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An Andean Stoning: Francis As Alter Christus in Viceregal Santiago
An Andean Stoning: Francis As Alter Christus in Viceregal Santiago
An Andean Stoning: Francis As Alter Christus in Viceregal Santiago
Catherine Burdick
Figure 6.1 Unknown artist(s), The Stoning of Saint Francis, 1668–1684. Oil on canvas. Produced
in Cusco for the Church and Missionary Complex of San Francisco, Santiago de Chile.
Reproduced with permission of the Museo de Arte Colonial de San
Francisco.
1 For further information on this series see Gabriel Guarda, Barroco hispanoamericano en Chile:
vida de San Francisco de Asís pintada en el siglo XVII para el Convento Franciscano de Santiago
Assisi where, following his conversion in the wilderness, Francis has emerged
famished and unkempt only to face torment. Here, in a thirteenth-century
episode that brings to mind the brutal events of Christ’s final days, this saint
is encircled by a group of children from diverse social strata who have unit-
ed with the common goal of assaulting him. In the painting’s lower right, an
inscription reveals that his symbolic death-sentence is a puerile response to
the observed transgression of societal norms: the youth of Assisi, concluding
Francis to be stricken with madness for his tattered appearance, “ran after him
to throw stones and filth.”2 Yet Andean viewers of all backgrounds would have
recognized the baroque fountain in the plaza as a detail that restages the ston-
ing event within the era and region in which the work was created; similar
fountains are found in the main plazas of cities like Lima (Fig. 6.2).3 As I argue,
this painting exemplifies a southern Andean convention of drawing from
European models while layering local conceptions and innovations upon this
framework to render Christian suffering present and meaningful, especially for
indigenous audiences.
Figure 6.2
Fountain in main plaza, 1651. Lima, Peru.
Photograph by Catherine
Burdick.
(Santiago: Museo Colonial de San Francisco, 2002), esp. 24–25; Luis Mebold Könenkamp,
Catálogo de pintura colonial en Chile: Convento-Museo San Francisco, Santiago, vol. 1, ed. Jorge
Montoya Véliz (Santiago: Ediciones UC, 2010).
2 “juzgaron estar loco y los muchachos le corrieron tirándole piedras y lodo.”
3 A similar baroque fountain marks Lima’s main plaza in the painting, The Plaza Mayor in Lima
in 1680, 1680, currently in the Museo de América, Madrid. For the image, see <http://www
.mecd.gob.es/museodeamerica/coleccion/-ltimas-adquisiciones/plaza-mayor-lima.html>.
The subject of this hagiographic scene is not the violent act or its resulting
wound, but rather is Francis’s anticipation of physical pain. Not a rock or cob-
ble has been unleashed by these children in viceregal garb, and the tension
produced by raised arms and clenched fists dominates the picture. Of course,
the traditional parallel to the hagiography of Francis of Assisi is the crucifixion
of Christ, a martyrdom by which he is understood to have taken on the sum
of human suffering. In showing the instant before the action, the scene cap-
tures and underscores the human fallibility that guides the abuse to follow. In
conveying the moment that anticipates an unjust punishment, the indigenous
painter Basilio Santa Cruz Pumacallao and the members of his workshop have
opened an imaginative space into which indigenous viewers could insert simi-
larly undeserved personal trials.
Although Chilean audiences for this work included friars and parishioners
whose diverse backgrounds mirrored those of the rendered assailants, santi-
aguinos of European heritage often owned personal religious art collections
from which to derive inspiration for guiding their lives. Following the Tridentine
mandates about displaying images of Christ and the saints in Catholic institu-
tions, the public and semi-public religious spaces of Santiago were given over
to the display of iconography predominantly for those “new Christians” who
could not afford such luxuries of their own.4 It is important to point out here
the various roles that the indigenous members of the parish of the monastery
of San Francisco took on. They were not only participants in confraternities
and students of the school located behind the monastery, but also the build-
ers and even designers of its architecture. By meditating upon the painting of
Francis under attack, the indigenous community of San Francisco could envi-
sion their own trials as serving a higher good; such substitutions were impor-
tant for motivating conversion and demonstrating devotion.
Keeping in mind the particularly fluid character of syncretic iconography,
the present study treats The Stoning of St. Francis as a multivalent hagiographic
episode that is imbued with meanings derived from both the traditional nar-
rative introduced from Europe and local signification to render the Christian
broken body.5 It examines how, through its deployment of various doubled
meanings, Andean audiences experienced the narrative of anguish personally,
4 Isabel Cruz, Arte y sociedad en Chile, 1550–1650 (Santiago: Universidad Católica de Chile,
1986), 61.
5 As Roland Barthes has argued for images as well as texts, although their forms are fixed, the
cultural contexts that imbue them with meaning are “made of yielding, shapeless associa-
tions,” which ultimately render their interpretation open and unstable. Barthes, Mythologies,
trans. Annette Lavers (New York: Hill and Wang, 1972 [1957]), 119.
