1 Introduction
Through the Lisbon earthquake of 1st November 1755, nature shook up the political order of Europe. As is well known, the Portuguese capital was reduced to ruins by the seismic shocks, a huge tsunami, and a major fire. Within these events, both the naval fleet anchored in the Tagus estuary and all the artillery and timber stored in the Lisbon harbour were dragged out by the ocean waters, sank or appeared floating in fragments out in the Atlantic. Such outcomes not only weakened Portuguese naval communications and access to the oversea States but also the national defence system of the Portuguese metropolis.1
The aforementioned scenario, dreadfully catastrophic for Portugal, naturally favoured the other naval powers which had been competing for control over corridors in the Atlantic and Indian oceans since the late 1600s and early 1700s: the Dutch, British and French fleets.2 The cargos of gold shipped from Brazil to Portugal alongside exotic timbers exported from India or Brazil had already become targets for piracy and smuggling in the late 17th and early 18th centuries.3 Furthermore, following the end of the War of Spanish Succession (1714), Portugal had never recovered its dominance over the Atlantic sailing corridors.4 By 1755, the aftermath of the earthquake weakened the national position on international sailing routes still further.
The economic and political recovery of the Metropolis would envision the landscaping of specific geographies. Beginning with the prerogatives of land management within the scope of strengthening an exquisite product of value on international markets, fortified port wine, this was to be developed in parallel and also interweaving with other sectors: forest plantations, fruit orchards, among other crops.
The difficulties encountered in reaching the colonies in the first months of 1756 demonstrated how Portugal was a naval empire with sailing and shipbuilding remaining crucial activities for the Crown.5 Consequently, without immediate access to forestry resources from the colonies, ensuring the regular delivery of timber for shipbuilding and defence of the realm, would swiftly become a matter of the greatest importance.
The internal reserve stocks of forestry products for supplying the royal shipyards were to be constantly assured. However, importing forest resources implied negotiating with Portuguese competitors in the timber and wood markets of northern Europe.6 Furthermore, post-1755,7 Portugal became still more dependent on external assistance for securing the delivery of timber and wood but, as demonstrated by new empirical data for 1756 and 1757, this was significantly met by internal supplies from nationally located royal and seigniorial forests. Thus, as colonial forests now seemed far-distant and far more dangerous to reach than when Portugal controlled the sailing routes, national forests
As recent research has verified, the first half of the 1700s experienced the renewal and expansion of royal woodlands across the Iberian Peninsula. To reinforce that policy, the Spanish Crown implemented a program for royal forests from 1748 onwards. Portugal implemented a similar plan after 1751, investing in planting trees along the coastal sandbanks and hilly valleys with tree-species appropriate for shipbuilding.9
While this forest expansion plan may have been designed prior to the occurrence of the earthquake, carrying it out from 1756 onwards would widely become an almost natural reaction of both the royal administration and the ecclesial and noble landlords. However, there are no studies available on these afforested areas and any eventual increase in the tree park in Portugal as a consequence and in response to the increased consumption of forest products by the royal service, particularly those supplied by private estates owned by noblemen or the Church.
Nonetheless, historiography has clearly portrayed the efforts endorsed by King José I (1750–1777) and the Marquis of Pombal to support the recovery of the population, the rebuilding of Lisbon, as well as some areas of the Algarve, the restoration of food supplies while also preventing epidemics in the wake of the 1755 seismic catastrophe.10 Accordingly, a substantial body of solid essays was produced on risk assessment, engineering and architecture.11 However, the strategic landscaping detailing the parallel projects for forests and farming, spanning the entire scope of the national territory, were never delivered.
The vineyards in the Douro valley produced such a strategic commercial commodity that, to protect the quality of port, its production became defended by draconian laws enacted in 1765. Indeed, in the settlements built in the demarcated production area, cork trees could and should be felled. This took place despite how, and throughout centuries, both the Portuguese and Spanish monarchies had imposed exclusive rights of ownership and prohibited the removal of such trees as they provided a fundamental shipbuilding resource. Why different acts for a tree?
Nonetheless, this would make every sense if there were alternative plantings of this species ongoing post-1765 with the prospect of growing larger cork woodlands. This correspondingly proposes that such oddness, the removal of cork trees to be replaced by vineyards, makes sense within the framework of planning for different areas of agricultural specialization throughout the kingdom.
The same legislation, which remained in effect between 1765 and 1779, prohibited vineyards in many water basins beyond the Douro valley. Allegedly, wines produced in other geographies were being sold as fortified port. Not only was the planting of vineyards forbidden but they were also actually removed in central and southern regions of Portugal, across the water basins of the Mondego and Tagus rivers and throughout the Algarve province with the legislation covering approximately two-thirds of the territory.12 Consequently, regions where grapes were entirely forbidden in 1765 began growing other cultures.13 In some areas, apart from cereals and vegetables, either orchards or
The relevance of such detail is to portray the scope for intentional investment in trees by private economic interests. Fruit tree trunks would very likely escape seizure by the Crown as their wood was not good for shipbuilding. However, such trees would be able to simultaneously provide firewood, fodder, and fruit with their timber remaining valuable for furniture making as well as for other carpentry products. Such an option was also eligible for development under the same legal framework that had imposed the removal of vineyards and their replacement by “others”.
This hypothesis gains further support by taking into consideration how the royal forests underwent planting and renewal after 1751 and were indeed for shipbuilding. Portugal may thus have very smoothly gone down two different paths of forestation and renewal of its tree park, one promoted by the Crown and the other by landowners and peasants. This certainly does not mean that pine trees simply disappeared from private woods but rather that another forestation niche was able to gain ground. In 1779, the 1765 legislation was partially revoked and while this meant vineyards could again be planted, fruit trees would also remain throughout these landscapes. The combinations of these products very likely increased the availability of energy sources and food both for the livestock and the people, beyond cereals, wine and vegetables.
The core topic for reflection in the items above derives from how, in the fourteen years between 1765 and 1779, there were significant changes to the customary agrarian landscapes and patterns of production, implementing new patterns of soil occupation, which have not yet been fully studied. Indeed, what emerges encapsulates a geographical compartmentation of the Metropolis into productive areas, with specific plantations in keeping with the strategic locations of the surrounding settlements. These tended to be difficult to access by any external military force but from where transport to deliver crops was fairly easy, sailing down rivers that were not otherwise navigable in the opposite direction.
In a broader vision, the conceptual and designed approach of the Portuguese crown towards a functional rationalization of the metropolis as of territories under its tutelage in Africa, Asia and America engaged deeply in the Enlightenment background thought about rationalizing areas of politics and economy. As it is well known, Lisbon’s rebuilt after the Earthquake of 1755 became the first geometrical urban space as dreamed by then ongoing debate on rationalization of daily life. The importance of this detail for the present reflexion is to highlight that the Portuguese elite that created the conditions for the undertaking of such specific urban project, was the same that developed a matrix for rational-geographic
The political Portuguese inteligentia -which was engaged in a common cultural cradle of the Enlightenment that quested for efficiency as well- used the most updated tools for a fast recovery both in Portugal and in colonial spaces to overcome not only the material but also the tremendous political crises that derived from natural hazards.
Indeed, while Britain and France were taking over the Atlantic routes, far from that area of the Globe, the Portuguese State of India would know a territorial expansion and increasing presence during the 1760s, contributing to create space and to keep a position in the top ranking of colonial trade agency. As R. A. Disney states “it is likely few would have predicted in 1799 that Portugal would retain its Indian possessions for another 150 years – and outlast the British themselves.”15
Such conclusions imply not only that Portugal and native kingdoms of Africa and Asia did not surrender passively to the new military power of other European forces across the Indic, as the Portuguese capacity of reaction in far lands from the Atlantic were effective. The success of enlarging territorial dimension of the State of India, might have meant that Portugues intelligentsia would be well equipped with updated mechanisms to accomplish the projected goals of holding a position in international trade. This meant that Portugal exercised some sort of control over communications and commercial corridors, or gained new ones however from another strategic place distant from the Atlantic: Indian Ocean.
This perspective challenges a narrative produced by coaeval thinkers about the Iberian backwardness which calls for more attentive studies.16 If Portugal provoked a political, military and economic turn over in Eastern Africa and in India in its favour this is a result that must receive proper scholar attention. It reflects how the Portuguese ruling elite of 1750s–1760s was enough engaged with coeval military and diplomatic strategies not only leading territorial management occupation of natural sites, in the Indian ocean, but decentralizing areas of interests to assure a circulation of its colonial trade. It did not necessarily have to be focused in the Atlantic disputed by too many naval competitors
In other words, both the territory of the Metropolis as the territories of other geographies under Portuguese mastering would have been subdued to
Effectively, as it will be further developed, a profound alteration of landscapes, endured to nowadays in some regions of Portugal, from the effective implementation of royal acts proclaimed within 1765 and 1779 against vineyards plantation as of forest management. Hence, under this lent, a territorial management from above, altered landscapes across Portugal during the second half of the 18th century regardless of seigniorial land-rights. In specific areas (nevertheless across a wide range of the territory), there were circumstances under which intermediation seems inexistant or very fragile.
