The Prime Minister

The return of Rodrigo, and alone, gave him renewed hopes of escape, which were quickly disappointed, when he found that the robber had desisted from opening the door, and was, besides, joined by his companions. During the dispute of the ruffians, Luis, finding that the door yielded to his pressure, forced it open; and, trusting that they would be too eagerly occupied in their own quarrel to pay attention to him, with tottering steps he bore Clara from the vault. The fresh air revived his strength; he looked with horrified amazement at the scene of destruction around him, lit up, as we have said, by the blazing houses; but this was no time for thinking; so, without further delay, he commenced climbing the ruins on the opposite side to that where the ruffians stood. He had already reached the summit of the mound, and was able to look on every side, to decide in which direction he should attempt to escape, when the robbers recovered from their surprise.

“What ho! a spy on our secrets!” exclaimed Rodrigo, climbing after him. “Know that no one passes through this city without paying tribute to us, so deliver up the burden you carry, fair sir.”

On hearing these alarming demands, Luis, removing Clara to his left side, and supporting her with his arm, drew his sword, prepared to defend her to the last. As he stood thus on the summit of the pile of ruins, a few shattered walls of the neighbouring church still remaining at a little distance, the red glare of the burning houses casting a bright reflection on one side of his figure, he offered a fine subject for the painter.

As Rodrigo approached him, now that every feature of his countenance was so clearly visible, he recognised in him the Count San Vincente’s enemy, whom he had been hired to murder, and the fidalgo who had slain his brother in the forest, and deprived him of his booty.

“Ah! senhor, we at length meet again, where there are none to interfere and save you,” he exclaimed, attempting to reach the spot where Luis stood; but the latter kept him at bay with his sword, and the ruffian having no other arms than his knife, was afraid of closing with him till his companions came to his assistance.

Luis saw that to speak to them would be useless, and that he must depend entirely upon his own courage and firmness, and had he had but one assailant to contend with, he might have been successful in defending himself, and the being dearer to him than life; but while Rodrigo was attacking him in front, the other two robbers, climbing up the ruins, suddenly seized him from behind, and the dagger of the former had almost reached his bosom, when the ruffian’s arm was arrested by a person who had sprung up to the spot without being perceived by any of the party.

“What, ye villains! were ye about to murder my friend, Don Luis, while he was protecting a lady, too?” exclaimed a loud voice; and Rodrigo, turning fiercely on the new comer, beheld Frè Lopez.

“What demon brings you here, when you are not wanted?” cried the robber, turning on him fiercely, while his companions still held Luis, who in vain endeavoured to break from them.

“Don Luis’s good demon, I suppose,” answered the Friar. “You forget that your figures can be clearly seen from the street; so, as I chanced to be passing, and observed some fighting going forward, I came to see what it was about. Ah! as I live, that is the very lady who gave us so much trouble in the forest! Hark you, Rodrigo – ” Saying which, the Friar drew the robber aside. Their conference was but of short duration, yet it seemed perfectly satisfactory to both; when the Friar addressed Luis, who still remained completely in the power of the other two: “I regret to say, senhor, that though I have been the means of saving your life, I can do nothing further for you; and you must consent to this gentleman’s terms, though you may think them rather hard.”

“Gladly. Any sum he fixes on I will endeavour to pay,” answered Luis; “and you, senhor, who have already done me so great a service, will, I trust, aid me in conveying this lady to a place of safety.”

“You are mistaken, senhor,” interrupted the miscreant, with a laugh of derision. “I give the Padre your life; but I am to have the lady for my share; so yield her up without further delay.”

“Never! I will die first!” exclaimed Luis; but, at that instant, by a signal from Rodrigo, one of the men who held him threw a handkerchief over his head, and dragged him backwards, while the principal ruffian forced Clara from his arms. She was by this time sufficiently recovered to comprehend fully all the horrors of her situation; but the wretch heeded not her cries for mercy as he bore her away, while Luis exerted all his energies to free himself from the others; but they, throwing themselves on him, held him down securely, though with considerable difficulty. His struggles exhausted their patience.

