ridges of the rock of Lisbon, tinged with the ruddy beams of the rising
sun, greeted the anxious eyes of the voyagers, rising like a welcome
beacon out of the blue and shining ocean. The morning was pure and
lovely, such as the fair clime of Portugal can often boast; the very air
sparkling with animation. The gentle breeze came in irregular breaths
off the land, laden with the odour of aromatic herbs and flowers, so
grateful to the senses of those who have inhaled nought but saline
particles during a protracted voyage. They had made the land rather to
the north of the rock, which was looked upon as a very good land-fall by
the old pilot; for it must be recollected that we are writing of nearly
a hundred years ago, since which time navigation has made great strides
in improvement; and, as they coasted along, Don Luis eagerly watched
each village and point they passed, while Pedro greeted, no less
delighted, and with much more violent gesticulation, each spot of his
beloved Portugal, as the seamen pointed it out to him.
"Ah! at length your hopes may, perhaps, be realised," said the Captain,
as he came on deck, smilingly addressing Don Luis; "but you see how
fallacious they before proved, and while you expected to have landed a
week ago, we have only just passed the spot where we then were; and, in
the meantime, have narrowly escaped destruction by the two great dangers
of the sea--the tempest and the fight. Thus you will find it through
life, and remember the history of Senhor Mendez: he seemed to have given
it to strengthen my advice; but observe, I do not thus bid you despair:
on the contrary, I wish to prevent your falling into despondency, by
teaching you to be prepared for the difficulties I know you must
encounter, and by showing you that you may surmount them. Here were we
hurried away from our haven as rapidly as a man may be from the high
path of rectitude into the dark gulf of crime, and it has cost us almost
as much exertion to return; but yet, at length, our haven is nigh, and
we have every prospect of attaining it."
"Believe me, captain, I am grateful for the interest you take in my
welfare," answered Don Luis, "and will endeavour to profit by your
warning and counsels, which are of double value, as I feel that I
required them."
"Be assured that I am not fond of giving advice to those who I know will
disregard it," answered the Captain; and, seeing that his friend was
about to speak, he added, "remember, I will not exchange with you the
current coin given for advice, when both are empty and valueless; so we
will say no more on the subject."
"As you wish, my friend," answered Don Luis. "Then what think you of
your prisoner, or rather guest, Senhor Mendez?"
"That he is rapidly recovering from his wounds," said the Captain.
"Yes, he daily gains strength," said Don Luis: "but I mean as to who he
is."
"That he is one who seeks to remain unknown," responded Captain Pinto.
"Do not ask me further respecting him; for I cannot satisfy you, though
he has made me acquainted with his history. He will pass for a
Portuguese born in the colonies, and I shall thus be able to afford him
assistance while he remains in Lisbon; and as few even on board have
seen his countenance, and as I shall land him as a wounded man, there is
no danger of his being recognised."
While this conversation was going forward, the ship was slowly running
down the coast; and as we have ourselves sailed over the same ground, we
are able accurately to describe it. On the low flat ground which
stretches away to the north of the rock of Lisbon, they could clearly
perceive with their glasses the domes and towers of the Escurial of
Portugal, the immense palace and convent of Mafra, built by that pious
debauchee, John the Fifth. This vast edifice is of a quadrangular form,
showing a front towards the sea some seven hundred feet in length, with
a lofty portico in the centre, which leads to the church. It seems, by
its extent, rather calculated for a fortress, in which to quarter all
the troops in the kingdom, than a refuge for humble monks, or a calm
retirement for royalty. A suburb, as it were, of houses and cottages
has sprung up around it.
They next passed under the serrated ridges of the rock of Lisbon
towering towards the heavens, embosomed among which lies the beautiful
and romantic vale of Cintra, rising, like an oasis in the wilderness,
from the arid and scorched plains surrounding Lisbon. From the sea few
of its beauties can be perceived, the only conspicuous object being the
cork convent of Nossa Senhora da Penha, perched like an eyrie amid the
most lofty cliffs, the first name being given to it from its being lined
with cork to shield the monks from damp, as great part of it is hewn out
of the solid rock. One small gap in the mountain alone allows the
voyager a glimpse of the paradise within, filled with cork, orange,
citron, olive, and numerous other trees and sweet-scented shrubs.
Having doubled the cape, from beneath whose caverned rock the deep
murmur of the sea was heard, they passed across the bay of Cascaes, with
its low sterile cliffs, and a fresh sea breeze setting in, they entered
the majestic Tagus by the northern passage, with a small island to the
right entirely covered by a circular castle of white stone, built to
protect the mouth of the river, called the Bugio fort. The scene was
highly animating to those who had spent day after day without meeting,
on the dreary expanse of waters, a friendly bark to cheer their sight,
as they beheld numberless vessels, of all classes, sailing up the river
with the fresh sea breeze, and boats of every description darting here
and there over the sparkling waves. There was the lofty Indiaman, or
richly-laden Brazilian ship, (for at that time Portugal monopolised the
entire carrying trade to her colonies,) surrounded by a hundred boats
which had come out to welcome relations and friends from their long
voyage, or to inquire for those who remained behind, or might perhaps
never return. Then there was the heavy-sailing English merchant brig,
characteristic of her nation, possessing more bottom than speed, and
proving to the world that the first maritime people could build the
ugliest vessels, not surpassed in that respect by the tub-like,
yellow-sided Dutchman, laden with cheeses in the shape of cannon balls.
Among them were seen, in strong contrast, the graceful, high-pointed
lateen sails of the Portuguese Rasca, used chiefly in the coasting
trade; and the native schooner, or Hiate, with hulls not destitute of
beauty, but rigged with masts raking at different angles, and their
gaffs peaked at unequal heights; and also the curious Lisbon
fishing-boat, shaped like a bean-pod, curving up at stem and stern, with
a short rounded deck at each end, and a single high lateen sail. Then
there were sloops, schooners, etc., etc., but all made way for the royal
cruiser, as she proudly sailed up the stream, lowering their flags as
she passed them in mark of respect. Passing close to the white tower of
Belem and its gothic church at the westernmost part of Lisbon, they at
length dropped their anchor opposite to that picturesquely-beautiful
city, which rises on many hills from the shores of the wide-flowing
Tagus, the white buildings glittering in the sun, crowned by the dark
frowning castle, surrounded by suburbs intermixed with gardens filled
with the richly-tinted orange-trees; but it was in those days very
inferior in point of size and beauty to what it is now, and, alas! on
entering it, its outward promise was found to be sadly deceptive; the
streets were narrow, ill ventilated, and badly constructed, with a
degree of dirt far surpassing that of any other European city; the
extraordinary healthiness of the climate, and the heavy rains, aided by
the canine scavengers which swarmed in it, and contributed to carry off
the impurities, alone preventing it from being yearly visited by the
plague, which the inhabitants took no other means to avoid. Amid this
collection of dirt were, however, to be found numerous fine palaces,
rich convents for both sexes, highly adorned churches of elegant
architecture, and various other public buildings surpassed by few cities
of the time. The river is here several miles in breadth; and on the
opposite shore, which is composed of rugged cliffs, once stood old
Lisbon, [Note], the ancient capital of Lusitania; while, looking up the
stream, it has, from its wide extent, the appearance of a magnificent
lake, which diminishes considerably the apparent height of its banks.
As it is not our intention to give a topographical description of
Lisbon, we will return to the more interesting subject, we doubt not, of
our narrative. No sooner were the sails furled, and the anchor had
touched the ground, than, as the gallant bark rode securely on the
smooth surface of the Tagus, she was surrounded by hundreds of boats,
filled with eager and questioning passengers, and such shouts, cries,
and vociferations, filled the air, that it was difficult to hear an
order given or a reply made.
While Don Luis was waiting till the captain was prepared to accompany
him on shore, and gazed admiringly on the beautiful panorama around him,
his heart beat quick with the joyful anticipation of at length meeting
her on whom, during his absence, all his thoughts had centred. He
pictured to himself her delighted surprise at his unexpected return, and
the rich blush which would suffuse her lovely cheeks, as, overcoming the
natural bashfulness of love, forgetful of the formal etiquette of
society, of everything, in her joy of seeing him, she would throw
herself into his arms. Then he thought of the thousand questions she
would ask of his adventures, and the answers he should make; of the
animated glances of her bright eyes, as he described the storm and
night-engagement with the rover, with the share he had taken in the
strife; how she would tremble with agitation, as he recounted the
dangers he had undergone, and how doubly dear he should be to her heart
after all his escapes. Not once did his good friend Pinto's warnings
and forebodings occur to him; not once did he think of the history of
Senhor Mendez. How, indeed, could any dark or dismal thoughts intrude,
surrounded by a scene of such loveliness, with that pure blue sky, and
that clear sparkling atmosphere! All appeared to him of rosy hue, nor
did he remember how false and treacherous was the outward appearance of
the very city at which he gazed--a fit emblem of the fair promises of
the world, full of foulness and deceit.
His thoughts were quickly broken in upon by the captain summoning him to
the boat, which conveyed them on shore; and once more with joy did he
press his native soil, as, attended by Pedro, he hastened to his
father's house, while Captain Pinto repaired to the Admiralty, to report
the arrival of his ship.
Note. Ourique, opposite Lisbon, the birth-place of Portuguese monarchy.
Volume 1, Chapter IV.
We must now quit the free, boundless, ever-varying ocean, on which we
delight to dwell, with its exciting incidents of the chase, the tempest,
and the fight, for the confined space of a crowded city.
The palace of the Marquis d'Alorna was situated near the centre of
Lisbon, on the rise of a hill, at a short distance from the river; and
although the approach to it was through what we should now consider
narrow, dirty streets, it was an edifice of some consideration,
constructed of fine hewn stone, with a handsome entrance, through which
a carriage might drive to the foot of a broad flight of steps, leading
to that part of the mansion inhabited by the family, the lower part
being appropriated for stables, and for the use of the inferior order of
domestics, and where also the family coaches stood in conspicuous array.
