Third time's the charm. We have tried twice to get into the Palácio de Mafra (eighteenth century); once in 2021 and once just a few weeks ago. We've been trying to see the palace, in large part, because of José Saramago's enjoyably mawkish, darkly comic description:
There is no way the traveller can avoid it. He advances feeling hypnotised, incapable of thought. And when he finally gets out of his car, and sees the distance he still has to go to the vestibule of the church, the grand stairway, and the atrium, he almost faints.The monastery of Mafra is big. Big is the monastery of Mafra. Mafra’s big monastery. Three ways of saying it, and there could be many more, all of which could be resumed in the simple phrase: the monastery of Mafra is big. It may seem a joke, but the traveller is at a loss as to how to come to grips with this façade more than 200 metres in width, an overall area of 40,000 square metres, with its 4,500 doors and windows, its 88 rooms, the 62-metre-high towers, the turrets, the dome of the basilica. (José Saramago, “Journey to Portugal,” 1990; trans Hopkinson-Caistor, 2000)
Unfortunately, we arrive in a driving rain, and during lunch hours. The Basílica de Nossa Senhora e Santo António (which we have already seen) is open but the Palácio is not. But we are happy take another tour of this beautiful church. However, the altar painting is covered with a velvet curtain today. On the other hand, we are able to get some good detail shots with our new iPhones.
There have been plenty of saints already during this journey, but here there are more of them than all the rest put together. In village churches and in larger ones, the traveller saw half a dozen saints celebrated, and he celebrated as well, praising them and even believing in their proclaimed miracles. Above all, he saw they had shown love. The traveller has been moved by many imperfect images, and felt deep emotion over many other perfect works of art, but in Mafra the St Bartholomew in stone displaying his flayed skin causes him an indefinable sense of repugnance. The statues at Mafra are for religious fanatics, not simple believers. (José Saramago, “Journey to Portugal,” 1990; trans Hopkinson-Caistor, 2000)
After lunch, we head back to the Palácio. The bilheteria is now on the upper level, just to the north of the church entrance. The 'official guide' still shows the entrance on the ground level, so we are, at first, confused.
The first long rooms hold religious art pieces. For example, an enormous lunette painting from the high choir of the Convento das Trinas do Mocambo (defunct) in Lisbon. It represents the Consecration of the Order of the Trinitaries (St John of the Forest before Our Lady of the Conception and a 'choir of angels', by André Gonçalves, c1748). In front of this is a sculptural set in polychrome terracotta, representing the martyrdom of five Franciscan missionaries in Morocco (late eighteenth century) – we do not find Saramago's St Bartholomew, but this scene of beheaded monks does proffer that "indefinable sense of repugnance". The other saintly figures are of painted wood, and all wonderfully dynamic (Real Escola de Escultura, Mafra).
The traveller searches anxiously for a guide, and clutches on to him like a drowning man. The guides at Mafra must be very used to this. They are patient, they don’t raise their voices, they treat their charges with great care, aware of the challenges awaiting them. They miss many rooms, doors and windows, leave out whole wings of the palace, and only give the strictly necessary information so as not to overwhelm the brain or the heart. The traveller saw the atrium, and all the statues brought from Italy: they may well be masterpieces — who is the traveller to say — but they leave him absolutely cold. And the basilica, which is vast but seems to lack the proper proportions, does nothing to warm him either. (José Saramago, “Journey to Portugal,” 1990; trans Hopkinson-Caistor, 2000)
Past religious art, we find the Antiga Enfermaria, including the dispensário and the beautifully outfitted patient stalls. The space includes its own capela for prayer and recuperation.
On the piso nobre, we enter the aposentos reais (royal apartments) Just off the stair hall is the Sala de Diana, where are attention is drawn to the lively ceiling painting by Cyrillo Volkmar Machado (c1796) depicting the goddess of the hunt (so many hunting archers!). We continue to the Sala de Trono, with its magnificent, allegorical image of "Lusitânia". On the wall are the "Oito Virtudes Reais" (eight royal virtues) by Domingos Sequiera.
Turning to the Torreão Norte, we must first pass through the Sala da Guarda, former entrance to the palace and station for the Royal Guard. The ceiling is also by Machado and represents "O Precipício de Faetonte" – perhaps suggesting the guards keep their place rather than challenge their master (as Phaeton disobeys his father, Helios). The Sala dos Destinos has another Machado ceiling, the "Templo dos Destinos": the figure of the Providência delivers to Dom Afonso Henriques and the succeeding Kings of Portugal the "Livro dos Destinos da Pátria" (book of the destinations of the homeland).
