And each Father, armed with his scourge, unleashed a penitential lash on the bare back of Jorge Escoiquiz.
II
The Heretical Viceroy
His Excellency don Luis Henríquez de Guzmán, count of Alba de Liste and Villaflor and a descendant of the royal house of Aragon, was the first grandee of Spain to come to Peru with the title of viceroy, in February of 1655, after having held the same office in Mexico. He was the uncle of the count of Salvatierra, whom he relieved as ruler of Peru. As a Guzmán, his arms were: flanched shield, chief and base of azure, and a basin of gold, checked in gules, with seven serpents’ heads, flanches of silver, and five sable ermines saltierwise.
A magistrate of fine administrative abilities and a man with rather advanced ideas for his time, his rule has gone down in history only because of the large number of misfortunes that took place during it. His six years as viceroy were six years of tears, mourning, and public unrest.
The galleon commanded by the marquis of Villarrubia that was carrying almost six million in gold and silver and 600 passengers, was shipwrecked off the cliffs of Chanduy, and only 45 persons were saved.
There was scarcely a family in Lima that did not lose a relative in the disaster. A private company managed to bring up from the sea bottom nearly 300,000 pesos, a third of which was handed over to the crown.
A year later, in 1656, the marquis of Baides, who had just served as governor of Chile, was returning to Europe with three ships loaded with treasure; having been vanquished in a naval battle near Cádiz by English pirates, he chose to set fire to the magazine of the ship rather than surrender.
And finally, the squadron of don Pablo Contreras, which in 1652 set sail for Peru with a cargo of merchandise, was caught in a storm and seven ships were lost.
But for Lima, the worst of the disasters was the earthquake of November 13, 1655. Publications of the time describe in great detail its damages, the penitential processions, and the repentance of great sinners, and it struck such terror in people’s consciences that by a miracle many scoundrels gave fortunes that had been stolen back to their legitimate owners.
On March 15, 1657, another earthquake, which lasted for more than a quarter of an hour, caused great grief in Chile, and finally, the tremendous eruption of Pichincha,5in October 1660, were events that sufficed to prove that this viceroy had come under an unlucky star.
To further strike terror in people’s spirits, in 1660 there appeared the famous comet observed by the learned Limeñan don Francisco Luis Lozano, who was Peru’s first great cosmographer.
And for nothing to be lacking in this gloomy picture, civil war overtook part of the territory. The Indian Pedro Bohorques, on escaping from prison in Valdivia, raised his standard after proclaiming himself the descendant of the Incas, and after having himself crowned placed himself at the head of an army. Defeated and taken prisoner, he was taken to Lima, where the gallows awaited him.
Jamaica, which until that time had been a Spanish colony, was captured by the English and turned into a center of pirate activity, which for a century and a half kept this territory in a state of continual alarm.
The viceroy and count of Alba de Liste was not well liked in Lima because of his indifferent religious beliefs, and the people, in their naive fanaticism, thought that he was the one drawing the wrath of heaven down upon Peru. And although he played an important role in having the University of Peru, under the rectorate of the illustrious Ramón Pinelo, celebrate with great pomp Pope Alexander VII’s brief on the Immaculate Conception of Mary, this did not suffice to rid him of the nickname of the “heretical viceroy” that an eminent Jesuit, Father Alloza, had helped to make popular; for once, when His Excellency attended a ceremony in the church of San Pedro, that preacher had severely upbraided him for not listening to the Divine Word and conversing instead with one of the magistrates.
Archbishop Villagómez appeared in the procession of Corpus Christi one year with a sunshade, and when the viceroy reprimanded him, he withdrew from the procession. The king put the two of them on a equal footing by ruling that neither the viceroy nor the archbishop should use a sunshade.
The count of Alba de Liste was opposed to the consecration of Friar Cipriano Medina as bishop of Guamanga, maintaining that the bulls appointing him were not in order. But the archbishop went at midnight to the seminary of San Francisco for novices and there consecrated Medina.
