day or two after me, made acquaintance with "A Portugueza" even more
immediately than I did. Soon after passing the frontier he fell into
conversation with a Portuguese fellow traveler, who, in the course of
ten minutes or so, asked him whether he would like to hear the new
national anthem, and then and there sang it to him, amid great applause
from the other occupants of the compartment. In the cafés and theaters
of Lisbon "A Portugueza" may break out at any moment, without any
apparent provocation, and you must, of course, stand up and uncover;
but there is in some quarters a movement of protest against these
observances as savoring of monarchical flunkyism. When I left Lisbon at
half-past seven A.M. there was no demonstration such as had greeted my
arrival; but at the first halting-place a man stepped out from a little
crowd on the platform and shouted "Viva Machado dos Santos! Viva a
Republica Portugueza!"--and I found that the compartment adjoining my
own was illumined by the presence of the bright particular star of the
revolt. At the next station--Torres Vedras of historic fame--the
platform was crowded and scores of red and green flags were waving. As
the train steamed in, two bands struck up "A Portugueza," and as one
had about two minutes' start of the other, the effect was more
patriotic than harmonious. The hero had no sooner alighted than he was
lifted shoulder-high by the crowd, and carried in triumph from the
station, amid the blaring of the bands and the crackling of innumerable
little detonators, which here enter freely into the ritual of
rejoicing. Next morning I read in the papers a full account of the
"Apoteose" of Machado dos Santos, which seems to have kept Torres
Vedras busy and happy all day long.

One can not but smile at such simple-minded ebullitions of feeling; yet
I would by no means be understood to laugh at them. On the contrary,
they are so manifestly spontaneous and sincere as to be really