Bulletin of Latin American Research, Vol. 30, No. 3, pp. 344–365, 2011
El Templete and Cuban
Neoclassicism: A Multivalent
Signifier as Site of Memory
PAUL NIELL
University of North Texas, USA
In this article I explore the production and reception of El Templete, a
nineteenth-century memorial erected to commemorate the founding of
Havana. This symbolically rich monument participates in the aesthetic
traditions of architecture, sculpture and painting, and is a paradigmatic
example of the multivalence of public, monumental art in the late
colonial classicism of Latin America and the Caribbean. Rather than
representing strictly an aesthetic discourse of Spanish colonial power,
El Templete underwent a process of local assimilation, whereby classical
forms and academic aesthetics were adapted to the self-representation of
a heterogeneous colonial city.
Keywords: art, Bourbon Spain, colonialism, Cuba, neoclassicism, visual
culture.
Introduction
Each year on 16 November, a crowd gathers in the Plaza de Armas of Havana, Cuba, to
honour the city by circumambulating the legendary ceiba tree three times in a counterclockwise motion. Located on the eastern side of the plaza, the tree (perhaps the fourth
tree on the site) is celebrated as the place where the Spanish conquistadors founded the
city in the sixteenth century, performing the first Christian mass and cabildo (council)
meeting under the tree’s generous shade. When this annual tradition began is unclear;
however, at two moments in Havana’s colonial history, civic monuments were built to
honour the memory of the site. The first was in 1754, when Captain General Cagigal
de la Vega erected a commemorative pillar as compensation for having ordered the
unruly tree cut down. Engineers reported that the tree’s roots had damaged the nearby
fortification wall (see Figure 1). Again in 1828, a much more complex monument,
incorporating the Cagigal pillar of 1754, was erected on the site and named El Templete
(the small temple or pavilion). This second memorial reveals an active attempt by civic
elites to (re)invent the origin myth of the city, appropriating the past to serve multiple
representational needs in the present. In spite of the monument’s apparent coherence as
a work of classicism, however, its complex imagery and site reveal Cuban responses to
the Spanish Bourbon Reforms and local society and thus the multivalence of this late
colonial work.
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El Templete and Cuban Neoclassicism
Figure 1.
Anonymous, Cagigal pillar, Plaza de Armas, Havana, Cuba, 1754 (photo, author).
El Templete consisted of a small Tuscan Doric temple situated on axis with the
Cagigal pillar. It was embedded into a rectangular wall of coral limestone, which forms
a square enclosure around the Templete, the pillar, and the tree (see Figure 2). Cuban
military engineer Antonio María de la Torre, attributed with the monument’s design,
conceived the dimensions of the monument’s interior to house three history paintings
executed by French expatriate artist Jean-Baptiste Vermay. At the time, Vermay was
the director of Havana’s art academy of San Alejandro, founded in 1818. The three
Vermay paintings narrated the history of the site and included one scene of the first
mass, one of the first cabildo, and one of the inaugural ceremony of the shrine itself in
1828.
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Paul Niell
Figure 2.
author).
Antonio María de la Torre, El Templete, Plaza de Armas, Havana, Cuba, 1828 (photo,
The emergence of a new, more rigorous classicism in Havana grew initially from
the eighteenth-century Bourbon Reforms, which escalated after the end of the Seven
Years War (1756–1763) . The British, who had occupied Cuba for eleven months,
returned the city to the Spanish in exchange for Florida. The Bourbon Reforms, as
enacted throughout the empire, included measures to reverse Spain’s stalling economy,
associated with the previous Austrian Hapsburg rule (1521–1700). Specifically in
Cuba, reformers intended to secure the colony against another invasion by a rival
European power (Kuethe, 1986; Brading, 1991; Pérez, 1995; Johnson, 2001). Spanish
administrators launched various building campaigns in Havana in the early 1770s,
which included the erection of additional fortifications at vulnerable points around
the city and the creation of more rationally planned public buildings. Spanish officials
and Peninsulars (individuals born in Spain) generally perceived the American colonists
as inferior and in need of cultural modernisation, including public education and
technological advancement. The monarchy promoted geometrical urban planning and
grand classicism as reform agents intended to propagate the mythology of the Bourbons
as victorious (re)civilisers of the Crown’s overseas territories (Gutiérrez-Haces, 2002).
After the 1762 British occupation, the reforms in Cuba included the organisation of
local militias for the defence of the island, an increase in taxes and the reordering of
public spaces, such as the city’s Plaza de Armas. The Captain General Marqués de la
Torre (the island’s senior colonial official) initiated the reconstruction of the plaza in
1772 to reshape the space into a geometric configuration. Such regular planning stood
in contrast to the irregularities of the original conquistador layout. It was defined by the
Laws of the Indies codified in 1573 by Phillip II and used by the Bourbons as a model
of rational city planning (Crouch, Garr and Mundigo, 1982). The plan introduced
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El Templete and Cuban Neoclassicism
Figure 3. Antonio Fernández de Trevejos and Pedro Medina, Palace of the Captain General,
Havana, 1776–1791 (photo, author).
two administrative palaces to frame the plaza’s northern and western sides, a project
which ended in 1791 (see Figure 3). As mandated in the Laws, portals fronted the
palaces, which incorporated certain baroque elements such as curvilinear ornament on
doors and windows (Weiss, 1996). However, the prevalence of classical detailing and
regular bays conveyed the sense of order and permanence that the monarchy hoped to
project.
