Kitabı oku: «The Prime Minister», sayfa 17
Volume Two – Chapter Three
We find it chronicled in history, that, either on the 10th or 20th of October, for the figures are nearly obliterated in the manuscript before us, AD 1754, their Majesties of Portugal held a Beja Mao, or what is in England styled a drawing-room, at which all the first fidalgos and nobles of the land were expected to attend. The palace the royal family then inhabited was very different to the one in which their august successors now reside; not one stone of the former remaining upon another to mark the spot where that proud building stood, every vestige having been obliterated by that relentless and fell destroyer the earthquake, and by the devouring flames it caused. It was situated more in the centre of the city, in no way to be compared as a structure to the present edifice, which, were it but finished, would be remarkable for its grandeur and beauty; but, alas! it stands a monument of high aims and vast ideas, but of feeble and unenergetic execution. But we are talking of the old palace, which was, however, a considerable building of highly-wrought stone work, the interior being richly decorated with painted ceilings and walls, with gilt mouldings, costly hangings of crimson damask and brocade, tables of silver inlaid with jewels, besides tapestry and silks in profusion, and many other valuable articles too numerous to describe.
Although so late in the year, the heats of summer were not abated; and though for many weeks past the sun had constantly been obscured by dark and unaccountable vapours, it at times broke forth with even greater force than usual, as it did on the morning of which we speak, upon the heads of a vast throng collected in front of the palace, to witness the nobles alighting from their carriages of state. And, truly, the carriages of that day in Portugal were very remarkable vehicles, such as would most certainly collect a crowd, were they to make their reappearance in any country in Christendom. They were huge lumbering affairs, the arms of their noble owners being emblazoned on every part, painted in the brightest and most glaring colours; but, as nothing superior had ever been seen in the country, the people thought them very magnificent, and the more they were covered with paint and gold, the warmer were the praises bestowed upon them; indeed, it may strongly be suspected, that if a modern equipage, with its simple elegance and strength alone to recommend it, had appeared, it would have been scouted as not worthy of notice, so generally are true merit and beauty disregarded by the undiscriminating eye of the vulgar.
Those being the days when bag-wigs and swords were in general use, the courtiers did not afford so much amusement to the spectators as they do in front of St. James’s Palace; the Portuguese Court having, with more taste, changed according to the fashion of the times, not requiring all loyal subjects, who are anxious to pay their respects to their sovereign, to make themselves ridiculous, by appearing habited in the antiquated and ill-fashioned suits of their grandfathers. There would be some sense in masquerading, if every gentleman were obliged to dress in the rich and elegant costume of the age of Henry the Eighth, or Elizabeth; and it would also have the beneficial effect of keeping away a vast number of penniless plebeians, who, on the day of each drawing-room and levée, crowd the royal antechambers, to the great injury of the ladies’ dresses and the amusement of the nobles and officers. But we are describing Portugal, and ought not to be talking of England, and its many amusing follies and prejudices.
A guard of honour was drawn up in front of the palace; but their presence was scarcely required to keep the peace, for there was no shouting or disturbance of any sort. The young nobles were more reputably employed than usual, being decked in their gala attire, attending on their sovereigns, – the chief use for which they were created, though they seem to forget it; while the people, untaught by the patriotism of demagogues, to exhibit the liberty and independence of man on every public occasion, by causing annoyance to the other half of the community, as has been so successfully done in the present century, remained quiet spectators of the scene.
