The Prime Minister

Volume Three – Chapter Ten

On the morning after the events last described, a rumour was spread over Lisbon that something dreadful had happened; and people met each other in the streets with alarmed and inquiring countenances. Some said the King had been assassinated; others that his carriage had been overturned, and that he had been killed by the shock; others that he had died of apoplexy; while others, again, affirmed that he was still alive. The greater number, however, fully believed that he had been assassinated, several declaring that they had been aroused from their sleep in the dead of night, and looking out of their window’s had perceived the dark figures of horsemen galloping along at a furious rate. By degrees, large crowds assembled in the neighbourhood of the palace, all anxious, from many different motives, to learn the truth; but the windows were kept closed, and not a person was seen to issue forth to give the information sought for.

“I wonder who will be king now,” said a seller of lemonade, to a fisherman, who stood near him with large baskets of fish balanced at each end of a pole upon his shoulder. “Some say it will be Dom Pedro. I hope so; he encourages religion and processions, and they bring people abroad, and make them thirsty. Who’ll buy my cool lemonade?”

“For my part, I care little: one king is as good as another,” answered the fisherman. “What difference can it make to us who sits upon the throne? I hear the Duke of Aveiro is a likely man, and he is a friend of the Jesuits, who patronise fasting and fish-eating, which is all I have to look after. Fresh fish! alive and jumping!” he cried in a loud drawling tone, and passed on.

Men now inquired of each other who had committed the deed, if an assassination had been perpetrated; and several persons were seen moving among the crowds, spreading various reports. It was soon loudly declared that the Jesuits were the perpetrators of the outrage; while others whispered that the members of the Tavora family knew more about the affair than anybody else, for that their servants were the first to inform them that the King had been killed. Some, again, contradicted that report, declaring that one or two people had first heard of it when going, in the morning, to the Quinta of the Duke of Aveiro; and that Senhor Policarpio had not only affirmed that the King was dead, but that, if a certain noble Duke came to the throne, he would establish some more saints’ days, encourage the ceremonies of the Church, and bull-fights, with unprecedented magnificence; that he would abrogate all taxes, and increase the pomp of their processions.

“The Duke will make an excellent king,” whispered many; “he is so religious and so generous.”

The friends of the Tavoras, though they credited the report of the King’s assassination, stoutly denied that that noble family could be in any way implicated in so atrocious a crime. Unfortunately, however, for their assertions, a little humpbacked water-carrier declared that he knew every member of them perfectly well by sight, for that he had served the palace of the Marquis with water for many years, till it had been destroyed by the earthquake, and, while in the hall, had seen them go in and out a thousand times; and that he was confident he had seen young Jozé de Tavora, at day-break on that very morning, galloping towards Belem, from the upper part of Lisbon. This story gained rapid credence, and, as it spread from mouth to mouth, various additions were, of course, made to it; so that, before many minutes had passed, it was currently believed that the old Marquis of Tavora, with his two sons, had been encountered, with pistols in their hands, rushing from the spot where the King had been assassinated.

On an occasion like the present, our friend Antonio, the soi-disant cobbler, was certain not to be absent; and, unnoticed by any, in his working costume, he moved among the crowds, collecting the various reports with indefatigable industry; though, whenever he had an opportunity of putting in a word, he cautioned his hearers not to accuse any without clear evidence of their guilt, but that if the criminals were discovered, they would deserve condign punishment. Great, however, was the surprise of all, both the friends and enemies of the Tavoras, when the Prime Minister himself appeared at a window of the palace, and, lifting up his hand to impose silence, assured the populace that not only was the King alive, but that, as far as he could learn, no attempt whatever had been made against his august life; that the report had arisen, probably, owing to some words uttered by the postilion in his alarm, when the mules of his Majesty’s carriage had taken fright; that, owing to the latter circumstance, the carriage had been thrown on one side, by which his gracious Majesty had received a slight injury in the arm.

“Long live the King! – viva, viva!” exclaimed the populace, on hearing this announcement; for they are ever ready to shout, it matters little to them for whom. The cry saluted the ears of the Duke of Aveiro, who, followed by Senhor Policarpio, rode up, with eager haste, the very first of the nobility, to make inquiries for his sovereign’s health. His cheek, perchance, turned a shade more pale, as he heard the cry; but, dashing onward, regardless of the collected rabble, he dismounted at the gate of the palace, desiring to be admitted to the presence of the King. The Prime Minister alone received him in the audience-chamber, and, with marked suavity and courtesy, assured him that the King could not then receive him, but would do so on the earliest occasion.

“I came to offer my services to sally forth, with my attendants, in search of the vile perpetrators of the dreadful outrage committed against his Majesty,” said the Duke.

“What! my lord Duke, do you give credence to the absurd story which has got about, that our beloved sovereign’s life has been attempted?” said the Minister, with a bland smile. “Calm your apprehensions: I trust so black a traitor does not exist in Portugal.”

The Duke was completely deceived.

“I indeed rejoice to hear that the report was unfounded, Senhor Carvalho,” he answered; “and pray inform me the first moment his Majesty is sufficiently recovered from his indisposition to receive me, for I long to throw myself at his feet, and express my deep loyalty and devotion.”