By the first decades of the nineteenth century, the island’s hacendados (landowners,
many of them sugar planters), predominantly of the Creole elite (wealthy, propertyowning individuals of Hispanic descent born in Cuba), enjoyed increased economic
prosperity from the growth of the sugar industry and Spain’s relaxation of certain trade
restrictions. However, Cuban-birth in the Spanish colonial system meant that Creoles
of all social ranks, including the elite, possessed limited political rights in the island’s
Spanish administration. Yet, as powerful members of the ayuntamiento (city council)
and through nascent civic organisations and Freemasonry (introduced during the British
occupation), Creole elites in the early nineteenth century found new forms of sociability
and developed common commercial goals. They began to assert influence over, and
sometimes direct patronage of, civic buildings, incorporating more rigorous classicism
(Pérez, 1995; González-Ripoll Navarro, 1999).
While Ibero-American scholarship often operates on the assumption that neoclassicism in Latin America was exclusively a language of Bourbon colonial power, fewer
studies consider the complexities of local responses to these reforms and the potential
reconfigurations of such classicism for local purposes. The erection of El Templete,
a monument that appropriated neoclassical aesthetics and commemorated the city’s
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founding in 1828 on the Plaza de Armas can be seen as a local strategy of selflegitimisation. Furthermore, social messages within El Templete suggest a desire to
preserve the colonial status quo, a social dimension that united Spanish Peninsulars
with the city’s Creole elite. Civic memorials frequently draw on the visual culture of the
masses to make their statements of commonality more effective (Lefebvre, [1974] 1991).
Thus the symbolic aspects of El Templete should be examined more with an eye to the
local-imperial dynamics of the late colonial period in Cuba, including the incorporation
of local colonial culture. However, an appreciation of El Templete’s multivalence is
built upon earlier attempts to grasp its meaning, efforts that should be briefly addressed
in order to locate a point of departure.
Historiography of El Templete
The scholarship on El Templete from the era of the early Cuban Republic reveals a substantial degree of anti-Spanish nationalism, framing nineteenth-century neoclassicism in
Cuba as an imperial instrument of the Spanish state. Cuban historian Antonio Miguel
Alcover (1900) contextualised the memorial during the North American occupation of
the island (1899–1901). He cited nineteenth-century historian José María de la Torre in
noting that the ‘original’ ceiba tree, long thought to have died a natural death in 1753,
was actually ordered to be cut down by the Spanish Captain General Cagigal de la Vega
(BMCH, Colección Facticia 107, fo. 700). Alcover framed this act as one of imperial
oppression, rather than a practical solution to the problem of the tree’s interference with
the nearby fortification wall. The tree’s legacy had thus been tainted by the Spanish,
according to the author, rendering it inauthentic for contemporary Cubans of the new
republic (Guiteras, 1865–1866; Pezuela, 1868; Alfonso López, 2004).
The work of Havana historian Manuel Pérez Beato (1936) likewise reveals nationalist
overtones in his interrogation of the merits of the tree as an adequate Cuban symbol.
Pérez Beato pointed out the uncertainty of the foundational event and its date, suggesting
that a tree or an axial element in a colonial plaza better recalled the use of the public
picota (a vertical pillar for public punishments found in many early Ibero-American
plazas) (Pérez Beato, 1936: 36). Havana’s first municipal ordinances, the Ordenanzas
de Cáceres (1573) stated that negros (blacks) caught with weapons upon their second
offence ‘will be given twenty lashes at the ceiba or picota or at the door of the
jail’ (Pichardo, 1984: 111–112). Given that these laws were meant for many towns
combined with the seemingly interchangeable option of using a ceiba, picota or the
door of the jail, it is possible that a ceiba tree was located in the main plazas of many
early colonial towns in Cuba and that it was used for public punishments. Rather than
exploring this possibility as a partial explanation for El Templete, however, Pérez Beato
declared that the ceiba was no dignified symbol of civic pride, but an infamous reminder
of Spanish colonial repression.
Several decades after the nationalist fervour of the early Cuban republic, Havana
historian Emilio Roig de Leuchsenring brought more objectivity to the historical
debate in 1963. Roig de Leuchsenring pointed out that if the ceiba tree tradition
was inauthentic, it was because the site of Havana itself had actually been moved
three times. Thus, the first mass and cabildo, which established the city, would
have taken place elsewhere, on the island’s southern shores. Roig de Leuchsenring
also noted that the Plaza de Armas had, likewise, been transferred at least three
times within the current city between 1559 and 1577, dating after the supposed
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consecration (Roig de Leuchsenring, 1963: 59–60). Nor, according to the historian,
did any documents exist to verify that this foundational event ever happened. He thus
concluded that the monument was a colonialist invention, built during the governorship
of Captain General Francisco Dionisio Vives (r. 1823–1832), who was dispatched
to Cuba after the rebellion in New Spain and its declaration of succession in 1821.
