Kitabı oku: «The Prime Minister», sayfa 38
When the officers sent to apprehend the Marquis arrived at his palace, they found that he had quitted home, and was supposed to be at the house of his sister, the Countess of – , whither they immediately proceeded. He was engaged in conversation with that lady, when a servant entered, with alarm on his countenance, to inform him that some persons were inquiring for him below, who were evidently emissaries of the Minister.
“Oh! do not venture down, then,” exclaimed the Countess. “Conceal yourself here till you can fly elsewhere for safety; for, depend on it, the Minister contemplates some injury to you.”
“I feel myself guiltless of any crime against the state, and fear not his malice,” replied the Marquis. “I will see what the persons require, and return to you directly.”
“Oh, in mercy, do not go, my brother,” reiterated the Countess, endeavouring to detain him. “I have lately had sad forebodings that some danger was impending over you, and now, alas! they are about to be fulfilled.”
The Marquis having with difficulty, for the moment, calmed his sister’s fears, proceeded down stairs, when, no sooner had he reached the hall, than he was surrounded by armed men, the leader of whom peremptorily demanded his sword.
“I shall give that to no one but my sovereign, to whom I shall this instant go, to learn the cause of this insolent outrage,” answered the Marquis, endeavouring to pass on. “Let my carriage be brought to the door this instant.”
“My orders are peremptory,” returned the officer. “I must conduct you forthwith to prison.”
“To prison!” said the Marquis, starting, “of what crime am I accused?”
“Of high treason,” answered the officer. “Thus much I am permitted to inform you; the other members of your family are already in custody, and I am ordered to conduct your Excellency to the same prison – this is my warrant;” and he presented a paper, which the Marquis took, glancing his eye over it.
“I see it possesses his Majesty’s signature, and that I never disobey,” he answered. “Do your duty, senhor; I am ready to accompany you; but I should first wish to change my dress at my own palace.”
“I have no power to permit it: your Excellency must repair forthwith to the prison.”
The Marquis, without deigning further reply, stepped at once into his carriage, which, surrounded by a body of cavalry, drove quickly away. It stopped at length before a building lately repaired by orders of the Minister, – no one had been able to understand for what purpose; where, before the earthquake, wild beasts had been confined, as objects of curiosity; but at the time of that event it had been thought necessary to destroy them, for fear of their getting loose. He was here unceremoniously ordered to alight, and conducted, between guards, into the interior, where a person who acted as governor of the new prison – a creature of the Minister – led the way, without speaking, to a cell, the last occupant of which had been an untamed lion. It contained no other furniture than such as had served the wild beast of the forest, a bundle of straw scattered on one side forming the only couch. Into this place the unhappy nobleman was thrust, the door was closed upon him, and he was left to ruminate on the cause of his apprehension, and the probable fate he might expect, judging from the barbarous treatment he now experienced.
Volume Three – Chapter Fifteen
Our history carries us once more to the country-house of the Duke of Aveiro at Azeitaö, where the noble owner had arrived the morning after the family meeting at the Quinta of the Marquis of Tavora, of which Antonio had so unexpectedly become a witness. The Duke, who was supposed to be still in the country at that time, had secretly visited Lisbon for the occasion, where he had now left his confidant, Senhor Policarpio, to watch the progress of events, and to give him timely notice of what was taking place. So confident was he of the success of their plans, and of the Minister’s entire want of suspicion that he was in any way connected with the attempt on the life of the King, that he would listen to none of the warnings which some of his more sagacious friends had lately sent him. One contained but the following lines: – “Beware of the tiger and the lion! – if, perchance, you fall into their den, they will devour you.” Another letter was rather more explicit: – “I fear that our meeting will be rather more numerous than it ought to be. A secret is out when many people know it, and on these occasions a man requires three heads under his cap.”
These letters arrived by the post, and had the infatuated Duke examined them well, he would have discovered that the seals had been previously broken. After reading them, he threw them aside, with an exclamation of disdain. “My worthy friend truly seems to have a mighty fear of this Sebastiaö Jozé; but we will soon show him which is the tiger to be dreaded,” he observed.
