There is a tolerable road over a rugged and frowning tract that leads to the Cork Convent, " Convento da Cortica." This monastery, placed in a forlorn and solitary spot, in a recess of the craggy serra, and bearing a poverty-stricken aspect, recalls to memory its poverty-stricken, pious founder and projector, Joao de Castro, of whom on his deathbed—if, indeed, he had a bed to die upon — St. Francis Xavier, his confidential friend, remarked, " the Viceroy of India is dying in such penury and want, that he has not wherewithal to purchase a fowl."
This poor convent, or as some, I believe, call it, hermitage, comprises a church, a refectory, chapterhouse, sacristy, and somewhere about twenty cells. The different apartments are in part built over the surface, and partly they are formed of apertures in the rock; they have cork linings throughout, as a means of counteracting the pernicious effects of the great damp; and so these cork belts to their rooms were really " life-preservers " to the monks. It is from this circumstance the Convento da Cortica takes its name.
In the time of the reverend occupants, all in their abode was squalid and shabby; they gloried in having everything as uncomfortable as possible; (query, would not a true Hibernian have found this place the perfection of all comfort ?) — such a thing as a bed was unknown to those reformed Franciscans. The bell at the entrance to the convent was rung by the instrumentality of a vine-stem that obligingly lent itself to this service instead of a rope. Each cell was about five feet square, with very narrow, low doors, and in every respect they would have been better accommodation for the dead than the living. Conducting to the refectory there is a court, where had once flourished, we are told, fair flowers, such as hydrangeas and geraniums. (These monks had some taste, it seems.) The seats of the dining- cavern, for such it was, as well as their dining-tables, were roughly hewn out of the solid rock : they could certainly ask none to their hospitable board, or to sit round their mahogany, seeing they had nothing but a block of granite.
At no great distance from the building a hole is to be seen, partially hidden by a huge stone : in this hole a hermit, named Honorius, literally lived for the last sixteen years of his life. Here he slept, and when he stretched himself out, or rather doubled himself up to rest (like those " folded flowers " Mrs. Hemans so prettily tells us of, I suppose, for there was not room in the little cave for him to extend himself, at full length)—in the fashion of the defunct babes in the wood, a few dead leaves formed his couch—both his mattress and coverlet—and his night-garment too, probably ; and he had not even a robin-redbreast for a valet, to aid him in arranging these, in his gloomy solitude !—while a mishapen rough stone was his very incommodious pillow, which must have given him many a severe headache, one should imagine. Poor fellow! what a treasure would a well-knitted anti-macassar have been to him ! not to protect his cushion of granite from contact, with Rowland's infallible preservative, which he could not have had the advantage of using, but to preserve his own skull from the rough friction of such an apology for a bolster. However, notwithstanding this, and a multitude of acts of penance which the annals of the Order to which this convent belonged recount faithfully of him, Honorius lived to be ninety-five.
The hermit was indeed a " folded flower " night and day, in his solitary life of penance! Strange delusion ! to think such mortifications can please Him who has given us all things richly to enjoy, with thankfulness and moderation.
From the humblest of flowers he might have learned a nobler lesson; they, perhaps, fulfil their part better. "Of what use are flowers?" asked Hafir of the philosopher, who had been rather severe on poets in the course of conversation. " They are good to smell," replied the philosopher; " And I to smell them," rejoined the bard,—" they are good to smell! "—A pleasing quality, assuredly. I doubt if that much could be said of Honorius.
The road from the Cork Convent to the west continues for a good distance to wind in and out among the bold and jutting crags. For the most part, the "serra" is formed of granite of unequal consistency; the grains are large in some places, and small in others, and in some parts are very soft, so as to be with ease crushed by the hand, and in other portions extremely hard. The felspar it contains is generally of a greyish-tinged white, the mica black, and the quartz a dull white. Fine particles of magnetic iron mingle with them. Magnetic iron is also found in the mountain-crests, having a thickness of several inches. In general the strata follow no regular direction; and this, in addition to the confusedly-piled, and distorted, and rugged appearance of the crags and rocks, which are massed one above another in the most fantastic manner, favours, the supposition that their origin was decidedly volcanic. Of this, indeed, there seems but little doubt.
