END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.

Volume 2, Chapter I.

In painting a true picture of times and events, we must introduce among

our figures the wealthy and great, the wicked, the wretched, and the

indigent, or we should present no true likeness of the world as it

exists; but we must also beg leave to bring forward a personage who was

certainly not wealthy or great; who vowed that he was not wicked, for he

performed his duty to God and man; who was not wretched, for he was

singing all day long; while he declared that he could not be indigent,

for he possessed abundance to supply all his wants, though, fortunately

for himself, they were very few.

This personage was a cobbler. Now, it is a curious fact, which no one

will venture to dispute, that, from the time of the cobbler who tacked

the bits of Ali Baba's brother together, as mentioned in the authentic

history of the Forty Thieves--with which we trust all our readers are

acquainted--to the days of the celebrated cobbler who lived in a stall,

"which served him for parlour, and kitchen, and hall," cobblers have

borne a strong similarity to each other, with distinctive qualities

separating them from other men, as can be proved by the above and

numerous other instances, both in all countries and all ages.

In England, a tailor is looked upon, not only as inferior to other men,

but actually to be of no more consideration than the ninth part of a

man: now, in Portugal, the same unjust sort of prejudice exists against

shoemakers; consequently, cobblers are considered utterly below all

notice.

Our cobbler, however, did not care one iota for the opinions of people,

whom, in his sleeve, he despised and ridiculed: "For," said he, when he

had collected a small knot of attentive listeners, "if, in England, as I

hear, they laugh at a tailor, and esteem a cobbler, and here they honour

a tailor and despise a cobbler; while in France, for what I know to the

contrary, they may admire both, and not think much of a hat-maker; and

if, in this country, no man will carry a load, while our next door

neighbours come on purpose so to do, I should very much like to know who

is in the right, and who in the wrong, and which trade is really

derogatory to the dignity of man? Mark another absurdity--how different

nations and people despise each other, when one may not be at all

superior to the other. When Jerusalem was a city of the Jews, I should

like to know who would have dared walk into it and scoff at a man

because he was a Jew? Here every one reviles that people. If a Turk

comes here, he is stared at as a savage and a heathen; and if a

Christian goes to Turkey, he is called an unbeliever and a barbarian--

now which is right, and which is wrong? Why should I, therefore, put

myself out of my way to follow any other trade than the one I like? I

choose to be a cobbler: it suits my taste. I can talk, sing, or

meditate at pleasure, while I mend shoes. What fools men are! The

statesman thinks no one so wise as himself; the lawyer considers the

soldier only fit food for powder; while the latter despises the

peaceable merchant; the merchant looks upon all in trade as beneath him;

and he who deals in silks thinks himself infinitely superior to the

vendor of leather; while they all join in despising the cobbler. What

fools, what fools men are! Why, I laugh at them," he would say, as he

wound up his discourse, at the same time indulging in a low, quiet

chuckle. These observations very much edified and pleased his auditors,

who, being of about the same rank in society as he appeared, felt that

such sentiments were their own; adding, on their parts, that all

distinction of classes was a most unjust arrangement. They would then

begin to discuss among themselves, whether they were not as well able to

govern the state as those who actually held the reins. When they got to

this point the cobbler laughed at them. He was fond of laughing at

people who talked nonsense. He thus laughed, in turn, at the greater

part of the world.

While we have been giving this long account of the character and sayings

of the cobbler, we entirely overlooked the main points to be described;

namely, his outward appearance, and when and where he lived. Our

readers, we dare say, expect to hear that he was an odd, little, crooked

old fellow, with a dirty face and unshorn locks; but we can assure them

history informs us, on the contrary, that he was once young--nor was he

now old; that he was well-made, and when he drew himself up, his height

was respectable; that when his work was done, and he had shaved and

washed, his face was as clean as that of any of his very numerous

acquaintance. From this description, it may be deduced, that his

appearance was in his favour; his colour was dark, his eyes were

piercing and jetty black, as was his hair, and that he had fine teeth,

and a long nose, rather hooked. Some, indeed, hinted that he was a Jew;

but, being a strong athletic fellow, with his long sharp leather-knife

by his side, none dared call him so to his face; besides, he was

constant at his devotions, and a regular attendant at all religious

ceremonies; none more devoutly kneeling and crossing themselves when the

mysterious and sublime Host passed by, borne under a rich canopy, in the

hands of a venerable priest, accompanied by monks and choristers

chanting forth hymns of praise, and preceded by some pious person

tinkling a bell, to give notice of its approach, that all, uncovered,

might bend in adoration.

No one knew exactly whence he came; but, a short time previous to the

events we have related in the former part of this history, he made his

appearance one morning with his stock in trade on his back, and

established himself in a deep recess in the wall of a large house,

directly facing the entrance to the palace of the Duke of Aveiro. He

set down his stool, threw a bundle of leather on one side, the

implements of his craft on the other, with a few old shoes, put his

lapstone on his knees, and began working away as if he had lived there

all his life.

He soon made friends with the servants of the palace: he mended the

footmen's shoes, charging them less, and doing the work better, than any

one else could have done; and next, one by one, the women brought out

their slippers or sandals; and for each he had a smile and a compliment,

or a piece of wit, in readiness: sometimes a moral reflection, if the

beauties of the dame he addressed had become faded by years, and if he

had observed her kissing with greater fervour the little images of

saints brought round from the churches, or more constant in her

attendance at mass than others. If the lady was young, with sparkling

black eyes, he knew exactly how to bestow his praise, and, at all

events, their feet were a sure subject for compliment. Considering the

small sums he charged, they could not but wait to pay him with a little

chat, while he was putting the last stitch or so into his work; for,

come when they would, so it was that a few minutes' work always remained

to be completed; and, as they did not complain, he did not correct his

fault, being thus enabled, in a quiet, confidential way, to learn all

that was going forward in the establishment. What he learned will be

detailed in the course of this history.

We have said that he had taken up his abode in a recess in the wall of a

house opposite the palace; but we do not wish to describe the house as

facing the palace, for it looked into a street running at right angles

to it; the recess being part of a doorway in the garden-wall, now

stopped up. This house was inhabited by a very rich merchant and his

family, most exemplary Catholics, who set a lesson of piety to the

community by their regular observance of all the ordinances of the

Church, and by their fastings and alms: yet, notwithstanding this,

people dared to point the finger of scorn at them, stigmatising them as

Jews and heretics, and longing to show their zeal for religion by

offering them up in that grateful sacrifice to the benign power, the

most holy Auto da Fe--thus to become sharers in their hoarded riches.

Whatever were their own private notions regarding the established faith,

they certainly suffered under the inabilities of the New Christians, as

those were called who had Jewish or even Moorish blood in their veins,

the term having origin from the following cause.

At an early period in Lusitanian history, we find that the Jews had

collected in great numbers in Portugal, and down to the reign of John

the First they had their synagogues and rabbins; indeed, in no country

in Europe did they enjoy greater prosperity, their wealth adding much to

the power of the kingdom.

In Spain, also, they had acquired considerable influence, till the reign

of Ferdinand and Isabella, when those pious sovereigns having driven the

Moors from their dominions, conceived that their duty to Heaven ordained

that they should depopulate the other half of the cities in Spain, by

banishing the Jews also. This idea, fostered by the avarice of some and

the bigotry of others, was put into execution, and great numbers of the

unfortunate refugees were received by John the Second on condition of

their paying a certain tribute, and quitting the kingdom within a

limited period, he undertaking to provide them with vessels to transport

them wherever they desired to proceed. The king's state of health

prevented him from seeing his orders put into execution, while the

captains and seamen of the vessels treated those who had embarked in the

most barbarous manner; keeping them at sea till they had entirely

consumed their own provisions, and then compelling them to buy of them

at exorbitant rates; so that those who remained in Portugal, fearful of

the like treatment, allowed the prescribed time to elapse, and thus

forfeited their liberty. Such was the situation of the Jews when

Emanuel began his reign, and generously restored them to liberty, for

which extraordinary benevolence they offered him, in gratitude, a large

sum of money; but he refused it, in the hopes of gaining their

affections by kind treatment, and converting them to Christianity. At

length, however, bigotry, and envy at their increasing wealth, caused a

loud clamour to be raised against them, and Emanuel was induced,

contrary to his own judgment, by the representations of his counsellors,

and the interference of the Spanish sovereigns, to order all, both Jews

and Moors, who refused to embrace the Christian faith, to quit his

dominions. A day was fixed for their departure, after which all who

remained in the country were to lose their liberty; but, as it

approached, the king, greatly afflicted at the thoughts of driving so

many of his subjects into banishment, devised a scheme which was

eventually of great benefit to the kingdom. He ordered all the children

of the Jews, under fourteen years of age, to be forcibly taken from

their parents, that they might be educated in the Christian faith, thus

gaining converts to the Church at the expense of all the laws of justice

and humanity.

