more
on Mexico
MEXICO - part 3
Spain under the Hapsburgs had been the treasury and
the bastion of the Catholic faith, and its kings financed and fought the
wars against the Reformation, selflessly pouring their the blood and money
of their peoples decade after decade to stem the raving heresy of the Protestant
hordes. The end of that quixotic enterprise was a bankrupt nation.
The last Hapsburg king, Charles II, sat on the throne
for 35 years, but was, to put it mildly, inattentive to business.
Three and a half decades is a long time to let things slide. The
country was a mess when Charles died. And it was a mixed blessing
that the royal fool was childless, because though it could be seen as truly
fortunate that no child of such a father would rule, it left the question
of succession open to contest, which was always bad news.
Charles' will had left the throne to Philip de Bourbon,
Duke of Anjou. But the Archduke of Austria, another Charles, stood
at exactly the same level in the family tree, and with a stake like Spain
and its lovely and valuable colonies, who would hesitate? Charles
immediately implemented the military option, and the Wars of the Spanish
Succession continued for 12 years.
Though Spain had been a united nation with a centralized,
national administration since 1492, that national government was build
on a structure of feudal relationships, all of which were personal.
During the imperial years, when the king of Spain either was the Holy Roman
Emperor or stood beside him, that Emperor was job was to be the civil arm
of the Church, the personal
relationships of the feudal system actually superceded and encompassed
the Spanish national administration, to the detriment of Spain. Institutions
lost their way, as it were, battered and beached by shifting and contrary
currents of national and imperial policies. Reform was essential.
PILLARS
Philip had been party to the grand centralizations
carried out by the French king, Louis XIV. He came to Spain a thoroughgoing
modernist, and he immediately set to work recreating the French model in
his new playground. Incrementally over the course of his 45 years
of rule he eliminated the old non-system of inherited and purchased government
jobs in favor of a competitive bureaucracy. He abandoned the Hapsburg
policy that made Spain into both the moneybags and the strong right arm
of the Papacy, and devoted the resulting accumulation of capital to the
amelioration of the lives of his subjects. Spain recovered.
Gradually, the reforms reached the colonies, which
found themselves more and more the subject of orders from Madrid.
The old timers did not take kindly to this meddlesome interference, as
they saw it, but year by year the Crown and its bureaucrats increased their
influence. What kept everyone tolerant of the changes was that the
economy continued to improve.
At the Mint, the centralizing process had actually begun earlier,
in 1652, when the posts of Chief Smelter and Master of Assay were taken
off the auction block and made appointive. Other posts were bureaucratized
over the years, until finally, on the occasion of the opening of the brand
new mint building in 1732, the entire operation was incorporated into the
Treasury. The actual working of the machinery remained in the hands
of private contractors until 1762, but their boss became the Royal Government
itself.
The new building was created to manufacture new
coins, for the government had had it with the cobs. The new machines
produced a wonderful product: round, flat, stackable, and best of all,
the weight tolerances were vastly improved. The output of the machines
was so superior to the old hand method that there was simply no comparison.
What had been an imperfect vision of the future back in the days of the
English Queen Elizabeth became the only possibility in the 18th century.
The designs picked for the new gold coins were the
normal European type of the ruler's bust on the obverse and his arms on
the reverse. This appropriate, for a lot of the business done in
gold would end up being connected with the crown, so why not have the king's
picture on what would probably end up being his money. For the silver,
which would circulate all over the world, the new design was equally appropriate:
the two hemispheres of the world, on both of which would be found the banner
of Spain, flanked by the Pillars of Hercules, known to us today as the
Strait of Gibraltar, through which the Spanish had passed to take possession
of the New World.
Spanish people refer to these silver pieces as "Dos
Mundos" coins. English speaking collectors call them "Pillars."
The 8 reales became the standard commercial silver coin throughout the
world, and everyone called them "dollars. They are a beloved series,
on account of being beautiful, very challenging by date, but easily available
as types. Prices are high at all grade
levels, but prices are high for all Spanish colonial coins, whatever
they are.
That first year, 1732, though the new building was
opened with great pomp and fanfare, and though the viceroy himself was
present for the striking of the first coins, they didn't really have it
all together on the volume end. Ideally, they would have liked to
have millions of coins on hand to flood the country and drive the cobs
out of circulation. But it didn't work out that way that year, or
the next one either, nor the one after that. In fact, the old cob
mint was turned out most of the coinage for those years, and the new types
for those years are quite rare. There are also anomalous hybrid coins
for 1733 and 1734, 4 and 8 real pieces that show the machine-struck impression
of finely cut dies with the standard cob types on flat, irregularly clipped
planchets. Some limited production of these must have occurred, for
though they are very rare and very expensive, they are
not totally impossible to find. As far as I know, there are no
original records relating to these oddities. In the moments I spent
pondering them I couldn't figure out a good reason why more than a handful
should have ever been made.
