Tales & Tiles
ANTÓNIO ARAÚJO
Words
JOSÉ MANUEL COSTA ALVES
Photography
La Fontaine in Lisbon
It is a fable, amongst animals. Firstly, the ravens of Lisbon. Legend or fable has it that some ravens plucked the eyes of the Roman executioners who, in the year 304, tortured to death the pious deacon Vincent, of the Saragossa bishopric. Leaving the corpse to the mercy of beasts and birds of prey, an angel protected the body. As a result, the animals refrained from consuming Vincent’s remains, which were cast into the sea. However, not knowing how or why, they were later found on the coast near Valencia, where they were collected by Christians, who venerated Vincent at once.
With the Moors’ invasion of the peninsula, and Valencia besieged by Abd al-Rahman I (also known as “The Falcon of Quraysh”), the saint’s remains were secretly buried in a safe place, at the Algarve’s most western point. Baptised Promontorium Sacrum by the Romans and dedicated to the god Saturn, the site began attracting ravens, resulting in the name Raven’s promontory, later changed to Cape St. Vincent. Nearby, in a land of ancient, very ancient devotions, where once there was a temple dedicated to Hercules, the Mozarabic Christians built a church and place of pilgrimage, which even the Arabs called the “Church of the Ravens” (Kanisat al-Gurab).
the astrologer who fell into the well
As legend or fable has it, when King Afonso Henriques ordered the bones of St. Vincent to be returned to a safe place in Lisbon in 1176, a flock of ravens escorted the ship from the Algarve to the Tagus River. The remains were placed in one of Lisbon Cathedral’s towers, where they still rest, although the ravens have long since departed. Such remarkable events allowed Camões to write the following verse in Book III of The Lusiads:
(...)The martyr’s bones on Vincent’s Cape interr’d
(His sainted name the Cape shall ever bear)
To Lisbon’s walls he brought with votive care.
Unusually, St. Vincent’s remains were never transported to the monastery that bore his name, which was constructed in Lisbon’s Campo de Santa Clara, on the orders of King Afonso Henriques. It was here that the army of Portuguese and foreign troops were based before taking the nearby castle from the Moors.
Although there are few vestiges of this original monastery, what remains is still remarkable. The rest was lost or buried by the immense construction that Filipe II ordered there, which was designed by Filippo Terzi, Juan Herrera and Baltazar Álvares.
Apparently, the building was little affected by the earthquake of 1755, which shook Lisbon and the Europe of the Enlightenment. In the same year, in Paris, a new edition of La Fontaine’s Fables was printed by the Librairie Centrale des Beaux-Arts, with magnificent illustrations by Jean Baptiste Oudry.
Of La Fontaine’s 240 fables, 38 were transformed into monumental blue and white tile panels in the late 18th century. It is not known who painted them, who had the idea of using Oudry’s engravings, or who thought of installing them in a monastery dedicated to St. Vincent, patron saint of Lisbon and saint of ravens.
Most curious of all are the six panels with fables by La Fontaine/Oudry that were produced at the Real Fábrica do Rato around 1808. They can be found on the island of Madeira, at Quinta Vigia (also known as “Quinta das Angústias”), which serves as the current residence of the president of the regional government. Only one of them, The Wolf and the Crane, exists in Lisbon and Madeira; the others - The Fox and the Stork; The Animals Sick of the Plague; The Two Roosters; The Cat and the Two Sparrows; The Fox, the Flies and the Hedgehog - are exclusive to Quinta Vigia.
Now displayed as they should be, the tiles of La Fontaine’s fables in St. Vincent monastery are just one indication, among many others, of the cultural relations between Portugal and France, or vice versa. A story made of fables, amongst animals.
the old man and
the three young men
the snake and the file
A snake into a watch-shop crept one day‑ / Bad neighbour for the watchmaker, I say‑ / And searched the shop for food, but nothing saw, / Except a file, which he began to gnaw. / The file thus very coolly spoke: / “ Sure, silly little snake, you joke; / My solid substance you may bite, / From me you’ll never gain a doit; / You’ll break your teeth upon the steel. / The tooth of time is all I fear or feel.” / This tale’s for you, ye wits of lowest class, / Who, good for nothing, bite at all that pass. / Ye torture your poor heads in vain, / To hiss at authors, or their merit stain. / To noble works you can no damage do, / They're brass, steel, diamonds to you.
the iron pot and clay pot
An iron pot proposed one day / To travel with a pot of clay : / The latter made his best excuse, / And thought it prudent to refuse : / “ Better,” he said, “ to stay at home, / Than idly thus abroad to roam. / For me the smallest thing that hits, / Will crack or break me all to bits, / Nor scrap of me find home again. / But you,” he cried, “ let nought detain ; / Your texture shows such strength of skin, / I see not aught to keep you in.” / “ I’ll screen you,” cried the solid pot ; / “ If aught of danger be your lot ; / I’ll get between the two, ye know, / And from your body ward the blow." / This offer made his fears subside, / He joined the iron pot with pride, / And both went hobbling on together, / Laughing at accidents and weather. / But shortly they too near each other roll, / As they went jogging cheek by jowl ; / And all along the way / Suffered that pot of clay. / Hardly, in fine, a hundred paves gone, / When by his comrade he was overthrown, / And smashed to bits without the time to groan. / Then let us with our equals only stay, / Or think with trembling on that pot of clay.
the wolf and the strok