In descending from the mountain, the town of Collares, lying at some distance to the north-west, is discerned; this town gives its name to the wine so, well-known in Portugal, called, like it, " Collares." A late Portuguese writer describes it thus enthusiastically (the town, not the wine):—" At about a league to the west of the town of Cintra, and at a distance of six leagues north-west from the city of Lisbon, above a fertile and verdurous vale, known by the appellation of the Varsea, is situated the ever-smiling town of Collares, which for the flow of its fairy fountains, the melody of its delightful birds, the delicious temperature of its air—which in the most oppressive heats of summer never fails to be fresh and exquisitely cool, like the atmosphere of tender spring,—the delicacy of its rich fruits, and the purity of its pellucid water, deserves to be called a very paradise upon earth."
These extravagant commendations are, without doubt, overstrained and exaggerated ; but still the lovely valley of Collares, covered with orchards and smiling orange-groves, presents a truly pleasing prospect, and contrasts itself exquisitely with the arid and naked mountains, along whose base it so enchant- ingly spreads. As to the straggling town, poor and inconsiderable, it has little of interest. Some Roman inscriptions have been discovered near it, most of which are transcribed in the volume from which the description I have quoted was taken— a work written by the Viscount de Jurumenha. Around Collares the vineyards are small, and so cut up into petty portions by stone walls, that the country presents slightly the appearance of a chessboard.
But there are other things more lovely in the neighbourhood of Collares; there grows the arbutus, gigantically high; there flourish the wild olive, the colossal stone-pine, the chestnut, the plane, and the tulip. There the cork-tree is twisting itself into ten thousand gracefully grotesque shapes, with misletoe depending in profusion from its branches,- increasing the wildness of its appearance. The oak, too, is found here in its kingly grandeur, odoriferous jessamines abound in their fairy and starry beauty, while feathery fern adds its aerial lightness to the charm of the varied vegetation, and numerous parasitic plants climb about the trees, hiding the foliage and the branches often with their exuberance. Water-melons, wild strawberries, Indian corn, rosemary, rhododendrons, geraniums, orange- trees, lemon-trees, and many other delightful productions of Nature, all are beautifully confounded together in the fine season.
At the extremity of this " happy valley,"—such, methinks, it must have been to the Viscount de Jurumenha—the crystal streamlets that flow gleaming and babbling through it, unite their sparkling waters, thus forming a kind of lake, on whose tranquil bosom of beauty a pleasure-boat is to be found, for the gratification of those rurally-disposed parties who come from Cintra and Lisbon to disport themselves amid these fragrant haunts. From hence a murmuring rivulet, like a silver thread, winds along its graceful way to the great ocean.
This is said to have been once a navigable river; and it is further stated, that in these flourishing times of its prosperity the fruit-trees, like other officious sycophants, ever, — bent and showered down their gifts on its waters as they assiduously overhung its verdant banks; these were rapidly carried down the current, and as it arrived at the beach, with its never-buttoned pearly pockets crammed with ripe apples,—like a schoolboy of a stream, it gave the name to that beach which it still bears, " Praia das Macas" (Beach of the Apples).
There is a lofty headland about three-quarters of a league from Collares, rising almost perpendicularly to the height of two hundred feet, if not more, above the roaring Atlantic; it is known by the denomination of " Pedra d'Alvidrar:" at particular points the billows of the mighty ocean rush foaming against its base, and are believed to have worn and undermined it to a considerable, and perhaps dangerous, extent. This may be ascertained by looking through a singular circular chasm, or aperture (situated at some distance from the brink of this fearful precipice), at the bottom of which the restless sea is to be seen chafing and fretting like a haughty steed against its rider. Altogether, beheld from above, the scene appears sufficiently threatening to appal a spirit not easily daunted. But the male part of the population of a somewhat insignificant village in the neighbourhood perform here a curious feat, and seem quite at home on the perilous precipice, if not on the most familiar terms with the h.pary Atlantic himself, when, entirely without any aid or support but their own hands and feet, they descend the rock, despite its perpendicularity, from the crest of the precipice to the edge of the roaring waters, and ascend again in the same way: the slightest slip, or the accidental giving way of a portion of the rock, must unavoidably send them headlong into the thundering deep below, whose waves seem howling and leaping for their prey,—yet they shrink not.
