The drive north to Lisbon is less than three hours and allows time for lunch in Beja (pop 35,854 in 2011). This is the rest-stop we missed on the way south because my unexpected dental work delayed our start. The journey is more relaxing because we have time as well as better weather. We first head west out of Tavira, then north on the A2. We pull off the A2 near Castro Verde and join the IP2, in the heartland of the Baixo Alentejo.
José Saramago's Viagem has quite a lot to say about Beja:
He is soon in Beja. Built on its hill (and in these flat lands, to call something a hill does not mean anything very grandiose) the ancient Roman Pax Julia does not seem so steeped in time. It is true that there are remains from Roman times, and others from before and afterwards, like the Visigoth ruins, but the layout of the town, the way things have been torn down or built up, the neglect and yet again sheer ignorance, make it seem at first sight no different from others with little or no history. One has to dig for it: the castle, the church of Santa María, the church of the Misericordia, the museum all bear traces of the passage of history through Pax Julia (which the Arabs, who had no Latin, called Baju, which then became Baja, and finally Beja). (José Saramago, “Journey to Portugal,” 1990; trans Hopkinson-Caistor, 2000)
There is ample free parking next to the Castelo. But by the time we pull in, it's nearly noon time, and the grounds are closing for lunch. However, the Catedral door is open.
The Sé Catedral de São Tiago Maior (late sixteenth century) and the barbican of the Castelo line the north side of the Largo do Lidador. We try to ask if the Catedral is open during lunch, but the older nun behind the entry table speaks very little English. She enthusiastically waves us in, and we happily comply.
The interior is open and white, with coordinated suites of azulejos, capelas, and heroic estátuas. Slender Tuscan columns form the arcade, with the vaults at the aisles landing on half-capital, quarter-sphere springer-blocks. The veining in the column drums alternates between blocks, adding extra texture. The azulejos line the side walls up to the arches. The capelas are sets of matched pairs. The estátuas face in from the ends of the aisles.
As we've seen in many churches, the worship space in the nave incorporates an entry bay, three bays to a crossing, and the crossing bay – five bays. The 'Latin cross' here is rather subtle, the two chapels nearest the altar are set deep in their archways. A series of bulls-eye windows above the chapel arches yields most of the natural light.
The four large mármore branco statues are Jesuit saints (1733): Santo Inácio de Loiola, São Francisco Xavier, São Luís Gonzaga, and Santo Estanislau Kostka, attributed to an Italian sculptor based in Portugal, Giovanni Antonio Bellini.
Santiago is in the chapel on the north (Evangelist side) with his walking staff. The next chapel on that side is dedicated to São Sisenando (born in Beja, 828-851) and houses a figure of the martyred saint and his arm bone in a striking silver reliquary. Quatrefoil plaques on each side of the capelas illustrate the 'Via Crucis', with captions in French.
All the art is presented with an unfamiliar restraint, though the Mannerist characters and the images are expressive. The geometry of the forms and shapes is refreshingly uncomplicated.
The altarpieces at the north and south ends of the transept have more of a Baroque look about them, but are executed in warm-hued, two-tone stonework, and flanked by the blue and white azulejos. Interestingly, the painted image of the Last Supper in the south transept (Epistle side) shows Christ at the table with only two other figures. The full Supper is shown on the right side in the azulejos panel, portrayed almost as a direct showdown between Jesus and Judas (shadowed figure)
The altarpiece in the capela-mor is dedicated to the Sagrado Coração de Jesus. This is the only Catedral in Portugal that does not invoke Nossa Senhora da Conceição (Our Lady appears in the north transept).
The church tour concludes in the small museu, which includes paintings of Pesca Miraculous (eighteenth century) and São Miguel, along with other 'reserve' art pieces and crucifixes.
Lunch is near the Praça da República, a short walk from the Largo. The Igreja de Misericórdia (sixteenth century) stands at the top of the Praça. A former public butchers' market, the impressive portico is an open three-by-two peristyle hall and is currently home to a haunting Nativity. The outer arches are heavily rusticated, grey Tuscan, while the inner columns and vaults are white Corinthian – an intriguing combination.