According to the historian, Captain General Vives conceived of the construction and
inauguration of El Templete as a distraction for Havana’s colonial population because
of his knowledge of a revolutionary plot in South America in 1827, related to Simón
Bolivar’s movement, to liberate Cuba from Spanish control. The captain general thus
intended the work to stimulate imperial solidarity, dedicating it to Spanish Queen
Josefa Amalia on her birthday and to Spanish King Ferdinand VII’s victory (during
the resurgence of Spanish absolutism) over a liberal faction in Catalonia. (Roig de
Leuchsenring, 1963: 9–14). While the work of Roig de Leuchsenring on El Templete
argued for the monument’s status as an invented tradition, the author placed too much
emphasis on a Spanish invention and not enough on a Cuban one (Hobsbawm and
Ranger, 1983).
The first scholar of Havana’s history to focus due attention on the impact of local
culture and more complex transcultural processes in El Templete was the scholar
of Afro-Cuban culture, Fernando Ortiz. He focused on the involvement of Havana’s
Bishop Juan José Díaz de Espada y Landa (1756–1832) in the commission, construction
and inauguration of the memorial (Ortiz, 1943: 3). Born in Spain’s Basque country
and educated at the ‘enlightened’ University of Salamanca, the bishop was appointed to
the see of Havana in 1800 and arrived in 1802. While upholding Catholic orthodoxy,
Bishop Espada opposed the Inquisition and was drawn to the practical and aesthetic
reforms associated with the European Enlightenment (Ortiz, 1943; García Pons, 1951;
Torres-Cuevas, 1990, 2002). Supportive of constitutional monarchy and frustrated by
the persistence of absolutism in Spain, Espada invested himself at Havana in aesthetic
reform as an iconoclast of the baroque style. He had baroque altarpieces in the cathedral
replaced with neoclassical equivalents and preferred what he himself referred to as a
‘noble simplicity’ in the arts (Torres-Cuevas, 2002: 199). Involved in many art and
architectural projects in early nineteenth-century Havana, the bishop was an important
patron of El Templete and appears prominently in the painting of the inauguration
ceremony conducting the formal benediction of the work.
Fernando Ortiz rejected the attacks that Pérez Beato had levelled against the
authenticity of the ceiba tree, declaring that the ceiba of El Templete was the emblem of
the municipality of Havana, and the oldest and most permanent symbol of civic liberties
in Cuba (Lescano Abella, 1928; Ortiz, 1943: 3; Torres-Cuevas, 2002: 123–124). Ortiz
drew a parallel to the oak tree of Guernica, Spain, under which the Castilian monarchs
were obliged to swear an oath to preserve Basque fueros (traditional laws) in medieval
times. As the Basque tree of Guernica was an emblem of local liberties, so the bishop,
born in the Basque region, had conceived of El Templete as a reconfiguration of this
tradition in Havana (Torres-Cuevas, 2002: 124). This reading of subversion introduced
a counter-current to the scholarship, which had previously characterised El Templete
strictly as a statement of Bourbon colonial power. Ortiz never furnished any empirical
proof for this claim, but in terms of material evidence, a temple-like structure with a
Greco-Roman revival portico was erected adjacent to the Tree of Guernica in 1826, two
years before El Templete in Havana. A connection between these two memorials seems
likely, as though the bishop hoped to fuse old traditions in Cuba with new ‘enlightened’
realities, perhaps similar to what he knew the Basque had done in Guernica.
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Ortiz’s theory of subversion has been sustained by the more contemporary Cuban
historian Eduardo Torres-Cuevas, a current biographer of Bishop Espada. TorresCuevas carefully examined the familial and social origins of the bishop in Spain’s
Basque country and concluded that his background would have shaped an ideology
of regional autonomy. The Cuban historian characterises El Templete as ‘a work
made in absolutism and against absolutism’ (Torres-Cuevas, 2002: 124). The bishop,
disapproving of Ferdinand VII’s abolition of Spain’s constitution in 1823, had thus
constructed a subtle protest against the contemporary monarchy. Recent works have
also pointed to the significance of the painter Jean-Baptiste Vermay and his connections
to local Creoles. French art historian Sabine Faivre D’Arcier’s monograph on the
artist opens questions about his local alliances and his desires to assist his Cuban
acquaintances by constructing Cuban identity through painting (Faivre D’Arcier, 2004:
133–160).