The very day previous to the apprehension of the Marquis of Tavora and his family, the Duke received notice from a friend that a vessel was prepared, and would sail that evening, recommending him to escape in time from the storm which was then brewing; but, with the most extraordinary infatuation, he refused to take advantage of the offer, declaring his conviction that no injury could possibly be done him. His Duchess, in whom he had not ventured to confide, and who had long suffered from dreadful suspicions that he was implicated in the conspiracy, in vain also urged him to fly the country.
“What! fair lady, and quit these realms which may soon be my own?” he answered. “No! – I put more confidence in the prophecies of the holy Father Malagrida than to do so – his promises will not fail me.”
His friend set sail without him, and escaped. We shall see how far Malagrida’s words were made good. Yet, reader, condemn not the mad Jesuit alone; there are many of his class, in the present day, who would equally lead their deluded followers to destruction, did they not, fortunately for themselves, live in happier times, and under a more enlightened government, without having their own wisdom, we suspect, to thank for their safety.
The Duke had just risen, and was seated, in his morning-gown, in the room he usually inhabited, when his son, the young Marquis of Gouvea, entered, with a gun in his hand, equipped for a shooting expedition. The youth was in high spirits at the thoughts of his day’s sport; and the father, with his many faults, was proud of his noble boy, and blessed him as he parted from him.
Scarcely had the young Marquis quitted the house, when Senhor Policarpio, with disordered dress, and covered with dust, rushed into the presence of his master. “Fly, my lord!” he exclaimed, – “we are betrayed, and all is discovered! There is not a moment to lose: the Marquis of Tavora and all his family were apprehended last night, and the moment I heard of it I hurried off here to warn you of your danger.”
“Whither can I fly?” exclaimed the Duke. “It is useless; besides, no one will dare to injure me. Even that bold plebeian, Sebastiaö Jozé, would not venture so far.”
“Pardon me, your Excellency, then,” answered Policarpio; “I feel very certain that he will venture to hang me, if he can catch me, so I must take care of my own life.” And, without waiting to hear anything his master might wish to say further, he hurried from the apartment.
His first care was to go to his own room, and to collect in a bag all the money he had hoarded up. He then threw off the garments he wore, and dressed himself in some ragged ones, which he had brought under his cloak. The latter garment served to conceal his new costume, as, seizing his bag of coin, he hastened from the house, unnoticed by any one. He took the least frequented way across the estate, stopping every now and then to listen and to look around, lest any guards might be approaching. He then, after quitting his master’s property, hurried across the country, and halted not for many miles, till he arrived in the centre of a pine-forest, through which ran a clear and tranquil brook. Having looked carefully around, he sat himself down on the bank, and, drawing a knife from his pocket, he deliberately cut off every particle of his hair, throwing it, as he did so, into the water. His next operation was to scratch the entire surface of his face and neck, and the greater part of his legs and hands, with his knife, rubbing them over at the same time with an ointment he had provided. With this application the skin became swollen and discoloured to a frightful degree, so that, after a few minutes had passed, it would have been utterly impossible, even for the most intimate acquaintance, to have recognised him. He next tore and dirtied still more the garments he wore, and, cutting a rough staff from a branch of a fallen tree, he left the spot with the exact appearance of a loathsome and wandering beggar. For many years was that wretched figure seen roaming from spot to spot, expecting every instant to be recognised, daring to confide in no one, without a friend in the world, conscience-stricken and miserable, yet clinging to life – no one suspecting that beneath those rags was hidden the atrocious criminal, Joseph Policarpio.
We must now return to the Duke of Aveiro. For some time he would not believe the account Policarpio had given him; but sat waiting, every instant expecting his return, to give him further information, when his servant, Manoel Ferreira (who, at the particular desire of Policarpio, had, for obvious reasons, transferred his services from the Marquis to him), rushed into the room with the information, that an officer of justice, and a considerable body of armed men, were approaching the house.
He now, for the first time, showed some symptoms of comprehending his danger; and, when his Duchess, entering the apartment, and throwing herself at his feet, entreated him to fly, he no longer hesitated to comply with her urgent prayer. He hastened to the window, which commanded a view of the entrance to the grounds, and there, at a few paces off only, he beheld a body of cavalry, advancing rapidly up the avenue. He stood for a moment, irresolute what course to pursue.
“Come, my lord, we must not stay here to be taken like rats in a trap,” exclaimed Manoel, whose impatience had become excessive. “We have yet time to escape into the woods, where we may remain concealed till we learn the worst that is likely to happen to us.”
