The Prime Minister
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the tablets of his memory. Though he knew it not, neitherage, grief, nor madness itself, could efface that image of beauty he haddrawn. Years might pass away, his own eyes might grow dim, that lovelyform might fade, but there it would remain, unchangeable, cherished, andadored!
Though old age has stolen on us, it has made us neither sullen normorose, and we can yet find pleasure in recurring to the fresh days ofour youth, when a lovely face had power to make an impression on ourhearts; and we can thus vividly picture to ourselves many of those, seenperhaps but once, suddenly bursting on our view, like a picture ofTitian's, never to be forgotten; and it is from those we describe thefair creatures we would introduce to our readers. Now and again we havemet the same, we have fancied, in the person of a younger sister, or adaughter, or perhaps of no kindred except that of sentiments anddisposition, which always give a similar expression to the countenance.Sometimes, too, we have met the self-same being, changed, alas! from thecreature of angelic loveliness we once knew;--the roses have fled hercheeks, the sylph-like form is no longer there; we hear no more her softsilvery voice; but soon some old familiar expression, some reference topast days, conjures up the former image in all its glowing tints ofloveliness, and we deem our youth again returned, and once more do herjoyous laughter and the sweet notes of her voice ring, like fairy music,in our ears. 'Tis for this reason that we esteem painting the first,the most divine of the arts; for, with regard to music, the hand or thevoice may fail; with poetry, the language may alter or be lost, and thewords bring no meaning to the senses; but painting has survived thedestruction of kingdoms, the dispersion of nations, a people whoselanguage and very name would have passed away, but that the productionsof this art remain to tell their history. Who has not gazed withrapture on some lovely, almost speaking, portrait of one absent, orperhaps lost to us for ever? As we have stood before it, we have seemedto hold converse with it; the eyes have appeared to burn with themysterious light of intellect, and the lips to move; and we haveanswered to the words we in fancy heard! Can poetry or music work thismagic effect? No; they have their own charms--and oh! how powerful oursoul confesses! but we have seen paintings which combine all, which havepoetry in every line, and music in every tint.
We are fond, we confess, of making digressions, either when travellingthrough beautiful scenery, or in conversation, to sketch the views, andto cull the flowers to be found on each side of our path, which, howeverpleasant to ourselves, who know what is before us, is a bad system topursue, we own, when our readers are anxious to proceed with ourhistory, and we must therefore apologise to them for our wanderings, andpromise in future to keep as much as possible in the direct path.
We must again request our readers to understand, that we do not affirmthat Don Luis was in love with Donna Clara; but that we merely wish toexplain clearly that he was not at all likely to forget her, whichcircumstance may be of consequence to remember for the elucidation ofthe subsequent part of this narrative; to hasten on with which, we neednot give the conversation which took place between them, because, also,though highly interesting to themselves, it may not be so to ourreaders.
At length, however, Donna Clara appeared to be seized with a fit oftimidity, wherefore we do not know; for Don Luis was most respectful,and he intended to appear as reserved and cold as he was fully convincedhe felt; and we can only guess, therefore, that it was at the time hewas employed in making that mental portrait we have described, in whichprocess his eyes were necessarily fixed on her fair features. Now hiseyes had a melancholy, tender glance, owing to his late unhappiness; andwe have observed that, from the pitying nature of the female heart, suchalways make the strongest impression on it; and it is a fact for whichwe will vouch, that, precisely at the same time, she was making the sameuse of her eyes, in drawing on her mind, though in a slightly differentway; for, while his were fixed while he spoke, with a steady gaze, herglances were but for a moment, ever and anon, lifted to his countenance,and again quickly thrown on the ground, as a miniature painter does inthe practice of his art. Now, the young people were taking each other'sminiatures in the most artistical way, though they were not aware of it;nor was the operation quite finished (for they found much pleasure inprolonging it) when Goncalo Christovao entered the room to relieve hisdaughter from the slight embarrassment she was beginning to feel. Themorning meal was then placed on the table; and, during the timenecessarily employed in discussing it, they threw in a few finishingtouches, before omitted, which certainly made the portraits veryperfect--fully equal to those from the pencil of Rochard, who sofrequently, while preserving an exact likeness, improves on the beautyof the originals; though it was impossible such should be the case withthe miniature Don Luis carried away of Donna Clara, however much shemight have flattered him.
