Prevod

A criminal was being hanged, and his wife said: “Do not grieve, my dear; the rope may yet break.” ANONYMOUS. I It was November 4, 1780, and the priest of Tungasuca, to celebrate his patron saint, who was also the patron of His Majesty Charles III, had gathered the parish’s most prominent residents for a sumptuous luncheon, along with a few friends from neighboring towns who had been arriving since dawn to wish him a happy birthday.

The priest, don Carlos Rodríguez, was an easygoing, charitable cleric, undemanding in his collection of tithes and other parish dues—apostolic qualities that made him the idol of his parishioners. That morning he sat at the head of the table, with a descendant of the Incas, don José Gabriel Tupac-Amaru, on his left, and doña Micaela Bastidas, the cacique’s wife, on his right. The wine flowed freely, and with it came the most unrestrained merriment. Suddenly the gallop of a horse was heard; it stopped at the rectory door, and its rider, without removing his spurs, strode into the dining room.

The newcomer was don Antonio de Arriaga, corregidor of the province of Tinta, a Spanish hidalgo so puffed up with the antiquity of his lineage that he lorded it over Europeans and creoles alike as mere commoners. Coarse in speech, rough in manner, cruel to the Indians conscripted for the mita, and so miserly that, had he been born a clock instead of a man, he would have begrudged even giving the time—such was His Lordship. And to crown his disrepute, the ecclesiastical judge and canons of Cuzco had solemnly excommunicated him for certain encroachments upon Church authority.

All the guests rose when the corregidor entered. Without so much as acknowledging the cacique don José Gabriel, he dropped into the chair the latter had occupied, and the Indian nobleman moved to the other end of the table, giving no sign that he had noticed the high-and-mighty Spaniard’s discourtesy. After a few commonplace remarks, having regaled his stomach with the food and moistened his tongue, His Lordship said:

“Do not imagine, sir, that I have ridden all the way from Yanaoca merely to pay my respects.” “Your Lordship knows,” replied the parish priest, “that whatever brings you is always welcome in this humble cottage.”

“For your sake, I am glad to have satisfied myself that a report I received yesterday was false. Had I found it true, I swear I would have paid no heed to cassocks or tonsures, but would have had you bound and given you a thrashing you would remember for the rest of your days. So long as I wield the staff of office, no priestling is going to bluster at me.”

“God is my witness that I do not know what has prompted Your Lordship’s angry words,” murmured the priest, cowed by Arriaga’s insolent remarks.

“I know my own mind and need no partner in my dance, señor don Carlos. A fine sort of fellow I should be to tolerate the reading of censures in my district, under my very nose, as it were, or those scraps of excommunication the old fool acting as ecclesiastical judge in Cuzco keeps sending out against me. By the soul of my father, may he rest in glory, I will do as I please with the first priest who steps out of line in my jurisdiction! And take care not to get my blood up or put me in the least ill humor, for I shall be off to Cuzco in a trice and make mincemeat of those potbellied, concubine-keeping canons!”

So engrossed was the corregidor in his coarse boasting, interrupted only by deep draughts of wine, that he failed to notice don Gabriel and several of the guests slipping out of the room.

II At six that evening, the insolent hidalgo was galloping toward the town where he lived when his horse was lassoed, and don Antonio found himself surrounded by five armed men, whom he recognized as fellow guests at the priest’s table.

“Surrender yourself, sir,” said Tupac-Amaru, who led the group. And before the hapless corregidor could offer the slightest resistance, they riveted a pair of fetters around his ankles and took him to Tungasuca. Indians immediately set out carrying dispatches to Upper Peru and other places, and Tupac-Amaru raised the standard of revolt against Spain.

A few days later, on November 10, a gallows stood before the chapel of Tungasuca; and the haughty Spaniard, dressed in his uniform and accompanied by a priest who exhorted him to die as a Christian, heard the town crier proclaim:

This is the justice that don José Gabriel I, by the grace of God, Inca, King of Peru, Santa Fe, Quito, Chile, Buenos Aires, and the continent of the South Seas, Duke and Lord of the Amazons and of the great Paititi, commands to be carried out upon the person of Antonio de Arriaga, as a tyrant, traitor, enemy of God and His ministers, corrupter, and forger.

