The College—The Rector—Shibboleth—National Prejudices—Youthful
Sports—Jews of Lisbon—Bad Faith—Crime and Superstition.
One afternoon Antonio said to me, “It has struck me, _Senhor_, {59a} that
your worship would like to see the college of the English . . .” {59b}
“By all means,” I replied, “pray conduct me thither.” So he led me
through various streets until we stopped before the gate of a large
building, in one of the most elevated situations in Lisbon. Upon our
ringing, a kind of porter presently made his appearance, and demanded our
business. Antonio explained it to him. He hesitated for a moment; but,
presently bidding us enter, conducted us to a large gloomy-looking stone
hall, where, begging us to be seated, he left us. We were soon joined by
a venerable personage, seemingly about seventy, in a kind of flowing robe
or surplice, with a collegiate cap upon his head. Notwithstanding his
age there was a ruddy tinge upon his features, which were perfectly
English. Coming slowly up he addressed me in the English tongue,
requesting to know how he could serve me. I informed him that I was an
English traveller, and should be happy to be permitted to inspect the
college, provided it were customary to show it to strangers. He informed
me that there could be no objection to accede to my request, but that I
came at rather an unfortunate moment, it being the hour of refection. I
apologized, and was preparing to retire, but he begged me to remain, as
in a few minutes the refection would be over, when the principals of the
college would do themselves the pleasure of waiting on me.
We sat down on the stone bench, when he commenced surveying me
attentively for some time, and then cast his eyes on Antonio. “Whom have
we here?” said he to the latter; “surely your features are not unknown to
me.” “Probably not, your reverence,” replied Antonio, getting up, and
bowing most profoundly. “I lived in the family of the Countess ---, at
Cintra, when your venerability was her spiritual guide.” “True, true,”
said the old gentleman, sighing, “I remember you now. Ah, Antonio,
things are strangely changed since then. A new government—a new system—a
new religion, I may say.” Then, looking again at me, he demanded whither
I was journeying. “I am going to Spain,” said I, “and have stopped at
Lisbon by the way.” “Spain, Spain!” said the old man. “Surely you have
chosen a strange time to visit Spain; there is much blood-shedding in
Spain at present, and violent wars and tumults.” “I consider the cause
of Don Carlos as already crushed,” I replied; “he has lost the only
general capable of leading his armies to Madrid. Zumalacarregui, his
Cid, has fallen.” “Do not flatter yourself; I beg your pardon, but do
not think, young man, that the Lord will permit the powers of darkness to
triumph so easily. The cause of Don Carlos is not lost: its success did
not depend on the life of a frail worm like him whom you have mentioned.”
We continued in discourse some little time, when he arose, saying that by
this time he believed the refection was concluded.
He had scarcely left me five minutes when three individuals entered the
stone hall, and advanced slowly towards me. The principals of the
college, said I to myself; and so indeed they were. The first of these
gentlemen, and to whom the other two appeared to pay considerable
deference, was a thin, spare person, somewhat above the middle height;
his complexion was very pale, his features emaciated but fine, his eyes
dark and sparkling; he might be about fifty. The other two were men in
the prime of life. One was of rather low stature; his features were
dark, and wore that pinched and mortified expression so frequently to be
observed in the countenance of the English . . .: the other was a bluff,
ruddy, and rather good-looking young man. All three were dressed alike
in the usual college cap and silk gown. Coming up, the eldest of the
three took me by the hand, and thus addressed me in clear silvery tones:—
“Welcome, sir, to our poor house. We are always happy to see in it a
countryman from our beloved native land; it will afford us extreme
satisfaction to show you over it; it is true that satisfaction is
considerably diminished by the reflection that it possesses nothing
worthy of the attention of a traveller; there is nothing curious
pertaining to it save, perhaps, its economy, and that, as we walk about,
we will explain to you. Permit us, first of all, to introduce ourselves
to you. I am rector of this poor English house of refuge; this gentleman
is our professor of humanity; and this” (pointing to the ruddy personage)
“is our professor of polite learning, Hebrew, and Syriac.”
_Myself_.—I humbly salute you all. Excuse me if I inquire who was the
venerable gentleman who put himself to the inconvenience of staying with
me whilst I was awaiting your leisure.
_Rector_.—Oh, a most admirable personage, our almoner, our chaplain; he
came into this country before any of us were born, and here he has
continued ever since. Now let us ascend that we may show you our poor
house. But how is this, my dear sir, how is it that I see you standing
uncovered in our cold, damp hall?
_Myself_.—I can easily explain that to you; it is a custom which has
become quite natural to me. I am just arrived from Russia, where I have
spent some years. A Russian invariably takes off his hat whenever he
enters beneath a roof, whether it pertain to hut, shop, or palace. To
omit doing so would be considered as a mark of brutality and barbarism,
and for the following reason: in every apartment of a Russian house there
is a small picture of the Virgin stuck up in a corner, just below the
ceiling—the hat is taken off out of respect to her.