Despite the increasing rigour found in the early twentieth-century work of Ortiz and
the recent nuances added by Torres-Cuevas and Favire D’Arcier to our understanding
of El Templete’s significance, these approaches are marked by similar flaws: in general,
a narrowing intentionality argument focusing on an absolutism-liberalism struggle
located in the political tensions between captain general and bishop. What these
perspectives lack is an interest in dealing with the monument as a whole, including
its expression of an emerging sense of Cuban identity, growing differences between
Creoles and Peninsulars, and escalating social tensions, such as those felt by elite whites
towards Cuba’s population of African descent. If we consider El Templete as colonial
visual culture, it becomes apparent that the monument created and sustained colonial
ideologies and cut across myriad forms of colonial discourse. Rather than being subject
to a binary interpretation, El Templete signified in diverse ways to multiple audiences
within a broader socio-political spectrum in early nineteenth-century Havana.
Classicism and Creole Agency
Bishop Espada’s initiatives as patron of the arts were interwoven with his connections
to the city’s Creole elite. Havana’s patriciate (mostly landowning Creoles), powerful
since early colonial times, dominated Havana’s ayuntamiento (town hall) and began
to receive special trade concessions in the reforms of Charles III, which escalated
after the British occupation of the island in 1762. In exchange for accepting a higher
tax burden, the decrees of 16 October 1765 opened Cuba’s trade to eight additional
Spanish ports, loosening the older mercantile system, which restricted trade to Cádiz
only (Kuethe, 1986; Pérez, 1995; Johnson, 2001; Gott, 2004). Spanish export duties and
taxes on slaves were lessened, both of which were favourable to Cuban planters. Late
eighteenth-century military reforms brought increased prestige to Creole elites as they
began to fill out the officers’ corps of local colonial militias (Kuethe, 1986). Following
the slave insurrection of 1791 on the neighbouring island of Saint-Domingue, and the
subsequent loss of French dominance over the West Indian sugar trade, Cuban planter
and intellectual Francisco de Arango y Parreño succeeded in convincing the Spanish
Crown to invest heavily in the island’s sugar industry. In 1793, 27 Cuban landowners
chartered the Royal Economic Society of the Friends of the Country, a local reform
society and special interest group based on Spanish models (Pérez, 1995).
The Economic Society, also known as the Patriotic Society, allowed Havana’s
patriciate to become more active in local educational and cultural initiatives, economic
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policy and technological modernisation. The society took control of the first colonial
newspaper in Cuba in the 1790s, the Papel Periódico de La Habana, a bi-weekly
covering cultural and commercial issues. As Benedict Anderson has argued, the habitual
readership of the printed press in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries began to forge
a sense of community and collective identity among subscribers (Anderson, [1983]
1991). Such a phenomenon is discernable in the early nineteenth-century Hispanic
world, where Shafer has suggested that Economic Societies and their local publications
contributed to ‘organised opinion’ (Shafer, 1958: 439; Jensen, 1988: 3–7). Articles in
the Papel Periódico carried items on culture, history, science, etiquette and the arts.
The leading periodical at the time of El Templete’s inauguration was the Diario de La
Habana. Articles ran from early March to late April 1828 about the monument and
instructed readers on El Templete’s forms and significance.
Soon after his arrival in 1802, Bishop Espada became director of the Economic
Society of Havana, joining forces with the city’s Creole elite and contributing his
rational knowledge and power as patron of the arts. In 1806, the bishop commissioned
the General Cemetery of Havana, located in the extramuros (the area outside the city
walls). The Society became actively involved in this project, as can be gleaned from
the extensive writings of Tomás Romay Chacón, a physician and leading member
(López Sánchez, 1965). An architect’s fee of 500 pesos was paid by the Society to
French architect, Stephen Hallet, who had been at work on the US Capitol Building in
Washington, DC in the 1790s. Hallet designed a chapel for the cemetery in the form
of a Tuscan Doric temple that may have provided a model for El Templete twenty
years later. The chapel also contained paintings: frescos depicting the resurrection of
the dead, commissioned by the bishop from Brescian painter José Perovani (López
Sánchez, 1965: 136–141). On issues of style, Bishop Espada, in an exhortation of
1806, exalted the cemetery for its ‘noble simplicity and seriousness’ (Torres-Cuevas,
2002: 199). In 1818, the Economic Society established the visual arts academy of San
Alejandro in Havana, and financed the appointment of French expatriate artist JeanBaptiste Vermay as director, a former student in France of Jacques-Louis David who
arrived in Havana in 1815 (Janson, 1977). Vermay legitimated the academy through his
high-profile European training and initiated a curriculum based on life drawing (Faivre
D’Arcier, 2004).