We must now proceed to the interior of the palace, which was crowded with the usual number of guards, pages, and attendants of various descriptions. Two of the ministers of the crown had already arrived, and paid their respects; the foreign ambassadors followed, taking their allotted places in the handsome saloon in which the Court was held, where also stood the different members of the royal family, arranged on each side of the sovereigns. The King had just attained his fortieth year, and was of good height, and that free carriage, which a consciousness of rank and power rarely fails to bestow; but his features were far from handsome, with no approach to intellectuality about them, though there was just that degree of acuteness and firmness which taught him to select and protect the only man in his realm capable of rescuing the country from complete destruction. The Queen had but few personal charms to boast of, being destitute also of those soft feminine graces which are so often found to make ample amends for the more evanescent quality of beauty. A haughty expression sat on her lips; her thin and erect figure was rather above the middle height, the inclination she made as her subjects passed before her being stiff and formal. Near the King stood the Infante Dom Pedro, silent, grave, and stern, his features dark and unprepossessing, a true index of his character, which was bigoted, fierce, irascible, and sanguinary. Though in no way attached to his sister-in-law, the Queen, he cordially joined with her in her hatred of the Minister Carvalho, against whom he never ceased his machinations; and though his plots were discovered and defeated by the vigilance of the latter, it was more owing to his brother’s clemency and goodness of heart, than to any forbearance on the part of his enemy, that he escaped the condign punishment he so well merited at their hands. Near the Queen stood the young Infanta Donna Maria, a princess equally prepossessing in appearance and manner, her eyes beaming with mildness and intelligence, and a sweet smile wreathing itself round lips which were never known to utter aught but words of gentleness. She truly dwelt in the hearts and affections of the people over whom she was destined to rule; and while to the rest of the royal family, lip-service, with the cold and formal bow, alone was paid, as the courtiers drew near her, the eye brightened, and the heart beat with those warm feelings of love and respect which are ever felt by the true and loyal subjects of her august descendant and namesake, of Portugal, and by all who surround the throne of the young and beloved Queen of Britain.
A drawing-room at the Portuguese Court, although formal and ceremonious, was not quite so tedious an affair as that to which the sovereign of England is obliged to submit; for none but nobles being admitted to that honour, fewer people were present. It was also the custom of the King and Queen to make some observations to those who came to pay their respects, a practice which would greatly relieve the monotony of the almost interminable line of bowing figures, who pass, like characters in a raree-show, before their Majesties of England.
The King was standing, as we have said, surrounded by the royal family, and the immediate attendants at the palace, the more public part of the ceremony not having yet commenced.
“Where is Senhor Carvalho?” he said, looking round; “he ought, methinks, to have been here before now; for it is not like him to exhibit any want of respect to our person. Can any one say why he comes not?”
“We have not seen him, please your Majesty,” said one of Carvalho’s colleagues in office; “though, doubtless, some affairs of your Majesty’s detain him, for no business of his own could make a loyal subject forget his duty to his King; yet ’tis said that Senhor Carvalho spends his leisure time in a way some might consider derogatory to the high office he holds,” he added, ever ready to throw a slur on the character of one he both hated and feared. Those words cost him dear.
“Ah! Senhor Carvalho is, doubtless, a most loyal subject, and devoted minister; but it is the interest of all political adventurers to appear so,” chimed in the Queen; “and if his zeal were to be judged by his own protestations, he would assuredly be a paragon of perfection. But methinks your Majesty might find, among the pure, high-born fidalgos, some equally as zealous and able as this low pretender.”
“No, no,” answered the King, hastily. “Sebastiaö Carvalho is no pretender, but has truly at heart the weal of my kingdom, with a mind to conceive, and a soul to execute, great purposes; and where is there a man in Portugal to be compared to him, either in mental or personal qualities.”
“In talents he is not deficient, as he has proved, by working himself into power, and of brute strength he possesses enough, certainly,” observed a noble lord in waiting, who was privileged to say what he chose; “for I well remember, in one of his drunken fits, some years ago (I would rather not say how many) he broke my head, and nearly let out life itself, by what he called a gentle tap with his sword. As for talents, they were not discernible at College, at all events, except by the quantity of wine he could drink, and the daring impudence of his bearing among his superiors.”
“Those are qualities in which plebeians most excel,” added another; “but in loyalty and devotion to a generous sovereign, who can equal the noble fidalgos of the land? It is the one sentiment in which all combine.”
“Perhaps he has first to pay his devotions at the shrine of his lady love,” observed the Queen, with a sneer; “yet we women might excuse him if his gallantry surpassed his loyalty.”
The King, never very ready with answers in conversation, found no words to defend his Minister, to whose powerful mind his own had already learned to yield, though he, as yet, neither loved him, nor put implicit trust in him: his power, therefore, was held but by a frail tenure, which the breath of malice might easily have destroyed. A few idle or bitter words frequently weaken that influence which it has been the toil of years in a statesman’s life to gain; and such an opportunity as this, the numerous enemies of the rising Minister who surrounded the throne, were certain not to lose.