Quick glances of intelligence were exchanged by the three gentlemen. I
had stumbled upon their shibboleth, and proclaimed myself an Ephraimite,
and not of Gilead. I have no doubt that up to that moment they had
considered me as one of themselves—a member, and perhaps a priest, of
their own ancient, grand, and imposing religion, for such it is, I must
confess—an error into which it was natural that they should fall. What
motives could a Protestant have for intruding upon their privacy? What
interest could he take in inspecting the economy of their establishment?
So far, however, from relaxing in their attention after this discovery,
their politeness visibly increased, though, perhaps, a scrutinizing
observer might have detected a shade of less cordiality in their manner.
_Rector_.—Beneath the ceiling in every apartment? I think I understood
you so. How delightful—how truly interesting; a picture of the Blessed
Virgin beneath the ceiling in every apartment of a Russian house! Truly,
this intelligence is as unexpected as it is delightful. I shall from
this moment entertain a much higher opinion of the Russians than
hitherto—most truly an example worthy of imitation. I wish sincerely
that it was our own practice to place an image of the Blessed Virgin
beneath the ceiling in every corner of our houses. What say you, our
professor of humanity? What say you to the information so obligingly
communicated to us by this excellent gentleman?
_Humanity Professor_.—It is indeed most delightful, most cheering, I may
say; but I confess that I was not altogether unprepared for it. The
adoration of the Blessed Virgin is becoming every day more extended in
countries where it has hitherto been unknown or forgotten. Dr. W---,
when he passed through Lisbon, gave me some most interesting details with
respect to the labours of the propaganda in India. Even England, our own
beloved country. . . .
My obliging friends showed me all over their “poor house.” It certainly
did not appear a very rich one; it was spacious, but rather dilapidated.
The library was small, and possessed nothing remarkable; the view,
however, from the roof, over the greater part of Lisbon and the Tagus,
was very grand and noble. But I did not visit this place in the hope of
seeing busts, or books, or fine prospects,—I visited this strange old
house to converse with its inmates; for my favourite, I might say my
only, study is man. I found these gentlemen much what I had anticipated;
for this was not the first time that I had visited an English . . .
establishment in a foreign land. They were full of amiability and
courtesy to their heretic countryman, and though the advancement of their
religion was with them an object of paramount importance, I soon found
that, with ludicrous inconsistency, they cherished, to a wonderful
degree, national prejudices almost extinct in the mother land, even to
the disparagement of those of their own darling faith. I spoke of the
English . . ., of their high respectability, and of the loyalty which
they had uniformly displayed to their sovereign, though of a different
religion, and by whom they had been not unfrequently subjected to much
oppression and injustice.
_Rector_.—My dear sir, I am rejoiced to hear you; I see that you are well
acquainted with the great body of those of our faith in England. They
are, as you have well described them, a most respectable and loyal body;
from loyalty, indeed, they never swerved, and though they have been
accused of plots and conspiracies, it is now well known that such had no
real existence, but were merely calumnies invented by their religious
enemies. During the civil wars the English . . . cheerfully shed their
blood and squandered their fortunes in the cause of the unfortunate
martyr, notwithstanding that he never favoured them, and invariably
looked upon them with suspicion. At present the English . . . are the
most devoted subjects of our gracious sovereign. I should be happy if I
could say as much for our Irish brethren; but their conduct has been—oh,
detestable! Yet what can you expect? The true . . . blush for them. A
certain person is a disgrace to the church of which he pretends to be the
servant. Where does he find in our canons sanction for his proceedings,
his undutiful expressions towards one who is his sovereign by divine
right, and who can do no wrong? And above all, where does he find
authority for inflaming the passions of a vile mob against a nation
intended by nature and by position to command them?
_Myself_.—I believe there is an Irish college in this city?
_Rector_.—I believe there is; but it does not flourish; there are few or
no pupils. Oh!
I looked through a window, at a great height, and saw about twenty or
thirty fine lads sporting in a court below. “This is as it should be,”
said I; “those boys will not make worse priests from a little early
devotion to trap-ball and cudgel playing. I dislike a staid, serious,
puritanic education, as I firmly believe that it encourages vice and
hypocrisy.”
We then went into the Rector’s room, where, above a crucifix, was hanging
a small portrait.
_Myself_.—That was a great and portentous man, honest withal. I believe
the body of which he was the founder, and which has been so much decried,
has effected infinitely more good than it has caused harm.
_Rector_.—What do I hear? You, an Englishman, and a Protestant, and yet
an admirer of Ignatius Loyola?
_Myself_.—I will say nothing with respect to the doctrine of the Jesuits,
for, as you have observed, I am a Protestant; but I am ready to assert
that there are no people in the world better qualified, upon the whole,
to be entrusted with the education of youth. Their moral system and
discipline are truly admirable. Their pupils, in after-life, are seldom
vicious and licentious characters, and are in general men of learning,
science, and possessed of every elegant accomplishment. I execrate the
conduct of the liberals of Madrid in murdering last year the helpless
fathers, by whose care and instruction two of the finest minds of Spain
have been evolved—the two ornaments of the liberal cause and modern
literature of Spain, for such are Toreno and Martinez de la Rosa. {66} .