The former sequence of arguments proposes different approach and chronology for the debate on centralization, considering that in different kingdoms, chronologies given circumstances, the leading powers achieved the practices of centralization as theorized for later periods than the 18th century by Scott.17
Considering the impressive degree of royal intervention across several geographic regions of Portugal, forcing seigniorial powers in faraway peripherical lands to obey to the king, it appears to challenge the argument of central state inefficiency, furthermore as a crucial tool to create structural economic and commercial defences as a way to confront the informal subjugation of external political entities.
As can be observed, the approach to rural landscapes following the 1755 earthquake opens up an endless plethora of questions and opportunities for analysis This chapter seeks to explain some of these and, after the present introduction (Section 1) is correspondingly organised into five broadly independent but also interconnected sections before setting out the conclusions.
Thus, the second section, ‘From landscaping to problems’, discusses how landscapes can be considered a historical source for longue durée observations. As mosaics containing the multiple fragments of the different facets to soil usage, they reveal layers of landscapes across time. Thus, features of land occupation are considered landscape strata revealing the archaeological conjunctural layers of different landscapes in the exact same places. In other words, this proposes that landscapes convey the historical contexts of their same setting and, just as with any document, are susceptible to the heuristics
The third section then deals with ‘Conceptual affiliation’. This brief discourse presents the outlines of the theoretical framework underpinning the approach to landscapes and evolving through taking into consideration the prospects for environmental solutions.
After this reflection, there follows the fourth section: ‘Literature review, methodologies and sources’. This sets out the (almost non-existent) state of the art, how we undertake the analysis of sources that are themselves the methodology, cross-referencing landscapes and written sources to inform on the primary and secondary empirical data supporting this research and its conclusions. This purpose involves the in-detail presentation of the coeval non-written, handwritten and printed primary sources just as much as the bibliography.
Subsequently, the fifth and sixth sections deliver the article’s core discussions. The first, ‘Naval mastery, the empire and natural hazards: a crucial turn in the colonial and internal forest supply’ puts forward the geographical framework and the international political scenario driving these landscaping plans. This substantiates the arguments on how the earthquake triggered a chain of new political programs that landscaped Portugal. These interlinked profoundly with the interests of the colonial empire and frame the major questions around levels of forest resource consumption, delivery and ensuring the replenishment of sources on this side of the Atlantic.
The closing section, ‘An Unconventional Methodology: the heuristics and hermeneutics of a (wine) landscape’, discusses how, from a conjunctural detail, the removal of cork trees to plant vineyards by royal decree, provides an indicator of how rulers perceived territorial administration in the second half of 18th century, and the consequent landscaping, quite differently to previously and bringing about powerful changes in such processes. Thus, this part approaches the preannounced compartmentalization of the national territory for different economic purposes. This highlights how, from little details, specifically the contradictory coeval law stipulating the production of the same natural resource in different regions of the territory – cork – unveil how micro and macro politics intertwine at the local level.
Finally, the conclusions point out how natural and human factors contributed to launching and framing this landscaping of the Portuguese Metropolis, stating how apparently geographically, politically and economically disconnected sectors were profoundly intertwined in this process of attempting to better manage several areas of production and otherwise uncultivated wilderness.
2
The departure point for this article is simple: how did the Portuguese landscape change following the earthquake that especially devastated Lisbon in 1755, and what improved in the forestry sector? Answering these questions became rather difficult as they ended up opening many other unstudied topics.
This seismic event inspired a myriad of cultural reactions and studies in philosophy, literature, religion, politics, and slavery, with a substantial literature on the subjects around the histories of destruction and their scientific replies even if without the equivalent efforts to understand just how landscapes evolved under such circumstances.18 Despite the paramount survey produced in 1758 covering every parish in the kingdom, there remain no significant studies on the evolution and planning of the landscapes. Apart from Lisbon, the Algarve and the Douro Valley, studies on the territory remain noticeable by their absence.
Given this lack, we needed to find and select an object to begin dialoguing and obtain some answers. Economic studies would provide numbers but not the physical territory. Seeking another story to tell, I began asking what a major panorama might tell us before the landscape itself emerged as a source of information.
According to the post-1755 legal framework for wine production, the division of the territory to establish clusters of precise cultures projected the different territorial intentions then held by the Crown and varying substantially on that defined by former ruling monarchs. How and why was such change implemented? And what were the implications for the forestry related affairs that account for my main interest.
Setting out the political scenario surrounding territorial administration before and after 1755 became crucial to advancing. To this end, this had to incorporate imperial affairs as they constantly interweave with issues around forest management and communications. As mentioned above, this period started out with the loss of capacity to ensure imperial communications simultaneously coupled with the supreme desire to continue ruling a colonial empire.
Thus, one of the key ideas underlying this chapter is that the 1700s represent a completely different European reality to that prevailing in the former
Throughout this century, the European naval and political contexts differed profoundly from those prevailing over the 1500s–1600s.20 From roughly 1500 to the 1650s, control over the Atlantic in terms of both navigation and military power belonged to Portugal and Spain. From the mid-1600s, the legal fleets of Britain, France and the Dutch Republic, just as much as their pirate peers, became especially interested in the cargos of gold shipped from Brazil to Portugal. Furthermore, the War of the Spanish Succession was hugely responsible both for draining Iberian economic resources and providing a pretext for the respective political allies, the Dutch, British and French, to expand their ocean sailing activities. Those crowns reinforced their own ambitions over the Atlantic American colonies for which military control of the Atlantic was necessary. Thus, economically strong, they invested in developing their military naval power, a leverage that catapulted France and Britain to navigation and military control over oceanic navigation routes.21
As Conceição Martins demonstrates, in the 1750s, Port wine consumers and international merchants, mostly in the British sphere, were interested both in lowering the prices of Portuguese merchandise and in buying other wines from Spain without jeopardising the commercial treaty of Methuen signed with Portugal in 1703. For the sake of the Portuguese economy, the respective landowners and traders wanted and needed to stay in business. The ‘spirit wine from Douro’ product from the ‘demarcated Country’ (Pais Vinhateiro do Douro) could not afford to have its quality diminished, altered and, least of all, falsified.24 Thus, other crops ought to replace the wine production ongoing in other regions. However, the question this then raises is why would legislation approved in 1765, and apparently returning good results, be revoked in as short a period as by 1779?
Under the Ancien Régime, previously donated property rights for wine production and for properties rented for vineyards would not be easy to override. Taking back such property rights without any crime against a monarch was not easy to bring about, not even for the Marquis of Pombal. Indeed, the privileged area for wine production would fall upon a region where vineyards had first been planted under special conditions in the 1640s. In addition, although Queen Maria I (1777–1815) had a very strong personage, the 1765 Decree forbidding vineyards outside of the demarcated Douro region was soon revoked.25
For the purposes of this chapter, this is particularly important as, on the one hand, while annual crops could be replaced easily every single year, on the
Furthermore, the introduction of new species into the 1700s Portuguese landscape does not represent a disruptive kind of intervention due to longstanding overseas contacts and efforts to naturalize botanical species across the Iberian Peninsula. As part of the Mediterranean world, where hybrid landscapes had been cultivated since classical times, the 1750s Portuguese territory was a heritage not only of raiding invaders but also of settlement by many different cultures and populations down the course of centuries. This reflects in how the co-evolution and hybridization of sites reflected a broadly traditional way of managing landscapes reaching back to the Roman Empire.29 This at least partially explains why so little relevance seems to have been attributed
In fact, the Iberian Peninsula, on the European geographical scale, represents a vast platform located between the Mediterranean Sea and the Atlantic Ocean and also between Africa and Europe. This reflects in a territory with climatic and botanical regions of transition where there is a rather abundant diversity in botanical species.30 Thus, in the 1760s, the idea of relocating cultures and forest species according to the areas where they were known to thrive would seem both feasible and acceptable.