By the early nineteenth century, records indicate that local elites had begun considering the ceiba tree site on the Plaza de Armas as an opportunity for another civic
monument. On 5 February 1819, the ayuntamiento received a report from Francisco
Filomeno that the area around the Cagigal pillar of 1754 honouring the ceiba tree
had deteriorated, having been employed by the neighbours for common uses. The
resulting petition by Bonifacio García called for an intervention and the construction
of a casilla (hut) to clean up and re-memorialise the site (BMCH, Colleción Facticia
107, 774r–775v). Later, in the minutes of the ayuntamiento meeting of 15 June 1827,
Havana’s alcalde (mayor) noted that all of Havana, ‘even the uncultured’, reckoned
and respected the significance of this historic place (BMCH, Colección Facticia 107,
795r–796v). In December of that year, ground was broken for the new monument with
its completion in March 1828. The press gave credit to the captain general (as was
customary) and the colonel of engineers, Antonio María de la Torre, was lauded for
the architectural design of the structure. Spanish regidor Francisco Rodríguez Cabrera
coordinated the project and wrote a detailed summary of the construction process in
the Diario de La Habana of 16 March 1828 (Rodríguez, 1828a). Cabrera credited local
artisans for various aspects of the monument and paid tribute to Bishop Espada for
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sponsoring the Vermay paintings. El Templete thus resulted from collaboration between
Bishop Espada, Spanish officials, the ayuntamiento (dominated by the Creole elite), and
the academy’s lead professor whose annual salary was paid by the Economic Society.
Such complex patronage involving local elites provided an avenue for the expression of
Creole identity.
Historicism and Cuban Legitimacy
The historicism in El Templete and the involvement of the city’s Creole elite in public
works paralleled a growing concern for employing classicism to represent things Cuban
in public space. Cuban engineer Antonio María de la Torre may have appropriated some
of the architectural ideas introduced by French architect Stephen Hallet at the General
Cemetery of Havana in his design for El Templete. The Cuban engineer surely knew of
the Spanish neoclassicism of Juan de Villanueva from the late eighteenth century. High
classical ideas in architecture diffused from the Academy of San Fernando in Madrid
down to Spanish military academies and out to colonial cities in the Americas (AASF
Junta Preparatoria 1744–1752, fos. 17–63; García Melero, 1992). Cuban elites owned
architectural treatises privately and made them available publicly through the Economic
Society library, which opened in Havana in 1792. Creole planters frequently travelled
to and/or sent their children to be educated in the United States, where a Greek Revival
movement in architecture was developing by the 1820s. Liberal Cuban priest and author
Félix Varela was living in Philadelphia by 1824, where his student, Cuban intellectual
José Antonio Saco met up with him. A pioneer of 1830s cubanidad (the literary
celebration of things Cuban), Saco resided in the North American city from 1826 to
1828 (Whalen, 1970). He would thus have returned to Havana with first-hand exposure
to Greek Revival monuments in Philadelphia, such as Benjamin Henry Latrobe’s Bank
of Pennsylvania, 1799–1801 or William Strickland’s Second Bank of the United States,
1816 (Middleton and Watkin, 1980). Both structures projected imposing Greek Revival
facades and constructed an architectural language of free trade and capitalism in the
United States, values that Cuban planters were eager to assimilate.
Although El Templete incorporated characteristic imperial signifiers, such as a bronze
triumphal arch entryway topped by the city’s arms and a symbolic crown, the work
reveals the engineer’s inventive adaptation of neoclassical architecture to the local
context. By the rules of such architectural treatise writers as Vitruvius and Andrea
Palladio, de la Torre’s interpretation of the Doric aspects of El Templete deviated
from ancient models in a number of significant ways. While designing the portico on
a modular system, the architect departed from the suggested intercolumniations of the
Doric order (see Figure 4). He positioned the columns one-half diameter apart at the
portico ends. In an effort to centre the triglyphs with the columns, as mandated by both
Vitriuvius and Palladio, the two lateral metopes had to be stretched horizontally. The
treatise writers had mandated that metopes should always be square (Vitruvius, 1960;
Palladio, 1997). These departures from a doctrinaire, Vitruvian perspective on the rules
of classical architecture, may have been an effort to denote function and solve the
practical problems of the work. De la Torre’s design matched the intercolumniations to
the three entry doors of the Templete and opened routes in the small portico for easy
circulation into and out of the structure. It, furthermore, created openings, combined
with the doors, that allowed for increased light to the interior to help render detailed
history paintings, at least by the light of day, more legible.
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Figure 4. Detail: Portico, Antonio María de la Torre, El Templete, Plaza de Armas, Havana,
Cuba, 1828 (photo, author).
Such adaptations to local function co-existed with various aspects meant to assert
imperial authority. Eleven metopes between triglyphs contained carved symbols of
Spain’s dominion over the ‘New World’, including such emblems as ‘F’ and ‘7’ for
reigning monarch King Ferdinand VII, and two crowned orbs, symbolising the union
between Old World and New. A metope relief of an Amerindian bow, arrows and
headdress, situated the conquest of Cuba and the island’s indigenous inhabitants firmly
within a Spanish imperial history (see Figure 5). Further tensions between the local and
extra-local could be found in the building’s cornice lines. While long stretches of cornice
possessed clean and precise lines, two areas immediately behind the portico revealed the
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Figure 5. Detail: Metope relief sculpture of Amerindian bow, arrows, and headdress, El Templete,
Plaza de Armas, Havana, Cuba, 1828 (photo, author).
curvilinear tendencies found in Havana’s baroque cathedral. Tensions between styles
mirrored the semantic tensions of certain symbols. Where the monument met the plaza
along its front length, great piers supported a continuous iron fence and lofted bronze
cast pineapples set on urns. The pineapple, employed by the Spanish to signify authority
over American land and agriculture, began to appear in late colonial poetry as a symbol
of Cuban identity (Zequeira y Arango, 1852: 9–10). With Havana’s elite so involved
in public works at this time, El Templete generated a compelling statement of local
pride, identity and myth within and somewhat without the imperial mythologies also
sustained by the monument.
