The Prime Minister
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To return to the revolt at Oporto. The Jesuits were accused of being the instigators even of this transaction; but we, although no friends of theirs, as may have been guessed, acquit them completely of having had any share in the affair. By an unsuccessful rebellion they could have gained nothing, and must have been aware that such would only strengthen the power of the Minister. We feel assured, therefore, that they were innocent of this charge; nor was it at all in accordance with their usual mode of proceeding: they would have acted far more cautiously and sensibly, so that nothing might be attempted without an almost certain confidence of success. However, the old proverb, “Give a dog a bad name,” was fully exemplified in their case, and every disturbance in the country was imputed to them. We think that, in many respects, they were very hardly used; and we might as well suppose that the followers of the new Bible (which a foreigner told us we English heretics had lately published, called the Oxford Tracts,) were guilty of the riots in Wales, as that they would have excited people to open rebellion. The past had, and the present have, a very different aim in view: they seek not to overthrow dynasties, but to establish their power on the weakness and folly of their fellow-men; they wish to hide the gold, that their own base alloy may be taken as genuine ore. While pretending to point out the narrow path to heaven, they, like the cunning fowler, lead their fascinated admirers into their own well-constructed decoys; – more narrow and narrow grows the way, with many a twist and turn, till at length they cast their nets, from whose meshes there is no escape.
Now, it is very far from our wish to speak disrespectfully of the Church of Rome, or in any way to decry it. On the contrary, we cannot conceive an establishment more admirably adapted for every purpose of untrammelled government. It at once puts a stop to all doubts or discussions, pointing out so exactly what people ought to believe, that they have no further trouble on the subject. As when men have learnt to submit in one way, they generally do so in another, were we a sovereign desirous of absolute power, we should prefer it as the religion of the state, and then, keeping its ministers our friends, we should, if we pleased, be able to govern with the most despotic rule.
We esteem many of the ministers of that Church, and if they attempt to convert us to their opinions, we feel that they are but performing their duty: we do not blame them, because they exercise the power which has been confided to them by their superiors; nor do we blame its followers that they practise what they have been taught; but we are called on to exhibit in their true colours those who, urged on by the lust of power, strive to revive a long-disused engine of authority; disused not through forgetfulness of its existence, but from a general conviction of its pernicious effects, from all men being persuaded that it defeated the purposes of true religion.
We, while residing in Portugal, where the Order of Jesus is no longer tolerated, often hear the opinion of those who see clearly what is going forward in our own country. “Ah!” they exclaim, “you will soon become as good Romanists as we are. You have some clever Jesuits among you already, – both open and concealed ones too.”
These observations may, perhaps, make some men look into their own hearts, and examine their motives; for the thought of power is very captivating. We would fain save a few birds from the fowlers, and we may trust that some who read this work will be warned in time to avoid those snares, the very first consequence of which is the abject slavery of the mind, – an imprisonment (so cunningly devised, and so strong are the meshes formed) which few are able to break through, – whose captives are ever debarred from the enjoyment of thought, and the light of truth.
From what we have said, we doubt not we shall be accused by one class to which we allude, of being sneerers and revilers at religion; such always is the fate of those who would exhibit existing abuses in their true colours, and who would endeavour to draw out and expose the falsehood from among the truth, in which it may have been shrouded. Let them hurl their anathemas on our heads; they will fall innoxious on our helmet of rectitude. We revere religion, but we detest tyranny and superstition, nor shall we ever cease to strive against both one and the other. But we must not allow ourselves to be carried away by a subject, in which we are so deeply interested, though one scarcely suited to a work of the nature of a romance; we may, however, trust, that while the eye wanders over these pages, in search of amusement, a warning lesson may be received, to beware of concealed Jesuits, who, filling our ears with their sophistries, would persuade us to submit to their power.
We must now return to the current of our story, from which we have so widely wandered. For some time previous to the anniversary of the dreadful catastrophe we have described, various people appeared in and about the neighbourhood of Lisbon, assuming the characters of prophets, and foretelling the final destruction of the city on that day. One of the first who uttered these predictions was the holy Father Malagrida. He probably placed full confidence in them himself; they either being the work of his own distempered brain, or having been put into his head by others for their own purposes.
