Volume One—Chapter Five.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 Sebastiaö Jozé 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, Sebastiaö Jozé 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 Sebastiaö Jozé 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, Sebastiaö 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.”
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 Sebastiaö Jozé 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, Sebastiaö Jozé 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 Sebastiaö Jozé 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, Sebastiaö 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 One—Chapter Six.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 ofAcad 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 Sebastiaö 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 Sebastiaö Jozé 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.”“I was anxious to thank your Excellency for the aid you afforded me last night,” returned Don Luis; “and I therefore seized the earliest moment to pay my respects.”“Ah! that reminds me that you need not be detained in Lisbon to appear as a witness against the ruffians. They did not intend to take your life, it appears, but mistook you for another person; however, a few weeks’ imprisonment will benefit them; and I conclude that you do not intend to remain long away from Court. The king looks with a jealous eye on those who absent themselves, wishing to see himself, as he ought to be, surrounded by his nobles, who seem often to forget that they but hold their rank from him, and that, at his pleasure, they may again become mere commoners.”“My movements will depend entirely on my father’s will,” answered Don Luis; “and, after my long absence, he will probably desire me to remain with him.”“Your father is a man I much esteem,” said the Minister; “and regret that some slight he conceives himself to have received should have driven him from Court; for I cannot suppose that he is tainted with disloyalty to our sovereign, which is more than I can say for some of the haughty fidalgos of the land, whose pride, by heavens! soars so high, that they seem to consider themselves his superiors; let them beware, or it shall be brought low enough.”The manner of the speaker for a moment became excited; but he quickly resumed his usual calm demeanour, as he continued—“Offer my compliments to your father, and say I must request he will not detain you long away, for I feel confident that his majesty will wish to give you some employment suitable to your rank, and the high talents I know you to possess.”Don Luis, surprised at the compliment, for he could not conceive how the minister knew anything about him, could only bow in return; nor was he particularly pleased with its authoritative tone, as coming from a man whom he had been taught to consider, on account of his birth, but of little consequence; particularly when he heard threats uttered against the class to which he belonged. The Minister, eyeing the young man narrowly, to observe the effect of his observations, then addressed a few sentences to Captain Pinto, during which time Don Luis, happening to look in the direction of the secretary, observed that his glance was fixed on him; but it was immediately withdrawn, the latter person applying himself studiously to his occupation; it was, however, sufficient to attract Don Luis’s attention more especially to his countenance, which he could not help fancying that he had seen somewhere before, and at no great distance of time. It was not probable that he had met him abroad, so that it could have been only on the previous day;—perhaps he had passed him in the street—for he possessed only an undefined, dreamy sort of recollection of the countenance;—when, on a sudden, it struck him that those expressive eyes and features were the same he had for a moment seen in the corridor of the Jesuits’ College. Yet it was extraordinary that a person employed by one who was a professed enemy of that order should have been found holding communication with them, and he felt confident that the secretary had either been playing false to his master, or deceiving in some way the holy fathers. However, he wisely, for the present, kept his counsel: determining, as in duty bound, to take the first opportunity of mentioning his suspicions to his cousin, Father da Costa, between whom and the Minister he knew there was no cordiality. He had just arrived at this conclusion, when Carvalho again turned to him, making many minute inquiries about his travels in England, which showed him, notwithstanding his declarations to the contrary, to be well acquainted with the laws and customs of that country. “Ambassadors,” he observed, “have less chance than any other strangers of learning the true state of a country; it is the interest of everybody round them to blind their eyes; and if they attempt to move about incognito, and alone, they are considered as spies, and every action is watched. In despotic countries, such as Austria, and I hear also in Russia, the matter is much worse; and I have heard of the whole country, by the borders of a road, being populated, and villages built, on the occasion of the visit of some distinguished personage, which vanished when he had passed by; though he went away with the impression that it was one of the most fertile and populous countries in the world.”The Minister smiled at his own story, as, in duty bound, did his guests, and Don Luis began to doubt that he could possibly possess the violent and sanguinary temper which was reported: he made many more inquiries, and seemed much pleased with the answers Don Luis gave; then, in the most bland, and courteous manner, informed him and Captain Pinto, that he would no longer detain them, begging the former to call upon him on his return to Lisbon. As they rose to depart, Don Luis caught the eye of the secretary again turned towards him, with a sort of inquiring glance, but he had no opportunity of observing further, as he was obliged to follow the captain from the room.As they were crossing a corridor, and about to descend the stairs, a young girl passed them, with light ringlets falling over her shoulders, and laughing blue eyes. In no way abashed at sight of the strangers, she bowed gracefully, and bounded on. “Who can that fair creature be who passed us?” asked Don Luis.“The eldest daughter of the Minister by his present wife, Donna Leonora, Countess Daùn, whom he married during the time he was envoy at the Court of Austria;” answered Captain Pinto; “she shows her mother’s Saxon blood.”“Yes, and her high birth,” said Don Luis: “she is very beautiful.”“Very,” was the Captain’s laconic reply.“You appear to have pleased Senhor Carvalho,” observed Captain Pinto, as they walked homeward; “I should advise you to profit by the advantage.”“Why so? he will probably soon forget me,” said Don Luis.“Indeed he will not. He takes an interest in your welfare, from a youthful friendship for some member of your family, who is no more, and from whom he received some deep obligation, which he would repay to you; and now you understand why he desired to see you.”Note. Hear the king!—a cry for help.