"What a moving spectacle was this to behold!" exclaims the reverend

Father Ozorio. "Children torn from the agonised embraces of their

screaming mothers, or dragged from the necks of their affectionate

brothers and sisters, from whom they were to be for ever separated,

while the fathers sternly gazed, and cursed the perpetrators of deeds

they had no power to avenge! The city of Lisbon was filled with cries

and lamentations; even the spectators could not refrain from tears.

Parents, in the excess of their frenzy, were seen to lay violent hands

on themselves; many, rather than submit to the severity of the decree,

hurling their infants into wells and pits. Never was such tribulation

heard in Israel since the days of Herod the Tetrarch!"

No vessels had been provided for their transport, as had been promised,

and thus, when the day for their departure had passed, they again

forfeited their liberty. Thus harassed, they at length, to recover

their children and their liberty, affected to become Christians, the

king giving them every encouragement, so that the greater number lived

contentedly in the Portuguese dominions.

Though thus professing the religion of the country, it could not be

supposed that they could regard it with any fond affection, and

consequently their faith was ever looked upon with suspicion by the rest

of the inhabitants, particularly by those who envied their industry and

wealth: that hell-invented tribunal of the Inquisition taking every

means, on the slightest pretext, to subject them to its tyrannical

power. Many embraced the earliest opportunity of escaping to Holland,

England, and other free countries, where they could enjoy

uninterruptedly the exercise of their faith. Those that remained still

continued to intermarry among themselves, and, it was supposed, not

without considerable reason, to exercise in private the rites they were

forbidden to perform in public. Whatever, therefore, was their

profession of faith, none gave them credit for their belief in the holy

Catholic Church, but bestowed on them the distinctive appellation of New

Christians, which they retained at the time of which we are now

speaking.

The Marquis of Pombal, with that liberal policy which marked many of his

actions, finally abolished all such distinctions; but before he had

succeeded in doing so, King Joseph took it into his most sagacious head,

that, for the benefit of religion, there ought to be some sign placed on

all those with Jewish blood in their veins. He consequently ordered a

decree to be promulgated that all such should wear white hats.

The Minister remonstrated, but in vain. Finding reason ineffectual, he

pretended compliance, and presented himself to the king with the edict,

at the same time drawing out from under his cloak two white hats. On

the king inquiring the meaning of the joke--"Oh!" replied Pombal, "I

come prepared to obey your majesty's edict, with one hat for you and

another for myself," thus hinting the well-known fact, that the royal

family itself was not entirely free from the imaginary stain; the family

of the Minister also, it was said, having sprung from the stock of

Abraham, as are a vast many others. The king laughed, and gave up the

point.

On the death of Joseph, and the banishment of his Minister, when bigotry

and priestcraft regained their supremacy, the New Christians were again

subject to persecutions, and it is only under the present free

constitution that all difference has been finally, and, we trust, for

ever, abolished.

But we have wandered from our subject, and have, by nearly a century,

forestalled events. Our readers will exclaim, What has this long

account of the Jews, and King Joseph and his Minister, with the white

hats, got to do with the cobbler and his stall? _Spera hum

poco_--(which is to say, in Portuguese, "Stop a little," a very

favourite expression before all their actions, whereby they often lose

the right time)--we shall presently see; for if it has nothing to do

with the cobbler, it has with the family under whose walls he plied his

trade, for they were New Christians; many indeed affirmed that they

still adhered to the faith of their forefathers, and there were various

stories current respecting the performance of their ancient rites. It

was said, that when strangers were admitted to the house, there was one

room, of considerable dimensions, always kept closed, which was supposed

to be dedicated to the purposes of a synagogue. The vulgar believed

that, at the Feast of the Passover, they immolated a Christian child yet

unweaned; the origin of which idea was, of course, the sacrifice of the

Paschal lamb; and there were various other stories, equally absurd and

revolting, having less foundation in truth. However, Senhor Matteos de

Menezes and his family had escaped the power of the Inquisition: it

might have been by timely donations of no inconsiderable amount to holy

Mother Church, so that even the Grand Inquisitor himself could not doubt

the completeness of their conversion, and the purity of their faith.

Having given a full description of the locality of the cobbler's stall,

we may now go on spinning the thread of our history; and if some of our

readers complain that we have turned our mystic spindle too slowly, we

must beg their pardon, and assure them that we are about to progress at

a rapid rate, with scenes of the most thrilling interest, such as will

cause their eyes to ache ere they can lay down the book.

The cobbler was one day seated in his stall, hard at work, hammering a

new heel on to a shoe, at the same time thinking of the number of fools

there were in the world, and yet how few were aware that they belonged

to that class of creation; for, as we observed, our cobbler was a

philosopher in his way, and had he been born in the higher ranks of

society, he would have been a noted wit and satirist, laughing at the

follies and scourging the vices of his equals. But he found the follies

of the poor too slight, or too sad, to laugh at, and their vices more

the fault of institutions than their own, and beyond correction. Next,

he thought of the state of the nation. He saw a priesthood wallowing in

sloth, corrupted, bigoted, and abandoned to every vice; a nobility

haughty, ignorant, vicious, and tyrannical; a king weak, superstitious,

and profligate; a people sunk in apathy, and the grossest superstition,

without courage or intelligence to assert their rights. And he pitied

them; but he knew there was one man in the realm able and willing to

overthrow the power of the first, to crush the arrogant pride of the

second, to rule the king, to enlighten the people, and to give justice

to all; and he had long determined to aid his designs; for the cobbler

had more power than the world supposed, and he thanked Heaven he did not

belong to any of these classes. These thoughts had just passed through

his mind, when he heard a tramping of steeds, and looking up, he beheld

a cavalcade approaching, at the head of which rode the Duke of Aveiro,

accompanied by his handsome young nephew on one side, while on the other

was his equerry, Captain Policarpio, in earnest conversation with him,

heedless of the people who thronged the streets, the horses bespattering

them with mud and dirt, the attendants, also, taking a pleasure in

causing confusion and annoyance to all whom they passed. A youth, with

a basket of oranges on his head, was offering them for sale, when one of

the domestics adroitly managed to make his horse sidle against him. The

vendor of fruit, with a cry of terror, endeavoured to escape, when his

foot slipped, and letting go his basket, the contents rolled out on the

ground, over which the others trampled, with loud laughter at the

disaster, none deigning to make the slightest amends to the youth. Some

of the passers by stopped to assist him, for he was sobbing piteously at

his loss, but dared not complain.

Our cobbler saw the occurrence. "Take care, my masters," as he watched

the arrogant noble who had just reached his palace gates; "take care, or

you will discover, when too late to remedy your faults, that your days

of prosperity have passed away." No sooner did the duke enter the lofty

gateway of his palace, than the major-domo rushed down stairs to hold

his stirrup while he alighted, his young kinsman throwing himself from

his steed, without waiting for assistance, and the attendants bustling

about and creating more noise and confusion than was at all necessary.

"Why has the duke so suddenly returned to the city?" thought the

Cobbler. "I must watch and learn, for 'tis about no good, I am

certain."

It has just occurred to us, that we have never given our cobbler's name.

By diligent search through the vast pile of manuscripts before us, we

have discovered the important piece of information that he was called

Antonio, generally with _O Memendab_, or the Mender, added thereto. No

dignified title, certainly! but he was contented with it, and so must we

be; for we cannot anywhere discover what was his other name, if he ever

had one, which we deem problematical.

Several days passed before Antonio became much wiser as to the cause of

the duke's movements than on the first day of his arrival, though he

narrowly watched all his outgoings, and incomings, and also most

diligently questioned the servants who stepped across the street to have

five minutes' chat with him. The duke had just driven out, when one of

the lackeys, rejoicing in the name of Joze, was sauntering about the

hall, and having nothing to do, bethought him that he would honour the

cobbler with his society.

"Good day, Senhor Joze," said the Cobbler, as he saw him approach; "you

have pleasant times of it, with nothing to do, and plenty to eat, while

I must hammer, hammer, and stitch, stitch, all day long, to earn a few

_vintems_ to supply my food."

