The King and I

Ex Ossibus
Father M.

Or how I learned to stop worrying and embrace Catholic Monarchy

Lord Byron once described the Portuguese town of Sintra as a glorious Eden. Well, if Sintra is Eden then their Royal Highnesses, the Duke and Duchess of Braganza are the Adam and Eve. Most Americans, some Europeans and even a few Portuguese, do not realize, that Portugal, a republic since 1910, has an heir to the Throne and a real royal family. The Duke and his family have had a state-subsidized residence in Sintra since his parents were allowed to return from exile in 1952. In a twist of irony, as the seaside resorts of Portugal were filling with Bourbons, Habsburgs, Savoy’s and the tattered remains of many royal lines, Portugal’s own royal family was packed off first to Britain and later to Switzerland.

He wasn’t even the one I wanted to meet. My friend, Father G., an American priest assigned to Fatima, had met His Royal Highness on several occasions and arranged a lunch in an historic local hotel. I was interested in the hotel because George Gordon, Lord Byron, had stayed in the hotel and it makes a cameo appearance in an allusion in Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage. I was interested in the lunch because Father G. had also arranged for the presence of the Marquis of Floresta, the Castile and Leon Cronista de Armas of the Kingdom of Spain. If you are a heraldry buff then Floresta is your ultimate go-to guy. If your grandparents were born in Spain, as were mine, then he is the heraldic St. Peter with the power to loose and to bind the mysteries of Iberian genealogy and coats of arms. Yes, the Duke, to me, between the herald and the Harold, was a mere footnote.

Father G. and I arrived early in our cassocks and sashes. The Duke arrived next. He looked like John Cleese dressed impeccably in wide-wale olive cords, tweed jacket, olive foulard tie and tattersall shirt. All he needed to complete the outfit was a Holland & Holland 20-guage and some upside-down quail. The Spaniards, true to form, arrived last, chauffeured in a sleek, black S-Class Mercedes. The first to emerge was a Valencian grocery baron, large of frame, bald of head and bulging of wallet. His friends called him the Golden Fleece because he always picked up the tab. Next to emerge was a tiny little banker who liked to race yachts in Mexico and thought everyone else should as well. Last was the Marquis on whom I had set my conversational sites for the afternoon. The Spaniards all sported the same uniform: Grey flannel pants, blue blazers, brown loafers, signet pinky ring, Hermes tie and the rosette of some Order or another punctuating their lapels. Somehow, while trying to position myself next to the famous heraldist I ended up next to the Duke. Well, what do you say when you have every possible John Cleese-Monty Python skit running through your head? He spoke and began to ask me about myself. After responding with the requisite responses I asked him about himself. After he told me that his godfather was Pope Pius XII after whom he had been named (Duarte Pio) I figured Floresta would keep for a little while. Then he told me that he was a devout Catholic and Mass was the most important part of his week (I thought, well, maybe this man could be a good leader). Then he told me that his foremost responsibility was to be a loving husband and father (I thought, well, the monarchy is looking darn good). Then he told me how important it was to uphold the sanctity of human life, which begins at conception (at this point I was willing to hike my cassock up to kilt-length, paint my face like Braveheart, and go running down the hill to storm the nearest republican barracks shouting, FRREEEEEEEEEDOOOOMMMMMM!)

The Duke of Braganza maintains a semi-official role in Portugal, attending state functions, often with the President of the Republic. What separates him from many other royals in a similar position is that he is not afraid to lead by example and to live his Faith. He understands that the blood royal has nothing to do with being photographed in the latest nightclubs, flirting with scandal and providing fodder for tabloids. Rather, a King is a man dedicated to his family and those entrusted to his care, an example of how others should live, and a defender of the defenseless. If these principles had been followed by other crowned heads, those heads would not have rolled.

Next week, the Smithsonian Institution will open an exhibit on Portuguese art at the Sackler Gallery in Washington. The president of Portugal will be on hand to open the exhibit and the Duke of Braganza will be there as well to symbolize the history of Portugal and, God willing, its future. Oh, and a simple parish priest will drive him.

Comments

[Old Dominion Tory]

Reading something about the Spanish Civil War, I came across a Carlist's description of an ideal prince or king. As I recall it was, "A prince who will happily drink from the same wineskin as me." Apparently, HRH the Duke of Braganza is such a man.

[Young Fogey]

The Marquis of Floresta, with whom I periodically correspond, is indeed a remarkable man. Still only 50 years of age (a mere babe in heraldic terms) he is a Doctor in Law (UCM), Doctor in Political Science and International Relations (UPM), Doctor in Medieval and Modern History (UNED), Professor of the University Camilo José Cela (Madrid), Chronicler-King of Arms of Castilla and Leon, ancient Professor of the University of Valladolid, Member of The Royal Academy for History, Member of The Royal Academy for Jurisprudence and Legislation, Fellow of the Society for Medieval Studies, Rector of the Academia Melitense Hispana, and Secretary of the Royal Academy of the Sea. He is the author of thirty books and 180 monographs and articles and is a national expert on specific laws and institutions. I shall refrain from enumerating his numerous awards and decorations.

