The Queen of Portugal’s Chapel.--The Orchestra.--Rehearsal of a
Council.--Proposal to visit Mafra.
Ramalhaô, near Cintra, 26th August, 1787.
The Queen of Portugal’s chapel is still the first in Europe; in point of
vocal and instrumental excellence, no other establishment of the kind,
the papal not excepted, can boast such an assemblage of admirable
musicians. Wherever her Majesty moves they follow; when she goes a
hawking to Salvaterra, or a health-hunting to the baths of the Caldas.
Even in the midst of these wild rocks and mountains, she is surrounded
by a bevy of delicate warblers, as plump as quails, and as gurgling and
melodious as nightingales. The violins and violoncellos at her Majesty’s
beck are all of the first order, and in oboe and flute-players her
musical menagerie is unrivalled.
The Marquis of M----, as first Lord of the Bedchamber, Master of the
Horse, and, as it were, hereditary prime favourite, enjoys a decided
influence over this empire of sweet sounds; and having been so friendly
as to impart a share of these musical blessings to me, I have been
permitted to avail myself, whenever I please, of a selection from this
wonderful band of performers. This very morning, to my shame be it
recorded, I remained hour after hour in my newly-arranged pavilion,
without reading a word, writing a line, or entering into any
conversation. All my faculties were absorbed by the harmony of the wind
instruments, stationed at a distance in a thicket of orange and bay
trees. It was to no purpose that I tried several times to retire out of
the sound--I was as often drawn back as I attempted to snatch myself
away. Did I consult the health of my mind, I should dismiss these
musicians; their plaintive affecting tones are sure to awaken in my
bosom a long train of mournful recollections, and by the force of
associated ideas to plunge me into a state of languor and gloom.
* * * * *
My excellent friend, the Prior of Aviz, performed a real act of
friendship, by breaking in almost by force upon my seclusion, and
rousing me from my reveries. He insisted upon my accompanying him to the
Archbishop’s, where the rehearsal of a council to be held in the Queen’s
presence was going forward, and all the ministers with their assistant
under-secretaries assembled. Such congregations are new to the good old
Confessor, who has been just pressed into the supreme direction, I might
say control, of the Cabinet, much against his will. He knows too well
the value of ease and tranquillity not to regret so violent an inroad
upon his usual habits of life. We found him, therefore, as might be
expected, in a state of turmoil and irritation, flushed up to the very
forehead with a ruddy tint, which was highly contrasted by his flowing
white flannel garments. These garments he frequently shook and crumpled,
and more than once did he strike with vehemence against his portly
paunch, which, though he declared it had waited an hour longer than
customary for its wonted replenishment, sounded by no means so hollow as
an empty tub. The old saying, that “_fat paunches make lean pates_,”
could not, however, be applied to him; he was so gracious and
confidential as to give me a summary of what had been represented to him
from the different departments of state, with great perspicuity and
acuteness.
Notwithstanding the interest this singular communication ought to have
excited, I paid it not half the attention it deserved. The impression I
had received in the morning, from the music of Haydn and Jomelli, still
lingered about me. The Grand Prior, finding politics could not shake
them off, consulted with his nephew, who happened to be just by in the
Queen’s apartment, and returned with a proposal, that as I had long
expressed a wish to see Mafra, we should put this scheme in execution
to-morrow. It was settled, therefore, that to-morrow we should set off.