But it is to the upper story of the building, where, in Portugal, are
frequently situated the most agreeable rooms of the house, that we would
introduce our readers. It was a large apartment, a broad balcony in
front, with a heavy, highly-carved balustrade of stone-work, from which
was seen a fine view of the Tagus, blue and sparkling in the bright
sunshine, and covered with white dancing sails, wending their course in
every direction. The interior decorations of the room were rich, but
not according to the most approved taste of the present day. Over the
windows hung curtains of yellow damask, which cast a glare anything but
becoming to the complexions of the inmates, and the ceiling was
decorated with a fresco painting of some allegorical subject, most
difficult to determine. The walls were covered with tapestry,
representing a scene in Arcadia, it might be presumed, from a number of
fair ladies figuring in the landscape in the fanciful costume of
shepherdesses, with crooks in their hands adorned with flowers and
ribbons, who ought to have been tending several flocks of sheep
scattered far and wide; but their attention was diverted from these
pastoral duties by listening to the passionate addresses of sundry
youths, in bag wigs and swords, who were kneeling at their feet in all
the most approved attitudes of devotion. A surprising number of
waterfalls, temples, bridges, and romantic cottages, fit abodes for
love, peace, contentment, and little children, filled up the interesting
picture. In a small alcove on one side was an altar, on which stood an
image of the Virgin and Child; the mother dressed in robes of blue and
gold stripes, trimmed with pink, and a crown of silver and precious
stones on her head, the whole figure surrounded by bright wreaths of
artificial flowers; but it appeared a pity, since so much expense had
been lavished on her decoration, that the same pious hand had not
afforded even the slightest garment to shelter from the inclemency of
the weather the little smiling cherub in her arms. The floor was of
highly polished chestnut, not covered by any carpet, except a narrow
strip below a row of high-backed chairs, of dark carved mahogany, placed
against the walls. Several doors opened from the room, affording a long
vista beyond, of other apartments, to the opposite windows of the
palace, through which might pass the refreshing breeze from the river.
But it is time that we should describe the occupants of the chamber; for
there were several of the gentler sex seated in a circle near the open
window, some on low chairs or stools, the others having placed
themselves on the ground in the eastern fashion, with their work before
them.
The lady who seemed of most consequence in the party was reclining with
her back to the side of the window, so as to command a view of the world
without, and, at the same time, to see and hear what was going forward
in the room. She was young--very young; by her appearance scarcely
counting eighteen summers of life, and beautiful as the pure sky of her
native clime; but already on that high and pure brow had thought, care,
or passion, cast a faint, scarce perceptible sign, which came and passed
away like a thin fleeting cloud. The bright hue of health and spirits
was on her oval cheeks, and there was a sparkling lustre in her full
dark eye, which, at times, however, wanted, alas! that soft gentle
expression so much more requisite to the eye of ebon hue than to any
other: but who could quarrel with the faultless features of her
exquisitely chiselled countenance? Her figure was scarcely of the
average middle height, but it was beautifully formed, every limb rounded
to perfection; indeed it was rather full than otherwise, relieved by her
swan-like throat, and the fine fall of her shoulders.
She was sumptuously dressed in richly flowered silks; her hair, of raven
hue, drawn from off her forehead, and slightly powdered, was arranged in
many curls, and fastened at the summit with pins of gold. She had been
occupied, or rather pretended to be occupied, in working with silk on
canvass, the fashionable employment of ladies in those days; but the
work appeared to be proceeding but slowly, as the small part only of a
design was seen, and it was now thrown, with various bright coloured
balls, at her feet. The rest of the party were rather more
industriously employed in the like sort of occupation, though the gay
peals of light laughter which rose from the circle, showed that they
were not very earnest about it; their incentive to merriment appearing
to proceed from a personage not the least remarkable of the group,
seated opposite to the lovely being we have described. Her features
were of jetty black, of that intense ugliness rarely seen in youth, at
all events but in the negro race; and although she was scarcely more
than three feet high, her head was as large as that of a full-grown
person, with round shining eyes, a good-natured, contented smile ever
playing round her full ruddy lips, which disclosed a full proportion of
immense pearly teeth, the grotesqueness of her features increased,
evidently by design, by a costly costume of every hue: her hair, too,
according to the fashion, being dressed in a high peak, was decorated
also with ribbons of the most glaring colours. The little lady did not,
however, appear at all conscious of the absurdity of her appearance;
but, on the contrary, seemed to consider herself habited in a most
becoming costume, receiving all the compliments which were jokingly paid
her, as her due. When she spoke, the tones of her voice were as deep as
those of a full-grown person, and when she became excited in
conversation, there was a degree of harshness about them far from
agreeable.
"Well, my sweet mistress," said this curious-looking being, rising as if
about to take her leave, "I must tear myself away from your enchanting
presence, to return to the high personages who sent me, with the joyful
news of the prospect of your quick return to health; but, ere I go, I
must acquit me of my mission, and deliver this holy relic, with which I
was charged, as a sovereign remedy against all human ills." Saying
which, she produced a small silver casket, from a large bag which she
carried in the shape of a reticule, adding, "Know that it contains part
of the precious remains of the most holy Saint Anthony, being his true
and veritable little finger, presented to her majesty by the pious
father Malagrida, who certified the many miracles it had worked in the
various parts of the world to which he had borne it. You will find
therein that which will cure you of your malady in the space of a few
hours, if you keep it in your own possession," she whispered, with a
significant expression, as she delivered the case into the hands of the
young beauty.
"Express my gratitude to her majesty for her bounteous kindness in
remembering me," answered the young lady, "and say I have a firm and
pious trust in the efficacy of her holy remedy. In truth, it is well
able to cure me of all the malady with which I am afflicted," she added,
laughing. "But, remember, Donna Florinda, that is not to be a part of
the message you are to deliver."
"Oh no," answered the jet-coloured little lady; "trust to my
discretion--I thought as much when I brought the casket, which, however,
I will leave, as you may require it; though those sparkling eyes, and
the rich colour on those lovely cheeks, betoken little sign of disease."
"My illness was one imposed on me by my honoured father, at the
instigation of his lady wife, to prevent my attendance at Court,"
answered the young lady; her eye flashing angrily as she spoke. "Thank
Heaven! I shall soon be my own mistress, nor will I yield again to
their unjust commands."
"Spoken like a girl of spirit," said the Dwarf. "I like those who will
never submit to tyranny; and be assured that his majesty will much
applaud your determination, for all the Court mourn the absence of its
brightest ornament. But I must not stay chattering here, or it will be
supposed I am lost, and then there will be a hue and cry all over Lisbon
in search of me; for I am much too valuable a person not to be a prize
to any who could carry me off."
"You would indeed be a treasure, Donna Florinda, to the happy person who
possessed you, but their majesties esteem you far too much to part with
you willingly," returned the lovely girl, laughing.
"Methinks they do, and I have no intention of quitting them. I know
when I am well off.--Now, again, my sweetest friend, adieu." Saying
which, Donna Florinda sprang up, imprinting a kiss on each cheek of the
beautiful girl, who received the salute, as a thing of course, and then
curtseying with an air intended to be very dignified, she turned to quit
the apartment.
"Run, maidens, run," exclaimed the young lady. "Run and attend Donna
Florinda to her chair. Haste all of you, and pay her proper respect."
The maids, accustomed to the imperious orders of their young mistress,
threw down their work, and followed Donna Florinda, for so their
majesties of Portugal had been pleased to call their black favourite;
and no sooner was the room cleared, than with eager hands the young lady
opened the casket which had been sent her. It contained, doubtless, the
little finger of Saint Anthony, but it contained also a small fold of
paper, which she hurriedly abstracted, placing the casket aside, as a
thing she valued not.
Agitation was visible on her countenance, as with trembling fingers she
tore open the note. "Enchanting, beautiful girl," it ran, "too often
have I gazed enraptured on those matchless charms to resist longer their
enslaving power. Though the barriers of custom and bigotry intervene to
keep us asunder, yet would I break through all obstacles to win one
smile of acquiescence to my ardent wishes from those bright eyes! and
ah! believe that this heart, which has never felt till now one pang of
love, though surrounded by the fairest, the most lovely in the land, has
at length been punished for its obduracy; nor can I experience one
moment of peace till I know that this has been accepted by her for whom
it is intended, and that she will deign to send some answer favourable
to my hopes. From one who would, were it possible, lay a crown at the
feet of the most captivating of her sex." No signature was attached to
the epistle; but, as the lady's eyes glanced hurriedly over it, her
breathing grew quick, a blush mantled on her neck and cheek, though
remaining but a moment ere a pallor succeeded, as she placed it in her
bosom, on hearing the return of her attendants along the corridor
leading to her apartment. Her principal attendant gazed at her
earnestly, with an expression of concern.
"Surely, Senhora, you are now really ill indeed; and I fear St.
Anthony's finger has been of slight benefit. Let me run and procure you
some of the restorative medicine I am ordered to take."
"No, no, there is no necessity for it," answered the young lady; "I
merely slightly pricked my finger as Donna Florinda left the room, and
the pain was acute, and made me feel faint; but it has passed away and
left no mark. I shall be well again directly."
As she spoke her former colour returned to her cheeks, but the smile
which had sat on her lips was not so easily recovered; and though she
attempted to talk with animation, her gaiety was forced and unnatural.
Before many minutes had passed, another visitor was announced as the
Marchioness of Tavora, at which name the attendants stood up
respectfully, the young lady advancing herself to the door of the
apartment to receive her guest. The lady who now entered was of
majestic deportment, with firmness and dignity in every movement, at the
same time that there was much feminine beauty in her features; for,
although they had much passed their prime, they yet retained a large
portion of those charms for which she had once been celebrated, without
any of the disfiguring marks of old age. She gazed with a look of
affection, as she addressed the young lady, who conducted her
respectfully to a chair, and placed herself on a lower seat at her feet.
"I have come, my sweet daughter, as an ambassadress from my son, the
heir of his father's wealth and titles, earnestly to press his suit,"
began the Marchioness; "you know how fondly he loves you, and all the
necessary preliminaries having been arranged between the Marquis of
Tavora and your father, your consent is alone wanting to fix the day on
which he may be made happy. Say, then, that you will not defer the day,
and let me be the bearer of the joyful tidings to my boy."
"I am highly flattered by the honour you do me, Senhora Marqueza,"
answered the young lady, "and by the preference your son shows me; but I
do not feel myself worthy of his love without giving mine in return, and
I would rather not wed yet."
"Do I hear aright?" exclaimed the Marqueza, with surprise, and a degree
of anger in her tone. "Can you, whom I already look upon in the light
of a daughter, dream of disobedience to your father's commands, and
refuse my son's proffered alliance? Such a thing is impossible. Have
you not constantly given me reason to suppose that you would throw no
difficulty in the way,--then why this sudden and unaccountable change of
opinion? But I know that these words do not express your feelings: they
were uttered more from a freak of maiden bashfulness, than from any
confirmed determination. To such folly, however, you must not yield.
