Kitabı oku: «The Prime Minister», sayfa 27
“I am glad to see you yet an inhabitant of this world, my good cousin,” said the latter, in a reproachful tone; “though, verily, you took but slight pains to discover whether I had escaped this dreadful visitation; however, I have plenty of excuses to offer for you, so do not attempt to make them yourself. Nay, do not answer. I have heard frequently of you. Retire a little from this crowd of fools; for I should be sorry to rank you among them. So, you have recovered from your fit of wretchedness at the loss of our fair cousin, Theresa, and have a second time entangled your feelings in a love affair, which promises to be equally unsuccessful.”
“Alas! I fear so,” answered Luis; “and that must excuse me for not having visited you.”
“I am glad of it. You will have far more opportunities of exerting your energies on the wide field the world offers, than if you wed some weak girl, who would bind you to her apron-strings. Remember what I said to you some months ago; and, instead of repining at your fate, rejoice that the road I then pointed out is still open before you.”
“I shall never forget your words, Father,” answered Luis; “but were I likely to follow your advice, it would have been then, when I was inclined to despair; now I am buoyed up with the proud consciousness of having my love returned, by a being as lovely, and as perfect in mind and person, as this world can produce.”
The Jesuit gazed at his young kinsman with a cold and scornful smile. “So you thought was Donna Theresa,” he returned; “so you will think every woman you love, till you awake from your opiate slumber, and find ’twas but a flitting dream. I once thought the same, till the magic key to the human heart was committed into my hands, and in the all-powerful confessional I learned to unlock its secrets. Then I discovered how false had been my early impressions, at the same time that I felt an absorbing interest in the inexhaustible field of study opened to my view. Years have I now spent in tracing the intricate workings of the human heart, and yet, each day am I making new discoveries; but it is with the sex of whom you are most ignorant that I have attained the greatest knowledge, for the reason, that to me they are more ready to communicate their thoughts and feelings, while to you their whole aim is to conceal them, – whereas men rarely allow more to be known than they can avoid. However, I will not now enter into the subject. Accompany me to my convent, which has escaped uninjured, Malagrida and others are convinced, and endeavour to persuade the people, as a peculiar mark of Heaven’s favour; and so I might suppose, but that other parts of the city, inhabited by a class to whom the world does not impute much righteousness, have been equally distinguished. We will stay here a little longer, for I wish to know what our celebrated prophet will say to the people. I fear he may commit himself with our arch-enemy Carvalho, who would be delighted to have an excuse to annoy us. Yet, mark how easily the crowd are led, by one little better than a madman, to believe the most absurd nonsense, and to commit follies which make one blush for one’s fellow-men.”
Luis promised to accompany his cousin, for he had no reason to assign for refusing; yet the sophisms of the latter made but little impression on his understanding, though not a word the Jesuit had uttered was without cause: notwithstanding his extensive knowledge of human nature, he was perhaps deceived in the character of his young relative.
While they were conversing apart from the crowd, Malagrida again mounted the heap of ruins, and commenced speaking, in a voice which was heard for a wide circuit round.
“You have been firmly convinced, O ye people! that the late awful visitation was by the direct command of Heaven; but why did the Lord thus suddenly think fit to manifest his anger? Was it on account of the increased wickedness of the people? No! they had not become worse than they always were since the city was built; but it was because he looked down on the city and beheld his true and faithful servants, whose whole lives have been spent in forwarding his works, thrust out from their offices, and treated by the rulers of the land with scorn and neglect. Could he longer endure such impiety? No! Now mark where the whole fury of his anger fell. See, the once proud palace of the King a heap of stones and ashes! Why was this? Who is the culprit? Who but the King? And why? because he retains in his councils that impious despiser of the commands of the Lord, – that hater of our holy religion, – that persecutor and vile calumniator of the ministers of the faith, – that man in whom none ought to place trust, – whom all must hate, – that man accursed by Heaven, Sebastiaö Jozé de Carvalho! Do any here think I fear him? No, I scorn his hatred – I laugh at his fury. Why should I fear him? I who have stood boldly before the kings of the earth, and have rebuked them for their transgressions; and again do I rebuke the King who now reigns over this unhappy country. Let him beware; for even as the kingdom departed from Nebuchadnezzar, the king of Babylon, so will his kingdom pass away from his hands, and whoso slayeth him shall be accounted blessed in the sight of Heaven.”
