Cold of Portugal—Extortion prevented—Sensation of Loneliness—The Dog—The
Convent—Enchanting Landscape—Moorish Fortresses—Prayer for the Sick.
About a fortnight after my return from Evora, having made the necessary
preparations, I set out on my journey for Badajoz, from which town I
intended to take the diligence to Madrid. Badajoz lies about a hundred
miles distant from Lisbon, and is the principal frontier town of Spain in
the direction of the Alemtejo. To reach this place, it was necessary to
re-travel the road as far as Monte Moro, which I had already passed in my
excursion to Evora; I had therefore very little pleasure to anticipate
from novelty of scenery. Moreover, in this journey I should be a
solitary traveller, with no other companion than the muleteer, as it was
my intention to take my servant no farther than Aldea Gallega, for which
place I started at four in the afternoon. Warned by former experience, I
did not now embark in a small boat, but in one of the regular passage
felouks, in which we reached Aldea Gallega, after a voyage of six hours;
for the boat was heavy, there was no wind to propel it, and the crew were
obliged to ply their huge oars the whole way. In a word, this passage
was the reverse of the first—safe in every respect, but so sluggish and
tiresome, that I a hundred times wished myself again under the guidance
of the wild lad, galloping before the hurricane over the foaming billows.
From eight till ten the cold was truly terrible, and though I was closely
wrapped in an excellent fur _shoob_, with which I had braved the frosts
of Russian winters, I shivered in every limb, and was far more rejoiced
when I again set my foot on the Alemtejo, than when I landed for the
first time, after having escaped the horrors of the tempest.
I took up my quarters for the night at a house to which my friend who
feared the darkness had introduced me on my return from Evora, and where,
though I paid mercilessly dear for everything, the accommodation was
superior to that of the common inn in the square. My first care now was
to inquire for mules to convey myself and baggage to Elvas, from whence
there are but three short leagues to the Spanish town of Badajoz. The
people of the house informed me that they had an excellent pair at my
disposal, but when I inquired the price, they were not ashamed to demand
four _moidores_. I offered them three, which was too much, but which,
however, they did not accept; for, knowing me to be an Englishman, they
thought they had an excellent opportunity to practise imposition, not
imagining that a person so rich as an Englishman _must_ be, would go out
in a cold night for the sake of obtaining a reasonable bargain. They
were, however, much mistaken, as I told them that rather than encourage
them in their knavery I should be content to return to Lisbon; whereupon
they dropped their demand to three and a half; but I made them no answer,
and, going out with Antonio, proceeded to the house of the old man who
had accompanied us to Evora. We knocked a considerable time, for he was
in bed; at length he arose and admitted us, but on hearing our object, he
said that his mules were again gone to Evora, under the charge of the
boy, for the purpose of transporting some articles of merchandize. He,
however, recommended us to a person in the neighbourhood who kept mules
for hire, and there Antonio engaged two fine beasts for two _moidores_
and a half. I say _he_ engaged them, for I stood aloof and spoke not,
and the proprietor, who exhibited them, and who stood half dressed, with
a lamp in his hand, and shivering with cold, was not aware that they were
intended for a foreigner till the agreement was made, and he had received
a part of the sum in earnest. I returned to the inn well pleased, and
having taken some refreshment, went to rest, paying little attention to
the people, who glanced daggers at me from their small Jewish eyes.
At five the next morning the mules were at the door. A lad of some
nineteen or twenty years of age attended them. He was short, but
exceedingly strong built, and possessed the largest head which I ever
beheld upon mortal shoulders; neck he had none, at least I could discern
nothing which could be entitled to that name. His features were
hideously ugly, and upon addressing him I discovered that he was an
idiot. Such was my intended companion in a journey of nearly a hundred
miles, which would occupy four days, and which lay over the most savage
and ill-noted track in the whole kingdom. I took leave of my servant
almost with tears, for he had always served me with the greatest
fidelity, and had exhibited an assiduity and a wish to please which
afforded me the utmost satisfaction.
We started, my uncouth guide sitting tailor-fashion on the sumpter mule,
upon the baggage. The moon had just gone down, and the morning was
pitchy dark, and, as usual, piercingly cold. We soon entered the dismal
wood, which I had already traversed, and through which we wended our way
for some time, slowly and mournfully. Not a sound was to be heard save
the trampling of the animals, not a breath of air moved the leafless
branches, no animal stirred in the thickets, no bird, not even the owl,
flew over our heads, all seemed desolate and dead; and during my many and
far wanderings, I never experienced a greater sensation of loneliness,
and a greater desire for conversation and an exchange of ideas than then.
To speak to the idiot was useless, for though competent to show the road,
with which he was well acquainted, he had no other answer than an uncouth
laugh to any question put to him. Thus situated, like many other persons
when human comfort is not at hand, I turned my heart to God, and began to
commune with Him, the result of which was that my mind soon became
quieted and comforted.