6 For an extended discussion of the composition of The Stoning of St. Francis, see Luis Mebold
Könenkamp, Catálogo de pintura colonial en Chile: obras en monasterios y conventos de religio-
sas de antigua fundación (Santiago: Ediciones Universidad Católica de Chile, 1987), 161.
the most potent themes of this campaign. In response to the Council of Trent
(1545–63), some European churches were even restaged so that laity could
meditate upon iconographies of the related Stations of the Cross, the events of
the day of Christ’s execution, arranged around the nave.7
In the southern Andes a different artistic approach was taken to the Passion
narrative, as cults to advocations of Christ in this region tended to be associat-
ed with a single episode: the Crucifixion.8 Here, narrative cycles of the Passion
were often abbreviated or emphasized the peak event on the cross, and includ-
ed settings and figures that were recognizably Andean.9 A Jesuit report of 1696
from what is now northern Bolivia, demonstrates how crucifixion iconography
substituted for the entire weight of Christ’s Passion for indigenous audiences
at the Church of Our Lady of Loreto. As the text describes, “on the side altar, an
image of the crucified Christ was placed in the middle of a retablo, [and] in this
Chapel the Mass of the Passion was said every Friday, which was attended by
nearly the entire town, who immediately encountered the image.…”10 A local
choir accompanied this mass, chanting the moving Miserere mei, Deus (Have
mercy on me, O God). By tradition, the Tenebrae service, which this haunting
musical piece accompanied, initiated at dusk, and during the course of the
7 The Church of S. Croce in Florence is one such example. Marcia B. Hall, “Introduction,” in
The Sensuous in the Counter-Reformation Church, ed. Marcia B. Hall and Tracy E. Cooper
(New York: Cambridge UP, 2013), 3.
8 The Andean cultural regions can be broadly divided into a northern area, which includes
Ecuador and Colombia, and the southern Andes, which is comprised of the current na-
tions of Chile, Peru, and Bolivia and the western extremes of Argentina, and includes
both Cusco and Santiago. For more on the southern Andes and the Crucifixion, see Maya
Stanfield-Mazzi, Object and Apparition: Envisioning the Christian Divine in the Colonial
Andes (Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 2013), 34; Cruz, Arte y sociedad, 77. For a
comprehensive study of the Crucifixion iconography produced in the viceregal Spanish
Americas, see Héctor H. Schenone, Iconografía del arte colonial: Jesucristo (Buenos Aires:
Edición Tarea, 1998), 285–332. The situation for iconographies of the Passion were appar-
ently quite different in New Spain, where its full narrative was more frequently conveyed
in church and monastic mural cycles, for instance, at the Convent of San Juan Teitipac,
Oaxaca.
9 Such is the case for a series of five existent paintings in the Museo Colonial de San
Francisco in Santiago attributed to the Ayacucho School, in which the Crucifixion scene
is nearly three times larger than the other canvases.
10 “En el (altar) Colateral, se ha puesto en medio de su retablo la Imagen de Christo
Crucificado, en cuya Capilla se dice todos los Viernes la Missa de Passión, a que acude
casi todo el Pueblo, y se descubre la Imagen al principio….” Diego de Eguiluz, Relación de
la Misión apostólica de los Moxos de esta Provincia del Perú de la Compañía de Jesús (Lima:
Impr. del Universo, de C. Prince, 1696), 19.
11 Susan Verdi Webster, “Native Brotherhoods and Visual Culture in Colonial Quito: The
Confraternity of the Rosary,” in Faith’s Boundaries: Laity and Clergy in Early Modern
Confraternities, ed. Nicholas Terpstra, Adriano Prosperi, and Stefania Pastore (Turnhout,
Belgium: Brepols Publishers, 2012), 287, 289.
12 Of the painted versions of the Crucifixion undertaken in the southern Andes, one that
veered cautiously from European prototypes was the celebrated Lord of the Earthquakes,
which featured the statue of the patron of Cusco in a knee-length lace “skirt” together
with the altar in the Cusco Cathedral where it was kept.
13 Felipe Cossío del Pomar, Peruvian Colonial Art: The Cuzco School of Painting (New York:
Wittenborn and Co., 1964), 53.
Figure 6.3 Albrecht Dürer, Christ Nailed to the Cross, 1511. Woodcut on laid
paper.
Image in the public domain, photograph provided
by the Brooklyn Museum.
paintings, but also to adopt the pedantic concerns expressed in Spanish artis-
tic treatises.14
14 For instance, Francisco Pacheco and Juan Interián de Ayala both gave particular attention
in their treatises to the precise number of nails used to fasten Christ to the cross. Pacheco,
Arte de la pintura: extractado y enriquecido con un tratado nuevo para saber limpiar y res-
taurar las pinturas sobre lienzo, madera, cobre, piedra, por Mariano de la Roca y Delgado
(Madrid: J. Cruzado, 1871 [1649]), 91–93; Interián de Ayala, El pintor Christiano, y erudito, ó
Tratado de los errores que sueles cometerse … (Madrid: D. Joachin Ibarra, 1782), 1:14–15.