I should talk pillar prices for a moment.
Of course they are too high. Never mind that. What I have found is
that there are little pockets of bargains floating around. The average
VF pillar dollar costs in the $150.00 range these days, say $120.00 wholesale.
There is a brisk trade at that level. Yet they also show up occasionally
at $80.00 each. Don't ask me why.
Pillar dollars don't seem to show up in low grade
very much, nor are there lots of them with Chinese chops. Pillar
minors, on the other hand, tend to come in grades like "about good," often
with holes. I think the 1757 Mexican half real is the most common
pillar coin. Period. The 4 real is the toughest denomination.
Pillar coinage continued under three kings; Philip
V, Ferdinand VI, and Charles III. A basic type set would not be a
problem.
PORTRAITS
Charles III became king in 1760. Being a Bourbon,
he was naturally allied with France against England during the great imperial
war that determined that the sun would evenutally never set on the British
flag rather than the French. So he ended up on the losing side, but
it wasn't too bad for him, because though he lost Florida (which he got
back later), he also got a part interest in the Louisiana Territory.
He is generally accounted a good ruler.
As early as 1760 there had been a plan to change
over the silver to portrait types, and permission was granted for such
coins to be made, but nothing was done until 1772, when changes in the
relative values of gold and silver made it necessary to reduce the content
of the silver coins by about 1½%. This was evidently a convenient
time to make the changeover. Everyone would
have known immediately even without the new types, since the whole
world was in the habit of weighing and testing their money.
Portrait coins in general are very common, with
tens, if not hundreds, seen for every pillar. Prices, as is normal for
all Spanish colonials, are higher than they "should" be. Charles
III is quite a bit scarcer than Charles IV and Ferdinand VII, especially
in the larger coins, and of course the 4 reales is the scarcest denomination.
There are transitional issues for each royal changeover, in which the old
king's bust is coupled with the new king's legend. These are not
rare, but there is buyer pressure because they are a) a separate type,
and b) odd.
Let's talk about the gold. The series is portraits
throughout, from 1732 to Independence. Generically there is an abundance
of material available, but the base prices are so high that it is silly
to talk about rarity. With a few exceptions, such as the 1732 coinage,
the price of the piece will depend on bullion and general market situations,
and usually semi-keys will not cost
significantly more than common dates. If you look at the Standard
Catalog prices you might get the idea that there are a lot of common dates,
and that a date collection might be possible.
I don't think it is. The early dates are hard
to find. Occasional batches of later date doubloons (8 escudos, not
doblons (italic) - 2 escudos), show up on the market, occasionally at prices
that seem reasonable from a wholesale standpoint, had not their bullion
value been so high. When you really look at the coins, the same dates
seem to turn up over and over. There's a
tendency for the big coins to be a little flatly struck, and they did
circulate, so they do come worn. All this adds up to ugly looking coins
that still cost an arm and a leg.
The fineness of the gold was reduced along with
the silver in 1772, but the change was about 1.75% for the gold, as opposed
to 1.5% for the silver. Small differences, but they added up, and
they caused the more or less immediate disappearance of the more valuable
pillar coins and their gold counterparts. Then the gold fineness
was lowered again in 1777, by 3% this time.
Coinage continued on the same module during the
reign of Charles IV, with the addition, from 1796, of silver quarter reals.
Cuartillas (italic) had been struck before, as early as the 16th century,
but they had never been popular, and the mint gave up on them for about
300 years. Then, around 1788, a large batch was ordered for use in
the Philippines (KM4 for that colony),
and some of these dateless and mintmarkless coins slipping into circulation
in Mexico and being found useful, the order was given to make them for
the home market. They are not common.
Dateline Madrid, 1788. The new king was installed
amidst the traditional pomp and splendor befitting a Spanish monarch, Emperor
of the Indies and strong right arm of the True Faith (Roman Catholicism).
Come into the possession of a well ordered and prosperous realm, allied
against enemy England with his kinsman, Louis XVI of France, king Charles
IV of Spain seemed
set for an easy ride as ruler of the mighty Spanish Empire.
If there was a fly in the ointment it was Charles
himself. In examining historical accounts of the man one word continues
to appear: "dullard." By all accounts Charles, had he been alive
today, would have spent most of his time watching TV. He was an extremely
simple man who had neither interest nor capacity for government, traits
he shared with his French cousin Louis, who would rather spend his days
repairing watches.
