Coimbra – Segundo Dia

Coimbra sits on a kink on the Rio Mondego, where rather than flowing east to west, it flows to the north. Most of the old town is on the eastern bank, but today we venture across to the western side, the 'left bank', and the Mosteiro de Santa Clara-a-Nova (seventeenth century). Our late-night walk through the Largo do Portagem alerts us to the enormous construction project at the river's edge, and we plan a route through the barricades and over the Ponte de Santa Clara. But the project extends all the way to the train station, and we end up walking through the dust and fencing.

It's going to be a day of detours; the construction also creates an enormous traffic jam we need to avoid. Cars are waiting all along the gusty Ponte, where there are the purple and yellow flags of the city and carnation-red flags to commemorate the fiftieth anniversary of the Revolución dos Cravos, all snapping against the stiff breeze.

The morning sun is behind the Universidade but the views are still captivating; as properly seen from the river, this is a gorgeous city. The snaking path to the Mosteiro rises sharply, and the views get better and better.

The stark white statue of Rainha Santa Isabel appears above the high wall at the top of the hill, the Monte da Esperança (hope). It is a rather fitting name – the river's flood waters forced the abandonment of the 'Velha' for the 'Nova', and the corpo incorrupto da Rainha Santa Isabel was relocated from the 'old' to the 'new' in 1696.

 

 

 

 

The Ordem de Santa Clara ('Poor Clares') are a branch of the Franciscans, a mendicant order, its members pledged to forfeit the worldly for the spiritual. The exterior of the complex would reflect that promise, the carved door surrounds are indication of royal investment. However, the interior belies any injunction against riches and opulence.

The Holy Queen's silver sarcophagus is suspended in a blazing Baroque altar lavished in gold. On the Evangelist side from which we enter, the heroic paintings may be identified by the crests atop the frames:

• under the Queen's crest (Portugal and Aragon): "Santa Isabel a tomar o hábito" (St. Elizabeth to take the habit – her hair is cut)
• under the crossed arms of the Franciscans: "São Francisco dá a regra a Santa Clara" (St. Francis gives the rule to Saint Clare – Formula Vitae)
• under the royal crest of Portugal: "Morte da Rainha Santa" (death of the Holy Queen – which was in Estremoz)

The paintings on the Epistle side are:

• under the Queen's crest: "Trasladação das relíquias" (transfer of the relics)
• under the Franciscan crest: "St Francis receives the privilege of the Jubilee of the Porciúncula" (St. Francis receives the privilege of the Jubilee of the Porciúncula)
• under the Portuguese crest: "Dom Pedro II a beijar a mão da Rainha Santa" (King Pedro II kissing the hand of the Holy Queen)

In the quatrefoils below the larger canvasses are the Four Evngelists (left to right): São Lucas (ox), São João (eagle), São Mateus (angel), and São Marcus (lion). Thus, connecting the Holy Queen, the Ordem de Santa Clara, the nation of Portugal, and the Holy Word.

Above the chancel, in the tympanum of the barrel vault, a wonderful stained-glass triptych donated by the State of California (1950, R Leone, Lisboa). 

 

 

 

The legend tells us a story, full of admirable simplicity and poetry. One day, Queen Saint Isabel went to the Convent of Santa Clara to visit her nuns, taking some money with her, to give to the poor, who appeared to her everywhere. When she entered the courtyard she met casually her husband, King Dinis, who was visiting the convent.

King Dinis noticed the Saint Queen's surprise and realised that she was trying to hide something she was taking on her lap. This was enough to make him sure that his wife was, as usual, helping the poor.

Delighted with the modesty with which this great Saint tried to hide her sanctity, for gallantry, he intended to force her to reveal her good deed. He asked her: "What are you carrying in there?" After the first moment perplexity, Queen Saint Isabel answered very unconcernedly: "Roses" As this took place in the very harsh winter, the King smiled at the answer and told his wife he would be very pleased to see roses in January. Uncovering what she was carrying, Queen Saint Isabel showed her husband, for everyone's admiration, the most fragrant roses filling her lap.