During the second half of the seventeenth century, indigenous and mestizo
workshops in Cusco, as well as at other centers such as Potosí and Arequipa,
were proudly developing regional styles that relied upon a certain laxity on
the part of local Church officials. The Cusco School of painting, arguably the
most well-known of these workshops, was comprised of indigenous and per-
haps mestizo artists who specialized in Catholic iconography. This group flour-
ished particularly during the second half of the seventeenth century and into
the eighteenth century. The arrival to Cusco of art collector and patron Bishop
Manuel de Mollinedo y Angulo in 1673 provided Castilian prototypes and fi-
nancing for many local painters, including Basilio Santa Cruz. Cusco School
painters revised European “standards” by relocating biblical scenes within
Andean settings and drawing attention to the diverse ethnicities and social
classes that comprised viceregal society.15 These iconographies embedded pre-
conquest religious conceptions, even under the noses of officials who did not
always comprehend their full significance.16 As Francisco Stastsny has pointed
out, artistic expression had a broad impact on indigenous lives, offering eco-
nomic independence and social advancement that were more difficult to at-
tain through other professions.17 Moreover, in 1688 the indigenous members of
the Cusco School and the local Spanish-led painting guild formally separated,
a significant event which lessened indigenous reliance upon European sources
and stimulated a wide local repertoire enhanced with new stylistic choices.
These factors contributed to the reproduction and commercialization of im-
ages the life of Francis of Assisi by the Cusco School of painting in at least four
cycles, each of which includes a version of The Stoning of St. Francis, as well as
their distribution throughout the viceroyalty of Peru.18
15 The series on the life of St. Francis does not display the accentuated flatness or applica-
tion of gold leaf (brocateado) that characterized other paintings of the Cusco school.
16 Carolyn S. Dean, “The Renewal of Old World Images and the Creation of Colonial
Peruvian Visual Culture,” in Converging Cultures: Art and Identity in Spanish America, ed.
Diane Fane (New York: Harry N. Abrams, 1996),” 177–179.
17 Francisco Stastny, “La pintura en el Perú colonial,” in Barroco iberoamericano: de los Andes
a las Pampas, ed. Ramón Gutiérrez (Milan: Editoriale Jaca Book SpA, 1997), 116–17.
18 Mebold Könenkamp, Catálogo de pintura colonial en Chile (1987), 242.
19 “(la imagen católica) tenía un sumo afecto … se persuadía … ayudaban muchísimo a ex-
citar, y encender la devoción….” Jacobo Benigno Bossuet, Historia de las variaciones de las
Iglesias protestantes y exposición de la doctrina de la Iglesia Católica, sobre los puntos de
controversia (Madrid: Andrés Ortega, 1765), 21.
20 The proposed relevance in this study of The Stoning of St. Francis as an Andean mirror
of the Passion resonates with Susan Verdi Webster’s assertion that an understanding of
Catholic iconography must take in account the central place of the art object in ritual.
Webster, Art and Ritual in Golden-Age Spain: Sevillian Confraternities and the Processional
Sculpture of Holy Week (Princeton: Princeton UP, 1989).
21 “hazer (sic) otras demonstraciones de dolor, y sentimiento … que parece una persona
viva….” Alonso de Ovalle, Histórica relación del reyno de Chile, y de las missiones, y ministe-
rios que exercita en la Compañía de Iesús (Rome: Francesco Cavalli, 1646), 167.
22 “se ordena la Procesión por la Plaza … en un silencio, y una compostura tan grande, que
no se oye una palabra, sino las azotes de un crecido número de penitentes de sangre….”
Eguiluz, Relación, 62.
as to his motivations. The youth’s response points to the power of images of re-
ligious suffering to solicit empathy and repentant self-mortification: “Because
the others were not thinking as I was, upon their sins, while I was meditating
on the Passion of our Lord, and on hell, for mercy on my sins, so I tightened my
grip.”23 We might imagine similar responses, if less emotive, in front of Francis
under attack in The Stoning of St. Francis.24
Even prior to commissioning the St. Francis cycle from the workshop of
Basilio Santa Cruz, the monastery of San Francisco in Santiago maintained ico-
nographies that drew visual parallels between its namesake and that of Christ.
According to a mid-seventeenth-century description by Ovalle, this extensive
monastery was a veritable city that displayed a series on the life of St. Francis
together with depictions of the “steps” of Christ’s final days along the inner
walls of its cloister patios.25 Currently, the remnants of a colonial-era mural
showing the Flagellation of Christ are all that remain of what may have been
the aforementioned Passion series. What is noteworthy in this viceregal ac-
count, in addition to an atypical Andean mural series showing the last days of
Christ, is the observed juxtaposition of these two lives, arranged as if to draw
clear comparisons between their trials.
