Portugal of the Portuguese

by Aubrey F. G. Bell

Attitude to Foreigners.

Unhappily the Portuguese delicacy often meets with rougher manners in foreigners and shrinks as from a rebuff. The Portuguese himself is excessively sensitive and he will go out of his way and sacrifice his own comfort and indolence in order not to hurt the feelings of others, perhaps in some trifling matter of which the person thus contemplated, especially if he is a foreigner, remains serenely unaware. The Portuguese do not know how to treat foreigners. This may seem a strange statement to those who have visited Portugal and experienced the kindness and courtesy of high and low on all sides. But they make too great a difference between themselves and foreigners, and have an almost morbid desire to stand well in the eyes of the stranger, to appear civilised and bien élevés. On one occasion when a spirited affray was proceeding in the Rocio of Lisbon, and several persons were killed and wounded, a Portuguese spectator did not seem in the least concerned by the fact that men were being shot down, but much concerned that it should be witnessed by foreigners. “A nice thing for foreigners to see,” was all he said. Outwardly he pays too much deference to the foreigner, and one cannot help suspecting that all the time he is aware of his own greater delicacy and of the poor foreigner’s ill manners. Being self-conscious and susceptible and, moreover, himself intimately persuaded that Portugal is a backward country unworthy of Paris or London’s civilisation, he does not conceive that the foreigner may be making comparisons favourable to the country he is visiting, but easily imagines that he is slighting or smiling at him and his customs. His own love of satire and ridicule which is apt to paralyse his private initiative and political action, makes him prone to suspect ridicule in others. He will then brood silently over his offended feelings, and nurse his susceptibilities till they have vent in one of those sudden outbreaks not unknown to quiet natures. But the Portuguese, despite his exaggerated politeness towards the stranger in his land, and a very real and hospitable wish to be of help to him, does not love foreigners. A Spanish writer in the seventeenth century, Vicente Espinel, described the Portuguese as “gente idólatra de si propria, que no estima en nada el resto del mundo.” If he despised foreigners then, it is scarcely to be wondered at if he should dislike or distrust them now. Vast colonies and the lordship of the sea, which were once Portugal’s, are now in the hands of other nations, and she never forgets this. She considers herself to be, like the fallen Napoleon, at once “conqueror and captive of the earth.” Were Germany mistress of the seas, and London fallen from its high estate to a provincial destiny, the English would probably feel some bitterness towards not only their German conquerors but all foreigners.

Dream of Vanished Splendour.

And if the Portuguese does not easily forget that Portugal was once the greatest empire in Europe, he considers that other nations forget it too often. It may be that other nations sometimes do not allow sufficiently for the fact that without pioneer Portugal their own empires had been less easy of acquisition, but it would certainly be to Portugal’s advantage were she herself to forget it occasionally. Under modern conditions it is of little use for a penniless person to dwell on the fact that his ancestors possessed vast estates: he must make the best of his present poverty, and, if he has some estates left which cost him more than they bring in, he will think no shame to sell part in order to be able to administer the rest—always provided he can find a purchaser. But the majority of Portuguese reject indignantly the idea of parting with an inch of their Indian or African possessions. Rather their thoughts run to extending their territory, to the construction of a fleet, or the conquest of Spain. Even the idea of a general subscription among the whole population is not unknown, with a view to securing one or more of these objects. Dr. Affonso Costa knew his countrymen well when he promised them a large surplus, to be employed in building a fleet. Such is the great but misguided patriotism of the Portuguese people, while the interests and well-being of Portugal itself, which only needs proper development to become a flourishing country, are overlooked. They dream of high-flown projects and the work immediately to hand is—postponed. The Portuguese people is not really indifferent, or at least its indifference is confined to the play of party politics in Lisbon. In the fall and rise of a ministry, in the debates of Parliament or in the elections, the interest of the country at large is of the slightest. The expectations of the people have been too frequently disappointed for it to set great store now by political promises, but the Portuguese have a real love of their country for which they are willing to sacrifice much—everything, it sometimes seems, except personal vanity and party intrigues.

Forms of Address.