The courtiers now began to assemble, but the Minister came not.
Having taken a glance at the interior of the palace, we must return again to the streets in the neighbourhood, now thronged with carriages pressing forward to the one centre of attraction.
Our friend, Antonio, the cobbler, had given himself a holiday: not that he was going to Court, though, as he observed, many a less honest man, with a finer coat, might be there; but he was anxious to learn the opinions of people on affairs in general, and he knew that he should be able to pick up a good deal of information in the crowd, among whom he walked, dressed in his gala suit, unrecognised by any as Antonio O Remendao.
He was proceeding along a narrow street, at a short distance from the palace, when he saw approaching, the proud Duke of Aveiro, in his coach, which monopolised the greater part of the way, and slowly proceeded, at a state pace, in accordance with his dignity. A carriage, driven rapidly along, was endeavouring to pass the duke’s conveyance; but his coachman, by swerving first on one side and then on the other, prevented it so doing.
“Make way there! make way for his Excellency Senhor Sebastiaö Jozé de Carvalho,” shouted the driver of the hindermost carriage; but the other heeded not his words. “Make way there! make way; my master is late to present himself at Court, where his duty calls him, in which he will be impeded by no one,” again cried the Minister’s coachman.
“Heed not the base-born churl,” exclaimed the Duke, from his carriage window. “Does he dare to insult me by presuming to pass my coach?”
The duke’s anger increased as the Minister’s coachman persisted in the attempt. “Keep in your proper station, wretch,” he cried, forgetful of his own dignity, “or by Heavens I will slay you on the spot.”
At that moment the carriages had reached a wider space in the street, where Antonio stood, so that the Minister’s carriage was enabled to pass the duke’s: as it did so, Carvalho looked from the window. “I wish not to insult you, my lord duke,” he said; “but the driver of my carriage has my orders to hasten towards the palace, nor will I be disobeyed; regardless of the rank of those I may pass, my duty to my sovereign is above all other considerations.” The last words were scarce heard as he drove by, while the the Duke shook his hand with fury.
The Cobbler laughed quietly to himself, as he beheld the scene. “What fools men are!” he muttered. “Now, that noble duke is enraged because a man who is in a hurry passes him while he is not; but he had better take care, and not enrage the Minister in return, or he will be like the man who put his head into the lion’s mouth, and forgot to take it out again.”
“Ah! does this bold plebeian dare to insult me to my very face?” exclaimed the Duke, as he watched the Minister’s carriage; “but, ere long, I will be revenged, and nought but his blood shall wipe out the remembrance of his audacity. He dreams not of the punishment that awaits him. Ah! he shall be the first victim when I attain to power.”
“Did your Excellency mark the look of proud derision he cast as he succeeded in passing your coach?” observed the sycophantish Captain Policarpio, who sat opposite to his master, and was ever ready to inflame his anger against those by whose downfall alone he had any hopes of succeeding in his ambitious projects.
“I marked it well, and shall not forget it till he mounts the scaffold,” returned the Duke, grinding his teeth with fury. “Boastful as he now is, he will then be humble enough.”
By the side of the Duke was his young nephew, to whom he had not ventured to breathe any of his aspiring hopes, well knowing, that neither by habits nor temper was he formed to aid in their accomplishment. The youth now looked up with an expression somewhat of surprise and pain on his countenance, and endeavoured to counteract the influence of Captain Policarpio’s observations. “Senhor Carvalho had doubtless good reason for hurrying on to present himself before his Majesty,” he said. “Methinks, too, Senhor Policarpio must be mistaken when he supposed that the Minister could have intentionally insulted my uncle.”
“There was no mistaking his proud glance, boy,” returned the Duke. “You know not the daring impudence of the man; his sole delight is to show his contempt of that rank to which he can never by right belong.”
“Yet the King, whom we are all bound to reverence, places confidence in him; and he has already shown good example of his abilities,” observed the young Viscount.
