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The Mafra National Palace, one of the most
important architectural relics of Portugal, was located in the town
from which it got its name. The enormous edifice was built
according to the wishes of King Juan V of Portugal, who had
promised to build it if the queen, Doña María of Austria, gave him
an heir. The birth of Princess Doña María Bárbara made him keep his
promise, and the king spared no expense in building that baroque
architectural masterpiece. The luxurious royal quarters occupied
the entire top floor, but the building also contained a monastery
for more than 300 Franciscan priests, a basilica, and one of the
most beautiful libraries in Europe, covered with marble and exotic
woods. Its rococo shelves now housed more than 40,000 volumes,
leather-bound with gold engraving. In addition to many other
literary marvels, it held a first edition of Os Lusíadas, by
Luíz Vaz de Camões. The building had not housed any Franciscan
fathers for a long time now, since the religious orders were
dissolved in 1834. In addition to its great intrinsic value, the
palace also held many treasures. The basilica had two towers and a
cupola, six pipe organs with an exclusive repertory, which couldn’t
be heard in any other place, and two carillons of ninety-two bells,
considered the best in the world.
“What are we doing here?”
“We’re going to meet your father.”
“Here?” Sarah was in a terrible mood. “He’s coming
here?”
“He’s already here.”
They passed the enormous doors of the monastery and
went into its magnificent interior. Rafael’s manner suggested he
knew where they were going.
The serenity of the monastery began to ease Sarah’s
anxieties. This environment served as a balm. A group of students
was ahead of them, with a guide explaining the history of the
place.
“Saramago, the Nobel Prize winner in literature—in
his book Memorial do convento, which I recommend, by the
way—describes the misfortunes and complications that occurred
during the construction of this building.”
Rafael and Sarah were sneaking through a
restricted-access doorway. Her heart began beating much faster.
“He’s close.”
“Did you know it’s said that the height of this
monastery is the same as its depth underground?” she asked
nervously.
“I’m sure,” Rafael answered mechanically, obviously
thinking about something else.
They went into what had once been a hospital, with
an adjoining chapel, from which the patients could hear the Lord’s
words. In one corner, Rafael skillfully opened a small wooden
door.
They descended a narrow spiral staircase,
illuminated by the flashlight Rafael had pulled out of his
pocket.
“It’s also said that the basements have been
inaccessible for centuries, due to the thousands of rats living
there.” Sarah’s voice sounded tremulous, revealing her anxious
jitters. “Countless treasures were lost because of that.”
They came to a very old door with rusty hinges and
moldy wood. There was utter darkness. Sarah began picturing bats
awakened from their sleep, infuriated by the two intruders. Rafael
opened the door, which screeched sharply.
“Watch your head,” he warned, stooping to go
through the narrow doorway. Sarah followed him, convinced she was
about to enter fifteenth-century Portugal.
“What is this? Where are we?”
“Take this,” Rafael said, handing her the small
flashlight.
Sarah grabbed the chance to survey the place,
disregarding Rafael’s moves. But the only thing she managed to see
was dirt. Dirt and more dirt. She couldn’t tell if it was a
continuation of the passageway or a kind of catacomb.
“Would you mind pointing that over this way?”
Rafael asked. “It has to be somewhere around here.”
“What?”
Set in the rock, or dirt wall, Sarah couldn’t tell,
was a stick with a cloth wound around one end. A primitive
torch.
Seconds later, using a lighter, Rafael ignited it.
The fire spread an orange light that partly lifted the darkness.
Before them was an enormous tunnel that looked endless, dug out of
the rock.
“Where are we?”
“Welcome to the catacombs of the Mafra monastery,”
Rafael said, noticing Sarah’s bewildered expression. “Shall we
go?”
Sarah didn’t answer for a moment, stunned into
silence.
“My father’s coming to meet us here?” she finally
asked.
“No, your father lives here.”