What makes the feat more remarkable is, that the rock is mainly composed of smooth blocks of stone. Accidents, however, have rarely occurred, which would lead one to suppose the undertaking cannot be so desperate a venture as it appears, nor, one should think, attended with a great amount of skill, as there is scarcely an inhabitant of the neighbouring village that does not successfully accomplish the task.
These poor people consider themselves adequately remunerated for this exploit with a few " vintems."
Fishermen will occasionally ascend this fearful- looking steep, bearing the encumbrance of a basketful of fish, solely for their own convenience, to save them a more roundabout journey.
Stuart-Wortley, to p. 140
Showing posts with label Cork Convent. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Cork Convent. Show all posts
Monday, 3 August 2009
Sunday, 2 August 2009
Pena and Capuchos (Cork Convent) 1760
Letter XXVIII
Promontorium Lunae. Holes, and Holes, and Holes again. An odd evening walk. A chearful dinner. Coins dropped to a Mary Magdalen for a very good reason.
Cintra, Sept. 12. 1760.
I Have had the good luck to secure such a bed for to-night, and passed the day besides with so perfect a satisfaction, that the dirty canvas and uneven bricks are already forgotten. And so goes this fickle world ! A perpetual shifting from good to evil, and from evil to good. And now the natural order of things seems to require a description of the Royal Convent: but what I have seen to-day presses a great deal more upon my fancy, and my impatience of imparting to you a share of the pleasure I have received myself to-day, makes me invert the laws of narration without any great hesitation.
[219] This morning early I quitted this place along with my trufty Kelly. Leaving the mules and the horse at the inn, each of us got astride upon a jack-ass ; and so we went up a high and steep mountain to see a convent of Jeronimites which is on the summit of it.
That convent could formerly contain, near a dozen of inhabitants ; yet at present there are but four or five, because a part of it has been demolished by the earthquake. What is left of it consists of five or fix rooms supported by a portico that encloses a court-yard. This yard is paved chequer-wise with white and blue tiles of earthen ware, and so disposed as to collect all the rain-water into a cistern under it. The walls of the portico are likewise incrufted with such parti-colour'd tiles.
From the windows an extensive prospect is commanded, as that summit is near a mile higher than the level of the sea. The eye runs freely over an immense [220] tract of .country, too much of it quite barren.
The middle parts of the hill seem composed of numberless broken rocks, some as big as houses. Yet between rock and rock the Fathers have cultivated several small bits of ground, which furnish their little community with more pulse and herbage than they want. It is pity that no fruit-tree will grow there, becaufe of the sharp air and chilling mills: so that whatever fruit they have, is fetched every day from Cintra with their other provisions, and carried up to them upon asses of their own. But besides herbs and pulse they cultivate Turkey-corn, with which they make savour'y cakes for themselves and visitors, and feed poultry with the overplus.
To the summit of that mountain there is no access but by the path we went. Every other side consists of cliffs upon cliffs, inacceslible even to goats.
[221] As the church and the convent were originally built in a most solid manner, the earthquake had not strength enough to demolish them intirely, though it was felt as violent there as in any other part of Portugal: nor did any of the friars perish, though the whole mountain was horribly shaken. The church stands on the very spot that was formerly occupied by a Roman temple dedicated to the Moon, which had given the name of Promontorium Lunae to the hill. This scrap of erudition I got from one of the friars.
We stay'd thereabout two hours ; then came down, afoot, our jack-asses driven before us by the Negro. About mid-mountain I hired a guide to show us the way to another hill near two leagues from this. The fellow took us about and about through a pathless country, partly covered with loose pieces of rocks, partly heathy, and partly sandy. Yet from space to space we met with numbers of [222] fir and cork-trees, with some small oaks and a few other plants, that contribute to render several parts of it romantically beautiful.
