The Prime Minister by William Henry Giles Kingston
other old ladies haveoften since done, when their _soirees_ have not gone off as well as theyexpected. Balls in those days, in Portugal, were very solemn affairs,the stately and sedate cotillon being the only dance allowed, peopleendeavouring, by outward gravity and decorum, to make amends foruniversal license and depravity of morals; hoops, bag-wigs, and swords,not increasing any inclination for saltatory amusements. How far betteris the graceful and animating waltz, the inspiriting galop, and theconversational quadrille, of the present day, with the really correctbehaviour so general in society.
Now, we dare say, some of our readers will accuse us of having againfallen into the errors of romance writers, in describing Donna Clara'shasty acknowledgment of her love for Don Luis; and, in our defence, weaffirm, in the first place, that such was the fact--which ought to besufficient. And that none may deem her unmaidenly, it must beremembered that she had naturally thought of him every day since theyfirst met, that she had contrasted him with the Count, for whom she hadfrom the first felt a dislike, and that Don Luis proved he had thoughtof her and her wishes, by recovering her mother's jewels; besides, hewas a very handsome, noble person, and her equal in birth; but, aboveall, he told her he loved her, and she believed him. Why should shenot? More than a month had passed since they first met; and though theyhad not since personally encountered each other, they had, every day andhour, in spirit; for their love was of that pure essence which neithertime nor space can divide, which, born in heaven, outlives decay, andagainst which neither the powers of the earth, nor the spirits ofdarkness, can prevail; that heavenly spark which, in an instant kindled,burns brightly for eternity! Love at first sight! We pity theheart-withered worldlings who deem this impossible; who, because thefurnace of society has seared and hardened their feelings, laugh andsneer at all the refined and tender sentiments which gentle natureimplanted in the bosom of man; though such they truly cannot experience,yet the young and innocent may, and we know, are often thus blessed. Wesay blessed, for a few moments of such pure ecstasy are of incomparablyfar greater value than a whole life of apathetic indifference. Thosewho require confirmation of the truth of our history, we must remind,that Lisbon is considerably to the south of the latitude of Verona, forwe firmly believe that a certain William Shakespeare never drew acharacter not true to life. Now, he tells how, in Verona, the young andardent Romeo and Juliet loved, and loved so truly, that they died forlove; and yet their love in one instant sprung to life, and flourishedbright and lovely to the end. Before concluding, we may quote somewords spoken by Juliet on their second meeting, and then we think Clarawill not be accused of precipitancy:--
Juliet.
"Three words, dear Romeo, and good night, indeed. If that thy bent of love be honourable, Thy purpose marriage, send me word to-morrow, By one that I'll procure to come to thee, Where, and what time, thou wilt perform the rite; And all my fortunes at thy foot I'll lay, And follow thee, my lord, throughout the world."
Volume 2, Chapter V.
How bright and fair are the hopes of youth, like the early flowers ofspring; but how soon, alas! do they, too, wither and decay, beneath thefirst scorching blast of summer. Poor Donna Clara awoke, the morningafter the events we have described in the previous chapter, with aweight at her young heart such as she had never before experienced. Ashort month ago, the world promised naught but happiness, and now everyfeeling of joy lay crushed and blighted. Old Gertrudes attended herloved mistress with looks of sorrow, while the business of the toilettewas proceeding; and no sooner had she dismissed her Abigails, than sheurged her to confide to her bosom all the causes of her grief. She wasin no way restrained in her abuse of the Count, describing his charactervery much in its true light; but her observations, far from relievingClara's mind, only increased her fears for the safety of Don Luis.
When the old lady heard that her fate was to be settled that very day,her tears flowed fast, as she embraced her affectionately: "I will nothave my child torn from me to be shut up in a convent, where I cannotattend on her," she exclaimed. "I don't believe my mistress, your ladymother, who has gone to heaven, ever wished you to go into one at all.I never heard her say so, and there's nobody but the Senhor Confessorwho ever did; so I see no reason why you should be forced to do what youdo not like. If you were to marry some young fidalgo whom you loved, itwould be very different, and all natural; because I might then accompanyand take care of you; but this I am determined shall not be, let thatstern friar say and do what he will. I don't care for him; for I knowmore about him than he is aware of, clever as he thinks himself."
The old lady had got thus far in her tirade, when a knocking was heardat the door, and the deep voice of Father Alfonzo demanded admittance,which Clara could not refuse. He entered with a slow step, and a solemnlook; and after seating himself by the side of the fair girl, orderedSenhor a Gertrudes to withdraw. She looked as if she would very muchlike to disobey; but there was no help for it. "I have matter ofimportance to communicate to my young penitent, which no ears but hersmust hear;" so the old nurse, casting a warning glance towards DonnaClara, quitted the room.
"My daughter," began the Friar, "this day you are to make yourselection, either to wed the Count or to assume the veil. Now, I wouldnot bias your choice; but I consider it my duty to inform you of certainthings which have come to my knowledge, which will have great effect onyour future happiness,--but on one condition, that you reveal them to noone; this swear to me, and I will speak them."
