Glare of the climate in Portugal.--Apish luxury.--Botanic
Gardens.--Açafatas.--Description of the Gardens and Terraces.
May 31, 1787.
It is in vain I call upon clouds to cover me and fogs to wrap me up. You
can form no adequate idea of the continual glare of this renowned
climate. Lisbon is the place in the world best calculated to make one
cry out
“Hide me from day’s garish eye;”
but where to hide is not so easy. Here are no thickets of pine as in the
classic Italian villas, none of those quivering poplars and leafy
chestnuts which cover the plains of Lombardy. The groves in the
immediate environs of this capital are composed of--with, alas! but few
exceptions--dwarfish orange-trees and cinder-coloured olives. Under
their branches repose neither shepherds nor shepherdesses, but
whitening bones, scraps of leather, broken pantiles, and passengers not
unfrequently attended by monkeys, who, I have been told, are let out for
the purpose of picking up a livelihood. Those who cannot afford this
apish luxury, have their bushy poles untenanted by affectionate
relations, for yesterday just under my window I saw two blessed babies
rendering this good office to their aged parent.
I had determined not to have stirred beyond the shade of my awning;
however, towards eve, the extreme fervour of the sun being a little
abated, old Horne (who has yet a colt’s-tooth) prevailed upon me to walk
in the Botanic Gardens, where not unfrequently are to be found certain
youthful animals of the female gender called Açafatas, in Portuguese; a
species between a bedchamber woman and a maid of honour. The Queen has
kindly taken the ugliest with her to the Caldas: those who remain have
large black eyes sparkling with the true spirit of adventure, an
exuberant flow of dark hair, and pouting lips of the colour and size of
full-blown roses.
All this, you will tell me, does not compose a perfect beauty. I never
meant to convey such a notion: I only wish you to understand that the
nymphs we have just quitted are the flowers of the Queen’s flock, and
that she has, at least, four or five dozen more in attendance upon her
sacred person, with larger mouths, smaller eyes, and swarthier
complexions.
Not being in sufficient spirits to flourish away in Portuguese, my
conversation was chiefly addressed to a lovely blue-eyed Irish girl of
fifteen or sixteen, lately married to an officer of her Majesty’s
customs. Spouse goes a pilgrimaging to Nossa Senhora do Cabo--little
madam whisks about the Botanic Garden with the ladies of the palace and
a troop of sopranos, who teach her to warble and speak Italian. She is
well worth teaching everything in their power. Her hair of the loveliest
auburn, her straight Grecian eyebrows and fair complexion, form a
striking contrast to the gipsy-coloured skins and jetty tresses of her
companions. She looked like a visionary being skimming along the alleys,
and leaving the pot-bellied sopranos and dowdy Açafatas far behind,
wondering at her agility.
The garden is pleasant enough, situated upon an eminence, planted with
light flowering trees clustered with blossoms. Above their topmost
branches rises a broad majestic terrace, with marble balustrades of
shining whiteness and strange Oriental pattern. They design
indifferently in this country, but execute with great neatness and
precision. I never saw balustrades better hewn or chiseled than those
bordering the steps which lead up to the grand terrace. Its ample
surface is laid out in oblong compartments of marble, containing no very
great variety of heliotropes, aloes, geraniums, china-roses, and the
commonest plants of our green-houses. Such ponderous divisions have a
dismal effect; they reminded one of a place of interment, and it struck
me as if the deceased inhabitants of the adjoining palace were sprouting
up in the shape of prickly-pears, Indian-figs, gaudy holly-oaks, and
peppery capsicums.
The terrace is about fifteen hundred paces in length. Three copious
fountains give it an air of coolness, much increased by the waving of
tall acacias, exposed by their lofty situation to every breeze which
blows from the entrance of the Tagus, whose lovely azure appears to
great advantage between the quivering foliage.
The Irish girl and your faithful correspondent coursed each other like
children along the terrace, and when tired reposed under a group of
gigantic Brazilian aloes by one of the fountains. The swarthy party
detached its principal guardian, a gawky young priest, to observe all
the wanderings and riposos of us white people.
It was late, and the sun had set several minutes before I took my
departure. Black eyes and blue eyes seem horridly jealous of each other.
I fear my youthful and lively companion will suffer for having more
alertness than the Açafatas: she will be pinched, if I am not mistaken,
as the party return through the dark and intricate passages which join
the palace of the Ajuda to the gardens. Sad thought, the leaving such a
fair little being in the hands of fiery, despotic females, so greatly
her inferiors in complexion and delicacy.
They will take especial care, I warrant them, to fill the husband’s head
with suspicions less charitable than those inspired by Nossa Senhora do
Cabo.