Of the Templete’s visual programme, the paintings by Jean-Baptiste Vermay constructed perhaps the most lucid statements about the local context. The artist’s scenes
of the first Mass and cabildo narrated the traditional story of the site, translating
historical discourses into detailed academic history paintings (see Figures 6 and 7). The
works contained images of sixteenth-century Spaniards, such as conquistador Diego
Velázquez, who led the conquest of Cuba from the neighbouring island of Hispaniola
in 1511. Vermay included figures of the native inhabitants of the island that were first
encountered by conquistadors and missionaries. Cuban historian José Martín Félix de
Arrate wrote in his late eighteenth-century history of Cuba:
the memory of the nature and customs of the Indians in [Cuba], on which
our chroniclers speak with uniformity, writing down, without substantial
discrepancy, that they were of peaceful, docile, and bashful humour, very
reverent with superiors, of great ability and aptitude in the instructions of
the faith, healthy and of good character, and of graceful form and beauty.
(Arrate, 1964: 18)
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Figure 6. Jean-Baptiste Vermay, The First Cabildo, El Templete, Plaza de Armas, Havana, 1826,
oil on canvas (photo by author, reproduced with the permission of the Oficina del Historiador de
la Ciudad de La Habana).
Vermay’s depiction of Amerindian figures seemed to parallel this passage, as the graceful,
sensuous, and passive forms of the natives contrast the upright and angular stances
of the Spaniards. Both scenes contain a combination of standing and kneeling figures.
As various figures turn their backs to the viewer in skillfully rendered foreshortening,
the scenes posses a quiet immediacy that lends itself to both neoclassical and romantic
trends. In attempting to monumentalise these epics through history painting, the most
prestigious genre in the academy, Vermay infused them with a relatively soft painted
palette that he perhaps absorbed in Cuba, viewing the works of late eighteenth- and
early nineteenth-century Cuban artists in Havana such as José Nicolás de la Escalera
(1734–1804) and Vicente Escobar (1757–1854).
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Figure 7. Jean-Baptiste Vermay, The First Mass, El Templete, Plaza de Armas, Havana, 1826,
oil on canvas (photo by author, reproduced with permission of the OHC).
A painted depiction of the ceiba tree dominates the paintings of the first mass and
cabildo, reinforcing the tree as the primary purpose for the monument and revealing a
taxonomic awareness of the island’s flora and fauna. In the scene of the first Mass, a red
parrot perches in the ceiba’s branches and below, along the foreground, Vermay renders
vegetal specimens in lucid detail. The historical actors further unite the scene and give it
narrative specificity. The Spaniards, dressed in an approximation of sixteenth-century
finery, stand with lances raised, symbolising victory in the conquest. The Amerindian
figures, by contrast, are semi-nude and crouching below, indicating their submission
to European civilisation. Through the presence of the Indian figure, among other
signs, Cuban history was legitimated within the imperial history of Spain, in the face
of numerous attacks by Europeans on the moral qualities and rational capacities of
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Americans (Katzew, 2009). Indeed, the Diario de La Habana of 27 March 1828
declared that upon completion of El Templete, Havana ‘continued to be elevated to the
rank of the towns of Europe’ (Rodríguez, 1828b).
In addition to such attempts to establish continuity and solidarity with Spain,
frustrated elites in Cuba rallied around their status as criollo (island-born), thus
expressing their difference from Europeans. Given that Vermay, an academically trained
European artist, had rendered Creole civic ancestors through history painting, these
elites gained a sense of local cultural authority. The conquistador figures, for example,
testified to the noble traits of city’s first rulers, from whom many local elites claimed
direct descent in support of their status and possession of prestigious titles. Creoles had
dominated the cabildo since early colonial times, yet the cabildo’s right to distribute
public lands was revoked by the Bourbons in 1729. The painting of the first cabildo
affirmed this historical agency. The two sixteenth-century scenes thus conditioned the
public memory of the site by reinforcing historic Creole civic rights and claims to
legitimacy before the Spanish authorities.
Race and the Ideal City
Vermay’s inauguration painting, finished several months after the event took place,
depicted the ceremony in which Bishop Espada performed the benediction of the
new monument (see Figure 8). Gathered around the bishop are the city’s ecclesiastical
authorities standing as a group to the right of Captain General Dionisio Vives, himself
flanked by the city’s administrative and military officials (see Figure 9). All are officially
dressed and regard the ceremony in unison, their individualised portraits being legible
to a contemporary audience. A group of women and children stand and sit below the
level of the men, thus effectively communicating the gender and age hierarchy of the
colonial city.
