The Prime Minister

“Pedro!” he exclaimed; “we ride for life and death! You will not desert me? We must place Leiria to the south of us before we rest.”

“Fear me not, my dear master, I will follow wherever you lead,” answered Pedro, with enthusiasm; and away the two horsemen galloped; and before the sun rose, Lisbon was many leagues behind them. So well did the horses perform their work, that it was still daylight when they reached the gates of Leiria. The Count, with the magic order from the Minister, instantly went in search of fresh steeds. Of course, no one had them, till he fortunately encountered an old acquaintance, who indicated to him where they were to be found; and, with delight, he soon discovered two, fresh and strong for the road. The surprise of the inhabitants was great indeed to see the travellers again in their saddles, and galloping out of the town. Night overtook them just as they reached the little inn, where, two years before, their adventure with the banditti had occurred; but they thought not of danger, as they threw themselves from their saddles, and, seeing their horses carefully attended to, were, it must be confessed, after a hasty supper, soon fast asleep. The buxom maiden of former years had now become the landlady, nor did Pedro forget to whisper Frè Diogo’s name in her ear, for which he got a good box on his own. Again they were on the road, and “Onward, onward!” was Luis’s cry. Coimbra was reached safely, and once more they were fortunate in finding even better steeds than before. Pedro was already almost knocked up with the fatigue, but the lover felt it not, as he galloped onward. He thought but of one thing the whole time, the quickest way to reach the end of his journey.

Alas! the end was not to be so prosperous. Within five leagues of Oporto both the horses began to stumble through fatigue, and at last that of Luis came to the ground. He was himself, fortunately, uninjured, but for some minutes the horse refused to move, and at last they found it utterly impossible to proceed further. A small inn was at hand, where they took shelter, and from whence, the next morning, they again set out.

The sun was already high in the heavens when they came in sight of Oporto, rising on its cluster of hills directly opposite to them. The sight of a goal, where his hopes were to be blest or blasted for ever, inspired Luis with renewed ardour. He dashed down the steep hill, through the town of Villa Nova, and reached a pontoon bridge which connects it with Oporto. He crossed without an accident, and the first person he encountered on the opposite side was Captain Pinto.

“Not a moment is to be lost, Luis,” he exclaimed, pointing to his boat, a fast pulling, six-oared gig. “Up that way, and then up a flight of steep steps, you will reach the church – the ceremony has begun, but cannot have concluded.”

Luis waited not to answer him, but, throwing his horse’s bridle to a bystander, as did Pedro, he sprung up the steps near him. He flew like lightning: breathless he rushed into the church. He gazed wildly around – Clara was at the altar. Had she pronounced the fatal oath? He stopped not to inquire; but, thrusting the spectators aside, he uttered the cry which caused her to faint. He sprung forward, he lifted her in his arms, and exhibiting to the astonished eyes of the assembled monks and nuns the orders both of her father and the Minister, he bore her to the open air.

“She is mine!” he exclaimed, “and I confide her to no one else.”

“They are base forgeries,” he heard the voice of Frè Alfonzo exclaim, as he stood in advance of the rest. “Seize the sacrilegious wretch! The holy Inquisition must be his judge.”

Luis waited not to hear more; but, pressing the yet unconscious girl to his heart, he leaped down the steep steps, while Pedro closely followed, keeping any one from attempting to seize him. Captain Pinto caught a glimpse of him as he neared the place of embarkation, and, shouting to his crew to be prepared, he hastened to assist him in lifting the lady into the boat. Pedro jumped in after them, and the boat had just gained the centre of the stream as a group of monks and priests, with Frè Alfonzo, had collected on the quay, uttering their anathemas against the daring marauder, who had robbed the Church of their prey. The young Count, his heart throbbing with joy and fear, heard them not, as he bent over the yet senseless form of the lovely Clara. There was but one course now to pursue. He well knew the dreadful deeds which had been done by the ministers of religion and he could never venture to entrust the rescued girl within the powers of the infuriated monks. He must bear her on board the frigate.

“The only safe plan,” said the Captain. “You have the Minister’s authority, her’s you will soon get, and her father can give his when you return; if not, you must do without it. Give way, my men!”

The boat shot rapidly down the stream, and ere long was breasting the rolling billows of the Atlantic. The frigate stood towards her, the lady was carefully lifted on deck, the boat was hoisted in, and when Clara came to herself she found herself in the cabin, her head supported by the young Count, who was kneeling by her side. She pronounced his name. “Where am I?” she exclaimed, gazing wildly around.

“In safety, and borne onward, I trust, to happiness,” answered her lover; and a very few sentences sufficed to explain all that had occurred.

“Thank Heaven,” she whispered, “I am not shrouded, as I fancied, in that dreadful black veil.”

Favourable breezes carried them to the free and happy shores of England, where, a few days after their landing, they were married, with due pomp, at the Portuguese Embassy, a measure Gonçalo Christovaö highly approved of, when he discovered that the Senhor d’Almeida had settled a handsome fortune on his nephew.

For many years they resided in England, where their generous relative joined them; for his principles but ill agreed with the bigotry and ignorant superstition which he encountered on every side. Clara had the happiness of hearing of her brother’s recovery and escape from prison; but the Conde San Vincente, by high bribes, avoided punishment.

The only person of whose fate we are not quite certain was Frè Diogo, though we have our fears that he figured in an Auto-da-fé in 1765; his crimes being, speaking ill of the holy office, not paying due reverence to the holy sacrament, and entertaining scandalous and heretical opinions.

The fate of the Prime Minister is well known. On the death of Joseph, he was deprived, by Donna Maria the First, of his offices, and banished to his native town, where, at an advanced age, he died, his sons inheriting his titles and property, of which his enemies could not deprive him.

Finis

1

Ourique, opposite Lisbon, the birth-place of Portuguese monarchy.

2

Hear the king! – a cry for help.

3

The whole of this Sermon is a literal translation.

4

This is the same worthy noble Mr Beckford so frequently mentions, and with whom he was residing while at Lisbon.

5

The Father Jacinto was soon afterwards imprisoned and tortured. He died in confinement from the effects of his treatment, say the Jesuits.

6

Dom Pedro, the father of her present Majesty of Portugal.