Portugal of the Portuguese

by Aubrey F. G. Bell

CASTELLO DA PENA, CINTRA

Castello da Pena.

Far above on its peak, conspicuous far out to sea on both sides of the Serra, but in shape so different, as seen from Mafra or Collares and from the Estoril side, that one scarcely realises that it is the same building, stands the Castello da Pena, over 1,700 feet above sea-level. Prince Ferdinand of Saxe-Coburg, husband of Queen Maria II of Portugal, bought the place towards the middle of the nineteenth century for a few hundred pounds. It was then merely a ruin of the convent built there by King Manoel I. The surrounding woods and gardens and the magnificent views from every window make this palace one of the most wonderful houses in Europe, wonderful, too, in the wealth of designs on pillar and archway (in imitation of the style Manoeline), and in many incidental beauties, especially the altar of alabaster and grey marble in the chapel. Below, set in luxuriant growth of azaleas and camellias, are the flower-gardens and the Fonte dos Passarinhos or das Andorinhas, with its white marble swallows drinking. In the palace private photographs and weapons belonging to the Portuguese Royal Family still hang from the walls, and the tables are covered with magazines and newspapers, dated October, 1910, precisely as on that autumn day on which Queen Amélie heard here the faint booming of the guns from Lisbon in revolution. Those who are not content with the exquisite partial view from the terrace of the dining-room climb by a little outer staircase to the wind-swept cupola. Winter and summer every wind that blows seems to redouble its force just here. For the sake of the view a north-east wind is to be preferred, but the view is always magnificent and extensive, in spite of the fact that it is bounded on two sides by the Atlantic. White sands mark the entrance of the Tagus with the Serra d’Ossa and Alemtejo beyond, and the long headland which begins in beautiful sand-dunes—beautiful in certain lights and days—and runs out to Cape Espichel. On afternoons of a clear land wind the cape is lit up by the sun in every crevice of its sheer white cliffs and stands out like an island in mid-ocean—with a strong resemblance to the southern cliffs of England. Immediately beneath the palace walls are the famous woods of the grounds down the sides of the Serra. The Serra itself extends on one side to the small villages of Charneca (Moor) and Areias (Sands), and on the other to Collares and the Praia das Maçãs (Shore of Apples). All this country is really a promontory some twenty miles across, between the Atlantic and the vast estuary of the Tagus. To the east the view includes such fragments of Lisbon as are not concealed by hills, while on the north a great black patch in the level plain is the Convent of Mafra.

Mafra.

The Convent of Mafra is eighteenth century, and would be uninteresting were it not for its sheer hugeness, which seems to defy you to criticise. It bullies you into accepting its ugliness, and stuns you with figures. Thus, you have scarcely recovered from the gigantic proportions of its towers and the steps hundreds of feet long in front of them when you are told that it was nearly thirty years a-building, and employed at times nearly 50,000 builders, that the tale of its doors is 5,200, of its windows 2,500. If you are incredulous, count them. The whole building measures some 275 by 240 yards, nearly a sixth of a mile long. The church is a glory of pink and white marble, magnificent but not beautiful. Yet it is worth going through Mafra to see the front of Mafra’s Convent, even if one does not stop to enter the building. The railway station is ten kilomètres from the village, so that most people drive there, but if anyone likes to take train to Mafra’s station, walk thence to Mafra, and then straight across to Cintra, he will be rewarded by a splendid view of the Serra to shorten his way. Seen from here, it is a gigantic wing folded over the village of Cintra, grey crags and dark wooded ravines, with the Cruz Alta, the Castle of Pena, and the Castle of the Moors to mark the heights. Mafra is about thirty-five kilomètres north-west of Lisbon, and another hundred kilomètres intervene between Mafra and Vallado—no unpleasant three days’ walk. Vallado is at about equal distance from Nazareth and the sea on one side and Alcobaça on the other.

CLOISTER OF D. DINIZ, ALCOBAÇA.

Alcobaça.

To whatever pains the traveller may be put before reaching Alcobaça he will think nothing thereof when he sees the interior of this old Cistercian abbey, and to many the very remoteness of Alcobaça and Batalha, lying fortunately miles from any railway station, is no mean attraction. This Convent, like that of Mafra, is now used partly as barracks and partly as prison—the mixed company of prisoners may be seen white and hungry, stretching out their hands through the bars to the village street. But, whereas Mafra as a barracks seems to be usefully fulfilling its proper purpose, to quarter a regiment in Alcobaça’s monastery savours of desecration. However, the principal cloisters, the Cloisters of Dom Diniz, are still and peaceful, surrounding with their beautiful arches plots gay with flowers, as when the monks sought or sheltered from the sun here and were buried beneath the flagstones. Here is an old well with its ferns and crumbling Gothic architecture, and the whole place may give many an intense desire to have the good monks back there to enjoy it instead of half-a-dozen flurried and unappreciative tourists. The climate of Portugal makes it an ideal country for all whose sole vocation is endless contemplation, and where better fulfil that vocation than in these lovely convents! In winter the building provides a hundred corners of hot sun, and in hot weather the cold stone and the sound of running water recall some Seville patio. The guide-books for every two or three pages given to Batalha, will devote but one to Alcobaça. Yet for those who care for pure Gothic the latter is perhaps even the more attractive of the two. The narrow aisles, plain majestic pillars, and nobly sculptured capitals, make of its early Gothic church a severe and lovely building, and historically, of course, the interest of the place is very great. In the Sala dos Reis are statues of the early kings of Portugal, and azulejo scenes of the events which led to the foundation of the convent. As is well known, it was Affonso Henriques (that is, son of Count Henry of Burgundy), who began it, owing to an oath he had made to build a convent in the event of taking Santarem from the Moors. The capture of Santarem (1147 A.D.) was but one of the many successes of that great warrior king, the first king and the real founder of Portugal as a separate nation. Compared with so early a date, the giant caldron taken from the Spaniards after the battle of Aljubarrota (1385) is almost modern. It also stands in the Sala dos Reis, and it is well that one memorial of the deeds of the great Constable should be here, for the hero of Aljubarrota, Nun’ Alvares, and Affonso I had much in common. Both won many victories, and founded churches and convents, and both were inspired by a passionate love of the independence of their country. If Nun’ Alvares was the more chivalrous of the two this must be attributed to the intervening centuries. But it is not of Affonso Henriques that most visitors think when they are at Alcobaça, but of a time one generation earlier than that of Nun’ Alvares, who was but seven when King Pedro I (1357-67) died.