“The King is easily deceived by those who choose to flatter him,” answered the Duke; “but his flattery shall avail him but little. Ah! we are at the palace, and that daring plebeian has arrived before us. We shall see with what a sneering and bold glance he will front us in the presence chamber, if he escapes his weak master’s anger at his dilatory appearance. Let him gaze as he will, every glance shall be repaid by a drop of his life’s blood.”
While the Duke was thus venting his rage, the Minister, regardless of the anger he excited, drove rapidly on past all the other carriages, and descending at the gate of the palace, hastened to the audience chamber, to kiss the hand of the sovereign, to whose welfare he was devoted.
As he approached, the King’s ear was yet ringing with the tones of the insidious voices of those who had been striving to blast his reputation; but the eyes of his slanderers, as if conscious that he knew their vile intent, sank abashed before his steady and confident gaze.
“Senhor Carvalho is late in paying his respects to us,” began the King, as the Minister bent his knee before him.
“I trust that your Majesty will pardon me, your most faithful servant, when you learn that I was more deeply engaged in your Majesty’s affairs, and the welfare of the state, than those who would poison your gracious ears with lying tales against my credit;” and drawing up his commanding figure, which towered above the crowd of courtiers, his eagle glance ranged over the frowning countenances of those who stood around. “But I know that your Majesty is too wise and generous to believe them, while I can prove my devotion to your service. I have detected, and for the present counteracted, a conspiracy to deprive your Majesty of your sovereign rights, and to bring your mind under subjection of your most subtle foes, the Jesuits. While many, who would endeavour to injure me in your estimation are passing their nights in sleep or dissipation, I have been consuming the midnight oil in your service, snatching, at intervals, a few hours of hurried rest. The details of my researches I will lay before your Majesty at some future period, and, till then, I trust in your goodness not to condemn me.”
“We fully trust to your zeal, my friend, and know you to be a most loving and faithful servant,” answered the King, banishing, in a moment, all the dark suspicions which had arisen in his mind. “Say no more on the subject at present; but, when this ceremony is over, we will consult in private on the affair. See, numbers are pressing forward to pay their duty to us.”
“But not one whose heart beats with fonder devotion for your Majesty,” answered the Minister, again bending his knee, and kissing the hand of the King, held out to him, when he retired to his allotted station. The Queen and Dom Pedro looked angrily at him, but dared not utter their feelings; the courtiers glanced at each other, when they were not observed, and shrugged their shoulders, seeing that for the present it was in vain to attempt to injure him with the King; but vowing not to lose another opportunity of renewing their attacks against one whom they had just reason to fear. Carvalho spoke a few words, in whispers, to his colleagues, whose eyes sunk on the ground as he proceeded; and, indeed, no one of that assembly of the proudest and most noble in the land seemed as much at their ease as before he entered, except the King himself, who, on the contrary, uttered his expressions of courtesy to those who came to pay their respects, with greater ease and fluency. One of the first was the Marquis of Marialva, one of the most justly-esteemed nobles of the Court, who ever retained the affection of the King, though he did not escape the jealousy of the Minister, who was, however, never able to injure him. “Do what you will with the others,” the King used to say; “but let alone my marquis.” He now entered, with a free and graceful manner, for which he was remarkable, and affectionately kissed the hand of his royal friend.
“Ah, my good marquis, we missed you much from our hunting party yesterday,” said the King. “We much required your active arm to slay the beast, who gored one of our best dogs before he was slain.”
“I had sprained my left arm, and could not guide my horse, or I should not have missed the honour of accompanying your Majesty,” returned Marialva.
“We know; we heard of your accident, and are glad to find that you are so far recovered; and, as we have a favour to ask, let us know when you are perfectly strong. We wish to show the English Minister that we have some nobles of our Court – and of no mean rank either – who are fully equal to the feats of agility and strength of which his countrymen boast. Our father – to whose soul God be merciful! – sent to the English Court an ambassador, who was, we heard, the tallest among all the corps diplomatique, and not the least able, we suspect; so that we may vie with those islanders both in strength and size.”