"You are right, Senhor Antonio, you are right," answered Joze, as he

leaned, with his hands in his pockets, a toothpick in his mouth, and his

legs crossed, against the wall; "we have a tolerable life of it; for,

except that the duke sits inside, while we stand outside, what

difference is there between us? and when the people take off their hats,

it is as much to our fine coats as to him. Then we eat the same food,

and drink the same wines as he does, only a good deal more of each than

he can, in which we have the advantage of him, and as for knowledge,

between ourselves, there is not much difference either."

"Ah! the duke is a good master, and blessed with good servants,"

returned Antonio.

"Why, as to his servants, I must not speak, as I am one of them,"

answered Joze, pulling out his ruffles; "but his Excellency himself--

whom God preserve--would be all the better if he did not beat us so

confoundedly when he is angered; but that is a trifle--it is his

privilege, and we must be content."

"You are right, Senhor Joze, there is no use quarrelling with one's lot.

What would be the advantage to him of being a duke, if he might not do

what pleases him?" said the Cobbler, plying his awl as if he thought

much more of mending the old shoe on his lap, than of the words he was

speaking. "He appears to be fonder of taking carriage exercise than he

was?"

"Oh! he is driving about all day," said Joze, "first to one place, then

to another; now to pay his respects to his majesty, then to some fidalgo

he never before thought of visiting. It is said that this change has

been worked by the influence of the pious saint, the holy Father

Malagrida, who tells him, that to be at enmity with his fellow-men is

sinful and wicked, and that he must reform his life, and be in charity

with all. To prove his sincerity, the last time it was my turn to go

out, we drove to the palace of the Marquis of Tavora, to whom he has not

spoken for years; but he craved forgiveness for some insult he had

committed towards him, and when they parted, they embraced in the most

affectionate way, the duke kissing the hand of the marchioness most

lovingly. Oh, it was quite pathetic to see them!"

"Oh, it must have been," returned Antonio; "and you say he has renewed

his friendship with several other nobles?"

"Oh yes, there was the Count d'Atouquia, who had never spoken to him

since he ran his brother through the body one night in a street brawl,

and now they are hand and glove: then he has written to the Count

d'Almeida, before whom he used to carry himself so haughtily, though the

count thought himself just as great a man as our lord. Then he paid a

visit of ceremony to the Senhor Silva, whom he has constantly passed in

the streets as if he was some commoner or plebeian; and he dined

yesterday with the Marquis d'Alorna, with whom he was on bad terms

formerly. We do not know what to make of it; and I should not think of

speaking on the subject to any one but a friend like you; but, to tell

you the truth, our opinion is, that there is some marriage about to take

place between the young viscount, our lord's nephew, and some lady of

one of these noble families, or perhaps his son is to be betrothed to

one of them."

"I have no doubt you have exactly hit off the truth," said the Cobbler,

nodding his head sagaciously; "but I would advise you not to talk about

your lord's affairs to people in general: to a friend like me it is

different; for you know the less said the soonest mended; but I am as

close as cobbler's wax," and he kneaded a lump of that composition in

his fingers.

"Ah! I know you are, or I should not be so great a fool as to talk to

you as I do," said Joze, sagaciously. "By-the-bye, have you heard of

the marriage about to take place between the young Marquis of Tavora,

who is a great friend of our young viscount, and the daughter of the

Count d'Alorna?"

"Not I," answered Antonio; "I hear nothing except what my friends like

to tell me as I sit at my work," and he strenuously stitched away at the

shoe on his lap.

As soon as the evening arrived, Antonio packed up his tools, and placed

them within the hall of Senhor Menezes' house, where it was his custom

to leave them, by permission of the servants, with whom it seemed he was

acquainted, though they seldom came out to talk to him. He then,

looking to see that no one observed him, repaired, after taking many

turnings, as was his wont, to his lodgings, which, considering his

apparent poverty, were far more respectable than could have been

expected. He there, throwing off his working suit with an air of

disdain, and washing his hands and face, attired himself in the garments

of a man of fashion, when, buckling a sword to his side, and throwing a

cloak over his shoulders, he again sallied forth in such guise, that no

one could have recognised in him the humble cobbler of the morning. He

now appeared a well-grown man of some thirty-five or forty years of age,

with large dark whiskers, and full black eyes, as he walked along with

an independent air, and perhaps a slight swagger in his gait, as if he

enjoyed his emancipation from his daily toil. He again looked

cautiously around, throwing the right side of his cloak over his left

shoulder, and hastily traversing several streets up and down hill, he

arrived before a mansion, at the door of which a sentinel was stationed.

He gave some name to the porter, who immediately allowed him to pass,

another servant showing him into an anteroom on the top of the first

flight of steps. "Wait here a few minutes, senhor, and my master will

speak with you," said the domestic, as he withdrew with the quiet step

of one accustomed to attend on people high in office.

"I have information that may be of great value," thought Antonio to

himself, as he paced up and down the ill-furnished room; "but the reward

may be proportionably great; and I would far rather confide in him than

in any of the miserable wretches who have crawled till now about the

Court, and have seized the high offices of state, their pride

overflowing with the thoughts of their bastard descent from some

profligate prince or mitred abbot of a few centuries back, since which

time they have had but little fresh blood to improve the stream." He

thought this, as we have said; for he was not one to give utterance to

what was passing in his mind: a door opened, and a man of dignified

carriage and lofty stature stood before him, in whose presence even

Antonio shrunk into insignificance.

It was the Minister Carvalho. "Ah! my faithful Antonio, you are ever

punctual to your time," he began. "Had I twenty such strenuous

supporters, Portugal would quickly again lift up her head among the

kingdoms of Europe." Antonio bowed, in acknowledgment of the

compliment, which he valued exactly at what it was worth. "But tell me,

my friend, what information have you collected lately?" added the

Minister, speaking quickly.

"I have seen much, and guessed more, please your Excellency," answered

Antonio. "In the first place, the duke returned suddenly to Lisbon, and

has since then renewed his acquaintance with various families with whom

he was formerly at enmity. Now, a man does not do so unless he is about

to repent of his sins, or, far more probably, unless he is about some

mischief. Then, Senhor Policarpio has been running about in all

directions, like his master, making friends with those whom he never

before deigned to address; though he is insolent enough to many over

whom he dares to tyrannise. The duke also constantly receives visits

from that mad Jesuit Malagrida, a professed enemy of your Excellency,

and from many others openly disaffected to your government; but I have

brought here a list of all those who have visited the duke; and here is

another, containing the names of those with whom he has had

communication at other places, as far as I can learn." Saying which, he

handed two papers to the Minister, adding, "With these your Excellency

will be able to form a better opinion than I can venture to offer."

"Ah!" exclaimed the Minister, taking the papers eagerly, and running his

eye over their contents. "Beware, my lord duke, or you will soon,

methinks, be in my power; and we shall then see if you dare to scorn the

lowly commoner. I see his aims," he continued, half speaking to

himself. "He hopes to gain our sovereign's ear, and then, with an army

of parasites, to hurl me to destruction; but I am prepared for his

machinations, and ere long he shall feel so. I must break the pride of

these arrogant fidalgos, or they will lord it over the king himself,--

base wretches, whose whole being is composed of avarice and the most

sordid selfishness, without valour, honour, or patriotism,--who care not

for the fate of their country, so that they can undisturbedly enjoy

their own luxuries. Ah, miscreants! I will overwhelm you when you

little expect it!" Suddenly stopping in his soliloquy, he seemed to

recollect that another person was present, and turning to Antonio, he

again addressed him. "The information you bring me is valuable, my

friend; but there is much yet to be learned. Continue constant to your

purpose, and you shall be rewarded highly: in the meantime, take this

purse. You have earned it well."

Antonio stretched not out his hand to clutch the gold, as many would

have done; but, unconsciously drawing himself up, he replied, "No,

senhor; pardon me, I seek not such reward. Freely, and of my own

accord, I have served you, and no gold would repay me for the days of

watching and drudgery I have for this purpose undergone. Because the

blood of Abraham flows in my veins, think not that I must needs be

avaricious. When I was in want of money, you gave it me; if I require

more, I will ask it; but such is not the recompense I seek. When the

time comes, I will demand my reward, and it will be such alone as you in

justice will be bound to grant."

Carvalho gazed at the speaker earnestly. "You have a soul above your

class, and deserve a higher destiny," he said.