The place we were going to, stands on the summit of another mountain no less high than the supposed Promontorium Lunae, called by the Portuguese Cabo de Roca, and by the English the Rock of Lisbon. I hope you have not forgot that Rock, and the pleasure it gave me when I saw it for the first time. It was the Cork-Convent on its summit I wanted to visit, and we reached it with some difficulty, as we went to it by a cross-road extremely rugged and steep, and over several precipices that demanded much attention both from us and from our asses.
The Cork-Convent is properly a hermitage ; and you have but one path to it under a kind of arch irregularly cut through a piece of rock by the hand of nature. That arch is about two hundred [223] steps below the hermitage, and all other parts near that summit are perfectly pathless and not to be clamber'd. . Near that arch we left our asses in the custody of our guide, and ascended the rest of the mountain a-foot. And here, ye Muses nine, I invoke your assiftance ! Help me to an adequate defcription of the oddest, wildest, most romantic, and most pleasing place that ever I was in!
The hermits had discover'd us from a-far ; therefore we found them ready to receive us. We bow'd, shook hands, and seem'd as pleased as if we had long been most intimate friends. The Father Superiour ask'd us whether we had dined, and being answer'd in the negative, dispatched one of his Friars to make something ready as fast as possible. He then took us to see the place which begins with a flat irregular area about forty yards square.
The area is fronted by a huge rock variously perforated ; and its various [224] perforations, caverns, or holes form the hermitage. The church of it is a hole; the sacristy a hole ; the confession-room a hole ; the kitchin a hole; the dormitory a hole ; the refectory a hole ; every cell a hole ; and the doors and windows of all these holes are still nothing else but so many other holes. But so narrow are those which form the doors of the cells, that should a man grow hydropic while in one of them, he never would be able to come out of it ; and the cells themselves are so small, that no tall friar when in his bed has room enough to extend his legs. Yet in them they lie at night upon straw-bags, after having taken the precaution to shut what they call their doors and windows with small planks.
Not one hole in the whole place deserves the epithet of spacious. The largest is that which they term the Kitchen. A French cook would be angry at the prostitution of so noble a word, but the friars are not so scrupulous. The smoke [225] of that kitchen is carried out by a cylindrical perforation over the fire-place.
Dame Nature indeed was in a merry mood when she took it into her fancy to form so whimsical a place. You cannot conceive what little help she received from art to fit it for its present inhabitants. The earthquake shook it to and fro, and, they say, with inconceivable violence. Yet that violence proved vain, and I do not wonder at it. The demolition of the hermitage cannot be effected but by the fall of the mountain.
What adds to the singularity of this natural edifice is that every part in it is covered with cork; the walls, floors, and all. And this is the reason why the English sailors call it the Cork-Convent. That cork prevents the bad effects of the dampness which would otherwife be very inconvenient, as many parts of its walls are cover'd with a thin moss, and the water distils through the pores of the rock in very small drops.
[226] From the hermitage they descend by a range of irregular steps to a piece of water and to their several spots of garden. Not far from that water there is another hole, in which one of their predecessors had the patience to live the last twenty years of his life, without ever quitting it day or night. At least you are told so by an inscription over that hole, absurdly supported by the testimony of the friars themselves, who were all born near two centuries after, according to the inscription, which I wish fairly destroy'd and the hole filled up for their own sake, as the place has no need of a lye to induce people to visit it. No human being could ever live in that hole for several reasons that I will forbear to tell.
I said that there is a piece of water on that eminence, which fertilizes several spots. The friars are all gardeners and have vegetables of various sorts in great abundance, but no fruit. The many [227] steps by which they descend to that water, they term humourously their evening walk ; and, abating the inconvenience of the steps, it is really a pleasant walk, shaded with many trees and bushes. After having visited the whole hermitage we went to dinner. In the midst of that hole that is called the Refectory a stone serves them for a table whenever the rain forces them to eat their victuals under shelter. But to-day, as the weather was very fine, we chose to dine in the area. Being a meagre day we had an ample dish of salt-fish moft favourily drefs'd after the manner of the country with garlick and pimenta, a large sallad, and Dutch cheese with pears, apples, grapes, and figs, ten times more than we could eat, good bread, and excellent wine. During dinner the hermits kept us in chat with the greatest good humour ; told us of the many English gentlemen and ladies that visit them, and help'd us to our glasses very briskly. The wine [228] was was good, and we could not help drinking the English Ladies.