Given the above, the novelty would stem from the pioneering design for rationalizing the geographies of production, widening the expanse of the dominant cultures – in lands and locations submitted to the Crown’s tutelage –, whether or not the actual property of the royal family. This design resulted in a ‘division of Portugal’ into three major regions for wine, forests and other products for agricultural cultivation. The program or the model of such regional investment would be the same for the three sectors: defining and organizing specific sectors in those economic regions favoured by accessible transport to channel production to markets. This landscaping program perhaps also benefitted from the specific climatic, pedologic and hydrologic characteristics of the Iberian Peninsula.31
The major unknown factors requiring further analysis incorporate just how the rural landscapes evolved in the areas not mentioned in the legislation. Furthermore, even across the Douro, Mondego and Tagus valleys, we thus far do not know to what extent the lands developed or simply remained unchanged, ignoring the legislation in areas with lower levels of inspection by royal officers, between 1765 and 1779 when wine was once again restored to its prior taxation status.
Finally, irrespective of all the efforts undertaken by the royal administration to foster efficiency in forest and wine production to deal with sudden crises in international trade and ensure the supply of the forest resources needed for shipbuilding, defence and housing, these were not enough for the global needs required in the wake of the Lisbon Earthquake. Thus, beyond the supply demanded of the royal forests, especially for shipbuilding and defence but also for housing, how did the territory and different social actors respond
3 Conceptual Affiliation
A reflection on “cultural landscapes” could be almost obvious to address this analysis,32 namely considering the starting point of demarcated settlements for Porto wine production, which started a business that has turned into a cultural landscape. However, that legacy would not cover other processes of landscapes evolving across the territory in the same long run interval. Indeed, the Tagus water basin as the Region of the Algarve, among others, knew layers of land cover which did not necessarily endure by human or natural care.
Perhaps, a proxy of how culture in a broad sense influenced landscaping would be more adequate for this approach. However, it remains uncomplete for the lent of analyses through cultural landscapes, because they do not cover considerable invisible strata of landscapes that once existed and were replaced in the exact same space. Furthermore, in this study, those landscapes – now invisible-, in given historical contexts, were fundamental to understand orientation, reorientation and invention of territorial management policies. along 1700s. Thus, a new approach was required in order to reach such replaced areas by new landscapes in the exact same locations, regardless of dealing with areas of the metropolis or with overseas territories of the Portugguese Empire.
As my major research interest encapsulates how landscapes evolve over the long term, this case study intertwines an approach to the concepts of co-evolution and landscape hybridization processes that perceives human agency as responsible not only for profound changes in landscapes but also for restoring and renewing natural resources.33 A debate to be in environmental History.
Such concerns come to light in this chapter, as in other publications published mainly in the third millennium, within reflections focused more on the human destructive agency than on the scope for human intent to produce environmental solutions. Within the framework of debates launched around the Sustainable Development Goals (2011), the discussions on integral ecology and the United Nations sustainability agenda for 2030 seem particularly important as they embody how the range of sustainability has expanded enormously since 1987, evolving from an economic-natural paradigm to one of human and natural dignity in 2015.34
Within this predominant idea, that landscapes evolve due to a plethora of natural and human factors, originating different strata of landscapes in the exact same area, we are able to reason beyond the ecological and environmental determinism of doom on humanity managing nature to depletion. Instead of looking for wrongdoing, I sought to consider the composition and management of landscapes as the sources that provide the contexts of their evolution, thereby developing systemic heuristics and hermeneutics for landscape frameworks in a methodological approach to how landscapes, as documents, provide an ‘archive’ of different historical inputs and as such susceptible to the heuristics and hermeneutics proposed under the name of the ‘Landscaping Reading Methodology’ as detailed below.
4 Literature Review, Methodologies and Sources
Landscapes incorporate their surroundings and can thereby serve as the main insight into the contexts shaping the environment. Over the long run, they reveal how human and natural factors interact with each other and disclose the contexts of production across centuries, explaining, counterbalancing and influencing the political discourses on territorial management. The actual
Thus, behind any landscape, there are natural and human factors implied in their shaping, perseverance and change. Hence, when a territory-scenario, just like a theatre stage, becomes a framed image-document, exactly like a handwritten document in my opinion, it may be treated as an object susceptible to a heuristic and hermeneutical approach. Such considerations are important because they might confirm, dismantle, or produce new results by interpreting historical documents about landscape design and management.
Territories, across their visual features, display many strata of layered physical elements. The ‘remains’ of former landscapes, in very heterogenous mosaics, provide a visual chronology of the evolution of the site over different timescales. In other words, we can grasp many components of the different layers of landscapes that have occupied that exact area over historical time. This amounts to a way of looking at landscape from above as if those different components represent different archaeological strata located over each other. At the surface, they are displayed, whether organized or chaotically. The observer is responsible for encountering a logic in the remaining botanical, rocky or material evidence. Those clues unveil not only successive different landscapes in the sites under analysis, which is new to our present, but also what might have disappeared; thus, the visual surveillance of any landscape may turn out highly informative about the past in its own right, generating suggestions on how and where to seek content likely available in written documents. Thus, landscapes and written information sources may interact and complement each other.
In some way, this compares to archaeological methodologies for analysing strata in depth but over a wider surface area in this case. Furthermore, rather than digging beneath the earth and into soil, this method analyses temporal strata through the fragments of landscape visible in a broader landscaped perspective and including high angled views. By considering these dimensions, over the long term, geography, with appropriate historical heuristics and hermeneutics, might provide the confirmation or the counter-evidence on how environmental or political discourses, set out in written forms in the past, might not correspond to human and natural actions but rather to coeval interests, interpretations and even the boundaries of knowledge. In other words, landscapes might be able to corroborate written information or propose further analytical approaches to the meanings and intentions of such documents.
Thus, while the Iberian Peninsula led the way in felling trees for shipbuilding, which is undeniable fact, there is also the need to analyse, on the one hand, what followed in those sites following the felling and removal of the trunks: would new trees grow from the stumps? On the other hand, if the trees did not recover, what kind of natural growth took over in those same plots?
A line of historiography has been defending quite a significant destruction of Portuguese forests right throughout the Modern Ages. Thus, it became unexpected to find data on the early 1800s testifying to a different reality. Indeed, Portugal displayed an abundance of forestry resources with trees across all of the central mainland and coastal zones, which necessarily had to have been either planted or regenerated naturally at least thirty to fifty years earlier in both royal and private forests.35 This forest availability recorded at and from – at least – the region centre of Portugal coincides with the timeline both for planting royal pinewoods post-1751 in coastal lands, and hypothetically with the eventual replacing of landscapes following the removal of vineyards in accordance with the decree of 26th October 1765.
Furthermore, this expansion in vineyards would allegedly require the importing of ‘bread’. Thus, this decree forced landlords and peasants to uproot vineyards in the most strategic fertile lands of the Vouga, Mondego and Tagus river basins; those lands were then to be cultivated with traditional crops. Nonetheless, vineyards could be maintained in those areas where wine had long been traditionally produced.37
However, the uprooting of these woody shrubs was to cause unexpected consequences: removing barriers of protection against flooding and inundating fertile lands with sands, dragged there by torrential floodwaters. Such a measure may have helped diminish wine forgery and the market alternatives to the Douro valley region but then became a problem for containing devastating flooding in the lowlands. In the end, the removal of vineyards to grant a monopoly to the exquisite fortified wine of northern Portugal turned out to be disastrous for the seedings and crops planted in the Tagus lowlands in the 1770s, the largest region of cereal production. Following repeated scenarios of devastated crops and people, Queen Maria I promulgated on 5th August 1779 a law that not only imposed the re-settling of vineyards in places crucial to preventing river flooding but also commissioned the plantation of two lines of trees alongside the watercourse to establish its banks within efforts to regulate torrential flows.38
Pinewoods and other tree coverage were identified along the Mondego water basin and the Lis Valley as far as Óbidos and from this lagoon to Torres Vedras in 1810 and the 1830s in addition to along the right bank of Tagus between the Spanish border and Lisbon according to coeval sources and recent analysis.39
This picture substantially contradicts the idea of an absence of forests in Portugal, at least across the Central region which covers the aforementioned areas of the Vouga, Mondego and Tagus water basins and also, for the purposes
Indeed, the new royal preserve regulation, issued on March 21st 1800, opted to adjust the crops for planting to the prevailing soils as well as setting aside specific areas for forestry to produce timber and other areas for agriculture in keeping with a landscaping rational adopted by the Crown since at least the 1760s. Indeed, throughout the second half of 1700s, the Crown invested intentionally in nurturing different and more intensive production in different regions, including: developing the conditions favourable for the north region to produce an internationally traded product, a fortified wine; replanting forests, expanding and intensifying the rational and professionalized management to supply the needs of the Crown without resorting to private estates in the centre of the country as well as nurturing the conditions, directly and indirectly, for other kinds of resource intensification and specialization. The unexpected result, due to the prohibition on planting vineyards for a period of time, between 1765 and 1779, as mentioned in the introduction above, would be the further development of areas of fruit production in inland regions, from
Indeed, environmental history has hitherto overlooked two factors on the topic of forest destruction supra mentioned: firstly, the obviously forgotten, the specific characteristics of the Iberian geography; secondly, the role of property rights under the Ancien Régime. These remained quite significant throughout the 18th century as an obstacle to universal royal intervention across the territory. Seigniorial rights could not simply be ignored and overruled by the Crown. Such impositions required justification in a territory that was in any case not lacking in alternatives for managing its resources.