“Oh! follow Manoel’s advice,” added the Duchess. “I will stay, and endeavour to delay the police.”
“Close every door and window in the house,” she cried to the other servants, who crowded in to learn what was the matter. “Haste, haste! not a moment is to be lost – your master’s life depends on your alacrity. We may hold out for some time, before they suspect we are deceiving them.”
While the servants hurried off to obey her orders, she took her husband’s hand, and led him to a small door, at the back of the building, whence he might escape across a field, into the woods which surrounded the Quinta. She here resigned him to Manoel; for so completely had terror now mastered him, that he seemed incapable of guiding his own steps, while she retired to an upper window to watch his progress.
The Duchess gazed anxiously from the window. She saw her husband pass through the garden, without being observed; and he had already crossed more than half way the field which separated it from the wood, when the tramp of horses sounded in the paved court, in front of the building. No one yet followed him. A loud knocking was now heard at the hall-door, and a voice, in an authoritative tone, demanded admittance in the King’s name. She longed to watch, until he was in comparative safety; yet she feared, lest the servants, becoming alarmed, might open the door to his pursuers, when his capture must be inevitable; for, exposed to view, as he now was, from every upper window at the back of the house, they could scarcely avoid seeing him, as they hurried through the rooms in search of him. Casting a last glance in the direction he was pursuing, she hastened down stairs, where she found most of the servants collected in the hall, consulting as to the prudence of admitting the emissaries of justice. The blows on the door were repeated with greater violence; the old major-domo, trembling with alarm, had his hand on a bolt, about to withdraw it.
“Would you murder your master?” she exclaimed, seizing the old man’s arm. “If you are men, protect him to the last; I will be answerable to these people for all that may happen.”
With prayers and commands, she then persuaded the domestics to retire to the upper part of the house, whither she followed them; and, throwing open a window, she inquired, in a calm voice, the object of the visit of the military.
“We come to demand the body of Don Jozé de Mascarenhas, Duke of Aveiro,” answered the Desembargador, the officer of justice, who had charge of the party. “If he does not forthwith deliver himself up to our lawful authority, we shall instantly proceed to force open the door.”
“Let me first see the warrant for his apprehension, and I will then obey your commands, if I find you speak the truth,” returned the Duchess, anxious by any excuse to gain time.
“That cannot be,” answered the officer. “Either at once open the door, or we must find some other means to make an entrance.”
“Do so at your peril,” said the Duchess, firmly. “The Duke does not feel disposed to allow any stranger to enter his house; but, if you will wait, I will go and consult his wishes with regard to our proceedings;” and, closing the window, she hurried away to the back of the house, leaving her enemies under the belief that the Duke was still within.
The servants were running backwards and forwards, wringing their hands, and sobbing with alarm, as they entreated her to allow them to throw open the door. Again insisting on their obeying her orders, she looked forth towards the wood.
“Oh! Heaven protect him!” she exclaimed, as she saw the Duke and his attendant, still at some short distance from the wood. “In two minutes more he will be hidden from their view.”
Scarcely had the Duchess uttered these words, when again the loud blows on the door resounded through the house. Again they were repeated; a crashing noise, as of wood rent asunder, was heard. The women shrieked, and fled in all directions to hide themselves, followed by the men-servants, except a page of the Duke’s, who, seizing a sword, seemed determined to defend his mistress from insult. The door was thrown down, the tramp of feet echoed through the hall, heavy steps were heard ascending the stairs, but the Duchess heeded them not; her gaze was fixed on her lord. A few paces more and the trees would have concealed him, when the door of the apartment was thrown open, and several men rushed in. She could endure no longer, and uttering a cry of despair, she sank, fainting, on the ground. The page in vain attempted to prevent the soldiers from approaching the window; he was soon disarmed and bound, when, at that moment, the officer of justice entering, his keen eye caught sight of the persons of the fugitives in the distance. He at once guessing who they were, and the reason of the Duchess’s refusal to admit the party, despatched some of his followers in pursuit.
The Duke’s courage had revived on finding that no one followed, and he was congratulating himself on his chance of escape, when, as he and Manoel had just entered the wood, the latter, turning a glance towards the house, beheld, to his dismay, several persons emerging from the garden.
“On, on, my lord! we are pursued!” he exclaimed.