He is also a thoroughly decent chap. I recently required something from Madrid and his cousin (who is a friend) asked him to obtain it for me, which he very kindly did. Yes, a very fine fellow.

[Father M.]

Fogey,
I am impressed (but not surprised the more I read from you!)at your encyclopedic knowledge of Floresta.

Tory,
1. Do you have a tux handy and 2. Can you (and Mrs. Tory) be in DC Tuesday by six to put the Carlist's description to the test?

[Sir Basil Seal]

Father M, the Spanish costume which you describe in your post is an almost exact replica of the standard Cincinnati uniform here in the States...Just replace Hermes with Ben Silver and the pinky ring with class ring and wedding band worn on the same finger and you have the complete picture.

[Mrs. Peperium]

Somebody, somewhere, please give the King my regards. Oh, and gently remind him that only his saddles are to be Hermes...

Tsk...Tsk...

[Fr. M.]

Mrs. P.,
The Duchess' father bred Lusitanos (the horses) so there may be a few nice saddles in the barn.

Basil,
The Cincin-natty gents around here also usually have clever buttons on their blazers.

[Mrs. Peperium]

Father M.,

Because of this:

"What separates him from many other royals in a similar position is that he is not afraid to lead by example and to live his Faith. He understands that the blood royal has nothing to do with being photographed in the latest nightclubs, flirting with scandal and providing fodder for tabloids. Rather, a King is a man dedicated to his family and those entrusted to his care, an example of how others should live, and a defender of the defenseless."

I'm willing to overlook the Hermes tie...

[Old Dominion Tory]

Father M:
Thank you so very much for the tempting invitation. Alas, although I have a dinner jacket and Mrs. Tory is willing, demands of work and family will not allow me to motor up to D.C. on Tuesday.
Please give my best to HRH the Duke, however. I have no doubt he would fit the Carlist's description perfectly.

[Old Dominion Tory]

Mrs. Peperium:
The Spanish gentlemen were the ones wearing Hermes ties, not HRH.
Cheers.

[Mrs. Peperium]

ODT, ARE YOU NUTS? Invitations such as these do not grow on trees. The duties of your religion demand that you must go... You will regret missing this one.

[Mario Mandingo]

Father M:

I thoroughly enjoyed reading this. Although my great grandparents where Iberians too, alas not nobility. I have been inspired by your post. I will cook a paella tonight.

[Old Dominion Tory]

As to regretting missing this one, Mrs. P., in fact, I already do.

[Mrs. Peperium]

*sigh* Me too.

[Andrew Cusack]

"ODT, ARE YOU NUTS?"

Connecticut girls really do brim with vim, don't they.

Tip-top post, Father M!

[Mrs. Peperium]

Mandingo, I love paella. I have sister that went to University of Salamanca as well as did graduate work at the University of Lisbon. She is quite knowledgeable on Spanish and Portugese cuisine so I have been a big fan since junior high. In fact the best meal of my life was at a Portugese restaurant in that town right in between Greenwich Conecticut and Rye NY - the name escapes me, ack. It was a seafood stew, tomato-based with no eel, thank goodness. I loathe eel every since one wrappped itself around my mother's wrist as she tried to disentangle it from a hook. My brother had caught it fishing. Horrible. Anyway, Father M, now that I'm more aware of your bloodlines perhaps you might enjoy this old PP post:

http://jacksonville.typepad.com/patum_peperium/2006/03/moros_y_cristia.html

Andrew, if Connecticut girls are not filled to the brim with vim, then, what's the point really?

[Christine]

" If these principles had been followed by other crowned heads, those heads would not have rolled."

Or, in some cases, it was precisely for such reasons regal Catholic heads rolled...

[Christine]

Lovely post, by the way. Was the rendez-vous at the Castle of Ourem?

[Father M.]

Mario,
My grandparents weren't of noble stock either, I am sure that they were yak herders or whatever one did in Spain in The Day. One of the nice things about Spain is that, unlike England, anyone could apply for a coat of arms, no matter hoe humble. Paella sounds delicious and I remember my grandmother's paella with great affection.

Mr. Cusack, thank you!

Christine, The lunch took place at Lawrence's Hotel in Sintra which is the oldest continually active hotel on the Iberian peninsula.

[Mrs. Peperium]

Port Chester! It was Port Chester Mandingo!

[Andrew Cusack]

It had to be either Port Chester on our side of the border or Byram on the other. There's a lovely little place called Sam's right on the river which is good for a burger or the like. Sam grills them up himself in the kitchen, which is about the size of a galley. And he'll make your burger as rare as you'd like it, too!

[Mrs. Peperium]

Moo!