As the geographer Orlando Ribeiro points out, the Iberian Peninsula is situated between the Mediterranean Sea and the Atlantic Ocean but also between Africa and the north of Europe; botanic species from the Middle East, North Africa, Scotland and the North Sea can be found in Portugal. Such diversity enabled the capacity to develop a complete process for the enduring management of resources in a territory replete with microclimatic regions and as well as major differences in the prevailing soils.42
The Iberian geographies span different climates, geologies and botanic species and produced a distinctive way of sustainably managing many different ecosystems – in parallel – in the same small political territory as indeed happened in other Mediterranean regions.43 For instance, on a speculative basis, Portugal could hardly have built caravels and other such vessels without this amazing botanical diversity that meant there was no need to search for resources outside its own territory in a first period.
Thus, Portugal would not need to make recourse to timber from elsewhere for its initial transoceanic navigation take-off. Timber and other resources were present in enough variety up to the point that such a small scale of many resources was no longer able to keep up with the pace of consumption broadly from the late 1400s onwards.
Over the course of the 1600s, as a wide range of studies demonstrate, the development of shipbuilding with naval empires and naval warpower complexified the entire extent of industry and the scale of resource extraction in Europe with clear evidence that many components of such units,
However, unanswered questions remain. It would seem quite logical that, as forest resources were being obtained from overseas regions, there was a recovery across the Iberian Peninsula woodlands over the 1500s and 1600s. Otherwise, it would have been impossible to continue destroying the forests in the same areas as the royal acts clearly state forest crimes were perpetrated against the royal woods in the exact same royal forests spanning intervals of approximately fifty (50) and one hundred (100) years. Thus, the same sources, hence, the legislation promulgated for the royal woods testifying to their illicit destruction at far distant intervals, constitute the same official sources that demonstrate the existence of forest in the exact same spots across different chronologies. However, this replenishment process would necessarily be slower and at a rhythm that would not even easily compare with the shorter time scale required for clearing forests. These three tree species (pine, cork and oak) were addressed in the legislation handed down by the Portuguese rulers as exclusive to the monarchs and with this royal preserve remaining in effect from the 1400s into the 1700s.45 However, irrespective of these specific trees, the bushes, woods, and woodlands held a far broader range and quantity of forest resources and, secondly, those same landscapes kept on undergoing renewal, fruited and again removed in cycles down the course of history. They simply did not remain destroyed throughout the centuries ahead as the Crown kept on using them. To destroy forests, they had to be there.
Thus, the problem of considering the replenishing of resources as scarcity may commonly stem from a period of waiting while the process of tree planting and renewal was ongoing. Furthermore, events in Portugal and Spain
As already referenced, some landscapes were transformed literally by decree (1765); and accordingly, the following legislation would also have impacted on the same sites after 1779. However, while vegetables, cereals and shrubs can easily be replaced, trees planted to produce fruits and timber, long term investments, could not be so easily removed. Thus, some features of these landscapes help by adding information to the written documents and better interpreting their meaning.
The analyses and perspectives of this study incorporate territorial observations of the landscape features that reveal the past designs of the Portuguese physical territory that lie somehow hidden in the official discourses produced by the most powerful actors. The landscape, in conjunction with the coeval written documents from past periods, allows us to relate and better understand the evolution of the national terrain over the course of time. In other words, applying a very simple expression, we must understand how the territory speaks to us. This becomes especially important as reading landscapes via sightseeing may provide crucial clues of the past periods still surviving in the territories, and uncovering a broader reality only partially detailed in the written sources. Such is clearly the case with the royal forestry acts of the 1700s that mention the ongoing destruction of resources while omitting other realities concerning the local management of resources, namely examples of the intentional replenishment of woodlands undertaken deliberately by human action. The Portuguese royal decrees on protecting forests due to their scarcity throughout the 1700s, do not reflect the same reality as the decrees in the 1500s and 1600s and require contextualizing within the management of the territory in articulation with other aspects of the farming and agricultural markets.
Thus, the laws addressed for obeying ‘by the others’ can be misleading47 as the discourse on the scarcity of timber – important for achieving royal
Thus, to avoid rushing into anachronic conclusions when analysing the environmental policies of past periods which imply transformations in the geography, we also need to take into account the factors that limited or encouraged the human shaping of landscapes to return a thorough comprehension of the ongoing historical contexts of the binding rules and the daily life of the populations in the terrain and actually making the landscapes out of forests, woodlands, parks, gardens and orchards.
Therefore, the availability and delivery of forest resources to royal shipyards, especially after the 1755 earthquake, need explaining. From which regions where they extracted and, more importantly, which regions with available ‘scarce species of trees’ were not sourced in the wake of the earthquake for the rebuilding efforts not only of Lisbon but also the national naval fleet, defence structures and for so many other purposes.
In the first months after the natural disaster, mainland European Portugal was able to deliver the timber and wood necessary for military logistics and shipbuilding. This clearly stems from Portugal having available the different kinds of timber and species of wood necessary for the various crafts. Thus, the Portuguese landscapes provided forest goods produced not only from the tree species listed in the legislation but also from many others for the reconstruction works.
Thus, framing such intricate environmental processes requires contextualizing the internal and the external political and economic affairs. This approach seeks to interlink port production, the imperial political background, the geographical and climatic characteristics of the Iberian Peninsula and the surveying of colonial forests.
To explain such a complex framework, I drew mostly on secondary sources. As regards the impacts of both political and natural changes on managing the terrain, I consulted both primary and a few secondary sources.
To grasp the landscape evolution process in keeping with the political changes taking place in the first half of the 1700s in the Atlantic, Brazil and Portugal, I collated both political data and information on natural resource availability post-1751 and 1755 and analysed mostly primary sources in the Portuguese National Library: the Correspondence of Brazilian viceroys with Ministers of State in the Lisbon Court from the 1750s to 1807, interweaving these findings with the legislation.
As the foundations of this chapter depend on the availability of forest resources this requires fully demonstrating. For this purpose, I explore handwritten sources on the delivery of forest goods to the harbour of Lisbon, specifically charcoal, firewood, timber and logs, as registered by the ‘Tagus Customs Office’: the books of Lisbon Port and customs records registering the internal delivery of such resources. This documentation is deposited in Torre do Tombo National Archive, in Lisbon, in the ‘Sugar Customs’ (Alfandega do Açúcar) section.
The Customs records information on wood deliveries from ‘Tagus and Brazil’ begin in January 1756. The first record dates prior to any arrival of Brazilian or other colonial timber for the purpose of reconstructing housing in the wake of the earthquake. Especially in 1756 and 1757, there are almost daily and abundant cargos of forest resources, wood, timber/logs, firewood as well as other products, disembarking and being stored in the port of the capital of Portugal and delivered from sites in the Metropolis and not from the colonies. These
As this collection contains no equivalent records for harbours in the north, on the delivery of equivalent resources to the harbours of Oporto (on the mouth of the Douro), Caminha (on the mouth of the Minho) or Viana do Castelo (on the mouth of the Lima), where oak for cooperage would be in demand, we may only observe that goods from those regions also arrived in Lisbon. Although impressive in extent, these records of the internal supply of such resources might not cover all the regions where resource extraction took place after 1755. However, resources from across all the metropolis were clearly funnelled into Lisbon.
Furthermore, we are able to complete the information on the centre region by recourse to the records produced in administrating the royal forests, confirming whether such grounds alternated extraction with replanting to deliver resources also for shipbuilding and housing. Achieving these required inputs from several documental sources. The Bureaux of Royal Forests Corpus and that of the Administration of Royal Forges were consulted to check on suppliers of timber and wood for the monarch’s shipyards and charcoal and firewood for the royal glass factory, forges as well as the social consumption of forest goods by the Court. In order to gain a better insight into the delivery of logs for shipbuilding, I also quote records from the Portuguese Navy Archive (Arquivo da Marinha) but indirectly through published bibliographies. Some monographs cite original documents and I deploy this information to reinforce how royal forests underwent replenishing and kept up supplies to royal navy arsenals throughout 1700s via different geographies and scales of both renewal and extraction.
I also consulted primary coeval printed sources, field trip information featuring geographical descriptions of the territory, memoirs and diaries written by foreign soldiers while crossing Portuguese lands, which detailed the territory across different chronologies, providing descriptions of landscapes conveying the natural features of soil occupation and which enable some degree of comparison with the information produced under the auspices of the monarchy and legislation.
