On the Portugal-Spain border and the Rio Guadiana, Elvas faces the fortress city of Badajoz (pop 151,565 in 2011); the defenses withstood several attacks by the Spanish in seventeenth century during the Guerra da Restauração, and in the early eighteenth century during the Guerra da Sucessão Espanhola. These days, Elvas is about one seventh the size, but is joined to Badajoz along the Lisbon-Madrid railway.
Elvas' fortifications involve three complexes: the fortified town of Elvas and the Castelo de Elvas, the Forte de Nossa Senhora da Graça to the north, and the Forte de Santa Luzia to the south. When seen from above, the layouts make an appealing pattern of 'stars' in the landscape.
It’s impossible to discuss Elvas without mentioning the Amoreira aqueduct. It behoves the traveller to tell of an astounding work of art: 843 chiselled arches, laid out in four rows of separated sections. It took more than a hundred years to construct (124, to be precise) while the people forever paid their water rates, generation after generation. When at last the Fountain of Vila began to give water in 1622, it could be argued that Elvas’ population might as well have sweated its clear waters… Just as everywhere in pipes and plumbing, in watering cisterns and animal troughs. (José Saramago, “Journey to Portugal,” 1990; trans Hopkinson-Caistor, 2000)
The Aqueduto da Amoreira (fifteenth century) zigzags over the N372 and rises to its full height at a traffic roundabout, where it meets the N4. We find plentiful parking next to the roundabout.
We recollect the Aqueducto dos Pegões (late sixteenth century) in Tomar, especially its sweep through the empty fields of the Vale dos Pegões. But here, the structure is heavier, and pierced with traffic. A park-like area at the base of the four-level structure is under development, planted with new trees. And today, a crew is in the scaffolding, cleaning large sections of the Aqueduto.
While Pegões benefits from its bucolic surroundings, Amoreira stands on its own, over-engineered and with an immense scale. We consider if the cleaning improves the look of the thing – the patina lends the structure permanence and presence (the clean areas look too 'plastic'). But perhaps the dirt and mold is damaging the masonry. But as Saramago's "astounding work of art", it carries a majesty and a solidity, yet offers a variety of shapes and rhythms, along with intimate masonry details.
Just up the road from the roundabout is a small grove of olive trees, where the structure arcs over the highway. A dedication by the town in polychrome tile, a tufted, olive-green curtain opens to reveal an armored crusader on horseback, carrying the bandeira velha – the old quinas banner in blue and white, as it might have flown when Elvas was retaken from the Moors in 1166. The city's brasão das armas is normally shown with a red background, but this rider marches through the Alto Alentejo landscape. Around the crest is the motto and date:
Custodi nos domine ut pupilam oculi, Câmara Municipal d' Elvas, 1864 (Guard us as the pupil [apple] of the eye)
Just beyond these arches, the city's sprawl disappears, the Aqueduto traverses the road again, and folds into the hills. As we retreat, we notice a smaller relief on the reverse of the pier, a similar rider, but holding up a sword, and notice that the eyebrow above him might have been a crown, or row of towers which usually appears on above the crest. Perhaps this is Dom Sancho II, the crusading king who re-took Elvas in 1226.
The way to the Castelo is by the Portas da Esquina (corner doors), an iron fence in the outer wall, a kind of bridge through the dry moat, and a tunnel drilled into one of the points of the 'star'. The timber beams for the old drawbridge are still in place. Then, the path leads to a marble archway and finally into the upper city. It's a double-curving, single-lane.
Continuing past the Mercado, Municipal, the Largo de Santa Clara, we are stopped by a 'do not enter' sign before we reach what we thought was the parking lot – but there's a space just in front of the sign.
The present structure of the Castelo de Elvas dates from the seventeenth century, including the outer walls and the two satellite fortresses. However, the history dates all the way back to the eight century and the Moors. The plaza that might have been the parking lot, the Parada do Castelo, is now an open miradouro. This area is the old outer bailey, and from here we can see the Forte de Nossa Senhora da Graça, quite picturesque on its tiny mountain peak. Further out, the are the green valleys of the Rio Caia and Spain.
Walking out to the far right-hand corner of the miradouro, we see the other little fortress, the Forte de Santa Luzia. It's a bit lost in the chaos of the medieval townscape and the interlaced system of muralhas. We can only hope the new office building's final color won't be baby blue.