"I may not be what I appear to the world, nor seek I a higher destiny

than is my lot," returned Antonio. "If I have your Excellency's

permission, I will depart."

"You are at liberty; I will detain you no longer," said Carvalho.

"Adeos, my friend."

Antonio bowed low to the Minister, who retired to his inner chamber;

while, as he found his way, unquestioned into the street, he whispered

to himself, "He will serve my purpose."

Volume 2, Chapter II.

We find ourselves so constantly recurring to Don Luis d'Almeida, that we

begin to fear our readers, particularly the fairer portion of them, will

soon get heartily tired of hearing so much about him; and, therefore, to

please them, we would, were we composing a mere story from our own

brain, effectually get rid of him, by carrying him into a dark forest at

midnight, amid a storm of thunder and lightning, when a hundred brigands

should rush upon him from their lurking places, and plunge their daggers

into his bosom; but that, by so doing, we should infringe the plan on

which we have determined, to adhere strictly to the truth of history.

We do not, however, feel ourselves called upon to describe minutely the

events of each day, and we will, therefore, pass over rather more than a

week, which he had spent in his father's society, when, towards the

evening, he was seated, in a listless humour, with a book in his hand,

on a stone terrace, overlooking a garden, stretched out below it. But

his eyes seemed to glance much less frequently at the pages before him,

than at the pure blue sky, or the bright parterres of flowers, the

sparkling fountains, the primly cut box trees, and the long straight

walks; though, even then, it seemed that his eye was less occupied than

his mental vision. But we need not inquire what were his thoughts;

perhaps, they were of the scenes he had witnessed in his travels;

perhaps of Theresa's falsehood; and there is a possibility of their

having been of the fair portrait he had so quickly taken of Donna

Clara.--A servant suddenly recalled him to the present moment, by

informing him that a holy friar, waiting at the gate, begged earnestly

to see him on some matter of importance.

"I will speak to him," he exclaimed, rising; and, throwing down his

book, he took his way towards the gate. He there perceived a figure in

the monastic habit, walking slowly up and down, and, turning his head

with a cautious look in every direction; and, as the person approached,

he was not long in distinguishing the features of the friar who had

played so very suspicious a part at the inn.

"Ah, my young friend," exclaimed that worthy personage, with the

greatest effrontery; "I have not, you see, forgotten either you, or your

requests. It struck me, that you very much wished to possess the jewels

you spoke of, so, from the strong desire I felt to serve you, I exerted

myself diligently to procure them for you. I hope that you have not

forgotten your part of the contract; for, though I should myself require

no reward, yet I was obliged to pay various sums to the persons who held

the property."

"I perfectly appreciate your feelings, reverend Father," returned Don

Luis. "Nor have I forgotten my promise. Where are the jewels?"

"I have not been able to bring them with me, my son, for weighty

reasons; but where are the hundred milreas? for though that sum is not a

quarter of their real value, the gentlemen who had appropriated them

have a predilection for hard cash."

Don Luis had good reasons for suspecting that the friar was deceiving

him, as he answered, "The money shall be forthcoming when you show me

the jewels; but, under the circumstances of the case, you can scarcely

expect me to pay you beforehand."

"Why, I confess that you have seen me in rather suspicious company,

senhor; but yet it is cruel to doubt the honesty of an humble friar. To

convince you of my sincerity, I have brought this ring, which I believe

belonged to the young lady you said had been robbed by those rascally

banditti."

Don Luis took the ring which the friar offered. "This, Senhor Frade, is

but a small portion of the trinkets I expected. It was for the recovery

of the casket I promised you the reward."

"I am aware of that, senhor; but I wish to show you that, though you

doubt me, I put every confidence in your honour; and, if you were not so

impatient, I would deliver the proposal which I came here to make. In

the first place, I beg you will keep that ring, as an earnest of my

sincerity; and, if you will trust me with the money, I will return with

the casket; but if not, the only way by which you can recover it, is to

follow my directions."

Don Luis considered a moment; but there was such a roguish glance in the

twinkle of the friar's eye, that he thought it would be folly to trust

him, and that he should probably neither see the casket nor his money

again, though he would willingly have risked a far larger sum for the

sake of recovering the jewels. Yet he wished first to hear what the

friar had to propose.

"I see how it is," said the Friar, laughing. "You think me a rogue in

grain, so there is no use concealing the matter; but I am not offended,

I assure you. Other people have thought me so too, who knew me better

than you do, till they found out their mistake, as you will some day:

however, if you had trusted me, you might have saved yourself

considerable trouble."

"Well, well, Father," interrupted Don Luis, getting rather impatient at

all this circumlocution, "let me hear your proposition, and then I shall

be able to determine how to act."

"You must know, then, my young friend, that this precious casket, which

you are so anxious to gain, is in the possession of a very holy and

pious man, an aged hermit, whose food is the roots of the earth, or the

nuts from the trees, and his drink the pure water from the brook," began

the Friar, speaking very slowly, and eyeing Don Luis, with a laughing

glance. "And thus it befell, that this holy man became possessed of the

casket. You know a hill, which stands about two leagues from hence, on

the summit of which is a chapel dedicated to our Lady of the Rock?"

"Yes, yes," answered Don Luis, rather impatiently, and vexed at the

friar's evident intention of putting his temper to the proof, "I have

often been there in my boyhood; but pray proceed with your story, if you

intend it to lead to anything satisfactory."

"Of course I do, my young friend," answered the Friar. "I was going to

tell you where the holy man resides, when you interrupted me. You must

know, then, that beneath the hill on which the chapel stands, there is a

cave, which has of late years been cleared from the rubbish which

formerly blocked it up, and has been converted into a very tolerable

habitation for the summer months, during which period this holy man is

constantly there to be found, as he is at present, or was when I was

there last, attending to the duties of the sacred edifice above. His

great sanctity, his prayers, and fastings, have on many occasions been

found to be of the greatest service, both in replenishing his pockets,

and in restoring those to health who have consulted him; but his great

forte is in saying masses for the souls of the departed, which have

double the efficacy of those of any other religious person, as he

constantly affirms, and no one can disprove, nor does any one dream of

disputing the word of so holy a man. I am now, senhor, approaching the

point which is of more consequence to you. You must know that the

comrades of the men, whom, as I am told, you killed in the forest, when

they attacked the fidalgo Goncalo Christovao, were tolerably well aware

that they had a considerable share of unrepented crimes on their

consciences; and that, consequently, their stay in purgatory would be of

rather long duration, unless great exertions were made to get them clear

of it. Now, most of them having a fellow-feeling for their unfortunate

friends, turned it in their minds how they could best contrive to

shorten their residence in that very unpleasant abode; and, at last, it

was agreed that they should engage the holy man I speak of, and of whom

they had all heard, to say as many masses as half the booty they had

taken would supply, at the lowest possible rate; for which purpose, they

laid aside the very casket you are in search of. Now, it chanced that I

was paying a visit to this holy man, who, I am proud to say, is a friend

of mine; and he showed me the casket, begging me to estimate its value,

that he might know how many masses he ought to say. I no sooner beheld

it, than I at once recollected your request; so I told him that, though

in Lisbon it might be sold for a larger sum, yet he would here be very

fortunate if he succeeded in receiving a hundred milreas for it,

particularly as I suspected it was stolen property; for which sum he

might say fully sufficient masses to get the souls of the departed

rogues quietly domesticated in the realms of Paradise. He agreed with

me, that, if it did not, it must be their own fault, for being so

desperately wicked, so that there could be no help for them. I then

told him, that if he would let me have the casket, I would return with

the money for it; but it is very extraordinary, senhor, that he objected

to do so,--not, of course, that he could have any doubts about my

honesty, but that the happiness of the souls in purgatory would be at

stake, if, by any chance, it was lost. I had no arguments to offer to

his objections, so I was obliged to give up the point; and I hastened

here to inform you of the discovery I had made, that I might either

return with the money, or allow you to go and fetch the casket yourself.

If you still persist in so unjustly distrusting me, senhor, if you will

visit our Lady of the Rock early to-morrow morning, you will there find

the holy man performing mass. Wait till it is over, and the people have

departed,--for the fame of his sanctity has collected many worshippers

there,--follow him to his cave, without speaking; when, if you produce

the money, he will restore the casket to you; then, without staying to

inquire further, return home. If, however, you will allow me to advise

you as a friend, add twenty milreas or so to the amount, to increase the

number of masses; for you must remember that it was by your hand the men

fell, though I do not mean to say that it was not their own fault; but

it will be charity well bestowed, as I fear they were wretched sinners,

and, do all we can, they must remain in purgatory a long time."