The relevance of an Andean artistic model of endurance for indigenous
viewers cannot be overstated. This is because although daily existence in the
viceroyalty of Peru was generally precarious, indigenous life here under the
thumb of Spanish rule was, at its very essence, characterized by suffering. As
noted by Isabel Cruz, the historical context of indigenous domination was cer-
tainly a reason to take refuge in religion as an escape from the suffering of this
23 “Porque los otros no pensaban como yo en sus pecados, yo meditaba la Pasión de nuestro
Señor, y en el infierno, que merecía por mis culpas, y así apretaba la mano.” Ibid., 63.
24 No known records convey specifically where or how the series of 53 paintings on the life
of St. Francis was displayed in the Convento de San Francisco in Santiago during the colo-
nial era. It is likely, however, that they hung on the corridors that wrap around the cloister
patios. A similar series in Lima was displayed in this manner during the colonial era, and
descriptions and photographs of the Convento in Santiago from c. 1900 indicate that in
this era the St. Francis series was hung in open air, initiating near the entrance and con-
tinuing, as one enters the first patio, to the right. Gabriel Guarda, “Prólogo: Los Mensajes
Espirituales de la pintura cuzqueña,” in Mebold Könenkamp, Catálogo de pintura, 1:21–22;
Juan Ramón Rovegno, La casa de Fray Pedro de Bardeci: el Convento de San Francisco,
Santiago de Chile (Santiago: Alameda, 2009), 83–84.
25 “El convento de San Francisco podemos decir que es una ciudad … tiene dos claustros …
el segundo … de muy devota pintura de la vida del glorioso santo, careada con los passos
de la de dechado Christo señor nuestro….” de Ovalle, Histórica, 155.
world, and as part of this relief, to engage with “lacerating Catholic images.”26
When King Ferdinand of Aragón and his daughter, Queen Juana, claimed it
their duty to subdue and Christianize all barbarous nations in 1513, they paved
the way for a colonial world in which Catholic doctrine was at times dispersed
and enforced using malicious subjection. Ironically, it was religious iconogra-
phy that modeled how the native individual should endure such abuses, in-
formed and guided by an inner spiritual paciencia (patience) that bars external
pain from penetrating the inner self.27 The necessity for such an inner strength
is found in the abuses outlined by the indigenous writer Felipe Guamán Poma
de Ayala in his illustrated text to Philip III of c. 1615. Here, he included a lengthy
appeal against those priests who, in violation of royal laws and colonial ordi-
nances, subjected “new Christians” to appalling violations that included their
imprisonment and singeing them with candles.28
Yet from the vantage point of the Spaniards, harsh treatment of indigenous
converts was often considered indispensable to both the moral and economic
development of Andean society. Catholic authorities often presumed that it
was in the best interest of natives to be harshly subjugated, as they could then
be indoctrinated; this way they were “taught in the faith, and all would accept
it.”29 Much like children, Andeans were considered to be formative humans,
and a firm hand was understood to be necessary for their development of rea-
son and acceptance of Christianity. But grim acts upon Andeans were not con-
fined to the institution of religion, as under the Spanish encomienda system
natives were subjected to resettlement and forced labor on agricultural lands
and mines under conditions that were often fatal.30 In 1649, the Archbishop of
26 “de su situación histórica de pueblo dominado se vertió, sin duda, en las lacerantes imá-
genes católicas.” Cruz, Arte y sociedad, 36.
27 Miles Richardson, Marta Eugenia Pardo, and Barbara Bode, “The Image of Christ in
Spanish America as a Model for Suffering: An Explanatory Note,” Journal of Interamerican
Studies and World Affairs 13, no. 2 (1971): 247–48.
28 Felipe Guamán Poma de Ayala, “Felipe Guamán Poma de Ayala’s Appeal Concerning the
Priests, Peru,” in Colonial Latin America: A Documentary History, ed. Kenneth Mills et al.
(Wilmington, DE: Scholarly Resources Inc., 2002), 173–84.
29 Álvaro Jara, Guerra y sociedad en Chile (Santiago: Editorial Universitaria, 1971), 94, 188.
30 Under the Spanish encomienda system, which adapted the Inka structure for exacting
tribute from its subjects, indigenous peoples were obligated to pay taxes in the form of
labor or gold to conquistadors and other leaders. Jeremy Ravi Mumford, Vertical Empire:
The General Resettlement of Indians in the Colonial Andes (Durham: Duke UP, 2012),
esp. 143–56; Teresa Gisbert, “Potosí: Urbanism, Architecture, and the Sacred Image of
the Environment,” in Potosí: Colonial Treasures and the Bolivian City of Silver, ed. Pedro
Querejazu and Elizabeth Ferrer (New York: Americas Society Art Gallery, 1997), 30–32.