“Give him a taste of the steel!” muttered Miguel; “that will keep him quiet enough.”

“Hold!” said the Friar, who stood by, a quiet spectator, without attempting to interfere; “Rodrigo will soon be at a sufficient distance, and then you may set the young fidalgo at liberty. In the mean time, senhor,” he added, turning to Luis, “I would advise you to be quiet; your exertions only fatigue, without benefitting yourself in the slightest degree.”

“Either destroy me at once, or let me fly to save that lady,” exclaimed Luis, in a tone of agony.

“It is not wise to seek death before your time,” returned the Friar; “and as for saving the lady, who is already a long way from this, I have not the power to do it. Had I not arrived at the moment I did, the lady would have been in the same condition she now is, and you would have been dead; so you, at all events, have to thank me for your life.”

Luis scarcely heard what was said; indeed, so intense were his feelings, that they deprived him of utterance and power of thought, except the all-engrossing one of Clara’s fate. Had he been aware of the lawless license practising in the city, his agony would, if possible, have been yet more intense.

“When are we to let this young fidalgo go?” muttered Miguel; “I cannot stay here all night watching him; and I must have some security that he does not betray to any one a spot where we have hid a few trifles we found scattered about the streets.”

“I will answer for his honour,” returned the Friar; “but stay a little, stay a little, you are in too great a hurry, man.”

Though Luis had recognised in his preserver his quondam acquaintance, Frè Lopez, by his tone of voice and his expressions, he certainly could not have done so by his outward appearance; for he had now laid aside all pretensions to a holy character in his costume. On his head he wore a three-cornered hat, and a full wig, with side curls and pigtail; his waistcoat, of flowered silk, was of great length; and his coat and breeches of large proportions, the pockets being now filled, almost to bursting, with a variety of little articles, such as trinkets and gold pieces, which he also, probably, had picked up about the streets; a sword by his side, completed his very unclerical costume. He had seated himself near Luis and his captors, and amused himself for some time in addressing, now one, and now the other; though, from the former, he could seldom elicit an answer.

Volume Two – Chapter Fourteen

We fear that our readers will begin to suppose that we are romancing, when we describe so many hair-breadth escapes and unexpected interferences, which preserved the lives of the principal characters mentioned in this work; but we can assure them, that some equally wonderful befall us every day of our lives, though we are not aware of the circumstance at the time. The simple case of a man meeting a friend in the street who twitches his button off while he is inquiring after his wife and family, may be equally providential with our examples, though not so romantic; for, had he gone on, he would have been crushed by the falling chimney, or drowned when the bridge gave way. Of course, when we are writing the adventures of people who are continually getting into danger, it must be expected that they will escape somehow or other; and we suspect that most of our readers would find great fault if we allowed them to do so in a common-place, every day sort of way; we shall therefore, as we have before declared it our intention, adhere strictly to what we find in the documents before us.

We left the unfortunate fidalgo in front of the ruins of the Convent of Santa Clara, lying in a swoon, caused by the supposition of his daughter’s death, and watched by her nurse, who continued sobbing and wringing her hands in the bitterest grief.

Night came on, though it was scarcely perceptible on account of the bright fires which blazed in every part of the city, and still they continued in the same position; nor did Captain Pinto, according to his promise, return.

“Oh, Santa Maria Jozé! my sweet mistress!” cried poor Gertrudes; “you are torn from us for ever, in your youth and beauty! alas! alas! and here am I, a worthless old woman, alive and well, mourning for your loss!” and again she wrung her hands in despair.

