Grand gala at Court.--Festival in honour of the birthday of
Guildermeester.--Mad freaks of a Frenchman.--Unwelcome lights of
Truth.--Invective against the English.
July 25th, 1787.
Grand gala at Court, and the Marquis gone to attend it; for this blessed
day not only gave birth to Guildermeester, but to the Princess of
Brazil. We went to dine with the Marchioness. A band of regimental
music, on their march to Guildermeester, began playing in the court, and
drew forth one of those curious swarms of all sexes, ages, and colours,
which this beneficent family are so fond of harbouring. Donna
Henriquetta was seated on the steps, which lead up to the great
pavilion, whispering to some of her favourite attendants, who, like the
chorus in an ancient Greek tragedy, were continually giving their
opinion of whatever was going forward.
Just as Don Pedro and I were preparing to set off together for the ball
at the old consul’s, we were agreeably surprised by the arrival of the
Marquis, who had escaped from the palace much earlier than he expected.
I carried him in my chaise to Horne’s, where we drank tea on his
terrace, which commands the most romantic view in Cintra; vast sweeps of
varied foliage, banks with twisted roots, and trunks of enormous
chesnuts, mingled with weeping-willows of the freshest verdure, and
citrons clustered with fruit. Above this sylvan scene tower three
shattered pinnacles of rock, the middle one diversified by the turrets
and walls of Nossa Senhora da Penha, a convent of Jeronimites,
frequently concealed in clouds. I leaned against a cork-tree, which
spreads its branches almost entirely over the veranda, enjoying the
view, and staring idly at the grotesque figures, Dutch, English, and
Portuguese, passing along to Guildermeester’s; a series sufficiently
diversified to have amused me for some time, had not M---- grown
impatient and uneasy. His brother-in-law, S---- V----, to whom he has a
mortal aversion, having made his appearance, the powers of light and
darkness, if personified, could not exhibit a stronger contrast than
these two personages; M---- looking all benignity, and S---- V---- all
malevolence. Indeed, if one half of the atrocities[17] public report
attributes to this notorious nobleman be true, I should not wonder at
the blackness of revenge and tyranny being so deeply marked in every
line of his countenance.
Moving off the first opportunity, we passed through dark and gloomy
lanes, admirably calculated for such exploits as I have just alluded to,
and were near being jerked into a ditch as we drove to the old consul’s
door. The space before this new building is in sad disorder. The house
has little more than bare walls, and was not very splendidly lighted up.
As for the company, they turned out just what I expected. Madame G----,
who is a woman of spirit and discernment, did the honours with the
greatest ease, and paid her principal guests the most marked attentions.
There is a something pointedly original in all her observations, which
pleased me very much. She is not, however, of the merciful tribe, and
joined forces with Verdeil (no foe to a little slashing conversation) in
cutting up the factory. M---- handed her in to supper. This part of the
entertainment was magnificent. There was a bright illumination, an
immense profusion of plate, a striking breadth of table, every delicacy
that could be procured, and a dessert-frame, fifty or sixty feet in
length, gleaming with burnished figures and vases of silver flowers. I
felt no inclination to dance after supper; the music was not inspiring,
and the company thrown into the utmost confusion by the mad freaks of a
Frenchman, upon whom one of the principal ladies present is supposed for
two or three years past to have placed her affections. A _coup de
soleil_ and a quarrel with his ambassador, Monsieur de Bombelles, it
seems had turned the poor fellow’s brain: there was no preventing his
rushing from room to room with the sputter and eccentricity of a
fire-work, now abusing one person, now another, confessing publicly the
universal kindness he had received from the lady above hinted at, and
the many marks of tender affection a certain Miss W---- had bestowed on
him. “Why,” said he to the two heroines, who I am told are not upon the
best terms imaginable, “should you squabble and scratch? You are both
equally indulgent, and have both rendered me in your turns the happiest
mortal in the universe.”
Whilst the light of truth was shining upon the bystanders in this very
singular manner, I leave you to imagine the awkward surprise of the
worthy old husband, and the angry blushes of his spouse and her fair
associate. I never beheld a more capital scene. In some of our
pantomimes, if I recollect rightly, harlequin applies a touchstone to
his adversaries, and by its magic influence draws truth from their
mouths in spite of propriety or interest. The lawyer confesses having
fingered a bribe, the soldier his flight in the day of battle, and the
whining methodistical dowager her frequent recourse to the bottle of
inspiration. This wondrous effect seems to have been here realized, and
some malicious demon to have possessed the talkative Frenchman, and to
have compelled him to disclose the mysteries to which he owes his
subsistence. Amongst the harsh truths poured out by this flow of
sincerity was a vehement apostrophe to the English canaille, as he
styled them, upon their rank intolerance of all customs except their
own, and their ten thousand starch uncharitable prejudices. Mrs.----,
become dauntless through despair, took up the cudgels in this cause most
vigorously, compared the chief part of the company to a swarm of
venomous insects, unworthy to crawl upon the hem of her really pure,
though calumniated garments, and fit to be shaken off with a vengeance
the first opportunity.
The Marquis, Don Pedro, and I enjoyed the scene so much, that we stayed
later than we intended.