As one entered El Templete to view the paintings, the First Cabildo was immediately
visible on the left (northern) wall, followed by the inauguration painting to the right
and against the larger (eastern) rear wall. To the right of this painting, The First
Mass was mounted on the right (southern) interior wall. The inauguration painting
was flanked and, therefore, symbolically reinforced, by the two sixteenth-century
scenes. The three canvases were clearly meant to be read and experienced together.
For local elites, this arrangement affirmed that the city was modernising towards a
Cuban realisation of a European cultural paradigm. As a product of the colonial social
process in Cuba, Creole pride rested on a paradoxical quasi-European/non-Spanish
ethnic cultural identity and a pure racial lineage in comparison to local individuals of
‘mixed’ and/or African descent. Social standing as a blanco (white) helped Cuban elites
to maintain an image of prestige among their peers, with the assurance of limpieza de
sangre (purity of blood). This preoccupation with pure Spanish and Christian blood,
a centuries-old obsession among the Ibero-American elite, took on greater significance
with the rising African slave population in nineteenth-century Havana. A white family’s
social standing was in jeopardy if one of its members married into the lower social
echelons. The Crown even passed ordinances prohibiting ‘mixed-marriages’ within the
nobility in the interest of public order (Martinez-Alier, [1974] 1989: 20–41). The
figures of white men, women and children in Vermay’s inauguration painting connected
this paradigm of blood purity to the city’s deepest traditions and central myth of
origin.
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Figure 8. Detail: Ecclesiastical Group, Jean-Baptiste Vermay, The Inauguration of El Templete,
El Templete, Plaza de Armas, Havana, 1828, oil on canvas (photo by author, reproduced with
permission of the OHC).
Creole and Peninsular weariness of blacks and people of mixed ancestry was
interconnected with nineteenth-century slavery. As early as the 1790s, as import taxes
were lifted on the slave trade, Cuban planters became apprehensive of the rising
population of people of African descent in Cuba. The Spanish system of coartación
(slave self-purchase) contributed to a large population of gentes de color (free people
of colour) in colonial society. To concerned whites, this increase in people of African
descent indicated the development of the same conditions for slave insurrection in
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El Templete and Cuban Neoclassicism
Figure 9. Detail: Captain General Francisco Dionisio Vives, Jean-Baptiste Vermay, The Inauguration of El Templete, El Templete, Plaza de Armas, Havana, 1828, oil on canvas (photo by
author, reproduced with permission of the OHC).
Cuba that had ruined the neighbouring French colony of Saint-Domingue (now Haiti
and the Dominican Republic). Captain General José Cienfuegos and Economic Society
director Alejandro Ramírez had established the Junta de Población Blanca (Council of
the White Population) in 1817 to search for solutions to the rising African population.
The Council moved for the establishment of new towns for white immigrants to offset
the growing number of blacks (López Sánchez, 1965: 139–171; Gott, 2004). The city
of Cienfuegos, realised in 1819, was an urban community settled by white immigrants
from New Orleans and designed with strict classicism, including a gridiron layout and
buildings with classical features. Thus, in contemplating the politics of urban life while
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Paul Niell
Figure 10. Detail: Afro-Cuban Woman, Jean-Baptiste Vermay, The Inauguration of El Templete,
El Templete, Plaza de Armas, Havana, 1828, oil on canvas (photo by author, reproduced with
permission of the OHC).
standing within El Templete and viewing the paintings, Havana’s patriarchs received a
constructed predominantly white, and thus mythical view of Havana in concert with
actual and developing ‘white cities’, such as Cienfuegos.
Amongst the large group of white figures in the inauguration painting, two figures of
African descent appear as foils to whiteness. At the bottom left of the canvas, furthest
from the Templete, an Afro-Cuban slave woman kneels and seems confused at the scene
before her (see Figure 10). Her reaction prompts a white woman beside her to turn and
give the black woman a stern look, raising her right hand in the direction of the new
monument. This figural exchange reinforced the status of blacks as perpetual minors
and the perceived divide between white reason and black irrationality. To ground this
racial statement in civic precedent, the viewer needed only to look at the paintings of
the first mass and cabildo, where Amerindians were, likewise, tamed by noble Spanish
conquistadors.
At the centre of the inauguration painting, near the figure of Captain General Vives,
an officer in Havana’s pardo (mulatto – Spanish and African mixed-blood) militia stands
in military dress (see Figure 11). In late colonial Cuba, free black populations acquired
considerable prestige from military service, including the fuero militar, the right to
bring trial cases before a military tribunal (Kuethe, 1986). These populations had also
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Figure 11. Detail: Afro-Cuban Militiaman and Captain General Vives, Jean-Baptiste Vermay,
The Inauguration of El Templete, El Templete, Plaza de Armas, Havana, 1828, oil on canvas
(photo by author, reproduced with permission of the OHC).
distinguished themselves in the trades of Havana, in some cases becoming quite wealthy,
although ever confined to a lower social rank because of their race (Childs, 2006). As the
monument constructed the image of the ideal colonial society by ordering social types
(past and present), Vermay included the pardo militiaman to signify black prestige,
including – while socially circumscribing – these populations.