We enter the Porta da Vila to find the inner bailey, an irregular, squarish shape. In the far corner is a modest Spanish-mission style house (Portuguese style? Mediterranean style?). Admittedly, there is not too much to see, so we ascend the stair to the veranda, where we find the bilheteria.
Here we access the parapet, and the torre. Though the cloud deck builds over the spreading terrain, there are streaks of sunlight trimming the edges. The panoramas are wonderful.
There is a very simple looping circuit around the edge of the Castelo. A series of small bastions allow glimpses over the walls. Diagonally from the mission-style house is the stout, rectangular torre with a tight viewing aisle at the rim of the tile roof, and scattered, changing vistas between the battlements.
At the next corner sits the dome of a chapel-like feature, but without crosses or angels, so it may serve some other purpose. And then back around behind the mission-style house. But we end at the wrong level; we are far too high to close the loop. So, we back up and re-enter the house, descending a small stair. The tour ends with a few historical display panels.
The pelrouinho is a short stroll in the Parte Alta de Elvas, and the defensive gate of the Arco de Santa Clara, which incorporates a gentle 'lean' to the right, as well as a lovely veranda of its own.
On the other side of the Largo do Pelourinho is the Igreja das Domínicas (Nossa Senhora da Consolação, mid-sixteenth century). It looks like an octagonal lump with some rustic quoining. But we go inside and are transported to Tomar again – this time we are reminded of the Charola in miniature. Though not nearly so elaborate, we do see the centralized plan, the nested shells, the side chapels, and an over-dose of patterns. The tiles and gilt-wood chapels date from the seventeenth century; they seem to have Nossa Senhora and (presumably) São Domingos.
In the capela-mor, is a Crucifixion over a red silk curtain; and in the half-dome are active, carved stone figures and vegetal images. Everything is framed by the slender tattooed columns. So many facets and motifs, yet the space is peaceful, contemplative.
According to their pamphlet, the church is a refit of a thirteenth-century Templar church (Igreja de Santa Maria Madalena). The name of the architect is Diogo de Torralva, who also designed the Renaissance cloisters in Tomar. It is a remnant of a convent complex that fell into ruin when the catholic orders were disbanded in 1834 – a perfect little gem.
The Igreja das Domínicas stands just north of the 'Antiga Sé', the Igreja de Nossa Senhora da Assunção (early sixteenth century) – by the architect of the Torre de Belém, Francisco de Arruda. The design is a well-judged mix of styles and is a Manueline 'skin' atop the Romanesque-Gothic 'bones' of an older fortress-church (Igreja de Nossa Senhora do Açougue, Our Lady of the Slaughterhouse – so good name change, too).
It has the presence of a castle, given the wide mouth of the entrance porch, its flying buttresses and crenellated battlements, and its gargoyles. Inside, the fluted columns sustaining its three naves merit attention. The traveller finds the most beautiful feature of this old cathedral lies in its façade and its solitary tower. Architect Francisco de Arruda really didn’t deserve the row over questions of precedence between dean and bishop erupting into his masterpiece. (José Saramago, “Journey to Portugal,” 1990; trans Hopkinson-Caistor, 2000)
Marching toward the Praça da República, we can see the round lancets that indicate the Romanesque. The flying buttresses and gargoyles are from the Gothic. The Porta do Sol (facing east) is clearly Manueline.
There is a comparable harmony at work on the interior: Romanesque nave, Gothic aisles, Manueline vaulting, Baroque chapels. Hanging over the carved wooden vestibule is a Rococo pipe organ (eighteenth century). To the north of the main entry is the the baptistry; there is a beautiful image of the baptism of Christ in the circular pediment.
In the capela-mor is an heroic painting of 'A Assunção da Virgem' by Lorenzo Gramiera (1748). The ornate Baroque architectural elements are from the late eighteenth century.
Many of the minor chapels seem to be from about the same period, when the Igreja was elevated to Sé (1571 – a distinction it held for about a century). These bestow moments of intense color and action within the plain, whitewashed walls. Endlessly fascinating, and lending additional drama and dazzle, is the filigree-like pattern on the ceiling that continues to draw our gaze upward.
On each side of the capela-mor, the Capela de Nossa Senhora das Dores on the right, and the Capela-colateral on the left. They tell two contrasting stories. Nossa Senhora das Dores encloses a figure of the Holy Mother (eighteenth century), under the Ave Maria monogram and sunburst, holding the shroud and grieving for Her lost Son.
