Fernão Lopes and the crisis 1383-1385

The approach of the nine hundredth anniversary of Portugal's existence as a nation invites us to rethink literary and artistic manifestations that evoke the warlike, religious and diplomatic actions that helped to proclaim (and I shamelessly steal the expression from Teixeira de Pascoais) the Art of Being Portuguese .

In the literary world, the unavoidable name of Fernão Lopes (1380?-1460?), gave voice to the crisis of 1383-1385, a high point in the struggle for Portuguese independence. To remember him is to address a whole world of uncertainties, supported by the real existence of his literary production. Official chronicler of the kingdom, by order of D. Duarte (1434), writer of the will of the martyr of Fez, D. Fernando (1422), clerk of the books of D. João I, he was also the main guard of the Torre do Tombo until around 1454, when, because he was “old and frail”, as stated in the retirement document signed by D. Afonso V, he was replaced by Gomes Eanes de Zurara, who considered him “a man of communal knowledge and great authority”.

His proximity to power and the positions he held facilitated the writing of numerous chronicles – of almost all the kings up to D. Duarte and also that of Condestabre – which, with more or less certainty, are attributed to him. He certainly left us: the Chronicle of King D. Pedro, the Chronicle of King D. Fernando and the Chronicle of King D. João I.

A son of the new generation that emerged from the revolution of 1383-1385, he masterfully interpreted this decisive moment in Portuguese history when the people first had the notion of the most sacred word “homeland”. With an objective and realistic spirit, he elevates and interprets, on the dramatic stage of history, an era that was simultaneously glorious and tragic, of recurring political, social, economic, administrative, religious and military problems.

Chronicle of King John I

It is precisely in the Chronicle of King D. João I (parts 1 and 2) that he shows himself to be the true historian of the revolution of the “common people” and the “wombs in the sun”, evoking him sometimes kneeling in ecstasy before heroes, sometimes in rebellion against the Queen, the “treacherous one”, the “farmer of Venus”, who had already killed one lord and now wanted to kill another, sometimes still suffering behind the walls of the city of Lisbon. Alexandre Herculano, calling him the “father of Portuguese history” (1843), states: “The chronicler makes us follow the crowds when they appear in mutiny on the streets and squares; he guides us to the battlefields, where fearful blows are given and received; he opens the doors of the palace to us when the Cortes are celebrated, when the councils are discussed; he drags us to the temples, where the voice of the eloquent monk thunders; he throws us, finally, into the existence of ancient times, and intoxicates us with the perfume of the Middle Ages” (1848).

In the Prologue of the aforementioned chronicle, the chronicler of the people explains his concept of history, warning of the patriotic love that can “override” impartiality and of the “worldly affection” that makes historians stray from the “straight road” to run “through dark paths”, so that “the few lands that they were, in certain passages, are clearly not seen”. He then adds that, resorting to a thorough investigation of “crazy authors” and “old scriptures”, he intended to “write the truth, without any other mixture, leaving behind all feigned praise in the good news, and to nakedly show the people who want to contradict things, in the way that they are”. He ends by warning that he placed “the simple truth before the beautiful falsehood”.

This is a chronicler who, through “exhausting care”, always sought “the certificate of truth” and rejected “books of nonsense”. It should be remembered, however, that, at this time, historical methodology was naturally incipient and, therefore, Fernão Lopes’ patriotic emotion and enthusiasm, at a time when Portugal was being reborn, could have led to the presentation of less verified facts; this does not, however, prevent the veracity of his very Portuguese chronicles.

In the Chronicle of D. João I, a privileged account of the crisis of 1383-1385, there are passages where the voice of the people is heard, sometimes bold and inconsequential, other times fearful, but always defending their Portuguese identity.

Death of Count Andeiro

One of them is the account of the murder of the Count of Andeiro. Knights plan his death. We witness the preparations from outside, the entrance to the Palace, the conversation with Queen Leonor and the remarkable dialogue between the Count and the Master. We then see his death perpetrated by Rui Pereira, and we learn about the consequences, inside and outside the Palace, that this unleashed.

This is a narrative of remarkable artistic beauty, movement and action given by popular agitation and by quick and incisive dialogues, from which irony is not absent, which, while discovering the malicious sagacity of the “treacherous” Queen, does not neglect the not very audacious character of the future King D. João I.

