Curious scene in the interior of the palace of Cintra.--Singular
invitation.--Dinner with the Archbishop Confessor.--Hilarity and
shrewd remarks of that extraordinary personage.
September 12th, 1787.
I was hardly up before the grand prior and Mr. Street were announced:
the latter abusing kings, queens, and princes, with all his might, and
roaring after liberty and independence; the former complaining of fogs
and damps.
As soon as the advocate for republicanism had taken his departure, we
went by appointment to the archbishop confessor’s, and were immediately
admitted into his _sanctum sanctorum_, a snug apartment communicating by
a winding staircase with that of the queen, and hung with bright, lively
tapestry. A lay-brother, fat, round, buffoonical, and to the full as
coarse and vulgar as any carter or muleteer in christendom, entertained
us with some very amusing, though not the most decent, palace stories,
till his patron came forth.
Those who expect to see the Grand Inquisitor of Portugal, a doleful,
meagre figure, with eyes of reproof and malediction, would be
disappointed. A pleasanter or more honest countenance than that kind
heaven has blessed him with, one has seldom the comfort of looking upon.
He received me in the most open, cordial manner, and I have reason to
think I am in mighty favour.
We talked about archbishops in England being married. “Pray,” said the
prelate, “are not your archbishops strange fellows? consecrated in
ale-houses, and good bottle companions? I have been told that mad-cap
Lord Tyrawley was an archbishop at home.” You may imagine how much I
laughed at this inconceivable nonsense; and though I cannot say,
speaking of his right reverence, that “truths divine came mended from
his tongue,” it may be allowed, that nonsense itself became more
conspicuously nonsensical, flowing from so revered a source.
Whilst we sat in the windows of the saloon, listening to a band of
regimental music, we saw Joaô Antonio de Castro, the ingenious
mechanician, who invented the present method of lighting Lisbon, two or
three solemn dominicans, and a famous court fool[18] in a tawdry
gala-suit, bedizened with mock orders, coming up the steps which lead to
the great audience-chamber, all together. “Ay, ay,” said the
lay-brother, who is a shrewd, comical fellow, “behold a true picture of
our customers. Three sorts of persons find their way most readily into
this palace; men of superior abilities, buffoons, and saints; the first
soon lose what cleverness they possessed, the saints become martyrs, and
the buffoons alone prosper.”
To all this the Archbishop gave his hearty assent by a very significant
nod of the head; and being, as I have already told you, in a most
gracious, communicative disposition, would not permit me to go away,
when I rose up to take leave of him.
“No, no,” said he, “don’t think of quitting me yet awhile. Let us repair
to the hall of Swans, where all the court are waiting for me, and pray
tell me then what you think of our great fidalgos.”
Taking me by the tip of the fingers he led me along through a number of
shady rooms and dark passages to a private door, which opened from the
queen’s presence-chamber, into a vast saloon, crowded, I really believe,
by half the dignitaries of the kingdom; here were bishops, heads of
orders, secretaries of state, generals, lords of the bedchamber, and
courtiers of all denominations, as fine and as conspicuous as
embroidered uniforms, stars, crosses, and gold keys could make them.
The astonishment of this group at our sudden apparition was truly
laughable, and indeed, no wonder; we must have appeared on the point of
beginning a minuet--the portly archbishop in his monastic, flowing white
drapery, spreading himself out like a turkey in full pride, and myself
bowing and advancing in a sort of _pas-grave_, blinking all the while
like an owl in sunshine, thanks to my rapid transition from darkness to
the most glaring daylight.
Down went half the party upon their knees, some with petitions and some
with memorials; those begging for places and promotions, and these for
benedictions, of which my revered conductor was by no means prodigal. He
seemed to treat all these eager demonstrations of fawning servility with
the most contemptuous composure, and pushing through the crowd which
divided respectfully to give us passage, beckoned the Viscount Ponte de
Lima, the Marquis of Lavradio, the Count d’Obidos, and two or three of
the lords in waiting, into a mean little room, not above twenty by
fourteen.
After a deal of adulatory complimentation in a most subdued tone from
the circle of courtiers, for which they had got nothing in return but
rebuffs and gruntling, the Archbishop drew his chair close to mine, and
said with a very distinct and audible pronunciation, “My dear
Englishman, these are all a parcel of flattering scoundrels, do not
believe one word they say to you. Though they glitter like gold, mud is
not meaner--I know them well. Here,” continued he, holding up the flap
of my coat, “is a proof of English prudence, this little button to
secure the pocket is a precious contrivance, especially in grand
company, do not leave it off, do not adopt any of our fashions, or you
will repent it.”