The roses under which the Saint Queen wished to hide her extreme charity were eloquent witnesses of the great virtue of such a charitable Queen, of such a miraculous Saint. (Confraria da Rainha Santa Isabel, "Queen Saint Isabel", trans Dr MT Lameiras & MCT Santos, Coimbra, 1974)

At the opposite end, on other side of the front portal are two additional stone sarcophagi Along the shallow capelas of the nave, the theme of 'God and Country', perhaps with additional theme of 'giving and receiving', continues in a series of relief panels:

• Epistle side, adjacent to altar: "São João Evangelista dá a comunhão a Nossa Senhora" (St John the Evangelist gives communion to Our Lady – figure of Our Lady of the Rosary)
• Evangelist side, center-right: "São Pedro a receber as chaves" (St Peter receiving the keys – figure of Christ of the Sacred Heart)
• Epistle side, left: "São Francisco a receber as chagas" (St Francis receiving the wounds)
• Epistle side, center: "Santa Isabel dá rosas aos canteiros" (Saint Isabel gives roses to the beds)
• Epistle side, center-right: "São Luís de Tolosa livra D. Dinis de um javali" (St Louis of Tolosa frees D Dinis of a wild boar)
• Evangelist side, adjacent to door: "Papa Gregório IX a visitar o cadáver de São Francisco" (Pope Gregory IX visiting the corpse of St. Francis – over stone sarcophagus)
• Epistle side, adjacent to door: "Milagre das rosas" (miracle of the roses – over stone sarcophagus)

The polychrome of the "comunhão" relief is remarkably vibrant. Not all the other reliefs look as good, but the artistry and expression as astonishing.

 

 

 

 

The claustro is to the west. The arcaded yard is surprisingly large, and centers on a tall pillar surmounted by a praying nun wearing the habit of the Poor Clares.

In the loja, the enthusiastic docents feed us more facts about the Holy Queen. She is the patron saint of Coimbra, and her feast is on July fourth. An image featured on their notice board shows a large tile panel, and we ask where we may see it. They tell us it's in the Justiça, which is the old Colégio de São Tomás building near our hotel – we make a note to check that out on the way home.

 

 

The Mostiero de Santa Clara-a-Velha (thirteenth century) is just down the hill. We complete a wide lap around the Mosteiro and its enclosing neighborhood, but cannot find a way in. Finally, we stop into a café and the lady says to keep going down the street and make a left.

There is a very modern-looking building behind the wall, and a very large security guard in the open gateway. He tells us the Mosteiro is closed for some number of days. Just then, a large van pulls up, and a group of people and their equipment disgorge. Something is going on, and we're not part of it.

We cross the Mondego on the Ponte Pedro e Inês (2007), an enjoyable, 'family friendly' foot bridge named for the tragic lovers (Inês was beheaded at the Velha monastery). Despite the dark narrative, the active span and the exceptionally large park it connects (Parque Verde do Mondego) are well used by children, bike riders, and joggers. 

 

 

 

We decide to walk to the Jardim Botânico (eighteenth century) and try to determine the 'least steep' option. Siri decides on a wide loop around the Colégio Rainha Santa Isabel to the southeastern gate, called the Terrace Vandelli. From here, we enjoy a shady, downhill walk through the Alameda das Tílias (linden trees) to the Quadrado Central (formal central garden).

The Estufa Trocial (nineteenth century) is a lacey, glass and iron greenhouse that spans nearly the entire width of the north terrace and seems to be in excellent condition. The Jardim is another excellent community space to relish the shade and vegetation. And it just happens to be the day after Earth Day, so there are roaming gangs of smiling, t-shirted gardeners working in the beds.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Just outside the Botânico to the north is the Aqueduto de São Sebastião (sixteenth century), which parallels the Calçada Martim de Freitas. On one side tourist buses stand idling, and on the other the Repúblicas of the Universidade sit with windows open and music blaring – quite a microcosm of the city.