Whoever was the originator of the deceit, he was the chief promulgator of it, while many others, perfectly aware of its want of foundation, repeated it, in the hopes of driving the frightened citizens from their habitations, while they would be enabled to plunder, without apprehension of any interruption to their proceedings. Such we find the case in the present day: a madman leads fools, and knaves follow, to prey on their folly.
Malagrida had chosen for the scene of his oratory the ruins of a church outside Lisbon, where he had collected a large assemblage of people, women and children predominating, and idle ragamuffins, who were glad of any excuse to escape from toil: there were others also, of all classes of citizens, who were listening to the insane ravings of blasphemy proceeding from his lips.
“Fly from the city of destruction, all ye who would be saved!” he exclaimed. “Escape, ere the crimes of your impious rulers be visited on your heads. Once have ye been warned, and ye would not listen to the warning; – this is the last time that I will speak to ye, – this is the last time that ye shall hear my voice; for the wicked have risen up against the prophets of heaven, their hearts have been hardened, and they have sworn deadly enmity to the true ministers of the Church. Fly, then, from among the despisers of the faith, leave them to the vengeance which shall overtake those whom the Lord has marked for destruction. He who, in self-confidence, vaunts so proudly of his power, shall be brought low; for fire shall rain down on the haughty head of the persecutor of the faithful.”
The prophet had for some time run on in this strain, when suddenly a body of guards appeared among the crowd. Two of them advanced, and, placing themselves on each side of him, informed him that his presence was required elsewhere.
“Begone! ye myrmidons of the man of sin, and answer that I come not at his call,” he exclaimed in a loud voice. “Begone! I fear ye not.”
The men, however, paid no attention to his orders; but, seizing his arms, attempted to drag him forward. Their efforts, however, were vain; for, shaking them off with a powerful exertion, he continued his discourse regardless of their presence. Again they seized him, when a cry arose among the people, who seemed inclined to hasten to his rescue; but the customary obedience to which the Minister had subjected them, checked them, and the remainder of the soldiers advancing, completely surrounded him.
“Down with the tyrant, who would overthrow our religion!” exclaimed a voice from among the crowd at a distance; but no one responded to the cry; and Malagrida, making no further resistance, was conducted before the judge of the district. He protested vehemently against the treatment he was receiving, but to no purpose; he was ordered forthwith to retire to his college, and the next day, he received a command from the government, to proceed to the town of Setubal, and there to remain till desired to quit it. We are not informed why that place was chosen as his abode in banishment; whether it was that the people were so wise, that they would not listen to his mad ravings, or, that they were so foolish, that he could not increase their folly. Thither, however, some of his warmest admirers followed him, to put themselves under his spiritual guidance, and among them, was the devout and intriguing Marchioness of Tavora. For some weeks she resided there, performing what were called exercises, under his directions, during which time, he took the opportunity of instilling into her mind both the necessity of ridding the country of their tyrant, and the lawfulness of doing so, by any means which might offer. Notwithstanding the many disciples he collected round him, his unsettled disposition caused him to pine for more active excitement, and, as we shall see, in despite of the threats of the Minister, he determined to quit the spot assigned to him for his abode.
Though Malagrida was silenced, there were yet a number of prophets, perfectly in their senses, who continued to give utterance to predictions, threatening the utter destruction of Lisbon. The Minister, in consequence, issued a decree, ordering that all such persons should be seized and committed to prison, as rogues and vagabonds. Lest also, the easily beguiled citizens should, trusting to their prophecies, desert their homes on the fatal day, he commanded that no one should quit the city on that or the two previous days; and, to enforce this decree, troops were collected round the barriers, who would allow no one, on any pretext whatever, to pass.
