Tragic love story ends at Alcobaça Monastery

I propped my journal on a monk’s angled desk and imagined I was illustrating a Bible or manuscript – perhaps the love story of Pedro and Inês? – as monks did hundreds of years ago when the Alcobaça Monastery was in its heyday.

Heavy stone walls kept the Sala dos Monges [Monks’ Hall] cool and quiet, despite blistering temperatures outside. We faintly heard the echoey murmurs of other visitors as they too explored the enormous complex of rooms with soaring pointy-arched ceilings supported by forests of columns, stone terraces, fountains, cloisters, lovers’ tombs, and stairs with dips in the stone where millions of feet have trod.

This UNESCO World Heritage Site monastery was founded in 1153. It’s hard to wrap your head around places that are so old – 869 years.

The cream-and-white monastery buildings spread like wings on each side of the church’s soaring bell towers that dominate Alcobaça’s historic cobble-stoned core. Restaurants, cafés, souvenir, and pastry shops gaze up at the monastery, with a wide-open plaza between. Day-trippers from Lisbon plus other tour groups arrive by the busload – the monastery is the draw for tourists from other countries as well as within Portugal.

We can see the monastery from our apartment’s balcony, two short blocks away, so we investigated soon after arriving in Portugal. Anyone can visit the church for free any time there’s no service going on. We opted to pay 6 Euros each to tour the monastery and church, where Pedro and Inês lie entombed.    

The story goes that Portugal’s first king, Afonso Henriques, vowed in 1147 that if he won the battle of Santarem against the Muslims, he would donate land to his cousin Bernard, Abbot of the Monastery of Clairvaux in France, to build a monastery. He won and followed through on his promise in 1153, the same year Bernard died.

Construction of the Mosteiro de Santa Maria de Alcobaça (its official name) began 25 years later and took several hundred years, with enlargements, renovations and furbelows added down through the ages. The first monks schlepped in their hard wooden furniture in 1223 – that’s 799 years ago. I assume that desk I sat at was not original, but surely the design was. The narrow, hard seat would certainly prohibit falling asleep on the job.

Bernard – who was later made a saint – never came to Alcobaça, but the monastery’s layout follows the architectural lines of Clairvaux – the first of many Cistercian monasteries he founded. I don’t know about those other monasteries, but this one is quite plain. Bernard famously said “Oh, vanity! More insanity than vanity! There are shining churches everywhere, but poor people are hungry!” Cistercian monks and their artwork did not show wealth or superfluous decoration, according to the monastery guidebook. The monastery and church do have some intricate carvings and fancy do-dads here and there, but those were added later.

For example, the lavatorium – a stone fountain where the monks washed up with ritual ablutions before meals – features tangled vines, animals and emblems carved into its six sides. We circled it twice, admiring the talents of whoever carved it.

Across the hall, we entered the refectory, where monks ate their meals in silence. One monk would have read sacred texts aloud from the pulpit, reached by a set of stairs enclosed by pillared arches.

Next door, the so-called “new” kitchen – completely lined with tiles dated 1752 – features an enormous chimney supported by eight cast-iron columns – quite the innovation in its time. Underneath, the fireplace is large enough to roast seven oxen at the same time. We craned our necks to see the top of the chimney, about 40 to 50 feet high.

The Alcoa River was diverted so a branch flowed under the monastery to supply water to the kitchen. Huge stone sinks the size of large bathtubs received water from gargoyle spouts. An open cistern at one end is the size of a small swimming pool. The kitchen would have produced meals for hundreds of monks and the peasants who worked the monastery lands every day.

I’ve read varying estimates of the monks’ numbers, from 450 up to 999. According to the Lonely Planet guidebook, the “monastery estate became one of the richest and most powerful in the country.” Rick Steves’ guidebook said the monastery became a cultural centre, making ceramics and other products. Wikipedia said the monks maintained a library, introduced Portugal’s first public school in 1269 and set up an agricultural school. At any rate, the Cistercian austerity that Bernard extolled was left behind in the 1600s and 1700s as the monks got fatter, expanded their digs (including the kitchen), and festooned some spaces with carvings.

The long dormitory, however, remained simple, with a series of Gothic pointy arches supported by pillars, with a different pattern at the top of each pillar.