The epic history paintings in El Templete, viewed within a neoclassical framework,
were intended to teach and morally uplift the colonial masses. The Diario de La Habana
of 27 March 1828 declared that ‘the histories, the traditions, and the same oratory
would almost remain mute, if these large monuments did not speak to man in indelible
signs and characters’ (Rodríguez, 1828b). As eighteenth-century theory considered
nature the foundation for all cultural language, so El Templete affirmed for Cubans that
the structure of colonial society was rooted in the order of nature. Cuban priest and
intellectual Félix Varela, appointed chair of constitutional studies at the Seminary of
San Carlos in Havana by Bishop Espada in 1821, had educated early nineteenth-century
Cubans on such issues as the ‘Imitation of Nature in the Arts’ (Varela, 1992: 82–89).
Thus, by its position on the main plaza in conjunction with the theme of town founding,
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Paul Niell
the monument articulated and reinforced a natural social trajectory (Rykwert, 1976;
Bjelajac, 1997).
In considering a broader spectrum of local production and reception of the colonial city and its symbols, the ceiba tree’s significance may have been interconnected
with a substratum of African-American colonial culture. In the neighbouring island
of Jamaica, Scottish botanist James Macfadyen (1800–1850), a member of the Linnaean society of London, noted Afro-Jamaican reception of the ceiba tree on that
island:
Perhaps no tree in the world has a more lofty and imposing appearance . . .
Even the untutored children of Africa are so struck with the majesty of its
appearance that they designate it the God-tree, and account it sacrilege to
injure it with the axe; so that, not infrequently, not even fear of punishment
will induce them to cut it down. Even in a state of decay, it is an object of
their superstitious fears: they regard it as consecrated to evil spirits, whose
favour they seek to conciliate by offerings placed at its base. (Macfadyen,
1837: 92)
Scholar of Afro-Cuban culture Lydia Cabrera’s seminal work El Monte (1954), and
the subsequent scholarship of Migene González-Wippler, reveal continuity between
Macfadyen’s early nineteenth-century observation and twentieth-century findings in
Cuba (Cabrera, [1954] 1975; González-Wippler, 1994: 133–135, 242–243). Cabrera
and González-Wippler reported the perception of the ceiba tree as sacred to people of
African descent in Cuba, an apparent fear of the tree and the use of the tree as an object
in ritual practice. More broadly, scholarship on the African diaspora in the Americas
has noted a distinct and quite widespread pattern of ceiba tree veneration in Haiti,
Cuba and Brazil (Desmangles, 1992; Voeks, 1997; Omari-Tunkara, 2005).
The ceiba tree, as a polysemic sign in nineteenth-century Cuba, may have, therefore,
evoked the very types of non-orthodox Afro-Cuban Catholic practices that the authorities were seeking adamantly to suppress from the 1790s onward (Lachatañeré, [1942]
1992; Barnet, 2001; Miller, 2001; Reid, 2004). The public processions of cabildos de
nación (mutual aid societies of African slaves in Cuba), particularly the annual 6 January
celebration of the Epiphany, known as the ‘Day of Kings’, engaged Afro-Cubans in the
colonial city in an active way (Howard, 1998; Brown, 2003). Cabildos would process
from the extramuros to the Plaza de Armas and meet with the colonial governor at the
captain general’s palace to receive a monetary donation from the Spanish state. Such
practices, including the hybridised clothing styles of cabildo members, allowed people
of African descent the ability to reconfigure the meaning of colonial urban objects
and urban spaces in Havana. If Afro-Cubans so habitually engaged the city, it opens
questions about what powerful and knowledgeable patrons, such as Bishop Espada,
knew of Afro-Cuban symbolism. If the ceiba tree’s significance for these populations
was known to Espada, then El Templete may have been another method of including,
while circumscribing, the identities of Afro-Cubans.
As scholars on Cuban culture have long noted, El Templete is one of the most important colonial monuments in Havana. However, interpretations have been split between
a Spanish imperial and a Cuban subversive contextualisation. More productive in light
of contemporary cultural analysis would be to attempt to understand how local and
extra-local signification functioned together. The stylistic context of international neoclassicism and the local Cuban situation were clearly interconnected in this monument.
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A willingness to confront such tensions could open new directions for the interpretation of neoclassical art throughout Latin America. Issues of stylistic and semantic
ambiguity, of the coexistence of older and newer artistic and political forms demand
more nuanced interpretations. El Templete was not simply a case of imperial expression
or stylistic rupture. Rather, through memorialisation, the monument constructed and
reinforced different messages for disparate audiences, becoming a multivalent work of
neoclassicism in a heterogeneous colonial city.
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