On a sudden her master sat upright, and looked wildly around, unable, at first, to comprehend what had happened; but the sights which met his view soon convinced him of the dreadful reality. His heart was indeed bowed with grief, his pride fallen – his only son was slain, his fair daughter lost to him for ever! Yet, though convinced of her fate, he could not tear himself from the spot – and whither could he go? It was impossible for him to venture through the ruined streets, amid burning houses and falling walls. He had just arrived at a complete perception of his misfortunes, when a shriek struck his ear. A father’s senses were not to be deceived – it was his daughter’s voice! He rose to his feet as a man rushed by, bearing a female form in his arms. There was no deception – that cry for aid was Clara’s – that shape was hers. He in vain endeavoured to arrest the man in his flight – he attempted to pursue – but his strength failed him. He called on him, in accents of despair, to restore his child; but the ruffian heeded him not, and the fidalgo sank exhausted on the ground. Old Gertrudes, also, had striven to follow; but, weak from fatigue and long fasting, she had not taken many steps before her strength failed her; and, uttering cries for assistance, she fell near her master.

Though the group of homeless and helpless nuns still remained where they had first collected, they were in too apathetic a state to offer any assistance. No one thought of impeding the vile ravisher in his course, for, alas! such scenes had already become but too common, and the whole city was now filled with shrieks and piteous cries for mercy, unheeded by the savage miscreants who had become the undisputed lords of all.

Captain Pinto’s search for his friend proved, of course, as unsuccessful as at first, till at length he recollected the state in which he had left the bereaved father of his friend’s mistress, when, with great difficulty procuring some food, notwithstanding all the dangers to be encountered, he set forward to carry him assistance, accompanied by Pedro and another man, whom he engaged for the purpose.

The ruins of the convent being on the outskirts of the conflagration, he was able, by making a long circuit, to approach it with less risk than he had before encountered; but, when he arrived there, it was some time before he could discover the object of his search, now utterly unable to assist himself. The two servants, therefore, supporting the fidalgo between them, and the old nurse being somewhat revived by some of the food the Captain had brought, which she contrived to eat between her sobs and exclamations of grief, he led the way towards the palace of the Marchioness of Corcunda, which was in the uninjured part of the city. As the party were leaving the fatal spot, a man, with a drawn sword in his hand, rushed up to them with frantic gestures, and the noble sailor’s satisfaction may be conceived when he discovered his friend Luis. Pedro, in his joy and hurry to embrace his master, almost let the fidalgo fall to the ground; although Luis offered, it must be confessed, but a poor subject for congratulation. From the broken exclamations of Senhora Gertrudes, the Captain had understood that she fancied she had seen her young mistress, but he was unprepared for the excited vehemence of Luis.

“Fly with me to overtake the monster!” he exclaimed, without waiting to receive his friend’s congratulations on his safety. “Which way did he bear her? Have none of you seen her? speak!”

“Of whom do you speak, my friend?” asked Captain Pinto; “for I have but just arrived here.”

“Of Clara, of my own Clara!” ejaculated the unhappy lover; “she has been torn from me in the moment of preservation, and conveyed I know not whither; but, as you love me, aid me to recover her. Does no one know which way she was carried?”

The old nurse now recognised Luis. “Does the senhor ask for my young mistress?” she exclaimed. “I knew it was her, I knew it was her, and a savage has carried her away.”

“Speak, woman, speak!” exclaimed Luis, with agitation. “Which way did he go?”

“Alack! senhor, I scarcely know; we have moved since then – but let me see: yes, it was there – that was the way;” and she pointed in the direction of a street, on each side of which the houses were burning furiously, the walls every instant falling with loud crashes, and throwing showers of sparks into the air.

As old Gertrudes pointed to the street, Luis, heedless of the dangers, was about to break away from his friends towards it, but the Captain held him back. “It is impossible that she could have been carried amid that fiery strait, or that you could enter it without instant destruction. Hear reason, my friend; it is now some time since she could have passed here, and since then she must have been conveyed to a considerable distance, where it will be utterly impossible, unaided, to discover her. I know her danger is great, but I cannot believe there breathes the hellish monster who would injure her. It is far more probable that she has been carried off by some designing ruffians, for the sake of receiving a reward for restoring her; or, if not, be assured that Heaven will, by some unexpected means, protect her innocence. I cannot believe it possible that any harm can happen to her. Assist me now in conveying her father to a place of safety; you see his helpless state, and you will be performing an act gratifying to her. To-morrow we will collect some friends and attendants, and having procured authority from the Minister, we will search for her in every direction, examining every one we meet, and I trust that success will crown our efforts.”