5 Naval Mastery, the Empire and Natural Hazards: a Crucial Turn in the Colonial and Internal Forest Supply
Post-1755, there was a paramount and entirely unpredictable need for forest goods in the wake of the Lisbon earthquake of 1st November. Following the earthquake itself, a tsunami destroyed and dragged away entire houses, people, and wood stocks. The impacts on the naval sector were devastating as the war-commercial fleet stationed in the Tagus estuary was globally destroyed and the timber stored in Paço da Madeira (the king’s warehouse for the wood and forestry resources received via Lisbon harbour) or elsewhere in the port was pulled into the waters of the estuary and out along the maritime coast of Lisbon. The seismic shocks caused candles to fall in churches (and probably homes on All Saints Day) triggering fires which ripped through wooden houses all over the city leaving it and the port in utter ruins.51
In such a conjuncture, it might be understandable that the idea of sourcing colonial supplies of timber for reconstructing Lisbon would prevail. However, forest history has not yet studied the internal delivery and availability of Portuguese forests in this process. This observation does not seek to claim that timber and wood from Brazil did not arrive in Portugal. However, historiography has hitherto not really considered that Portuguese colonial forests in the 1700s would not provide the strategic reserve of timber and the other wood products necessary for the Portuguese Metropolis, and still less so in the wake of the 1755 earthquake, as a plausible hypothesis. Albeit such a feasibility might effectively be demonstrated.
In recent analysis, Lazaro Silva et al. present an expansion in the diversity of tree species leaving Bahia for Portugal and arriving in Lisbon for the supply of nurseries and botanical gardens and as well as for delivery to the royal shipyards.52 Such data seems to reinforce the idea of how Brazilian forestry became
Such information would confirm other reliable records on the shipping of cargos of exotic trees from Brazil. Furthermore, the coeval Portuguese surveys of Brazilian forests, reported to the Crown after 1756–57, and also of the State-of-India (Goa), following the conquest of the State of Ponda, in 1763 (Ferreira 2021), and of Brazil again in the 1790s, report a huge diversity and wide expanses of such resources that would also sustain this indisputable fact: timber and exotic woods were loaded in Brazil and left its ports with the official intention of delivering their entire cargos to Lisbon. What we might be lacking here is a comparison between the cargos loaded and those that arrived at their end point.
Up to the present, the historiographical literature on the wood and forest resources shipped from the Portuguese colonies to Portugal has not yet been compared with details on their effective delivery to their final destination, Lisbon. Such records on the cargos unloaded from Brazil might not coincide with the records of the goods sent from the original harbours. This would corroborate the Diogo Cabral thesis that dismantles the idea of Brazilian timber being a supplier of Portugal shipyards as most of the cargos would be smuggled to intermediate resupply posts in the Atlantic to avoiding being robbed by pirates on the high seas.53
Taking into consideration his former observations on the legal and illegal trade in forest resources around the Atlantic, Cabral proposes another contribution for the timber trade and imports to Portugal. From his point of view, the importing business in Portugal would have incurred less risk buying timber from Canada, via Great Britain. Sailing across the north of the Atlantic would be shorter (30 days) than the trip to Brazil (60 days) and the return journey (90 days). Considering the huge risk of cargo loss and the lack of income from the naval corridor, companies and traders in Portugal would rather have imported timber from Canada. Nonetheless, Lazaro Silva et al. analyses the exotic woods sent to Portugal from Brazil but not necessarily applied for housing and shipbuilding54 with a wide selection of exquisite wood products applied to more sophisticated carpentry, confirming the production of goods mentioned in the trade accounts and balances studied by Jorge Pedreira.55
This does not state that timber and forest goods were not sent from the colonies but certainly makes us wonder about the extent. Whether information flew by pigeon mail, cargos still had to be prepared for shipping and it took time to fell trees, saw and cut them into adequate pieces, before packing and finally shipping. On beholding the deeper data, they all seem complementary with each adding something to a still incomplete story. In this polyhedric dimension of different contributions to better understanding the pushing for afforestation in Portugal in the 1700s, study of the Sugar Customs documental archive informs us that, despite the daily unloading of wood, firewood, timber, wooden boards and charcoal produced in national woods, parks and forests, Portugal did not become forest free between 1756 and 1779.57
This does not contradict colonial exotic woods getting sent to Portugal and unloaded in the Lisbon harbour. More than discussing the origins of forest goods extracted in the colonies, such data unlocked the quite extensive and hitherto invisible afforested landscapes across Portugal, from the north to the south, apparently maintaining quite a major delivery capacity without turning Portugal into a treeless landscape despite periods of intensive extraction during the 1750s and 1760s, after the aforementioned earthquake of 1755 and again after another earthquake in 1761, which was less destructive and therefore demanded less replacement timber.58
Accordingly, this documentation importantly registers timber deliveries only to the international port of Lisbon and no other national seaports. Nonetheless, Lisbon was the leading port in the Portuguese Empire. Thus, at this
Furthermore, we should recall that the most precious cargos shipped from Brazil were gold, and not timber even if the latter was highly important for specific activities. However, rendering Portugal incapable of sailing would serve quite perfectly British and French intentions of taking over that commerce.
In addition, the historiographic literature has already addressed how building vessels overseas was a strategy already under development both in Brazil and in India since the 17th century.60 This correspondingly attenuates the issues around colonial timber applied for shipbuilding in the metropolis. Furthermore, such a position returns us to the matter of just which territories across Portugal supplied all the national shipyards and other needs for wood.
As mentioned earlier in this chapter, Portugal spans a myriad of ecosystems in a zone of transition both between the Mediterranean and the Atlantic and Africa and the bulk of Europe. In my view, one of the major issues underemphasised in the forest history of Portugal derives from its geography. Climatic and soil diversity, alongside the availability of water, play very important roles regarding this issue of forest species diversity with the Iberian Peninsula
The diversity of species, the social consumption of forest resources and the property regimes beyond the royal grounds do account for a significantly larger quota of the kingdom than in other European Modern Age monarchies. Hence, the narrow perspective gained from reducing Portuguese forests, whether belonging to the crown or others, to Pinus pinea, Pinus pinaster, Quercus suber and Quercus faginea or any other species of oak is unacceptable as a sample of a territory so deeply rich in botanical diversity. Therefore, we need to step outside and read the landscape as it presents itself to us. Indeed, such an understanding makes it mandatory to seek out far more information about landscape design than the contents provided by royal legislation on the tree species required for shipbuilding. Beyond those, Portugal holds a quite wider variety of forest trees.
6 An Unconventional Methodology: from Landscapes to Problems and Archives – The Heuristics and Hermeneutics of a (Wine) Landscape
Port attains an exquisite flavour. The fortified wine is produced in the vineyards along the Douro valley in Portugal where their terraces enchant and visually impact through all their splendour. Nevertheless, the contemporary beauty of this monoculture spans a very significant geographic range where, from the 15th to the 18th centuries, other trees also occupied this terrain, including holm, cork, chestnut, oak, and other Quercus species. Thus, let us now pose an odd question: should shipbuilding be such a strategic activity, why were the cork tree savannas of the Mediterranean section of the Douro valley not recruited for the supply of shipbuilding products?
It is important to remember that the Portuguese Crown had been complaining about a shortage of such tree-plants ever since the 15th century. If they were available after 1755, why did the Crown not impose exclusivity over those trees in the Douro valley, designating them ‘royal sticks’ (paus reais), thus, tree species exclusively reserved for the royal household? This juridical regime had been imposed on royal estates and grounds as well as across some private seigniorial lands in the Tagus and Sado river basins with this imposition remaining in effect until at least 1824 for unfenced hunting grounds and timber woods.61 As the forest resources were the same in this northern region, why did
One reason would derive from the timber produced there being needed for cooperage, combined with the low cost of transport. Both reasons might provide justification or the wood may have been delivered to the small-scale shipyards of the king in the Leiria region, via the small maritime ports of S. Pedro de Muel and S. Martinho do Porto,62 both just a short distance (by sea) from the royal sawing engine of Marinha Grande. Another justification would arise from the difficulties in rescinding property rights in wide areas of seigniorial lands distant from the Court. The Crown would certainly have had less implementation capacity than in the central region, where the monarchs, the royal family and much of the aristocracy lived.
Thus, given such availability, is the role of Brazilian timber in Portugal not overrated? From the history of trees point of view, the availability, especially after the 1755 earthquake, the adventure of removing cork trees for good, and thus ending wood supplies to the royal shipyards from the Douro, became a fantastic and obsessive mystery to me. I was utterly astounded to grasp how the cork tree forests of northern Portugal escaped the royal narrative of the scarcity of such an irreplaceable shipbuilding resource. As Portugal was a naval empire in decline with other European empires competing for the same timber resources, what motivations might have justified excluding such forests?
