The Prime Minister

by William Henry Giles Kingston

We have long lost sight of the beloved of the Count d’Almeida, the fair Donna Clara Christovaö, and we now return to her with delight, for we love to gaze upon a being young, innocent, and lovely as she was. On her return from Lisbon, her father had allowed her to remain at home for some months, to recruit her strength and spirits among the scenes of her childhood, after all the terror and danger she had undergone; nor did he, during that time, once refer to the monastic life to which he had dedicated her; indeed, he tried to forget it himself; and would, perhaps, though not addicted to changing his purpose, have deferred the fatal time from year to year till death had removed him from the world, had he not his father confessor by his side, who at length thought fit to remind him of his vow. It is needless to say, he had repented of it, though he would not acknowledge it to himself, and he strenuously endeavoured to persuade the father that he could in no way compromise his soul by deferring the commencement of the year of probation to a future period; but the latter was firm, painting the enormity of such conduct in colours so glowing, so that the unhappy father was obliged to yield, and promised to make no further delay.

For reasons known only to herself, Donna Clara had firmly refused to perform her confession before Father Alfonzo, and taking advantage of the privilege allowed to every member of a family, she had selected a venerable and worthy priest as her confessor, whose best qualification was his kind and simple heart, and his innocent and credulous belief in all the miracles, the relics, and the infallibility of his Church.

Father Alfonzo, who well knew his character, lost no opportunity of winning his regard, and thus making a tool of him in his plans on Clara, which, though delayed, he had not abandoned. No; the devil, in whatever shape he appear is ever treacherous, watchful, and persevering, and naught but the armour of innocence can turn aside his deadly shafts.

Clara had learnt to confide in the good priest, and flew to him on all occasions for consolation and advice; and now, when the fidalgo, urged on by his confessor, again proposed to her to fulfil her mother’s vow by entering a convent, she requested permission, before determining, to consult her ghostly adviser on the subject.

She hastened to the aged priest, telling him her unwillingness to give up the world, and her feeling of unfitness for a life devoted wholly to the services of the Church.

“Alas! my daughter, it is hard for an old man, broken by infirmities, with one foot in the grave, to advise a young and joyous being to abandon all her hopes of domestic felicity, and the pleasures which the world affords, for a life of ascetic seclusion,” he answered; and Clara felt her heart lighter at his words. “But,” he continued, “as a minister of religion, it behoves me to advise you to obey your father’s wishes, and to fulfil your mother’s vow. There is but one course, my daughter, marked out for you to follow—the stern one of duty; and your duty demands the sacrifice of yourself; yet weep not, my child, a few years will quickly pass away, and you will no longer regret the world you have left, with all its vanities, while an immortal crown of glory will assuredly await you, the blessed reward of your virtue and resignation. Think of this world as it truly is, a vale of tears, and place your hopes of happiness in a heavenly future.—My fair daughter, you must become a nun.”

Pale and trembling, Clara listened, and bent her head in meek resignation, while the tears stole down her fair cheeks. The advice, though good and pious, doubtless, was not such as to afford consolation to a lovely girl of nineteen, who might naturally and innocently hope to find some enjoyment in the world her aged confessor likened to a vale of tears; yet she had determined to abide by his counsel, and her fate was sealed.

She made no further resistance to the fidalgo’s commands, consenting to recommence her noviciate whenever he should think fit. A day at a short distance was fixed, and Father Alfonzo saw with malignant satisfaction the commencement of his long sought for triumph.

The Convent of Santa Clara, at Oporto, is situated on the brow of a steep hill to the east of the city, overlooking the rapid Douro. It is a lofty and handsome building of carved stone, the windows looking towards the outer side being strongly barred; the church stands on one side of the entrance, which is through a court-yard with wide oaken gates. A long and steep flight of steps leads up to it from the river, but on the other side it is approachable by a broad though winding road, with the backs chiefly of some large houses and dead walls on each side, making it altogether a most secluded situation. The garden is surrounded by a high dark wall, with pointed battlements, exactly similar to the walls of the city; indeed, one side of it is enclosed by them, and at the end furthest removed from the convent is a summer-house, likewise, alas! securely grated, from whence a beautiful view is obtained both up and down the river. On the opposite side, on the summit of a precipitous cliff, at whose foot the river rushes with impetuous force, stands the Serra Convent, with its high cupola-roofed church, then surrounded by groves of fine trees and lovely gardens, and inhabited by the most wealthy and high-born monks of Oporto, that of Santa Clara receiving none but the daughters of fidalgos. On the right is a view of the city, and the town of Villa Nova, with the heights beyond, between which the river winds its way towards the sea; while on the left, a soft and smiling scene, with rich green banks rising from the water, is beheld, beyond a narrow gorge of dark rocks.

To this convent Clara was now conveyed, and, torn from the embrace of the good Senhora Gertrudes, notwithstanding all the old nurse’s entreaties that her darling might be allowed to remain at home with her.