Next, in the Sala das Descobertas, Machado represents the Portuguese Age of Discovery, with Vasco da Gama (defeating Camões' Adamastor), Pedro Álvares Cabral, Cristóvão Colombo, and Infante Dom Henrique (in the elliptical frame).
Just before the Torreão Norte, off to the side, is a prayer room for the King, the Oratório Norte. There is a small altar with a painting of the Sagrada Família, framed by painted rosettes and cherubs, while angles hold a banner aloft. It reads: Fidelíss[im]o (most faithful).
The Torreão Norte consists the Aposentos Privados do Rei (King's apartments). There is a great, domed reception hall, the quarto de cama and the camerino (dressing room).
The Galeria Principal, over two hundred meters long, connects the King's rooms in the Torreão Norte to the Queen's rooms in the Torreão Sul.
Midway in the Galeria is the Sala da Bênção, which looks out to the radial stripes of the Terriero Dom João V and into the Basílica. This over-scaled hall creates a join between the palace and the church.
From here, the royals could both worship (facing the altar) and appear before the public (facing the square).
In the Sala dos Camaristas (chamberlains) is another whirling Machado ceiling. In its center are the "Quinas de Portugal" surrounded by several Greek gods and the "Fecundidade", which holds cornucopias of abundance, from which cherubs emerge trailing flowers. The painting suggests the 'fecundity' of Dona Carlota Joaquina de Bourbon, queen to Dom João VI.
The Torreão Sul has the Aposentos Privados da Rainha including the quarto de cama, a boudoir (decorated with butterflies) and dressing room. The Oratório Sul has the private chapel of the Queen. Exiting the Torreão to the east, we come to the 'Naples Room', covered with vines and birds.
Continuing to the east, there is a the Sala de Dom Pedro V, also known as the Sala de Espera (waiting room). The Sala da Música is also called the Sala de Recepção or the Sala Amarela.
In the Sala de Jogos (games room) contains several games played in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries: bilhar (billiards), 'bilhar Chinês', and pião (tops). In the Sala de Caça (hunting room) are furniture pieces and trophies related to the Tapada Nacional de Mafra (the nearby hunting grounds) – and perhaps more "repugnance". Adjoining the Sala de Caça are the Palacete dos Infantes and Palacete das Infantas, nurseries for the young princes and princesses.
Further east is the Sala de Jantar, which is the corner of the Palácio. Beyond this, are the rooms of the Convento, including the Grande Salão dos Frades, where the clay models of the sculpture cycle of saints are currently displayed in a lengthy parade, and the Sala de Retrato dos Frades, with its chunky, round meeting table.
The guide’s words buzz like wasps. He knows from experience what he has to do to put the visitors to sleep, how to anaesthetise them. The traveller is so confused he thanks him for it. By now they have left the basilica, they climb an endless staircase, and he can remember vaguely that they saw (how on earth does the guide survive all this?) Dona María’s apartment, in richest imperial style, the hunting-trophies room, the reception room, the friars’ infirmary, the kitchen, this room, that room, room upon room upon room. (José Saramago, “Journey to Portugal,” 1990; trans Hopkinson-Caistor, 2000)
Finally, in the long eastern hall is the Biblioteca. The shelves and cases are full of light-catching Rococo details. The roof structure is an amazing paneled ceiling vault, a series of clerestory dormers, and a domed crossing (which we can barely see from behind the stanchions at the south end). Its collection of thirty-six thousand volumes is kept safe from moths by colonies of bats.
Now it’s the library: 83 metres long, books which are so high up they can hardly be made out, let alone touched to see what stories they are telling; the guide hurries on, and soon it’s time to leave. Then it’s back to the basilica, this time seen from a high window, and the traveller only keeps up out of politeness. The guide looks pale, and the traveller realises he must be made of the same clay as other mortals, he must get dizzy, have sleepless nights and suffer from indigestion. It’s no easy thing to be a guide at Mafra. (José Saramago, “Journey to Portugal,” 1990; trans Hopkinson-Caistor, 2000)
North of Mafra, we end our day in the beach town of Peniche, where we stay the night in a sharp, new villa. The townhouse is spotless and white, inside and out, with all the modern features and west-facing ocean views – not an allegorical figure in sight.
The traveller escaped out into the street. Thank goodness, the sky was blue, the sun was shining, and there was even a refreshing breeze blowing. The traveller slowly came back to life. (José Saramago, “Journey to Portugal,” 1990; trans Hopkinson-Caistor, 2000)