Think well again before you give your final answer; for of such as that
you before uttered I cannot be the bearer."
The young lady remained silent for some minutes; a pallid hue again
overspread her features, and she gasped for breath, as if some intense
feelings were passing through her bosom; but the Marchioness, occupied
with her own thoughts, did not, apparently, observe her. At length, by
a strenuous effort recovering her composure, she looked up. "If such is
the will of my father, that I should wed, I will follow it," she said;
"my hand, when he shall claim it, is at your son's command; and I must
crave your pardon that I at first refused the proffered honour."
"My sweet daughter, you have made me most happy," exclaimed the
Marchioness, folding her in an affectionate embrace. "My beloved son,
on whom you know every sentiment of my heart is placed, will hasten to
throw himself at your feet; but say, my fair child, when you will crown
his joy, by bestowing that hand he prizes so much?"
"I would petition for a short delay," returned the lovely girl; "let the
day be in November next: he will not have long to wait; and it is but
short time to prepare to quit a home where I have spent the few happy
days of my life, and for the future, alas! oh, may Heaven protect me!"
The last part of the sentence was uttered rather to herself than aloud,
nor did the Marchioness attend to the words.
"I will not, at present, urge you to fix an earlier time, though I would
have wished it sooner; but perhaps my son may have more influence," said
the Marqueza, smiling. "I must now go to relieve his mind of the
anxiety which oppresses it, and before long, expect your loving
bridegroom here." Saying which, the Marchioness of Tavora arose, and,
embracing the young lady, she quitted the apartment with the same
stately dignity with which she had entered, attended, with the utmost
respect, by the retinue of maidens who waited on their young mistress.
We scarce dare describe the thoughts of the bride elect, of that young
and lovely creature who seemed formed for virtue and happiness alone.
She hastened to the open window to seek fresher air, for that in the
room oppressed her, she thought, and stood gazing, with dilated eye, on
the pure blue, calm sky, so contrasted with the agitation of her bosom.
"Alas! for what am I prepared?" she exclaimed; "what a dark gulf do I
see yawning beneath my feet, which no human power can aid me to
overleap. Could I summon courage, I might yet escape; but then how
blank and desolate would my heart become! No! I could part with
happiness, rank, wealth, all the world esteems; but I cannot yield up
love. Ah, why should I tremble or hesitate? Have not others done the
same? and without risk, how can power and greatness be obtained? And
yet, oh, heavens! I wish it had been otherwise."
Thus giving utterance to broken and disjointed sentences, in a tone
often of despair and grief, her small delicate hands clasped together,
she continued at the window for some minutes. Again she was silent,
when what sounded more like an hysterical laugh than one of joy broke
from her lips. "It were destruction to turn back now," she cried; "and,
my young lord marquis, I am your most humble bride. Begone, from
henceforth, all vain foolish fears and regrets, which gaiety will easily
dissipate." She turned quickly round with a smiling countenance, for
she heard a footstep approaching, thinking it was one of her female
attendants; but she started suddenly at seeing, instead, the tall figure
of a young and handsome cavalier, advancing rapidly towards her with the
intention, it appeared by his gestures, of saluting her on the cheek
without waiting for permission, had she not drawn back with an
expression of anger in her countenance, and, throwing herself into a
chair, coldly held out her hand. The movement had the effect, as by
magic, of arresting the young man in his headlong career. He gazed at
her for some time, without uttering a syllable, with a steady, mournful,
and surprised look. "Can it be possible that I am so changed, during an
absence but of two years, that you know me not?" he at length exclaimed.
"I cannot, dare not, believe that Donna Theresa would thus cruelly have
behaved, had she known me."
"Oh, I know you perfectly, my good cousin," answered the young lady;
"nor do I perceive that you are in the slightest degree changed from the
boisterous, forward youth you were when you set out on your travels, if
I may judge by the unceremonious way in which you forced yourself into
my private apartments."
The young cavalier gazed at her with amazement, while a look of pain, or
we may say rather of agony, crossed his handsome features. "Do I hear
aright," he exclaimed passionately, "or am I in some horrid dream? Yet
methought all was reality till I entered here; but now I cannot, dare
not believe my senses."
"You appear to me to be perfectly awake, Don Luis; nor do I wish you on
any account to believe otherwise. Look round this room; the tapestry,
the hangings, the furniture are the same; nor am I very much altered in
appearance since the time you quitted Portugal. Your own extravagant
expectations are alone not realised." She spoke in a tone half of
banter and half serious,--"Come, come, my good cousin, lay aside, for
Heaven's sake, that tragic air, more suited to the stage than to private
society, and tell me to what cause I am indebted for this sudden visit
from one I thought was basking in the sunny smiles of the fair beauties
of England."
"Can you, Theresa, can you ask such a question?" exclaimed the young
Cavalier, (in whom our readers may recognise Don Luis d'Almeida,) with
grief and tenderness in his tone. "Does not your heart tell you that
you were the first person I should fly to see on my return to my native
land--that you were the magnet which has drawn me hither?"
"You do me too much honour," answered Donna Theresa, coldly; "but I
should have supposed your filial affections would have prompted you
first to throw yourself at your father's feet before you took the
trouble of paying your respects to your numerous cousins, however
intimate you may have been with them in your boyish days."
"Your words are but cold, heartless mockery to my feelings," answered
Don Luis, vehemently. "Have you so soon forgotten our mutual vows of
love and constancy, which Heaven recorded to stand as indelible
witnesses against either who should be guilty of perfidy? Have you
forgotten our troth, plighted in the sight of God, which none but
ourselves can annul, with his just curse on the one who causes it to be
broken? Were all my vows and protestations of love and attachment
looked upon as mere empty words, which the passing breath of summer
might blow away? Have a few months of absence served to wither what was
once so fair and lovely? No, no, it is impossible! Say, did you never
love me? Was I deceived from the first? Was my love considered but as
a plaything to amuse, till some more glittering toy presented itself to
attract your attention?"
"You overwhelm me with the rapidity and multiplicity of your questions,
Senhor," answered Donna Theresa; "I can scarcely comprehend your long
speech about love and constancy, and your violence frightens me.
However, I will make due allowance for the uncouth manners you have
acquired among the islanders, in whose territories you have been
travelling, and will try to answer you to the best of my abilities. I
certainly do recollect that, in our childish days, we were foolish
enough to make some absurd promise to each other, which I no more hold
as binding than any other act made by infants; besides, I have received
absolution for any such deeds on my part, though I do remember you made
a great many strange oaths and protestations, which I now consider
highly improper; therefore, pray let me ask you, Senhor, by what
authority you put these questions, not very complimentary, in truth, to
me?"
"Great Heavens! can you expect me to remain calmly before you, while I
listen to such words? You ask me by what authority I thus speak. By
your own expressions when we parted; by your last fond embrace; by my
own ardent, devoted love, which has not for one moment, by thought or
deed, proved disloyal; your vows, protestations, tears, and sighs,--
they, they give me authority to speak."
"Holy Mary, you frighten me with your vehemence!" exclaimed the young
lady, raising her hands to hide her countenance; "I thought you had more
wisdom than thus to make yourself appear ridiculous. Have I not before
said, that people, when they grow up, are not to be answerable for all
the folly and nonsense they may have committed in their childish days;
then why insist on what no girl of sense can allow?"
"Say no more, Donna Theresa, say no more," cried Don Luis; "I were dull
indeed not to comprehend your meaning. You have drawn aside the veil
which shrouded my eyes; for I had thought that an inconstant and
treacherous heart could not dwell within a form so lovely, so graceful
as yours; but now, alas! what a hideous spectacle is laid bare to my
sight! Donna Theresa, you have much to answer for to your sex. You
have been the first to shake my faith in the innate purity and virtue of
woman; for I supposed all who were so beauteous in form, must possess
natures equally fair and adorable; but from henceforth, for your sake,
can I place confidence in no one."
"Senhor, you are growing insolent," exclaimed the lady, rising from her
seat, with an angry spot on her lovely brow; "you presume too much on
our relationship and childish friendship, when you dare utter
expressions like these, which no cavalier should venture to make use of
before a lady."
Don Luis drew a step nearer, as if not understanding her last
observation. "It is impossible that I am really awake!" he exclaimed,
with deep passion. "A few fleeting months could not so alter Donna
Theresa's tender, loving nature, as to make her, with cold, callous
indifference, inflict so cruel, so bitter a wound on a heart which has
thus faithfully adored her. No no, I wrong her, I foully wrong her! I
wrong her gentle sex itself to suppose it possible. I see how it has
been--I have, during my absence, been maligned; my character has been
traduced, she has been taught to consider me false and faithless; a
wretch unworthy of a thought; but I will discover the slanderer, and
though I follow him through the world, I will punish him for his
baseness. Speak, Theresa, speak! say it is so, and relieve my heart
from the overpowering weight which is sinking it to despair; for then
may I quickly clear my fame, and regain the priceless jewel I have
lost!"
What woman's heart could withstand such an appeal? not Donna Theresa's,
surely. Indeed, it would have been more fortunate for herself and her
family had it been of a less tender nature. She appeared moved, as,
with a slight falter in her voice, scarcely perceptible to any but a
lover's ears, she exclaimed, "On no one, but on my own head, rests the
blame; and on me let your anger fall. I have wronged you, Luis; I would
have spared you this, but the time is passed for reparation, and my
actions are not in my own power; yet we are no longer children, that I
should mourn for the past, or that you should do aught unbecoming a man.
Pardon me, Luis, for my heartless treatment; but I will no longer
tamper with your generous feelings: my hand is pledged to another!"
Don Luis started as if an electric shock had struck him. "All is
finished, then," he exclaimed, "and my fondly-cherished hopes are
blasted! I will not reproach you, lady--I will not question you
further. May he who has gained your hand not find that he also is
betrayed." He stopped, and gazed a moment at her countenance. "Oh!
pardon, pardon me for such words," he cried: "no, I will not, even in my
thoughts, condemn you. For your sake I would have died; and, with my
life, I will still protect you against all who may wrong you. Theresa,
you know not what agony you have caused."
"Spare me, Luis, spare me," exclaimed his cousin. "I have told you that
I have no longer power over my own destinies, and therefore words are
thrown away. It were better for both that this interview should end;
and, when we next meet, let us forget the past. Farewell."