These hermits are of the Franciscan order; therefore will touch no money : but there is a Mary Magdalen painted over a kind of altar in the church; and to Mary Magdalen you drop a coin slily. It would not otherwise be in the power of this little community to furnish their numerous visitors with meat and drink, and entertain besides a good number of poor people who visit the place, partly out of devotion and partly to get a meal. They admit ladies to visit the hermitage when they are in company with gentlemen ; otherwife not: and as to women of low rank, they are not allowed to ascend beyond the Arch mentioned before, except on fome festival days.
About an hour after dinner we took our leave and went back to our asses who had leisurely cropp'd the thistles about, while our guide and the Negro feasted merrily upon herrings, cheese, and fruit, [229] convey'd to them with a sufficient quantity of bread and wine by one of the fathers.
And now I may truly say that I have feen the strangest solitude that ever was inhabited by men, amidst the most pleasing assemblage of craggs, rocks, trees, and bushes that can possibly be fancied ; the whole commanding a most wide and amazing prospect, as from thence you discover a vast tract of the ocean with many of the caftles and habitations at the mouth of the Tagus, the tops of the Royal Convent of Mafra, several villages and hamlets, with many single cottages scatter'd over a long chain of uneven mountains, some of which are perfectly rocky and barren; some shaded with oaks, fir-trees, and cork-trees; and some cover'd with vines, olive-trees, and lemon or orange-groves, besides numberless other plants of every kind and generation.
Baretti
Promontorium Lunae. Holes, and Holes, and Holes again. An odd evening walk. A chearful dinner. Coins dropped to a Mary Magdalen for a very good reason.
Cintra, Sept. 12. 1760.
I Have had the good luck to secure such a bed for to-night, and passed the day besides with so perfect a satisfaction, that the dirty canvas and uneven bricks are already forgotten. And so goes this fickle world ! A perpetual shifting from good to evil, and from evil to good. And now the natural order of things seems to require a description of the Royal Convent: but what I have seen to-day presses a great deal more upon my fancy, and my impatience of imparting to you a share of the pleasure I have received myself to-day, makes me invert the laws of narration without any great hesitation.
[219] This morning early I quitted this place along with my trufty Kelly. Leaving the mules and the horse at the inn, each of us got astride upon a jack-ass ; and so we went up a high and steep mountain to see a convent of Jeronimites which is on the summit of it.
That convent could formerly contain, near a dozen of inhabitants ; yet at present there are but four or five, because a part of it has been demolished by the earthquake. What is left of it consists of five or fix rooms supported by a portico that encloses a court-yard. This yard is paved chequer-wise with white and blue tiles of earthen ware, and so disposed as to collect all the rain-water into a cistern under it. The walls of the portico are likewise incrufted with such parti-colour'd tiles.
From the windows an extensive prospect is commanded, as that summit is near a mile higher than the level of the sea. The eye runs freely over an immense [220] tract of .country, too much of it quite barren.
The middle parts of the hill seem composed of numberless broken rocks, some as big as houses. Yet between rock and rock the Fathers have cultivated several small bits of ground, which furnish their little community with more pulse and herbage than they want. It is pity that no fruit-tree will grow there, becaufe of the sharp air and chilling mills: so that whatever fruit they have, is fetched every day from Cintra with their other provisions, and carried up to them upon asses of their own. But besides herbs and pulse they cultivate Turkey-corn, with which they make savour'y cakes for themselves and visitors, and feed poultry with the overplus.
To the summit of that mountain there is no access but by the path we went. Every other side consists of cliffs upon cliffs, inacceslible even to goats.