31 “no se puede negar que los mineros, los obrageros, chacaneadores, o tragenadores, y
los chacareros, y estancieros se valen tiránicamente … trabajo de los Indios.” Pedro de
Villagómez, Carta pastoral de exhortación e instrucción contra las idolatrías de los Indios
del Arzobispado de Lima (Lima: Jorge López de Herrera, 1649), ch. 24, n.p.
32 “no les dejan tiempo, ni lugar para poderse doctrinados….” Ibid.
33 Cruz, Arte y sociedad, 76; Esther Cohen, “The Animated Pain of the Body,” AHR 105, no. 1
(2000): 36–68.
34 For more on the life of Francis of Assisi, see Donald Spoto, Reluctant Saint: The Life of
Francis of Assisi (New York: Penguin Compass, 2002); Marion A. Habig, The Life of Saint
Francis: Writings and Early Biographies: English Omnibus of the Sources for the Life of Saint
Francis (Chicago: Franciscan Herald Press, 1983).
As various authors have expressed, much of the religious art in the Christian
tradition employs saintly martyrdom and physical anguish to provoke emo-
tional reactions and sympathy, thereby drawing parallels with the Passion of
Christ as a call to contrition.35 Such images have been interpreted as part of
a “necessary” and “proper” reflection of Christ’s sacrifice that transforms the
most shameful and horrific trials into remarkable acts deserving eternal merit,
and even legitimized “genuine” saints.36 Certainly brutal acts in religious ico-
nography have long fueled collective responses, and in the Andes, courageous
images of saintly suffering were central to the spread of Christianity. This was
particularly true among the poor and disenfranchised members of the con-
verted indigenous population, all of whom would have been undoubtedly
drawn to the poverty and physical pain of the suffering Francis as a means to
eternal reward.37
The Stoning of St. Francis, influenced in part by European images of mar-
tyrdom, offers a novel twist to the common hagiography of this saint by fore-
grounding his imminent torment.38 Andean viewers would have recognized
the conflations of episodes from Assisi and Calvary that were staged in an
Andean plaza: Francis, at the fountain, as an alternate Christ as he neared the
moment of his death on the cross. In considering the ways that The Stoning of
St. Francis reflects a particularly Christian approach to knowing pain, the role
of Francis as a mirror of Christ is central. The biblical foundation for imitatio
Christi is located in Matthew 10: “If any man would come after me, let him
deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow me” (verse 38). As if in response
35 These themes are considered within this anthology in Graham, “Compassionate
Suffering”; Weller, “Pain and Pathos”; Ortega, “Hagiographical Misery and the Liminal
Witness”; Melion, “Eyes Enlivened”; Kilroy-Ewbank, “Love Hurts”; Burdette, “Reparations
for Christ Our Lord”; Hunt, “Empathetic Wounds.”
36 John R. Decker, “Introduction: Spectacular Unmaking: Creative Destruction, Destructive
Creativity,” in Death, Torture and the Broken Body in European Art, 1500–1650, ed. John R.
Decker and Mitzi Kirkland Ives (Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2015), 1–2; Esther Cohen, The
Modulated Scream: Pain in Late Medieval Culture (Chicago: University of Chicago Press,
2010), 131.
37 Michael Schwartz, “Bodies of Self-Transcendence: The Spirit of Affect in Giotto and Piero,”
in Representing Emotions: New Connections in the Histories of Art, Music, and Medicine, ed.
Penelope Gouk and Helen Hills (Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2005), 69–88; Judith Perkins,
The Suffering Self: Pain and Narrative Representation in the Early Christian Era (London:
Routledge, 1995), 8–9; Gerald L. Sittser and Eugene H. Peterson, Water from a Deep Well:
Christian Spirituality from Early Martyrs to Modern Missionaries (Downers Grove, IL: IVP
Books, 2007), 27–28.
38 Mebold Könenkamp, Catálogo de pintura, 1:160–63.
While Bonaventure and other biographers directly linked the mocking and
stoning of Francis with the mocking and stoning of Christ, the rare representa-
tion of young stone-throwers foregrounded in The Stoning of St. Francis is an
Andean reinterpretation of the youthful figures present along the via crucis.
Luke 32 describes Christ on the road to Calvary as consoling the women who
followed him, saying: “Daughters of Jerusalem, do not weep for me, but weep
for yourself and for your children, they know not what they do” (verse 28).
While this passage offers a context for the presence of children in such scenes,
their violent actions can be located in late thirteenth- and fourteenth-century
Italian images, most of which are Franciscan. As Amy Neff has rigorously docu-
mented in such representations, among the crowds that followed the events
along the via crucis, youngsters preparing to attack Christ with stones were
inserted into peripheral areas of compositions.41
Such “wicked children” threaten to barrage Christ in a fifteenth-century paint-
ing from Siena by Giovanni di Paolo (Fig. 6.4) and a menacing brat carries a
39 Henk Van Os, “Saint Francis of Assisi as a Second Christ in Early Italian Painting,”
Netherlands Quarterly for the History of Art 7, no. 3 (1974): 115.
