The sun showed itself without veils that day: it seemed to want to contemplate itself in the calm waters of the river, while drying the tears of that desolate crowd. In the current, highlighted by the reflections of the king star, dozens of boats could be seen moving away. They were heading for another land, for a distant continent, with no prospect of returning.
Hundreds of rivers – of tears – springing from bitter eyes seemed to be flow into a single pier.
In reality, that harbour was like a dagger tearing a nation apart. Around 15,000 people,1 together with their sovereign, were heading for another world, while the rest, unable to follow, were waiting for their homeland to be sacked and taken by an army they were unable to resist.
This was Lisbon on November 29, 1807.
Between war and the sea
Were they fleeing? Although historians avoid the term “flight”, it was in fact a flight in which, it should be noted, thousands of homes were left behind and countless families were split up.
In November 1807, the Portuguese borders had been invaded by a coalition of 50,000 French and Spanish soldiers, in the pay of the then absolute master of Europe, Napoleon Bonaparte.
The French emperor had “brought all the kings and queens of the continent to their knees in a succession of surprising and brilliant victories.”2 The exception was England, which, avoiding confrontation by land, used its maritime expertise to defeat him at Trafalgar in 1805. Napoleon reacted by decreeing a continental blockade, meaning that European ports were to be closed to English trade. The orders were soon obeyed by all countries, with the exception of tiny Portugal.
In the meantime, an English fleet anchored at the mouth of the Tagus river. It was prepared to guard the flight of the Portuguese sovereign and his court to Brazil or, if he refused, to bombard Lisbon and sack the Portuguese fleet, as it had done with the Danish fleet in Copenhagen a few months earlier.
Dom John VI, the sovereign of Portugal, who did not want to give in to French demands and sacrifice his centuries-old alliance with England, found himself trapped between the two greatest economic and military powers of his time. Like the Chosen People of old, the Portuguese nation was caught between war and the sea. The history of Portugal, Europe and even America hung on the decision of one man.
Dom John VI
But this man had none of the qualities of a Moses. Dom John Maria José Francisco Xavier de Paula Luís Antônio Domingos Rafael de Bragança – his full name – although clever, was “shy, superstitious and ugly. The personality trait that most showed itself in his actions, however, was indecision.”3
The second son of Dona Maria I, he was a prince unprepared to rule: power came to him by chance because in 1788 his older brother, Dom José – the natural heir to the throne – had died of smallpox and in 1792 his mother – the pious queen – had been declared insane and unfit to rule. At the age of twenty-five, he assumed royal power on a provisional basis and, seven years later, became Prince Regent. He would only be crowned in Rio de Janeiro in 1818, after the queen’s death.
Dom John VI, by Albert Gregorius –
Palace of Ajuda, Lisbon
In that year of 1807, faced with an emperor who compared himself to the Roman Caesars, he had to make the most important decision of his life: to declare war on either the French or the British, in both cases putting his crown in jeopardy.
In the prospect of a bloody scenario, Dom John, according to one author, “acknowledging his incapacity for heroism, chose the peaceful solution of leading the exodus and seeking in the warm torpor of the tropics the tranquillity or idleness for which he was born”4; flight was the choice.
Unlike Moses, whose name means saved from the waters (cf. Ex 2:10), this prince was saved by the waters.
An old plan put into practice
A possible departure for Brazil had been in the offing for some time now. In fact, whenever the Portuguese crown found itself coveted by foreign heads, the idea of moving the court to some overseas territory resurfaced in the minds of statesmen.
What is more, Portugal was not the same nation that had inaugurated maritime navigations and discoveries three centuries earlier.
It was now bereft of resources, increasingly squeezed and threatened by the interests of neighbouring countries, and unable to put up effective military resistance. To take refuge in distant lands seemed the most plausible solution for the court in the face of these threats. Thus in 1807, the plan, which had already been so long in the making, could be implemented quickly enough.
Even so, this transfer was still an unprecedented event: in times of war, monarchs had been dethroned or forced to seek refuge in foreign domains, but they had never crossed an ocean to live and reign on the other side of the world. Furthermore, up until that point, no European sovereign had ever set foot on any overseas territory, perhaps because of the risks of such a long and precarious journey.
It goes without saying that this change had a profound impact on both nations: the country that had been left lived through the worst years of its history, while the country of destination began to inch towards independence.
An abandoned people
On November 24, news reached Lisbon that all hopes of conciliation with France had been dashed. Napoleon had declared that the house of Braganza had ceased to reign in Europe. All indecision disappeared: the departure was scheduled for the 27th of that month.
