The Prime Minister

Volume Three – Chapter Seven

If the country inns of Portugal are bad, those of the cities are very little better. So thought Luis d’Almeida, as, towards the evening of a day at the very end of autumn, accompanied by his faithful Pedro, he rode into the capital. So think, also, most travellers of the present time, except when they are fortunate enough to secure rooms at the one or two tolerable hotels which Lisbon now affords.

Luis had never before been compelled to seek lodgings, having always had his father’s palace to which to resort; so that now he was at a loss whither to direct his steps; for so unfitted did he feel himself for society, that he was very unwilling to seek for the hospitality of several friends, who he knew, however, would be very willing to afford it.

At last Pedro, who was very anxious to get housed in some place or other, intimated to his master that he had the honour of claiming as a relation an old lady who lived in a small house in the suburbs; that she was of the highest respectability, for her husband had held an office under government; and, indeed, she was apt rather to look down upon the number of poor relations who insisted on her acknowledging them as nephews, nieces, and cousins, to the sixth degree. Pedro, however, felt confident that, notwithstanding her high pretensions, she would be happy to receive, as a lodger in her house, a young nobleman so highly esteemed as his master; and he undertook, if Don Luis would ride as far, to assure him of a cordial reception, provided she had not, by any chance since he heard of her, departed this life, or from any other reason changed her residence. Luis very gladly acceded to Pedro’s proposal, for he was fatigued both in body and mind, and he thought that, in so remote a part of the city, he should be better able to avoid the annoyances to which he must be subject in a more public situation.

As they reached the house Pedro had indicated, he looked up, and, to his great delight, beheld an old lady busily employed in knitting at the open window.

“There she is, Senhor Conde,” exclaimed Pedro. “That is my good aunt, and as kind an old lady as ever lived, when nothing puts her out of her way.”

The old lady, hearing horses stopping at her door, put her head out of the window to see what it could possibly mean, when Pedro, bowing most respectfully, exclaimed, “Ah! my good aunt, my master and I have come a long way to see you; now do not come down, I will run upstairs to explain matters;” and, leaping from his horse, he begged the Count to excuse him, while he performed his promise.

As may be supposed, he had no great difficulty in persuading the old lady to receive a gallant cavalier like Luis for her guest, and she forthwith hurried down to pay him due honour. Pedro, assisting his master to dismount, the hostess conducted him upstairs, when, begging him to be seated, after various little complimentary speeches, she set about preparing a repast for him: with the aid of Pedro, and a little damsel, her maid-servant, a room also was made ready for his reception.

By the time these arrangements were completed, it was too late to think of going out in search of his friends, and he was glad when he was at length able to retire to his room. He threw himself on his bed, but not to sleep; the images of the past haunted him, and sad forebodings for the future. He thought of the danger to which Theresa was exposed, indefinite, and therefore more to be dreaded, and of the aid which he had pledged himself to afford, by means uncertain, perhaps criminal. He knew full well the passionate and fierce disposition of the young Marquis of Tavora, and that no fears for the consequences would make him hesitate in proposing any measures which might rescue his wife, or, at the worst, vindicate his honour.

Early the following morning, Luis despatched Pedro to inform his young friend, Jozé de Tavora, of his arrival; for, remembering the warnings of the Minister and of his mysterious friend, Senhor Mendez, he was unwilling to become more intimate with the rest of the family than was necessary, and therefore refrained from visiting at their house except on occasions when custom required it.

Luis had just taken his morning meal, when the young Tavora rushed into the room, and embracing him with affectionate warmth, exclaimed, “I lost not a moment, my dear Luis, in hastening hither, when I heard of your arrival. Say, you have come to aid us; you have come to join the noble cause of justice and honour, arrayed against the overbearing tyranny of the plebeian Minister, and his profligate tool – the so-called King of Portugal?”

“I came to offer my aid, if necessary, in rescuing my cousin Theresa from the persecutions of the King,” answered the young Count; “but in no other scheme ought I to engage, nor will I; for I feel assured, that maintaining the peace and happiness of the people at large is of paramount importance, to avenging any slight, which we nobles, as a body, may conceive ourselves to have suffered. Beforehand, therefore, I warn you not to attempt to induce me to engage in any enterprise which will in any way cause disorder or bloodshed in the country.”

“What! can you, one of the purest of our class, speak thus?” exclaimed the young Tavora. “Is not our honour paramount to every other consideration? Surely we ought not for a moment to weigh it with the interests of the base plebeians, – the scum of the earth, – wretches beneath our notice. In that creed have I been educated, and in that will I die.”

“’Tis a creed, my young friend, which, put in practice, has already injured us, and will finally drag us all to destruction,” answered Luis. “Let us endeavour to maintain our position in the scale of society, as did our noble ancestors, by being the foremost in every danger, the most upright, and the most honourable; then no one will venture to molest or insult us; but, by following any other course, we may, in a moment, find ourselves hurled from our high posts, and trampled on in the dust damp with our gore.”

“In Heaven’s name, my dear Luis, where did you gain these extraordinary ideas?” cried his visitor. “I did not suppose such could exist in the brain of any fidalgo in Portugal.”

“They are taught by the study of every history, from the earliest times to the present day,” answered Luis, smiling at his own vehemence. “But we will not now discuss the subject. Tell me, where are Donna Theresa and your brother?”