Breakfast in those days was composed of different materials from what itis at present in England, tea being used by very few in the morningexcept as a medicine, light wine and water being drunk instead, with alittle bread, the noon-day meal and the supper being the onlysubstantial repasts.
During the course of conversation, Donna Clara mentioned a serious losswhich had occurred to her of a small case of jewels. "I prized themhighly, not for their intrinsic value, but that they were my belovedmother's; nor have I even ever lifted them from the box since she lastplaced them there."
Don Luis, of course, as a man of gallantry, vowed that he would useevery exertion to recover them, though he could scarcely tell how heshould set about the task. Donna Clara, we need not say, thanked him,with many blushes, for his kind intentions; at the same time moreminutely describing her lost treasure, for she could not resist a sortof presentiment that he would recover it.
The morning meal having been discussed in the way we have described, anda very pleasant way Don Luis thought it, though it had not a fatteningeffect on him certainly, for he quite forgot to eat anything, thelitters were ordered to the door, and he had the honour of leading theyoung lady to her seat, in doing which he was quite surprised todiscover a slight trembling of her hand, as unavoidably he gentlypressed it, though nothing of the sort occurred with Senhora Gertrudes,the old nurse, as most gallantly he placed her opposite to her mistress,by which slight attention he completely won that most respectable oldlady's heart. He then offered his arm to the fidalgo, who gave him awarm embrace at parting, making him promise to visit him soon at Lisbon.He then observed that the curtain of Donna Clara's litter was loose, sohe flew to secure it, for which service he received a rich reward in asweet smile and a few words of thanks; they, of course, required asuitable answer, and thus he lingered by her side until the wholecavalcade were waiting his last bow, to be put in motion. He delayedthem some time before he discovered such to be the case, and was arousedonly by hearing the fidalgo's voice inquiring of the muleteers why theydid not proceed, and their answering that they were ready. Donna Clarathen bent her head, and waved her hand, Goncalo Christovao bowed, andall his attendants took off their hats, which salutation being returnedby Don Luis, the whole party moved forward; but he did not quit hisposition till the last faint tinkle of the mules' bells had died away.He might have stood there longer, as Pedro, who had been making hisprivate comments on what he observed, thought very probable; but knowingthat it was high time his master should be in the saddle, he brought hishorse close to him, making the animal rear a little, while he held thestirrup, a very significant gesture for him to mount. Looking round,and seeing all his party prepared, he threw himself on his horse,courteously returning the bows made by the bystanders, and set forwardto retrace his steps of the previous day. Having now introduced twovery interesting young people to each other, we will leave them topursue their journeys in different directions, while we turn to otherscenes and fresh characters, for none of which, however, have we so muchregard as for those we have just quitted.
Volume 1, Chapter X.
In looking over the many various and bulky documents before us, fromwhich we are compiling this history, we see an account of a personagewho played
a conspicuous part in the scenes we are about to describe.Dom Joseph Mascarenhas and Lancastre, Duke of Aveiro, was descended fromDom George, a natural son of John the Second, King of Portugal, calledthe Perfect. He was hereditary grand master of the house of the King ofPortugal, president of the court of the palace, and one of the highlords of the kingdom. He was not born to this high rank, owing it moreto a caprice of fortune than to any good qualities he possessed. Hiselder brother, the Marquis of Gouvea, having fallen in love with thewife of a fidalgo of the first order, and won her affection in return,which was discovered by the husband; as the only way of enjoying theircriminal passion, he fled with her to a foreign country. Such,according to the laws of Portugal, is considered a capital crime, andpunished by perpetual banishment, which sentence being carried intoeffect against the marquis, his younger brother succeeded to his titleand estates. An uncle of the Gouveas, Father Gaspar