Charles had a wife of more normal interests and
intelligence, and though an heir was produced, she found that her emotional
needs were more readily assuaged by someone other than her husband.
That person turned out to be the minister Godoy, who got on famously with
Charles, and who came to dominate Spanish policy. In such a situation,
in which the principle functionaries of government are personally involved
in duplicitous relationships, personal affairs might come to exercise undue
influence on national policy.
Godoy was a francophile, which was quite a traditional
thing to be, given that the same family held thrones in both countries.
But when France broke into revolution in 1789 Spanish policy remained loyal,
not to the Bourbon king, but to the French nation, and against the staunchest
defender of monarchy, the natural bulwark against the raging revolutionary
storm: England. They should have gone scurrying off to London and
made a defensive deal. But the Spanish government had more soap-operatic
concerns. Through the Terror, and the Directory, and finally into
the dictatorship and Empire of Napoleon, Spain stuck with France, spending
lives and treasure to advance French aims that became progressively more
sinister.
The heir to the Spanish throne was Ferdinand.
Growing up in the royal household turned him into the kind of spoiled rich
boy you'd expect him to be: vain, arrogant, pleasure loving, utterly selfish.
But his father was such a disappointment that Ferdinand became the apple
of the public eye. He might be nasty, but at least he was lively
and handsome.
Ferdinand's wife died in 1806. He was 22 years
old, nothing to do. One can imagine him approaching his father to
arrange another marriage, and the father neglecting to write it down on
his "to-do-tomorrow" list. Mom was unavailable. After a couple
of months the young firebrand took things into his own hands. Being
utterly ignorant of politics, but very impressed with glory, he wrote to
Napoleon, of all people, asking could be perhaps have a niece, please?
The functional parts of the Spanish government maintained
a close watch on both king and heir, as the former needed help to get through
his day, and the latter was likely to do any fool thing that came into
his head. Ferdinand's correspondance was known.
Godoy, in 1807, had taken his French policy about
as far as it could go short of actual cession of power, and was beginning
to look for a way out of an alliance that was turning Spain into a client
state subject to the personal whim of a foreigner. It was very late
in the game however. Napoleon ruled in Italy, and was directly engaging
the British in Portugal. To the Emperor, Godoy looked like a dull
tool.
The backdoor correspondance between Ferdinand and
Napoleon's agents continued. Some political elements began to be
discussed, concerning, among other things, the elimination of Godoy.
As this subject was developed, and a plot began to take shape, the Spanish
secret service moved in and arrested the heir, charging him with treason.
News of Ferdinand's imprisonment caused disturbances
in Madrid. This created a convenient opportunity for the French dictator.
Using the "maintenance of order" as an excuse, Napoleon proceeded to indulge
in his favorite activity: invasion, ostensibly on behalf of the royal government.
Knowing nothing of the heir's treasonable correspondence,
the popular mind of Spain imagined that king Charles had connived with
Napoleon against Ferdinand, and riots were perpetrated in support of that
notion. All Charles wanted was peace and quiet, and he was perfectly
happy to dismiss Godoy and abdicate in favor of Ferdinand. Napoleon
had other plans,
however. Summoning the king and his adorable son to confer with
him in the French town of Bayonne, he worked them over, using the latest
psychological negotiating techniques, and produced an astonishing result:
the surrender of the Bourbon dynasty in favor of Napoleon's brother Joseph.
Both former kings "retired" to France until the situation was stabilized.
Generally speaking, the Spanish people refused to
accept the French accession, and armed rebellion broke out immediately.
Royalist centers emerged were established at locations distant from Madrid.
These proceeded to govern and to make war in the name of Ferdinand, who
was whiling away his confinement in France in pursuit of pleasure and attempts
to butter up the
emperor. Napoleon had his hands full in Spain, and it remained
a thorn in his side until the fall of his empire.
The colonies were left to their own devices during
this confusing period. The local authorities would constantly debate
where their loyalty should lie. In 1810 a Spanish provisional government,
acting in the name of Ferdinand VII, issued a liberal constitution.
In the colonies they wondered whether they should go with that government,
or should they stick with the more
absolutist, but definitely legal policies of the past? And why
should they obey any of the ephemeral pretenders to Spanish authority anyway?
Perhaps an independent government, loyal to the Bourbon king, was the right
way to go. Why not just declare independence and be done with it?
