Convento da Arrábida

After not even attempting to describe the Serra of Sintra, the traveller is not going to fall into the temptation of talking about the Arrábida. He will limit himself to saying that whereas Sintra is feminine, this sierra is masculine. And if Sintra is paradise before original sin, Arrábida is the same but even more so. Here, Adam and Eve have already met, and the moment it eternalises is the one just before the thunderbolt from God and the dire warnings from the angel. The animal of temptation, which in the Bible is the snake, in Sintra is the eel, and here is the wolf. (José Saramago, “Journey to Portugal,” 1990; trans Hopkinson-Caistor, 2000)

José Saramago's traveller, our guide to Portugal, often layers obscure references of other writers or historical figures and necessitates some research. This reference to the eel and the wolf, is beyond obscure; maybe, it is internal to the traveller. We wonder how we may comprehend his meaning.

As for eels, the Bible does not directly mention them (that a web search can find); in Leviticus, the Bible indirectly identifies eels as something that is unclean to eat (no scales or fins). Of course, the Bible says wolves are duplicitous, as described in Matthew (a wolf among sheep), a trait that may also focus one's purpose (a sheep among wolves).

A naturalist might point out that eels hide in wait for prey while wolves are cooperative hunters. Also, Sintra is inland while Arrábida is coastal; so by habitat, the spirit animals seem to be reversed. Yet in both cases, we assume the traveller means to caution us, in his impenetrable way, about the temptation within these two Edens.

The Convento de Nossa Senhora da Arrábida dates to 1542 (founded by Frei Martinho de Santa Maria), a few years before the Convento dos Capuchos (founded in 1560 by Dom Álvaro de Castro; which we recall from our previous visit). Both Conventos are designed to defy temptation through a secluded and rigorous lifestyle, and both belong to the Capuchins of the Franciscan Order, friars sworn to obedience, chastity, and poverty (the three knots on his rope or sash).

Both Conventos also offer similar entries: a cross atop a pediment, on an offset section of wall. As pilgrims or visitors, we must enter from one side or another; we must choose a path. Standing just behind this cross is a terracotta statue of São Pedro de Alcântara, one of the founding monks.

 

 

Se não estou no Céu, estou nos seus arrabaldes.

[if I'm not in Heaven, I'm in its outskirts.]

(Frei Martinho de Santa Maria, frade arrábido)

We pass through on two sides of a tapered jardim, and descent around a small capela. At the bottom of the stairs, we turn around, look in the capela, and see the sculpted image of Maria Madalena reclining and holding a skull as a reminder of mortality. Thin touches of teal fade from her robes, and with the rough mosaics, make a visually compelling introduction to the compound.

The stairs open into a wider, paved terrace; the Igreja is on the opposite side. The east facade has two archways, one fake, but at least there is another suggestion of choice. In the middle is Frei Martinho, in his Capuchin habit, with his lips locked and his eyes blindfolded. In his right hand is a candle to light the way, and in his left hand is the handle of his 'cat o' nine tails' to make sure we don't stray. He stands on a large, in-scripted dedication orb, with a worm-like creature under his feet. The docent tells us this is a serpent, but it could be an eel.

Under the shade of an old fig tree, the gates on the right lead to a compact narthex, where the walls are marked with fourteen individual, numbered tiles for the Via Crúcis. Perhaps the room is missing some artworks, or perhaps the monks recalled the punishments at each station.

 

 

We are asked not to take pictures in the Igreja (the altarpiece is on the Convento web site). On either side of Nossa Senhora is São Domingo (on Her right) and São Francisco (with skull). 

From the painting in the tympanum, we learn the thirteenth century story, A Lenda de Nossa Senhora da Arrábida and Hildebrando: a British sailor lost in a storm, searching for his figure of Our Lady and cannot find it, calls out for help and sees a light from the shore; climbing to the hilltop later, he finds his missing statuette and builds a Ermida da Memória to mark the spot.

Thus, thinking the area sanctified, the Franciscan monks take to the caves in these hills in the early sixteenth century, during the time of the Counter-reformation and the Portuguese Inquisition. Then, with funding from Dom João de Lencastre, Duque de Aveiro (his summer Palácio in Azeitão, his hunting grounds in the Serra da Arrábida), they build the Convento.

Returning to the narthex, we take the side door which leads down the trânsito, its surface lined with hand-placed stones and creating a rippling architectural arcade. Blue tile retratos fill the niches; an angel explains that the portraits provide models of service and dedication. Next to the angel, the first portrait is of Frei Agostinho da Cruz, a well-known sixteenth century poet.

The stairwell connects to a lower corridor from an arch. Above the arch are two skulls, one is from a boy and the other an older man, again alerting us to the passage of time. In the lower trânsito, on the left, is São Diogo, whose eyes are said to follow you. On the right above a built-in bench are three more figures: São Francisco de Assis, Santo António de Lisboa, and São Pedro de Alcantara.