For three days, the movable possessions of entire palaces were boxed up and loaded onto ships. Hundreds of carts crossed the muddy streets of Lisbon carrying clothing, dishes, jewellery, carpets, paintings and even libraries.
Although all this the movement aroused the attention of the people, they could not believe that the king was leaving home to reign on the other side of the world – especially since, according to official information, all that was happening was a simple restoration of the Portuguese fleet. However, when news spread of the certain departure, there was weeping and revolt; it is even said that a carriage was stoned before it reached the harbour.
Due to unfavourable winds and heavy rain, the departure was postponed until the 29th. Even so, haste and improvisation remained inevitable. On the appointed date, Dom John boarded the ship and, as circumstances prevented him from giving a farewell speech, he had a decree posted in the streets setting out the reasons for his emigration.
At seven o’clock, the order was given to weigh anchor, and the ships began to move away from that continent full of the past, towards another with a very promising future.
On the quayside, an abandoned people remained… In seven years, more than half a million inhabitants would flee the country, perish from hunger or fall on the battlefield. On the horizon, if Dom John had dared to peer through the windows of the stern, he could have even seen the French troops descending upon Lisbon…
Heading for the land of promise
In those days, a transatlantic voyage was, without comparison, much longer and more dangerous than it is today. The British navy – the best organized and equipped at the time – considered “an average of one death for every thirty crew members on long voyages to be acceptable.”5 In addition, the Portuguese ships were old, poorly equipped and overcrowded, conditions that further aggravated the discomfort and precariousness of the crossing.
After setting sail, the customary exchange of cannon salutes between the Portuguese and English navies took place.
From the little information we have about the voyage, we can conclude that it was an adventure marked from start to finish by affliction and suffering. We know that, when approaching the Madeira archipelago, the fleet was split in two because of a violent storm, to meet again only at their final destination after landing.
On January 22, 1808, Dom John landed in Salvador, in the State of Bahia, where he had decided to make a stopover before heading on to Rio de Janeiro: 6,400 kilometres lay behind him, covered in fifty-four days at sea. The other part of the fleet had arrived in Rio a week earlier. Despite the hardships of the sea crossing, there were no reports of deaths or fatal accidents.
“The same Bahia that 300 years earlier had seen the arrival of Cabral’s fleet was now witnessing an event that would profoundly change the lives of Brazilians forever. With the arrival of the court in the Bay of All Saints, the last act of colonial Brazil and the first of independent Brazil began.”6
After five weeks on the northeastern coast, the monarch resumed his journey southward to Rio de Janeiro. Finally, on March 7, the fleet entered Guanabara Bay, where the Brazilians gave it a warm welcome.
The exiled courtiers seemed to have gone back in history, but they sensed that a great future awaited those virgin lands. They were faced with a blank book in which many hopes and dreams were placed. If it was not a promised land, it was a land of promise. Dom John had spearheaded an exodus, the consequences of which he could not even glimpse or imagine.
What would have become of Brazil?
What would have happened if the monarch had remained in Portugal?
We have no intention of trying the reader’s patience with wide-ranging conjectures. But considering the transformation that took place during the thirteen years that the Portuguese court remained in Brazil, we can easily conclude that without this stay, the Land of the Holy Cross would have remained a dependent colony, where slavery and illiteracy would have abounded for much longer.
History has come to acknowledge the benefits of that strategic retreat, of the unexpected change effected in the face of a threat.
Was it cowardice or prudence? Opinions differ. However, it was this decision that secured the crown on the heads of the Braganza family for a few more decades, unlike many European dynasties. Although, years later, circumstances led Dom John VI to return to his homeland, the sociological consequences of this voyage became irreversible. ◊
Notes
1 The historical information in this article was taken from the following works: LIGHT, Kenneth. A viagem marítima da família real. A transferência da corte portuguesa para o Brasil. Rio de Janeiro: Zahar, 2008; GOMES, Laurentino. 1808. Como uma rainha louca, um príncipe medroso e uma corte corrupta enganaram Napoleão e mudaram a história de Portugal e do Brasil. 2.ed. São Paulo: Planeta, 2007.
2 GOMES, op. cit., p.34.
3 Idem, p.34.
4 MONTEIRO, Tobias do Rego. História do império. A elaboração da independência. Brasília: Senado Federal, 2018, p.52.
5 GOMES, op. cit., p.66.
6 Idem, p.96.