When the royal magistrates arrested the scribes of the ecclesiastical tribunal for contempt of court, the archbishop excommunicated the magistrates. The viceroy, backed by the Royal Tribunal, obliged His Reverence to rescind the excommunication.
The count of Alba de Liste had countless conflicts with the archbishop over the question of ecclesiastical benefices, conflicts that contributed to causing the fanatical people to regard him as an unbeliever and a bad Christian, when in reality he was simply a zealous defender of royal patronage.
The viceroy also had the misfortune of living in open war with the Inquisition, which was then at the height of its power and prestige. Among other prohibited books, he had brought from Mexico a pamphlet written by the Dutchman Guillermo Lombardo, which he showed in confidence to an inquisitor or familiar of the Holy Office. But the latter denounced him, and on the first day of the feast of the Holy Spirit, when His Excellency was in the cathedral with all the municipal corporations, a member of the Holy Office mounted to the pulpit and read an edict compelling the viceroy to hand over the pamphlet and place his doctor, César Nicolás Wandier, who was suspected of being a Lutheran, at the disposal of the Office. The viceroy left the church in great indignation, and sent Philip IV a well–founded complaint. Serious conflicts arose from this, to which the monarch put an end by reproving the overbearing conduct of the Inquisition, and by advising Alba de Liste as a friend to hand over the pamphlet that had caused the quarrel.
As for the French doctor, the noble count did everything possible to free him from the clutches of the fierce inquisitors, but it was no easy matter to snatch a victim away from the Holy Office. On October 8, 1667, after more than eight years’ imprisonment in the dungeons of the Holy Office, Wandier was tried and condemned. He was accused, among other trumped–up charges, of having in his cell a crucifix and an image of the Virgin in order to pass for a devout man, and of addressing them in blasphemous words. After the auto–da–fé, in which the accused was fortunately not condemned to the stake, there were held in Lima three days of rogations, a procession of atonement, and other religious ceremonies, which ended with the transfer of the images of the cathedral to the church of El Prado, where we presume they still exist today.
In August of 1661, after handing over the government to the count of Santisteban, the viceroy returned to Spain, more than happy to leave a land where he risked being turned into a crackling by being burned to death as a heretic.
III
A Bell Ringer’s Vengeance
It is likely that Escoiquiz did not get over the sting of the lash all that quickly, for he vowed to himself to take his vengeance on the overdemanding viceroy who attached such importance to one bell more or less ringing. A week had not yet gone by since the day of his flogging, when one night, between twelve and one, the bells of the tower of San Agustín gave a long and joyous peal. All the inhabitants of Lima were in their beds and sleeping like logs at that hour, and they immediately rushed into streets asking one another what the good news was that the bells were celebrating with their tongues of bronze.
His Excellency the viceroy, without being thereby a libertine, was having an affair with an aristocratic lady; and when, after ten, there was no longer anyone who would venture out on the streets of Lima, the viceroy slipped out of a hidden door leading to the calle de los Desamparados, well muffled in his cape and accompanied by his steward, headed off to visit the beauty who had enslaved his heart. He spent a couple of hours in delightful intimacy, and was returning to the palace after midnight with the same caution and secrecy.
On
the following day the news spread all over the city that a nocturnal stroll of the viceroy had occasioned the untimely pealing of the bells. And there was whispering and much gossip on the steps of the cathedral, and the rumors and conjectures that had grown and spread most widely were that the count had taken such precautions in order to attend a mysterious secret meeting of heretics, for no one could believe that such a serious–minded gentleman would muffle up like a smuggler to indulge in an escapade worthy of some love–smitten youth.
But His Excellency had his misgivings, and fearing an indiscretion by the bell ringer, summoned him secretly to the palace, and when he was alone with him in his private office, said to him:
“You wretch! Who told you that I was passing by last night?”
“Your Excellency,” Escoiquiz answered without turning a hair, “there are owls in my tower.”
