A more modern tragedy was enacted within these ancient walls. The vicious young debauchee, Affonso VI., was deprived of his crown and his wife by his brother Dom Pedro, in 1667; and here in the palace, in a room called after him, the wretched king passed the last twelve years of his imprisonment, shut off entirely from the sight of men. The windows of his prison-chamber still show the sockets wherein the strong bars were set, and a deep groove worn in the brick floor along one side marks the spot where the footsteps of the caged king, as he paced up and down for years before his bars, have worn his enduring epitaph. Up in a little closely barred cell overlooking the choir of the chapel, where Affonso used to hear mass, he died suddenly in 1683.
The old palace of Cintra, indeed, is full of memories, a place to linger in and about, rather than to rush through at the tail of a guide; although it must be confessed that the guardian in this case does take an intelligent interest in the objects under his care. Cintra, in short, is beautiful beyond compare in certain directions; but, as happens in most frequented show-places, the chief beauties can only be enjoyed by the permission of others, and by the use of a silver key. The beautiful villa-gardens are jealously shut in by high walls and forbidden by gates marked private; the palace of the Penha, a royal residence, is approached with bated breath and whispering humbleness, and the palace in the town, though not now inhabited by royalty, is still only shown on special application. But there is one thing in Cintra that may be enjoyed freely and uncontrolled by all, the finest thing that Cintra can show, the view from the town of that stupendous Moorish fortress on its precipitous height. In sylvan beauty, in sweetness and freshness of atmosphere, even in its sublime prospects of mountain, vale, and sea, Bussaco may rival and, in some respects, surpass it; but the long-stretched yellow battlements and massive towers piled upon the eternal granite boulders, sheer up a thousand feet and more over the little pleasure-town and its leafy ravines, would be worth the voyage to Portugal alone to see, even though the gardens of the rich were more reserved and exclusive than they are.
[2]. Byron thus speaks of this climb up the hill of Cintra:—
“Then slowly climb the many winding way,
And frequent turn to linger as you go,
From loftier rocks new loveliness survey,
And rest ye at Our Lady’s house of woe.”
This last epithet for the monastery, which is now the royal palace, is an error arising from a misunderstanding, which Byron shares with many other people to the present day. The original name of the venerated image of the Virgin, after which the monastery was named, is “Nossa Senhora da Penha,” “Our Lady of the Rock.” For some reason the place is still often referred to as the “Pena,” which means “sorrow,” and the Saint becomes “Our Lady of Woe,” as Byron called it.
[3]. Two German ecclesiastics, who in 1450 were sent to Lisbon by the Emperor Frederick III. to ask for the hand of the Portuguese Infanta Leonor, thus mention Cintra in the narrative of their voyage: “Oh! Cintra, most pleasant place and royal garden, with a little river in which there are good trout. Here, too, there are devout brethren in a Jeronomite monastery, who live according to their rule.”—Historia Desponsationis Frederici III. cum Eleanora Lusitanica.