Don Luis started at that word, casting one long earnest gaze at her,
full of reproach and grief, which he could not repress. "Farewell,
Theresa; may the happiness I do not expect to find be your lot!" he
cried, in a voice broken with agitation, and rushed from the apartment.
Donna Theresa stood for a minute motionless, gazing in the direction her
young cousin had gone, while bitterly did her conscience condemn her;
but she was too proud, too firm in her resolve, to allow it to conquer.
For good or for evil her course was taken, and she had determined nought
should deter her from following it; yet the intensity of her feelings
almost overcame her, and it was some time before she could recover
herself, as she stood at the open window eagerly inhaling the fresh air,
till the return of her attendants. They had judiciously kept away; for,
it must be known, that in no part of the civilised world are Abigails
more discreet than in Portugal; and, when they saw a handsome young
cavalier rushing up stairs, whom most of them remembered as the
playmate, and latterly the ardent admirer of their mistress, judging
from their own feelings on such an occasion, they naturally concluded
the cousins would wish for a short time, to enjoy, uninterrupted, each
other's society. With most commendable consideration, therefore, they
lingered on their return; or, at all events, did not approach nearer
than the keyhole of some of the doors leading into the apartment, where
they became highly-interested spectators of the drama enacting within;
so that Don Luis gained, unawares, several warm advocates in his cause;
for all joined in deprecating their mistress's cruel treatment of so
handsome a cavalier, each one feeling that she could not have found it
in her heart to be so obdurate.
Volume 1, Chapter V.
It has just occurred to us, that our readers will begin to suppose we
design to make Don Luis d'Almeida our hero; but we must disclaim
intending to introduce any such character; though, were we writing a
romance, instead of compiling a history of the times of the great
Marquis, he might, very properly, be considered in that light; indeed,
we take great interest in his fate, for we cannot help sympathising with
the sorrows of one, whom the blind archer has treated so cruelly; and we
therefore omit many incidents mentioned in the voluminous manuscripts
before us, in order to describe his proceedings, which, retrograding a
little, we will now relate, from the time he landed with Captain Pinto
from the corvette. His first impulse was to hasten to the palace of his
father, the Conde d'Almeida; both longing to throw himself at the feet
of a parent he revered, and knowing that he should there learn where
Donna Theresa was residing. In his first hope he was disappointed; for,
on entering his father's hall, a solemn silence reigned around, and
everything wore a deserted and melancholy air. Instead of the
grey-headed porter, and the group of liveried menials, water-carriers,
idlers, and beggars, the maimed, and the blind, who usually throng the
entrance of every noble's house in Lisbon, his feet aroused three or
four hideous specimens of the canine race, who had thought fit to make
it their abode during the heat of the day, till they should sally forth
at night to join their brethren, and enact the part of scavengers to the
city.
Pedro's loud vociferations, after sundry interrogations from some one
above to inquire their business at the palace, at length brought down an
old domestic, who no sooner caught sight of the person he thought was a
stranger, than, in his agitation, letting his keys drop on the stone
pavement, he rushed forward, with outstretched arms, to fold his young
master in an embrace which lasted some minutes, now tapping him on one
side, now on the other; but Don Luis took it as a matter of course,
returning it with equal cordiality, till Pedro came in for a slighter
share of the old man's welcomes. He was next obliged to go through the
same ceremony with an old lady, whom the chirrupping voice of the old
major domo called down. Her grey locks were partly concealed by a neat
white handkerchief, fastened over her head, while another covered her
shoulders, below which appeared a gown of a staid, sombre colour, a
large black rosary and crucifix hanging down to her waist. To his eager
inquiries for the Count, his father, he could for some time elicit no
other answer than various broken exclamations.
"Oh, holy Virgin! oh, Jesu Maria! these are bad times, dangerous times,"
and they looked round cautiously to see that no one was within hearing.
"There is now one in Portugal who is each day becoming a greater
favourite of our lord the king, and who can do anything in the country,
who rules the holy Church, who rules the people, and who seeks to rule
the fidalgos also. Oh, he's a great man, doubtless, but he's much to be
feared. Well, senhor, it was only the other day that your father's
friend, Senhor Alfonzo Botelho, was arrested, we know not on what
account, and thrown into prison, and when the Senhor Conde, your father,
was exerting himself to the utmost for his liberation, and applied to
Senhor Sebastiao Joze de Carvalho, the privy counsellor to the king, it
was hinted to him that he might share the same fate if he interfered."
"What say you?" exclaimed Don Luis. "Have any dared to throw my
honoured father into prison?"
"Heaven deliver us from a like calamity," answered the old couple. "Oh
no, senhor, it is not so bad as that; but when the Senhor Conde came
home, he ordered his carriage and his horses, and the escudeiro, and the
other servants to be prepared, and set off the next day for the Quinta."
"This is indeed bad news you give me," answered Don Luis. "And I must
hasten away to-morrow to join my father: I have therefore no time to
lose in Lisbon. First, can you tell me if my fair cousin, Donna Theresa
d'Alorna, is residing in the city, or is she in the country?"
"Oh, senhor, the Senhora Donna Theresa is at present at the house of the
marquis, her father; but, alas! she is much changed from what she was;
for she never comes here now to spend the day; though, to be sure, she
has more to occupy her than formerly, for it is said she has become a
great favourite of the queen, and is constantly at Court; and that is
not a good place for young ladies, who are much better-employed staying
at home, and learning to work and to embroider."
"The dissipations of a Court will have no power to alter Donna Theresa's
heart," exclaimed the lover. "But now, my good Lucas and Senhora Anna,
I must hasten away, though I will soon return; for I have much to learn
and much to tell you."
"But you cannot think, senhor, of leaving the house without taking
something to eat," exclaimed the old lady: "you would die of hunger, and
you always used to have a very good appetite."
"All, senhor, do stay," added old Lucas, "and we will soon cook you up
something to please you."
"I am not hungry, I assure you, my good friends," answered Don Luis;
"and I cannot remain, but I will leave Pedro to recount all the wonders
he has seen, and the dangers he has escaped;" saying which, he hurried
off in the fond hope of finding his mistress fair and loving as ever.
How grievously he was disappointed we have seen; and he then remembered
Captain Pinto's warning and advice.
On rushing from the apartment of his false and fickle mistress, Don Luis
scarcely knew whither he was wandering. All his bright hopes and
aspirations were crushed and blighted at the moment he expected to find
them realised. A weight was on his heart, from which he felt none could
relieve him, and he believed that from henceforth the world for him
could have no happiness in store; but yet he recollected that he was a
man, and he resolved not to sink tamely under his cruel fate.
Now we opine that romance writers would have made their heroes act very
differently; they would either have thrown themselves, in despair, into
the Tagus, or flown to weary the live-long hours in deploring their
hapless lot, with groans and sighs, beneath the mournful shade of some
solitary grove; but Don Luis was of a very different character. In the
first place, he was too brave, and too much in his senses, to quit the
world; and he had been taught, and believed, that he had no right to
give up existence till summoned by a higher Power than his own will.
Nor is suicide a crime at all common with his countrymen: they live
under too bright a sky, and breathe too pure and elastic an atmosphere,
to wish to change them for the gloomy, narrow tomb. Had he been of that
disposition which delights to brood over grief in solitude, there were
no shady groves in the neighbourhood of Lisbon whither he could repair
to indulge his propensity, if we except a few orange and olive
plantations, where he would most certainly have been accompanied by a
rabble of little boys, to wonder what he could be about, probably
mistaking him for some actor rehearsing his part in a tragedy. To
return home was almost as bad; for he knew that he should be assailed by
the importunate, though kind, questions of his old domestics; and though
he had many relations and friends in the city who would be glad to see
him, he could not bring himself to call upon them.
Inaction, in the present state of his feelings, was dreadful to him,
yet, as he mechanically bent his steps towards his home, he found
himself there before he had made up his mind what course to pursue. He
was encountered on the steps by Lucas, who observing his young master's
agitated countenance, comprehended at once that all was not as he
wished. "These are sad times, senhor, sad times," said the old man,
"and I fear you found Donna Theresa changed with them; but don't fret,
senhor; come up stairs, and tell Anna all about it, and she will be able
to give you the best comfort; for she nursed you when you were a little
baby, and knows how to treat you."
The major domo's garrulous tongue reminded Don Luis that such was the
very thing he wished to avoid, and he was about to rush out of the
house, when another sentence of the old man's made him remain, "Oh!
senhor, I forgot to tell you, that Ignacio d'Ozorio is here; he came
with a message from your most reverend cousin, the holy Father Jacinto
da Costa, to the Senhor Conde, to say that he wished to see him on
urgent business, not being aware that he had quitted Lisbon; and when he
heard that you had arrived, he said he would remain to see you, and
that, perhaps, you would visit Father Jacinto instead of the Count."
"I will speak to Father Ignacio," said Don Luis; "where is he?"
"He awaits you in the drawing-room, senhor."
"Welcome back to Portugal, my son," said the Jesuit, in that calm, bland
voice, so universal among the members of his order. "I came here,
expecting to find your respected parent, but, as he is absent, I feel
confident my superior will be glad to see you."
"I trust that my reverend cousin, Father Jacinto, is not unwell?" said
Don Luis.
"His health does not fail him, nor his mind, though the latter is sorely
vexed by the attacks which are daily made against our order, and which
require all his energy and talents to combat; but on that subject he
will speak to you."
"I will gladly accompany you, and am ready this instant to set out,"
returned Don Luis.
"You know not, my son, the changes which have taken place during your
absence; for it is now dangerous to be seen holding conversation with
one of our order, so hated are we by the secretary of state, Sebastiao
Joze de Carvalho. I will precede you, and announce your coming."
After the Jesuit had departed, Anna and Lucas did their utmost to detain
Don Luis till he had eaten of the repast they had prepared; but
declaring that he had no appetite, to pacify them, he begged them to
reserve it till his return, and with hurried steps set out towards the
convent of which his cousin was the principal.
He had a considerable distance to traverse, through many narrow dirty
streets, up and down hill, till he reached the convent, situated in the
upper part of the city. It was a plain and solid building of stone,
suited to the unostentatious tastes and habits of its founders, whose
great care is, to avoid show or pretensions of any sort. He was
received at the entrance by one of the lay members of the order, who
informed him that the principal was at that moment engaged with a
stranger, and requesting him to wait for a short time, till he should be
at liberty to receive him, and conducting him, through several passages
and corridors, to a small apartment appropriated to the guest who might
visit any of the fathers, he there left him. If primitive simplicity,
and want of all outward decoration, were marks of peculiar sanctity,
this room might vie with any in holiness; for, except a few high-backed
chairs, of some dark wood, and a table of the same colour, with writing
materials, furniture there was none, the walls being simply whitewashed,
and the ceiling of chestnut, a wood much used in Portugal, particularly
in monastic buildings.