Malagrida still continued speaking, when Father Jacinto, taking the arm of his young cousin, led him on one side. “I had heard that the horrors of the earthquake had somewhat injured my holy brother’s brain, and I came here to endeavour to stop his preaching, fearing that he might commit himself, which he had indeed done; for one might as well expect to stop a winter torrent in its impetuous course as that man, when he has persuaded himself that the Spirit prompts him to speak. My only hope is, that his mad words may not be reported to that enemy of our order, the Minister, or Malagrida will be made to suffer severely for what he has said, and, at all events, banished from hence. I have heard enough to convince me that he is no longer to be trusted, so I shall not remain here. Come with me to my convent; for I can there speak to you on a subject which I have to communicate, but little calculated to raise your spirits; here I will say nothing.”
Luis, wondering, yet dreading what the Jesuit had to relate, accepted his invitation; and, as they were passing the crowd, he observed Antonio among them. He longed to speak to him, to ask him if he had gained any information regarding the young Gonçalo; but the crowd was so dense that he could not approach him, nor could he catch his eye, for there was no one more intently listening to every word the preacher uttered than he, nor would any of the bystanders have been supposed more devoutly believing.
“By the God of my fathers, that man strives hard to gain the glorious crown of martyrdom; and, if I mistake not, he will deservedly win it before long,” thought Antonio to himself. “He must be got rid of, or, mad as he is, he will find fools enough to follow his counsels, and among them they will commit some mischief before many days are over.”
Volume Two – Chapter Nineteen
“Farewell, my kind friend,” exclaimed Don Luis, pressing the hand of Captain Pinto, as they stood together in front of their humble lodgings on the outskirts of the ruined city, while Pedro held his master’s horse and his own, prepared for a journey.
“Farewell, Luis; we may meet again under happier auspices, when I return from the cruise on which I am now despatched, and you recover from the effects of your disappointment and reverse of fortune.”
“The mere loss of fortune I could, as far as I am individually concerned, have borne with fortitude, but that it casts a cloud over the last days of my father’s life, and that it deprives me of the last chance of gaining Donna Clara.”
“But is your father’s property so irretrievably involved, that you may not hope to recover it?” asked the Captain.
“So Father Jacinto, my cousin, informs me, the mercantile house in which the whole of my father’s monied property was placed having completely failed, and the estates being mortgaged to their full value. – No, alas! I see no chance of ever being able to recover what we have lost; and with me, I fear, our once high name must end.”
“Don’t think of such a thing. When you least expect it, Fortune’s wheel will turn up a prize, and you will find yourself prosperous and happy. You do not mean to become a friar, I hope? You were fitted for nobler aims than such a life can offer.”
“I must visit my father, – I fear it will be but to close his eyes, – before I fix on my future course in life, though surely anything is preferable to hanging about the Court, a poverty-stricken noble, in greedy expectation of some paltry office, cringing meanly to those one despises, to obtain it, as is the fate of many, and would be mine also if I could submit to it; but that I never can. No, I would far rather sink my rank and name, and be forgotten by the world, than lead such a life.”
“You are right, Luis, anything is better than that contemptible hunting after place, in which so many men waste their energies; but you need not be reduced to that necessity, – the Minister will gladly give you employment whenever you ask for it, as he has already promised you, and he is not a man to forget his word.”
“That was when fortune appeared to smile on me, and I was not a suppliant for charity. You yourself have often told me that people are far more ready to bestow gifts on those who do not ask for them, than on those who are petitioners.”
