremonies, both the ephemeral constructions built for the rituals themselves and official textual and visual records, were an opportunity to showcase the region’s wealth and importance. Simultaneously, they revealed the erudition of limeño authors and the skill of limeño architects, sculptors, painters, engravers, and craftsmen. As a part of this presentation, the books containing the catafalques offer exhaustive narrative lists of the religious and political figures who participated in the processions in honor of the deceased, the poems and other eulogies written in his or 18

According to Rubén Vargas Ugarte, Bejarano was born in Lima: R. Vargas Ugarte, Ensayo de un diccionario de artifices coloniales de la America meridional (Lima, 1947), p. 133.

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her honor, and the sculptures, candles, paintings, and rich fabrics that adorned both the catafalque itself and the church in which it was erected. The Spanish Crown mandated the elaborate ritual recognition of the death of the monarch throughout its dominions; Lima first recognized a royal death in this manner on 12 November 1559, when the city formally mourned the passing of Carlos V, who had died over a year before.19 At this early date, lacking a press, the viceroy sent a manuscript letter describing the events back to Spain.20 Although Ricardo brought his press to Lima 15 years prior to the 1599 mourning ceremonies in honor of Felipe II, the 1613 Relación de exequias honoring Queen Margarita was nonetheless the first of its kind printed in Peru.21 Like future accounts of Lima’s ceremonies to come, the 1613 Relación conveys Lima’s importance within the Spanish Empire in the form of the opulence, both intellectual and material, that it was able to muster in honor of the deceased.22 The physical structure of these books is just as important as the written text in conveying this message, making these reports among the most technically masterful of Lima’s imprints. They are typically printed in quarto format on imported Spanish paper, with wide margins and large font sizes – no expense was spared here.23 The impressive catafalque prints are among the most sizable of all colonial limeño engravings; the largest I have identified measures 735 × 370 mm and required three sheets of paper and two large plates to produce.24 León glosses Bejarano’s catafalque engraving negatively, writing: “it being the first time something of this sort has been printed in this kingdom, it

19

20 21 22

23 24

C. Ruiz de Pardo, “La Muerte Privilegiada: Reales Exequias en Lima y Cuzco, Época Borbónica”, in I. Rodríguez Moya (ed.), Arte, poder e identidad en Iberoamérica: De los virreinatos a la construción nacional (Barcelona, 2008), p. 54; L. Pouncey, “Túmulos of Colonial Peru”, Art Bulletin 67.1 (1985), 20. Pouncey, “Túmulos of Colonial Peru”, 20. M. Mejías Álvarez, Fiesta y Muerte Regia: Las estampas de túmulos reales del AGI (Seville 2002), p. 24. For scholarship on catafalques, catafalque prints, and their related ceremonies, see Mejías Álvarez, Fiesta y Muerte Regia; F. Mariazza, Fiesta funeraria: El discurso de la muerte y su simbolismo en las exequias de tres reinas de España en Lima en el siglo XVII (Lima, 2013); Pouncey, “Túmulos of Colonial Peru”; A. Osorio, Inventing Lima: Baroque Modernity in Peru’s South Sea Metropolis (London, 2008). Guibovich Pérez, “The Printing Press”, p. 171. This is the catafalque print signed “Maestro Manuel Sanches lo hiso … Joannes Josephus a Espinosa me Sculpssit, Limeé Anno 1728” : P. Peralta Barnuevo, Fúnebre Pompa, demonstración doliente, magnificencia triste, que en las altas exequias, y túmulo erigidó en la Santa Iglesia Metropolitana de la Ciudad de Lima Capital del Perú al Serenissimo Señor el Señor Francisco Farenese, Duque de Parma, y de Placencia … (Lima, 1728).

