Quinta da Regaleira: the part where it gets weird
Blood sports, drainage holes, and a pentagram-filled chapel
This is part two of three of a very true story that has had me fixated for almost two years. If you missed the first part, find it here.
Quinta da Regaleira is designed to be misleading. A maze of criss-crossing steps, caves and tunnels, it’s easy to get yourself very, very lost. The gardens were lacking in any direction other than inconsistent signs dotted throughout the park, and as we tried to explore the paths and tunnels in a way that made sense, we found ourselves turned around, our phones’ maps struggling to locate us. We were guided only by instinct and the ever-present symbols: signs representing everything from alchemy to masonry to Greek mythology to Christianity.
The layout feels at times created by nature; with its rocky paths, moss and trees, it’s easy to forget that it was designed by two men with unclear intentions. All that makes it all the more unsettling; what reason could any one man, however “eccentric” or wealthy, have for creating an elaborate system of tunnels underneath his garden? For stairs descending without end; for wells empty of water but overflowing with symbolism?
There is water all over the estate, in fountains and waterfalls and even an abandoned aquarium, all fed by a system of waterways. Ironically, the only place there really isn’t water is in the wells. One natural-looking area is the “waterfall” and the corresponding “waterfall lake”, where signs discouraged us from walking across the stepping stones, but at that point we were too obsessed to ignore them. We found ourselves in a tunnel that led behind the waterfall; there, yet more tunnels seemed endless, labyrinthine.
Several areas hidden amongst the trees are more clearly built by human hands. The Portal of the Guardians is an arresting image, a huge decorated exedra composed of twin towers with a hidden entrance to the tunnel system beneath. More arresting yet was the “Font of Abundance”, a small blackened water fountain set in a huge, ornate, tiled façade. It sits in front of a large stone slab and a throne and links back to Monteiro’s obsession with eternal life; teamed with the altar, it set my imagination turning.
We questioned the reason for the altar’s existence, but still, lay down on it for “funny” photos, “baptising” one another with the water, before noticing drainage holes on the ground. It’s only if you pay close attention that you see them throughout the estate: small holes, in some places in the shape of sunwheels, that drain through to dirt under the ground. Teamed with the altars that often sit above them, it’s a blood-curdling image of sacrifice.
Nothing is exactly what or where it says it is, which is partly because nobody knows what happened there. “Tennis Courts” feature no nets or lines on the ground, or any of the markers of tennis courts. What they do feature, however, are turrets with viewing holes that flank each corner, a large stone throne overlooking the entire court, and stone benches with more draining holes beneath them. Again, my mind went to Roman blood sports before it went to Wimbledon.
At the bottom, if you’re to make it that far, is the “The Gods Promenade”, a long path that will return you to Monteiro’s house if you choose. It’s lined with several Greek gods that represent different facets of Monteiro’s obsession: like Dionysus, for his dedication to decadent partying. These more ornate areas give the garden some legitimacy and fanfare, making it feel more like a regal garden than one man’s totem to his obsessions.
The symbolism is abundant, but confused: Leda’s Grotto features a statue of the mythological queen beneath Leda below a Star of David. Monteiro, not wedded to any one religion, also installed a Roman Catholic Chapel that despite being small, is built of several floors and houses a secret tunnel to the main house. It is lavishly decorated with both Christian imagery and depictions closer to Monteiro’s own heart; the Order of Christ Cross on the ground surrounded by pentagrams, namely. A photograph of Monteiro lives in the basement. His body laid there once, too.
Even the trees are deliberately significant; the woods are neatly arranged in the lower part of the estate, yet wild in the upper, reflecting Monteiro’s obsession with primitivism. The path through the Quinta da Regaleira is intended to represent transformative journeys, but, like most transformations, it’s rarely linear. I find my memories darting back and forth through the estate and through time. I know that at the end, we found ourselves at the Pisões Loggia, an elaborate, small structure decorated with tiles. It’s the most beautiful, ornate part of the estate, with mosaics and art covering the walls and ceiling.
The drainage holes throughout Quinta da Regaleira aren’t too obvious if you aren’t looking for them, but the ones at Pisões Loggia are harder to miss: they are in a sunwheel pattern in front of a small altar, after which there are stairs that head down and out onto the street. If you make it that far in the initiation, in your transformative, labyrinthine journey, there are rewards of enlightenment to be found.
I found none.
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