The Capela-colateral holds a painting of the 'A Coranação da Virgem' (eighteenth century), as Mary rises to rejoin Her Son, the Father, and the Holy Spirit. On the retable, holding the Eucharist, is a large white and gold monstrance; and suspended above is the Olho da Providência.
Back outside, the clouds have taken over. The Igreja looks out over the bustling Praça. The main facade looks almost Richardsonian (to our American eyes), with its thick proportions and horizontal banding. With its central torre sineira, it expresses a rather stern, human face – or maybe there are two faces. Oddly, tucked in the entry archway is a clean, simple, Neoclassical Ionic portal.
At the bottom end of the Praça da República is the Casa da Cultura, with is open loggia, the Torre do Relógio, and the obligatory "heart-plus-<insert town name>" Instagram spot. We head down the Rua do Arco dos Pregos (arch of the nails), and then onto the Rua dos Açougues (slaughterhouse).
The Açougue Publico (1848) is marked by a large azulejos panel of a charging bull, and above is the crusading knight from the brasão das armas. Today the Açougue houses the Casa da Histórica Judaica, which opened in 2017, recognized as the site of the Sinagoga Velha. The local tale says the Câmara converted the sinagoga to an açougue in the sixteenth century, following the Édito de Expulsão dos Judeus in December 1496 – while many Jews 'converted' to cristãos novos, many others hid their faith as marranos ('crypto-Jews').
Inside, the layout and wall treatments are reminiscent of other medieval synagogs; this is one of the largest Judaica finds in the Iberian Peninsula.
By now, there are droplets in the air. We encounter more slim, steep, cobblestone streets. They open into small intersections with quite a few over-sized features. These include the Mannerist Fonte de São Lourenço (seventeenth century) and the Igreja de São Lourenço (sixteenth century), with its delightful azulejos illustration of São Lourenço (nineteenth century).
Saramago suggests our last stop in Elvas:
… be sure to see the main Gothic chapel in São Domingo with its narrow arrow-slits, and to avoid viewing the gilded capitals on the columns … (José Saramago, “Journey to Portugal,” 1990; trans Hopkinson-Caistor, 2000)
The Igreja de São Domingos (seventeenth century) is generally Baroque; the facade is a simplified Doric with frilly edges. The details are reminiscent of the Igreja São João Baptista, which we saw yesterday in Campo Maior. However, this time we know the animal at the saint's side is most certainly a dog (Dominicanus or Domini-canis is 'Dog of the Lord').
Regardless, this is not Gothic. And the Igreja is open.
Whereas the Antiga Sé provides a surprising happy melding of styles, here the elements stand apart. Despite Saramago's request, we can hardly avoid seeing the gilded Composite capitals, bright white shafts, and the polychrome marble bases, all rising to an arcade. The pointed arches are distinct from the rounded arches along the aisles and the barrel vault over the nave. At the apse, however, we can clearly see the Gothic masonry, and low panels of colored glass – the eastern end promising a clear sunrise.
The side chapels are also Gothic, so the entire east-end of the church has survived a series of church-leaders' penchants for remodeling. The chapels on the north side are interesting for their drama: figures, that are apparently puppets, are posing and 'acting out' religious scenes. The Virgin Mother looks mournfully at Christ on the cross, and momentously, Saint Dominic receives the Rosary from the Virgin – both have lost several digits, so the tethers may be for safety, rather than puppetry.
On the south side are the enigmatic figures of the Madonna and Child, again with a Rosary. In the vault is written: Sinoness ent redimendi nai la tibi parjen di redemptor em ratio. A message about being Chinese? The translator says: "If not redeemed you will be the parent of a redeemer in the ratio", which might mean … something.
Enclosed by an azulejos panel of the Assunção, the Madonna and Child wreathed in roses and beads, a door is ajar. We duck in to find a room full of puppets (or mannequins). All the saints are organized, labeled, and stored. Particularly jarring is the representation of São Pedro Mártir (de Verona), with the enormous cleaver in his head. Spare chairs are also stored here.