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was not possible to do so with more perfection”.25 In future funerary publications, however, the text that accompanies the prints suggests their authors viewed them as the superior descriptive vehicle for the structure in contrast to the multipage textual description that they invariably wrote to accompany them. As Diego de León Pinelo wrote at the end of his description of the catafalque built in honor of Felipe IV, “the print says this even better”.26 Even now, when so many of these prints have deteriorated under the strain of passing years, turning to the page adjacent to the folded catafalque print and then carefully unfolding it brings some of the wonder of these structures to life. Important personages in the viceroyalty would have owned these books, but they also would have been sent back to Spain as part of official reports on the festivities and as gifts to the king; some of the books sent back in this manner are still present in the Archivo General de Indias (AGI) in Seville.27 The catafalque prints were thus meant, at least in part, to translate the experience of viewing the elaborate temporary structure from Lima to Spain. Bejarano’s presence on the ground in Lima gave him a privileged role as a faithful reporter of the ceremonial structure – he would presumably have had the opportunity to see it. In addition, Bejarano’s prints had the virtue of being, like the book in which they were contained and the ceremony and structure they described, limeño products. As objects produced locally in Lima, the book and its printed images conveyed on behalf of the city both deference to the colonial center and pride in Lima as a place of wealth, sophistication, and erudition. 3

Holy Ground: The Virgin and the Viceroyalty

If a Spaniard such as Dávalos, who had migrated to Peru as an adult, could feel conflicted about their location between the Iberian peninsula and the Ameri-

25 26

27

“Por ser la primera vez que a esta forma de estampar le dió principio en este Reyno, no fue posible sacarse con mayor perfection” : M. León, Relación de exequias. Sr. D. Juan de Mendoza … hizo en la muerte de la reina Nuestra S. Doña Margarita (Lima, 1613), p. 4. “La perspectiva de la estampa, aun lo dice major” : D. León Pinelo, Solemnidad funebre y exequias a la muerte del catolico augustissimo Rey D. Felipe Quarto el grande N.S. / que celebro en la Iglesia Metropolitana la Real Audiencia de Lima, que oy gouierna en vacante, y mando imprimir el Real Acuerdo de Gouierno (Lima, 1666), fol. 13v. See, for example, AGI, MP-ESTAMPAS, 255, L.A. SXVIII-165; J. Rico, Reales exequias, que por el fallecimiento del Señor Don Carlos III., Rey de España y de las Indias, mando celebrar en la ciudad de Lima, capital del Peru, el Excelentisimo Señor Don Teodoro de Croix … (Lima, 1789).

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cas, creoles were particularly troubled by their dual heritage.28 As numerous scholars have established, the early 16th century was marked by a rising creole consciousness in the Spanish American viceroyalties.29 The end of the encomienda system, which had granted land and indigenous laborers to Spaniards (often the creoles’ conquistador parents) who had performed admirable services on behalf of the king, threatened to deprive creoles of their privileged status. Creole members of the mendicant orders also battled with peninsular Spanish immigrants for leadership positions. Furthermore, peninsulars routinely occupied the positions of greatest authority in the viceroyalty, leaving creoles feeling overlooked and disenfranchised.30 Theories about the prejudicial effect of the New World climate and stars on its inhabitants formed one justification for this policy of disenfranchisement.31 Such theories asserted that Indians and Europeans alike became lazy, stupid, and immoral in the New World atmosphere. Creoles responded in part by arguing that these astral and climatological factors affected Spaniards differently. Indigenous peoples might become lazy and stupid under their affects, but creoles were made more virile and stronger than their Iberian counterparts.32 Another means of counteracting negative descriptions of their homeland involved constructing elaborate paeans to their cities and demonstrating divine favor for the New World. In Peru specifically, as Bauer and Mazzotti describe, “many creoles began to declare their capital city of Lima to be the center of human civilization and the highest peak of New World religiosity”.33  This superlative discourse affirmed both similarity and difference – simultaneously establishing equality with distant Europe and acknowledging the elements that distinguished the viceroyalty from other regions. In the first half of the 17th century two publications on the Virgin of Copacabana, a miracleworking statue of the Virgin Mary situated in modern-day Bolivia, emerged from limeño presses, both illustrated by local printmakers. The narrative of the Virgin of Copacabana was uniquely suited for those seeking to glorify the viceroyalty as a sacred place. Importantly, an indigenous sculptor had not only 28 29 30 31 32 33