As the Duke took his leave, and was retiring, the Minister muttered, gazing sternly after him, “So humble and loyal already, my lord Duke? Your pride shall yet be brought lower than you think of!”

The nobility now flocked in numbers to the palace, some, perhaps, with a hope that the report might prove true, others with fears for the consequences, and, among them, the Marquis of Tavora drove up in his carriage. Carvalho received him with the most respectful courtesy, assuring him of the King’s regard; the frank expression of the Marquis’s countenance setting at fault the sagacity of the Minister, if he had entertained any suspicions of his loyalty.

“Ah, my lord Marquis, it would be happy for other countries if they possessed no worse traitors than live in Portugal!” observed the Minister. “By-the-bye, you made an application to his Majesty for a ducal title, not long ago, and I heard the King regretting he had then refused you, but observing, that he now considered your services in India entitled you to the rank. He does not forget his friends.”

“I am grateful for his Majesty’s recollection of my wishes. I shall esteem the honour greater as a gift from him,” answered the Marquis.

“I shall have much pleasure in reporting what your Excellency says,” returned the Minister, as the Marquis, pleased with the idea of at length having his request acceded to, took his leave, with a less haughty air than was his custom.

“If the report I have just heard, and my own suspicions, are correct, that man is an admirable hypocrite,” thought the Minister. “He will be a difficult person to deal with; but I think I have lulled his fears, if he entertained any.”

“I regret that his Majesty cannot see you to-day, but you are one of the first he will receive,” said the Minister to the Marquis d’Alorna, who then entered. “I trust your lovely daughter is well, for whom both the King and Queen entertain the most respectful regard?”

His hearer, who could not be otherwise than fully convinced of the truth of his words, answering briefly, retired.

What golden opinions Sebastiaö Jozé de Carvalho that day won from all classes of men! It was one of difficulty, though of triumph, to him; for he felt that he was now fully establishing a power no future events could shake.

He did not, however, use the same style of language towards all. When the King’s favourite, Marialva, appeared, he drew him aside.

“I know, my dear Marquis, that you can thoroughly be trusted,” he said. “It behoves all true friends of our gracious sovereign’s to be prepared for his protection. He would see you, but it would excite jealousy in others. He has been wounded, though, under the grace of Heaven, not severely; and I leave you to judge whether by traitors or not. We must exert ourselves to discover and bring them to punishment, even if they are our brothers or dearest friends. Yet speak not your suspicions to any.”

Marialva promised to follow Carvalho’s advice, and left him, with a conviction that he was the most sagacious of ministers, and the most attached servant of the King.

At last the young Count d’Almeida appeared, to make the usual inquiries, and to express his sorrow at the King’s accident.

“I am glad to see you again at Court, for you have been long a truant,” said Carvalho. “Should you wish for employment, I can now better fulfil the promise I made long ago, to give you some post worthy of your talents.”

Luis expressed his gratitude and willingness to serve the state in any capacity for which he was fitted.

“I am glad to hear you say so,” answered the Minister, adding, with emphasis, “We have need of honest men to guard the country, when treason stalks abroad with daring front. I trust never to have to number the Count d’Almeida among the traitors in Portugal.”

Luis started, and his heart beat quick, as if with conscious guilt; for he remembered the scene, in which he had been an unwilling actor on the past night. For an instant it rushed across his mind that the Minister must have been aware of the meeting of the conspirators, and he trembled for the safety of them all. The dangerous position in which he himself also stood occurred to him; for, though feeling himself innocent of any evil intent, he well knew that, in the eye of the law, he was equally amenable to punishment for concealing the conspiracy. When the first reports reached him of the assassination of the King, the dreadful thought occurred to him, had any of those whom he had met in the vault of Malagrida been the perpetrators of the act? – he could not banish the suspicion that such might have been the case. He had quitted the ruin at an early hour, and there was then time for a horseman to reach the city before midnight, when, it was said, the event had taken place. Might not even suspicion alight on him, and on his young friend, of the Tavora family, too, who were already suspected, – at that very hour they were abroad, armed, and on horseback, perhaps passing near the spot? Would not his landlady, when she heard of the outrage, suspect that he was concerned in it? Should he be once apprehended and interrogated, what plausible reason could he possibly give for having made a secret expedition at night? If he said that he had gone at the request merely of his young friend, Jozé de Tavora, he would at once condemn both himself and all he had then met. Whichever way he looked at his case, it appeared desperate; and, for the first time in his life, that sinking, that paralysing sensation of fear, struck his heart, – not the fear of death, but of dishonour and disgrace, – of seeing his hitherto proud name branded as that of a traitor and assassin; and he shuddered as he thought that his life must end on the scaffold, amid the hootings and execrations of the populace, without the slightest means of vindicating his character from opprobrium. He knew Pedro was to be fully trusted, and he wished to beg his hostess not to mention to any one his having quitted home on that fatal night; but the request itself would seem to have been made from a consciousness of guilt, so he resolved not to speak to her on the subject.

