In the course of the very long distance between the simple ethical maxims of a Middle Eastern carpenter and the pomp and dogma of the Vatican, the Christian religion was peculiarly susceptible to at least two forms of corruption; the first, that it became aligned with, and then was seen to justify, purely worldly hierarchies and rankings; the second that it lent itself to, or encouraged, a sort of self-examination or introspection which could be either a source of exaltation or of morbid rumination and accusation tending towards the pathological. This is not the place to attempt to account for the first transformation, but the second is relevant to a consideration of the proliferation of ecclesiastical settlements and institutions that sprang up towards the decline of the Middle Ages. One in five of the male population of Europe, it has been reckoned, took up Holy Orders and entered a communal life of sanctity or idleness. The monasteries, undoubtedly, offered a relatively secure refuge from the continuous strife and danger of ordinary life; they also preserved such learning and scholarship as there was and were the main providers of what are now called the social services. At the same time, it has been observed that the thirteenth century was a time of something like universal insanity, a population driven half mad by a reasonable apprehension of the dangers of a world ravished by lawlessness and feudal aggressiveness as well as the Black Death and a superstitious and guilt-ridden awareness of the far worse horrors of the next. There was no solace to be obtained from Nature, a repository of malevolent forces, nor comfort from the body, the potential if not actual abode of demons. For the most part, life in these monastic retreats must have been a hell of recrimination, petty jealousies, arbitrary rules and painful penances, musings on wounds and martyrdoms and a fearful neuroticism unrelieved except in a few notable places by the compensatory pleasures of scholarship or useful horticulture or at that stage even by the gluttony and amorous intrigue for which Portuguese monasteries and nunneries later became notorious.
There were occasions to reflect on these pictures of the medieval past when I lived in Santa Maria, especially on long winter nights when the damp and silence closed in and it became easier to imagine something of how it would have been without the railway station conveniently down the hill, or the laid-on water and the gas cooker, and when ghosts and phantoms swarmed in the mist along with other more tangible threats potentially just around the corner. In a thickly-wooded narrow valley, amongst great boulders and tucked well out of sight, it can hardly have been coincidental that Santa Maria contained such a number of ecclesiastical edifices out of all proportion to its social significance. Since it huddled right at the foot of the Moorish fortress it can be assumed that practical use was made of existing structures or habitations, and possibly of the services of a colony of Arabic or half-Arabic artisans and so on, but there are no indications that otherwise it was ever other than a tiny village quite remote from Lisbon.
The most imposing building is the Quinta do Convento da Trindade, a large double-storied square enclosing two inner courts. The present building is actually principally of eighteenth-century construction replacing that of the two centuries before, but in 1347 there were a number of friars occupying a hermitage on the site as well as, in the best ascetic tradition, some adjoining caves. It must have been bleak. Presumably conditions improved slightly after 1410, when a Royal Charter founded the Order of the Most Holy Trinity of Sintra, and improved a good deal more later as the Convento increased in size and importance until 1834 when the religiosos were expelled and dispersed under a programme of State reform. It immediately passed into private hands and by the 1980’s was becoming fairly dilapidated. A little later, local busybodies (of whom by then I was one) watched with curious interest as an extensive renovation gradually took place and it became known that the Convento had changed hands again. I had occasion to meet the former owner, who was rather sour about his successor, “a vulgar American woman” he called her, and the damage she’d wrought, but he was wrong I think on all counts. I know nothing of Mme Arnold’s personal habits, but I’d have to hand it to her that the combination of an apparently bottomless purse and perfect taste has achieved a rare masterpiece of sumptuous luxury without ostentation or loss of tradition; if only there were more of the very rich who so skillfully add to the beauty of their surroundings instead of despoiling them. The grounds extend effortlessly from manicured lawns to the natural forest bordering the first line of the defences of the castelo, and are as lovely as can be.