B. Anderson, Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism (London, 1991), p. 57. Anderson, Imagined Communities, p. 57. See also B. Lavallé, Las promesas ambiguas: Ensayos sobre criollismo colonial en los Andes (Lima, 1993), and Agencias criollas: la ambigüedad “colonial” en las letras hispanoamericanas, ed. J. Mazzotti (Pittsburgh, 2000). Bauer and Mazzotti, “Introduction”, pp. 23-24. Cañizares-Esguerra, “New Worlds, New Stars”. J. Cañizares-Esguerra, “Demons, Stars, and the Imagination: The Early Modern Body in the Tropics”, in Miriam Eliav-Feldon, Benjamin Isaac, and Joseph Ziegler (eds.), The Origins of Racism in the West (Cambridge, 2009), pp. 321-22. Bauer and Mazzotti, “Introduction”, p. 26.

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Figure 15.4 Virgin of Copacabana, woodcut, 1621, 108 × 75 mm Source: Photograph courtesy of Hispanic Society of New York

carved the Virgin of Copacabana, but the sanctuary was also located in a place previously sacred to the Incas, on the banks of Lake Titicaca not far from the Islands of the Sun and Moon, important pre-Hispanic pilgrimage sites.34 An Inca nobleman named Don Francisco Tito Yupanqui carved the statue to serve as the cult image for a confraternity in his hometown of Copacabana, 34

See S. MacCormack, “Human and Divine Love in a Pastoral Setting: The Histories of Copacabana on Lake Titicaca”, Representations 112 (2010), 54-86; S. MacCormack, “From the Sun of the Incas to the Virgin of Copacabana”, Representations 8 (1984), 30-60; Alonso Ramos Gavilán, Historia del Célebre Santuario de Nuestra Señora de Copacabana (Lima Jerónimo de Contreras, 1621); F. Valverde, Santuario de N. Señora de Copacabana en el Peru (Lima, 1641); M. Stanfield-Mazzi, Object and Apparition: Envisioning the Christian Divine in the Colonial Andes (Tucson, 2013); V. Salles-Reese, From Viracocha to the Virgin to the Virgin of Copacabana: Representation of the Sacred at Lake Titicaca (Austin, 1997).

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Figure 15.5 Miraculous healing of an indigenous man at a bullfight, woodcut, 1621, 98 × 70 mm Source: Photograph courtesy of Hispanic Society of New York

modeling it, according to chronicler Alonso Ramos Gavilán, after a print of the Virgin of Candelaria [Candlemass].35 He faced numerous challenges in producing the image and convincing his community to accept it, but ultimately a series of miracles established the image’s authority and drew pilgrims from throughout the viceroyalty and as far as Europe.36 In Europe, the Virgin of Copacabana projected a positive vision of the viceroyalty; she even inspired the acclaimed Spanish playwright Pedro Calderón de la Barca, whose comedia “La aurora en Copacabana” was first published in 1674. As Sabine MacCormack describes, Europeans addressed the Virgin “as ‘guide and protector of the empire of Peru’ and in this capacity helped to put Peru and Lake Titicaca on the map for Europeans”.37 All this made the Virgin of Copacabana a useful figure for creole rhetoric. As a distinctly Peruvian Virgin, made by an indigenous sculptor and located in a specifically Andean landscape, the Virgin of Copacabana manifested God’s 35 36 37

Ramos Gavilán, Historia del Célebre Santuario, p. 186. See Ramos Gavilán, Historia del Célebre Santuario; MacCormack, “Human and Divine Love”, 66. MacCormack, “Human and Divine Love”, 67.

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Figure 15.6

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Miraculous healing of an indigenous worker at Potosí, woodcut, 1621, 141 × 100 mm Source: Photograph courtesy of Hispanic Society of New York