The attendant says something about almoço, so we begin to make our way out. One quick picture of the Sermão de Santo António aos Peixes, reminds us that Saramago began his "Viagem" with his own version:
Grant me, O fishes, clear instruction, lest I forget this lesson on the second stage of my journey into Portugal: may I learn in passing from one land to the next to pay the closest attention to the similarities and differences, whilst not forgetting something common to both humans and fish alike, namely that a traveller has preferences and sympathies unconstrained by the obligations of universal love, never hitherto required of him. (José Saramago, “Journey to Portugal,” 1990; trans Hopkinson-Caistor, 2000)
And thus, we strive to follow his example, forever grateful that one of Portugal's great writers penned a 'travel guide'.
From the front to the back of the church, we can again see the sudden shift of time. The medieval end of the Igreja backs into one of the 'points' of the star fortress, where there are – of all things – tanks and artillery (Museu Militar de Evlas).
Over the yellow painted walls there we can see the Forte de Santa Luzia and many more yellow walls. There must have been a surplus of yellow paint. We notice the grassy patches are dusted with matching wildflowers, so maybe not a bad color choice.
Again, it's worth mentioning, a stunningly good lunch at Acontece. The nacos are a revelation: steak seared, then finished on a hot stone at our table – my goodness.
The rains gain momentum on the way to Borba (pop 6,428 in 2021). The parking is a little more difficult; the sidewalks are deserted, but there are no open spots. On Google Maps, we can see some diagonal parking just in from of the Castelo de Borba, though in this instance, the castle is not a tourist site – the ramparts contribute to the formation of the town's shopping area. We imagine the stores and cafes, not much more than lean-tos braced against the ancient blocks, not so different from the market stalls of medieval times.
On the other side are lines of housing blocks in the Portuguese vernacular – low, whitewashed, and with ochre or cyan painted skirting. The holiday lights are up and there is unexpected life near the torre sineira.
If its dimensions were not quite astounding, its monumentalism was: the door reached up as high as the cupola, which sat directly above the entablature. Flanking the façade there were two beautiful seated figures, letting their feet dangle into the ether, sustaining a conversation which did not travel all the way from above to below. The traveller asked some women having a chat in the shade the name of their chapel. Not one of them could tell him. Perhaps it was a processional shrine? Perhaps it was. (José Saramago, “Journey to Portugal,” 1990; trans Hopkinson-Caistor, 2000)
It is obviously unclear to which church Saramago refers, but Borba is home to a series of capelas for the Passos Processionais do Senhor, like the station chapels we saw in Ovar. Poor Saramago knew about the Processionais but did not have Google Maps.
Across the street from the torre do castelo is the capela of the 'Alto da Praça' (Christ bearing the cross, eighteenth century). Whether this has a "cupola" is hard to say, but the seated figures are there.
Crossing Rua Dr Ramos d' Abreu, we peer between the rounded bastions of the Castelo, and realize that the integration of the muralhas with the town is extensive. We circle the Castelo, or what is visible, and head for the Praça da República.
As we reach the Praça, the torre sineira of the Igreja da Misericórdia (sixteenth century) comes into view. Tempting, but the clouds threaten, so we stick to Saramago's list.
Located in the Praça is the Fonte das Bicas (eighteenth century):
Much has been said about the Fountain das Bicas [of Spigots], and with good reason. Conceived as a little temple with the piping concealed, it tempers the neoclassicism of its style with the white marble typical of the region. But what the traveller liked best or, more precisely, what amused him most, was a kind of labyrinth leading up to the fountain, almost a game of piping that successively opens and shuts off the flow. A newly-arrived stranger feels uncomfortable with it. He estimates that there will always be Borba residents kept entertained by disconcerted visitors. (José Saramago, “Journey to Portugal,” 1990; trans Hopkinson-Caistor, 2000)
Fascinating, we have not encountered many large fontes that are free-standing, and this one is singular. A vast, curvy chunk of marble, it resembles a colossal, Baroque tureen overflowing with soft-serve – extra nuts and sprinkles.
The "labyrinth" secures the Fonte like a rickety hedge; we could easily step over it, but the fun is in our trying. A local myth concerns the three central bicas. There is one for singles, one for married people, and one for widows and widowers. The two lower 'dolphin' spouts are for children.
There is a news story from 2009 that the busts of a man and woman were stolen and remain unrecovered – perhaps the ones here today are replacements, as their marble lacks the Fonte's warm tone. If the lower bicas are for children, are they also 'gendered'? and why does the word finados (dead people) appear below the bust of the 'woman'?