“With people in general, such is the case,” replied the Captain; “but the Minister is not to be judged by the same rules as other men: besides, you have other powerful friends, whom you are not aware of, but who would be the last people to wish you to enter the profession of the Church – with due reverence be it spoken. Should you be deprived of your natural counsellor, – your father, do not take any step without consulting one in whose judgment you may place the fullest confidence, – I mean, Senhor Mendez. You will always hear of him at the house where he is now residing, and he will ever be ready to advise you. Do not act like some foolish people, who fancy that it betrays a weakness of judgment to ask advice, whereas another person, of even inferior capacity, may often, from viewing a case calmly and dispassionately, be able to form a better opinion than he who, having to act, is naturally biassed according to his feelings at the time. You will think me an old proser if I continue talking much longer; and, at all events, your servant and horses are impatient to be off, so once again, Luis, farewell.”
The friends embracing affectionately, Luis mounted his horse with a sad heart, and turned his back once more on all the horrors and miseries with which for the last few weeks he had been surrounded. He had, in despair, been obliged to give up his search for the younger Gonçalo Christovaö, not being able to discover the slightest trace of him, so that at last he felt convinced that he must have been one of the sufferers in the earthquake.
The fidalgo had recovered his strength, and a few days before had set off on his return to Oporto, accompanied by his daughter, and his confessor, who did not cease to insist on his fulfilling his vow of placing the fair girl in a convent; and it was at last agreed that she should enter the principal one in that city. Clara, broken-hearted and despairing, offered no opposition to the proposed plan, so that it was arranged she should commence her noviciate soon after her return home, – her younger brother, who had been before destined for the Church, being taken from Coimbra, where he was pursuing his studies, little thought of or cared about, to be treated henceforth as the heir of the house.
Luis heard of these arrangements through a message sent him by Senhora Gertrudes, who promised him that, happen what might, her young mistress should never forget his love and devotion; and that to his courage she owed her life and honour. This was the only particle of consolation he received; and, as it was the only food offered to his hopes, it was not surprising that they were left to starve.
He had just passed the last point from which the ruined capital could be seen, – Pedro, observing his master’s mood, not attempting to interrupt his meditations, – when a horseman from a cross-road suddenly joined them, and riding up to the side of Luis, accosted him.
“Good morrow, Senhor Fidalgo, you are early on the road,” said the stranger, in a clear jovial voice. “By your leave, I will ride on some way with you.”
“Many thanks, senhor, for your polite offer,” returned Luis, scarcely noticing the speaker; “but I should prefer travelling alone.”
“What! Don Luis d’Almeida, the brave, the gallant, and the gay, turned misanthropical?” exclaimed the stranger, laughing. “However, great changes are taking place every day, – honest men turning rogues, and rogues turning honest; one can never tell what will happen next.”
As the stranger was speaking, Luis regarded him attentively, nor was he long in discovering, beneath the military curled wig and queue, the fierce moustaches, and heavy travelling dress, the features of the ci-devant Frè Lopez.
“I trust that you are one of those making a change for the better, Senhor Padre,” said Luis; “but I expected to have met you in a dress more appropriate to your character than the one you wear.”
“I am glad to find that you do not forget your old friends, as I was at first afraid you were going to do,” returned the Friar. “With regard to my costume, you belie it, to say that it is not suited to the character of an honest man; for let me assure you, that, doubt it as you may, I have turned honest; and where can you find a more honourable dress than that of a soldier?”
“Yet, such is surely not suited to your character as a friar,” said Luis.
“Why not? may I not belong to the church militant,” returned Frè Lopez. “However, to confess the truth, I have my friar’s robes carefully wrapped up in my valise behind me, and I intend before long to don them for ever; for I am growing weary of the fatigues and dangers of the wild life I have led, and pine for the quiet and security of the cloister. Yet, let me assure you that it was for your sake I assumed my present disguise. I heard that you were about to travel this way, and, knowing that the roads were very far from safe, on account of the number of thieves who have been frightened out of Lisbon, I thought it my duty to accompany you, to prevent your suffering from them.”