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particular favor toward the Andes, while the fame of the Virgin in Europe challenged descriptions of the viceroyalty as a place of degeneration and decadence. The printed images and texts of the two limeño imprints on the subject of the Virgin, Ramos Gavilán’s Historia del Célebre Santuario de Nuestra Señora de Copacabana (1621) and Fernando de Valverde’s Santuario de N. Señora de Copacabana en el Peru (1641), both emphasize the Virgin having particularly chosen Peru as her home. Ramos Gavilán’s Historia incorporates five woodcuts, including two frontal images of the Virgin of Copacabana from the same block, an Augustinian escutcheon, and two depictions of miracles performed by the Virgin on behalf of the indigenous population (Figs. 15.4, 15.5, and 15.6). The frontal woodcuts of the Virgin herself are evocative of the kind of loose prints described in the bill of sale of Ricardo’s press, which no longer survive but would have originally circulated widely. Here the printmaker depicts her as a dressed statue on a plinth, clothed in ornate triangular robes and holding a candle in one hand while supporting the Christ Child with the other. Curtains have been drawn aside to reveal her to the devotee and she smiles benevolently out at the viewer. The hand of the indigenous sculptor is distant here – this Virgin could be any generic dressed statue, only the candle she holds helps to identify her as a specific iconography, as a Virgin of Candelaria. In the miracle prints Yupanqui’s hand is further denied, as it is not a statue of the Virgin who defends her devotees, but rather the heavenly Virgin herself, haloed and human, a divine epiphany come to the aid of her followers. In the first print, the Virgin saves an indigenous man wearing her medida, a kind of ex-voto of the Virgin, from certain death after being gored by a bull (Fig. 15.5).38 Here we are given a schematic representation of space in which a bull charges its victim, identified as indigenous by his thick bangs and chin-length haircut, within a fenced enclosure, as three onlookers stand watching, witnesses to the miracle. In the second print the Virgin intercedes on behalf of an indigenous worker at the Potosí silver mines who almost perishes when a Spanish overseer becomes angry and pushes him into one of the machines (Fig. 15.6).39 In this case, however, it is not the worker’s devotion that saves him, but rather the piety and contrition of the overseer himself. As Ramos Gavilán describes, “the repentant overseer had only just invoked the name of the Virgin when all the mallets that would have pulled the miserable Indian under visibly paused in the air”.40 In the woodcut, the worker, with a similar haircut as in the previous miracle, flounders in the mechanism as the Virgin reaches down to stop the 38 39 40

Ramos Gavilán, Historia del Célebre Santuario, p. 334. Ramos Gavilán, Historia del Célebre Santuario, pp. 329-35. Ramos Gavilán, Historia del Célebre Santuario, pp. 333-34.

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movement of the mallets. The printmaker has frozen the overseer in his moment of internal conflict, simultaneously raising a stick to strike the worker with his right hand and reaching out with his left hand to grasp the worker’s foot and pull him free. Why eschew the presence of Yupanqui’s sculpture, but focus on miracles directed at the indigenous population? Many authors writing in favor of the creole cause represented the indigenous population as needing the discipline of (forced) labor, as in the mines at Potosí, to overcome their naturally weak and lazy dispositions.41 Dávalos, himself reliant on the forced labor of Andeans in his mines, dismissed the “decreased capacity of indigenous laborers”, and thus rejected the possibility of their having built the impressive ruins of Tiwanaku.42 In contrast, Ramos Gavilán’s account is largely sympathetic to the plight of indigenous laborers, comparing the cruelty of the Spanish mine owners to that of the Egyptians mistreating the Israelites.43 It would be a mistake, however, to think he viewed indigenous Andeans as equals to Spaniards. Ramos Gavilán’s statement that God chose Yupanqui to carve the statue of the Virgin of Copacabana because, “God chooses the most ignorant and foolish things of this world” reveals the author’s ambivalence toward indigenous agency.44 The printmaker’s omission of Yupanqui’s statue from the miracle scenes mirrors Ramos Gavilán’s own equivocal feelings. Indeed, Ramos Gavilán ultimately denies Yupanqui final authorship of the image, because the work, as he describes, “was left imperfect so that the perfection of the material Image might be a wondrous miracle”.45 The original placement of the Christ Child prevented the crowning of the two images, but the sculpted Virgin miraculously shifted her arm in order to facilitate this crucial adornment. In the woodcut miracle illustrations of the Historia the humility of the indigenous population helps to underscore the magnanimity of God in working through them, but it should not be taken as a sign that Spaniards living in the New World, and creoles in particular, identified with the indigenous population. In the Ramos Gavilán prints the indigenous figures function as much as symbolic representations of Peru itself as they do as individual actors – the Virgin’s actions to defend their bodies speak to her broader support of the lands encompassed by the viceroyalty, lands that caused the native population to be weak and creoles to be strong.

