Sympathy between Toads and Old Women.--Palace of Cintra.--Reservoir
of Gold and Silver Fish.--Parterre on the summit of a lofty
terrace.--Place of confinement of Alphonso the Sixth.--The
Chapel.--Barbaric profusion of Gold.--Altar at which Don Sebastian
knelt when he received a supernatural warning.--Rooms in
preparation for the Queen and the Infantas.--Return to Ramalhaô.
July 24th, 1787.
There exists, I am convinced, a decided sympathy between toads and
witch-like old women. Mother Morgan[16] descended this morning, not into
the infernal regions, but into the cellar, and immediately five or six
spanking reptiles of this mysterious species waddled around her. She
rewarded the confidence the poor things placed in her rather scurvily,
and laid three of the fattest sprawling. I saw them lying breathless in
the court as I got on horseback; the largest measured seven inches in
diameter. Portuguese toads may be more distinguished for size, but are
not half so amiably speckled as those we have the happiness to harbour
in England.
I was some time hesitating which way I should turn my horse’s steps,
whether to the Pedra d’os Ovos, or on the other side of the rock to the
Peninha, a cell belonging to the Hieronimites, and dependent upon their
principal eyry, Nossa Senhora da Penha. Marialva, whom I met with all
his train of equerries and picadors coming forth from his villa, decided
me not to take a clambering ride, but to accompany him to the palace,
the interior of which I had not yet visited.
The Alhambra itself is scarcely more morisco in point of architecture
than this confused pile, which seems to grow out of the summit of a
rocky eminence, and is broken into a variety of picturesque recesses and
projections. It is a thousand pities that they have whitened its
venerable walls, stopped up a range of bold arcades, and sliced out one
end of the great hall into two or three mean apartments like the
dressing-rooms of a theatre. From the windows, which are all in a
fantastic oriental style, crinkled and crankled, and supported by
twisted pillars of smooth marble, striking, romantic views of the cliffs
and village of Cintra are commanded. Several irregular courts and
loggias, formed by the angles of square towers, are enlivened by
fountains of marble and gilt bronze, continually pouring forth abundant
streams of the purest water.
A sort of reservoir, almost long enough to be styled a canal, is
continued the whole length of the great hall, and serves as a paradise
for shoals of the largest and most brilliant gold and silver fish I ever
set eyes upon. The murmur of the jets-d’eau which rise from this canal,
the ripple of the water undulating against steps and slabs of polished
marble, the glancing and gleaming of the fish, and the striking contrast
of light and shade produced by the intricate labyrinth of arches and
columns, combine altogether to form a scene of enchantment such as we
sometimes dream of, but hardly suppose is ever realized. There is a
sobriety in the hues of the marble, a mysteriousness in the dark
recesses seen in perspective, and a solemnity in the deep colour,
approaching to blackness, of the water in that part of the reservoir
which is overshadowed by lofty buildings, I cannot help thinking
superior to all the flutter and glitter of the most famous Moorish
edifices at Granada or Seville.
The flat summit of one of the loftiest terraces, not less than one
hundred and fifty feet from the ground, is laid out as a neat parterre,
which is spread like an embroidered carpet before the entrance of a huge
square tower, almost entirely occupied by a hall encrusted with
glistening tiles, and crowned by a most singularly-shaped dome. Amidst
the scrolls of arabesque foliage which adorn it, appear the arms of the
principal Portuguese nobility. The achievement of the unfortunate house
of Tavora is blotted out, and the panel it occupied left bare.
We had climbed up to this terrace and tower by one of those steep,
cork-screw staircases, of which there are numbers in the palace, and
which connect with vaulted passages in a secret and suspicious manner.
The Marquis pointed out to me the mosaic pavement of a small chamber,
fretted and worn away in several places by the steps of Alphonso the
Sixth, who was confined to this narrow space a long series of years.
Descending from it, we looked into the chapel, not less singular in form
and construction than the rest of the edifice. The low flat cupola, as
well as the intersections of the arches, are much in the style of a
mosque; but the barbaric profusion of gold, and still more barbaric
paintings with which every soffite and panel are covered, might almost
be supposed the work of Cingalese or Hindostanee artists, and reminded
me of those subterraneous pagodas where his Satanic Majesty receives
homage under the form of Gumputy or of Boodh.
The original glare of all this strange scenery is greatly subdued by the
smoke of lamps, which have been burning for ages before the altar: a
mysterious pile of carved work and imagery, in perfect consonance, as to
gloom and uncouthness, with every other object in the place. It was
whilst kneeling before this very altar that the young, the ardent, the
chivalrous Don Sebastian is said to have received a supernatural warning
to renounce that fatal African expedition which cost him his crown and
his life, and what an heroic mind holds in far higher estimation, that
immortal fame which follows successful achievements.
A something I can hardly describe, an oppressive gloom, seemed to hang
over this chapel, which remains very nearly, I should imagine, in the
same style it was left by the ill-fated Sebastian. The want of a free
circulation of air, and a heavy cloud of incense, affected the nerves of
my head so disagreeably that I was glad to move on, and follow the
Marquis into the rooms preparing for the Queen and the Infantas. These
are airy and well ventilated; but instead of hanging them with rich
arras, representing the adventures of knights and worthies, her
Majesty’s upholsterers are hard at work covering the stout walls with
bright silks and satins of the palest and most delicate colours. I saw
no furniture worth notice, not a picture or a cabinet: our stay,
therefore, as we had nothing to see, was not protracted.
As soon as the Marquis had given some orders, with which his royal
mistress had charged him, we returned to Ramalhaô, where Horne and
Guildermeester, the Dutch Consul, were waiting our arrival, and
squabbling about insurances, percentages, commissions, and other
commercial speculations.
I have been persuading the Marquis to accompany me to-morrow to
Guildermeester’s: it is the old man’s birthday, and he opens his new
house with dancing and suppering. We shall have a pretty sample of the
factory misses, clerks, and apprentices, some underlings of the _corps
diplomatique_, and God knows how many thousand pound weight of Dutch and
Hambro merchants.