Sintra was organized into four paróquias at the time of D. Afonso Henriques’ conquest of Lisbon and some place of worship was immediately constructed on the site of the present Igreja de Santa Maria, a couple of hundred metres down from the Convento da Trindade. Apparently the dignitaries of the four parishes fought and squabbled with each other for eminence, those of Santa Maria maintaining an upper hand so that by 1254 they were able to demolish the original building and put up a grander one which remained until the earthquake. The present church was largely reconstructed after that, between 1775 and 1760; it retains, however, the former portal and, I should say, some of the original buttressing at the back. It’s fairly bare and charmless inside, especially with the addition of some ‘decoration’ of the 1950’s.. Sometime at the beginning of the twentieth century some of the grounds were incorporated, very prettily, into private gardens. Hans Christian Anderson stayed for a short period in the ‘House of the Graveyard’ facing the church; his account of his sojourn in Portugal is neither particularly interesting nor particularly grateful to his hosts. The church’s fine position in a miniature rustic square elevated high above Sintra and overlooking a panorama of countryside extending to the sea has made it a favourite for weddings, not all of them unfortunately quite as elegant as the participants might aspire to be and in no way improved by the cars which they insist on bringing down a narrow cobbled lane completely unsuited to that sort of traffic.
The remains of the adjoining parish church of São Miguel cling to the side of the mountain immediately above that of Santa Maria, about four minutes walk away for the reasonably fit. The probable date of its foundation is 1283, and the gothic apse still visible from below was added in 1336. Its clergy were evidently less powerful than their neighbours, because in 1469 it passed into the authority of the Lisbon Cathedral and in 1506 it became known as the Queens’ House – warranting a new cedar-wood roof and a new rector (these details taken also from the Inventário do Património previously cited). The earthquake damage was not repaired until the 1860’s when it became another decorative adjunct to the Pena Palace. More recently it serves as premises for the Forestry Services that maintain the National Parklands.
The 1755 earthquake, incidentally, calamitous in Lisbon principally on account of the quantity of water that was forced back up the Tagus estuary and then returned with devastating effect to wipe out most of the medieval and subsequent city, must have been even more terrifying for those inhabitants of this part of Sintra who were unlucky enough to be caught in it. That side of the mountain, under the cover of the trees, is composed of gigantic rocks some of which seem to be poised each on the other by only enough surface almost to be sent rolling by a strong push. How far the present unnerving topography is the consequence of the earthquake, or to what extent it was always like that and somehow remained in place, I’m not able to discover; nor is there any record, as far as I know, of what other destruction ensued at the time. Except for the remains of the churches just mentioned, there are no buildings in Santa Maria visibly pre-dating the earthquake. A much more splendid monastic complex, the Convento da Penha Longa a few kilometres away, possibly survived better because of being situated on more level ground and being less hemmed in, but although a ‘hermitage’ had been founded there as long ago as 1355, three centuries of additions and increasing importance would have left little of its original flavour intact, the groined cloister and so on notwithstanding. The position suggests a more wholesome, less claustrophobic view of the monastic life. Shamefully, in the ‘nineties, the greater part of this property was relinquished to accommodate a vile modern hotel, ‘condominiums’ and acres of grass for golfers. A great emphasis is placed on ‘luxury’ and exclusiveness, which means only that it costs a lot to be wrapped in plastic and artifice or propel a motorized cart over the lawns. The monastery and chapel, once isolated in a sort of broad natural amphitheatre, now sits forlornly amongst this pretentious trash where its background beauties serve as a flattering screen to the modern inmates.
On a much smaller scale, a similar fate has befallen the little chapel of Santa Eufemia high up above São Pedro, mentioned in 1147 as the site of a healing fountain and to which generations of hopeful pilgrims made their way. A car park for motorists to enjoy the view of the encroaching suburbs below obliterated any sense of pilgrimage, and I was horrified recently to discover that a radio station has been installed there, that the fountain is scribbled over with graffiti, the whole area littered with rubbish and coca-cola cans and the goats that used to wander around have been removed as an unhygienic danger – unless the sensible creatures departed voluntarily in disgust.
There were occasions to reflect on these pictures of the medieval past when I lived in Santa Maria, especially on long winter nights when the damp and silence closed in and it became easier to imagine something of how it would have been without the railway station conveniently down the hill, or the laid-on water and the gas cooker, and when ghosts and phantoms swarmed in the mist along with other more tangible threats potentially just around the corner. In a thickly-wooded narrow valley, amongst great boulders and tucked well out of sight, it can hardly have been coincidental that Santa Maria contained such a number of ecclesiastical edifices out of all proportion to its social significance. Since it huddled right at the foot of the Moorish fortress it can be assumed that practical use was made of existing structures or habitations, and possibly of the services of a colony of Arabic or half-Arabic artisans and so on, but there are no indications that otherwise it was ever other than a tiny village quite remote from Lisbon.