At the end of the passage is a sculptural niche with a kneeling Christ, at the Monte das Oliveiras, the last chapel before a series of chapels on the Via Crúcis.

 

 

 

No meio desta serra, onde se cria

Aquela saudade d’alma pura,

Que no duro penedo acha brandura,

Ardente fogo dentro n’água fria:

[In the middle of this mountain range, where it is created
That longing for the pure soul,
That in the hard rock you find tenderness,
Burning fire inside in cold water:] 

Ouço do passarinho a melodia,

Vejo vestir o bosque de verdura,

Variar-se no céu outra pintura,

Que em vários sentimentos me varia.

[I hear the melody from the little bird,
I see the vegetable grove dressed,
Vary in the sky another painting,

That in several feelings varies to me.]

Pasmando de quam mal se gasta a vida

De quem na terra quer subir ao céu

Pois caminhar em fim ninguém duvida.

[It's just how hard you spend your life

From those on earth who want to ascend to heaven

Because walking at the end no one doubts. 

Menos da vida estreita que escolheu,

Dos seus mais escolhidos mais seguida,

Christo Jesu, que numa Cruz morreu.

[Less of the narrow life you chose,

Of your most chosen most followed,

Jesus Christ, who died on a Cross.]

("Na Serra D’Arrábida", Frei Agostinho da Cruz)

We arrive at a larger garden terrace, the Jardim de São Pedro da Alcântara. We walk to the other end of the Jardim along a raised flower box set into the wall at the edge of the hill, full of purple blooms and bumblebees (top image). There are two small capelas, though the altarpieces for the Via Crúcis were looted during years when the Convento was abandoned. We see one is labeled as the 'Capela da Piedade' which would be the thirteenth station.

There are seven capelas in the compound, which is enough for half of the steps. Additionally, there are seven ermidas dotting the ridge, domed tempiettos that we can see from the garden. The docent explains that the meaning of the number and the stations of the capelas and the ermidas has been lost to time, but there is some certainty that the Via Crúcis was displayed in the capelas in some fashion.

 

 

At the far end of the Jardim, stepping down the hill and turning to the left, we come upon an aqueduto, really a thin gutter with rushing water, and chase the water down a series of levels. At the end of the garden wall get an echo of the entrance: a raised cross between two cypress trees. The rushing water feeds a square basin within a tall, stone archway embellished with shells and porcelain fragments.

The docent tells us this is the Fonte da Samaritana, and in the small niche is a figure offering a drink from her amphora. Though in a slightly diminished state, the patterned application of found objects on the Fonte provides another connection to the Convento in Sintra.

 

 

 

 

Returning further up the hill, we find a tanque marked with a cross, which is still used for irrigation. Just above this level are the latrinas, a dark room with wash basins where the monks would rinse off the blood after mortification.

Continuing upwards, we pass a giant cactus that stretches three stories. An ominous feature, though alive, the central trunk partially petrified.

In the center of the compound we reach an another fonte topped by the figure of São João Batista (camel-skin robe and agnus dei).  He stands facing the Refeitório and the Cozinha. Walking around to the esplanada between the two buildings, we see the 'dinner bell' (a wooden board and mallet) and another callback of the entrance, a terracotta chapel with a doll-sized figure of Maria Madalena.

Up another slender stairway, we arrive in a warren of dormitórios, connected by narrow pathways and tiny verandas excavated in the rocky slope – all with glorious views of the gardens, the forests, and the sea beyond.

 

 

 

Obviously the traveller is using metaphors to describe how he feels. But when from the top of the road he spies the immense sea in the distance, and the white strip that is beating inaudibly at the foot of the cliffs, when in spite of the distance the sea is so transparent he can see the sand and the pebbles, the traveller reflects that it would take sublime music to express what the eyes simply see. Or perhaps not even music: possibly only silence, not a single sound or word or painting: simply, in the end, the miracle of sight: I praise you and thank you, eyes of mine. Something similar must have been in the minds of the monks who built their monastery here on the hillside, sheltered from the north wind: every morning they could adore the sunlight glinting off the sea, the vegetation of the hillside, and keep admiring it the whole day through. The traveller is convinced that those good monks of Arrábida were nothing more than great, unrepentant pagans. (José Saramago, “Journey to Portugal,” 1990; trans Hopkinson-Caistor, 2000)

 

 

 

 

 

 

From this upper level, we circle back, past the old biblioteca, to the Igreja, and into the coro alto. The space is dominated by a large crucifix and choral stand. The friars are screened from the 'less holy' public, but we sneak a few pictures of the altar, between the slats, while the docent conveniently looks the other way – forgive our wickedness.

After our contemplative tour, we are sure that if these hills hold temptations, they have less to do with eels or wolves than with the self-imposed demons that haunt men; reminders of the consequences and our mortality are all around. Temptations are man-made, and men bring them here.

What remains difficult to comprehend is how, in this idyllic paradise of incredible natural beauty, the friars might pledge themselves to a life of ritual suffering. Or perhaps such pledges demand such places.