“She is at their palace; but he, – you know his temper, – is not there. He is offended at her conduct, and vows he will not return to her till she promises never again to exchange a word with the King. This she, being equally firm, will not do; so that they are not exactly on the best terms for husband and wife; but I suppose that they will, before long, get tired of being separated, and so make up their quarrel, as other people do.”

“Alas! I regret to hear this,” said Luis. “She is thus left exposed to the persecutions of the King.”

“So I tell my brother,” interrupted the young Tavora; “but do not speak of it – my heart burns when I think on the subject. Will you come with me to-night where you can meet him, and you may be able to persuade him what is right to be done? He knows, perfectly well, since his quarrel with the King, that he hates him; so that he has thought it wiser not to appear anywhere in public, and is, at present, in a place of concealment, whither I will conduct you. Will you go with me this evening?”

Luis, without making further inquiries as to the spot where the young Marquis was concealed, promised to visit him, in company with his brother. After some time more spent in conversation, the younger Tavora agreed to call for Luis, with a horse for his use, desiring that Pedro might be in attendance, to take charge of it, while they approached his brother’s abode on foot. These arrangements having been made, his visitor took his departure; leaving Luis, for the rest of the day, to his own solitary meditations; for he felt utterly averse to moving from the house, and mixing with the noisy and careless crowd in the city below. He attempted to read, but in vain, so he threw his book aside, and paced the room for many hours, unable to concentrate his thoughts on one point. He could not divest himself of the feeling, that some indefinite disaster was hanging over him, yet that he wanted the power to avoid it. It is a sensation we have often ourselves experienced, although our forebodings have seldom, if ever, been accomplished; until, at last, we have learned to consider them as arising more from the effects of past sorrows, fears, or annoyances, than from any prescience of forthcoming events. Luis, however, had many reasons for his feelings, both from the past and for the future. His spirits were lowered by many griefs; the loss of her he loved – his father’s death – the destruction of his property, – and he was too well aware that many dangers surrounded him; for, from the language his young friend had used, in the course of their conversation, he could not help suspecting that the younger Marquis was meditating some desperate plot against the government, if not against the King himself; nor could he tell how far he might find himself compromised by his connexion with him.

Daylight had nearly departed, when Jozé de Tavora, with a servant on a second horse, rode up to the house.

“Up, mount, my dear Count!” he exclaimed, as soon as Luis appeared at the door. “I have brought you a good steed, and we have no time to lose. Our servants must follow in the best way they can on foot, and keep us in sight. I will tell you whither lies our course as we ride along.”

Luis, accordingly, desiring Pedro to follow, mounted a dark stout Spanish horse, provided for him; and at an easy pace, the fastest, however, that the execrable roads would allow of, they wound their way for a considerable distance through the outskirts of the city, to the north of Belem, passing beneath one of the vast arches of the grand aqueduct, which had, fortunately, escaped the devastating effects of the earthquake with but slight injury, and then, turning to the left, they approached the river to the westward of the castle.

“Whither are we going?” asked Luis. “Are we near your brother’s abode?”

“We are yet a long way from it,” answered his companion, “though we go not much further on horseback. I ought to have told you, that a considerable part of our journey must be by water; yet, as it is a fine night, that will be by far the most agreeable mode of conveyance, if you do not object to it.”

Luis assenting to the proposal, they soon after reached a sheltered spot beneath a high wall, where, dismounting, they left their horses in charge of the servants, and proceeded on foot to the river’s side.

The bank was in that spot high and steep, so that they were obliged to descend by a narrow and winding path to reach the water, and when there, no boat was to be seen, and not a sound was heard but the gentle ripple of the tide upon the shore, or the sudden splash of some finny inhabitant of the stream, as it leapt up from its limpid home. Jozé de Tavora, after waiting impatiently for some minutes, gave a low whistle; the silence still continued unbroken, – he again gave a second and third signal, when it was answered, at a short distance from where they stood, and a boat shot from behind a little promontory which jutted out into the river. The crew, on seeing two persons, seemed in some doubt whether they ought to approach, but the young Tavora again signalising to them, they pulled in without hesitation.

“Why were you not waiting at this spot, as I ordered you?” he asked.

“We came here first, senhor,” answered one of the two men in the boat; “but we saw two or three persons on the shore, who seemed watching us, so we pulled round beneath yonder point, where we could be out of sight.”

“You did well, though they were, probably, but chance idlers. Come, Luis, we will embark,” he added, stepping into the boat, followed by his companion. “Now, my men, bend to your oars!” he said, taking the helm, and guiding the bark down the stream.

It was a lovely night, though so late in the year: the air was soft and balmy, the water smooth as a polished mirror, reflecting the bright and glittering stars which shone from the deep blue sky. The scene and hour had a soothing effect on the spirits of Luis, as he leaned back in the boat, and gave himself up to their calm influence. Now and then they would pass through a shoal of fish, sporting on the surface, their bright scales shining in the light of some lustrous star. Far off, too, the song of the fisherman would rise in the still air, as he sallied forth to his night of toil; and in the distance might be seen the sails of the larger fishing-boats, as they slowly glided up with the current, or the canvas of some vessel looming large through the obscurity, like some giant phantom of the deep. Not a word was exchanged for some way; and at length, when Jozé de Tavora broke the silence, by addressing his friend, their conversation was carried on in low whispers, which could scarcely have been heard by the men who rowed the boat. After rowing about two miles, at a sufficient distance from the shore to be unnoticed from thence, the boat’s head was directed again towards it, at a spot where the shattered remains of some building could be seen rising against the sky. Luis demanded of his companion whither they were now going.