The affrighted people were in despair; but they dared not venture to force the barriers, and the measure proved that a little coercion is, at times, for the benefit of the multitude, notwithstanding what demagogues may say to the contrary; for the day passed, and no convulsion took place. We do not hear if the people accused their prophets of prophesying falsely, though we suspect they probably found some means of excusing them, at least, if we may judge from the credence given to their brethren of the present day, who, let them utter, time after time, the most absurd predictions, always unfulfilled, are not the less believed by their enlightened and educated disciples, they ever discovering some plausible interpretation for their teachers’ words.
Volume Three – Chapter Two
The usual time for paying visits in Portugal is in the evening, when ladies are borne about to the houses of their acquaintances in their carriages or chairs, full dressed, as if for a ball; most families of any pretension to fashion having certain nights fixed for the reception of their guests.
The Marchioness of Tavora, although famed for her devoutness, had become even more particular than before in conforming to all the observances of etiquette, in the hopes thereby of gaining over more partisans in the plots she was forming; and she was on her way to pay several of these politic visits of ceremony, when she alighted at the palace of her daughter-in-law, Donna Theresa. She had gained a considerable influence over the younger Marchioness, more, perhaps, by having inspired awe than love; nor did the latter ever feel perfectly at her ease in her society. Her purpose, at present, was, following the advice given by the Father Jacinto, to persuade Donna Theresa to endeavour to win the confidence of the King at every cost; a task she found no very great difficulty in accomplishing.
“I will assure my son, on the earliest opportunity,” she said, “that you have my sanction to receive the visits of the King, which will prevent any jealous doubts arising in his mind, should he discover a circumstance of which he is not now aware. His hot temper, were he to hear of it, before being warned by me, might otherwise take fire, and cause him to commit some mad outrage, which might bring destruction on us all. But be not alarmed; I will arrange affairs so that he shall have no cause to complain of your infidelity; for he will, as I do, put full confidence in your honour; and that your family pride alone will prevent you committing aught derogatory to the dignity of your birth.”
Theresa had no words to answer, but she bowed her head in acquiescence of the arrangement; and the elder Marchioness having accomplished her purpose, proceeded on her round of visits.
The young Marchioness, thus urged on by her confessor and her mother-in-law, had no further reason to fly the advances of her royal admirer; yet she trembled for the consequences; – she saw the yawning gulf below her, yet she felt like a person on the summit of a lofty cliff, with an involuntary inclination to leap from the edge, though fully aware that destruction awaited her. How bitterly did she repent that she had sacrificed her love, and stifled all the tender sentiments of her nature, to follow the rugged and dangerous paths of ambition; but there was now no power of receding left: her peace of mind, her consciousness of rectitude, had deserted her; the past was full of useless regrets; and though she felt that they were deceitful and treacherous, the dazzling temptations of the future lured her on.
It was the custom of the King, when driving out at night, to make use of the private carriage of a confidential attendant, who generally accompanied him. This man, of the name of Texeira, was of low birth; but, by various acts of a doubtful nature, had ingratiated himself into his sovereign’s favour; presuming on which, he frequently behaved in an impertinent manner towards the nobles of the Court, who, ill-brooking such behaviour, bore a determined hatred towards him. Texeira was waiting in his carriage at the private entrance to the palace for the coming of his sovereign, who proposed paying an earlier visit than usual to the young Marchioness of Tavora. As the King appeared at the door, the attendant stepped out to offer his assistance, and when both were seated, the postillion was ordered to proceed forthwith in the direction Texeira had already indicated to him.
The carriage stopped at the gateway of a palace situated in the western part of the city, when the King, wrapping his cloak closely round his features, descended and entered the building, while his attendant retained his seat. The latter had remained there some time, when he heard a voice, in a tone of authority, ordering his postillion to move onward, and another carriage drew up at the gate of the palace. Senhor Texeira, at first, forgetting himself, felt very much inclined to desire his postillion not to stir from his position, but remembering instantly that it was his duty rather to prevent the King from being discovered, he checked the expressions rising to his tongue, and allowed his carriage to proceed out of the way.