The Marquis smiled, as he answered, “I will gladly obey your Majesty in anything you may command, and hope in a few days sufficiently to recover my strength to do so.”
A few persons of less note followed, when a disturbance, most unusual at Court, occurred, and a voice, as if in angry discussion, was heard, when the Duke of Aveiro was seen advancing in a hurried and disordered manner. A fierce fire burnt in his eye, and a frown deeply furrowed his brow, while his hand wandered unconsciously to the hilt of his sword; but, as he came close to the King, the presence of majesty restored him slightly to order; yet his carriage was far from having that respectful manner which he was bound to preserve: his step was irregular, and he yet snorted with rage, as, in a careless and indifferent way, he stooped to kiss the hand of his sovereign.
“What has caused my lord duke to be so angry this morning?” said the King. “He seems to forget that he is in the royal palace.”
“I forget not where I am, for I have too much to remind me of it,” answered the Duke, haughtily. “I have been insulted grossly – insulted by one of the ministers in whom your Majesty pleases to confide, in a way to which no noble can submit.”
“Who is the culprit, my lord duke? It seems you have taken a lesson from him,” said the King.
“He stands behind your Majesty, even now, I doubt not, plotting mischief in his fertile brain against your throne and the Church – Senhor Carvalho is the man!” answered the Duke.
The Minister cast a withering glance at him.
“The punishment due to my crime is not to be found mentioned in the laws of the realm,” he said. “I therefore submit myself to your Majesty’s clemency. The offence was in passing my lord duke, in my eagerness to show my respect to my sovereign.”
“Is that the whole of the offence, Senhor Duke?” said the King, half smiling. “It is at once pardoned, and we must request your Excellency to move out of the way in future, when any of our officers wish to pass you, in discharge of their duty;” and the King turned aside his head.
“The whole of the offence!” muttered the Duke of Aveiro, as he moved on one side. “For half such an one many a man has, ere now, died.”
The highest fidalgos, their ladies and daughters, now followed in rapid succession; among them came the Marquis and Marchioness of Tavora, who had lately been acting the part of viceroys in India, and were, perhaps, but little pleased at being obliged to take a secondary place on the present occasion. They presented their eldest son, shortly to be united to the lovely daughter of the Marquis d’Alorna. Both the sovereigns looked coldly on them as they passed, uttering merely the most common-place observations.
“We have not seen you at Court for some time, my lord marquis,” said the King; “but we hope, in future, your own private affairs will not keep you from us. We will not now detain you.”
It was observed, that when the young marquis bent to kiss the King’s hand, Joseph turned aside his head, with a frown, nor dared to meet the eye of the young man, who, after paying the same compliment to the Queen, moved on one side. His betrothed bride, to whom he was to be united in a few days, followed directly after, led forward by her father, till she reached the presence chamber, when, with a slight agitation in her manner, visible only to the eye of a keen observer, she advanced towards the King, and, as she knelt to kiss his hand, he whispered in her ear – “Fear not, dearest, this must be so; but our love alters not.” The unhappy girl blushed, and, as she rose, her eye caught that of the King, bent on her in admiration, when hers fell to the ground, nor did she dare to encounter the angry and fierce glances the Queen cast on her. Her father was received with marked attention, which, unsuspicious of harm, he took as due to his extraordinary merits. Next came the Count of Atouquia, a young noble of unprepossessing appearance, and his countess, a lady much admired by the King.
Trembling with alarm at a scene so strange and dazzling, the fair Donna Clara was now led forward by the aged Marchioness de Corcunda, who had repaired to Court expressly to introduce her. As the beautiful and delicate young being knelt before him, the King smiled with surprise and pleasure, and raising her, bade her take courage, inquiring her name of the old marchioness. “She is, indeed, a bright jewel to adorn our Court, where we hope constantly to see her; and we doubt not many of our gallant fidalgos will enter the lists to win her smiles.”
“Her hand is already sought by one of the first fidalgos, your Majesty; but the young lady has a strong desire to become the bride of our holy Church,” answered the Marchioness.
The King looked annoyed, and an expression in no way respectful to the Church was on his lips; but he checked his anger, contenting himself merely with saying —
“The Church shows great discernment in choosing so fair a bride; but it is putting too great a temptation in the way of sinners to commit sacrilege, by making them seek to rob it of its prize.”