“Many thanks for your attention; but are you not afraid of being apprehended yourself as a suspicious character? You heard that the Minister has issued an order to the corregidors of all the towns in the south, to stop every one who has no pass from him, in case they should be carrying off any property stolen from the city.”
“Oh yes, senhor, I heard of the order, and am provided with a pass, if necessary; but I should think it would not be asked for in such worshipful company as yours.”
“Then you had some other motive in favouring me with your company?” said Luis, scarcely refraining from laughing at the man’s impudence.
“People generally have more than one motive for their good actions,” returned the Friar. “Now, if I, being a rogue, preserve you from the rogues, you, in return, being an honest man, are bound to preserve me from the fangs of the law; therefore, the obligation is mutual, and I have the satisfaction of performing a good action, and receiving a service from you besides. Don’t think I am the less honest on that account. I tell you my motives, whereas another man would keep them secret, or, at all events, give you only one of them; but I scorn such hypocrisy.”
“You are honest,” said Luis.
“You flatter me, senhor,” interrupted the Friar. “It is the first time, for many a long year past, that I have been told so; and I will endeavour to merit the good opinion you have formed of me.”
“I shall be indeed glad to hear that you have foresworn the very suspicious companions with whom I have so frequently met you,” said Luis.
“I have already bidden farewell to most of them. There they hang, like fruit on the trees, thanks to the mild clemency of the Minister!” As the Friar spoke, he pointed towards Lisbon. “I am glad enough to get beyond the sight of those ghastly corpses. Ah, senhor! it is a dreadful thing to hang people up in that way; and many an innocent man is among them. Thank Heaven, I have not such deeds on my conscience! That reminds me, senhor, that I have gained some information which may assist you in discovering what you spoke to me about. I was speaking to one of those poor fellows the night before he was caught and hung, – and, by-the-bye, he no more deserved hanging than I do! – he told me that he had been employed, some time ago, in carrying a young fidalgo, who had been wounded in a night-fray, to a house in the outskirts of Lisbon; but that he could not exactly tell where it was, and who was the person. He had been hired by Rodrigo, who did not mention the name of their employer. The poor fellow was to have accompanied me the next day to try and find out the house, but he was hung instead. Ah! I am a great enemy to the system of hanging.”
Luis listened with deep interest to this account. Then Gonçalo might have escaped destruction from the earthquake! He might be yet alive! He longed to turn back, and continue his search; but he had slight grounds to go upon; for the Friar could give him no further information, and his father was expecting him at home. With sanguine dispositions, the slightest thing is sufficient to raise hopes which, alas! may never be accomplished, but which it often takes years and years of disappointment to learn to distrust. Now old men, as we have informed our readers we are, even to this day, we find ourselves building castles in the air, of such bright and glowing colours, that our own sight is dazzled by the splendour of the fabric we have raised, when a single word has been sufficient to make it fade away like the morning mist, each brilliant hue growing less and less distinct, till we have wondered that it could ever have existed even in our imaginations; and at other times a rude blow has dashed the lovely edifice to the ground, and as we have flown to the spot, we have not found a fragment remaining.
The words the Friar had spoken had been sufficient to raise just such a fabric in Luis’s brain; and, thus occupied, in happier mood he rode on, while the former fell back to converse with Pedro, who was not averse to the company of so amusing a personage, although a rogue. Several very suspicious parties either overtook them, or passed them on the road; but a signal, or a few words, from the Friar, always sent them peaceably away; so that Luis, during the whole journey, met with no adventure worth relating.
“Farewell, Don Luis!” said the soi-disant Friar, as they came in sight of the gates of the Count’s estate. “I have borne you company thus far, and we must now part. We shall meet again some day, I hope; if not, think of me sometimes, as I would be, and not as I have been; but I fear I shall not be a more honest man as a real Friar than I have been as a pretended one. Adeos, senhor!”