The occupant of the other carriage was the young Marquis of Tavora, who had suddenly returned from some military duty on which he had been despatched from Lisbon. As he alighted and entered his palace, none of his principal servants were in waiting; the porter alone, who, wrapped up in his cloak, had been dozing in a corner, after opening the doors with an amazed and sleepy stare, uttered some incoherent words, to which his master paying no attention, passed onward. A small lamp, suspended at the head of the first flight of steps, afforded the young lord but just sufficient light to see his way as he mounted, summoning his attendants, in an angry tone, to his presence. The porter gazed after him with a doubtful expression of countenance. “Shall I tell him he had better not go upstairs?” he thought; “but if I do, it will only make him go the faster. It is no affair of mine, and I suppose the King has a right to go where he likes; if not, what is the use of being a King? only I am afraid mischief will come of it.”
By the time the porter had got thus far in his soliloquy, his master had gained the summit of the flight of steps which led to the first floor. The young noble was advancing towards the drawing-room, wondering at the unusual silence which reigned through the palace, when suddenly a door opened, and he encountered a figure with a large cloak wrapped closely round him.
“Ah!” he exclaimed, in a voice of suddenly aroused anger, “who does me the honour of paying my palace a visit at this time of the night? Stay, Senhor Cavalhero: I allow no one to pass unquestioned.” But the stranger, not heeding his words, endeavoured to pass on his way without answering. “What! you are dumb too! Then this shall compel you to speak.” On these words, drawing his sword, he made a pass at the cloaked stranger; the latter, however, stepping back, avoided the thrust; the weapon merely grazing his cloak, and, unsheathing his rapier also, he turned aside, with considerable skill, another lunge made at him.
“Stay, senhor! you know not whom you attack,” he exclaimed. “Allow me to pass without further hindrance.”
But the passion of the Marquis was aroused to the highest pitch from the very opposition he received, it preventing him from distinguishing the voice of the stranger.
“Daring villain, no!” he answered, “speak your business in this mansion, and let your own words condemn you.”
“I allow no one to question me, so stand aside, senhor,” said the stranger, endeavouring to put aside his antagonist’s sword; but the Marquis, parrying the thrust, attacked him furiously, without deigning a further reply.
The stranger was now obliged to defend himself in earnest, for after several passes given and taken, he discovered that the young noble was the better swordsman.
“Hold!” he cried. “Beware what you do; I am the King!”
“I believe it not!” responded the Marquis, in a loud tone; “and I acknowledge no King who would thus treacherously intrude into the habitation of a subject.”
As he uttered these words, he whirled the King’s sword from his grasp, and the point of his own weapon was at his sovereign’s throat; for, as may be supposed, the stranger was no other than the King.
In a moment the life of Joseph would have been terminated, when the young Marchioness, attracted by the sound of angry voices, and the clash of swords, hastened from her apartment. She uttered a cry of horror, when, at a glance, she discovered by the light which Donna Florinda, who followed, carried, all that had occurred.
“Hold, Luis, hold! ’tis the King, indeed,” she exclaimed, throwing herself, without hesitating, before her husband; but, putting her aside – though the action saved him from being guilty of regicide – he exclaimed, “’Tis false! You would, by such a subterfuge, guilty woman, attempt to save the worthless life of your seducer; but it shall not avail you or him: he shall die.”
“I am guiltless of any crime towards you,” responded Donna Theresa, with energy, again throwing herself before her husband. “It is, it is our sovereign you have so guiltily attacked. Hear me swear to the truth of my assertion.”
While this colloquy was going forward the King had recovered his sword, and now stood holding it with the point to the ground, the light falling more strongly on his features than before, as he said, “Hear me, Don Luis de Tavora. Your wife utters naught but the truth. She has in no way betrayed your honour. Had not your first fierce attack prevented me, I would at once have informed you that I was your sovereign; but your anger is excusable, and you are forgiven.”
As the King spoke, he held out his hand for the young Marquis to kiss; but the latter, with a glance of proud disdain, pretended not to observe the action.
“Your Majesty must suppose me, forsooth, a most complaisant husband, that I should discover a stranger in my palace at this hour, and not seek to question his purpose; but your Majesty has, doubtless, full power to command all us, your humble servants, and I have now no further right to complain. I retain but the privilege of settling the affair with my lady, and in that point I shall exert a husband’s power as I think fit. By your Majesty’s leave, I will order your carriage, which waits at a short distance, to the door, and humbly conduct you thither.”