With such like persuasions Captain Pinto strove to calm his friend’s mind, although he well knew how fallacious the hopes he endeavoured to excite would too probably prove; but he felt that any deceit was excusable to prevent him risking his life in a search which he knew must be futile; and also, not being in love himself, his judgment was cool, and he was very unwilling to accompany him, from the conviction of the uselessness of the attempt. Pedro, also, though a very brave fellow, and very much attached to his master, was not quite a hero, and, as he had already seen horrors enough to make him wish to avoid further danger, he joined in attempting to dissuade him from pursuing his search on that night, when, at length, the Captain cut the matter short by seizing his arm and attempting to drag him along. “Come, my friend,” he said, “you have frequently been guided by my advice; be so now, and accompany me whither I will conduct you.”

“What! and leave my mistress to her fate? Never! I go alone, if no one will accompany me!” exclaimed Luis; and breaking suddenly from Captain Pinto, he rushed in the direction Gertrudes indicated that the ruffian who bore away Clara had taken. Pedro, who was supporting the fidalgo, was compelled to place his burden on the ground before he could pursue his master; nor could the Captain even attempt to overtake him with any hope of success. Don Luis had already disappeared down a street, the houses rocking and burning on each side, when Pedro reached the commencement. At that instant, a lofty building, not fifty yards before him, fell with a loud crash, completely blocking up the street, and sending up showers of sparks and flame, like the bursting forth of a volcano.

Pedro stood aghast, trembling at his own narrow escape, and at the too probable fate of his master, with whom all communication was now hopelessly cut off. The Captain now coming up, said, in an agitated voice, as he led him back to where the fidalgo had been left, – “We can be of more service to the living than to the dead. We will see this old man in safety, and then return to search for your master.”

This was, indeed, the only thing now to be done, and after many difficulties and much labour they reached the palace of the Marchioness of Corcunda. The door was open, and the mansion deserted, though it appeared not to have been pillaged, and after searching in every direction, it was discovered that the inmates had taken refuge in the garden, where they were collected beneath some orange trees; still uttering lamentations for what had occurred, which were increased when they heard the account Gertrudes detailed to them of the loss of Clara, and on seeing the state the fidalgo was in. The ladies were collected together in the centre, and their female attendants and men servants around them, all wringing their hands and sobbing, not one of them thinking of raising any covering to shelter themselves, or bringing out benches or chairs to sleep on. The Captain, however, with a sailor’s activity, set to work to make such arrangements as were practicable, for the comfort of the ladies and of the unfortunate fidalgo, who, as yet, gave few signs of being conscious of what was going forward. The servants worked but slowly, and were afraid of entering the house, although they did not hesitate to obey the Captain, who, it must be remembered, was a perfect stranger among them; but, on occasions of danger and difficulty, the man of courage and talent will always command obedience. Overcome with fatigue, the gallant Captain and the faithful Pedro, after snatching a short rest, again set out in search of Don Luis.

Volume Two – Chapter Fifteen

Twice had the sun risen over the city of desolation since the dreadful catastrophe of the 1st of November; and the flames yet raged in every part. Nearly twenty thousand persons, it was supposed, had been destroyed by the earthquake; and the greater number of the remaining citizens had quitted the fatal spot, and were encamped in the open fields in the neighbourhood; some with scarcely clothes to cover them, and without food to supply the cravings of hunger. Here all classes and orders of people were promiscuously mingled; respectable citizens reduced to abject poverty by the entire destruction of their property; the hapless virgins dedicated to the service of Heaven, driven from their sanctuaries among the most lawless and abandoned of mankind. Servants and their former masters; ladies, accustomed to gentle nurture, among mechanics, soldiers and porters; the virtuous and the profligate, the rich and the poor, the noble and the beggar, in the same wretched condition. The whole fabric of society was completely disorganised; murders, robberies, and all species of crimes were committed with the most flagrant daring; and naught was heard but groans and cries of distress. Slight shocks still continued to be felt at intervals of every half-hour; famine also had visited them; and, to add to their disasters, the effluvia arising from the vast number of dead bodies which choked up the streets, threatened them with a pestilence; so that hundreds of those who were able had already taken their departure to other towns; and the city would have been completely deserted, had not Sebastiaö Jozé de Carvalho, now created Prime Minister, exerted his utmost power to prevent so unfortunate an event to the kingdom.