Don Luis, being left alone, paced the room with hurried steps, half
repenting that he had thus exposed himself--he knew not for how long a
time--to the company of his own bitter and agitated thoughts. There was
not an object within to draw off his attention; neither, at that moment,
would a picture of Titian's, nor a statue from the hands of Praxiteles,
have had sufficient charms to attract his observation. But at length he
reached an open window, which looked into a garden filled with
orange-trees loaded with their delicate-tinted flowers and rich fruit,
round the roots of which the gardener had just allowed to flow a rill of
water; and the grateful trees were exhaling their delicious odours, in
return, as it were, for the benefit bestowed, scenting the air far and
wide. So balmy was the air, so soothing the scent, that even his sad
thoughts yielded to the soft influence of kind Nature's gifts,--a
calmness stealing imperceptibly over his soul, and changing the whole
current of his thoughts. "How delightful would it be," he fancied, "to
rest, in a quiet seclusion like this, from all the cares and troubles of
the world, free from the anxieties and disappointments of love, the
fever of ambition, the intrigues of the Court, the scenes of strife
which rage beyond its walls! Yet!--No, no," he exclaimed, after his
thoughts had been quiescent for some time, "man was not formed for such
a life. How could I endure the seclusion and monotony of the cloister,
the fasts and penances, the routine of worship, the separation from the
gentler part of creation, false and fickle though they be?" he added
bitterly. "No, I am not formed for a life of seclusion and indolence."
How often he might have changed his opinion during the course of the
ensuing minutes, it is impossible to say, when the brother who conducted
him into the apartment again appeared, to inform him that the principal
was waiting to receive him. As he was passing through a long corridor,
a person hastened by him, whose features a gleam of the evening sun
lighted strongly up; but his conductor, taking no notice of the
stranger, hurried him on till they reached the door of a chamber at the
further end of the passage, knocking at which, a voice desired them to
enter; and the brother, making a low reverence, retired. No sooner did
the occupant of the room, in which the young noble found himself,
perceive him, than, with a bland and cordial manner, he rose from his
seat, and advanced to welcome him.
He was a man every way worthy of observation: his figure was tall and
erect, the height of his appearance increased by the close-fitting, dark
robes of his order, although he had already passed the meridian of life,
and age had sprinkled a few grey streaks amid his dark hair. His
forehead was clear, pale, and lofty, his cheeks were sallow and sunk in,
with scarcely any colour on his thin lips, which, when not speaking, he
kept firmly closed. His nose was aquiline, delicate, and transparent;
but his eyes were the most remarkable features of his countenance,
though they were sunk far in his head, of a grey tint, and of no
considerable size; but it was their expression, and the bright searching
glances they threw around, full of intelligence, which made persons
addressing him feel that he could read every thought passing in their
minds; and few but acknowledged to themselves that they stood in the
presence of a superior being. His voice, too, was melodious, though
powerful and manly; his enunciation rapid and clear, with a perfect
command of language. Such was the man whose unseen subtle influence was
felt by all ranks and conditions of people. But there was another
greater than he, though scarce his superior in mind or ambition, but
with greater boldness of execution, to whom, for a time, the force of
circumstances gave the predominance,--an opportunity which he failed not
to use to hurl his antagonist to destruction.
"Welcome, my son," he said, in a low, clear voice, as he led Don Luis to
a chair opposite his own. "Welcome, my young relation, to the land of
your nativity, though you come at a time of much anxiety and trouble. I
had sent to your father to advise him of certain circumstances which
have come to my knowledge, against which it is both his interest and
mine to guard in our respective estates. When shall you see your
father?"
"I propose to set out for the Quinta to-morrow," answered Don Luis.
"What! before you have seen your fair cousin, Donna Theresa d'Alorna?"
returned the Jesuit. "But why do I ask?--you have seen her already, and
the blow has fallen which I feared awaited you. I was aware of your
love for Donna Theresa, and that she at one time returned it, for your
interests have ever been dear to me, Luis; but I have since discovered
that she no longer regards you with affection; and I now know that her
hand is irrevocably engaged to another. Had I known of your arrival, I
would have saved you the bitter feelings of learning the truth from her
own lips; for well do I know how ill in youth we can bear
disappointment, which, in our more advanced age, when our passions are
cooled and our judgment is matured, we consider but of little moment."
"Nor age, nor philosophy could blunt the feelings of one who has loved
as I have done," answered Don Luis, vehemently. "I dreamed not that you
divined my love for my cousin Theresa; but since you know it, (for
otherwise I should not venture to speak to you on such a subject,) tell
me, Father, have I no hopes? Has she not been forced to accept the hand
of another? If so, at all hazards, I will rescue her from destruction.
None shall dare to tear her unwillingly from me."
"I can give you no hopes," answered the Priest, gravely. "She is
engaged of her own freewill: nor can she ever be yours; but I speak, I
know, to one of too superior an understanding to mourn for what he will
soon learn to consider at its true value, a glittering, a tempting, but
an empty bauble. What matters the loss of the love of a sex ever false
and uncertain?"
"Say not so!" exclaimed Don Luis, interrupting him; "say not she is
false--say not her sex is false! I alone am to blame for my own
wretchedness. I set my hopes of happiness on a cast, and have miserably
failed; and now what more have I to expect or wish for, than a speedy
end to my woes on the field of battle, or amid the ocean tempest?"
The Priest smiled, as he answered calmly, "Is love, then, the only
object of man's life? Are there not a hundred other occupations for the
mind? Is not ambition alone sufficient to employ his thoughts? Will
not power satisfy him? Does fame bring no satisfaction? Has wealth,
and all that wealth can give, no allurements? Say not, then, because
you have suffered this first check in the prosperous current of your
existence, that life has nought else in store for you. The antidotes
which I propose are sufficient to make you soon smile at your present
feelings as the effect of a youthful folly."
"You cannot convince my heart," answered the young man. "But should I
seek for consolation by the remedies you advise, at what can ambition in
this country aim? How can power be obtained? or how can I, with honour,
seek for wealth?"
The Priest, smiling, again said, "You speak as one who knows not the
world. I mean not the outward, material world, the common machinery
which moves the every-day actions of men: any coarse, ordinary being,
with a little cunning and observation, may gain sufficient knowledge of
that to accumulate wealth, and to guide his way free from danger amid
the throngs of his fellows. But I speak of the minds and passions, the
inward and intricate workings of the souls of men; of that accurate
knowledge of the past, and keen observation of the present, by which we
can foresee the future, thus to be able to determine exactly how mankind
will act in masses or as individuals, and stoically to look upon the
world as a vast chess-board, and its inhabitants as the chess-men, whom
we move without any volition of their own, as a player free from any
part or feeling with the senseless blocks; as well as to learn how to
gain a command over ourselves, and thus to soar above the passions, the
frailties, the vanities, and the folly of the common herd. Such is the
true knowledge of the world to which a philosophical mind and dauntless
soul may attain; and in such, my young friend, would I instruct you."
Don Luis remained silent with astonishment, while the priest keenly
marked the effect of his words. "Is this the man," he thought, "whom I
have regarded as the humble priest and confessor--the meekly-pious
minister of our holy faith? But how and where can this knowledge be
attained?" he said, looking up; "what means have I of learning the lore
you speak of?"
"Have I not said that I would instruct you?" said the Priest. "Within
the quiet precincts of these walls you may learn the first rudiments,
and within the pale of our order you may become a master in the
science."
"What! can you advise me to give up my title, my name, and fortune, and
to assume the gown of a priest?" exclaimed Don Luis, hurriedly. "I
expected not such advice from you."
"I advise you to do nothing rashly," returned the Jesuit, calmly. "But
yet, let me ask you, what are rank and name but empty sounds, though
often encumbrances to their possessors? And for your fortune, I grieve
to say, for your father's sake, that has greatly diminished of late, so
that, in truth, I ask you to give up but little, and offer you in return
power and knowledge--the true science of the knowledge of mankind, for
with us alone does it exist. Do I say exists? Alas! I ought rather to
say existed; for, with some rare exceptions, how few are initiated into
its mysteries! Their dull, sensual minds are incapable of comprehending
them; and they have thus failed, miserably failed, in all the ends for
which our order was instituted, by men as superior to those of the
present day as light to darkness. What a comprehensive, what a noble
and glorious conception was that of our great founder, and his immediate
successors, who even jet more improved and systematised his plans;--but
of that I will speak anon. I now speak openly to you, my young cousin,
more so than I would to any other not in our order; but I know that I
may trust to your honour not to divulge what I may say. I have liked
you from your earliest youth. I have watched anxiously over you, and I
have seen in you qualities which I would wish to cultivate, to conduct
you to high destinies; and I frankly confess that I seek to join you to
our company, as one fully able to elevate it again to its former
standard of power."
Few men can entirely withstand the influence of compliments addressed to
their mental superiority, and Don Luis was thus insensibly attracted to
listen to the conversation of the Father. "I fear that you would find I
did not answer your expectations," he at length said; "for I feel that I
am but dull of comprehension, nor can I even understand to what the
knowledge you speak of could lead."