“Then all is lost!” cried the Duke, abandoning himself to despair.
“Not so, your Excellency. By plunging deeper into the wood, we may find some spot where, throwing ourselves on the ground, we may remain concealed till the soldiers have passed by,” the servant answered.
The Duke caught at the idea as a drowning man will at a straw; and, his courage once more reviving, they ran forward among the trees, completely screened from the view of those who were on the other side of the field. They ran for life and liberty, straining every nerve, and exerting every faculty, to escape, while their pursuers were urged on in the chase by the hopes of the reward they expected to receive, and the excitement of hunting a fellow-creature. We leave the case to moral philosophers to determine which have the most powerful incentive, the hunted, or the blood-hounds thirsting for their blood; though we should be inclined to award it to the latter. The first can but, at the worst, be captured and slain, while the hunters may gloat over their prey, and talk in after times of the deeds they have done.
The Duke and his servant now reached a deep dell, to cross which was absolutely necessary; yet, on mounting on the opposite side, they must be exposed to observation.
“We are lost!” cried the Duke again.
“No, no, your Excellency,” returned Manoel. “Quick! quick! it may prove our salvation. See those piles of wood heaped up at the bottom, which the wood-cutters have left, we may crawl beneath some of them, and the soldiers will, probably, in their haste, not think of stopping to search for us.”
This being the only feasible plan, they hurried down the bank towards the piles of wood. They could hear the shouts of their pursuers, just entering the forest, as they reached their place of refuge. A quantity of branches and brushwood had been cut down, and lay scattered about. These they hastily collected together against the piles of newly-cut wood, when, an instant before the foremost pursuer had reached the summit of the bank, they crept beneath the heap. Onward came the hunters in full cry. They rushed down the glen.
“He has gained the opposite bank,” cried one.
“Yes, I just now caught sight of his dress among the trees,” shouted another.
“Hurra for the reward of the lucky one who captures him!” echoed several.
“Courage, comrades! Onward, on!”
The Duke trembled with alarm, as these sounds reached his ear. The tramp of feet was heard hurrying close by the place of their concealment – they passed – they mounted the bank, – their voices grew less distinct, and at greater distances from each other, as if they had extended their line. Gradually the noises altogether ceased, and the Duke and his companion breathed more freely. Manoel ventured to look out, and, as far as he could see, no one appeared.
“What shall we now do, my good Manoel?” asked his master.
“We must remain quietly here till the night,” was the answer; “we may then with some degree of safety be able to reach the interior of the country before the morning breaks; but never must we allow ourselves to be discovered by daylight on the road.”
“This is a very uneasy posture I am in,” observed the Duke.
“It is better than your Excellency would enjoy on the scaffold,” pithily answered the servant; and the master made no further complaints. “Hark! what sound is that? Footsteps approach – silence, for our lives!” whispered Manoel.
When the Desembargador had despatched the soldiers in pursuit of the fugitives, he had also ordered the Notary, Senhor de Leiro, to accompany them, an office that respectable personage was not very well qualified to perform, seeing that, although his fingers, from constant practice, were active and pliant, his legs, as for many years they had never moved faster than a sedate walk, were very far from being so. He had also read that the van of an advancing army was a far more dangerous post than the rear; and, as it was said that the terrible Duke had fired at the King, he felt that he would make very little ceremony in shooting him outright; he therefore allowed the fighting party to precede him, while he advanced in a more dignified way in the same direction. By the time, however, that he reached the side of the dell, the soldiers had already run completely out of sight. He sighed as he thought of the toil before him; but his duty peremptorily called on him to proceed; or it might have been that he dreaded the loss of his situation if he neglected it; so he managed to reach the bottom of the glen, and to scramble again up the opposite side. Here, however, fatigue overpowered him, and he was obliged to seat himself down on the bank to rest. While there, hoping that the soldiers would quickly return with the prisoners, and thus save him further exertion, and, bemoaning his hard fate, he observed a heap of dried boughs at the bottom of the glen begin to move, and a man’s head protrude beyond it.
“Ah!” he thought, “that head belongs to one of the criminals, to a certainty. Now, if I were a strong man, I would capture him myself; but as I am not, I had better not attempt it, for he may think fit to give me a quietus instead.”