Donna Clara heard these words of compliment, to which her ear was so unaccustomed, that it increased her blushes, adding to the lustre of her beauty, nor knew she which way to turn her eyes, till the marchioness having paid her respects to the Queen, took her arm, and led her through the admiring crowd. The Queen frowned on the lovely girl, and coldly returned her salutation; for she feared, in each new beauty, another rival in her lord’s affections. Gonçalo Christovaö followed directly after.
“We have much pleasure in seeing you at Lisbon, senhor,” said the King; “but we shall find fault with you, if you allow your daughter to quit the world. We hope you will cause her to alter her intention.”
“Your Majesty’s pleasure is my law,” said the fidalgo, bowing and moving on, fearful of trusting his tongue with further words.
Scarcely a person of any rank or note passed, to whom the King did not address some words; and nearly all had passed by, when a handsome cavalier approached, and, gracefully kneeling, kissed his hand.
“We do not remember to have seen your countenance before, young sir,” said the King, pleased with his appearance; “though we shall have much pleasure in seeing it in future. We did not catch your name.”
“Luis d’Almeida,” answered the young fidalgo. “I have but a short time ago returned from abroad, or I should earlier have paid my respects to your Majesty.”
“We are happy to see you, Don Luis,” answered the King. “Your father we have not seen for some time; we trust he is in health.”
“It is the want of it alone which prevents his paying his respects to your Majesty. Weighed down by years and heavy misfortunes, he scarcely hopes again to visit Lisbon.”
“He sends a worthy representative in his son,” answered the King, graciously; “and if you feel inclined to remain, we may give you some office in our Court.”
“Your Majesty’s kindness overpowers me; but my father’s state of health claims all my attention, nor could I be long absent from him; therefore, if your Majesty will permit me, I must decline your goodness with the deepest respect,” said Don Luis.
“In that please yourself, and give our regards to your father, when you return,” said the King, as Don Luis moved on to give place to those who were following him.
At length the tedious ceremony, one of the many penalties royalty is obliged to pay in return for the obeisance of the crowd, was over, and the courtiers, except those in immediate attendance on the sovereigns, were at liberty to go whither they willed. Don Luis, although amid a glittering crowd of the young and gay, felt sad and dispirited; and he had already reached one of the outer rooms on his way to quit the palace, when a page overtook him, and informed him, that Senhor Carvalho requested to see him; and begging him to follow, led the way through various rooms, to a small closet, next to the King’s private council chamber. Here he found the Minister, pacing up and down, with a bundle of papers in his hand, prepared to attend when the King should summon him: he stopped in his walk, as he saw Don Luis, and held out his hand kindly to him —
“Ah, my young friend,” he said, “I am glad to find that you followed my advice, and returned to Court as soon as you were able to leave your father; and now I hope it is from no want of affection to our sovereign, that you rejected his proffered kindness, as I spoke to him in your favour some time ago, and he promised to befriend you; for I would always distinguish those who have enlightened their understanding by foreign travel, from the ignorant and profligate young fidalgos, who are alike useless to themselves, and dangerous to a state.”
“Your Excellency is flattering me at the expense of the Fidalguia of Portugal,” answered Luis, his sense of the respect due to his class hurt by the Ministers expressions.
“I speak but the truth of them, young sir,” answered the Minister, “and am right in making you an exception; but in truth, I would, for another reason, be of service to any of your family, and regretted much, when the King made his gracious offer, that you did not accept it.”
“I have again to thank your Excellency for the interest you take in my welfare; but I should not even have returned to Lisbon so soon, were I not obliged to attend the marriage of my cousin, Donna Theresa d’Alorna, with the young Marquis of Tavora.”
“I forgot your connexion with that family; but beware of the Tavoras. They are haughty, ambitious, and proud; and though I fear them not myself, I would not trust those I regard with their friendship.”
A page now came to inform the Minister that the King was in readiness to receive him.
“Farewell, Don Luis, and remember my offers and advice,” he said, as he turned to follow the page to the presence of the King.
