The Prime Minister

by William Henry Giles Kingston

The young Count d’Almeida had, since his arrival in Lisbon, been leading a life of complete retirement, at the quiet abode Pedro had selected for him. He had withdrawn himself from the society of the Tavoras, even from that of young Jozé de Tavora, whom he could not entirely forgive for the deceit he had practised on him, in leading him into the meeting of the conspirators on the fatal night of the attempted assassination of the King. He could not banish from his mind the suspicion that some of the persons he had there met were, in some way or other, connected with that diabolical outrage; and he felt assured, from knowing the character of the Minister, that it would not, as people supposed, be overlooked; so that, notwithstanding the apparent tranquillity which reigned in the city, the culprits would, sooner or later, be discovered. Of his own safety, though innocent of any criminal design, he was not at all satisfied; and each day that he rose he felt might be the last without the walls of a prison.

His friend, Captain Pinto, was at sea in the frigate he now commanded; and she was not, it was said, expected in the Tagus for some time.

When he inquired for Senhor Mendez, he was informed that, as soon as his health had been restored, he had sailed for England, nor did any one know when he was likely to return; so that Luis found himself deprived of the advice of the two persons in whom he could most confide. For his cousin, the Father Jacinto, he had long conceived the most complete distrust; and had not, therefore, even informed him of his return to Lisbon, nor did he believe the holy Jesuit was aware of the circumstance.

Our fair readers will naturally inquire if he had forgotten Donna Clara. He would have been unworthy of the pen of an historian if such could have been possible. He loved her as devotedly as before their separation, even though the last glow of hope was almost extinguished in his heart; but the spark still existed, for the fatal vow had not yet been pronounced, which, like death, must tear her from him for ever, and, till then, he would hope on: his love, he felt, could end but in his grave.

After some months of quietude, Lisbon was aroused from a lethargy (into which she was, in those days, rather more apt to fall than at present, when, every six months or so, she undergoes the excitement of a revolution) by the marriage of the eldest daughter of the Prime Minister with the Count Sampayo, to celebrate which important event preparations on a grand scale were made throughout the city. The King, who had not yet appeared in public, would, it was said, give a grand ball at the palace, to which all the first fidalgos were invited; and the foreigners had also issued invitations for a magnificent fête, which they purposed giving on the occasion, at their own ballroom, which might vie with any other in the kingdom.

The fidalgos, unsuspicious of danger, flocked into Lisbon from all parts of the country; some really anxious to pay their respects to their sovereign, and perhaps their court to his Minister; others, from very different motives, afraid of absenting themselves.

The Count d’Almeida had determined, on this occasion, to enter for the first time into society, since the death of his father. Late in the day, he rode out into the country, as was his usual custom; and, after proceeding some distance, he observed a large body of cavalry advancing rapidly towards the city. To avoid them, he turned his horse into a cross road, which led him into another highway, when he found himself in the rear of a regiment of infantry. By making a still larger circuit he hoped to escape the annoyance of having to pass them; but, to his surprise, he again encountered another body of troops.

At last, he determined to return homeward, wondering for what purpose the garrison of Lisbon was thus so suddenly increased; and, as he approached the barriers, he found each avenue to the city strongly guarded; he being allowed to enter, but several persons, who seemed anxious to go out, were detained without receiving any explanation.

We often blame ourselves that ideas should not have occurred to us, when after circumstances have proved the great advantage we might have derived from them; and so Luis had cause to think before he closed his eyes in sleep on that eventful night. He arrived at his solitary home without meeting any one from whom to inquire the cause of the sudden movement of the troops. While dressing for the fête, he inquired of Pedro if he had heard anything on the subject; but the latter, whose mind was full of the magnificence of the preparations, could only inform him that it was reported, a few more military had marched into the city to attend a review which the King was to hold on the following day.

Satisfied with this answer, Luis drove down to the palace, in front of which a large body of guards were drawn up, while carriages in great numbers were thronging to the spot. As he entered the hall of the palace, his eyes were dazzled by the brilliant illumination which met his view from hundreds of lights suspended from the roof, and above the broad staircase in front, glancing on the polished arms of the guards, who filled every part except a narrow passage for the guests between them. A military band, stationed on each side, was playing some loud and martial airs, which drowned the voices of any who attempted to speak. Luis passed on, and had reached the foot of the stairs, when two officers stepped forward.