 

 

 

 

We head to the Museu de Machado de Castro for lunch and some fantastic views. Changing our schedule a bit, we decide to enter and see the exhibits. The Museu is in the Antigo Paço Episcopal (eleventh or twelfth century), but that is built over the Criptopórtico Romano (first century) of the Aeminium.

We shuffle through the lowest passages and a series of broken arches and vaulted aisles. At the far end, there is a larger hall where the guards have arranged their chairs. A set of steps takes us up a level, with some marker stones in the display niches as if in warning. As the humidity increases, the lighting decreases, and we enter a different era.

 

 

 

 

 

On this upper level, the spaces are much taller, and some of the halls much wider. There are a few more marker stones as well as several lovely portrait busts – including Trajan (first or second century) and Agripina (first century).

The damp, chilly catacombs seen to go on and on. Here, we rejoin Saramago's 'traveller':

Now he’s about to descend to the depths. He abandons the upper areas where, to cap it all, it’s again raining, and follows his guide (who’s no Virgil, even though the traveller’s no Dante either) through galleries scantily lit from the crypt doorway. The traveller, occasionally wearying of marble, as he’s already demonstrated candour in admitting, now stumbles across a rough and crudely chiselled stone. He runs his hands over it with sensual pleasure, feeling its rugged grain with his fingertips, and it takes no more to make this traveller happy. The succession of arches is like an infinite reflection, and the atmosphere becomes so dense and mysterious that the traveller wouldn’t be surprised to see his own self emerge at the far end. Fortunately this isn’t what happened. The guard would have been worried had he heard the traveller talking to himself, even if he were doing no more than deploring Agrippina’s wounded lip. (José Saramago, “Journey to Portugal,” 1990; trans Hopkinson-Caistor, 2000)

 

 

 

 

 

Ascending to the art galleries, incrementally we rejoin the timeline. We begin our tour with Tríptico da Paixão de Cristo (c1514-17, Quentin Metsys); the images of 'Ecce Homo' and 'Flagelação de Cristo' are on one side, and 'Anunciação' is on the other (center panel missing?).

The Tríptico de Santa Clara (c1486) is a late Gothic, early Renaissance masterpiece and includes 'Cristo no Horto', 'Santa Clara e o Milagre da Custódia', and 'Lamentação'. In the small lower panels, the Apostles are paired, though Jesus squeezes into the third scene – Santa Clara's crozier pointing Him out.

This, along with several other pieces, are from the Mosteiro de Santa Clara, including the Anjos Turiferário (sixteenth century); as is another triptych with 'Aparição de Cristo a Virgem', 'Anunciação' (side panels), and on the reverse 'Quo Vadis?' (1531, Garcia Fernandes).

 

 

 

 

A large glass window from the painting gallery allows views into a gallery containing large architectural pieces. The docent says the large arch is from the Convento de São Domingos (sixteenth century), which is now a shopping mall. We ask him where this is, and he tells us it's on Rua da Sofia, again, near our hotel – another mental note.

Then we notice the plastic sheeting, and he tells us the lower galleries are not open due to water damage. Those galleries look amazing – what a shame; it looks like someone is frozen in carbonite down there.

 

 

As we finish in galleries in the new building and enter the old Paço, we hear students outside. There is sing-song chanting and joyous screaming; they keep it up for a long time. The guard wants to close the balcony door, but we take our chance and take a few quick pictures of the courtyard.

The collection now shifts into the eclectic: several reliquaries (a large bone from one of the Five Franciscan Missionaries), several decorative panels and 'mathematical' tiles (eighteenth century), the old Capela (from the old Paço), and several recovered architectural elements (Claustro de Mosteiro de Celas, nineteenth century).

He’s in this state of despair when he sees some students, a lad and a couple of girls, showering loud and colourful language on a fourth, who leaves with arm raised and fist clenched. And the young paladin, accompanied by his ladies, and from a safe distance, yells his intention of doing something to the other fellow, something the traveller’s chaste ears refused to retain. Hardly a pretty interlude, but true. As ever, the traveller, who has arrived so disenchanted, discovers greater pleasure in his own company. (José Saramago, “Journey to Portugal,” 1990; trans Hopkinson-Caistor, 2000)

 

 

 

 

 

The precious metals exhibit is upstairs and is beautifully presented. There are some stunning examples: the large Custódia do Sacramento ('rising sun monstrance', eighteenth century, top image detail), the delicate Cruz de Relicario (with crab, seventeenth century), another Custódia (Última Ceia on the door, eighteenth century), and the Sacra de Altar (eighteenth century).

