Pegoens consists of about two or three houses and an inn;there is likewise a species of barrack,where half a dozen soldiers are stationed.In the whole of Portugal there is no place of worse reputation,and the inn is nicknamed ESTALAGEM DE LADROENS,or the hostelry of thieves;for it is there that the banditti of the wilderness,which extends around it on every side for leagues,are in the habit of coming and spending the fruits of their criminal daring;there they dance and sing,feast on fricasseed rabbits and olives,and drink the muddy but strong wine of the Alemtejo.An enormous fire,fed by the trunk of a cork-tree,was blazing in a niche on the left hand on entering the spacious kitchen;by it,seething,were several large jars,which emitted no disagreeable odour,and reminded me that I had not yet broken my fast,although it was now nearly one o'clock and I had ridden five leagues.Some wild-looking men,who,if they were not banditti,might easily be mistaken for such,were seated on logs about the fire;I asked them some unimportant question,to which they replied with readiness and civility,and one of them,who said he could read,accepted a tract which I offered him.
My new friend,who had been bespeaking dinner,or rather breakfast,now with great civility invited me to partake of it,and at the same time introduced me to the officer who accompanied him,and who was his brother,and also spoke English,though not so well as himself.I found I had become acquainted with Don Geronimo Joze d'Azveto,Secretary to the Government at Evora.His brother belonged to a regiment of hussars,whose headquarters were at Evora,but which had outlying parties along the road;for example,at the place where we were stopping.Rabbits at Pegoens seem to be a standard article of food,being produced in abundance on the moors around.We had one fricasseed,the gravy of which was delicious;and afterwards a roasted one,which was brought up on a dish entire.The hostess having first washed her hands proceeded to tear the animal to pieces,which having accomplished she poured over the fragments a sweet sauce.I ate remarkably heartily of both dishes,particularly of the last,owing perhaps to the novel and curious manner in which it was served up.Excellent figs from the Algarves and apples completed our repast,which we ate in a little side room with a mud-floor,which sent such a piercing chill into my system as prevented me from deriving that pleasure from my good fare and agreeable companions which I might otherwise have experienced.Don Joze d'Azveto had been educated in England,in which country he passed his boyhood,which to a certain degree accounted for his proficiency in the English language,the idioms and pronunciation of which can only be acquired by a residence in the country at that period of one's life.He had also fled thither shortly after the usurpation of the throne of Portugal by Don Miguel,and from thence had passed over to the Brazils,where he had devoted himself to the service of Don Pedro,and had followed him in that expedition which terminated in the downfall of the Usurper and the establishment of the constitutional government in Portugal.Our conversation rolled chiefly on literary and political subjects,and my acquaintance with the writings of the most celebrated authors of Portugal was hailed with surprise and delight;for nothing is more gratifying to a well-educated Portuguese than to observe a foreigner taking an interest in the literature of his nation,of which he is so justly proud.
About two o'clock we were once more in the saddle,and pursued our way through a country exactly resembling that which we had previously been traversing,rugged and broken,with here and there a clump of pines.The afternoon was exceedingly fine,and the bright rays of the sun relieved the desolation of the scene.
Having advanced about two leagues,I caught sight of a large edifice in the distance,which I learnt was a royal palace,standing at the farther extremity of Vendas Novas,the village where we were to halt.It was considerably more than a league from us,yet,seen through the clear transparent atmosphere of Portugal,it appeared much nearer.Before reaching it,we passed by a stone cross,on the pedestal of which was an inscription commemorating a horrible murder of a native of Lisbon,which had been perpetrated on that spot.It looked ancient,and was covered with moss,and the greatest part of the inscription was illegible,at least it was to me,who could not bestow much time on the deciphering of it.
Having arrived at Vendas Novas and bespoke supper,my new friends and myself strolled forth to view the palace.It was built by the late King of Portugal,and presents little that is remarkable in its exterior.It is a long edifice with wings,and is only two stories high,though it can be seen afar,owing to its being situated on elevated ground.It has fifteen windows in the upper and twelve in the lower story,with a paltry-looking door something like that of a barn,the ascent to which is by a single step.The interior corresponds with the exterior,offering nothing which can gratify curiosity,if we except the kitchens,which are indeed magnificent,and so large that food enough might be prepared in them to serve as a repast to all the inhabitants of the Alemtejo.