For Pax Julia to end up as Beja, after defeating the Moors for pronunciation, is one thing. But for an abattoir to end up as a church is something else altogether. Then again, necessity always triumphs in the end. Whereas in Évora the Roman temple became an abattoir, here in Beja the building was thought to be too beautiful to leave to the butchers, and on the same spot where they sacrificed cattle to the appetites of the body, they decided to construct a place where the sacrifice of the Lamb of God could be celebrated for the salvation of the soul. The paths trodden by men are only complicated at first sight. When we look more closely, we can see traces of earlier feet, analogies, contradictions that have been resolved or may be resolved at some future date, places where suddenly languages are spoken in common and become universal. The columns of the Misericordia church show a perfect adaptation (understood in the sense of a collective local appropriation) of the Renaissance architectural style seen as being compatible with earlier regional styles. (José Saramago, “Journey to Portugal,” 1990; trans Hopkinson-Caistor, 2000)
At the lower end of the Praça, past the canopy of holiday stars, is the city's lovely pelourinho. And on the Rua dos Infantes, lunch is at the excellent Dona Tengarrinha; everything homemade and the hot chocolate alone worth a visit on a cool day.
The Convento Nossa Senhora da Conceição (fifteenth century) and the Museu Regional de Beja is at the far end the Rua dos Infantes. But when we arrive, there is shuttering, scaffolding, trucks, a cloud of activity, and a lot of noise. We decide to keep our distance. What we can see looks great (a low Gothic porch), but the rest is for another visit.
The Igreja de Santa Maria (fifteenth and sixteenth centuries) is just down the hill, another fascinating assemblage of shapes: pointed arches, round piers, 'faux-crenellation' on the conical finials, and the chunky forms of the Torre dos Sinos e do Relógio. Between the church and bell tower is a newer infill (parish house?), two symmetrical blocks that look like Romanesque Revival.
The traveller heads first for the church of Santa María. The interior leaves him indifferent: three naves in classical style, a curious Tree of Jesse, but not much else. It is from outside that Santa María can be seen to the best effect: its three frontal arches, gleaming white as befits a building in this Transtagano land, the capitals left in their natural stone colour, with the cupola rising from them. This view keeps the promise that the interior failed to fulfil: but everyone who goes in somewhere and is disappointed has to come out again, and will then cheer up. (José Saramago, “Journey to Portugal,” 1990; trans Hopkinson-Caistor, 2000)
Cheered, we turn and walk up the hill toward the Castelo.
Returning to the Largo do Lidador, we notice that there is a social service office, Centro Social do Lidador, across from the church. Our translator says lidador means 'handler', so 'Social Center of Handlers' (?). It's not clear.
To continue in the same vein, the traveller would say that the castle left him cold as well. But he must admit that the magnificent keep is worthy of praise. If he sang praises in Estremoz, all the more reason to do so here. Of all the rooms inside, the traveller would take with him, if he could, the main hall, with its vaulted ceiling painted with stars. This clearly shows that Christian architects understood that a style and a technique which had originated with the Moors and had deep cultural roots in the region could still be used successfully. Which just shows how crazy it was to ignore them later. (José Saramago, “Journey to Portugal,” 1990; trans Hopkinson-Caistor, 2000)
Appropriately, we enter the Castelo de Beja (fourth, thirteenth and fourteenth centuries) from the barbican. The Torre de Menagem is reminiscent the Torre das Três Coroas in Estremoz. It's not as clean, the quality of the stone is not quite the same, but it feels far more imposing. The bright yellow Casa do Governador provides a counterpoint.
The approach to the inner walls is from a small gated stair at the base of the Torre. This portal is further protected by a defensive balcony with machicolations. The longer stairway opposite is blocked by planters – much more effective against tourists.