Such discussions were being carried on in small
groups throughout the country in 1810, and in one of these general philosophy
began to give way to actual planning. The principle actors were a
priest, Miguel Hidalgo, and an army officer, Ignacio Allende. They
thought to launch a bid for independence in December of 1810, but were
of course found out by the authorities. Warned of an imminent crackdown,
the plotters decided that premature action was preferable to none at all,
and at dawn on September 15, 1810, Father Hidalgo rang the bells of
his church in the little town of Dolores, and, the having assembled the
population, exhorted them to throw off the Spanish yoke.
It would have been interesting to be there, to see
how he did it. There had never been anything like a popular rebellion
in Mexico. For almost a thousand years the common people had been
living under one tyranny or another, and no widespread rebellion had ever
developed. But the time was ripe, and a single speech made
by an insignificant rural priest to his parish provided the spark that
set the bonfire in which New Spain was to be consumed.
The people of Dolores went storming off to spread
the revolt. There was no discipline. Neighboring towns were sacked.
Looting and rapine were the norm. Thousands of people came to join
in the fun, then tens of thousands. Struggling to bring some order
into his monstrous rabble, Hidalgo set off for Mexico City, which was practically
undefended.
What happened next is rather strange. The
rebels could have taken the capital. Everyone was expecting major
damage. But nothing happened. The rebel "army" dispersed without
an attack. The inhabitants attributed their deliverance to divine
intervention, and the army was sent out to chastise the miscreants.
Having lost the initiative, the rebel movement began
to break up. Various armed groups moved over the landscape, vying
with each other for dominance, but united in their antagonism to the Spanish
government. Hidalgo and Allende were captured and executed in 1811,
but the rebellion had moved beyond its founders and had become general.
Pockets of permanent resistance were established in the far corners of
the country, particularly in the south, where things had always been "different."
Another priest, Jose Maria Morelos, took up where
Hidalgo had left off, providing a charismatic focus for the hopes of the
revolutionaries. He was not a bad tactician either, and he kept up
a "hot" war against the authorities until his army was broken in 1815,
the royal forces being led by a young officer named Augustin de Iturbide.
A few months later Morelos was captured and executed. With his passing,
the armed struggle died down except in isolated mountain regions in the
south.
Meanwhile, in Spain, the pot continued to boil.
The royalist provisional governments, juntas (italic), as they were called,
had been ruling their regions in the name of king Ferdinand. Napoleon was
holding Madrid. War was general. In 1812 the Spanish Cortes
constituted itself at Cadiz and produced a liberal constitution that was
proclaimed effective throughout the Spanish
empire. The viceroys of the colonies were instructed to put the
new document into effect immediately. Local elections were part of
the order.
In Mexico the prestige of Morelos was at its height.
The elections produced a heavy majority for independence, not quite what
the Cortes had in mind, but the Viceroy saw it coming, and, blaming the
exigencies of the rebellion, he suspended the constitution for the duration.
The fall of Napoleon in 1814 allowed the return
of Ferdinand to Madrid. He immediately annulled the 1812 constitution,
which suited the government in New Spain just fine, thankyou.
After 1815 and the demise of Morelos the colony
licked its wounds. Five years respite was granted before the next
turn of events. In 1820 a liberal revolution in Spain forced Ferdinand
to restore the 1812 constitution. In Mexico the conservatives, fearful
that the Viceroy might actually go along with this nonsense, began to plot
a coup, enlisting, among others, a hero of the struggle against the rebels,
the nemesis of Hidalgo, Augustin de Iturbide.
This cabal managed to keep its plans from its main
object, and the Viceroy, blissfully unaware, hired Iturbide to go to the
mountains outside of Acapulco and wipe out the forces of the revolutionary
Vicente Guerrero. Iturbide went, but instead of war he made a deal
with the rebel leader to declare independence.
A bold stroke, but how to bring it off? The
revolutionary aspects of the independence struggle had been at war with
the economic aspects, and the rights of man seemed to be fundamentally
opposed to the privileges of the upper classes and the church. Iturbide's
suggestion was to forget about all that. Everything would stay the
way it was, except Spain would be
removed from the picture. After all Mexico had been through,
the thought of not having to deal with any more nonsense from Madrid finally
seemed like a reasonable proposition. The proposal swept the country,
and independence finally became a fact in 1821.
COINAGE
Revolutionary disturbances inevitably produce changes
in the money, and the years of the Mexican war of independence fit the
mold, producing a cornucopia of local and emergency issues. Emergency
money was made by both sides, and though there are many pieces in the series
that are essentially impossible to obtain, several types are quite common,
and if you don't mind crudity, they can be a lot of fun to collect.