Another apparent inconsistency is the democratic feeling which, in private life, prevails in Portugal to a greater degree than perhaps in any other country, social distinctions being often ignored there, not only by those who are not distinguished but by those who are, to an extent that would be utterly impossible in England. For this democratic usage has to be reconciled with the widespread vanity of the Portuguese. In place of the plain “you” employed in England in addressing king or cobbler, there are in Portugal all kinds of gradations, from Vossa Excellencia to O senhor (in the third person), Vossemecé, or the more familiar Vossé, which even so is a contraction of “Your Worship.” Ladies are always addressed as Vossa Excellencia, and are given the title of Dona (= the Spanish Doña). The title Dom is only given to men belonging to old aristocratic families, whereas in Spain the use of Don is, of course, far more general, and in South America it descends still further, corresponding there, indeed, to the English use of “Mr.” instead of “Esq.” Letters are often addressed to the Most Illustrious, Most Excellent, Senhor, and, generally, the Portuguese are more ceremonious even than the Spanish. The humanist, Luis Vives, in the sixteenth century, complained of the pomposity of address then beginning in Spain (i.e., Spain and Portugal) and Italy: and soon, he said, we shall be saying “Your Deity”—mox, ut opinor, Deitas. But the fiery Spanish dignity is absent, although the Portuguese have a quiet resolution and dignity of their own, and their gentle sadness rarely sinks to a spiritless despondency, and still more rarely to the grovelling abjection—lowest of the low—described by Byron.

The Peasants.

The Portuguese peasantry, especially, is gifted with a delicacy and intelligence which make life pleasant and poverty no hardship in that climate. The illiterate are often the flower and cream of the nation. They are able to express themselves with fluency and correctness, in fact you will often find a peasant’s speech purer and more refined in accent than that of an educated Portuguese, and will be amazed at the clearness and delicacy of tone and expression coming from a person barefoot and in tatters. Thrice fortunate they who can associate and converse with the peasants during the summer romaria or village festa, or as they sit round the winter fire (a lareira), or gather for some great common task, a shearing (tosquia) or esfolhada (separating the maize cob from its sheath), for they are certain to glean a rich store of proverbs, folk-lore, and philology, and will learn much about spirits and witches. These peasants have poetical imagination, witty speech, no dearth of ideas, a ready sympathy, and, moreover, a sobriety, patience and self-control which are the more remarkable in that by nature, although not quick, they are impulsive and extraordinarily sensitive. It may be said without exaggeration that the Portuguese people, for all its colossal ignorance and lack of letters, is one of the most civilised and intelligent in Europe.

Folk-Lore.

It is full of superstitions, and in few countries—Ireland again naturally occurs to the mind—can there be more legends and charms and incantations, ignorance thus fostering an immense popular literature in prose and verse. The varieties of sorcerers and diviners are many: there are benzedores and imaginarios, magicos and agoureiros, bruxas and feiticeiras, etc., etc. Only during the last thirty years has this begun to be a written literature, thanks to the brilliant initiative and untiring researches of Z. Consiglieri Pedroso, A. T. Pires, Snr. F. Adolpho Coelho, Snr. Leite de Vasconcellos, Snr. Theophilo Braga and others. Round every hill and stream of the country has the people woven some quaint fancy or preserved some ancient myth or fact. To take a solitary instance: the great rock (Pedra Amarella), above the convent of Pena Longa, at the foot of the Serra de Cintra, is covered with yellow moss. What is the explanation of this? That the moss grew there, you say. But the Portuguese people is not likely to dismiss anything in heaven or earth with four words. The fact is that an old woman, believing this rock to contain a hidden treasure, was anxious to break it open and to that purpose kept throwing eggs at it. She did not succeed in her object, but the rock remains covered with the yolks of the eggs. The Portuguese people is especially devoted to music, flowers, dance and song. The humblest, most ramshackle cottage will have an old tin of carnations on its window ledge or hanging anyhow from the wall. Many of the flowers have popular names of no little charm. Goivo, the old Portuguese word for joy, is given both to the stock and the wallflower, the fuchsia is lagrimas (tears), anemones beijinhos (little kisses), the roadside iris is lirio (lily), any downhanging creeper is chorão (weeper). A common creeper of that name grows extraordinarily fast, and once boasted that it would scale heaven, whereupon it was sentenced to advance always in a downward direction.