From the Google satellite views, we anticipate that the large reservoir behind the Fonte contains carved stone as well, but it does not – from time to time, Google doesn't know either.
Saramago recommends one more stop in Borba, the Igreja de São Bartolomeu. On the way we pass another capela for the Passos Processionais, identified only by its location 'Rua 13 de Janeiro' (perhaps why Saramago's 'local women' could not recall a name). In this case, the angels are engaged in a livelier chat, and there are two more angels in the jambs and another in the keystone.
Outside, there is no great ostentation, but within the church is sumptuously bedecked in marble. But its greatest beauty lies in the paintings on its roof, embellished with figureheads and landscapes, a decorative style only rarely encountered. Decidedly, the traveller is enamoured of Borba. Maybe it’s down to the sun, to the morning light, the whiteness of its houses (who was it who said that white is not a colour but the absence of colour?), it has to be all of these and more, plus the tracery of its streets and the people who walk along them, after all, no more is required for a sincere devotion to develop … (José Saramago, “Journey to Portugal,” 1990; trans Hopkinson-Caistor, 2000)
Igreja de São Bartolomeu (sixteenth century) is a glorious distillation of our day. The diagonal pilasters are arranged 'corners forward', like those of the Processionais capelas. The classical portico is split but the Baroque trim, and São Bartolomeu in an unadorned alcove. We remember São Bartolomeu from Milan, with his flayed skin slung over his shoulder. The knives at the column bases are testament to his martyrdom.
The pigeon-proofing prevents our unobstructed viewing, but it looks like there is a creature at São Bartolomeu's feet, too. Perhaps, it is not another animal, but a bundle of his own flesh.
Focusing on our photos and feeling exhausted by the rain, our anxiety gathers as we step inside – what can this parochial church offer? Although poorly lit, the interior is well kept and is truly "sumptuously bedecked". There are people worshipping, so we do our best to be quiet, step gingerly in our squeaky joggers, and try not to pass between them and the altars.
From the tiled walls, the ribs of the fan vaults open into a breathtaking ceiling: the geometries of the tiles, the figures and tracery on the infill, edges catching light, and the delightful vignettes in the medallions and quatrefoils. Reds and greens, blues and golds, spill down the marble arches.
On the left, under intense spotlights, a triptych of unevenly-spaced chapels. From back to front, there appears to be the figure of a pope (?) in a newer frame of marble, the Virgin, and a saint that looks like Beato Domingos Fernandes de Borba – who is also honored outside in the square (beatified, one of the Forty Martyrs of Brazil).
On the right two mores arches accompany a larger, deeper chapel, which must be set behind the torre sineira (so, not a transept). Behind a silver gate, we can just make out the Grail, held aloft by a tumble of angels, and the monstrance, so this larger chapel honors the Eucharist.
A closer look at the chapels: center-left is Nossa Senhora do Rosário de Fátima, on either side of the larger chapel on the right are the Assunção (Madonna and Child) and the Crucifixion with the Virgin Mary and Mary Magdalene.
The capela-mor is in gilt wood, with layers of spiral columns, capped by the Holy Trinity. In the vault, are four roundels set in earthy red fields and blue-striped borders. The illustrations in the roundels are curious and enigmatic – clearly related to the Bible (no chapter and verse here):
nearest the altar: FILIOS SUO, pasett Cruore (His son, shepherd crusader) – image of a large bird feeding(?) a smaller bird
right: Invenerunt Dagon jacentem super faciem suam Interra coram arca Domini (and they found Dagon fallen upon his face, Within the ark of The Lord) – image of a man prostate before the ark
nearest the nave: LEONUM ET URSUM interfect ego Servus tuus (your servant killed the lion and the bear) – image of a man killing a lion with a bear nearby
The Weather app announces a wet evening; tomorrow's forecast is no better. We play a game of connect-the-canopies and dodge the drops on our dash to the Castelo, while we play back the day's images.
From the same century, 'Domínicas' and 'São Bartolomeu' have, perhaps, a similar palette of parts, but they apply them to tremendously different effects. From yesterday, Campo Maior's 'frozen-in-time' nature counterpoints Elvas' 'passage-of-time' formula. And now we find ourselves captivated by Borba, this minor village, not in any of the popular guides, rich with parables, characters, and charm.
We motor along, wipers on, and eyes open for "similarities and differences".
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