41 42 43 44 45

See Cañizares-Esguerra, “New Worlds, New Stars”, p. 54. Dávalos y Figueroa, Miscelanea Austral, fol. 145r. Ramos Gavilán, Historia del Célebre Santuario, pp. 332-33. Ramos Gavilán, Historia del Célebre Santuario, p. 187. Ramos Gavilán, Historia del Célebre Santuario, p. 209.

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Figure 15.7

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Francisco Bejarano, Frontispiece from Francisco Valverde, Sanctuario de N. Señora, engraving, 1641, 186.5 × 123 mm Source: Photograph courtesy of John Carter Brown Library at Brown University

The miracle prints provided an opportunity for Ramos Gavilán to attest visually to the intercession of the Virgin in the viceroyalty even as his text listed countless additional miracles. The single print in Valverde’s Santuario de N. Señora, an engraved frontispiece by Francisco Bejarano, is even more forceful in asserting the hand of divine providence in Peru (Fig. 15.7). Bejarano’s fronti­

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spiece for Valverde’s work forms a triangular composition with the Virgin herself at its apex. With an appearance reminiscent of Ramos Gavilán’s woodcut depictions of the dressed statue, she hovers above a crescent moon supported by the heads of winged putti who seem to alight on a globe. A single landmass, the outline of Spanish South America labeled “PERU”, dominates the otherwise watery expanse of the globe, emphasizing the centrality of Peru, even to the neglect of all other regions. To either side, personifications of faith (supporting a cross and Eucharistic chalice) and grace (with a dove and olive branch) gaze benignly at the continent that floats between them, bestowing their blessings upon it. Below in a small vignette at the lower right-hand corner, an Inca sits contemplatively before a small human-shaped “idol”, draped in a cloak and wearing the mascaypacha [Inca headdress that was symbolic of indigenous royalty]. While the little statue is more representative of Spanish conceptions of what idol worship looked like than of actual Inca practice, in the lower lefthand corner another vignette features an idyllic body of water studded with islands, evoking the Andean sacred space of Lake Titicaca. In the hierarchical organization of the composition, the Virgin dominates this idolatrous landscape, declaring her triumph over a once pagan land and people and claiming all of Peru as her own. Bejarano’s triumphant composition mirrors the textual message of Valverde’s work. The Santuario de N. Señora takes the form of a baroque mystic poem, using the language of allegory and borrowing motifs from Greek and Roman antiquity to narrate an Andean pilgrimage to the sanctuary of the Virgin.46 As José Antonio Mazzotti has argued, in this poem “Valverde occupies a clearly pro-creole and anti-Inca position.”47 Like Ramos Gavilán and Dávalos, Valverde’s view of the indigenous population is essentially negative. When in the poem the “Rey Perú” (“King Peru”) presents his daughters, Lima and Cuzco, to the Virgin Mary, for example, he emphasizes Lima’s “mild climate” and “pure skies”, in direct contrast to critiques of the New World’s unfavorable stars and climate, and praises her creole children; Cuzco, the former Inca capital, is described in contrast as “the famous, if humiliated”.48 As the first thing readers of Valverde’s text would see on opening the cover, Bejarano’s frontispiece served as a kind of portal to the textual material, an introduction that framed and presented the content of the work to the reader. It is appropriate then that the engraving’s depiction of indigenous Andeans reflects the triumphant creole 46 47 48

See J. Mazzotti, “Fernando de Valverde y los monstruos andinos: criollismo místico en el peregrinaje a Copacabana”, in K. Kohut and S.V. Rose (eds.), La formación de la cultura virreinal II, El siglo XVII (Frankfurt am Main and Madrid, 2003), pp. 439-54. Mazzotti, “Fernando de Valverde”, p. 449. Valverde, Santuario de N. Señora, fol. 289v.