We passed on our way uninterrupted; no thieves showed themselves, nor
indeed did we see a single individual until we arrived at Pegões, and
from thence to Vendas Novas our fortune was the same. I was welcomed
with great kindness by the people of the hostelry of the latter place,
who were well acquainted with me on account of my having twice passed the
night under their roof. The name of the keeper of this inn is, or was,
Jozé Dias Azido, and, unlike the generality of those of the same
profession as himself in Portugal, he is an honest man; and a stranger
and foreigner who takes up his quarters at his inn may rest assured that
he will not be most unmercifully pillaged and cheated when the hour of
reckoning shall arrive, as he will not be charged a single _ré_ {75} more
than a native Portuguese on a similar occasion. I paid at this place
exactly one-half of the sum which was demanded from me at Arroyolos,
where I passed the ensuing night, and where the accommodation was in
every respect inferior.
At twelve next day we arrived at Monte Moro, and, as I was not pressed
for time, I determined upon viewing the ruins which cover the top and
middle part of the stately hill which towers above the town. Having
ordered some refreshment at the inn where we dismounted, I ascended till
I arrived at a large wall or rampart, which, at a certain altitude,
embraces the whole hill. I crossed a rude bridge of stones, which
bestrides a small hollow or trench; and passing by a large tower, entered
through a portal into the enclosed part of the hill. On the left hand
stood a church, in good preservation, and still devoted to the purposes
of religion, but which I could not enter, as the door was locked, and I
saw no one at hand to open it.
I soon found that my curiosity had led me to a most extraordinary place,
which quite beggars the scanty powers of description with which I am
gifted. I stumbled on amongst ruined walls, and at one time found I was
treading over vaults, as I suddenly started back from a yawning orifice
into which my next step, as I strolled musing along, would have
precipitated me. I proceeded for a considerable way by the eastern wall,
till I heard a tremendous bark, and presently an immense dog, such as
those which guard the flocks in the neighbourhood against the wolves,
came bounding to attack me “with eyes that glowed, and fangs that
grinned.” Had I retreated, or had recourse to any other mode of defence
than that which I invariably practise under such circumstances, he would
probably have worried me; but I stooped till my chin nearly touched my
knee, and looked him full in the eyes, and, as John Leyden says, in the
noblest ballad which the Land of Heather has produced:—
“The hound he yowled, and back he fled,
As struck with fairy charm.” {76}
It is a fact known to many people, and I believe it has been frequently
stated, that no large and fierce dog or animal of any kind, with the
exception of the bull, which shuts its eyes and rushes blindly forward,
will venture to attack an individual who confronts it with a firm and
motionless countenance. I say large and fierce, for it is much easier to
repel a bloodhound or bear of Finland in this manner than a dung-hill cur
or a terrier, against which a stick or a stone is a much more certain
defence. This will astonish no one who considers that the calm reproving
glance of reason, which allays the excesses of the mighty and courageous
in our own species, has seldom any other effect than to add to the
insolence of the feeble and foolish, who become placid as doves upon the
infliction of chastisements, which, if attempted to be applied to the
former, would only serve to render them more terrible, and, like
gunpowder cast on a flame, cause them, in mad desperation, to scatter
destruction around them.
The barking of the dog brought out from a kind of alley an elderly man,
whom I supposed to be his master, and of whom I made some inquiries
respecting the place. The man was civil, and informed me that he served
as a soldier in the British army, under the “great lord,” during the
Peninsula war. He said that there was a convent of nuns a little farther
on, which he would show me, and thereupon led the way to the south-east
part of the wall, where stood a large dilapidated edifice.
We entered a dark stone apartment, at one corner of which was a kind of
window occupied by a turning table, at which articles were received into
the convent or delivered out. He rang the bell, and, without saying a
word, retired, leaving me rather perplexed; but presently I heard, though
the speaker was invisible, a soft feminine voice demanding who I was, and
what I wanted. I replied, that I was an Englishman travelling into
Spain; and that, passing through Monte Moro, I had ascended the hill for
the purpose of seeing the ruins. The voice then said, “I suppose you are
a military man going to fight against the king, like the rest of your
countrymen?” “No,” said I, “I am not a military man, but a Christian;
and I go not to shed blood, but to endeavour to introduce the gospel of
Christ into a country where it is not known;” whereupon there was a
stifled titter. I then inquired if there were any copies of the Holy
Scriptures in the convent; but the friendly voice could give me no
information on that point, and I scarcely believe that its possessor
understood the purport of my question. It informed me, that the office
of lady abbess of the house was an annual one, and that every year there
was a fresh superior. On my inquiring whether the nuns did not
frequently find the time exceedingly heavy on their hands, it stated
that, when they had nothing better to do, they employed themselves in
making cheesecakes, which were disposed of in the neighbourhood. I
thanked the voice for its communications, and walked away. Whilst
proceeding under the wall of the house towards the south-west, I heard a
fresh and louder tittering above my head, and, looking up, saw three or
four windows crowded with dusky faces, and black waving hair; these
belonged to the nuns, anxious to obtain a view of the stranger. After
kissing my hand repeatedly, I moved on, and soon arrived at the
south-west end of this mountain of curiosities. There I found the
remains of a large building, which seemed to have been originally erected
in the shape of a cross. A tower at its eastern entrance was still
entire; the western side was quite in ruins, and stood on the verge of
the hill overlooking the valley, at the bottom of which ran the stream I
have spoken of on a former occasion.