"Is not knowledge confessed by all philosophers to be power? and for
what are all men striving through life but for power?" responded the
Jesuit. "For what purpose do kings make war but to increase their
power? and yet their utmost aim is to rule over the sinews, the bones,
the bodies of men, to extend their sway over the senseless earth which
they call their own. But how far, how immeasurably superior is the
power at which we aim!--we would rule over the minds of men--we would
bend their insane passions to our own will, and would make them, by
those means, the tools to work out our glorious projects. Hear me,
then, and learn the sublime idea of our founder, which, had he and his
immediate followers been succeeded by men equal to themselves, would
long ere this have been realised. His aim--how superior to the ambition
and vaunted glory of any conqueror who has spread desolation over the
fair face of the globe!--was to join all the kingdoms of the earth under
one sceptre, and that sceptre swayed by our hands; ay, by the humble
friars of the order of the mystical Jesus; and yet, far different would
it be from the power to which the Pontiff of Rome can ever hope to
attain. Ah! you think such aims cannot be accomplished; yet, look
around at every Court in Europe, and see how nearly we had once
succeeded. Scarce a sovereign whose mind was not under our direction;
and were it not for the dull, stultish understandings of those who have
been admitted into our order, our success might have been complete. But
they, alas! are beings so completely overwhelmed with the gross, sensual
passions of our nature, as to be utterly unable to comprehend the pure,
esoterical principles of our faith; and ignorantly interpreting, without
a key to the mysteries, the words they find in that volume, never
written to meet the eye of the vulgar, they fail in all the great aims
of our existence as an order. In this country they have still more
greatly erred, and, instead of securing friends, they have raised up
enemies. The whole body of the priesthood is against us; but their
united efforts we might despise, had we not a deadly foe in the person
of Sebastiao Joze de Carvalho, the minister of the king, whose dauntless
courage, boundless ambition, and the unscrupulous means he employs, make
him more to be feared than any who have ever yet appeared in arms
against us. So dull are those who are sent to work with me, that I
cannot make them comprehend the means by which alone they can stem the
torrent, or rather, turn it aside; nor is it in the power of one man to
do so; yet have I done much, and even alone, will I boldly strive for
the glorious principle of our constitution."--His eye dilated, and he
unconsciously rose from his chair, as with increased energy, he
continued--"and if I fail, and am hurled, as I most assuredly shall be,
to destruction, I shall have the consolation of knowing that I have
played for a glorious stake."
"Your words overpower me with astonishment," exclaimed Don Luis. "I did
not suppose such ideas could have been conceived by the heart of man,
much less by the members of an order whose quiet and unobtrusive manners
are their marked distinction."
"Trust not ever to such deceitful appearances as the outward manners of
a man," answered the Father; "a general, who would succeed against the
foe, must not show his position and strength. Luis, I have thus spoken
openly to you, far more so than to any who have not passed the threshold
of our order; for I would win you to enter; and I know that I may trust
to your judgment and honour; and were it not strictly forbidden, I
should not fear to confide to you all the mysteries of our admirable
institution. Ah!" he exclaimed, as his eye brightened, and a proud
smile lighted up his majestic features, "an institution based on such
firm, such true principles of philosophy, must live, though, for a time,
it may sink beneath persecution--though, for a time, through the
ignorance and obtuseness of members incapable of comprehending its
tenets alone, its aims may be perverted, and its power diminished, yet
the true word, the principle of its existence, will never be lost; and
when the world least expects it, when people are unprepared to oppose
it, will it spring up with power and lustre far surpassing what it ever
before attained. In countries the most liberal and enlightened will it
possess the greatest influence, by means of that very education of which
they boast--ay, even in that country from which you have just returned,
whose Church, through the absurd folly and neglect of its own ministers,
has become a mere cipher in the state, without a shadow of authority
over the people; yet does the true principle exist among a few sagacious
men, who will cherish it as the lapidary does a precious jewel, whose
value, when yet uncut, is unestimated by the common eye. The day will
arrive when all those who acknowledge the symbol of the cross will again
be joined under one ruling power,--the glorious aim of our order. You
deem me enthusiastic and visionary in my hopes, because you know not the
secret means by which we work. You know not how we become acquainted
with the intricate operations of the minds of all with whom we come in
contact, of all classes and religions. We learn the passions, the
frailties, the foibles of every one; and thus many, unknown even to
themselves, are our tools, and while they fancy that they are obeying
the rules of their own sect, are but working out our ends. The end with
us sanctities the means, and thus, to attain our objects, we consider
every disguise, every fraud, allowable. Know, also, that though our
open and avowed members are numerous, yet they fall far short of the
real strength of our body; for we have among the priests of each of the
various sects of the religion of the cross our secret brethren, who are
strenuously working for the great cause. Ah, you start! but the idea is
not new; and such was practised before that religion became known to the
world; and in that very country which boasts of possessing what is
called the blessing of religious liberty do we most strenuously work the
whole force of that intricate machinery, which was for years forming,
before it was brought to perfection; and thus shall we be able to laugh
to scorn the puny efforts of those who dare to oppose us; for even now,
in the seats of learning, in every university of the kingdom I speak of,
are the seeds sown which will, sooner or later, bring their fruit to
perfection. And it is among the young and pliant minds, while they
fancy themselves most secure, that we most easily work our way. But the
great assistants to our cause are the softer sex; for, by their gentle
influence are others won over to aid us, and we therefore spare no means
to gain them. We work upon their vanity; the tendency of their natures
to adoration; the feeling that they must lean for support on others, to
make them place their trust in us; and when such means fail, we win
their love: their passions make them subservient to us, and they become
our slaves for ever. But such license has been much abused by the baser
members of our order, who cannot comprehend that it is over the minds
alone of their flock that authority is given them, to gain which any
means may be pardoned."
There is no bait which has more alluring attractions than the idea of
possessing illimitable power over the minds of our fellow men; yet Don
Luis was not caught by it. And, although the Father was enthusiastic in
his hopes, he did not exaggerate the influence which his sect possessed
throughout the world; as for his predictions with respect to Britain, at
this day their great stronghold, we must examine well the principles
professed openly by a large body of the members of the Established
Church, encouraged by many of the highest rank in it, and admired by the
greater number of the young aspirants for the clerical profession, and
then let us judge whether they were well founded or not. But we wish
not here to discuss the subject, and have given merely the opinion of
one high in his order, as we have found it written, whose mind was
raised far above the vulgar aims of his associates.
Don Luis heard with unmitigated astonishment the doctrines which the
Father so boldly advanced; although, from the various societies in which
he mixed during his travels, particularly in Paris, where those
principles of false philosophy were generally discussed, which led to
the atrocities of the revolution, he was not quite so much startled as
most men of his rank in Portugal would have been; yet he was of too
generous, too unambitious a disposition to be thus tempted to grasp the
mysterious and potent sceptre presented to him.
"Father," he answered, gravely, after some minutes' silence, "my
ambition aims not at such power as you describe; and, methinks, few but
those who have from their youth been educated in your order, could be
brought to train their minds to forward a system which has, to the
uninitiated, too much the appearance of treachery towards their fellow
men; for as such I feel it, though, to you I speak with no disrespect,
and am grateful for the confidence you repose in me, which, be assured,
I will not betray; but I must endeavour to seek some other field for my
exertions than the one you offer."
The Jesuit looked at him sternly; it seemed, that an almost
imperceptible smile--it might have been a sneer--played round his mouth.
"I did not anticipate such an answer from you, Luis," he said, "but
thought you would take a more comprehensive and philosophical view of
the principles I have explained to you; yet, my wish being alone to
convince your understanding, I will not further press the subject,
though I feel assured you will, before long, learn to change your
opinion. However, for the present, my good cousin, I trust your mind
will be sufficiently employed on the reflections to which our
conversation has given rise, to make you forget the treachery and deceit
of Donna Theresa--qualities which, you seem to insinuate, belong
exclusively to our order. Now, let me tell you, that, in communication
with the world, all men use deceit; that it is impossible to succeed
without it; and that truth, as society is constituted, is utterly
incompatible with its customs. Indeed, the latter quality exists but in
one science, and that is in geometry: all else is false or
unsatisfactory. Talk, therefore, no more of deceit and treachery, for
the world, our very existence, is full of it, and you cannot avoid the
common lot." The Priest smiled, perhaps at his own reasoning, and
continued--"Now, my dear cousin, think of what I have said, and when you
return to Lisbon, we will speak further on these matters. In the
meantime, you must be the bearer of important information to your
father, which I have gained from an indubitable source. Learn, then,
that Carvalho is using every effort to crush our order,--so strong a
barrier to his ambition,--and, knowing that the nobles are our firm
upholders, he intends to weaken their influence in the state, by
bringing accusations of all sorts against them; when he will imprison,
banish, or execute all whom he fears. I have reason to think that he,
at present, suspects there is a plot hatching against him; but he allows
it to proceed, anxious to get as many as possible drawn into it, and,
amongst them, your father. Advise him, therefore, to remain quietly at
his Quinta; neither answering, nor, if possible, receiving, any
communications made to him, till he hears further from me; and when you
return to Lisbon, avoid intimacy with any one, for you cannot discern
friends from foes in these times. And now, my son, farewell: I expect
another visitor, and must not detain you."
"Farewell, most reverend Father," answered Don Luis, rising at the hint,
and respectfully kissing the hand held out to him. "I shall not easily
forget your conversation; and your advice I will bear to my father."
The tinkle of a bell summoned a lay brother, who escorted Don Luis from
the apartment, the Superior following the young man's retiring form with
his piercing glance. "He will yet be mine," he uttered, half aloud.
"He is wary and timid, and will not take the bait at the first sight;
but it is too bright and dazzling not to attract him at last, and he
will play round it till he is caught."
The door again opened, and another visitor entered, the Superior rising
and embracing him with every mark of respect; and, having led him to the
seat he had himself occupied, took one of humbler dimensions, while he
seemed prepared to listen attentively to the words which might fall from
the lips of his friend. He was a man far advanced in life, of a tall
and gaunt figure; his gown, of the fashion of the Jesuits, fitting ill
around him. His hair, only partially grizzled, though shorn at the top,
he wore (unusually for a priest) in long straggling locks, probably in
affectation, to increase the wildness of his extraordinary countenance,
which was furrowed and bronzed by exposure to the weather and burning
climes. His features were coarse, and thoroughly unintellectual; but
his eyes gave expression to the whole physiognomy: they were large,
round, dark, and lustrous, with a certain turn in them which caused
those who beheld him to suppose that they were glancing in different
directions. Every lineament proclaimed the fanatical enthusiast, which
the style and substance of his oratory fully confirmed.
Such was the appearance of the holy Father Malagrida, for he whom we
have described was that celebrated personage. "Pax vobiscum, holy
Father," he began, in a low, deep voice, though with rather a nasal
sound. "The spirit of the Blessed Virgin ordered me, in a dream, to
come to you, to consult you regarding the best means of preserving the
honour and glory of our order inviolate at this critical juncture; yet
think not that it was a common dream which prompted me, but a beatific
vision of the fair daughter of Saint Anne, in the form she wore before
she knew that she was to be the joyful mother of the King of men."
"You are favoured with partiality by Heaven, Father Malagrida," answered
the Superior; "and happy are you to rejoice in so great a blessing,
while I am left to grope my way in darkness, without any such signs of
Heaven's approbation."
