The Prime Minister

by William Henry Giles Kingston

Clara shook her head; she was shocked at what she heard.

“Ah, I see you have a great deal of rustic simplicity to cure yourself of, before you can properly appreciate the pleasures of a city life; but after you have married the count, I shall find you wonderfully improved.”

“I can never marry the count: I shall enter a convent rather,” said Clara.

“Oh, horror of horrors! I know not why such places were invented, except as a punishment for our sins, or by some sour, crusty old fathers, to frighten their daughters into obedience to their tyrannical commands. I have heard some extraordinary stories about two or three convents in the old king’s time, which I will tell you; for they may amuse you, though I do not think they would encourage a modest young lady to enter one, as they are not much improved since then.”

We do not give the stories; for we must observe, that the minds of young ladies in those days were less refined than at the present time; and that they assumed far more freedom in their language, particularly those who had been educated like Donna Theresa; though the recital, to which Clara’s pure ears were unaccustomed, made the blushes rise on her cheeks. It is only necessary to say, that several convents were entirely suppressed by Pombal, on account of their scandalous excesses and immoralities, which had become a disgrace to civilisation and Christianity.

Donna Theresa’s conversation had, however, the effect of making Clara feel that she ought rather to undergo any misery than assume the veil; and, that her only course was to obey her father’s commands; an opinion, her new friend did her utmost to foster. She became also accustomed to the count’s expression of features, which had, at first, alarmed her; for he exerted himself to please her, and her brother lost no opportunity of praising his generous qualities. The count had also contrived to gain over the old marchioness, by a variety of artifices, which he well knew how to practise, and the confessor, for some unexplained reason, had not again spoken to Clara on the subject of her taking the veil; so that she was left, poor girl! with the old nurse, as the only friend in whom she could confide, or who seemed to take a real interest in her welfare. Yet, simple virtue, and purity of thought, will often strengthen the weak to counteract all the wiles and plots of the subtle intriguer, though confident in his strength and talent. Thus affairs continued; her month of probation was nearly drawing to a close, and, in a few days, she must consent to receive the count as her husband, or assume the veil; all she had heard increased her dislike to the latter alternative, and everybody around her endeavoured to persuade her, that the other was a very happy lot.

The count had, by some means or other, discovered the cause of the delay; and that she was hesitating about accepting him, not from his having any rival in her affections, whom he might chastise, as he vowed he would, if he discovered one; but, because she felt so great an antipathy to him, that she fancied she should prefer a life of seclusion in a convent, to wedding him with rank, wealth, and liberty. This was not very complimentary to him, nor was he pleased by it; but he was not a man who foolishly gave vent to his feelings in outward show, though he vowed an oath, deep and bitter, that, once master of that bright jewel, he would wring her young heart for its present obduracy, till she should repent ever having dared, for an instant, to oppose his lordly will.

He persuaded the marchioness that gaiety was most likely to restore her young friend to her usual state of spirits and health; and, perhaps, the old lady was not sorry to discover a plausible excuse for opening her palace once more to the gay world. Her father and brother wisely judged that if they could give her a taste for the amusements of society, she was less likely to wish to quit it. There was also to be a Beja Mao, literally a kissing hands, or drawing-room, at the Court, when she was to be introduced to the royal family, so that there was little time afforded her for thought or meditation; indeed, very little would have turned the scale, and made her accept the count at once; but she sought to put off the day, which she knew must seal her misery, till the end of the period allowed her.

The only person who appeared to be an indifferent spectator of what was taking place, was the father confessor, Padre Alfonzo: he merely kept his gaze fixed on her, with an ominous frown on his brow, whenever the count was engaged in conversation with her; and his was, perhaps, the only eye beneath which the glance of the young noble cowered.

A few days before the end of the month, the confessor encountered the fidalgo alone: it was towards the close of the evening, as he was pacing a long gallery of the palace, hung with the grim portraits of some of his ancestors, who were those likewise of the marchioness.