The Crown could not ignore the overriding need to defend the Metropolis and deal with the many scenarios of public calamities, indigenous uprisings in the colonies and with the naval war fleet sunk or floating in pieces along the Tagus estuary and Portuguese coast reflecting a period of enormous fragility. Communications had to be ensured, and the oft-mentioned cork trees were still relevant for shipbuilding and with oak needed for cooperage. The economy had to somehow recover a relevant position in international trade and commerce and exploiting an already existing and successful product in external markets might account for part of this strategy.
In fact, a project for the upper Douro valley region was already in motion when the 1st November earthquake struck and its socioeconomic and political implications across Portugal delayed the Crown asserting strict control over that production.63 Regardless of the national recovery priorities, supporting a viable and established product also required due consideration. Paradoxically,
At this point, I wish to make a special note. Considering the vast bibliography on port wine, I would clearly state that I am not producing either a literature review or critical analysis of the state of the art on such wine history. Regardless of its amazing and exquisite flavour, what only matters to this text is its role in attaining a better understanding of the wider politics of landscaping forests and other tree policies in Portugal during the 1700s.
Although this might at first appear a little farfetched, port wine would bring about investments in forests and orchards as an alternative to vineyards (but not to cereals as demonstrated by the 1779 legislation). Thus, the indirect meaning of not removing cork trees for shipbuilding tells us how in the Douro valley region, the cork tree was not a resource for extraction and export to the royal shipyards and neither were oak or pine trees.
Thus, like any written document, landscapes are moulded by their contexts; the intention of production may lie behind calling for heuristic and hermeneutical analyses. Hence, landscape reading becomes a methodology for interpreting political contexts leading us from landscapes to researching archives and again from the archives to better understanding how the different pieces of the coeval landscape patchwork fit into the puzzle of the territory as a whole.
In my view, as landscaping pre-defines the political context this becomes a third fundamental tool for historical environmental analyses, alongside time and space: landscapes also encapsulate historical context in each time and space, driving us from its constituent elements to demonstration in documentation. Landscapes thereby become an expression of all the political, cultural and natural contexts prevailing; would they have become time-contexts by themselves?
In the end, the ground, the physical territory merges into the intertwined political and natural dynamics; they evolve in parallel with the contradictory royal narratives on resources and goods that told of a scarcity and shortage of trees for shipbuilding in one region where the same crown invested in restoring and expanding trees for shipbuilding, while another narrative defended the increase of an export product and provided for mature cork trees, adequate for shipbuilding to be felled, such as those in the inland stretch of the Douro valley.
Throughout all this process of protecting precious trees for shipbuilding, as the Douro valley was designated to produce wine, the cork tree forests that were abundant in that region with a similar climate to the Portuguese Alentejo province (extending from the river Tagus to the Algarve), remained
If port wine travelled directly from Oporto to European ports or to Brazil and the barrels were shipped to Lisbon for transport back to the north, this would be unnecessarily expensive, and the Douro valley timber imports would be unattractive due to the cost to the crown. The sawing engines, alongside the royal shipyards and arsenals were centrally located. The transport of timber and forest products would be cheaper from any region south of the river Mondego. That would probably justify the need to mark out specific trees in the centre region for the royal arsenals.
Indeed, the legislation on changing, extending and improving royal forests always addresses landscapes in the central and south regions: the royal estates. However, the House of Bragança owned lands and controlled municipalities across all of Portugal. Furthermore, in 1751, the administration’s option for planting a future source of wood for royal shipbuilding was located contiguously to a previous forest of royal pinewoods; this expansion took place on sandbanks within a distance that would ensure minimal costs for transporting these crucial shipbuilding resources.64
Thus, the expansion of planted areas specifically to produce wood for shipbuilding would intentionally concentrate either on lowlands and sandbanks near the sea or on slopes and perimeters located close to rivers, to provide fast, secure and cheap transportation and storage. Although apparently contradictory, the expansion of woodlands was carefully handled. They attended only to royal landscapes under the Crown’s tutelage, within the perimeter of the royal grounds which thus did not include lands belonging to other seigniorial landowners but only royal lands not subject to any formerly donated property rights, whether for farming or any other purpose.65 In parallel, such endeavours experimented in areas under the ownership of the royal family,
Indeed, the central region experienced many different strata of elements occupying the soil in the same royal estates, sometimes forested, sometimes left to grow wild but also placed under cultivation, especially on the left bank of the Tagus and near the Sado river estuary as explained below.66
Different strata of forests, alongside other agriculture products, occupy the same territorial spots over the long run. Landscapes change in the exact same places. This was the case in some of the Portuguese royal grounds, at least since the 1650s, when the same spots like Coruche, Salvaterra de Magos, Muge, Benavente, Golegã, Lamarrosa, Santarém, Alpiarça Almeirim, Benavente, Alfeite, Almada, Alhos Vedros, Alenquer, Xira, Setúbal, Comporta, Alcacér do Sal, Santa Margarida do Sado, Zambujeira, Azeitão, Sintra, Queluz, Óbidos, Vieira, S. Martinho, Muel, were addressed differently by royal narratives and even legislation in keeping with the ongoing changes in the ways human handled the different natural resources.
In this case, authors looking through the forestry regulations in effect during the 1600s and 1700s failed to notice that the devastated pinewoods were then provided for cultivation. This privilege, granted to the population, occurred under the Habsburg dynasty, in 1605, also as a narrative of grace. In the former regulation, exclusivity over tree felling had been imposed on both cork and pine trees. The same lands without trees appropriate to producing wood for shipbuilding, would nevertheless provide the crown with taxes while the woodland was resting and renewing.67 Indeed, in the following period after the separation of the dual monarchy and the coronation of João IV in 1640, the restoration of the original demarcation of the perimeters of the royal forest-hunting preserves to their 1605 boundaries took place only ten years later, in 1650,68 when those same lands had already undergone substantial replenishment of their trees in the period since 1605. In this year, according to documents issued under Philip II, some of the royal grounds along the Tagus had
Following a similar logic, the laws of 1790 and 1797,69 which complained about forest resource scarcity (stipulating a new administration of the woodlands in the Queens and Princesses estates), cover a region in close proximity to Lisbon, on the right bank of the Tagus River. Furthermore, the new regime for royal hunting grounds in the 1800s, which fully separated the administration of woods for professional timber production from wildernesses for hunting, also addresses only the royal grounds and pine woods in the central region. This reflects a clear intention to continue investing in this sector where it was least expensive for the coffers of the royal household: in the centre Region, closer to the royal Shipyards.
Indeed, it seems unthinkable that, after the sinking of the fleet, the extraction of cork trees in the Douro valley would be ignored were there was not an alternative reserve of timber for shipbuilding. Even after the conquest of Pondá (1763) and further inland exploration in Brazil, these supply options would simply have been too risky. They were oceans far, too distant under emergency supply.
Thus, out of the desired shaping of wine landscapes by decree in 1765 other landscapes would indirectly emerge in reaction to this legislation, especially forests, orchards and farming beyond the Douro region. This protected area for fortified port wine production implied destroying trees suitable for shipbuilding and other carpentry services. However, while this action was specifically implemented for the production of this wine, the Crown marked out another region to become the supplier of forest resources, at least to meet imperial needs. Areas where royal forests, woods and woodlands already existed received greater investment, often expanding into contiguous lands (for pinewoods) as well as improving on their management. This region would stretch across the centre of the kingdom, covering the lands of the upper Mondego and Tagus river basins as well as the sandbanks along Leiria’s coastline. Consequently, other lands, where forests and wine were not to be exploited as the main products for the export trade and imperial communications, received other crops. Therefore, the process of shaping a wine region indirectly resulted in a specific region of a functional forestry for the Crown, and, elsewhere in the national territory, the vineyards were replaced by introducing new plants or
The Crown’s investments in forests from 1751 onwards was directed towards new plantations along costal sandbanks. Even considering the economic aspects, there were certainly other lands more appropriate for planting with forests than these coastal lands located around 100km to the north of Lisbon. However, according to natural law, these lands were available, free of any cultivation and duly under the tutelage of the Crown for the strategic protection of the realm and its subjects: a region that needed the monarch’s protection against predictable factors that would endanger human lives, such as coastal flooding or military incursions.
The pinewoods seeded post-1751 along the Portuguese coastal sandbanks met economic aims as well as provided protection. They were planned both as barriers to defend the lands and the populations against factors of erosion and destruction while delivering the forestry products needed for military affairs, for the navy and beyond.70
As a matter of fact, it would seem logical that a geography of wine production could be deepened and widened across an already tested area. Thus, the legislation to protect and incentivise port wine production, promulgated in 1765, prohibited the planting of trees in certain regions of vineyards and ordered the removal of the latter from other lands where the resulting wines might be easily transported elsewhere by river or sea within the scope of guaranteeing the product’s quality for international trading.