In defense of the Master of Avis

After this, revenge must be taken care of, and the subtlety of D. Nun' Álvares Pereira makes Álvaro Pais, accompanied by a page, ride through the city shouting: “Kill the Master! Kill the Master in the queen's palace. Run to the Master who is being killed! (…) Let us run to the Master, friends, let us run to the Master, for he is the son of King Dom Pedro”.

Fernão Lopes brilliantly interpreted the Constable's fine psychological intuition to galvanize the people; through a half-truth, he unleashed a massive reaction of anger against the “treacherous” Queen who had already “killed a lord” and now wanted to kill another.

The narrative brings to life a maddened people capable of “setting fire to the palace” and breaking down doors to save the Master, deaf to the cries that guaranteed his life. That is why it asks: “If he is alive, show him to us and we will see him”. In this apostolate of seeing is believing, the crowd is calmed by the appearance at a window of the future King of Portugal; but, when passing by the Cathedral, faced with the refusal of the Bishop, a follower of the Pope of Avignon, to ring the bells, the mob breaks down doors, kills those inside and drags the Bishop through the streets of the city to Rossio, showing a cruelty that is not entirely exempt from censure.

Good London is Portugal

After all, it was all about the clear desire of the people of Lisbon to have a defender to govern them, since the invasion of the King of Castile was imminent. The Master, as already mentioned, was lacking in audacity and, fearing the Queen's revenge, decided to flee to England, having been prevented from doing so by the "small people" who wanted him to be Lord, Waterer and Defender of the Kingdom. Rui Pereira, echoing the popular will, told him: "Good London is Portugal".

Was it like that? Maybe yes or maybe no, but what is at stake is the entire implicit and explicit argument that asserts the will of the people, and highlights the fearful, but also human, character of D. João I, as revealed by the artistic prose of Fernão Lopes.

The Master knew that difficult times were approaching. Times impeccably reported by the Chronicler, through an impressive dramatism, where the power of realistic and objective description that makes him an artist of prose stands out. I refer to the Siege of the City of Lisbon by the Castilian troops, where the visualist description prevails: “… Now watch, as if you were present”. This is how we witness life inside a city where “there was no wheat to sell”, some “gorged themselves on herbs and drank so much water, that they thought men were dead and pigs were lying bloated (..), those who had children at their breasts were failing to give milk”. They were fighting two wars: “one against the enemies that the besieged had, and the other against the food that was dwindling”. In the midst of so much misfortune, songs of maidens against the Castilian troops could be heard. Fernão Lopes does not hide his astonishment at the courage and bravery with which a city surrounded by a huge army was defended.

People

As the story goes, three characters are the protagonists of this moment: the Master of Avis, Nun' Álvares Pereira and the city of Lisbon, the widow who, allegorically, adopts the Master in “the place of a husband”, publicly legitimizing their relationship in the Courts of Coimbra.

In this chronicle by Fernão Lopes, one hears, smells, tastes, sees and feels, in a synesthetic process, the entire crisis of 1383-1385 that ended with the victory in the Battle of Aljubarrota. Individual and collective portraits emerge, in a sober and precise painting, typifying the inner and outer worlds. From all of them, the people, the anonymous masses, the “arraia meuda”, the “shoulders in the sun”, the great actor and promoter of this revolution is erected. Visualist rigor, the genesis of realistic creation, places and gives life to this collective character in the court or in the public square, in the camp or on the battlefront, dancing and dancing in the light of the torches with their King, or shouting, laughing and crying. All in a unique and unparalleled way, as had never been seen in other accounts of the Middle Ages.

The Chronicler shapes the Homeland in the figure of the People, and creates, to identify it, the allegory of the city of Lisbon, questioning it about the belonging of the blood spilled so that it could remain whole and indivisible. He does so through a suggestive, rich, vibrant style, where rhetorical questions, exclamations at the beginning of sentences, double adjectives, onomatopoeic words, and hidden metaphors convey the vigorous personality of a people and its historical sense of nationality. Yesterday as today.

[The articles in the Portugal 900 Years series are a weekly collaboration of the Historical Society of the Independence of Portugal. The opinions of the authors represent their own positions.]