“And what the devil does that have to do with me?”
“Your Excellency, who has had many a run–in with the Inquisition and is continually at odds with it, must know that witches take the form of owls.”
“And to scare them off you disturbed the whole city with your bells? You’re a first–rate rascal, and I’m tempted to send you off to jail.”
“It would not be worthy of Your Excellency to punish someone as discreet as I am so severely, someone who hasn’t even told his shirt collar what takes the viceroy of all Peru up and down the street of San Sebastián at night.”
The chivalrous count needed no more more prompting to realize that his secret, and with it the reputation of a lady, lay in the hands of the bell ringer.
“Very well, very well!” he interrupted him. “Keep your tongue tied short and see to it that the clappers of your bells are silent too.”
“I for my part will be as silent as the dead, for I don’t like to talk about other people’s affairs. But as for what has to do with the dignity of Mónica and my other bells, I won’t yield as much as the end of a fingernail, for they were not cast by their maker for accomplices and intermediaries of sinful strollers. If Your Excellency doesn’t want them to ring out, the remedy is easy. If you don’t walk through the little square the problem is solved.”
“Agreed. And now tell me: What can I do for you?”
Jorge Escoiquiz, who, as is evident, had his wits about him, asked the viceroy to intercede with the prior to have himself readmitted as a novice. His Excellency promised to do so, and three or four months later the superior of the Augustinians allowed the bell ringer to return. And his eminent protector was of such service to him that in 1660 Friar Jorge Escoiquiz celebrated his first Mass, with his sponsor being none other that the heretical viceroy.
According to some, Escoiquiz never got beyond being an ordinary friar; according to others, he became a dignitary of his convent. I cannot say which version is true.
What for me is certain fact is that the viceroy, being afraid of the pealing of the bells, never again passed through the little square of San Agustín when he took a notion to go acourting in the calle de San Sebastián.
Y aquí hago punto y fin,
sacando de esta conseja
la siguiente moraleja:
que no hay enemigo chico.6
1The great bell of the convent of San Agustín in Lima.
2Manuel de Amat y Junient (1704–1782) was Peru’s 31st viceroy, 1761–1776.—Ed.
3August 2, the day of Our Lady of Porciúncula, commemorates the founding of the Franciscan Order in 1208.—Ed.
4Manuel de Oms y Santa Pau, Marquis of Castell–dos–Ríus (d. 1710), was the 24th viceroy of Peru, 1707–1710.—Ed.
5Pichincha is a volcano in Ecuador, see “The Christ in Agony.”—Ed.
6And here I write finis and end, / drawing from this tale / the following moral: / no enemy is ever small.
Drink, Father, It Will Keep You Alive!
A Chronicle of the Era When the Wife of a Viceroy Ruled
Doña Ana de Borja, countess of Lemos and wife of the viceroy of Peru, was a great lady, more tempered than Toledo steel. She was found to be such by Her Majesty doña María of Austria, who govered the Spanish monarchy during the minority of Charles II, for on naming her husband viceroy of Peru, doña María provided him with a royal warrant that stipulated that in case the better service of the kingdom obliged him to leave Lima, he should place the reins of government in the hands of his consort.
Accordingly, when His Excellency deemed it indispensable to go in person to put down the disturbances in Laycacota by hanging the rich miner Salcedo, doña Ana remained in this city presiding over the Tribunal, and her rule lasted from June of 1668 to April of the following year.
The count of Bornos said that the most learned woman is capable of governing only twelve hens and one rooster. Nonsense! Surely this statement did not apply to doña Ana de Borja y Aragón, who, as you readers will see, was one of the countless exceptions to the rule. I know women capable of governing twenty–four hens...and up to two roosters.
Just as I am telling you, like it or not we Peruvians were governed by a woman for ten months...and frankly it did not go all that badly for us, for the tambourine was in hands that knew how to play it.