Despite the docent's admonition, we find an elevator that goes down to the ground level. Though there are no stairs and parts of the gallery are roped-off, several areas are accessible.

The Machado de Castro Museum has the richest collection of mediaeval statuary in all Portugal, going by what’s on public display. Meaning that statues, according to the degree of proximity permitted by museum displays, end up losing their individuality and forming a kind of huge gallery of characters with blurred features. Of course this is an exaggeration, but the traveller wanted to see each single piece on its own, with space all around it, in order that his eyes, engaged in studying an angel, wouldn’t become captivated by a saint. These are matters of detail that only create discomfort when confronted by a treasure of immeasurable artistic value. It’s not a matter of multiplying the value of the works, but of the pleasures of looking to his heart’s content. (José Saramago, “Journey to Portugal,” 1990; trans Hopkinson-Caistor, 2000)

 

 

What has the traveller to say of what he’s seen? To which sculpture, or image, which piece, could he award pride of place? He could hazard a half-dozen, offending any left off the list. What of this fifteenth-century statue of a prostrate Christ, mysteriously smiling, apparently certain that he will rise from the dead. […] It’s the “Senhora do O”, fourteenth-century, from the hand of the Portuguese genius known as Master Pero, who inspires the traveller with the desire to write his biography. This Senhora is in an advanced state of pregnancy, divining the pulse of the new human being within her with the shell she holds in her hand while, her head gently inclined, she gazes out at us stony-eyed. (José Saramago, “Journey to Portugal,” 1990; trans Hopkinson-Caistor, 2000)

The 'traveller' quibbles that these portrayals, liberated from churches and monasteries, should not share tight quarters with so many others. Though we prefer this manner of viewing, we concur with his choices. For example, the Cristo Morto no Túmulo is observable from several angles; from above, we cannot see the medieval soldiers 'relaxing' under the lid. Seen close up, the Senhora do Ó (fourteenth century, Mestre Pero) carries a tender expression of hope tinged with melancholy, and the detail in the trim of Her garments is extraordinary.

We wander and enjoy the variety and narrative drive of each sculpture: friendly monks praying in a cloister, storybook panels carved in stone, the reconstructed arcade of an old cloister, and even the old archeological finds unearthed here.

We continue to search for the sculptures of Joaquim Machado de Castro (we know him from the Basílica da Estrela and the equestrian statue in Lisboa's Praça do Comércio), but there are none. The gallery containing the terracotta saints from A Ultima Ceia de Cristo (sixteenth century, Filipe Hodart) is definitely closed, too – a true loss, but a good reason to return.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Crossing the Rua de São João, grand stone stairs bring us up to the Largo da Sé Nova. Like the two Santa Clara's, Coimbra has a Sé Velha and Sé Nova. However, the Largo is a tight, inconvenient car park, with impatient drivers circling, hovering, and making multi-point turns – the pressures of being near campus.

In addition, the facade of the Sé Nova (eighteenth century) lacks the endearing humility of the old Sé, so our first impression is tempered. Slightly unusual, the facade faces south and catches a lot of raking light; this helps the sculpted surfaces 'pop'.

São Pedro and São Paulo pin the broad shoulders, and instead of a royal crown, the brasão is capped by a knight's helmet and a proud dragon. The four figures are the great jesuítas saints: São Ignacio de Loyola, São Francisco Xavier, São Francisco de Borja, and São Luís de Gonzaga. The jesuítas are famous for their educational efforts, so it's proper that the students here can enter and plead their case at a sympathetic altar.