Don Luis listened to this long story with considerable doubts as to the

truth of the greater part of it, yet it was so in accordance with the

ideas and customs of the times, that he could not altogether discredit

it; he therefore answered, "I must thank you, Senhor Frade, for the

trouble you have taken in my service; and I beg you to inform your holy

friend that I will repair to his hermitage to-morrow morning, and will

take the amount agreed on to release the jewels."

"Then you will not trust me with the money, senhor?" said the Friar,

smiling. "Patience--I am not easily offended, and take it all in good

part; but do not forget the additional twenty milreas; and if you happen

to have a little spare cash about you to bestow on an humble and

indigent servant of the Church, I shall be thankful, and will not forget

you in my prayers; for I have come a long distance to serve you, and

have put more trust in your honour than you seem inclined to place in

mine."

"I will pay you for the ring, Senhor Frade," said Don Luis, who could

not help being amused at the imperturbable impudence of the friar;

"though you seem to forget certain incidents which occurred at the inn,

on my journey here,--not to mention others on the previous day."

"Now, now, you ought not to rake up old grievances," answered the Friar.

"It is not charitable; and charity is the first of Christian virtues,

you well know. Besides, you cannot deny that I have served you

faithfully."

"I will not refuse you," said Don Luis, bestowing all the silver he had

about him, "you argue so logically to gain your point. I trust that you

will not play me false."

"Confide in the honour of a Capuchin," said the Friar, putting his hand

to his heart. "May we meet again under happier auspices than those by

which we became acquainted; and, believe me, I am grateful for your

bounty. Adeos, senhor! It is growing dark, and I have a long way to go

before I rest; but an humble friar has nought to fear."

"Farewell, my friend!" said Don Luis. "I certainly have met none like

you."

"Oh, you flatter--you flatter," was the answer. "Do not, however,

forget your friend. Diogo Lopez is my name,--an humble one at present;

but it may become some day well-known to the world. Adeos, adeos,

senhor!"

Don Luis, without further parley, re-entered the Quinta, and, for some

minutes, he fancied that he could hear the quiet chuckle of the friar

echoing in his ears.

Early the next morning he ordered his horse, telling Pedro whither he

was going; and, putting his pistols in his holsters, with his sword by

his side,--for in those days nobody ever thought of riding, forth

unarmed,--he set off for the chapel of our Lady of the Rock,--not

forgetting the hundred milreas to redeem the casket, to which he added

twenty more, to be expended for the benefit of the souls of those

miserable men to whose deaths he had certainly contributed, though he in

no way blamed himself on that account. It must be remembered that he

had been brought up in a strict belief of the religion of his country;

nor had he in any way learned to doubt the main points of that faith in

which all those dear to him confided; so that he had full confidence in

the efficacy of prayer for the souls of departed sinners; nor do we wish

to dispute the point with those who profess the same creed.

The road he was obliged to take, scarcely deserving the name of one, was

so broken, and cut up into deep ruts, and covered with loose stones,

that nearly an hour elapsed before he reached the foot of the little

rocky hill on which the chapel stood. There, perceiving a lad sitting

on the top of a wall, "whistling for want of thought," and without any

occupation, he called to him, and bade him hold his horse, with the

promise of a reward, while he climbed up the winding rugged path to the

top of the rock. It was an isolated height, rising far above all the

neighbouring hills,--thus commanding an extensive view on every side.

The little chapel was built on the highest point, with a rude stone

cross in front, and surmounted by five tall pine trees, their taper

stems bent by the blasts to which they were exposed, without a branch

below their broad, ever-verdant heads. The chapel was a rough building,

of merely two gable ends, and a small porch in front, facing the west;

but the view fully repaid the trouble of mounting the hill, even had he

come without an object. To the south, over an undulating country,

covered with fields and pine-groves, he could distinguish his father's

house and estates; on the west, in the furthest point in the horizon,

was to be seen a thin bright line of blue, indicating the presence of

the boundless ocean; while on the north appeared the heights of Coimbra,

covered with its colleges, monasteries, and churches, below which ran

the placid stream of the Mondego, on whose willow-covered banks once

wept, with tears of anguish, the lovely and ill-fated Ines de Castro,

for ever celebrated in the immortal song of Camoens. On the east,

again, over a wide sea of pine-forest, which, indeed, extended on every

side of the rock, rose hill upon hill, and mountain upon mountain, till

the furthest ridges were lost in a blue haze.

Don Luis entered the chapel, which was, as the friar told him it would

be, filled with country people, some beating their breasts, others

kissing the ground, and licking up the dust, and the rest rapt in an

ecstasy of devotion; while the little altar glittered with lighted

tapers. The walls of the edifice were hung with offerings from the

pious; among which were seen, carved in wax, what were intended to be

representations of the arms, legs, feet, or hands of the human body,

those members having been cured by the miraculous interposition of our

Lady of the Rock, and the prayers of the holy hermit; these falling to

her share, while he appropriated whatever was offered in the shape of

money, observing, that such could be of no possible use to our Lady, who

was supplied with all she could require. There were also pictures of

her appearance in the bodily form, to comfort and assure her devout

worshippers. A priest, whose features Luis could not distinguish,

further than that he was an aged man, with a long flowing white beard

over his breast, clothed in his vestments, was performing the ceremony

of mass. It was, however, nearly completed; so, having knelt down, and

offered up a short prayer, he again retired, to wait till the people had

departed, in order to follow the priest to his cave, as he had agreed.

While he was standing and gazing at the lovely view, he heard a groaning

near him, and, turning round, he beheld a sight which might have caused

a smile on his lips, had he not rather pitied the unfortunate sufferers.

There were two old women, who appeared to have started together in a

race, on their unprotected knees, in which they were endeavouring to

make a certain number of circuits round the chapel, each strenuously

trying to get as close to the walls as possible, to save her distance.

A strong, sturdy-looking fellow soon after came out, and commenced the

same penance; but he very soon distanced his aged competitors for

absolution, quickly performing his rounds, at the same time vehemently

beating his breast. Perhaps his knees were hardened by habitual

kneeling in devotion; but Luis observed a most suspicious thickness

about them, which might have been caused by their recent swelling, or he

might have taken the precaution to pad them, suspecting to what his sins

would condemn him. He, however, gained the credit of zealous penitence.

Before this ceremony was quite completed, the rest of the congregation

came out of the chapel, and among them was a man whom Don Luis caught

eyeing him very narrowly, but, the moment the man saw that he was

observed, he disappeared hastily down the hill. Don Luis, therefore,

concluded that he was merely astonished at seeing a gentleman there at

that early hour of the morning. He had some time longer to wait before

all the people had quitted the hill, when, as he was still admiring the

view before him, he heard a slight noise, and his name whispered, and,

on turning round, he saw the priest who had officiated at the chapel

descending the rock by a steep path on the opposite side to that which

his congregation had taken. Luis directly followed him, when he saw a

signal for him to do so; but so quickly did the venerable person

descend, that he could scarcely keep him in view without danger of

breaking his neck, from his ignorance of the stepping-stones in the side

of the hill, with which his guide, from his unhesitating pace, seemed

perfectly familiar. He had proceeded about three-quarters of the way,

and had yet some of the most precipitous part of the descent to make,

when he perceived the priest, who had reached the bottom, after looking

cautiously around, proceed a few paces at the base of the rock, and,

again repeating his signal, disappear beneath an overhanging cliff. As

soon as Luis had likewise reached the bottom, he followed the same

course; when, as he was passing under the cliff, he again heard his name

called by a voice which seemed to proceed from the bowels of the earth,

and, looking earnestly in that direction, perceived a small cavity in

the side of the rock, but so shrouded by brushwood, that he might easily

have passed it several times had it not been particularly called to his

notice.

"Enter, my son, and fear not," said the voice: "nought but what is holy

is here to be found."