The Notary having come to this judicious resolution, kept a vigilant watch on the heap of branches, in the hopes that some one would pass that way to afford him assistance in capturing the prey; nor had he long to wait before chance led a farmer and his servant to cross the wood at no great distance from where he sat. On his beckoning to them, they immediately came up to him; when, in a few words, he explained that he was on the watch for an atrocious criminal, and promised them a reward if they would assist in capturing him. They immediately assented, when they all three set forward towards the spot where the wretched Duke was concealed.
“Seize the traitor, alive or dead!” exclaimed Senhor de Leiro, in a loud voice, as he pointed to the underwood.
On hearing these words, Manoel, finding further concealment was hopeless, sprang up, determined to make one struggle for life, the Duke following his example, with the intention of flying. The appearance of two desperate men somewhat staggered the valour of the Notary, particularly when Manoel, rushing towards him, seized the sword from his side, and would have run him through with his own weapon, when a cry from the Duke drew off his attention for the moment. On turning round, he beheld his master dragged away by the farmer and his servant.
“Release him, villains!” he cried; “he is the Duke of Aveiro!”
“We know that well enough,” answered the farmer. “He shot at our gracious King!”
Manoel was about to avenge his master, or endeavour to release him, when the shouts of the soldiers, returning through the wood, struck his ear. He now saw that all further attempts to save the Duke would be hopeless; so, abandoning him to his fate, he rushed past the Notary, who tried to impede him, and sought his own safety in flight. He was still in sight when the soldiers appeared on the top of the bank, and the Notary, pointing in the direction of the fugitive, some set off in pursuit, while others hastened forward to secure the greater prize.
The unfortunate Duke was dragged back to his mansion, and, without being allowed even to alter his dress, or to see his Duchess, he was hurried into a carriage, waiting ready in the court-yard to receive him. Just as he was driven off, he saw his young son brought in, vainly struggling in the grasp of the rude soldiers who held him.
No sooner had the Duke disappeared, than the Duchess was led down stairs, and desired to enter her own carriage, which was now brought round to the door. Almost fainting with grief and terror – for she had beheld her husband a prisoner, and her fears pictured his too probable fate – she requested that her son might accompany her; but this was peremptorily refused. She then entreated that she might be allowed to see him.
“Such cannot be, madam,” answered the Desembargador. “My orders are explicit to allow no communication between the prisoners. Your destination is the Convent of the Grillos; the young Marquis must accompany me.” Without waiting to hear the answer of the unhappy lady, he ordered the driver to proceed.
A third carriage was in attendance to convey the young Marquis to the prison intended for him. He was now brought out of the house in the custody of some soldiers. The news of his parent’s apprehension had come on him like a thunderbolt; but he neither shed a tear, nor uttered a complaint. On being informed that he must quit his home, he insisted on being allowed to prepare for his journey: this was refused him. He then desired to return to his room, to procure some money and necessaries.
“No, senhor,” answered the Desembargador, “you will require no money where you are going, and all necessaries will be supplied you. Come, quick, young sir; I am hurried.”
“You seem to have the power to enforce your commands, so I must obey,” said the young noble, haughtily, as he stepped into the carriage. Looking from the window, to take a last farewell of the house, destined, poor youth, never to be his own, he saw, to his sorrow, the servant Manoel dragged forward bleeding, with his hands bound, and, with his father’s page, thrown into a cart, which had been provided for the occasion. All the other men-servants were, likewise, carried as prisoners to Lisbon, while the officers of the crown took possession of the house.
The Desembargador then took his seat by the side of the young Marquis, and, as they drove towards Lisbon, he endeavoured, by a variety of questions, to gain as much information from him as possible respecting the Duke’s movements; but the son was on his guard, and refused firmly to answer a word. He was then offered his liberty, if he would agree to assume the cowl of a monk.
“No,” he answered, boldly, “I was born to be a noble of Portugal; and never will I consent to become a lazy monk. Lead me to prison: I am innocent, and fear you not.”
“We shall see, young sir, if in a few days you do not change your tone,” said the Desembargador, as the carriage stopped before the gloomy walls of the Jungueira.
“Never!” answered the young Marquis, firmly: nor could the dungeon into which he was thrown, and the barbarous treatment he received, compel him to change his determination.
Much of the above description we have extracted from a manuscript work written by the unfortunate Marquis d’Alorna, who was confined for many years in the Jungueira.