It was now that he exhibited, in the greatest degree, that energetic character, and those extraordinary abilities which distinguished him among his countrymen. Having received full powers from the King to act as he judged expedient, both day and night he drove from place to place in his carriage, to observe what was most necessary to be done, – it serving him for his bureau, his couch, and his parlour; the only food he took on the first day being a basin of broth, which the Countess Daun, his wife, brought him with her own hands. His first care was to cut off all communication between the burning part of the city and that which remained entire; for to extinguish the conflagration was beyond his power, or the means of man to accomplish; his next was to despatch messengers into all the surrounding districts, to collect provisions for the houseless inhabitants; and his third was to send round to all the parochial clergy and heads of yet existing convents, to urge them to impress on their congregations and inferiors, as a duty both grateful to Heaven, and called for by man, to bury the dead without delay.

This last order had at first, owing to the paralysation of their energies, with which terror and misery had affected all men, been but negligently obeyed; and the streets were yet, in some places, actually blocked up with the dead, particularly in front of the churches, where they lay piled in heaps, mangled in every shocking way; some burned to cinders or scorched by the flames, and others torn almost to pieces by the savage dogs and vermin. Such sights were, indeed, dreadful to behold, but the eyes of those who had ventured into this arena of devastation and confusion had already become familiarised with them. Some of the noblest in the land had, with philanthropic boldness, wandered amid the ruins, to bear succour to those who might yet providentially remain alive beneath them; and among the first of those charitable persons, who set so bright an example to their fellow-men, was Don John of Bragança, a cousin of the King’s, and brother of the Duke of Lafoens, well-known about that time, in France and England, as the Duke of Bragança. It was reported that, in his presence, a young damsel was dug out of a cellar, in perfect health, on the sixth day, and it was fully believed by the pious that she was, as she affirmed, saved from destruction by clasping a figure of Saint Anthony, which was found in her embrace.

But to return to the day we first spoke of. From all the yet existing churches, mournful processions issued, headed by priests or friars, and accompanied by parties of seculars carrying biers, who perambulated the streets, and bore the bodies of the wretched victims, either to the water’s edge, from whence they were conveyed to the centre of the Tagus, and sunk with weights; or else to large receptacles prepared in the neighbourhood of the city, when quick-lime was thrown in on them. But, though these toiled all day, little progress appeared yet to have been made in the sad work, so great was the number of the dead.

They were not the only people seen among the ruins; for the ruffian banditti continued their depredations, unawed by the summary punishment of two or three of their number, who had been seized in the fact, and hung, by the Minister’s orders, without further trial. But there was one who belonged to neither of those classes, who had been seen, night and day, constantly wandering in every direction, gazing at every female corpse he passed, and eagerly eyeing every person he encountered, fearless of danger from the burning edifices, and disregarding the menaces of the vile wretches he often interrupted in their lawless pursuits. His countenance was worn and haggard, and his dress disordered and soiled, though, from his air and general appearance, he evidently belonged to the Fidalguia. He was closely followed by another person, who, although pale and wearied, did not exhibit the same signs of mental prostration and wretchedness, and was, from his costume and manner, apparently the servant of the first. The day was nearly spent, but still he wandered on, uncertain which way to direct his steps. He stopped to question each person he met; but all considered him as one whose brain had been turned by the horrors of the times, and, disregarding him, hurried by. On he wandered, his search proving, too clearly, as fruitless as at first, till he observed a naval officer, followed by a party of men in uniform, at a little distance: he hurried towards them.