The façade of the New Cathedral is like a theatrical backdrop, not because of exuberant scenarios, which in fact it lacks, but for the opposite reason: its neutrality and sense of distance. You could put on a Greek tragedy or a cloak-and-dagger play in front of a façade like this. It could adapt to anything, this Jesuit style defined by an impersonal elegance. Such matters, although they do not feature in the traveller’s dreams, can be found upon the church’s façade and interior. If we return to the façade we’ll soon see how everything else is kept in the same spirit, including the belltowers; these are somewhat set back, but draw the perspective towards themselves. Built at a later epoch, the towers prove the traveller right. (José Saramago, “Journey to Portugal,” 1990; trans Hopkinson-Caistor, 2000)

 

 

The interior is a 'short-armed' Latin cross; with shallow transepts and deep chapels, thus it is a rectangular building. Nossa Senhora da Boa Morte is in the first chapel on the right, and the panels behind show Her Assunção, Coroação, and other scenes from the Marian cycle. The presentation is typical of the other chapels, which all date from about the late seventeenth century: classical framing and polychrome figures in high relief. However, Nossa Senhora is made for parades and festivals.

The altarpieces in the transepts (eighteenth century) are much more ornate and Baroque. The theme in the east transept is the Sagrada Família, while in west, the central image is the Coroação da Virgem. Flank each altarpiece are massive 'curio cabinets' full of reliquaries. The upper statues are the Four Evangelists: São João (eagle) and São Lucas (ox) on the east, and São Mateus (angel) and São Marcus (lion) to the west. There is no shortage of leafy panels or pink angels flowing towards the Roman 'thermal windows'.

 

 

 

 

With its high altar of gold filigree and branching columns it is monumentally opulent. In addition, all the chapels are well served with altarscreens, the most outstanding of which is one dedicated to St Thomas of Vila-Nova, an exceptional piece of work. The church is not especially rich in fine paintings, any more than are a great many Portuguese churches. Maybe the traveller was really observing his own preference for a bit of warmth in those cold walls, the nakedness of the pillars or the emptiness of its spaces. Its marble was worked to be merely marble. In the traveller’s opinion, few stones have less to recommend them, although he’ll be called a barbarian for suggesting it. (José Saramago, “Journey to Portugal,” 1990; trans Hopkinson-Caistor, 2000)

The capela-mor is quite deep, and we cannot enter the chancel. There are a magnificent, matched set of organ pipes (eighteenth century), also crowded with angels. And as if to compete with their predecessors in Santa Cruz, the cadeiral (choir stalls, seventeenth century) are arranged below, each with a cycle of eight painted panels beautifully framed in gold.

The first two images nearest the rail on each are São Mateus (east, with angel) and São Lucas (west, with ox, both eighteenth century). the other fourteen images continue to illustrate the story of the Virgem: (east, from rail) Mary's Birth, Presentation, Betrothal, Annunciation, Visitation, Nativity, and Adoration; and (west, from rail) Presentation of Jesus, Holy Family, Among the Doctors, Wedding at Cana, Mary's Death, Assumption, and Coronation.

 

 

We can barely make out the Nativity scene in the main altar (late seventeenth century). All the other images look fresh and vibrant – perhaps it's the last to be conserved. Messing with our iPhones, we are able to look into the lantern of the great dome and make out the Christogram of the Jesuits ('IHS' in a sunburst with the Cross and three nails).

The Sé Nova also has an odd ball museu, where unused Senhoras and relics, like this saint's molar, are relegated to a side hall.

 

 

The day's 'score' is a mixed bag. Our missing Santa Clara-a-Velha and Hodart's saints are regrets. But the day has been exhausting, in a good way, and full. But our schedule is a mess. Tomorrow is our 'museum day' as it's the warmest, but we've just seen the Machado de Castro. Then again, sometimes things work better without a strict schedule.

The man at the Justiça tells us that they are about to close and to come back tomorrow. On the way home we stumble onto some antiques at a nearby firehouse, a 1927 Packard firetruck and an even older 1916 Fiat. The firehouse itself (1953) is a raincoat-yellow beauty. The day ends a on a positive – in truth, it's all positive.