We make the circuit around the walls, with views of the Largo and the Catedral. The fortress seems well preserved, more complete than most 'inner-city' castles (Loulé for example), and very photogenic.
In the Torre, there is a small desk and an attendant selling tickets. In the center of the vaulted room is the stunning black, tombstone of Afonso Vaz Viegas (died 1507). Obviously no longer in its proper place, the docent tells us the type of stone is not local, and is not typically used.
At the head of the tombstone is the protective figure of Gonçalo Mendes da Maia – 'O Lidador' (translated as 'toiler'). A friend and follower of Dom Alfonso Henriques, the legend states that he fell in battle against the Moors, near Beja, at the age of of ninety.
The docent guides us with the multi-media screen, which has an illustrated timeline of the Castelo. All of this under the octagonal 'star' vault.
On the next floor up, the star expands; there are personalities on the springer blocks and carvings on the central 'flower'. The defensive balcony is accessible from this level, with more panoramas of the inner bailey and the Largo.
The multi-media screen on the upper floor calls this space a 'guard room'. Just under the cornice of the vault, there is a running frieze of trefoils that evokes Muslim geometries. A center block on the 'long' wall has the face of a wolf (and a monogram?), and one on the 'short' wall has the face of a bearded man.
From this level, we access the upper machicolations, and can see over the Igreja de Santo Amaro (tenth, fifteenth, and sixteenth centuries). The room is less than square to make space for the stairway that leads to the roof.
The text on the nearby panel reads:
Reaching the terrace, one realizes why the tower of the castle is so high. The control of the surrounding landscape is complete, allowing one to oversee a territory of several tens o f kilometres in any direction. Looking nearer, to the city, we also realize the symbolism that the volume of the tower represents to the inhabitants; as a claim of a new power, economic, political, cultural and religious, of the monarchs of the kingdom of Portugal over their recent acquired territory.
We make the final assault of the roof terrace, and find ourselves inside a heavy railing, held back some distance from the crenellations (for those in our company anxious of heights, this railing is reassuring). Because we cannot step near the edge, the photos are less vertigo-inducing, and maybe more 'sweeping', with the pyramid caps and shaped blocks of the crenellations in the foreground. The railings may be here precisely to prevent visitors from leaning hard on the blocks and tipping them off the parapet.
The sun is low, and we need to return the rental before the Olivauto in Lisboa closes. We carry our memories like packages with our luggage; our Portuguese neighbor recommended against a visit to Beja and will receive these stories, too. Beja is a gem, and worth more than a lunch stop.
We pledge to return and see Santo Amaro (Núcleo Visigótico), Santa Maria, and the Convento (Museu Regional). After this swing through the Algarve, and seeing Tavira, Faro, Loulé, Lagos, and the Ilha de Tavira, our checklist of 'places to visit' has only grown.
NOTE: Some of Saramago's time in Beja is spent in the Museu, considering the case of Mariana Alcoforado:
The museum in Beja is regional and is right to claim nothing more than that. Its chief merit is that all its exhibits are local or were dug up in the region, which makes them doubly from here. The museum occupies what used to be the Convento da Nossa Senhora da Conceição, or to be more precise, all that is left of it: the church, the cloister and the chapterhouse. This is where Mariana Alcoforado breathed the sighs of her carnal passion. She was perfectly right to do so: no-one should expect to shut up a woman within the four walls of a convent to moulder away and not have her rebel. But what the traveller doubts is her famous love letters: can they really be written by a Portuguese hand, and from a convent? They show a command of sophisticated rhetoric that seems beyond the reach of a girl born in these harsh lands, however well-off her family may have been in spiritual or worldly possessions. Be that as it may, the great love that Mariana Alcoforado felt—if she really was the author of the famous Portuguese letters—did not shorten her life in any way: eighty-three years she spent in this vale of tears, more than sixty of them in this convent. If we compare that to the average lifespan of people in her time, we can see what a headstart she got in paradise. (José Saramago, “Journey to Portugal,” 1990; trans Hopkinson-Caistor, 2000)