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ideology of the text itself; the Virgin rises up in glory above the Inca who crouches in his cloak seemingly blinded by his own idolatry. 4

Representing Conversion

In both the Ramos Gavilán woodcuts and the Valverde engraving, indigenous Andeans are visually integrated into the exultant religious narrative as supporting corollaries to the broader argument. Indigenous Andeans function as metonyms for Peru itself; in showing the Virgin’s preference for them, the prints also demonstrate her preference for Peru. As these representations suggest, for some individuals of Spanish descent, part of understanding what it meant to live in the New World involved establishing the profound distinctness between themselves and the indigenous population. But the need to convert the indigenous population complicated this construction of the Other. The Crown commended indigenous populations to encomenderos [Spaniards awarded with groups of tribute-paying Indians] to convert, in exchange for which encomenderos received their labor. In a very real way then, the converted indigenous Andeans of Ramos Gavilán’s miracles demonstrate the success of the creoles and their forefathers and provided a justification for arguments in favor of the continuation of the encomienda system. It was thus in creoles’ favor to emphasize both distance and acculturation, otherness and Christianization. A last example illustrates the complex relationship between the Europeandescended population and the people they wished to convert as well as the tensions for both groups in understanding what it meant to live in this new society. In 1631, Juan Pérez Bocanegra published his Ritual Formulario e institucion de curas, a guidebook for priests in Quechua-speaking parishes on how to administer the Catholic sacraments. In it, Bocanegra, a creole raised in Cuzco, draws on his experience administering to the native population both in Cuzco and in the indigenous parish of Andahuaylillas. Fluent in Quechua and familiar with the territory, he was perfectly positioned to help others root out idolatrous practices and promote the triumph of Catholicism in the region. The Ritual Formulario features a series of woodcuts, at least two of which seem to have been made under the author’s direct supervision. One of these, a printed chart of consanguinity demonstrating the degree of familial distance required for marriage, includes male and female figures dressed in indigenous attire, their relationships to one another listed in cartouches (Fig. 15.8). The

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Chart of Consanguinity, from Juan Pérez Bocanegra, Ritual Formulario, 1631, woodcut, 275 × 165.5 mm Source: Photograph courtesy of the John Carter Brown Library at Brown University

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labels are in both Quechua and Spanish, a reflection of the active involvement of the book’s author. Bocanegra states in the text his reasons for including this print: “so that the degrees of consanguinity be known and seen more distinctly, I place this branch, and figure, of ancestors and descendants, men and women”.49 The chart acts to visually incorporate the native population into the orderly familial structures of Catholic society, while still explicitly representing its nine individuals as continuing to practice indigenous traditions of dress that had their origins in the Inca period. The women wear lliclla [mantels] with ttipqui [pins] holding them in place and cover their hair with a nañacas [cloth head-covering]; the men wear the Inca mascaypacha and have the same characteristic haircut as seen in the Ramos Gavilán prints.50 Both men and women wear elaborately patterned textiles. A male figure identified by a circular cartouche as “Pedro Yaya”, yaya being the Quechua term for father, positioned at the top of the chart, outstretches his arms to encompass his male and female descendants arrayed below him. Cartouches next to each figure proclaim their Christian names and familial relationship (in Quechua) to the individuals above them. The chart addresses an anxiety about incestuous practices specific to the Andean context: the contemporaneous belief that Andean society condoned marriage within the fourth degree of consanguinity.51 In response, it imposes patriarchal early modern Catholic family structures onto its indigenous constituents. Males and females are shown divided and at appropriate distances from one another. Descendants gesture upward toward the paterfamilias, who 49

50 51

“Y para que los grados de consaguinidad, se conozcan, y vean mas distintamente, pongo este ramo, y figura, entre ascendientes, y descendientes varones, y mujeres” : J.P. Boca­ negra, Ritual Formulario, e institucion de curas, para administar a los naturales, de este Reyno, los Santos Sacramentos del Baptismo, Confirmacion, Eucaristia, y Viatico, Penitencia, Extremauncion, y Matrimonio, Con advertencias muy necessarias (Lima, 1631), p. 613. E. Phipps, “Garments and Identity in th