This demonstrates how the national landscaping planned by the Crown impacted differently on different regions in keeping with the variations in their respective geographies and positions: from ensuring a product that enabled the Portuguese Empire to maintain a position in the international trading system to afforestation for strategic communications. Furthermore, following the enactment of such legislation, the resulting landscape changes also convey how private initiative adjusted to those interests and the new agricultural framework to ensure their own resourceful production in the short and long term.
Likewise, it would have been impossible to develop a major area of fortified wine production in the lowlands of the Tagus and Sado rivers for two key reasons: the very poor existing techniques for wine production and conservation and these regions hosting some of the most consolidated seigniorial estates. Imposing the planting of vineyards on private lands would threaten the existing donated property rights as aristocratic privileges were not easily removable, not even by the almost mythological figure of Pombal.
In parallel to these aspects, the expansion of a culture into remote areas (the arid parts) of such territories might also mean the intensification rather than merely amplifying a secular way of managing the same territory: extensive agriculture on poor lands. Whereas in other parts of Europe, the Americas, the lands of the Mediterranean and Maghreb, resources are abundant in density but quite uniform over huge distances, Portugal experiences an amazing diversity of botanical species over shorter distances and with waste lands still susceptible to the cultivating of vines.
7 Conclusions
The Lisbon Earthquake of 1755 generated huge impacts that included the redesign of landscapes across Portugal. The major driver was the need to economically recover while producing a stock of resources spanning the commodities necessary to running a naval empire. Within this framework, the Crown intervened through defining areas for specialisation whether for products destined for trading on international markets or for the resources and raw materials capable of fully autonomously supplying the royal shipyards.
For a short period, some farming landscapes were changed and ‘designed by Decree’ and leaving a footprint on the landscape. Over the 1760s and 1770s, the Portuguese Crown planned for the Douro valley region in the north of Portugal to raise its output of an already valuable commodity; the central region
The colonial timber supply did not contribute to the early efforts either to rebuild Lisbon or the national naval fleet in the 1750s. The urgent deliveries of timber and other forest goods were sourced from within Portugal. The bulk of the historiographic literature maintains that Portugal was then ‘forestless’. However surprising, the reality was quite another and this availability is the fascinating and intriguing issue that requires deepening.
This argues that the lack of alternative sources for supplying forest goods in contexts of emergency, whether due to conflicts in the Atlantic colonies, naval limitations on reaching the far distant colonies due to the French, British and Dutch fleets taking control of the sailing routes or the natural hazards (such as the rebuilding tasks following the Lisbon earthquake on 1st November 1755), drove the Portuguese forest product market – sourced from royal, noble and church lands across the realm, thus the Metropolis – delivered to royal arsenals and shipyards. Despite such a supply arriving in the port of Lisbon throughout the 1700s, Portugal did not become stripped of woodlands or wilderness and even less so at the expense of colonial forests.
Regardless of the Portuguese loss of control over sailing corridors in the Indian and Atlantic oceans to the French, British, and Dutch fleets in the second half of 1700s, the Portuguese Crown wished to retain its status as a player in international trade. A unique and exquisite product was required to fulfil such an aim and with production and delivery fully controlled by Portugal to avoid piracy, storms and cutting the risk of lost cargos.
Port wine was chosen as the new Portuguese red gold. However, such an option would require a wide geography of production to compete with any eventual colonial plantations and a 1765 decree marked out a perimeter in the Douro for the exclusive planting of vineyards. Cork trees were removed or felled; a tree species identified as in perpetual short supply for the imperial navy ever since the 16th century. Thus, the proposition here is that the felling of cork trees was only possible due to the existence of alternative areas of forest supply from both royal and private woods and also only after there was the awareness of the new dense, varied and wide expanses of forests growing in the colonies. This would become insurance for coping with the relocating of afforested areas and new monocultural farming experiments on a large scale. Indirectly, the information provided in the surveys of Brazil (1750s–1790s)71
Furthermore, the increase in demand for wood products in the royal internal market encouraged improvements and better forest management both in royal and seigniorial estates for the former to gain income and the latter to supply a strategic reserve of woods in the Metropolis, with the Crown as the most likely eventual buyer.
Summing up, by the 1800s, Mediterranean territories were developing a dual system of managing the land as a legacy from the past: replenishing through seeding and extracting resources in order to continue renewing the wood supply but never fully exhausting the available supply of trees. This thus broadens the literature on forests in Portugal and the Empire in the 1700s through analysis incorporating a highly complex set of players: the enlightenment, physiocracy, piracy and ocean trade within the Indian and Atlantic oceans. Furthermore, the former interlinked factors influenced how political and economic thinking adjusted military fragility to economic development, specifically in justifying the transfers and naturalization of species on a large scale with the aim of improving the general living conditions and not only of better achieving the economic interests of the Crown and social elite. Indeed, Portuguese rulers and thinkers were interested in trying to reposition the national forest park. Correspondingly, new forestry species were planted in European soils to observe whether the forests might recover faster with species from the colonies and beyond the royal interest in producing woods for shipbuilding. In this sense, Portugal attempted to introduce exotic species in order to faster compensate for the removal of resources needed by all of society.
Such a subconscious geographic model might have shaped a different way of dealing with the Portuguese territory, that is, planting trees in areas not traditionally hosting forests prior to the 1750s. It is important to recall that even after the 1755 and 1761 earthquakes, and again following the floods of the 1770s-1780s, the Portuguese territory still managed to supply forest goods for the royal shipyards and arsenals as well as for social purposes, against all the historiographical odds. This outcome would have resulted from previously embedded practices of replenishing known tree species, introducing new trees while also expanding the areas planted for social purposes in a territory, the Iberian Peninsula, that displayed an amazing abundance of different ecosystems capable of hosting a wide range of many different tree species.
Throughout the Iberian Peninsula, a patchwork of so many different shapes and areas of cultures emerged, reflected in the forests, that this constituted a pre-existing model of thinking the territory.
The consequences for establishing new landscapes of forests and farming – in parallel – in Portugal between 1755 and the 1870s, would then represent the normal (rural farming) set up. Diversity and micro slots of farmed lands alongside large areas of forest were totally compatible and such a pattern was anything but new. Indeed, small and large crop plantations coexisted side by side with woods and cereals or other plantings, such as the fruit orchards that would remain in the landscape even after permission was once again granted for the planting of vineyards in 1779. Hence, whether cultivating many crops simultaneously or monocultures of vines along the valley slopes or of trees on sandbanks or expanding areas of orchard, such measures would be new but still part of an already existing pattern. The adjustment of new forests planted outside traditional farming areas, rather than some rupture, would embody a development of the pre-existing ways of managing Iberian territories.
Thus, geographies producing diversity but low amounts of each product compelled the management of limited quantities of resources to ensure they lasted over the long run, coupled with the external factors preventing the supply of forest goods from the colonies, demanded solutions for coping with sudden increases in demand. Such difficulties in Portugal incentivized and enabled a redesign of landscapes to establish reserves of resources – for exporting and maintaining the international trading position, to supply arsenals with wood
Some of the options resulted in better control of the watercourses while others drove increased levels of flooding. Such a conjuncture created an optimal opportunity for the expansion and implementation of new forests and farming settlements and despite the known abundance of such resources in the colonies that were nevertheless unreachable on the scale and in the time required for the needs prevailing in Portugal. Indeed, the great distance and the lack of military naval power across the Portuguese imperial routes throughout the 18th century fostered self-sufficiency in the metropolis and not dependency on the colonies.
On the other hand, such landscape evolution in Portugal did not put an end to the extraction and consumption of natural resources in the colonies. However, they were transformed where they would not necessarily be stolen or looted, such as in the shipyards in Brazil and Goa that began and continued building vessels for the Portuguese commercial fleet.
The new scientific-economic developments, as responses to the political and natural setbacks, underwent implementation by the Crown on lands belonging to the royal household or in areas where security depended on the Crown and thus not on the estates of every landowner.
Abbreviations
ANTT: Arquivo Nacional Torre do Tombo
PM: Paço da Madeira
BAHMOP: Biblioteca e Arquivo Histórico do Ministério de Obras Públicas
DGCAM: Direcção Geral do Comércio, Agricultura e Manufacturas
MMR: Montaria-Mor do Reino
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Decree of 26th October 1765, “vinhas”, in https://legislaçãoregia.parlamento.pt/1/V/10/73/p246, consulted on 04-09-2023.
Ibidem.