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 ofAcad 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 Sebastiaö 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 Sebastiaö Jozé 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.”
“I was anxious to thank your Excellency for the aid you afforded me last night,” returned Don Luis; “and I therefore seized the earliest moment to pay my respects.”
“Ah! that reminds me that you need not be detained in Lisbon to appear as a witness against the ruffians. They did not intend to take your life, it appears, but mistook you for another person; however, a few weeks’ imprisonment will benefit them; and I conclude that you do not intend to remain long away from Court. The king looks with a jealous eye on those who absent themselves, wishing to see himself, as he ought to be, surrounded by his nobles, who seem often to forget that they but hold their rank from him, and that, at his pleasure, they may again become mere commoners.”
“My movements will depend entirely on my father’s will,” answered Don Luis; “and, after my long absence, he will probably desire me to remain with him.”
“Your father is a man I much esteem,” said the Minister; “and regret that some slight he conceives himself to have received should have driven him from Court; for I cannot suppose that he is tainted with disloyalty to our sovereign, which is more than I can say for some of the haughty fidalgos of the land, whose pride, by heavens! soars so high, that they seem to consider themselves his superiors; let them beware, or it shall be brought low enough.”
The manner of the speaker for a moment became excited; but he quickly resumed his usual calm demeanour, as he continued—“Offer my compliments to your father, and say I must request he will not detain you long away, for I feel confident that his majesty will wish to give you some employment suitable to your rank, and the high talents I know you to possess.”
Don Luis, surprised at the compliment, for he could not conceive how the minister knew anything about him, could only bow in return; nor was he particularly pleased with its authoritative tone, as coming from a man whom he had been taught to consider, on account of his birth, but of little consequence; particularly when he heard threats uttered against the class to which he belonged. The Minister, eyeing the young man narrowly, to observe the effect of his observations, then addressed a few sentences to Captain Pinto, during which time Don Luis, happening to look in the direction of the secretary, observed that his glance was fixed on him; but it was immediately withdrawn, the latter person applying himself studiously to his occupation; it was, however, sufficient to attract Don Luis’s attention more especially to his countenance, which he could not help fancying that he had seen somewhere before, and at no great distance of time. It was not probable that he had met him abroad, so that it could have been only on the previous day;—perhaps he had passed him in the street—for he possessed only an undefined, dreamy sort of recollection of the countenance;—when, on a sudden, it struck him that those expressive eyes and features were the same he had for a moment seen in the corridor of the Jesuits’ College. Yet it was extraordinary that a person employed by one who was a professed enemy of that order should have been found holding communication with them, and he felt confident that the secretary had either been playing false to his master, or deceiving in some way the holy fathers. However, he wisely, for the present, kept his counsel: determining, as in duty bound, to take the first opportunity of mentioning his suspicions to his cousin, Father da Costa, between whom and the Minister he knew there was no cordiality. He had just arrived at this conclusion, when Carvalho again turned to him, making many minute inquiries about his travels in England, which showed him, notwithstanding his declarations to the contrary, to be well acquainted with the laws and customs of that country. “Ambassadors,” he observed, “have less chance than any other strangers of learning the true state of a country; it is the interest of everybody round them to blind their eyes; and if they attempt to move about incognito, and alone, they are considered as spies, and every action is watched. In despotic countries, such as Austria, and I hear also in Russia, the matter is much worse; and I have heard of the whole country, by the borders of a road, being populated, and villages built, on the occasion of the visit of some distinguished personage, which vanished when he had passed by; though he went away with the impression that it was one of the most fertile and populous countries in the world.”
The Minister smiled at his own story, as, in duty bound, did his guests, and Don Luis began to doubt that he could possibly possess the violent and sanguinary temper which was reported: he made many more inquiries, and seemed much pleased with the answers Don Luis gave; then, in the most bland, and courteous manner, informed him and Captain Pinto, that he would no longer detain them, begging the former to call upon him on his return to Lisbon. As they rose to depart, Don Luis caught the eye of the secretary again turned towards him, with a sort of inquiring glance, but he had no opportunity of observing further, as he was obliged to follow the captain from the room.
As they were crossing a corridor, and about to descend the stairs, a young girl passed them, with light ringlets falling over her shoulders, and laughing blue eyes. In no way abashed at sight of the strangers, she bowed gracefully, and bounded on. “Who can that fair creature be who passed us?” asked Don Luis.
“The eldest daughter of the Minister by his present wife, Donna Leonora, Countess Daùn, whom he married during the time he was envoy at the Court of Austria;” answered Captain Pinto; “she shows her mother’s Saxon blood.”
“Yes, and her high birth,” said Don Luis: “she is very beautiful.”
“Very,” was the Captain’s laconic reply.
“You appear to have pleased Senhor Carvalho,” observed Captain Pinto, as they walked homeward; “I should advise you to profit by the advantage.”
“Why so? he will probably soon forget me,” said Don Luis.
“Indeed he will not. He takes an interest in your welfare, from a youthful friendship for some member of your family, who is no more, and from whom he received some deep obligation, which he would repay to you; and now you understand why he desired to see you.”
Note. Hear the king!—a cry for help.