Clara took the oath as the Friar directed; for why should she refuse todo that which her confessor asked?
"Know, then, my daughter, that the man whom your father and brotherdesire you towed is a dark and blood-stained murderer!" and the friarpoured into the ear of the gentle girl a tale of horror, which made hercheek grow pale, and her frame tremble with fear. "But remember," hecontinued, "that you have sworn to reveal this tale to no one, not evento your parent, or dearest friend."
"I will not forget my oath; for my lips could not even utter thedreadful tale," cried the agitated girl.
"'Tis well, then: you renounce all intention of wedding this Count?"said the Friar.
"Oh yes, yes, I would die sooner!" returned Clara.
"You have a far happier alternative in store for you, my daughter," saidthe Friar: "a life of sanctity and devotion; in which you will be freefrom the cares and troubles of the world; and in the daily communion ofpious and humble women, whose every action is guided by religious andlearned priests, you will soon forget all the frivolities and vanitiesof the society you quit."
"I will submit to the will of Heaven," answered the gentle Clara, in afaint voice.
"Such a temper is highly commendable, my daughter," returned the Friar."You must prepare to enter, in a few days, the holy retreat selected foryou, while, in the mean time, I will make arrangements with the LadyAbbess for your reception. I now go to seek your father, to communicateyour pious determination."
"Oh no, let me speak to my father," cried Clara, eagerly. "I wouldrather that he should hear from my lips that I cannot wed the Count: hemay--" and she hesitated, recollecting herself.
"As you will," said the Friar, looking at her suspiciously; "butremember your oath, and dread the punishment of Heaven."
A dreadful doubt crossed her mind: had the Friar any sinister motive fordeceiving her?
The Friar rose without again addressing her, and quitted her chamber.He sought the fidalgo, and, notwithstanding Clara's request, he informedhim of her determination. "Your daughter seems bent on disobeying yourwishes, senhor," he said. "Though I have exerted my humble endeavoursto persuade her to follow them, and have placed the character of theyoung Count in as favourable a point of view as possible, she has afoolish and invincible repugnance to him; however, perhaps a father'spersuasions may have more effect than mine; but should you not succeed,be firm, and remember your oath, or dread the vengeance of Heaven!" andthe Friar turned aside his head, to hide the dark smile which lighted uphis features.
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sp; The fidalgo parted from his confessor, and hastened to his daughter'schamber. Clara had sunk on her knees before the little altar andcrucifix on one side of her room, to seek aid from Heaven to supportthat misery which it seemed cruel man had conspired to cause. She roseas she heard her father's footsteps approaching: she had not wept, hergrief was too bitter, too hopeless, for tears to give relief; and withapparent calmness she met him as he entered. But already had the blightfallen on that fair brow; the soft lustre of her eyes had beenextinguished; the rose had fled her cheeks, and no more did theaccustomed smile dwell on those sweet lips. The fidalgo could not failto see the change; but he made no remark: his thoughts were busy withthe arrangement on which he had determined. He loved his daughter much,but
Now, we dare say, some of our readers will accuse us of having againfallen into the errors of romance writers, in describing Donna Clara'shasty acknowledgment of her love for Don Luis; and, in our defence, weaffirm, in the first place, that such was the fact--which ought to besufficient. And that none may deem her unmaidenly, it must beremembered that she had naturally thought of him every day since theyfirst met, that she had contrasted him with the Count, for whom she hadfrom the first felt a dislike, and that Don Luis proved he had thoughtof her and her wishes, by recovering her mother's jewels; besides, hewas a very handsome, noble person, and her equal in birth; but, aboveall, he told her he loved her, and she believed him. Why should shenot? More than a month had passed since they first met; and though theyhad not since personally encountered each other, they had, every day andhour, in spirit; for their love was of that pure essence which neithertime nor space can divide, which, born in heaven, outlives decay, andagainst which neither the powers of the earth, nor the spirits ofdarkness, can prevail; that heavenly spark which, in an instant kindled,burns brightly for eternity! Love at first sight! We pity theheart-withered worldlings who deem this impossible; who, because thefurnace of society has seared and hardened their feelings, laugh andsneer at all the refined and tender sentiments which gentle natureimplanted in the bosom of man; though such they truly cannot experience,yet the young and innocent may, and we know, are often thus blessed. Wesay blessed, for a few moments of such pure ecstasy are of incomparablyfar greater value than a whole life of apathetic indifference. Thosewho require confirmation of the truth of our history, we must remind,that Lisbon is considerably to the south of the latitude of Verona, forwe firmly believe that a certain William Shakespeare never drew acharacter not true to life. Now, he tells how, in Verona, the young andardent Romeo and Juliet loved, and loved so truly, that they died forlove; and yet their love in one instant sprung to life, and flourishedbright and lovely to the end. Before concluding, we may quote somewords spoken by Juliet on their second meeting, and then we think Clarawill not be accused of precipitancy:--
Juliet.