. .
Gathered in small clusters about the pillars at the lower extremities of
the gold and silver streets in Lisbon, may be observed, about noon in
every day, certain strange-looking men whose appearance is neither
Portuguese nor European. Their dress generally consists of a red cap,
with a blue silken tassel at the top of it, a blue tunic girded at the
waist with a red sash, and wide linen pantaloons or trousers. He who
passes by these groups generally hears them conversing in broken Spanish
or Portuguese, and occasionally in a harsh guttural language, which the
oriental traveller knows to be the Arabic, or a dialect thereof. These
people are the Jews of Lisbon. {67a} Into the midst of one of these
groups I one day introduced myself, and pronounced a _beraka_, or
blessing. I have lived in different parts of the world, much amongst the
Hebrew race, and am well acquainted with their ways and phraseology. I
was rather anxious to become acquainted with the state of the Portuguese
Jews, and I had now an opportunity. “The man is a powerful rabbi,” said
a voice in Arabic; “it behoves us to treat him kindly.” They welcomed
me. I favoured their mistake, and in a few days I knew all that related
to them and their traffic in Lisbon. {67b}
The Jews of Europe at the present time are divided into two
classes—synagogues, as some call them—the Portuguese and German. Of
these the most celebrated is the Portuguese. Jews of this class are
generally considered as more polished than the others, better educated,
and more deeply versed both in the language of Scripture and the
traditions of their forefathers. In London there is a stately edifice
which is termed the synagogue of the Portuguese Jews, where the rites of
the Hebrew religion are performed with all possible splendour and
magnificence. Knowing all this, one would naturally expect, on arriving
in Portugal, to find one’s self in the head-quarters of that Judaism with
which the mind has been accustomed to associate so much that is
respectable and imposing. It was, therefore, with feelings of
considerable surprise that I heard from the beings, whom I have attempted
to describe above, the following account of themselves:—“We are not of
Portugal,” said they; “we come from Barbary, some from Algier, some from
the Levant, but mostly from Barbary, yonder-away!” And they pointed to
the south-west.
“And where are the Jews of Portugal,” I demanded: “the proper children of
the country?”
“We know of none but ourselves,” replied the Barbaresques, “though we
have heard say that there are others: if so, they do not come near us,
and they do right, for we are an evil people, O thou _Tsadik_, and
thieves to a man. A ship comes every year from Swirah; {68} it brings a
cargo of thieves, for it brings Jews.”
“And your wives and families,” said I, “where are they?”
“In Swirah, or Salee, or other places from whence we come. We bring not
our wives with us, nor our families: many of us have escaped hither
barely with life, flying from the punishment due to our crimes. Some
live in sin with the daughters of the Nazarene: for we are an evil race,
O _Tsadik_, and do not observe the precepts of the law.”
“And have you synagogues and teachers?”
“Both, O thou righteous one, yet little can be said of either: our
_chenourain_ are vile places, and our teachers are like ourselves, bound
in the _galoot_ of sin. One of them keeps in his house a daughter of the
Nazarene; he is from Swirah, and what good ever came from that shore?”
“You say your teachers are evil: do ye hearken unto their words?”
“Of course we hearken unto them: how could we do else and live? Our
teachers are evil men, and live by fraud, like ourselves; yet still are
they masters, men to be dreaded and obeyed. Have they not witchcraft at
their command, and angels? Have they not words of power, and the _Shem
Hamphorash_? {69} Were we not to hearken to them, could they not consign
our souls to horror, to mist and vapour, to mire and clay? Even as thou
couldst, O righteous one!”
Such was the extraordinary language in connexion with themselves which
they held to me, and which I have no reason to doubt, as it was
subsequently corroborated in more ways than one. How well do
superstition and crime go hand in hand! These wretched beings break the
eternal commandments of their Maker without scruple; but they will not
partake of the beast of the uncloven foot, and the fish which has no
scales. They pay slight regard to the denunciations of holy prophets
against the children of sin, but they quake at the sound of a dark
cabalistic word pronounced by one perhaps their equal or superior in
villany; as if, as has been well observed, God would delegate the
exercise of his power to the workers of iniquity.
It is quite certain that at one period the Jews of Portugal were
deservedly celebrated for wealth, learning, and polished manners; the
Inquisition, however, played sad havoc with them. Those who escaped the
_auto da fé_, without becoming converts to Popish idolatry, took refuge
in foreign lands, particularly in England, where they still retain their
original designation. At present, notwithstanding all religions are
tolerated in Portugal, the genuine Jews of the country do not show
themselves; {70} in their stead are seen the rabble of Barbary, and these
only in the streets of Lisbon—outcasts who make no secret of their own
degradation.