“Vinhas” law of 5th August 1779, in https://legislaçãoregia.parlamento.pt/1/V/68/137/p262, consulted on 04-09-2023.
Barrés, “Memórias,” 25–48; Lobo, 20–150; A defesa, Péruse, “Campanhas de Portugal,” 158–89.
Joanaz-de-Melo, “Floresta”, 125–27.
BAHMOP, Direção Geral do Comércio, Agricultura e Manufaturas (DGCAM) – RA-3S, núcleo 2, years 1852–54; núcleo 3, years 1852–54; núcleo 4, years 1852–54; núcleo 6, 1852–57; núcleo 8, years 1852–57; núcleo 11, years 1852–57.
Ribeiro, Portugal, o Mediterrâneo, 1–6, 40–41, 101–102.
Mattoso, Daveau and Bello, Portugal, 98–684; Agnoletti, “Environmental” 257–90.
Jan Glete, Warfare at sea, 1500–1650: Maritime Conflicts and the Tranformation of Europe (Routledge: Nueva York, 1999); Lazaro Benedito da Silva, Andreia Moraes Ferreira, Sara Santos Araújo and Marta Catarino Lourenço, “Transporte de madeiras brasileiras para Portugal nos séculos XVIII e XIX,” Brazilian Journal of Development 6, no. 7 (2020): 728–45, Ana Crespo Solana, “The Global Timber Trade and Shipbuilding in the 16th–18th centuries: Interdisciplinarity, research problem and the ForSeadiscovery project,” in Roots of Sustainability in the Iberian Empires: Shipbuilding and Forestry (14th–19th centuries), ed. by Koldo Trapaga-Monchet, Álvaro Aragón-Ruano and Cristina Joanaz-de-Melo (New York-Oxford: Routledge, 2023), 54–74.
Koldo Trapaga-Monchet, Álvaro Aragón-Ruano and Cristiana Joanaz-de-Melo, “The Game of the Demiurge in the Gardens of Chronos: Woods play hide-and seek in the long run through sustainable management,” In Roots of Sustainability in the Iberian Empires: Shipbuilding and Forestry (14th–19th centuries), ed. by Koldo Trapaga-Monchet, Álvaro Aragón-Ruano and Cristina Joanaz-de-Melo (New York-Oxford: Routledge, 2023), 1–8.
Regimento para o Guarda Mor dos Pinhais de Leiria e Superintendente da Fábrica da Madeira of 18 Octuber 1751, available at Antonio Delgado da Silva, Collecção da Legislação Portugueza desde a ultima compilação das ordenações, legislação de 1750 a 1762 (Lisbon: Typografia Maigrense, 1830), 68–90; Rosa Varela Gomes and Koldo Trapaga-Monchet (coords), Árvores, Barcos e Homens na Península Ibérica (Séculos XVI–XVIII) (Lisbon-Zaragoza: IAP/IHC-Pórtico, 2017); Martínez González, Las Superintendencias, 333–57; Cristina Joanaz-de-Melo, “Forests in Portugal 1750s–1820s: a History of Forest Compensation,” in Roots of sustainability in the Iberian Empires: Shipbuilding and Forestry (14th–19th centuries), ed. Koldo Trapaga-Monchet, Álvaro Aragón-Ruano, and Cristina Joanaz de Melo (New York- Oxford: Routledge, 2023), 251–77.
Diogo Ramada Curto, Cultura Escrita, Séculos XV a XVIII (Lisbon: ICS, 2007).
Biblioteca e Arquivo Histórico do Ministerio de Obras Púbricas (BAHMOP), Montaria-mor do reino (MMR), núcleo 8: years 1605–1833, núcleo 9: years 1596–1721; núcleo 10: years 1738–1833.
BAHMOP, MMR núcleo 1, years 1583–1833; núcleo 2, years 1724–1833; núcleo 16 years 1583–1833; núcleo 17 years 1722–1883; núcleo 37, years 1771–1883.
Cristina Joanaz de Melo, An Analysis of the Royal Preserves in Portugal. Issues of Privilege, Power, Management and Conflicts (Sheffield: Wildtrack, 2015); Rosa Varela Gomes and Koldo Trapaga-Monchet (coords), Árvores, Barcos e Homens na Península Ibérica (Séculos XVI–XVIII) (Lisbon-Zaragoza: IAP/IHC-Pórtico, 2017); Félix Labrador Arroyo and Koldo Trapaga-Monchet, “Recursos Naturales en la Península Ibérica: los aprovechamientos forestales e hídricos (siglo XV–XIX).” Special issue in Tiempos Modernos. Revista Electrónica de Historia Moderna 9, no. 39 (2019): 279–543; Trapaga-Monchet, Aragón-Ruano and Joanaz-de-Melo, “The game,” 1–28.
Carlos Oliveira, O Grande Terramoto de Lisboa Volume I, Descrições, 23–86; VV. AA, Providências do Marquês, 28–288; Araújo, O Terramoto, 28–40; Tavares, O pequeno, 1–20; Nicholas Shrady, O dia do Fim. Ira, ruína e razão no Grande Terramoto de Lisboa (Alfragide: Texto editores, 2014).
Silva, Ferreira, Araújo and Lourenço, “Transporte,” 728–45.
Diogo de Carvalho Cabral, Na Presença da Floresta. Mata Atlântica e História Colonial (Rio de Janeiro: Garamond, 2014).
Silva, Ferreira, Araujo and Lourenço, “Transporte,” 728–45.
Pedreira, Estrutura Industrial, 260–375; Pedreira, “From Growth”, 839–65.
Cabral, Na Presença, 377–96.
Arquivo Nacional Torre do Tombo (ANTT), Paço da Madeira (PM) 026, years 1756–1764; ANTT, PM 027, years 1757–1779.
ANTT, PM 026, years 1756–1764.
ANTT, PM 026, years 1756–1764.
Lopes, 1820; Pádua, Um Sopro, 60–62; Cabral, Na Presença, 159–175; Ferreira, “As novas conquistas”, 1–51, 117–150.
Joanaz-De-Melo, An Analysis, 21–50.
As examples, Frigate Nossa Senhora das Brotas built at S. Martinho (1697–1721), holding 52 pieces of artillery, Small Frigate Bom Jesus de Mazagão built in S. Martinho, (1698–1712) arming 36 pieces of artillery, Pereira, História da Marinha, 68 and 81.
Martins, “Vinha, vinho,” 19–61.
Regimento para o Guarda Mor dos Pinhais de Leiria e Superintendente da Fábrica da Madeira of 18 Octuber 1751, available at Silva, Collecção. Legislação de 1750 a 1762, 68–90; Joanaz-de-Melo, “Guerra, Impérios”, 210–14.
Edital do Almirantado de 25 maio de 1799; Edict from the Admiralty of 25th May of 1799.
BAHMOP, MMR, núcleo 1, years 1721–1883; núcleo 2, years 1777–1821; núcleo 16, years 1700–1833; núcleo 17, years 1722–1833.
Regimento do Monteyro Mor do Reyno de Portugal (1605), in Carlos Maria Baeta Neves, “Dos Monteiros-mores aos Engenheiros Silvicultores,” Anais do Instituto Superior de Agronomia XXVIII (1965): 119–61.
José Justino Silva, Collecção Chronologica da Legislação Portugueza. Segunda serie, 1648–1656, (Lisbon: Imprensa de F. X. de Souza, 1856), 68–71.
Alvará March 17th 1790 [Act abolishing the Superintendence of the Pine Nuts of Leiria, establishing internal Administration, and the respective Regulation]; Alvará of 9th December 1797 (Act from Secretary-General of the Navy of 9th December 1799); Edital do Almirantado of 25th May 1799 (Edict from the Admiralty of 25th May 1799).
Regimento para o Guarda Mor dos Pinhais de Leiria e Superintendente da Fábrica da Madeira of 18 October 1751, available at Silva, Collecção da Legislação 1750 a 1762, 68–90; Nicole Devy-Vareta, “Fomento e ordenamento florestal nas regioes litorais durante a Época Moderna,” in O Litoral em Perspectiva Histórica (Séc. XVI a XVIII), ed. Inês Amorim, Amélia Polónia and Maria Helena Osswald (Oporto: Instituto de História Moderna, 2002), 165–176; Ana Isabel Alves Lopes, “Governar a Natureza”: o assoreamento da foz do rio Cávado, em Fão – causas, impactos e respostas sociais (1750–1870)” (Master’s Dissertation: Universidade de Porto, 2019).
Juliana Gines Bortoletto, Os desenhos Botânicos da Viagem Filosofica ao Brasil. Uma Rede Política, Científica e Criativa (PhD Dissertation, Universidade de Coimbra, 2018), 25–206; Domingues, “Museus, Colecionismo”, 1–19.