The History of the Revolutions of Portugal — A Closer Reading

Diction and the Performance of Honor

Vertot’s prose oscillates between the elevated language of aristocratic honor and a cooler, analytical tone. The duke’s challenge is phrased in elaborate conditional clauses: “If he fail to obey this call upon him as a gentleman, and refuse to comply with my challenge … I hereby do offer …” This legalistic bravado is typical of the period’s honor culture, but Vertot immediately punctures it by describing the event as an “idle puppet shew.” The word “puppet” reduces the duke’s performance to a mechanical farce. Elsewhere, the narrator uses terms like “phantom” (the duke’s word for Braganza) and “traitors,” but the authorial voice remains detached, even ironic. This tension between the characters’ self-dramatization and the historian’s skepticism is a defining feature of Vertot’s style.

Dialogue as a Tool of Characterisation

Vertot rarely gives direct speech, but when he does, it is carefully chosen to reveal character. The marquis d’Aïamonte is “flattered with the hope of pardon” and assured that “it depended on him alone to experience the same mercy from the best of kings.” The phrasing mimics the minister’s manipulative rhetoric: “sovereigns, like the Almighty … granted pardon to those only who sincerely repented.” This pseudo-religious language is a trap, and the marquis “signed every thing which was required of him.” Vertot does not need to editorialize; the dialogue itself exposes the duplicity. The contrast between the duke’s flamboyant challenge and the marquis’s coerced confession shows two faces of power: public bravado versus private manipulation.

Description and the Management of Suspense

Vertot builds narrative tension through selective description. The duke appears “armed cap-a-pee, and escorted by don John de Garray, colonel-commandant of the Spanish troops.” The detail “cap-a-pee” (head to foot) is archaic even for 1809, lending a mock-heroic air. Parleys are “beaten, and defiances published in the usual form”—the passive construction distances the reader, as if watching a ritual. Then, anticlimax: “no one appeared on the part of the king of Portugal.” Vertot’s description of the challenge scene is meticulous about procedure (the twenty-day limit, the safeguard for cavaliers), but he undercuts the spectacle with a single sentence of refusal. This technique—building up a set piece only to deflate it—recurs throughout the excerpts, creating a rhythm of expectation and ironic resolution.

The Authorial Voice: Between Chronicle and Commentary

Vertot frequently steps back from the narrative to offer judgments. He calls the duel challenge “so ridiculous a comedy” and notes that even if it were serious, “it would have been highly improper in a sovereign thus to expose his person.” These interjections are not mere asides; they shape the reader’s interpretation. The phrase “idle puppet shew” is particularly telling, implying that the duke’s theatrics are a distraction from realpolitik. The prime minister, meanwhile, “whilst amusing the people with this idle puppet shew, did not neglect turning the whole of his sovereign’s indignation on the marquis.” Vertot thus presents two parallel actions: a public spectacle and a secret judicial murder. His commentary links them causally, suggesting that the show was a deliberate smokescreen.

Readers should attend to Vertot’s habit of pairing grand gestures with deflating remarks. The challenge scene, the confession, and the execution are all framed by authorial irony that questions the sincerity of political actors. The 1809 continuation by Boisgelin de Kerdu adds a preface and notes, but the core text remains Vertot’s—a history that is as much about the rhetoric of power as about the events themselves. Approach it as a work of narrative craft, not merely a record.