The day was intensely hot, notwithstanding the coldness of the preceding
nights; and the brilliant sun of Portugal now illumined a landscape of
entrancing beauty. Groves of cork-trees covered the farther side of the
valley and the distant acclivities, exhibiting here and there charming
vistas, where various flocks of cattle were feeding; the soft murmur of
the stream, which was at intervals chafed and broken by huge stones,
ascended to my ears and filled my mind with delicious feelings. I sat
down on the broken wall and remained gazing, and listening, and shedding
tears of rapture; for of all the pleasures which a bountiful God
permitteth his children to enjoy, none are so dear to some hearts as the
music of forests and streams, and the view of the beauties of his
glorious creation. An hour elapsed, and I still maintained my seat on
the wall; the past scenes of my life flitting before my eyes in airy and
fantastic array, through which every now and then peeped trees and hills,
and other patches of the real landscape which I was confronting. The sun
burnt my visage, but I heeded it not; and I believe that I should have
remained till night, buried in these reveries, which, I confess, only
serve to enervate the mind and steal many a minute which might be more
profitably employed, had not the report of the gun of a fowler in the
valley, which awakened the echoes of the woods, hills, and ruins, caused
me to start on my feet, and remember that I had to proceed three leagues
before I could reach the hostelry where I intended to pass the night.
I bent my steps to the inn, passing along a kind of rampart. Shortly
before I reached the portal, which I have already mentioned, I observed a
kind of vault on my right hand, scooped out of the side of the hill; its
roof was supported by three pillars, though part of it had given way
towards the farther end, so that the light was admitted through a chasm
in the top. It might have been intended for a chapel, a dungeon, or a
cemetery, but I should rather think for the latter. One thing I am
certain of, that it was not the work of Moorish hands; and indeed
throughout my wandering in this place I saw nothing which reminded me of
that most singular people. The hill on which the ruins stand was
doubtless originally a strong fortress of the Moors, who, upon their
first irruption into the peninsula, seized and fortified most of the
lofty and naturally strong positions, but they had probably lost it at an
early period, so that the broken walls and edifices, which at present
cover the hill, are probably remains of the labours of the Christians
after the place had been rescued from the hands of the terrible enemies
of their faith. Monte Moro will perhaps recall Cintra to the mind of the
traveller, as it exhibits a distant resemblance to that place;
nevertheless, there is something in Cintra wild and savage, to which
Monte Moro has no pretension. Its scathed and gigantic crags are piled
upon each other in a manner which seems to menace headlong destruction to
whatever is in the neighbourhood; and the ruins which still cling to
those crags seem more like eagles’ nests than the remains of the
habitations even of Moors; whereas those of Monte Moro stand
comparatively at their ease on the broad back of a hill, which, though
stately and commanding, has no crags nor precipices, and which can be
ascended on every side without much difficulty. Yet I was much gratified
by my visit, and I shall wander far indeed before I forget the voice in
the dilapidated convent, the ruined walls amongst which I strayed, and
the rampart, where, sunk in dreamy rapture, I sat during a bright sunny
hour at Monte Moro.
I returned to the inn, where I refreshed myself with tea and very sweet
and delicious cheesecakes, the handiwork of the nuns in the convent
above. Observing gloom and unhappiness on the countenances of the people
of the house, I inquired the reason of the hostess, who sat almost
motionless on the hearth by the fire; whereupon she informed me that her
husband was deadly sick with a disorder which, from her description, I
supposed to be a species of cholera; she added, that the surgeon who
attended him entertained no hopes of his recovery. I replied that it was
quite in the power of God to restore her husband in a few hours from the
verge of the grave to health and vigour, and that it was her duty to pray
to that Omnipotent Being with all fervency. I added, that if she did not
know how to pray upon such an occasion, I was ready to pray for her,
provided she would join in the spirit of the supplication. I then
offered up a short prayer in Portuguese, in which I entreated the Lord to
remove, if he thought proper, the burden of affliction under which the
family was labouring.
The woman listened attentively, with her hands devoutly clasped, until
the prayer was finished, and then gazed at me seemingly with
astonishment, but uttered no word by which I could gather that she was
pleased or displeased with what I had said. I now bade the family
farewell, and having mounted my mule, set forward to Arroyolos. {81}