[221] As the church and the convent were originally built in a most solid manner, the earthquake had not strength enough to demolish them intirely, though it was felt as violent there as in any other part of Portugal: nor did any of the friars perish, though the whole mountain was horribly shaken. The church stands on the very spot that was formerly occupied by a Roman temple dedicated to the Moon, which had given the name of Promontorium Lunae to the hill. This scrap of erudition I got from one of the friars.
We stay'd thereabout two hours ; then came down, afoot, our jack-asses driven before us by the Negro. About mid-mountain I hired a guide to show us the way to another hill near two leagues from this. The fellow took us about and about through a pathless country, partly covered with loose pieces of rocks, partly heathy, and partly sandy. Yet from space to space we met with numbers of [222] fir and cork-trees, with some small oaks and a few other plants, that contribute to render several parts of it romantically beautiful.
The place we were going to, stands on the summit of another mountain no less high than the supposed Promontorium Lunae, called by the Portuguese Cabo de Roca, and by the English the Rock of Lisbon. I hope you have not forgot that Rock, and the pleasure it gave me when I saw it for the first time. It was the Cork-Convent on its summit I wanted to visit, and we reached it with some difficulty, as we went to it by a cross-road extremely rugged and steep, and over several precipices that demanded much attention both from us and from our asses.
The Cork-Convent is properly a hermitage ; and you have but one path to it under a kind of arch irregularly cut through a piece of rock by the hand of nature. That arch is about two hundred [223] steps below the hermitage, and all other parts near that summit are perfectly pathless and not to be clamber'd. . Near that arch we left our asses in the custody of our guide, and ascended the rest of the mountain a-foot. And here, ye Muses nine, I invoke your assiftance ! Help me to an adequate defcription of the oddest, wildest, most romantic, and most pleasing place that ever I was in!
The hermits had discover'd us from a-far ; therefore we found them ready to receive us. We bow'd, shook hands, and seem'd as pleased as if we had long been most intimate friends. The Father Superiour ask'd us whether we had dined, and being answer'd in the negative, dispatched one of his Friars to make something ready as fast as possible. He then took us to see the place which begins with a flat irregular area about forty yards square.
The area is fronted by a huge rock variously perforated ; and its various [224] perforations, caverns, or holes form the hermitage. The church of it is a hole; the sacristy a hole ; the confession-room a hole ; the kitchin a hole; the dormitory a hole ; the refectory a hole ; every cell a hole ; and the doors and windows of all these holes are still nothing else but so many other holes. But so narrow are those which form the doors of the cells, that should a man grow hydropic while in one of them, he never would be able to come out of it ; and the cells themselves are so small, that no tall friar when in his bed has room enough to extend his legs. Yet in them they lie at night upon straw-bags, after having taken the precaution to shut what they call their doors and windows with small planks.
Not one hole in the whole place deserves the epithet of spacious. The largest is that which they term the Kitchen. A French cook would be angry at the prostitution of so noble a word, but the friars are not so scrupulous. The smoke [225] of that kitchen is carried out by a cylindrical perforation over the fire-place.
Dame Nature indeed was in a merry mood when she took it into her fancy to form so whimsical a place. You cannot conceive what little help she received from art to fit it for its present inhabitants. The earthquake shook it to and fro, and, they say, with inconceivable violence. Yet that violence proved vain, and I do not wonder at it. The demolition of the hermitage cannot be effected but by the fall of the mountain.
What adds to the singularity of this natural edifice is that every part in it is covered with cork; the walls, floors, and all. And this is the reason why the English sailors call it the Cork-Convent. That cork prevents the bad effects of the dampness which would otherwife be very inconvenient, as many parts of its walls are cover'd with a thin moss, and the water distils through the pores of the rock in very small drops.
[226] From the hermitage they descend by a range of irregular steps to a piece of water and to their several spots of garden. Not far from that water there is another hole, in which one of their predecessors had the patience to live the last twenty years of his life, without ever quitting it day or night. At least you are told so by an inscription over that hole, absurdly supported by the testimony of the friars themselves, who were all born near two centuries after, according to the inscription, which I wish fairly destroy'd and the hole filled up for their own sake, as the place has no need of a lye to induce people to visit it. No human being could ever live in that hole for several reasons that I will forbear to tell.