"Three words, dear Romeo, and good night, indeed. If that thy bent of love be honourable, Thy purpose marriage, send me word to-morrow, By one that I'll procure to come to thee, Where, and what time, thou wilt perform the rite; And all my fortunes at thy foot I'll lay, And follow thee, my lord, throughout the world."
Volume 2, Chapter V.
How bright and fair are the hopes of youth, like the early flowers ofspring; but how soon, alas! do they, too, wither and decay, beneath thefirst scorching blast of summer. Poor Donna Clara awoke, the morningafter the events we have described in the previous chapter, with aweight at her young heart such as she had never before experienced. Ashort month ago, the world promised naught but happiness, and now everyfeeling of joy lay crushed and blighted. Old Gertrudes attended herloved mistress with looks of sorrow, while the business of the toilettewas proceeding; and no sooner had she dismissed her Abigails, than sheurged her to confide to her bosom all the causes of her grief. She wasin no way restrained in her abuse of the Count, describing his charactervery much in its true light; but her observations, far from relievingClara's mind, only increased her fears for the safety of Don Luis.
When the old lady heard that her fate was to be settled that very day,her tears flowed fast, as she embraced her affectionately: "I will nothave my child torn from me to be shut up in a convent, where I cannotattend on her," she exclaimed. "I don't believe my mistress, your ladymother, who has gone to heaven, ever wished you to go into one at all.I never heard her say so, and there's nobody but the Senhor Confessorwho ever did; so I see no reason why you should be forced to do what youdo not like. If you were to marry some young fidalgo whom you loved, itwould be very different, and all natural; because I might then accompanyand take care of you; but this I am determined shall not be, let thatstern friar say and do what he will. I don't care for him; for I knowmore about him than he is aware of, clever as he thinks himself."
The old lady had got thus far in her tirade, when a knocking was heardat the door, and the deep voice of Father Alfonzo demanded admittance,which Clara could not refuse. He entered with a slow step, and a solemnlook; and after seating himself by the side of the fair girl, orderedSenhor a Gertrudes to withdraw. She looked as if she would very muchlike to disobey; but there was no help for it. "I have matter ofimportance to communicate to my young penitent, which no ears but hersmust hear;" so the old nurse, casting a warning glance towards DonnaClara, quitted the room.
"My daughter," began the Friar, "this day you are to make yourselection, either to wed the Count or to assume the veil. Now, I wouldnot bias your choice; but I consider it my duty to inform you of certainthings which have come to my knowledge, which will have great effect onyour future happiness,--but on one condition, that you reveal them to noone; this swear to me, and I will speak them."
Clara took the oath as the Friar directed; for why should she refuse todo that which her confessor asked?
"Know, then, my daughter, that the man whom your father and brotherdesire you towed is a dark and blood-stained murderer!" and the friarpoured into the ear of the gentle girl a tale of horror, which made hercheek grow pale, and her frame tremble with fear. "But remember," hecontinued, "that you have sworn to reveal this tale to no one, not evento your parent, or dearest friend."
"I will not forget my oath; for my lips could not even utter thedreadful tale," cried the agitated girl.
"'Tis well, then: you renounce all intention of wedding this Count?"said the Friar.
"Oh yes, yes, I would die sooner!" returned Clara.
"You have a far happier alternative in store for you, my daughter," saidthe Friar: "a life of sanctity and devotion; in which you will be freefrom the cares and troubles of the world; and in the daily communion ofpious and humble women, whose every action is guided by religious andlearned priests, you will soon forget all the frivolities and vanitiesof the society you quit."
"I will submit to the will of Heaven," answered the gentle Clara, in afaint voice.
"Such a temper is highly commendable, my daughter," returned the Friar."You must prepare to enter, in a few days, the holy retreat selected foryou, while, in the mean time, I will make arrangements with the LadyAbbess for your reception. I now go to seek your father, to communicateyour pious determination."
"Oh no, let me speak to my father," cried Clara, eagerly. "I wouldrather that he should hear from my lips that I cannot wed the Count: hemay--" and she hesitated, recollecting herself.
"As you will," said the Friar, looking at her suspiciously; "butremember your oath, and dread the punishment of Heaven."
A dreadful doubt crossed her mind: had the Friar any sinister motive fordeceiving her?
The Friar rose without again addressing her, and quitted her chamber.He sought the fidalgo, and, notwithstanding Clara's request, he informedhim of her determination. "Your daughter seems bent on disobeying yourwishes, senhor," he said. "Though I have exerted my humble endeavoursto persuade her to follow them, and have placed the character of theyoung Count in as favourable a point of view as possible, she has afoolish and invincible repugnance to him; however, perhaps a father'spersuasions may have more effect than mine; but should you not succeed,be firm, and remember your oath, or dread the vengeance of Heaven!" andthe Friar turned aside his head, to hide the dark smile which lighted uphis features.
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