And so that you won’t say that we chroniclers pay no tax on lies, and that I force you to take what I say on faith, I shall copy what the erudite gentleman señor Mendiburu writes on this subject in his Diccionario Histórico1: “On undertaking his journey to Puno, the Count of Lemos entrusted the government of the kingdom to doña Ana, his wife, who exercised this power during his absence, resolving all matters without anyone making the slightest objection, beginning with the Tribunal, which recognized her authority. We have in our hands a dispatch of the vicereine, appointing a member of the accounting tribunal, which is headed as follows: “don Pedro Fernández de Castro y Andrade, count of Lemos, and doña Ana de Borja, his wife, countess of Lemos, by virtue of the power she has been granted for the government of these realms, attentive to the opinion of the tribunal, has been pleased to appoint and most willingly appoint, etc., etc.”
Another proof. In Odriozola’s Documentos históricos2collection there can be found a decree of the vicereine ordering that military preparations against pirates be made.
Doña Ana, in her period in command, was a lady 29 years old, with an elegant figure albeit a plain face. She dressed in splendor and was never seen in public when she was not decked with diamonds. Of her disposition it is said that she was extremely haughty and dominating, and that she was inordinately proud of her lineage and titles of nobility.
And the pride of someone like her, when she counted among the saints of the celestial court none other than her grandfather Francisco de Borja, must have been a mere nothing!3
The mischievous ladies of Lima, who were so fond of doña Teresa de Castro, the wife of the viceroy don García, never looked favorably on the countess of Lemos, and baptized her with the nickname of Bigfoot. I presume that the vicereine was a woman with a firm foundation.
But to go on with our story, doña Ana was said to have had an idea that would not have occurred to the most resolute governor, and that proves, in essence, how great feminine cleverness is, and likewise proves that when a woman becomes involved in politics or in what is a man’s business, she knows how to leave a well–planted banner.
Among the passengers whom the galleon from Cádiz brought to Callao was a Portuguese friar of the order of Saint Jerome. His name was Father Núñez. His Paternity was a chubby little man with wide shoulders, a pot belly, a short neck, bulging eyes, and a reddish Roman nose. Imagine, reader, a candidate for a sudden attack of apoplexy, and you will have a perfect portrait of the Hieronymite friar.
Father Núñez had only just arrived in Lima when the vicereine received an anonymous letter in which the aforementioned friar was said to be not a friar at all, but a spy or secret agent for Portugal who, for the greater success of some political machination, appeared wearing the holy habit as a disguise.
The vicereine summoned the ju
dges and submitted the accusation to them. Their lordships decided that, there and then and without further ado, Father Núñez should be arrested and hanged, coram populo.4Of course! In those days there was no such thing as guarantees of the individual or other such foolishness of the sort that today are customary and give the individual as much protection as does a silken doublet from a clubbing from the back.
The sage vicereine was reluctant to take matters hither and yon, and when something that Garcilaso said of Francisco de Carbajal occurred to her, she remarked to her fellow members of the Tribunal: “Leave things to me, and with no need to make a great to–do or offend him, I can discover if he is a friar or a monk, for the habit does not make the monk but the monk the habit. And if he turns out to be a priest tonsured by a barber and not by an archbishop, then without more kyries or litanies we can call Gonzalvillo to hang him by the neck on the gallows in the main square.”
This Gonzalvillo, a double–dyed black and ugly as the devil, was the official hangman of Lima.
That very same day the vicereine had her steward invite Father Núñez to the palace “to share a modest meal.”
The three judges accompanied the noble lady at table, and Gonzalvillo the Terrible waited in the garden.
The guests were splendidly served, not those delicacies that today are common and are like nun’s food, a mere puff of air, but, rather, dishes that were succulent and solid and stick to the ribs. The best birds in the poultry yard, turkey, chicken, and even pig in a blanket were served in profusion.
Father Núñez did not eat; he devoured. He did full honor to all the dishes.
The vicereine winked at the judges as though to say to them:
Peruvian Traditions Page 9