I said that there is a piece of water on that eminence, which fertilizes several spots. The friars are all gardeners and have vegetables of various sorts in great abundance, but no fruit. The many [227] steps by which they descend to that water, they term humourously their evening walk ; and, abating the inconvenience of the steps, it is really a pleasant walk, shaded with many trees and bushes. After having visited the whole hermitage we went to dinner. In the midst of that hole that is called the Refectory a stone serves them for a table whenever the rain forces them to eat their victuals under shelter. But to-day, as the weather was very fine, we chose to dine in the area. Being a meagre day we had an ample dish of salt-fish moft favourily drefs'd after the manner of the country with garlick and pimenta, a large sallad, and Dutch cheese with pears, apples, grapes, and figs, ten times more than we could eat, good bread, and excellent wine. During dinner the hermits kept us in chat with the greatest good humour ; told us of the many English gentlemen and ladies that visit them, and help'd us to our glasses very briskly. The wine [228] was was good, and we could not help drinking the English Ladies.
These hermits are of the Franciscan order; therefore will touch no money : but there is a Mary Magdalen painted over a kind of altar in the church; and to Mary Magdalen you drop a coin slily. It would not otherwise be in the power of this little community to furnish their numerous visitors with meat and drink, and entertain besides a good number of poor people who visit the place, partly out of devotion and partly to get a meal. They admit ladies to visit the hermitage when they are in company with gentlemen ; otherwife not: and as to women of low rank, they are not allowed to ascend beyond the Arch mentioned before, except on fome festival days.
About an hour after dinner we took our leave and went back to our asses who had leisurely cropp'd the thistles about, while our guide and the Negro feasted merrily upon herrings, cheese, and fruit, [229] convey'd to them with a sufficient quantity of bread and wine by one of the fathers.
And now I may truly say that I have feen the strangest solitude that ever was inhabited by men, amidst the most pleasing assemblage of craggs, rocks, trees, and bushes that can possibly be fancied ; the whole commanding a most wide and amazing prospect, as from thence you discover a vast tract of the ocean with many of the caftles and habitations at the mouth of the Tagus, the tops of the Royal Convent of Mafra, several villages and hamlets, with many single cottages scatter'd over a long chain of uneven mountains, some of which are perfectly rocky and barren; some shaded with oaks, fir-trees, and cork-trees; and some cover'd with vines, olive-trees, and lemon or orange-groves, besides numberless other plants of every kind and generation.
Baretti
Tuesday, 9 June 2009
CORK CONVENT from a Sketch by Capt. Elliot.
CORK CONVENT,
NEAR CINTRA.
Drawn by C. Stanfeld, Esq. A.R.A.,
from a Sketch by Capt. Elliot.
Here impious men have punished been ; and lo !
Deep in yon cave Honorius long did dwell,
In hope to merit heaven by making earth a hell.
Childe Harold, canto i. st. 20.
" This convent or hermitage is partly burrowed between the rocks which serve as vaults to the church, sacristy, and charter-house, &c. and partly built over the surface. The subterraneous apartments are lighted by holes cut obliquely in the rocks, and lined internally with cork to guard against the humidity. Hence it is called the Cork Convent. It is inhabited by about twenty hermits, of the most rigid order of St. Francis. They are governed by a prior, and live chiefly on fish, fruit, and bread; each has a separate cell, about the size of a grave, furnished with a mattrass; yet one of their community who lately died, named Honorius, thinking the meanest of these cells too luxurious a habitation, retired to a circular pit at the rear of the hermitage, not larger than Diogenes' tub—for it is but four feet diameter—and here, after a residence of sixteen years, he ended his peaceful days at a good old age. The floor of it is strewed with leaves, which served for his bed; and the rugged stone which he used alternately as a pillow and a seat is still to be seen there. These instances of self-denial shew us into what a narrow compass all human wants might be reduced, and evince the truth of the poet's assertion,
" ' Man wants but little here below,
Nor wants that little long.'—Goldsmith"
Murphy's Travels in Portugal.