At one moment he thought of hastening to the Minister, who, having before expressed an interest in his affairs, would, he trusted, believe him, and of confessing that he had been abroad on that night on horseback, and that he had thought it wiser to say so, lest any unjust suspicions might be raised against him, resolving, at the same time, to endure every torture, and death itself, rather than betray any of those who had confided in his honour. Then it occurred to him, that the very confession itself, notwithstanding all his caution, might throw some suspicion on the young Tavora, and from him on his relations, so he quickly abandoned his purpose. Next he thought of instantly quitting the country, but then he should leave his character open to the mercy of any who might choose to blacken it; or should he not be able to effect his escape, (a difficult undertaking in those days, when every ship was searched before sailing,) the very attempt would offer a presumptive proof of his guilt. At last he came to the determination of braving the worst, and, buoyed up with the consciousness of innocence, trusting in Heaven’s protection, to repair at once to the palace, to make his personal inquiries as to the state of the King.

What was his surprise and satisfaction, then, on approaching the neighbourhood, to hear that the reports were false, and that the King had met merely with a slight accident. His confidence being thus perfectly restored, he appeared before the Minister with a calm heart and clear brow; nor had he any cause to dread the consequences of his unfortunate expedition, till he heard the last words the latter uttered.

Carvalho’s hawk-eyed glance marked the agitation Luis could not entirely conceal; a dark shade, like a cloud on the summer sky, passing across his brow; but his countenance again shone with deceitful smiles; for it was his purpose to lull in fancied security, not to alarm, the guilty ones. He had, throughout the day, marked, with unerring acuteness, every look, every variation of feature, of those with whom he had made a point of conversing when they visited the palace; and many, who fancied that they had outwitted him, had but the more completely betrayed themselves. He was still more courteous, and full of expressions of regard for Luis than at first; but from that moment he suspected him of being privy to the conspiracy; for that there was one against the King had not escaped his searching vigilance, from many facts which had come to his knowledge.

As he contemplated the dreadful punishment which awaited the young Count, he felt a regret for his fate, slight and transient though it was, and one of the few, perhaps, which ever passed through his stern, unyielding heart; for Luis was akin to a dear friend, early lost, and long mourned; but he banished the weakness, and resolved to perform his duty.

“I shall see you soon again, Count, when his Majesty has recovered, which I trust will be in a few days, when we will arrange about the post you are to fill,” he observed, as Luis took his leave, and he, with a bland smile, turned towards some of the other courtiers.

As the Count d’Almeida was quitting the palace, he encountered in the passage his former and hated rival, the Count San Vincente. The two young nobles regarded each other, as they advanced, with fierce glances, when the latter, casting a look of scornful triumph at Luis, passed onward, almost brushing him with his sword. Luis, recollecting that he was within the precincts of the palace, was unable to take any notice of the intended insult, though he longed for a day of retribution, when he might avenge himself for the deep injuries he had received at the hands of the treacherous noble. Brooding over the feelings which the meeting with the Count had raised, he returned homeward, at the same time fully satisfied that he was free from any danger on account of his unfortunate excursion with Jozé de Tavora.

Many days passed away, while many-tongued rumour was busy with spreading tales of various colours in all directions, blasting the characters of some of the highest and noblest in the land. Few, at length, there were who disbelieved that treason was on foot; the names of some were ascertained, it was said, without a doubt, and were whispered abroad in every circle, except where the true conspirators moved; for, as often happens, reports, whether true or scandalous, often reach last the ears of those most concerned. Thus, the Duke of Aveiro, whose wishes had, at all events, instigated the assassins to their deed of blood, appeared everywhere in public with an untroubled brow, and continued to be the most assiduous in his inquiries at the palace after the health of his Majesty.

The King, however, still kept himself closely confined to his chamber, to which even the Queen was not admitted; the Minister, as before, receiving all guests with the most affable courtesy, seeming to take a delight in paying them attentions, and holding them in lengthened conversations. Many an eye sunk beneath his piercing glance, though a smile wreathed itself about his lips, and his voice was softly modulated, and many a heart trembled lest he should read its inmost thoughts. Two or three nobles, from whom, not suspecting them, he had less concealed his thoughts, passed their estates in trust into other hands, being suddenly seized with a strong desire to visit other lands; not even waiting for permission to leave the country. Those who did so, had full reason, shortly afterwards, to congratulate themselves on their caution. The flight of these gave security to others; the young Marquis of Tavora being advised to return to the city, and plead illness as an excuse for his short absence, – while his father rejoiced that he himself had not acted according to the counsels of his wife, lest suspicion might have fallen upon him.

Among the visitors at the palace was our friend Gonçalo Christovaö, who had, a short time before, arrived in Lisbon. Senhor Carvalho welcomed him with even more than his usual courtesy, regretting that the King could not receive the petition, which he understood he had come to present from the city of Oporto; but assuring him, that he would use his utmost endeavours to abolish the grievances of which the inhabitants complained. He then took him aside.

“I have a subject, Senhor Christovaö, which I have long wished to broach to you. It is to make a request, which I trust you will not deny me, for it will conduce to strengthen your family interests, and add honour to mine.”