"My prayers to Heaven, my fastings and castigations, my long and arduous
voyages, with all the perils of the sea and land, have not been thrown
away; and as a reward for my pious exertions, it has been given me to
see visions, and to prophesy events, even before the saints above know
them; ay, to speak in strange tongues the words of truth, even in such
strange tongues that none can understand them."
"You are doubtlessly highly favoured," answered his wary companion; "but
methinks a little less outward demonstration of zeal, at the present
moment, would have been more advisable, and you would yet have retained
your post as confessor to the queen, and enjoyed the lofty satisfaction
of leading her gentle soul to eternal salvation."
"Ah! that is the subject about which I would speak," answered Malagrida:
"most foully have I been thrust out of my office, and I would revenge
myself, or I would say it is the duty of our order to punish that
heretical, iron-hearted man, Sebastiao Carvalho, who has been the cause
of all the injuries inflicted on us."
"You speak words of wisdom, my brother," returned the crafty Jesuit;
"but how would you accomplish the noble end you have in view, so greatly
to the advantage of our holy religion, and the safety of our order?"
"I would stir up the people against him, as one hateful in the sight of
Heaven; I would call down the thunder of Rome upon his head; and I would
work upon the fears and piety of the king to recall those who have for
so long possessed the precious care of his soul, ere he delivers it into
the power of the prince of darkness in the person of his minister."
"But should the king refuse to hear you, and still follow the evil
suggestions of Carvalho?" asked the other.
"Then will I make him tremble on his throne!" exclaimed Malagrida. "The
nobles and the people shall rise against his unholy power, and his death
shall teach monarchs that our order is not to be trampled on with
impunity."
"Truly, my brother, the spirit of inspiration is on you," said the
Superior, casting a keen glance towards him. "And nowhere can our order
find a more zealous advocate."
"For that was I born; for that have I fought; and for that will I die!"
exclaimed Malagrida with enthusiasm. "Such is the spirit which should
animate all our order, and we should triumph, in the name of our Lord,
against all opposition which frail man can offer."
We need not detail the whole of the conversation, which proceeded for a
considerable time in the above style: the cool, calculating policy of
Father da Costa strongly contrasted with the wild enthusiasm of
Malagrida, upon which he worked, while the latter, at the same time,
through the ravings of madness, showed a shrewdness and sagacity in
worldly matters, where the interests of his order were concerned, which
did credit to the school in which he had been educated. When Malagrida
had retired--"Stubborn madman that you are," muttered the Superior, "you
are yet a necessary and useful tool in the hands of those who know how
to wield you, though alone you are like a scythed war-chariot, dragged
on by wild horses without a guiding hand, carrying havoc and destruction
wherever it appears."
Volume 1, Chapter VI.
At the time of which we write, the streets of Lisbon were, perhaps, the
most rugged, the most ill-lighted, the worst paved, and the most filthy,
of any city in Christendom. It is true lanterns were placed before the
shrines of the saints, at nearly every corner of the streets; but the
glasses of some had been sacrilegiously broken, and the pale lights
which glimmered from the rest served but to make more palpable the
obscurity of the other part of the way; indeed, it was considered often
a service of danger, by the wealthy citizen, to venture out without a
torch-bearer and several armed men to protect him from the bands of
marauders, who were constantly prowling about, and hesitated at no kind
of atrocity. Assassination and robbery were of nightly occurrence;
seldom, indeed, was the latter committed without murder; the system of
the ruffians being first to plunge their daggers into the bosoms of
their intended victims, and then to rifle them. Thus, although private
revenge often prompted the deed, as the murdered man was always found
stripped of his valuables, he was supposed to have fallen as a chance
offering to Siva, and no further notice was taken of the affair; the
faint cry of _Acad el rey_! [Note] as the cold steel entered his
unguarded bosom, was heard ringing through the night air, and the
trembling citizens, fearful of being subpoenaed as witnesses, or accused
of the deed, would keep close their doors, and leave the unfortunate
wretch to perish unaided, when timely succour might have saved him,
should the dagger, by chance, have ineffectually accomplished its work.
But few years ago, we remember returning at early dawn from a party,
when we encountered several persons, and two guards, standing round a
man on the ground weltering in blood yet flowing warm from a deep wound
in his side. A convulsive shudder passed through his frame, yet no one
attempted to aid him, the guards keeping every one off with their
bayonets, saying it was their duty to allow none to touch him till the
officers of justice had arrived to inquire into the case. The man was
then past recovery; but had aid been afforded him when first discovered,
he might probably have been saved; yet, surrounded by his fellow
creatures, he was allowed to bleed to death without a saving hand held
forth. If we recollect rightly, he had been an officer in the Miguelite
army, and had committed several atrocious acts; but had he been a
friend, the same would have occurred. But to return to earlier times.
It was then also the practice of the dissolute and idle young fidalgos
to range the city with bacchanalian songs, injuring and insulting all
they met; often on the slightest resistance, spilling blood, and
committing, indeed, every sort of excess, besides amusing themselves, in
their milder moods, with those practical jokes at one time fashionable
in England, and probably imitated from them. In his youth, it was said
that Sebastiao Carvalho had been a leader in one of the most daring of
these bands, when, to make his gigantic height more conspicuous, he
dressed himself with a white hat and shoes, driving all rival parties
before him. Being thus perfectly acquainted with all the mysteries of
the system, he had determined, now that he had succeeded to power, to
put down all disorders of the sort. Such was the state of Lisbon in
1755, and, as far as cleanliness was concerned, it was not much improved
in 1830; but since then, under the beneficial influence of a liberal and
more enlightened government, vast improvements have taken place; drains
have been formed; it is paved and well lighted, and as well patrolled as
any city in Europe, though not more so than the second city of the
kingdom, Oporto, through any part of which a person may walk at night
without the slightest fear of robbery, owing to a highly efficient
municipal guard.
Though there were doubtless many more important personages who figured
at that period, we must not lose sight of our friend Don Luis. It was
nearly dark when he issued from the portals of the Jesuits' College,
and, the distance to his own residence being considerable, night had
completely set in by the time he reached the lower part of the city,
when it occurred to him that it would have been more prudent to have
ordered Pedro to attend him. But his mind was too much engrossed by the
conversation he had held with Father da Costa, to think much of the
danger he ran; and as one strong poison will often prove an antidote to
another, so had the new ideas opened to his view banished for a time the
recollection of his own griefs and disappointments. He hurried on as
fast as the badness of the way would permit, through streets extremely
narrow; the houses being lofty, with many stories, their fronts adorned
with various figures carved in stone, and the upper floors projecting
beyond the lower, little light was afforded to the passenger, from the
sky, even when clear and spangled with stars, as it was at the present
time. He had already reached the street leading to that in which his
father's house was situated, without meeting any interruption, when,
having just passed a shrine dedicated to Saint Anthony placed at a
corner house, a small lamp burning in front of it, shedding forth its
pale light, like a sad epitome of the glorious illumination that pious
man spread among his much loved Lusitanians, his eyes, now directed on
the ground, to pick his way clear of the immundicities which strewed the
way, and now in front, in a vain endeavour to pierce the gloom, he
fancied that he saw on the white stone wall of a house close to him,
which the rays of the lamp reached, the shadow of a man, with arm
uplifted, in the attitude of one about to strike. His nerves were
fortunately well strung, his courage undaunted, and his frame well knit
and active to obey his will; but not a moment was there for thought, and
as the threatening apparition caught his eye, quick as lightning he
sprang round, ere a dagger, gleaming brightly, had time to descend, and,
seizing the hand which grasped it, wrenched the weapon from the power of
the cloaked assassin, who stood behind, and dealing him a heavy blow on
the face with the handle, laid him prostrate on the ground. The ruffian
was, however, not without support; for, at the same moment, a man sprang
across the street with dagger in hand, ready to avenge his comrade. But
Don Luis was not to be taken thus at advantage; for, retreating a step,
his own sword was prepared to receive the wretch on its point. The
latter, however, throwing himself back in time, fled a few paces, and
gave a shrill whistle, which was answered at several points, and three
men rushed forward with threatening attitudes and unsheathed weapons.
Don Luis was fortunate in his ground, having a wall with a projecting
buttress behind him, and an uneven pavement in front, the lamp of Saint
Anthony affording sufficient light to see objects around with tolerable
distinctness. He was, notwithstanding, obliged to exert his utmost
activity and skill to keep his assailants at bay, being happily a good
swordsman, an accomplishment even then considered a necessary part of a
gentleman's education. The clash of steel rang loudly through the
silence of night, but none put their heads out of their windows to
inquire the cause; and, Luis disdaining to give the usual cry for
assistance, was well nigh exhausted with his exertions, when, most
opportunely, a person, passing a neighbouring street, was attracted by
the noise, and appeared so suddenly on the scene of action, that the
bravoes had scarce time to turn and defend themselves.
"Fight on, gallant sir, for the honour of gentlemen!" shouted a clear,
manly voice. "Help here! _Acad el rey_! help, ye lazy citizens, to
drive away a set of cowardly rascals, who dare not face us man to man!
No matter, we might call till doomsday, and no one could come; so here
is at you, sir villains;" saying which, Captain Pinto, for he was the
speaker, redoubled his efforts to repel the marauders.
"Thanks for your aid, thanks, Captain Pinto," cried Don Luis,
recognising his voice; "I have but short breathing time to speak."
"Ah, my young friend, Don Luis, is it you?" answered the Captain.
"Back, ye villains, back!"
"Don Luis!" exclaimed one of the men, with an oath. "We have made a
mistake."
"No, no," shouted another,--"cut them both down--they must not escape."
At that instant, a broad glare of red light burst on the scene of
action, proceeding from several torches borne by a party who were
turning the corner of the street.
"Fly," cried the ruffians, "fly! or we shall be captured."
"You shall not get off so easily," cried the Captain. "We will teach
you not to attack gentlemen in this way in future." The men attempted
to escape; but Don Luis and his friend held them in check on one side;
while, on the other, the party with the torches, led on by a person who
seemed of distinction, rapidly approached. Making, however, a desperate
effort, they rushed past them, and were lost in the obscurity, except
one, through whose arm, Captain Pinto's sword entered, and brought him
to the ground.
The chief of the new comers, taking a torch from the hand of one of his
attendants, ordered them, in an authoritative tone, to seize the
disturbers of the public peace, and advanced towards the Captain and Don
Luis, on whom they were on the point of laying hold.
"Ah!" he exclaimed, "my good friend, Captain Pinto!--not yet tired of
fighting? I trust you are not injured,--and your companion?" he added,
holding the torch nearer Don Luis's countenance.