This sally of wit was received with the most resigned complacency by
those who had inspired it, and, staring with all my eyes, and listening
with all my ears, I could hardly credit either upon seeing the most
complaisant gesticulations, and hearing the most abject protestations of
devoted attachment to his right reverence’s sacred person from all the
company.
There is no saying how long this tide of adulation would have continued
pouring on, if it had not been interrupted by a message from the queen,
commanding the confessor’s immediate attendance. Giving his garments a
hearty shake, he trudged off bawling out to me over his shoulder, “I
shall be back in half-an-hour, and you must dine with me.“--“Dine with
him!” exclaimed the company in chorus: “such an honour never befel any
one of us; how fortunate! how distinguished you are!”
Now, I must confess, I was by no means enchanted with this most peculiar
invitation; I had a much pleasanter engagement at Penha-Verde, one of
the coolest and most romantic spots in all this poetic district, and
felt no vocation to be cooped up in a close bandboxical apartment,
smelling of paint and varnish enough to give the head-ache; however,
there was no getting off. I was told that I must obey, for everybody in
these regions, high or low, the royal family themselves not excepted,
obeyed the archbishop, and that I ought to esteem myself too happy in so
agreeable an opportunity.
It would be only repeating what is known to every one, who knows any
thing of courts and courtiers, were I to add the flowery speeches, the
warm encomiums, I received from the finest feathered birds of this covey
upon my own transcendant perfections, and those of my host that was to
be. The half-hour, which, by-the-by, was more than three-quarters,
scarcely sufficed for half those very people had to say in my
commendation, who, a few days ago, were all reserve and indifference, if
I happened to approach them. My summons to this envied repast was
conveyed to me by no less a personage than the Marquis of M----, who,
with gladsome surprise in all his gestures, whispered me, “I am to be of
the party too, the first time in my life I can assure you; not a
creature besides is to be admitted; for my uncle is gone home tired of
waiting for you.”
We knocked at the private door, which was immediately opened, and
following the same passages through which I had been before conducted,
emerged into an ante-chamber looking into a very neat little kitchen,
where the lay-brother, with his sleeves tucked up to his shoulders, was
making hospitable preparation. A table with three covers was prepared in
the tapestry-room, and upon a sofa, in the corner of it, sat the
omnipotent prelate wrapped up in an old snuff-coloured great coat, sadly
patched and tattered.
“Come,” said he, clapping his hands after the oriental fashion, “serve
up and let us be merry--oh, these women, these women, above stairs, what
a plague it is to settle their differences! Who knows better than you,
Marquis, what enigmas they are to unriddle? I dare say the Englishman’s
archbishops have not half such puzzles to get over as I have: well, let
us see what we have got for you.”
Entered the lay-brother with three roasting-pigs, on a huge tray of
massive silver, and an enormous pillau, as admirable in quality as in
size; and so it had need to have been, for in these two dishes consisted
our whole dinner. I am told the fare at the Archbishop’s table never
varies, and roasting-pigs succeed roasting-pigs, and pillaus pillaus,
throughout all the vicissitudes of the seasons, except on certain
peculiar fast-days of supreme meagre.
The simplicity of this part of our entertainment was made up by the
profusion and splendour of our dessert, which exceeded in variety of
fruits and sweetmeats any one of which I had ever partaken. As to the
wines, they were admirable, the tribute of every part of the Portuguese
dominions offered up at this holy shrine. The Port Company, who are just
soliciting the renewal of their charter, had contributed the choicest
produce of their happiest vintages, and as I happened to commend its
peculiar excellence, my hospitable entertainer, whose good-humour seemed
to acquire every instant a livelier glow, insisted upon my accepting
several pipes of it, which were punctually sent me the next morning. The
Archbishop became quite jovial, and supposing I was not more insensible
to the joys of convivial potations than many of my countrymen, plied me
as often and as waggishly as if I had been one of his imaginary
archbishops, or Lord Tyrawley himself, returned from those cold
precincts where no dinners are given or bottle circulated.
The lay-brother was such a fountain of anecdote, the Archbishop in such
glee, and Marialva in such jubilation at being admitted to this
confidential party, that it is impossible to say how long it would have
lasted, had not the hour of her Majesty’s evening excursion approached,
and the Archbishop been called to accompany her. As Master of the Horse,
the Marquis could not dispense with his attendance, so I was left under
the guidance of the lay-brother, who, leading me through another
labyrinth of passages, opened a kind of wicket door, and let me out with
as little ceremony as he would have turned a goose adrift on a common.