Evening star., 1909-04-17
OLD CONVENT OF BusAcO
ANCIENT EDIFICE IN WOODS
SURROUNDED BY HOTELS.
Monastic Pomp Has Departed-Place
Preserved by the Portuguese
Government.

Government.
From the London Globe.
Set in the midst Of its guardian forest
is the Convent of Busaco. Half hidden
by the verdure as it has always been. 1t
is true that the building is less noticeable
now than at any time since the period
of its erection. Overshadowed by the
cleaning white walls and towers of
great hotel the lowly convent has become
dwarfed and architecturally insignificant.
Fortunately this curious juxtaposition
savors of no vandalism. One has to thank
the Portuguese for the fact that the state
illness and the richly carved arches and
colonnades of the newer building. with
its pinnacles and turrets, suggest a sig
nificance far more sentimental than the
place actually bears. And the convent is
still there, its sober tfnts blinking In the
face of the pure white stone of its neigh
bors. The pebble mosaic u-on its ancient
walls. its cork DOORS the rows of monastic
cells, and the great stone cross in the
courtyard-all is as it was when The robes
about the spot.
All about. pressing in from every point
upon the buildings, is the forest. The
rolling waves of verdure have clung to
with the later centuries their composition
has become more and more heterogeneous
and exotic. When the brethren went
across the seas to labor in the tracks of
the early navigators, they, remembering
Busaco, sent back TO the convent the
growths of the newer lands. So 1t is
that The pine, chestnut and oak of the
original wood stand cheek by jowl with
timber from southern lands and rare
cedars, and that the palms and tree
ferns spread the broad fans of their
leaves about the lower slopes. And now
last of all, the tall eucalyptus has come
to mingle with the rest and 10 send its
blue LEAKAGE high above the tops of the
older trees. The entire forest. moreover.
is still walled in, and thus held aloof
from the outer world The spot lays claim
to a peculiar sanctity, and. carved upon
the stone of the main entrance are the
words of the papaI bull that forbids the
entrance of woman or the damaging of
plant within the walls on pain of excom-
municaton. The latter edict still holds
good; but the former does not.
Beauty of the Grounds.
Indeed, the monastic pomp of Busaco
has departed. The sacred paths are there
wrought beautifully in cobbles, that wind
in and out of the leafy haunts; but they
know none of those solemn professions
that passed slowly between the tree
trunks over the ground dapped with
shadow and brilliant light. AS for the
chapels and shrines that formed the sta
tions by the way, they are silent, too, and
the broken figures within them lie in
fragments behind the bars as they have
lain for three-Quarters of a century. But
the fern upon the roofs, the stonecrop
upon the walls and the crumbling stone
itself have lent 10 them a new lease of
another kind of beauty. that fits in well
with the slumbrous peace of tha spot.
There are rural guards armed with muz-
ze-loading rifles, and gardeners, and
visitors here and there, 1t is true, but
the spot Hmains as tranquil as it has
ever been-far more so, indeed than has
been its lot upon occasion. In the early
ages the armed sentinel monks would
peer out from Cruz Alta. the highest
point near by, to scan the spreading
country below for glimpse of hostile
steel. For when the maraudng Moors
were out upon the lowlands 1t was for
the brethren to defend the lofty convent
and forest by means of the secular arm.
But these strenuous days had been for
gotten for centuries wnen Busaco echoed
once again to the clash of steel, and to
the roaring of the more modern weapons,
and the inmates of the convent in 1910,
long weaned from warlike exercises, stood
by as helpless and terrified spectators.
View From Busaco.
Passing out from the convent to the
north 1t is but few minutes ere the
wall is reached; the trees fall away. and
one Is out in the open upon the very field
of battle. From the edge of the small
plateau the slope falls abruptly away,
and it is just here that occurred one of
the most brilliant of those struggles upon
the whole of the long line. Down below,
where the trees and copses mottle the
valley, is the village of Sula.
1t was upon the farther side of this that
Craufurds first skirmishing line, the 95th
Regiment and the Portuguese Cascadores,
awaited the onslaught or Ney's tried bat
talions, the troops that had marched
westward in practically unbroken ser.es
of victories. Charging through the white
morning mist. the French came on with
all the confidence of that success which
had led them as far as here. Stubborn
from the very commencement, the fight
rolled slowly up the hillside, the allies.
their line fed by more Cascadores con-
tending fiercely for every inch of the up
ward way. Through Sula, with the Brit
ish shells already crashing in the midst
of the attacking ranks. up the sleeper
slopes behind. and then the smoke and
turmoil of the combat had mounted until
it ragged just beneath the crest itself of
the heights. By the time the attenuated
lines of skirmishers had passed behind the
ranks of their waiting comrades above
their task had been calamity fulfilled.
The French. their valor undiminished,
were advancing still-but reeling with
fatigue, and with a timex tfail OF QeaO
and wounded in their tracks. Then. when
the crest, lined by the Add and 52d. blazed
suddenly with fire, came the end. Ney's
intrepid battalions, smothered and utterly
broken beneath the bullets and steel of
the pursuing allies, went staggering back
in shapeless mass down the hillside.
Along the other points of the line the re-
suit had been the same. Busaco had
turned the invading tide. Its eddies.
swerving to surge helplessly upon the
works of Torres Vedras, recoiied east
ward for good in a pitiful stream.
Upon the spot itself little imagination
is needed to picture the scene. The slopes
and the valley beneath. untouched, are as
they were all but a century ago. Upon
the road that leads to the crest comes
peasant with his OK cart. while below
troop Of women, kerchiefs bound around
their heads, are harvesting in the fields.
All is as it was, from the costume of the
peasant to the wild flowers butterflies
and blue sky Only the monks have gone,
and the convent knows them no more.
Which is perhaps little hard. consider
ing that for almost a thousand years the
place had waxed and gained in charm
under their care alone.
Railroad Time Table.