José Saramago - Baltasar and Blimunda

They might well have remained there conversing for the rest of the day, but Dom João V, who as a rule tolerates no opposition once he has made up his mind, suddenly became melancholy as he visualised the funeral cortège of his descendants, of his son, grandson, great-grandson, great-great-grandson, great-great-great-grandson, each of them dying off without ever having seen the basilica completed, and it was clearly pointless even to start on the project if this was to be the outcome. João Frederico Ludovice tries to conceal his satisfaction, he has already understood that there will be no Basilica of Saint Peter in Lisbon, he has quite enough work in hand with the main chapel of the Cathedral at Évora and the buildings of São Vicente de Fora, which are on a scale suited to Portugal, because it is desirable that everything should be measured appropriately. There is a sudden lapse in the conversation, the King does not speak and the architect remains silent, and so ambitious dreams vanish into thin air, and we should never have known that Dom João V once dreamed of building a replica of the Basilica of St Peter in the Parque Eduardo VII had Ludovice not betrayed the King's secret to his son, who confided in a nun with whom he was intimate, who told her confessor, who told the Superior General of his order, who told the Patriarch, who asked if it was true of the King, who retorted that anyone who dared raise the subject again would incur his wrath, so everyone held his tongue, and the King's plan has now been revealed because the truth always comes out in the end, it is simply a question of time until the truth unexpectedly comes to the surface and announces, I've arrived, and we are forced to believe, the truth emerges naked from the depth of the well like the music of Domenico Scarlatti, who continues to reside in Lisbon.

Then suddenly the King taps his forehead, and his entire head glows, encircled by a halo of inspiration, And suppose we were to increase the number of friars at the convent of Mafra to two hundred, let's say, even five hundred, or one thousand, for I'm convinced this would make the same overwhelming impact as the basilica we're not going to have. The architect reflected, One thousand friars, even five hundred friars, would constitute a vast community, Your Majesty, and we should need a church as huge as that of St Peter in Rome in order to accommodate them, How many would you say, then, Let's say three hundred, for even then the basilica I have designed and am about to build with the utmost care is going to be much too small for that number, if you will pardon my saying so, Let's settle for three hundred, then, without any further discussion, for I have made my decision, Whatever is decided will be done as soon as Your Majesty gives the necessary instructions.

They were given. But not before the King arranged a meeting with the Provincial Superior of the Franciscans from Arrábida, the treasurer of the royal household, and the architect once again. Ludovice brought along his designs, spread them out on the table, and explained the layout in detail, Here is the church, to the north and south are the galleries and towers belonging to the Royal Palace, and behind are the outbuildings of the convent, which must now be extended even farther back in order to comply with Your Majesty's instructions, here there is a mountain of solid rock, which will be the last major operation in terms of mining and blasting, and much work has already gone into excavating the base of the mountain and levelling the terrain. Upon learning that the King wanted to increase the number of friars in the convent from eighty to three hundred, you can imagine the reaction of the Provincial Superior, who had gone to the Palace without any forewarning of this latest development, he threw himself to the ground in histrionic fashion and kissed His Majesty's hands profusely, before declaring in a voice that quivered with emotion, Your Royal Highness may rest assured that God is this very instant preparing new and even more luxurious apartments in paradise to reward those who exalt and praise His name on earth with living stones, rest assured that for every brick that is laid in the convent of Mafra, a prayer will be offered up for Your Majesty's intentions, not for the salvation of your soul, which is abundantly assured because of your good works, but to embellish with flowers the crown you will wear when you appear before the Supreme Judge, may God grant that you will remain with us for many years to come, so that the happiness of your subjects will not be diminished and the gratitude of the Church and order I serve and represent mayendure. Dom João V rose from his throne and kissed the Provincial Superior's hand, thus subordinating temporal power to that of heaven, and when he sat back down a halo of light once more encircled his head, unless this King exercises caution, he will find himself being sanctified. The royal treasurer wipes a tear from his eye as he watches this moving scene, Ludovice stands there with the index finger of his right hand pointing out on the plan the aforesaid mountain that will be so difficult to raze, and the Provincial lifts his eyes to the ceiling, which here symbolises heaven, while the King looks at all three in turn, mighty, pious, and most faithful, as papal authority has testified, this is what one sees reflected on that magnanimous countenance, for it is not every day that orders are given for a convent to be enlarged from eighty to three hundred friars, good and evil will out, as the popular saying goes, and what we have just witnessed is the greatest good.

Bowing and scraping, João Frederico Ludovice took his leave of the King and went off to modify his designs, the Provincial returned to his diocese to organise the appropriate manifestations of thanksgiving and to spread the glad tidings, only the King stayed behind, and is waiting even now in his Palace for the treasurer of the royal household to return with the accounts, and when he finally appears and places the enormous ledgers on the table, the King inquires, Tell me, what is the balance between our debit and credit. The treasurer strokes his chin with one hand, absorbed in some profound meditation, he opens one of the ledgers as if about to make a definitive statement, but amends the gesture and simply says, Your Majesty should know that as our funds dwindle our debts increase, Last month you gave me much the same report, And in the month before that and in the year before that, and at this rate, Your Majesty, we shall soon empty our coffers, We have a long way to go before we empty our coffers, with one in Brazil and one in India, and when they are exhausted, the news will take so long to reach us that we shall find ourselves saying, so, we were poor, after all, without even having realised it. If Your Majesty will permit me to speak frankly, I am of the opinion that we are facing bankruptcy and must be fully aware of our difficult situation. But, thanks be to God, there has never been any lack of money, That is true, but my experience as treasurer has taught me that the most persistent beggar is the one who has money to squander, just like Portugal, which is a bottomless coffer, the money goes in its mouth and comes out of its arse, if Your Majesty will pardon the expression. Ha ha ha, the King laughed, that's very funny, are you trying to tell me that shit is money, No, Your Majesty, that money is shit, and I'm in a position to know, squatting down here like everyone else who finds himself looking after someone else's money. This dialogue is fictitious, apocryphal, and libellous, and also deeply immoral, it respects neither throne nor altar, It makes a king and his treasurer speak as if they were drovers conversing in a tavern, and all we need are a few comely wenches to provoke the most awful outbursts of foul language, what you have just read, however, is simply an updated rendering of colloquial Portuguese, since what the King really said was, As from today, your stipend is doubled so that you will be under less pressure, whereupon the treasurer replied, I kiss Your Majesty's hand in gratitude.