The most imposing building is the Quinta do Convento da Trindade, a large double-storied square enclosing two inner courts. The present building is actually principally of eighteenth-century construction replacing that of the two centuries before, but in 1347 there were a number of friars occupying a hermitage on the site as well as, in the best ascetic tradition, some adjoining caves. It must have been bleak. Presumably conditions improved slightly after 1410, when a Royal Charter founded the Order of the Most Holy Trinity of Sintra, and improved a good deal more later as the Convento increased in size and importance until 1834 when the religiosos were expelled and dispersed under a programme of State reform. It immediately passed into private hands and by the 1980’s was becoming fairly dilapidated. A little later, local busybodies (of whom by then I was one) watched with curious interest as an extensive renovation gradually took place and it became known that the Convento had changed hands again. I had occasion to meet the former owner, who was rather sour about his successor, “a vulgar American woman” he called her, and the damage she’d wrought, but he was wrong I think on all counts. I know nothing of Mme Arnold’s personal habits, but I’d have to hand it to her that the combination of an apparently bottomless purse and perfect taste has achieved a rare masterpiece of sumptuous luxury without ostentation or loss of tradition; if only there were more of the very rich who so skillfully add to the beauty of their surroundings instead of despoiling them. The grounds extend effortlessly from manicured lawns to the natural forest bordering the first line of the defences of the castelo, and are as lovely as can be.
Sintra was organized into four paróquias at the time of D. Afonso Henriques’ conquest of Lisbon and some place of worship was immediately constructed on the site of the present Igreja de Santa Maria, a couple of hundred metres down from the Convento da Trindade. Apparently the dignitaries of the four parishes fought and squabbled with each other for eminence, those of Santa Maria maintaining an upper hand so that by 1254 they were able to demolish the original building and put up a grander one which remained until the earthquake. The present church was largely reconstructed after that, between 1775 and 1760; it retains, however, the former portal and, I should say, some of the original buttressing at the back. It’s fairly bare and charmless inside, especially with the addition of some ‘decoration’ of the 1950’s.. Sometime at the beginning of the twentieth century some of the grounds were incorporated, very prettily, into private gardens. Hans Christian Anderson stayed for a short period in the ‘House of the Graveyard’ facing the church; his account of his sojourn in Portugal is neither particularly interesting nor particularly grateful to his hosts. The church’s fine position in a miniature rustic square elevated high above Sintra and overlooking a panorama of countryside extending to the sea has made it a favourite for weddings, not all of them unfortunately quite as elegant as the participants might aspire to be and in no way improved by the cars which they insist on bringing down a narrow cobbled lane completely unsuited to that sort of traffic.
The remains of the adjoining parish church of São Miguel cling to the side of the mountain immediately above that of Santa Maria, about four minutes walk away for the reasonably fit. The probable date of its foundation is 1283, and the gothic apse still visible from below was added in 1336. Its clergy were evidently less powerful than their neighbours, because in 1469 it passed into the authority of the Lisbon Cathedral and in 1506 it became known as the Queens’ House – warranting a new cedar-wood roof and a new rector (these details taken also from the Inventário do Património previously cited). The earthquake damage was not repaired until the 1860’s when it became another decorative adjunct to the Pena Palace. More recently it serves as premises for the Forestry Services that maintain the National Parklands.
On a much smaller scale, a similar fate has befallen the little chapel of Santa Eufemia high up above São Pedro, mentioned in 1147 as the site of a healing fountain and to which generations of hopeful pilgrims made their way. A car park for motorists to enjoy the view of the encroaching suburbs below obliterated any sense of pilgrimage, and I was horrified recently to discover that a radio station has been installed there, that the fountain is scribbled over with graffiti, the whole area littered with rubbish and coca-cola cans and the goats that used to wander around have been removed as an unhygienic danger – unless the sensible creatures departed voluntarily in disgust.