And, without waiting for an answer, he rode back the way he had come; while Luis, followed by Pedro, hastened to embrace his father, although the tidings he had to communicate must, he knew, cause much sorrow to the old Count.
Volume Two – Chapter Twenty
More than a year had passed since the dreadful earthquake of Lisbon, as the violent convulsion of the globe in 1755 is commonly called, although it was felt over the greater part of Europe, to the north of England, and to the shores of Africa, where many towns were destroyed or severely damaged. Under the energetic superintendence of the Prime Minister, the city was rapidly rising from its ashes; and instead of the dark, narrow, and winding lanes of the old town, fine broad streets were planned by able architects invited by him from England and France.
The tents and wooden huts in which the inhabitants had so long dwelt, were ordered to be destroyed, to prevent the rogues and vagabonds, who it appears had again, notwithstanding the terrors of the hanging system, increased to an alarming degree, from harbouring in them.
The horrors of the previous year began gradually to fade from the recollection of men, and they forgot that beneath the ground on which they dwelt burnt those unquenchable fires which might, at any time, burst forth and again destroy their homes and property.
The King and the royal family had taken up their residence in the Palace of the Necessidades, having dwelt for nearly a year in one built of wood, of one story high, to run less risk of injury in case of a recurrence of the former disastrous visitation.
It was some hours past the time of sunset, when, in a cabinet of the palace, the Minister was seated at a table thickly strewed with papers, deeply immersed in the affairs of the state, it might be presumed, from the lines of thought and care which marked his brow. He wrote on for some time, without stopping or hesitating a moment for want of subject, and then, having concluded the work he was about, he threw himself back in the high leathern armchair in which he was sitting, and resting his brow upon his hand, continued for many minutes wrapped in meditation.
“Men would blame me, did they know the game I played,” he thought; “but ’tis the way by which alone I can manage my weak and indolent master: – master!” he muttered, in a scornful tone, “let me say, my slave, my tool! I can brook no master. While he is occupied by some mad folly, or new passion, he will gladly resign all but the empty shadow of power into my hands, and it must be my care to keep him thus employed, while I silence, and for ever, all opposition from without to my aims. His infatuated admiration of this young Marchioness of Tavora may lead to serious results: but no matter; I can easily turn them to my advantage; and, at all events, it keeps him occupied. The pursuit is likely to be a long one, for the lady seems colder and more inaccessible than I had deemed her. Ah! here he comes!”
As he spoke, a door on one side of the room opened, and the King entered. The Minister bowed profoundly as the sovereign threw himself listlessly into a chair, and commenced signing a variety of papers, which the former placed before him, without even glancing at their contents. At last, with an air of disgust, he threw down the pen and rose from his seat, exclaiming, “I can sign no more of your long edicts to-night, my Carvalho. Far more pleasing cares call me elsewhere; and I must snatch a few hours of liberty while my most jealous lady Queen is persuaded I am closeted with my faithful Minister.”
“Your Majesty’s wishes are ever my laws,” returned the Minister; “and I will occupy myself till your return with many important affairs which demand my attention.”
“Do so, my good friend,” said the King.
“I shall not detain you long. Has Teixeira yet come?”
“I will inquire,” answered the complaisant Minister; and quitted the room by an opposite door to that by which the King had entered.
The King walked impatiently about the room till Carvalho returned, accompanied by another person, who bore a large cloak, which he threw over the royal shoulders. The King then wrapping it around himself, so as to conceal his features, left the cabinet, followed by his attendant, while the Minister resumed his previous occupations.
More than two hours thus passed away; not a sound reaching Carvalho’s ears, and no one venturing to intrude where his Majesty was supposed to be occupied in framing laws for the welfare of the kingdom committed to his charge.