40 Miguel Ángel Lavilla Martín, “El Naturae Prodigium Gratiae Portentum de Pedro de
Alva y Astorga, una colección franciscana barroca,” in Sanctus Evangelium observare:
saggi in onore di Martino Conti, ed. Marco Nobile and Lluís Oviedo (Rome: Pontificium
Athenaeum Antonianum, 2003), 211–46.
41 Amy Neff, “Wicked Children on Calvary and the Baldness of St. Francis,” Mitteilungen des
Kunsthistorischen Institutes in Florenz 34, no. 3 (1990): 215–44.
Figure 6.4 Giovanni di Paolo, Christ on the Way to Calvary, 1426. Tempera and gold leaf on
panel. Siena, Italy.
Image in the public domain, photograph provided by The Walters
Art Museum.
42 Ibid., 215. Other examples of “wicked children” stoning Christ include a fresco at the
Church of the S. Maria Donnaregina in Naples and a painting by Simone Martini of Christ
carrying the Cross that once formed part of a private devotional retablo (Louvre INV.
670 bis).
Figure 6.5 Giotto di Bondone, St. Francis Renouncing his Worldly Goods, 1325. Fresco. Bardi
Chapel, Santa Croce, Florence, Italy.
Image in the public domain, photograph provided by Scala
Archives.
version of The Stoning of St. Francis. According to this text, following Francis’s
period of prayer and conversion in the wilderness, he returned to Assisi in
much the same way that Christ arrived to Calvary. When the townspeople saw
“his haggard looks and the change which had come over him, they thought
he had gone mad, and they threw stones and mud from the street, shouting
insults after him as if he were a lunatic. But Francis was deaf to it all and no
insult could break or change him.”43 Prior to Bonaventure, Thomas of Celano
had also commented in his biography, Tractatus de Miraculis (1250–1253), on
the events that occurred upon Francis’s return to Assisi: “all who knew him,
comparing what he had been with what he now was, began to revile him mis-
erably; they cried out on him as distraught and demented, and pelted him
with mire and stones. They saw that he was changed from his former ways and
greatly worn by maceration of the flesh, and therefore they set down all he
did to his privations and to madness.”44 These passages, although they do not
mention children directly, highlight the ridicule Francis received upon his re-
turn. Artistic representations, however, do include peripheral children among
Francis’s tormentors, as noted above.
The conventional adaptation of Christ’s tiny tormentors along the via crucis
for parallel scenes in Andean images of festivals and saints is found in other
Cusco School paintings. For instance, a cycle presenting Cusco’s Corpus Christi
procession harnesses mischievous children to infuse the festival scene with
anecdotal charm. Produced between 1674 and 1680 for the parish church of
Santa Ana, the series features a mitigated variation on stoning and youthful
rascality; one boy aims a peashooter at bystanders, while another attempts to
catch a ride on the back of a processional cart.45 Such depictions of “wicked
children” in southern Andean artworks offer spectators a mirror of local soci-
ety and convey humanistic details from daily life. This point returns us to the
case of The Stoning of St. Francis, in which the multi-racial offenders and their
varied costuming points to the ethnic and socio-economic diversity of many
Andean viceregal towns.
Directly binding the stoning at Assisi to the narrative of Christ’s final days,
youths in the Santiago painting bear the arma Christi, the weapons used during
the Passion, and hence take on the specific roles of the characters present at the
crucifixion who eased or provoked Christ’s pain.46 The aforementioned child
who points a stick toward Francis substitutes for the centurion Longinus, who
pierced Christ’s side with his spear. In the foreground, the well-to-do youth in
pink finery holds a cloth (in an earlier series this item is a hat), and may be the
counterpart to Stephaton, the bearer of the vinegar sponge offered to Christ.
These small figures simultaneously imbed the scene within European artistic
and religious contexts, while also reflecting viceregal culture, thereby setting the
groundwork for a multivalent reading of the parallel trials of Francis and Christ.
In a sense, the foregrounding of young stone-throwers also signifies the per-
ceived “childlike” character of native Andeans in a coded reference adapted
from parallel characterizations in Christian tradition. In this visual trope, the
45 Barbara H. Jaye and William P. Mitchell, “The Iconography of Audience in the Cuzco
Corpus Christi Paintings,” Comparative Drama 25, no. 1 (1991): 100; Carolyn S. Dean,
“Cuzco’s Corpus Christi Paintings: A Festive Community Portrait,” Review: Literature and
Arts of the Americas 24, no. 43 (1990): 47–48. This series pertains to the collection of the
Religious Museum at the Archbishop’s Palace, Cusco.
