Ups-and-downs of Lisbon.--Negro Beldames.--Quinta of
Marvilla.--Moonlight view of Lisbon.--Illuminated windows of the
Palace.--The old Marquis of Penalva.--Padre Duarte, a famous
Jesuit.--Conversation between him and a conceited Physician.--Their
ludicrous blunders.--Toad-eaters.--Sonatas.--Portuguese minuets.
30th June, 1787.
...We sallied out after dinner to pay visits. Never did I behold such
cursed ups-and-downs, such shelving descents and sudden rises, as occur
at every step one takes in going about Lisbon. I thought myself fifty
times on the point of being overturned into the Tagus, or tumbled into
sandy ditches, among rotten shoes, dead cats, and negro beldames, who
retire into such dens and burrows for the purpose of telling fortunes
and selling charms for the ague.
The Inquisition too often lays hold of these wretched sibyls, and works
them confoundedly. I saw one dragging into light as I passed by the
ruins of a palace thrown down by the earthquake. Whether a familiar of
the Inquisition was griping her in his clutches, or whether she was
being taken to account by some disappointed votary, I will not pretend
to answer. Be that as it may, I was happy to be driven out of sight of
this hideous object, whose contortions and howlings were truly horrible.
The more one is acquainted with Lisbon, the less it answers the
expectations raised by its magnificent appearance from the river. Could
a traveller be suddenly transported without preparation or prejudice to
many parts of this city, he would reasonably conclude himself traversing
a succession of villages awkwardly tacked together, and overpowered by
massive convents. The churches in general are in a woful taste of
architecture, the taste of Borromini, with crinkled pediments,
furbelowed cornices and turrets, somewhat in the style of old-fashioned
French clock-cases, such as Boucher designed with many a scrawl and
flourish to adorn the apartments of Madame de Pompadour.
We traversed the city this evening in all its extent in our way to the
Duke d’Alafoens’s villa, and gave vast numbers of her most faithful
Majesty’s subjects an opportunity of staring at the height of the
coach-box, the short jacket of the postilion, and other Anglicisms of
the equipage. The Duke had been summoned to a council of state; but we
found the Marquis of Marialva, who went with us round the apartments of
the villa, which have nothing remarkable except one or two large saloons
of excellent and striking proportions.
He afterwards proposed accompanying us about half-a-mile farther to the
quinta of Marvilla, which belongs to his father. This spot has great
picturesque beauties. The trees are old and fantastic, bending over
ruined fountains and mutilated statues of heroes in armour, variegated
by the lapse of years with innumerable tints of purple, green, and
yellow. In the centre of almost impenetrable thickets of bay and myrtle,
rise strange pyramids of rock-work surrounded by marble lions, that have
a magic, symbolical appearance. M---- has feeling enough to respect
these uncouth monuments of an age when his ancestors performed so many
heroic achievements, and readily promised me never to sacrifice them and
the venerable shades in which they are embowered, to the pert, gaudy
taste of modern Portuguese gardening.
We walked part of the way home by the serene light of the full moon
rising from behind the mountains on the opposite shore of the Tagus, at
this extremity of the metropolis above nine miles broad. Lisbon, which
appeared to me so uninteresting a few hours ago, assumed a very
different aspect by these soft gleams. The flights of steps, terraces,
chapels, and porticos of several convents and palaces on the brink of
the river, shone forth like edifices of white marble, whilst the rough
cliffs and miserable sheds rising above them were lost in dark shadows.
The great square through which we passed was filled with idlers of all
sorts and sexes, staring up at the illuminated windows of the palace in
hopes of catching a glimpse of her Majesty, the Prince, the Infantas,
the Confessor, or Maids of Honour, whisking about from one apartment to
the other, and giving ample scope to amusing conjectures. I am told the
Confessor, though somewhat advanced in his career, is far from being
insensible to the allurements of beauty, and pursues the young nymphs of
the palace from window to window with juvenile alacrity.
It was nine before we got home, and I had not been long reposing myself
after my walk, and arranging some plants I had gathered in the thickets
of Marvilla, before three distinct ringings of the bell at my door
announced the arrival of some distinguished personage; nor was I
disappointed, for in came the old Marquis of Penalva and his son, who
till a year ago, when the Queen granted him the same title as his
father, was called Conde de Tarouca.
You must have heard frequently of that name. A grandfather of the old
Marquis rendered it very illustrious by several important and successful
embassies: the splendid entertainments he gave at the Congress of
Utrecht, are amply described in Madame du Noyers and several other books
of memoirs.
The Penalvas brought this evening in their suite a famous Jesuit, Padre
Duarte, whom Pombal thought of sufficient consequence to be imprisoned
for eighteen years, and a tall, knock-kneed, rhubarb-faced physician,
in a gorgeous suit of glistening satin, one of the most ungain,
conceited professors of the art of murdering I ever met with. Between
the Jesuit and the doctor I had enough to do to keep my temper or
countenance. They prated incessantly, pretended to have the most
implicit admiration for everything that came from England, either in the
way of furniture or poetry, and confounding dates, names, and subjects
in one strange jumble, asked whether Sir Peter Lely was not the actual
President of our Royal Academy, and launched forth into a warm encomium
of my countryman Hans Holbein. I begged leave to assure these
complaisant sages, that the last-mentioned artist was born at Basle, and
that Sir Peter Lely had been dead a century. They stared a little at
this information, but continued, nevertheless, in full song, playing off
a sounding peal of compliments upon our national proficiency in
painting, watch-making, the stocking-manufactory, &c. when General
Forbes came in and made a diversion in my favour. We had some
conversation upon the present state of Portugal, and the risks it runs
of being swallowed up by the negotiations, not by the arms of Spain,
ere many years are elapsed....
Our discourse was interrupted by the arrival of a fiddler, a priest, and
an Italian musician, humble servants and toad-eaters to my illustrious
guests. They fell a thumping my poor piano-forte, and playing sonatas
whether I would or not. You are aware I am no great friend to sonatas,
and that certain chromatic, squeaking tones of a fiddle, when the
performer turns up the whites of his eyes, waggles a greasy chin, and
affects ecstasies, set my teeth on edge. The griping countenance of the
doctor was enough to produce that effect already, without the assistance
of his fellow parasites, the priest and musician. Padre Duarte seemed to
like them no better than myself; General Forbes had wisely withdrawn;
and the old Marquis, inspired by a pathetic adagio, glided suddenly
across the room in a step which I took for the beginning of a ballet
heroique, but which turned out a minuet in the Portuguese style, with
all its kicks and flourishes, in which Miss S----, who had come in to
tea, was persuaded to join much against her inclination. It was no
sooner ended, than the doctor displayed his rueful length of person in
such a twitching angular minuet, as I want words to describe; so,
between the sister-arts of music and dancing, I passed a delectable
evening. This set shan’t catch me at home again in a hurry.