Luis, putting aside the boughs which grew across the entrance, and

stooping low to avoid striking his head against the rugged arch which

formed it, entered the cave; but, on first leaving the bright glare of

sunshine, his eyes were so oppressed by the darkness, that he could not

venture to advance, until suddenly a small flickering light appeared

before him, sufficient, however, to show him that he stood in a

naturally vaulted chamber, or rather passage, in which he might stand

perfectly upright, of some twelve feet in width, but of a length it was

impossible to determine, the sides of the jagged and unhewn rock, and

the floor, being covered with soft fine sand. In vain did his sight

seek to pierce beyond the twinkling light, but it served to guide his

footsteps, when it seemed to be in motion, and approaching him. He now

saw the venerable figure of the hermit standing a short way up the cave,

with snowy beard, the hair round his shaven crown and his eyebrows being

of the same silvery hue. In his hand was a small taper, which he held

before him.

"What seekest thou of me, my son?" he uttered, in the same low tones

Luis had before heard. "If it is aught which my prayers can be of

service to gain for thee, they shall, without intermission, be offered

up."

"In this case your prayers are not required, most reverend hermit,"

returned Don Luis. "I understand that you have in your possession a

casket of jewels which you are willing to deliver to me for a certain

recompense."

"It is the truth, my son. I have a casket, about which I was yesterday

speaking to that most holy and devout brother, the friar Diogo Lopez, a

man in whom the gifts of Divine grace shine most conspicuously, my most

particular and esteemed friend, yet one whose fair fame the tongue of

calumny has dared to slander; who has been accused of consorting with

robbers and evil-doers, even to sharing in the profits of their

mal-practices. Oft has he come to me, with tears in his eyes, mourning

his hard fate; and, in the hopes of gaining the favour of Heaven to

clear his fame, has he flagellated his back with the cord of repentance,

till the blood has flowed in torrents to the ground. Oh! brother Diogo

is truly a righteous man!"

"Your pardon, Father! I came to inquire for a casket of jewels, and not

to discuss the character of Fre Diogo; about which the less said in his

praise the smaller will be the chance of his actions contradicting your

words," answered Luis.

"You are severe, my son, you are severe on brother Diogo. But about the

jewels; now you recall the circumstance to my mind, I do recollect that

he told me that a young and estimable friend of his was anxious to

obtain them; and that he was to come here this morning, with a hundred

and fifty milreas, which he was willing to give for them, besides thirty

more which he was anxious to offer for masses to be said for the souls

of certain unfortunate men who were killed a few days ago."

"You are under a slight error with regard to the amount of the sum I

promised your respectable friend; but the hundred milreas I will give

when you deliver the casket, and I will, beyond that, offer twenty more

to be expended in masses."

"That is acting like a true fidalgo," answered the Hermit; "and I feel

assured that the souls of the brigands will be highly obliged to you.

Of course, I must have been mistaken with regard to the additional fifty

milreas; but age has somewhat impaired my memory, and I cannot doubt the

word of so honourable a gentleman. As you may, perhaps, be anxious to

gain possession of these same jewels, if you will follow me to the head

of the cave, you will find the casket on a little stone altar; there

deposit the money, with any further trifling donation you, in your

generosity, may be inclined to offer, take up the casket, and depart in

peace. With the casket you will find a sealed packet, to whom directed

I know not, never having been instructed in the profane art of reading a

written hand; my breviary, and the lives of the saints, having occupied

my whole attention. It was found within the casket; but being of no

value to those who found it there, they honestly gave it to me, and I

restore it to you. Follow me, my son."

Having thus spoken, the hermit proceeded up the cave for several yards,

when he suddenly stopped and placed the taper in a socket on the little

altar he spoke of; but by the time Luis had reached the spot he had

disappeared. Luis looked around in every direction, but it was

impossible to pierce the surrounding gloom, the faint rays of the taper

not extending to the sides of the cavern, by which he concluded it must

have considerably increased in size; so that the holy man was yet

watching him at no great distance, though himself invisible. The taper

cast its light on the surface of the altar, and on a small stone cross,

rudely carved, which surmounted it, a few rays alone throwing a faint

gleam on the roof above, from which hung down long and transparent

stalactites, the floor being here moist and slippery; indeed, a light

murmuring sound gave notice that a spring ran through this part of the

cavern. Two small steps conducted him to the altar, when he found that

the hermit had not deceived him, for there were the casket and the

packet. He opened the former, and letting the light of the candle fall

on the interior, it displayed a glittering collection of various

trinkets, such as were then worn by ladies; closing the case, he placed

it securely about his person, and then examined the superscription on

the packet. It was in a delicate female handwriting, and directed

thus:--"To Goncalo Christovao." Luis secured that also carefully in his

bosom; and then, placing on the spot from which he had taken them three

separate parcels of money,--two of the amount promised, and another of

ten milreas intended for the hermit himself, the very great holiness of

whose character he could not, however, help doubting,--he was about to

take the taper from the altar, with the intention of finding his way to

the month of the cave.--"Hold! impious man!" exclaimed the voice of the

Hermit; though, from what quarter it came it was impossible to tell.

"Take thy sacrilegious hands from off that candle, which must remain

till I have counted thy gifts. Retire the way by which you came."

Don Luis, though not particularly well pleased at this address, thought

it would be of no avail either to answer or to disobey the order; and

accordingly endeavoured so to direct his course as to reach the entrance

of the cavern, hoping soon to see the light of day streaming in from the

opening in the rock. Holding his sword in its scabbard before him, to

prevent himself from running suddenly against the side of the cave,

should he miss the right course, he slowly groped his way onward, but

had not advanced far when he found the value of his precaution by its

striking against the rock. He looked round, intending to take a fresh

departure from the light, when he found that it had been extinguished,

and that he was in utter darkness. He now felt convinced that some

trick was being played off against him, at the bottom of which he

strongly suspected was the holy Fre Diogo; though, had robbery been

intended, it might have been committed at once, without delivering the

casket or packet. It must be confessed that he was in a very

disagreeable position; shut up in a dark cavern, and, for aught he could

tell to the contrary, surrounded by robbers, or, at the best, in the

power of some daring impostors. He was inclined, as well he might be,

to be very angry; but he knew that losing his temper would not at all

aid him to get out of the trap; besides, utter darkness, such as

surrounded him, has generally a very soothing effect on the mind. The

ground on which he stood was still hard and damp, so that he knew he

could not yet have reached the passage by which he entered, and for some

moments he could not resolve to proceed, fearful of becoming more

confused, and of perhaps falling into some deep cavity, through which

the water he heard must find its way. He determined, however, if

violence was intended, not to be taken without a stroke for life;

silently, therefore, drawing his sword, he grasped it firmly in his

right hand, while with the scabbard he felt around on his left side. He

fancied that he could hear the breathing of some one near him, but, as

he swept his sword round, it met nought but the empty air. Now Luis

was, as he had often proved, possessed of as much of that quality called

courage as most men; but there are many who will face danger without

shrinking in open daylight, and when they see and know the strength of

their foe, who would feel very uncomfortable when shut up in the dark,

and not at all knowing what to expect, which was exactly his case at

present. His patience, also, was quickly worn out. "I beg, most holy

hermit, that you will not consider me like a mole, with eyes to see, or

claws to work my way out of this cave; but, as I am anxious to return

home, that you will throw a light upon my path to enable me to do so,"

he exclaimed, with some degree of anger in his tone.

"Turn, then, to the left as you face the rock, and you will soon see the

bright light which shines on all men alike, the light of day;" said a

voice at some little distance.

"If he does, he will plunge into the deep hole through which the stream

flows; his feet are close to it already," answered another voice.

"Then he is not where I thought he was," said the first; "but let him

turn to the right then, and he will be free."

"I beg you will finish this mummery," exclaimed Don Luis, "and show me

the way out of this place."

"Beware that you utter no blasphemy," said the voice. "Now, look more

earnestly, and you will behold the light before you."

At that moment a small flame burst forth, towards which he immediately

advanced, and found himself treading on the soft sand in the narrow

passage. The light was again extinguished, but in its stead he saw, at

some distance, the sunshine gleaming through the mouth of the cavern.

Glad to escape from the place, he was hurrying towards it, when a loud

noise resounded through the rocky vault, and he found himself again in

complete darkness, and could distinctly hear a suppressed chuckle of

laughter.

This was trying his patience too much. "Whether saint or devil," he

exclaimed, "let me go free from your abode."

"Blaspheme not, my son," answered the voice; "but your temper shall no

longer be tried; only, remember in future to cast no reflections on the

character of my esteemed friend, the holy Fre Diogo;" and a loud peal of

laughter resounded through the vault, whose echoes had no sooner died

away, than a door he had not before perceived was thrown open, and the

sunshine again streamed in, when he saw, standing on one side, the

venerable form of the hermit.