46 Equivalent figures of children as stand-ins for Stephaton and Longinus in Italian art are
described in Margaret Flansburg, “E Riluttante Ragazzotti: Youths as Hesitant Participants
in the Crucifixion,” in The Early Modern Child in Art and History, ed. Matthew Knox Averett
(New York: Routledge, 2016), 49–66.
children on the road to Calvary stand in for the Jews, who were described
as “foolish children” for their “inability” to recognize Christ as their savior.47
Hence, in Andean representations of Francis’s entrance into Assisi, “wicked
youths” embody the reapplication of perceived Jewish “underdevelopment”
onto the indigenous population. Yet they also adapt a position forwarded by
Spanish theologian Juan Ginés de Sepúlveda, who, in his text of 1550 titled A
Second Democritus: On the Just Causes of the War with the Indians, framed Native
Americans as lesser beings.48 Borrowing from Aristotle’s “Theory of Natural
Slavery” set forth in Book I of Politics, Sepúlveda asserted that the asymmetri-
cal power relationships between Europeans and indigenous Americans, which
set the stage for native persecution and bondage, were not only natural, but
desirable and necessary in order to set the groundwork for effective civilization
and evangelization.49 Sepúlveda’s position is echoed in a 1567 treatise titled
Government of Peru, which maintained that indigenous Andeans were timid
and gullible, simple and naturally born to serve, and blank slates upon which
one could impose any doctrine or teaching.50
Belief systems were not the only European models for Andean depictions of
saintly suffering, as imported prints and paintings also operated as frameworks
for the cultivation of local styles. The engravings by Philippe Galle published in
his Seraphici Francisci (1587) are believed to have served as primary sources for
much of the painted cycles on the life of St. Francis dispersed throughout the
viceroyalty of Peru.51 Notably, however, a model for The Stoning of St. Francis
does not appear in Galle’s series, and this is unsurprising given the rarity of the
“wicked children” theme in European iconography more generally.52 While the
Santiago painting may be based in part upon an engraving by Raphael Sadeler
of 1599 that depicts Francis’s reception of the stigmata, his pose as well as the
striding stone throwers were likely informed by sixteenth-century engravings
showing the stoning of the elders and of St. Stephen by Hans and Adrianne
Collaert and Crispijn van de Passe (Fig. 6.6). Such probable conflations of mul-
tiple sources within singular paintings reveal the fluidity with which Cusco
School painters integrated diverse sources in their formulation of multivalent
Andean models of endurance.
As The Stoning of St. Francis was imbued with localizations that, according to
Carolyn Dean, were “renewed by Andean patronage and Andean usage,” its
iconography was divested with different, even contradictory, meanings.53 In
viewing this depiction of Francis’s torment, one must keep in mind the central-
ity of stone in Andean culture and spirituality, a fact that suggests that indig-
enous audiences may have interpreted the scene in more ways that broke from
the traditional hagiography of this saint. The primacy of stone was a pillar of
Inka sacred systems that persisted at least into the sixteenth century, and prob-
ably long afterward.54 Their empire, Tawantinsuyu, was primarily constructed
of stone, and worked walls, buildings, and roads signify the greatest techno-
logical feats of the Andean past (Fig. 6.7).55
The relevance of this material in all sizes and forms also carried a strong
pre-conquest religious component. Best-known are the wakas, or the boulders
and outcrops that comprised the conceptual sacred landscape, while smaller
instances also took on sacred roles.56 Included among them are canopas, or
votive containers, and the treasured illas, a category of amulets comprised of
bezoars and small-scale pre-Hispanic figurines that are considered to impart
fortune to their owners.57 In addition to these, some rocks were even revered
Figure 6.6 Crispijn van de Passe (I), after Maerten de Vos, Stoning of the Elders, 1574–1637. Engraving.
Burdick
Figure 6.7 Inka stonework at Sacsayhuaman, expansion begun in fifteenth century. Cusco, Peru.
Photograph by Catherine Burdick.
by the Inka as sacred deities that had petrified, and as such were understood to
be embodied with divine force.58
The continued reverence of stone in the post-conquest southern Andes is
reflected in the writing of the Peruvian Augustinian Alonso Ramos Gavilán,
who in 1621 described Christ as a “stone without feet or hands.”59 This char-
acterization is key, as it both framed Christ as a local deity and referred to the
immobilization of his limbs during the Crucifixion event, thereby articulat-
ing Andean sacred tradition within the Christian divine. Yet it also points to
Christ’s role as a suffering victim by calling attention to his vulnerability at the
hands of the Romans.60 As this passage suggests, despite Counter-Reformation
efforts, native conceptions of stone were never thoroughly extirpated, but
rather were folded into a syncretic version of Andean Catholicism. For artists
of indigenous ancestry working in the former Inka capital, an image of chil-
dren wielding stones would have inevitably brought to mind the role of this
material as emblematic of Christ himself, and may have even informed a local
reading of Francis’s pain as a reflection of the Passion.