The Convent of the Santa Cruce de Cintra, or the Convent of the Holy Cross of the Cintra Rock, which perhaps is better known to the generality of readers by the appellation of the Cork Convent, is thus alluded to by Lord Byron: " Below, at some distance, is the Cork Convent, where St. Honorius dug his den, over which is his epitaph." ~
The Convent of the Santa Cruce de Cintra, or the Convent of the Holy Cross of the Cintra Rock, which perhaps is better known to the generality of readers by the appellation of the Cork Convent, is thus alluded to by Lord Byron: " Below, at some distance, is the Cork Convent, where St. Honorius dug his den, over which is his epitaph." ~
" As we," says Kinsey, " rode up to the rude portico of the convent, which is composed simply of two rocks forming a pointed arch by their approximation, the guardian of the fraternity overtook us, and, according to his request, made at the moment that he saw me taking notes of the building, I add the name of the worthy brother, Fr. Francisco da Circumcizao, and with the more pleasure, as he politely restored me my cambric handkerchief which he had found in following our steps upon the road. The brethren, eighteen in number, are of the Franciscan order, and subsist chiefly by alms. On the first landing-place, leading to the entrance-door of the convent, and to the left, there is a pretty fountain of clear water, surmounted by a rudely carved image of Nossa Senhora da Roca, and placed between two large tables of stone, which are surrounded by seats for the weary pilgrim to repose upon. The umbrageous canopy of a wide-spreading cork-tree gives to this vestibule a dim religious light, as well as a most refreshing coolness, and we lingered there in conversation for some time before the monk could induce us to visit his flower-garden, his ponds containing golden fish, his rills of mountain-water, and the narrow paths climbed with difficulty from the masses of rock fantastically scattered about in the surrounding thicket. On either side of the vestibule there is a chapel, with a small confessional in it, at once a source of piety and reverence.
We descended into the subterranean chapel, which is the largest, from a smaller one upon the upper floor. We observed over the high altar a figure of our Saviour, with a glory and crown on his head, apparelled in a crimson robe of silk, and leaning upon a cross, which his long tresses of hair partially concealed.
The Passion is represented on the side walls in Dutch tiles, and the images of St. John and St. Francis appear to be regarding the holy subject with intense interest. On the outside of the altar railing, and to the left hand, is the tomb of St. Honorius; and contiguous to it, as the place of greatest distinction, the cenotaph of D. Alvaro de Castro, the founder of the convent in the year 1564, and under the papacy of Pius IV.
" After hearing Francisco chant the Asperges me, Domine, and expressing our admiration of his fine deep bass voice, as well as of the curious pulpit, let into the wall, of his own invention, and of which he appeared to be very proud, we inspected the narrow cells of the convent, which are nothing more than cavities in the rock, and are lined with cork, and closed with cork-doors, as a defence against cold and humidity. In winter, however, such is the dampness of the situation, that the very rocks which are seen projecting into the cells run down with water; the blankets become saturated with moisture, and every little article of furniture is soon reduced to a state of decay.
" The spirit of Honorius seems to have deserted the fraternity in these latter days, who appear to prefer any discipline to that of enduring the painful inconveniences of a residence, either in winter or summer, within the precincts of this retreat; and Francisco was the only monk who presented himself on the occasion of our visit. After sharing his loaf of coarse bread, served up to us in huge slices upon trenchers of cork—having tasted his Colares, and listened to his long recital of the inimitable excellences of Honorius—we looked into the den wherein the devotee had entitled himself to a high rank on the calendar of saints by thirty-five years of a debasing penance, and in which there is scarcely sufficient room for the reception of the human body; yet where the anchorite, by his self-inflicted torments, ' hoped to merit heaven by making earth a hell.'"
Finden's illustrations of the life and works of Lord Byron
William Brockedon,
Illustrated by William Finden, Edward Francis Finden
John Murray, 1833
vol. II
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