"Farewell, my son," said the latter personage. "My devotions have been

sadly disturbed by sounds of unwonted merriment, in which the spirits of

darkness have indulged, even as they did in the hermitage of the most

holy Saint Anthony. Ah! I see you were prepared to combat with the

weapons of carnal warfare; but those avail not against the inhabitants

of the infernal regions. 'Twas with his crosier and breviary, not to

mention the pair of red-hot tongs, that the great saint put to flight

the Prince of Darkness; and such are the weapons with which I fight. I

will detain you no longer: again, farewell, my son. Your shortest way

home is to mount the path by which you came here, and to descend on the

other side of the hill. Above all things, do not speak ill of the holy

Fre Diogo."

"Farewell, most holy hermit," answered Luis; "though, I suspect, if you

allow such proceedings in your hermitage, its character for sanctity

will be somewhat damaged."

"No fear of that, my son," said the venerable personage; "there is no

character in the world so quickly gained, or so easily maintained, as

that of sanctity, which is the reason so many people assume it who have

lost all claim to any other. Remember that, my son, for I have full

cause to know the truth of what I say. Now Heaven speed you, for you

are a good youth!"

With these words, the hermit retired into the recesses of the cave, and

Luis issued into the open air. As advised, he climbed up the hill by

the steep path he had descended, which he found far less difficulty in

doing; and crossing to the other side, he was happy to perceive his

horse quietly grazing in a field below, somewhat impeded in the

operation by the bit in his mouth, while the boy had gone to sleep by

his side, wondering when the fidalgo would return.

Luis roused the boy, and gave him a piece of silver, probably a larger

amount than he had ever before possessed, while he threw the reins over

his horse's neck and prepared to mount. The lad's eyes glistened with

delight, and in a moment he appeared to be brisk and intelligent enough.

"A thousand thanks, for your charity to a poor lad, senhor," he said;

"and I have something to tell you. Some time after you were gone away,

while I was lying down on the grass, thinking of going to sleep, some

strange men came up to your horse, and, without saying a word, took your

pistols out of the holsters, threw out the priming, and returned them

quickly back again. They looked so fierce, that I was afraid to say

anything; so I snored away, pretending to be fast asleep, and the men

directly afterwards went away; but I forgot all about it till you gave

me the piece of silver."

Luis immediately examined his pistols, and found that they had been

tampered with; then, carefully reloading them, and giving the boy

another piece of money for his information, he mounted his horse, and

regained the road, and had just done so when he saw a horseman galloping

along to meet him, in whom he was by no means sorry to recognise his

servant Pedro.

"Oh, senhor!" exclaimed the honest fellow, when he came up to him, "I am

delighted to see you safe and sound; for my mind misgave me, ever since

you told me you were going to meet an acquaintance of that rascally

friar;--Heaven forgive me if I wrong him;--so at last I determined to

take a horse and follow you; but now I have found you, it is all right,

and I hope you will forgive me my fears for your safety."

While Pedro was speaking, their path was leading them a little way round

the base of the hill; and before his master had time to answer, several

men sprung out from behind some large rocks, which lay scattered around,

and seizing their bridles, attempted to drag them from their horses.

Pedro, who was armed only with a thick stick, laid about him most

manfully, keeping the robbers, for such they appeared to be, at bay; and

Don Luis drew a pistol from his holster, threatening to shoot the man

nearest him; but the fellow only laughed, daring him to fire, which he

immediately did, and the man dropped. Upon this, the others, undaunted,

rushed on him with loud cries of vengeance, and before he could draw his

sword or use his other pistol, they grasped him by the arms, dragging

him from his horse to the ground. Pedro fought on some time longer,

proving that a good oak stick in the hand is better than a sword by the

side, and had very nearly succeeded in rescuing his master, when the

robbers, fearing that such would be the case, made a rush on him all

together, and pinioned his arms behind him.

The report of Don Luis's pistol had, at this juncture of affairs, called

another actor on the scene, whom Pedro, at all events, did not expect to

find in the character of a friend. This personage was no other than the

worthy Fre Diogo, who was seen rushing down the hill, flourishing a

cudgel very similar to the one he had used with such effect in their

service at the inn, and shouting at the top of his voice, "Off, off you

rascals! Is this the way you dare to treat my friends?"

He was quickly on the spot, dealing his blows with no gentle force on

every side, soon emancipating Pedro from thraldom, and driving off those

who held Don Luis. "How dare you, ye villains, attack a friend of mine,

who came to visit me, with my word pledged for his security?" he cried.

"I hope, senhor, you are not injured. Well, then, it does not matter,

and I see you have punished one of them. Pick up that fellow, and away

with you; for I see he's more frightened than hurt."

The men sulkily obeyed, raising their fallen comrade, who proved to be

only stunned, the pistol ball having merely grazed his head.

So quickly had these incidents occurred, that Don Luis had scarcely time

to speak before he found himself again at liberty; and when he turned to

thank his deliverer, he could not help being amused at his appearance.

The dark robes, the rim of carroty hair, and the red eyes were there;

but above the eyes were a pair of thick, bushy, white eyebrows. "The

venerable hermit!" he exclaimed.

"What, senhor, have you found me out?" said Fre Diogo, laughing. "Well,

don't betray me, or you will injure my character for sanctity, and 'tis

the last thing I have now to depend on."

"I should be ungrateful for the service you have just now afforded me,"

answered Don Luis. "Though, for your own sake, my friend, I wish it

were more justly established."

"Oh! that is a trifle, senhor,--I mean, the service I have done you,"

said the Friar. "What do you stand gaping there for, you rogues? Off

with you," he shouted to the robbers, who still stood at some little

distance, while Luis and his servant mounted their horses.

"Come, Senhor Frade, pay us for our work, then," answered one of the

men. "We came to rob this young fidalgo by your orders, and we won't,

go back empty-handed."

"Oh, you villains! you will ruin my character if you talk thus;--that

was to be if the young fidalgo was not charitable; but he has won my

heart; and remember, the man who injures him is my enemy. However, here

is more than you deserve," and he flung them the ten milreas Luis had

left for the hermit, on which each of the men made him a low bow, and

hurried away. Nothing abashed, he again turned to Don Luis. "You see,

senhor, the truth of the saying exemplified, that charity brings its own

reward. Now, if you had not been charitable, I confess the temptation

to rob you was very great; but when I found the amount of your offering,

I repented, and, as you see, came to rescue you. If you have a trifle

about you, you can repay me at once;--well, never mind, if you have not;

another time will do;--but don't say a Capuchin is ungrateful, that's

all. Now, farewell, senhor; we shall meet again, I doubt not. You will

not betray me, I know; and I am sure Senhor Pedro there will not, for he

is an honest fellow; and if he does, I shall break his head some time or

other. You had better make the best of your way home, and not encounter

those men, as they have not the same feelings of honour that I have.

Now, don't answer;--I know what you would say, that I am a rogue in

grain; but it cannot be helped... Adeos, senhor."

Without waiting for an answer to this specimen of consummate impudence,

which, indeed, Don Luis would have had some difficulty in making, he

again began to mount the hill, indulging in a loud chuckle as he went.

Don Luis and Pedro, however, followed his advice, though they could not

admire his principles.

"That friar seems to be a very great rogue, senhor," said Pedro, as they

rode home.

"Not much greater, I suspect, than many others," answered his master;

"only he certainly does not take much pains to conceal it."

We must apologise to our readers for occupying so much of their time

with this rather unromantic adventure of Don Luis's, and hope that his

character will not have been injured in their estimation by it.

He remained some weeks longer under his father's roof, without any very

important event occurring to him; and, in the mean time, we must beg

leave to fly back again to Lisbon.

Volume 2, Chapter III.

We find it chronicled in history, that, either on the 10th or 20th of

October, for the figures are nearly obliterated in the manuscript before

us, AD 1754, their Majesties of Portugal held a Beja Mao, or what is in

England styled a drawing-room, at which all the first fidalgos and

nobles of the land were expected to attend. The palace the royal family

then inhabited was very different to the one in which their august

successors now reside; not one stone of the former remaining upon

another to mark the spot where that proud building stood, every vestige

having been obliterated by that relentless and fell destroyer the

earthquake, and by the devouring flames it caused. It was situated more

in the centre of the city, in no way to be compared as a structure to

the present edifice, which, were it but finished, would be remarkable

for its grandeur and beauty; but, alas! it stands a monument of high

aims and vast ideas, but of feeble and unenergetic execution. But we

are talking of the old palace, which was, however, a considerable

building of highly-wrought stone work, the interior being richly

decorated with painted ceilings and walls, with gilt mouldings, costly

hangings of crimson damask and brocade, tables of silver inlaid with

jewels, besides tapestry and silks in profusion, and many other valuable

articles too numerous to describe.