“I’m not imaginative enough to come up with so many patterns,” said Bill.

“Well, if all you did all day long was carve stone, then you might think of some,” I replied.

We took a narrow, curling staircase up to a balcony overlooking the kitchen, then partway back down to the second floor of the galleries surrounding the main cloister (one of three). A woman in a blue smock swept up stray feathers and scraped pigeon poop from the stones.

For me, cloisters are always a highlight of cathedrals and monasteries. The squares are green oases in a sea of stone, admitting sunlight into dim interiors, and pleasing the eye with covered walkways, fountains and gargoyles. We stepped onto a balcony looking down into the green cloister gardens, squinting in the bright sunlight to make out the features on a gargoyle. It looks like a happy cow. We examined what we thought was a sundial and tried to make out the worn date – possibly 1657.

I held out my wrist. “It’s easier to tell time on my FitBit.”

Back down the curly staircase, I had to duck because the headroom was so low and had to pause every ten steps to let my eyes adjust to the darkness.

We made our way into the church – the largest in Portugal when it was completed in 1252 – and found famous Inês in the north transept (a short arm of the cross-shaped floor plan).

Pedro and Inês were a real-life Romeo-and-Juliet couple in the 1340s and ‘50s, also with a tragic ending. Prince Pedro fell in love with Inês, a Spanish noblewoman, while he was already married. After his wife died, his father (King Afonso) forbade him to marry Inês because of fears of Spanish influence. But they secretly married and had four children. The king had Inês murdered in 1355, sending Pedro off the deep end. He led an uprising against his father and later, after he became king, Pedro exhumed Inês’ body, crowned her queen, and forced his court to pay homage by kissing her decomposed hand. Gruesome stuff. Much worse than Romeo and Juliet!

Pedro designed the elaborately carved tombs in which he and Inês now lie – Inês in the north transept and Pedro in the south. Their feet point at each other so that when they arise at the end of time, they will see each other first thing.

Near Pedro, St. Bernard is celebrated with a huge terracotta sculpture created by the monks, showing the saint’s death at age 63. He was the most important driver of the Cistercian Order and founded 163 monasteries throughout Europe. He wrote poetry that was translated into hymns (e.g. “O Sacred Head, Now Wounded”), fought for the rights of churches against kings and states, counselled many popes, and resolved conflicts. Seems like a good guy.

Nearby were statues of two other saints where you could deposit a coin to light an electronic candle. We were going to bypass those, but then I laughed and called Bill over.

“Look! You need to put in a coin. St. Peter is the patron saint of fishermen as well as people with foot ailments!” Bill suffers from metatarsalgia so he paid to light a candle and pray for good feet.

Then we checked out the other saint – St. Anthony, patron saint of lost things! I deposited a coin and said a prayer that our bag lost by Air Transat would be found and returned to us.

We wandered into the Royal Pantheon to see the tombs of other kings, queens and princes. One was dated 1220. The entrance to the Sacristy, behind the altar, was surrounded by twining tree trunks, branches and leaves in the Manueline style – a unique Portuguese style attributed to King Manuel I.

Near the church entrance was the Room of the Kings, with statues of Portugal’s kings high above a series of blue-and-white tile murals from the 1700s that tell the tale of how the monastery came to be.

As we were leaving, I asked the woman in the gift shop how to pronounce “mosteiro” [monastery]. We had been saying “moss-TEER-oo” but it’s “moosh-TIE-row.” At least we got the emphasis on the second syllable right; everything else was wrong.

Outside the church, we took a closer look at the façade. The massive door and the rose window above it are the original Gothic from the early 1200s, but the two bell towers are Baroque from the 1700s – much fancier and tarted up with spires and statues. The Virgin Mary gets top billing, St. Bernard and St. Benedict flank the door, and statues of the four cardinal virtues adorn a balcony: Prudence, Fortitude, Temperance and Justice.

Monks left the monastery in 1834 when Portugal dissolved all its monasteries. We left when our feet got tired.  

The Alcobaça Monastery was built on the austere Cistercian Order principles, but architectural flourishes and embellishments were added over the years.

---

We visited the Alcobaça Monastery in July 2022. Find out where we are right now by visiting our ‘Where’s Kathryn?’ page.