"Don Luis d'Almeida, my fellow voyager," answered the Captain.
"Ah, the son of an excellent father," observed the stranger; "I hope he,
too, is safe?"
"Many thanks to your Excellency, we are both uninjured," returned
Captain Pinto. "And my young friend, who was the first attacked, fought
as bravely as he did before the enemy."
"I am glad to hear it," said the stranger. "Brave men are more scarce
than cowards. Carry those men off to prison," he added, turning to his
followers, who secured the two ruffians who had been unable to escape.
"The affair must be looked into to-morrow. You, gentlemen, I will
accompany to your houses, for these streets are unfortunately not fit to
be walked by honest men, without guards and lights; but such things
shall be amended before long."
The stranger was a man of almost gigantic stature, and, as he strode
rapidly to the scene of conflict, his movements exhibited strength and
activity; the suit of dark cloth in which he was dressed, such as is now
worn exclusively at Court, setting off to advantage his muscular and
well knit figure. There was also a confident air of authority in his
words and actions, which betokened one who felt that he had a right to
command. "Come now, gentlemen, we will proceed," he said; and ordering
the torch-bearers to advance, the party moved forward, the guards
bringing up the rear with the prisoners, who no sooner saw into whose
power they had fallen than they quietly submitted to their fate. Don
Luis was at a loss to conceive who the tall stranger could be, and as he
found himself walking on the opposite side of him to his friend, he had
no opportunity of asking.
"All, Senhor Don Luis," he said, "you have lately been travelling, I
understand from Captain Pinto, in a country where such disorders as
these do not occur, and where a man may walk the streets at night, or
journey from one end of the kingdom to the other, without fear of losing
either his purse or his life."
"Scarcely so, senhor," answered Don Luis, "robberies are constantly
occurring even in the public streets; but the English have, in general,
an abhorrence of shedding blood, except that of their enemies."
"Ah, that arises from their not being able to purchase absolution at as
cheap a rate as do our countrymen," interrupted the stranger, with a
sarcastic laugh; "aided, perhaps, by a wholesome fear of detection, the
best preventive of crime. However, continue: it gives me pleasure to
hear accounts of England, a country I much admired, during my short
residence there; although, not having time to acquire the harsh language
of its inhabitants, I had some difficulty in becoming acquainted with
its internal arrangements. At all events, a person may travel on the
public roads without arms, or without fear of being robbed as here."
"Pardon me, senhor, such is not the case," answered Don Luis. "The
roads are constantly infested by men on horseback, who levy
contributions, even in the very neighbourhood of the capital, on the
unarmed traveller."
"Ah! I am glad to hear we are not so very much less civilised than our
old friends and allies, who are apt to boast themselves so much our
superiors," returned the stranger. "We have now arrived at your house,
senhor, and I will not detain you; but as I have many questions to ask
respecting England, I should wish to see you to-morrow morning at eight
o'clock, and till then, adeos."
"I regret that I cannot do myself that honour, senhor," answered Don
Luis; "for I intend to set forward at daybreak to visit my father, who
is in the country."
"I should advise you to defer your journey to a later hour," said the
stranger, in rather an angry tone. "I shall esteem your doing so a
favour," he added, more mildly, as if correcting himself. "You also
forget that you will be obliged to appear at the examinations of the
ruffians who attacked you. For the present, I will leave Captain Pinto
with you, who will perhaps accompany you in the morning. Adeos, Senhor
Pinto, till the morning, when I shall see you with your young friend."
Saying which, the stranger moved on, without waiting for an answer,
leaving the Captain respectfully bowing, and Don Luis much amazed, at
the door of the palace, at which one of the guards had loudly knocked.
After sundry careful interrogations from within, the door was unbarred
and opened. "Who is that man, who seems of so much authority here?"
eagerly demanded Don Luis of his friend, as they were admitted into the
hall by old Lucas.
"No other than Sebastiao Joze de Carvalho," answered the Captain; one of
the ministers of the king, "who does more work in a day than the other
two in a month, and has more brains in his head and courage in his heart
than all the fidalgos in Portugal put together. You will do well to
follow his request; for he is not fond of having his wishes neglected."
"In one respect I will, in requesting you to take up your abode here,"
said Don Luis, as they mounted the steps, preceded by the old steward.
"Of the rest we will consider; but I like not his authoritative tone."
"Well, I will set you the example of obedience, by accepting your
hospitality instead of returning on board my ship; and I trust you will
follow my advice for the rest."
Old Lucas now ushered them into a large apartment hung round with
paintings, and adorned with crimson hangings, much faded and moth-eaten,
it must be confessed; indeed, all the furniture wore an air rather of
past than present splendour, except on a table in the centre, where was
laid out a repast, which, considering it was intended for a single
person, exhibited a profusion of eatables, affording considerable
satisfaction to the worthy captain, though, as may be supposed, poor Don
Luis felt but little inclination for the good things set before him.
Much to the chagrin of the old domestic, who stood near, pressing him to
taste of the various dishes, and praising their qualities, he could
scarcely touch them. The old man, looking with a melancholy glance at
his young master, shook his head, thinking that some serious illness
must have attacked him. "Ah! this comes of going to sea, and wandering
in strange countries among heretics," he thought; "but his native air
and proper food will soon restore him to health. Come, senhor, a little
of this marmalade will do you good; it is of your old nurse's making,
and you used to be very fond of it once upon a time."
"Thank you, my good Lucas, I have already finished supper; but I hope
another day to do more justice to Senhora Anna's cookery. For the
present, leave us; for I have much to say to Captain Pinto."
The old man unwillingly quitted the room, with many a lingering glance
behind. "Ah! he is sadly changed from what he once was, poor young
gentleman! Oh dear, oh dear!" he ejaculated, as he slowly retired.
The hardy sailor, however, made ample amends to the viands for his
host's want of appetite. "Come, Luis," he said, "tell me how fared you
with Donna Theresa? Ah! I had better not ask; your countenance tells
your tale."
"Your warnings were but too just, and I have been miserably deceived,"
answered the young man.
"Do not make yourself unhappy; you will recover sooner than you expect,"
said the Captain. "Remember our voyage: dark clouds and storms for the
greater part of the time; and yet the sun burst out brightly, and we
arrived safe in port at last. Take my word for it, everything happens
for the best, and you may some day rejoice that you have undergone what
you now consider so great a misfortune."
"You have already prophesied too truly for me now to contradict you,"
said Don Luis; "but it is difficult to persuade a man that a bitter
draught is pleasant to the taste."
"I do not say that it is pleasant, but, with returning health, he will
be glad he took it," said the Captain, laughing. "Come, come, this is
our first evening on shore after a long voyage, and we must not be sad--
so here's a health to the fair ladies of Portugal, and I am sure there
are plenty of them, so that, if one is not kind, there are others who
will be so. That is a sailor's maxim, and I should advise you to adopt
it; 'twill save many a heart-ache."
"Oh! do not talk on the subject," exclaimed Don Luis, not relishing his
friend's principles; "I am not of so callous a nature."
"Well, we'll change the subject; and, while I am giving advice, let me
strongly urge you to call to-morrow on the minister. He is a man not to
be trifled with; and though he is a firm friend to those who please him,
he is a relentless enemy to any who venture to oppose his objects."
"But why should I fear him, I have no favours to ask, and he has no
means of injuring me?" said Don Luis.
"Do not confide in that," answered the Captain. "If you displease him,
he will find means of avenging himself when you least expect it. He
never yet forgave an offence. Though he is my patron and friend, and a
man with many qualities I admire, I know his faults, and they are
terrible ones. Pity is an utter stranger to his bosom, and the life of
man he looks upon as a thing of nought, to be disposed of at his
pleasure. While other men tremble with fear, his nerves are only the
better strung. I remember him when he married Donna Theresa Noronha,
the niece of the Conde dos Arcos, and a relation of the proud Duke of
Aveiro. Her relations all protested against the match, stigmatising him
as a low-born profligate, unworthy of their alliance; but he laughed,
and bore her off in spite of them, though they have vowed vengeance on
him ever since. But we shall see which will ultimately conquer; and,
mark me, every step he takes to power is one nearer to their
destruction."
"You describe a person whose friendship I would rather shun than seek,"
said Don Luis.
"There you think wrong," said the Captain, laughing. "He is just the
person you ought to make your friend; for he can be of more Service to
you than any one else; while, if you fail to win his regard, and make
him your enemy, you will find him a most dangerous one. At all events,
call on him with me to-morrow."
"Though fear of his enmity does not influence me, I will follow your
advice, my good friend, and accompany you, which I am also hound to do
after the service he rendered me to-night."
"It matters but little what your motives are, so that you follow his
wishes," returned the Captain.
We need not follow further the conversation of the two friends, which
lasted till a late hour, when at length, having arranged to call, early
the following morning, on the minister, they separated to their
respective rooms, Don Luis with his heart yet heavy, and his head in a
whirl of confusion, from the various and important occurrences he had
met with since his landing in the morning; indeed, it was with
difficulty he could persuade himself that he had passed only a few short
hours on the shores of Portugal, so great a change had taken place in
all his thoughts and feelings. At the present period of his career,
Carvalho made no attempt to vie in outward show with the rich and
luxurious fidalgos of Lisbon, his mansion being small, and his domestic
arrangements unostentatious; the guard at the door, who presented arms
as Captain Pinto and his young friend entered the hall, being the only
sign that a person of consequence resided there.
On giving their names, a servant, without delay, ushered the two
gentlemen up stairs into a small ante-room, where he left them for a
moment, and immediately returned, saying that his master would receive
them, when, throwing open a side door, he made a sign to them to enter,
and Don Luis found himself in the presence of his acquaintance of the
previous evening.
Carvalho, habited in his morning gown, was pacing the chamber, which he
evidently used as his dressing-room, while a secretary, at a desk near
the window, was busily occupied in writing according to his dictation;
the last few sentences he spoke being heard by his guests before he
appeared to remember their presence. He then suddenly turned, having
assured himself that his instructions were fully understood, and
received them with that frank and courteous politeness for which the
Portuguese are so justly esteemed, and in which he particularly
excelled; placing them on seats opposite to the one into which he threw
himself, in such a position that he might every now and then turn and
give directions to his secretary.
"I am glad to find that your foreign travel has given you habits of
punctuality and early rising," he observed; "customs I wish the young
men of your rank would more generally follow."