For want of a better place, because it’s a major tourist attraction, I should mention here a genuinely uncomfortable monastic hideaway, the Capuchin or Cork Convent (Convento de Stª Cruz da Serra de Sintra, est 1560), concealed in the middle of the Serra, but for all its authentic appearance it is not of medieval origin and in fact has something about it of the frivolity of the ‘decorative hermitages’ of the eighteenth century during which it flourished. Extremely picturesque on postcards, the interior produces a half-delighted half-horrified frisson in anyone who enters, because none of the cork-lined cells is long or wide or high enough to permit the occupant either to stand up or lie down. For all that – and the other amenities must have been equally Spartan, the communal lavatory amongst them – there was apparently a waiting list of applicants eager for admission until the place was emptied after the State prohibition in 1834. I think it can be assumed that the solution to this apparent paradox is that it was a happy haven of enthusiastic sado-masochists. Until they were removed by a band of enterprising Spanish thieves, the decorative azulejos depicted in careful detail and far too attractively instruments of torture and scenes of flagellation and other punishments. Similar entertainments are now more conveniently available in specialized ‘bars’ in most major cities without the necessity of pilgrimages or physical hardship . A lot of early saints, of course, were all too ready to suffer for their sins, but the addition of blatant sensuality was a later and perhaps more civilized development. That consideration might conduce to a less facilely critical or sarcastic appraisal of an institution too far removed to be comprehensible. I have two friends right here for whom the monastic life is attractive, in theory anyway. There were the great advantages of uncompetitive comradeship (the word ‘brother’ is not accidental), ordered regularity and time to think. For intelligent men (or women), the disadvantage is to be placed almost inevitably under the rule of another less than perfectly admired, and there other than instinctively slavish individuals draw back. Before we rush to condemn the mistakes and errors of the past, we ought to consider to what extent the present world is enslaved by equally idiotic and superstitious delusions.
Returning to the other four original Sintra parishes, the Igreja de São Pedro is in the village of the same name a little further on from Santa Maria and that of São Martinho is in the town itself, perhaps half a mile or so further down in the other direction. Both have evolved over time to their present forms, characteristically Portuguese Baroque, the latter especially, and it occupies a pleasing little belvedere overlooking some of the more opulent residences of a later epoch where it’s very nice to smoke a cigarette and have a rest in the course of conducting visiting friends around the town. Hidden away in a back street there are the remnants of what is listed in the Inventário as a ‘gothic house’, used as a sort of barn until very recently, but there’s nothing in the present town remotely reminiscent of the Dark Ages and actually gloomy and cloistered associations would not suit it at all. A nasty-looking pelourinho or pillory decorates the main square, but although the last malefactor was ‘exposed’ there as comparatively recently as 1805 its authenticity is extremely doubtful. Sintra has always specialised in ‘romantic’ stage props, of which another good example is the ‘romanesque’ chapel in the Quinta de Stº António da Serra half way up the mountain: this pretty little sanctuary, tucked into the very rocks that support the castelo, was built around in about 1920.
Returning to the other four original Sintra parishes, the Igreja de São Pedro is in the village of the same name a little further on from Santa Maria and that of São Martinho is in the town itself, perhaps half a mile or so further down in the other direction. Both have evolved over time to their present forms, characteristically Portuguese Baroque, the latter especially, and it occupies a pleasing little belvedere overlooking some of the more opulent residences of a later epoch where it’s very nice to smoke a cigarette and have a rest in the course of conducting visiting friends around the town. Hidden away in a back street there are the remnants of what is listed in the Inventário as a ‘gothic house’, used as a sort of barn until very recently, but there’s nothing in the present town remotely reminiscent of the Dark Ages and actually gloomy and cloistered associations would not suit it at all. A nasty-looking pelourinho or pillory decorates the main square, but although the last malefactor was ‘exposed’ there as comparatively recently as 1805 its authenticity is extremely doubtful. Sintra has always specialised in ‘romantic’ stage props, of which another good example is the ‘romanesque’ chapel in the Quinta de Stº António da Serra half way up the mountain: this pretty little sanctuary, tucked into the very rocks that support the castelo, was built around in about 1920.
It was not until Portugal embarked on the founding of the greatest empire the world had yet seen that Sintra came into its own as a created vision of an earthly paradise
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