ROYALIST COINS
Let's start with the royalist issues. Mexico
City, the only mint for 300 years, remained in royalist hands until the
very end, and struck the normal Mexican coins in silver and gold up to
1821. Ferdinand's Mexican silver is neither more common nor less
so than that of his father, his gold is generally a bit more common.
The first few years of the Ferdinand coinage used an
imaginary bust which was an improvement on the genuine article.
These are not less common than the real bust coins, but they are more fun,
so there is added market pressure. There are proclamation "coins"
of 1808. Generally speaking, Ferdinand coins are a bit disdained
by the jewelry-and-promotional crowd - he looks too "19th-century" and
not enough "pirate."
The copper coinage of 1814-21 had an emergency aspect
to it. It's major purpose was to drive the multitude of private copper
tokens out of circulation. It failed in its purpose. All of
them are hard to find. The little ones are rare.
Mining towns had been petitioning Madrid to open
branch mints since the 17th century, but nothing was done until the rebellion.
At that point the lack of safe transit compelled the establishment of these
local operations.
At Chihuahua they started with a cast and countermarked
coin (pieces with cast-in countermarks are fakes), and later got some stamping
machinery. Neither type is very common.
Durango issued a rare provisional 8 reales in 1811
for "Nueva Vizcaya," followed by imitations of the normal colonial silver
coinage, and some coppers of unique design. 8 reales are not uncommon,
but minors are. The coppers turn up on occasion. They're very
unassuming pieces, and perhaps could be acquired at a discount, maybe the
dealer was unimpressed. (I speak
from experience.)
Guadalajara struck from 1812 through 1815, was closed,
then reopened in 1818 and 1821. It was the only branch mint authorised
to strike gold. 8 reales are not rare, most of the rest is.
Guanajuato struck 2 and 8 reales, neither particularly
common.
A mint was established at Sombrerete in 1810.
This was not an official operation, being supervised by the superintendent
of the mines, Fernando Vargas. He envisioned his emissions as of
a purely emergency nature, and to that end had them struck in his name,
rather than that of the king. His first products were 8 real blanks,
stamped with a dentilated border, and then
countermarked with 5 different punches. Issued in 1811 and 1812,
these are rare items, and popular subjects of fakery.
These oddball pieces were succeeded by a full silver denomination
set struck with complete dies. They are rare items, and odd.
What for example, is the meaning of the cipher "3" on both 8 and 4 real
pieces? Be on guard for fakes.
Zacatecas was the most prolific of the local mints.
The early type of this mint used the famous local mountains "El Grillo"
and "La Bufa," in place of the royal portrait. These uncommon coins
are usually horribly struck, and often come very worn. The local
type was replaced with the standard royal portrait by the end of 1811,
and many of the later date 2 and 8 real coins are really quite common.
Crudely cast coins were issued in 1812 in Oaxaca.
The coins are rare, counterfeits exist.
Small quantities of local coins were produced at
Real del Catorce, now in San Luis Potosi, Valladolid, and San Fernando
de Bexar. All are rare. Watch out for fakes.
INSURGENT COINS
According to Pradeau, construction of a mint began
within a few weeks of the conquest of Guanjuato, and evidently the machinery
was in operation in "no time." When the royalists retook the town
at the end of November, they sent the machinery back to the capital for
examination. The product of that mint was evidently standard royal
coinage of such perfection that it could not be distinguished from the
real stuff.
Expelled from Guanajuato, Hidalgo proceeded to Valladolid,
where he confiscated the silver collection of the local church, from which
he cast crude items, one of which is pictured in Pradeau. Current
opinion inclines to the view that Pradeau's specimen is a fake, and the
Valladolid issue is not to be found in the Standard Catalog.
The major insurgent issues were made by mobile mints
attached to Morelos and to the Supreme National Congress. Both made
extensive use of casting, and, more often than not, both issued copper
as an emergency substitute for silver. Horrible examples are the
norm. Morelos' "SUD" coins are common in copper, especially the 8
and 2 reales, though most of the silvers are fake. Congress coins
are mostly scarce and rare. A few oddball rarities from "Nueva Galicia,"
Puebla, and Veracruz round out the insurgent coinage.
There are a number of countermarked issues attributed
to royalists, and another batch by the insurgents. Some of these
can be found in the Standard Catalog. Many others are known, but
cannot be pinned down. Of course there are specimens known that bear
both royalist and insurgent marks; money knows no front lines. If
you want to collect these you need an equable temper and a sense of the
ridiculous. There are fakes and concoctions galore in the field of
Mexican
countermarks.