The executioner, a black slave belonging to the unfortunate corregidor, then tore off his uniform as a sign of degradation, dressed him in a shroud, and put the rope around his neck. But when his body had been raised a few inches from the ground, the rope snapped; and Arriaga, taking advantage of the Indians’ natural surprise at this incident, ran toward the chapel, crying: “I am saved! I claim sanctuary! The Church protects me!”

The hidalgo was just about to enter the sanctuary when the Inca Tupac-Amaru barred his way and seized him by the neck, saying: “The Church offers no refuge to such a scoundrel as you! The Church offers no refuge to one excommunicated by the Church!”

The executioner took hold of the condemned man once more and soon completed his bloody task. III Here we ought to bring this traditional tale to a close; but the plan of our work requires us to devote a few lines, by way of epilogue, to the viceroy during whose administration this event occurred.

His Excellency don Agustín de Jáuregui, a native of Navarre and a member of the family of the counts of Miranda and Teba, a knight of the Order of Santiago and lieutenant general of the royal armies, was serving as president of Chile when Charles III appointed him to replace the viceroy don Manuel Guirior, who was unjustly and ignominiously dismissed. The knight Jáuregui arrived in Lima on June 21, 1780, and, in truth, none of his predecessors had assumed command under worse auspices.

On the one hand, the savages of Chanchamayo had just burned and plundered several civilized settlements; on the other, increased taxes and the tyrannical methods of the royal inspector Areche had provoked serious disturbances, in which many corregidors and sales-tax collectors fell victim to popular fury. It might be said that the whole country was ablaze, even though Guirior had suspended collection of the hateful and excessive levies pending a wiser decision by the monarch to reverse his policy.

Moreover, war had broken out between Spain and England in 1779, and repeated reports from Europe assured the new viceroy that the mistress of the seas was fitting out a fleet bound for the Pacific.

Jáuregui—whose surname means “the lord’s residence” in Basque—had to fortify the coast and equip it with artillery, organize militias, and strengthen the navy in anticipation of piratical attacks. These measures entailed heavy expenditure, which deepened the public distress.

Don Agustín de Jáuregui had occupied the viceregal throne for barely four months when news arrived of the killing of the corregidor Arriaga, and with it the report that throughout a territory extending more than three hundred leagues, the cacique Tupac-Amaru was being proclaimed Inca and sovereign of Peru.

This is not the place to recount the history of that tremendous revolution, which, as is well known, placed the colonial government in grave danger. Very little more would have been needed for independence to have been achieved then and there.

On April 6, the Friday of Sorrows, in the year 1781, the Inca and his principal followers were taken prisoner and subjected to the most barbarous horrors. Tongues and hands were cut off, bodies quartered; there were hangings and executions by the garrote. There was no end to the atrocities Areche authorized.

With the execution of the Inca, his wife doña Micaela, his sons, and his brothers, the revolutionaries lost their unifying center. Yet the spark was not extinguished until July 1783, when don Felipe Tupac, brother of the ill-fated Inca and leader of the natives of Huarochirí, was executed in Lima. “Thus,” says Dean Funes, “ended this revolution, and history will scarcely offer another more justified or less fortunate.”

The arms of the house of Jáuregui were: a shield divided per chevron reversed, the first field gold, bearing a spreading oak and a boar passant; the second red, bearing a silver castle with a flag; the third blue, bearing three fleurs-de-lis.

It is said that on April 26, 1784, the viceroy don Agustín de Jáuregui received a gift of a small basket of cherries, a fruit of which His Excellency was very fond, and that he had scarcely eaten two or three when he fell senseless to the floor. Thirty hours later, the great door of the palace reception hall was opened; and there, in an armchair beneath the canopy, sat Jáuregui in full dress uniform. In accordance with the prescribed ceremony, the court clerk, followed by the Royal Audiencia, advanced to within a few paces of the canopy and called out three times: “Your Excellency, don Agustín Jáuregui!” Then, turning to those assembled, he pronounced the required words: “Gentlemen, he does not answer. He is dead! He is dead! He is dead!” He then produced an official record, and the judges affixed their signatures to it.

Thus did the Indians avenge the death of Tupac-Amaru.