Although stone was perceived in pre- and post-conquest tradition as both
sentient and infused with spiritual essence, its vitality could wane without
proper attention, which included ritual adornment in miniature clothing and
offerings. In 1582, Cristóbal de Albornoz noted in his list of southern Andean
wakas that several were small enough to “wear” garments: “Uscovilca…. Is a
stone in the form of a dressed indian,” and “Chuchuranac…. Was a dressed
Stone….”61
By this time, Catholic authorities had correctly interpreted the relevance of
such rocks for indigenous spirituality and during the First Provincial Council
Figure 6.8
Pedro Cieza de León, “Indians
worshipping a stone as a god,”
from Crónica general del Perú,
1553, fol. 63r.
Image in the public
domain, photograph
provided by the Library of
Congress.
61 “Uscovilca…. Es una piedra a manera de indio vestido…. Chuchuranac…. Era una pie-
dra vestida….” Pierre Duviols, “Un inédit de Cristobal de Albornoz: La instrucción para
descubrir todas las guacas del Pirú y sus camayos y haciendas,” Journal de la Société des
Américanistes 56, no. 1 (1967): 28.
of Lima of 1551–2 had deemed their reverence and spiritual upkeep as idola-
trous (Fig. 6.8). This Council, which enforced the tenets of the Council of Trent
and reframed them for the specific context of the viceroyalty of Peru, ironically
emphasized a causal relationship between such false deification and physical
torment. Following its mandates, indigenous converts were to be instructed
that because their ancestors had unwittingly “adored … the sun and the rocks,
they now reside in some place of great pain.”62
A divergent material reading of The Stoning of St. Francis is informed by
modern-day rituals undertaken from Cusco that function to “recharge” stone
figures of Christ. From this vantage point, those viewers familiar with the na-
tive past might conclude that, in this painting, stones are not agents of torture
after all, but are held aloft in proximity of Francis alter Christus to offer him
succor or to rejuvenate him. In current Quechuan and Aymaran Catholicism,
miniature sculptures of the crucified Christ termed taytachas (little fathers)
are thought to retain a community’s well-being, and are annually “revitalized”
during the festival of Qoyllur Rit’i. Devotees carry these sculptures up nearby
peaks, where the ritual culminates in their proximity with a Crucifixion image
housed in a mountaintop shrine. As a component of this festival, chunks of
pure glacial ice, an alternative form of stone considered to represent both the
blood of Christ and the blood of the mountain from which they are collected,
are transported by hand to Cusco and distributed in the main plaza as sacred
water.63 As this syncretic practice demonstrates, because the overriding reli-
gious conceptions of stones in Andean tradition imbue them with vital forces,
they are understood to influence the well-being of those devoted to their care.
In such readings, it is not Christianity that offers a model for withstanding the
suffering of conquest and conversion, rather it is the sacred beliefs and ma-
terial practices of the pre-Hispanic past which are held forth as remedies. In
raising their rocks and cobbles in the presence of Francis in an Andean plaza,
these children reenact rituals that predate the arrival of Christianity in the
southern Andes and revitalize fragile figures of flesh or stone.
62 “todos sus antepasados y señores, porque no conocieron a Dios ni le adoraban, sino al sol y a
los piedras … están ahora en aquel lugar con gran pen.” First Council of Lima, “Instructions
for teaching doctrine to indians,” in Rubén Vargas Ugarte, Concilios Limenses (1551–1772),
3 vols. (Lima: Tipografía Peruana, 1951), 1:29.
63 Vicente Revilla, “Qoyllur Rit’i: In Search of the Lord of the Snow Star,” Society 38, no. 3
(2001): 55–59.
Conclusion
Ultimately, images of the broken body in the viceregal southern Andean world
reverberated with doubled origins and significations in order to frame suffer-
ing as self-sacrifice for the greater good for “new Christian” audiences. The
particular case of The Stoning of St. Francis drew upon traditional parallels
between Francis and Christ, while staging the life of Francis in the familiar
Andean sphere. Enjoying the relative freedoms that such saintly iconogra-
phies afforded indigenous artists, unlike more rigorously controlled scenes of
the Passion of Christ, the workshop of Basilio Santa Cruz took up the extraor-
dinary task of conveying physical torment as a syncretic theme. Here, indig-
enous artists were inspired to highlight a focal material of the indigenous past,
perhaps even setting forth an alternate reading in which the true character of
stone is dependent upon its audience; for the indigenous onlooker, the weap-
on is reinterpreted in divine form, and held aloft as a remedy for anguish. Of
course, many Andeans would have seen in the painting a doubled example for
conducting their arduous lives: one that presented the cross as emblem of sac-
rifice and eternal salvation, and a second that engaged with past conceptions
of stone to ease the viceregal present. It is perhaps the persistence of the indig-
enous sacred tradition through artistic innovation which helped to integrate
the diverse colonial Andean sphere by providing a highly flexible and nuanced
model of perseverance.
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