“This language sounds somewhat like the insolence of treason, young sir,” said Joseph; “though, as you might have cause to be exasperated, I will, for this time, overlook it; but let me hear no more such words.”
“Your Majesty shall be humbly obeyed,” returned the young husband, in an ironical tone; “and Donna Theresa will, doubtless, explain all matters entirely to my satisfaction. Has your Majesty any further commands?”
“No, sir! no!” said the King, turning to the Marchioness. “Lovely lady, adieu! We trust you will be able fully to pacify your lord’s irritated feelings. Now, my lord Marquis, we will beg you to lead the way to the hall; some of your servants can light us thither.”
By this time all the household had collected round the spot, eager to see the termination of the affair; the circumstance of the King’s visits being known among them all; but, supposing the Marquis was privy to it, they did not venture to speak to him on the subject.
Again bowing to the Marchioness, Joseph was conducted to the door of the palace with every outward ceremony, the Marquis leading the way, and the servants on each side holding waxen flambeaux; but could he have looked deeper into the young noble’s heart, he might have learned to tremble for the consequences of his own conduct. As it was, he had been taught to look upon his subjects as his slaves, and was astounded at the idea of their having a will of their own. He felt, however, that he had played but a poor figure in the drama, and had lowered himself materially in the opinion of the spectators, so that he was well contented to find himself once more safe in his carriage with Texeira, to whom he detailed all his adventures.
The young Marchioness stood gazing with looks of despair on her husband and the King, as they descended the stair; but, alas! she trembled more for the safety of the latter than for that of the man she ought to have loved. She knew her husband’s fierce and vindictive disposition, and she felt assured that he would hesitate at no means to accomplish his purposes of revenge.
Having escorted the King to his carriage, the Marquis returned; a dark frown on his brow marking his inward feelings. “I have humbly to thank you, madam, for procuring me the honour of a royal visit; though, another time, I beg you will give me due notice, that I may be prepared to receive so exalted a guest as becomes his rank,” he began, in a taunting tone, mingled with anger; “yet I ought to be grateful that, since you have thought fit to select a lover, you have not debased yourself with one of low degree. But know, lady, his station shall not shield him against my vengeance.”
“Oh! believe me, I am innocent!” exclaimed the Marchioness, in a voice trembling with agitation. “Your own mother is aware of the visits of the King, and she will explain all to you; but do not suspect me wrongfully.”
“Oh! doubtless, your conduct has been perfectly irreproachable,” responded her lord, in the same strain as before. “All ladies will swear the same, and hope to make their credulous husbands believe them; but, although some choose to be willingly deceived, I do not. I doubt not, Donna Florinda, whom I have the honour of saluting, will confirm all you aver. Pray, madam, is she your guest, or have you added her also to my establishment?”
“She was presented to me by their Majesties,” said Donna Theresa, glad of an opportunity of stopping the current of her lord’s passionate sarcasm.
“I shall take the liberty, then, of returning her to her royal donors,” said the Marquis. “You will take it as no disparagement to your matchless charms, Donna Florinda, that I am anxious so soon to part from one whom all admire; but I prefer that my wife should have no female counsellor who will teach her to consider her husband a tyrant and endowed with qualities inferior to all other men.”
“You forget your gallantry, Senhor Marquis, when you talk of sending me out of your house, like a roll of silks returned to the mercer as not required,” cried the sable lady, delighted to have an opportunity both of loosing her tongue, and of relieving her young mistress from the wrath of her husband. “Truly, I am surprised to hear you speak thus, whom all the Court acknowledge to be the most gallant of knights. What would Senhora Amelia, or the fair Condeça de Campo Bello say, if they heard you give utterance to such expressions? You would never speak thus to them, I feel confident; but then they are not cruel to you, it is whispered. Come, come, senhor, you have no right to complain if your lady thinks fit to receive the visits of our sovereign.”