For the first hour he continued writing without rising from his seat; inditing letters which no eye but his own and the persons to whom they were addressed might see; making notes only of their contents as he folded and sealed them; for it was his principle never to trust any one where it could possibly be avoided: nor did he allow the secretaries and clerks, who were absolutely necessary to carry on the public business, to be acquainted with any affair beyond their immediate office, punishing those severely who betrayed what was committed to them. He then rose and strode up and down the room for some minutes, with knitted brow and compressed lips. “Ah!” he exclaimed, “thus shall all suffer who dare oppose my will. I have given the people of Oporto a lesson they will not easily forget. Their chief magistrate and eighteen of his seditious companions executed; three hundred of the principal people sent to the galleys, and their city given up to the licence of a brutal soldiery. This will, methinks, put a stop to further conspiracies against my authority; and, if not, in every town and village throughout the kingdom I will have gibbets erected, and hang every one who dares to utter a word of complaint. By terror alone can these people be ruled – all mild measures are worse than useless; for, instead of conciliating, they cause the nation to suppose that it is through fear, or want of power, that they are employed. By Heavens! they shall no longer have reason to suppose so. I have begun my reign of terror, and from henceforth I banish all pity or remorse from my bosom; and the abject wretches on whose necks I will trample, shall feel that, at length, they have a man, instead of the drivelling priests or ignorant debauchees who have hitherto attempted to govern them.”
Muttering, rather than speaking, his thoughts aloud, he returned to his desk. He was still writing when he felt a hand laid on his shoulder, and, rising from his seat, he bowed to his sovereign, who had entered, if not unperceived, at least unattended to.
“You work hard for our benefit, my faithful Minister,” said Joseph, seating himself; “but we wish you would rule a lady’s changeful mood as easily as you can govern our kingdom. The lovely Donna Theresa continues cruel as ever: she listens to all my passionate speeches with a smile of satisfaction, and entreats me to return again before long, for that she should die were she deprived of my society; and in the same breath talks of her husband and the honour of her family. Her coldness provokes me, while her fascinations increase my love.”
“Your Majesty need not despair,” said the sagacious Minister. “A woman who has once consented to admit a lover to an interview without her husband’s knowledge will never draw back if he proceeds with caution; and when that lover has the qualifications of your Majesty, her fate is certain. A few weeks’ more perseverance and she will yield, or I must renounce all knowledge of the female heart.”
“She must, Carvalho, she must!” exclaimed the King, impatiently. “This suspense is dreadful. What advantage is gained by being a King, unless our subjects will dutifully obey us?”
“Your Majesty is perfectly right; and few there are, I trust, of all your Majesty’s subjects who would prove thus disloyal, except some of the haughty nobles of the realm, who appear to suppose your kingdom their own; and of one of those families is the lovely Donna Theresa, which will account for her most undutiful hesitation. Yet your Majesty need have no fears of the result.”
“I know, I know,” said the King, hastily; “I am convinced she loves me; but some foolish prejudice appears to restrain her from her own wishes.”
“’Tis the work of those accursed Jesuits,” exclaimed Carvalho; “but your Majesty need not fear, and will be able to counteract their aims, if you will follow my advice.”
“Your counsel is always that of wisdom,” said the King. “Speak, my Carvalho.”
“I would, then, advise your Majesty to make a present to Donna Theresa of your favourite dwarf, Donna Florinda. She is acute and observing, and will very soon become mistress of all the young lady’s secrets, at the same time that she will counsel her no longer to treat your Majesty with her general cruelty.”
“Ah! the idea is indeed worthy of following!” exclaimed the King, enraptured at the bright thought. “Thanks, my Carvalho, thanks. You are truly the most sagacious and first of Ministers. I will persuade our Queen, who will willingly part with her, to send her to-morrow morning; and then, if she succeeds, I shall indeed be thankful to one who has so well aided my wishes.”
The King then, holding out his hand, which the zealous and unprejudiced Minister kissed, with every sign of respect, retired to his chamber, and the latter, securing his papers, some in an iron chest, the key of which he kept, and others of more importance about his person, sought his carriage, which was in attendance, and returned to his home.