Although so late in the year, the heats of summer were not abated; and

though for many weeks past the sun had constantly been obscured by dark

and unaccountable vapours, it at times broke forth with even greater

force than usual, as it did on the morning of which we speak, upon the

heads of a vast throng collected in front of the palace, to witness the

nobles alighting from their carriages of state. And, truly, the

carriages of that day in Portugal were very remarkable vehicles, such as

would most certainly collect a crowd, were they to make their

reappearance in any country in Christendom. They were huge lumbering

affairs, the arms of their noble owners being emblazoned on every part,

painted in the brightest and most glaring colours; but, as nothing

superior had ever been seen in the country, the people thought them very

magnificent, and the more they were covered with paint and gold, the

warmer were the praises bestowed upon them; indeed, it may strongly be

suspected, that if a modern equipage, with its simple elegance and

strength alone to recommend it, had appeared, it would have been scouted

as not worthy of notice, so generally are true merit and beauty

disregarded by the undiscriminating eye of the vulgar.

Those being the days when bag-wigs and swords were in general use, the

courtiers did not afford so much amusement to the spectators as they do

in front of St. James's Palace; the Portuguese Court having, with more

taste, changed according to the fashion of the times, not requiring all

loyal subjects, who are anxious to pay their respects to their

sovereign, to make themselves ridiculous, by appearing habited in the

antiquated and ill-fashioned suits of their grandfathers. There would

be some sense in masquerading, if every gentleman were obliged to dress

in the rich and elegant costume of the age of Henry the Eighth, or

Elizabeth; and it would also have the beneficial effect of keeping away

a vast number of penniless plebeians, who, on the day of each

drawing-room and levee, crowd the royal antechambers, to the great

injury of the ladies' dresses and the amusement of the nobles and

officers. But we are describing Portugal, and ought not to be talking

of England, and its many amusing follies and prejudices.

A guard of honour was drawn up in front of the palace; but their

presence was scarcely required to keep the peace, for there was no

shouting or disturbance of any sort. The young nobles were more

reputably employed than usual, being decked in their gala attire,

attending on their sovereigns,--the chief use for which they were

created, though they seem to forget it; while the people, untaught by

the patriotism of demagogues, to exhibit the liberty and independence of

man on every public occasion, by causing annoyance to the other half of

the community, as has been so successfully done in the present century,

remained quiet spectators of the scene.

We must now proceed to the interior of the palace, which was crowded

with the usual number of guards, pages, and attendants of various

descriptions. Two of the ministers of the crown had already arrived,

and paid their respects; the foreign ambassadors followed, taking their

allotted places in the handsome saloon in which the Court was held,

where also stood the different members of the royal family, arranged on

each side of the sovereigns. The King had just attained his fortieth

year, and was of good height, and that free carriage, which a

consciousness of rank and power rarely fails to bestow; but his features

were far from handsome, with no approach to intellectuality about them,

though there was just that degree of acuteness and firmness which taught

him to select and protect the only man in his realm capable of rescuing

the country from complete destruction. The Queen had but few personal

charms to boast of, being destitute also of those soft feminine graces

which are so often found to make ample amends for the more evanescent

quality of beauty. A haughty expression sat on her lips; her thin and

erect figure was rather above the middle height, the inclination she

made as her subjects passed before her being stiff and formal. Near the

King stood the Infante Dom Pedro, silent, grave, and stern, his features

dark and unprepossessing, a true index of his character, which was

bigoted, fierce, irascible, and sanguinary. Though in no way attached

to his sister-in-law, the Queen, he cordially joined with her in her

hatred of the Minister Carvalho, against whom he never ceased his

machinations; and though his plots were discovered and defeated by the

vigilance of the latter, it was more owing to his brother's clemency and

goodness of heart, than to any forbearance on the part of his enemy,

that he escaped the condign punishment he so well merited at their

hands. Near the Queen stood the young Infanta Donna Maria, a princess

equally prepossessing in appearance and manner, her eyes beaming with

mildness and intelligence, and a sweet smile wreathing itself round lips

which were never known to utter aught but words of gentleness. She

truly dwelt in the hearts and affections of the people over whom she was

destined to rule; and while to the rest of the royal family,

lip-service, with the cold and formal bow, alone was paid, as the

courtiers drew near her, the eye brightened, and the heart beat with

those warm feelings of love and respect which are ever felt by the true

and loyal subjects of her august descendant and namesake, of Portugal,

and by all who surround the throne of the young and beloved Queen of

Britain.

A drawing-room at the Portuguese Court, although formal and ceremonious,

was not quite so tedious an affair as that to which the sovereign of

England is obliged to submit; for none but nobles being admitted to that

honour, fewer people were present. It was also the custom of the King

and Queen to make some observations to those who came to pay their

respects, a practice which would greatly relieve the monotony of the

almost interminable line of bowing figures, who pass, like characters in

a raree-show, before their Majesties of England.

The King was standing, as we have said, surrounded by the royal family,

and the immediate attendants at the palace, the more public part of the

ceremony not having yet commenced.

"Where is Senhor Carvalho?" he said, looking round; "he ought, methinks,

to have been here before now; for it is not like him to exhibit any want

of respect to our person. Can any one say why he comes not?"

"We have not seen him, please your Majesty," said one of Carvalho's

colleagues in office; "though, doubtless, some affairs of your Majesty's

detain him, for no business of his own could make a loyal subject forget

his duty to his King; yet 'tis said that Senhor Carvalho spends his

leisure time in a way some might consider derogatory to the high office

he holds," he added, ever ready to throw a slur on the character of one

he both hated and feared. Those words cost him dear.

"Ah! Senhor Carvalho is, doubtless, a most loyal subject, and devoted

minister; but it is the interest of all political adventurers to appear

so," chimed in the Queen; "and if his zeal were to be judged by his own

protestations, he would assuredly be a paragon of perfection. But

methinks your Majesty might find, among the pure, high-born fidalgos,

some equally as zealous and able as this low pretender."

"No, no," answered the King, hastily. "Sebastiao Carvalho is no

pretender, but has truly at heart the weal of my kingdom, with a mind to

conceive, and a soul to execute, great purposes; and where is there a

man in Portugal to be compared to him, either in mental or personal

qualities."

"In talents he is not deficient, as he has proved, by working himself

into power, and of brute strength he possesses enough, certainly,"

observed a noble lord in waiting, who was privileged to say what he

chose; "for I well remember, in one of his drunken fits, some years ago

(I would rather not say how many) he broke my head, and nearly let out

life itself, by what he called a gentle tap with his sword. As for

talents, they were not discernible at College, at all events, except by

the quantity of wine he could drink, and the daring impudence of his

bearing among his superiors."

"Those are qualities in which plebeians most excel," added another; "but

in loyalty and devotion to a generous sovereign, who can equal the noble

fidalgos of the land? It is the one sentiment in which all combine."

"Perhaps he has first to pay his devotions at the shrine of his lady

love," observed the Queen, with a sneer; "yet we women might excuse him

if his gallantry surpassed his loyalty."

The King, never very ready with answers in conversation, found no words

to defend his Minister, to whose powerful mind his own had already

learned to yield, though he, as yet, neither loved him, nor put implicit

trust in him: his power, therefore, was held but by a frail tenure,

which the breath of malice might easily have destroyed. A few idle or

bitter words frequently weaken that influence which it has been the toil

of years in a statesman's life to gain; and such an opportunity as this,

the numerous enemies of the rising Minister who surrounded the throne,

were certain not to lose.

The courtiers now began to assemble, but the Minister came not.

Having taken a glance at the interior of the palace, we must return

again to the streets in the neighbourhood, now thronged with carriages

pressing forward to the one centre of attraction.

Our friend, Antonio, the cobbler, had given himself a holiday: not that

he was going to Court, though, as he observed, many a less honest man,

with a finer coat, might be there; but he was anxious to learn the

opinions of people on affairs in general, and he knew that he should be

able to pick up a good deal of information in the crowd, among whom he

walked, dressed in his gala suit, unrecognised by any as Antonio O

Remendao.