Title: Don Sebastian : or, The house of the Braganza; vol. 4
Author: Porter, Anna Maria
Language: English
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                            DON SEBASTIAN;
                        THE HOUSE OF BRAGANZA.



                         J. M‘CREERY, Printer,
                      Black-horse Court, London.



                            DON SEBASTIAN;


                        THE HOUSE OF BRAGANZA.


                        AN HISTORICAL ROMANCE.

                           IN FOUR VOLUMES.


                      BY MISS ANNA MARIA PORTER.

                   AUTHOR OF THE HUNGARIAN BROTHERS.


                                Take Physic, Pomp!
              Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel,
              So shalt thou shake the superflux to them,
              And shew the Heavens more just.
                                   KING LEAR.


                               VOL. IV.


                                LONDON:

              PRINTED FOR LONGMAN HURST, REES, AND ORME.
                           PATERNOSTER-ROW.

                                 1809.



                            DON SEBASTIAN,


                        THE HOUSE OF BRAGANZA.



CHAP. I.


After serious reflection Sebastian came to the determination of
sacrificing his domestic comforts to the ultimate good of his people and
his child: the conflict was over with himself, but how was he to conquer
the heart of Kara Aziek? of that tender mother, who “chid the winds of
Heaven,” if they blew too roughly on the face of her darling?--that
tender mother and faithful wife, who saw so much of virtue and
happiness around her dwelling at Cachoeira, that she knew not where the
world could shew a station more productive of either.

Dreading the excess of her grief, yet arming himself to encounter it,
Sebastian quitted his solitude, and went forth to seek her.

He found her with Blanche, just returning from their village church,
where they had been witnessing the marriage of an Indian girl with one
of the most enlightened and amiable of her tribe. The happy scene from
which they were come, had lighted up the countenances of each: Blanche
was yet too young for complete sympathy with the blushing Izamba, but
her heart sympathized with happiness of any sort; and the tear of
benevolent pleasure which stood on the cheek of her mother, called a
shower over hers.

Gently walking under a long line of cedars shading the Cachoeira,
Sebastian descried them afar off.--The full and perfectly-formed figure
of Kara Aziek, her slow soft step, the gentle dignity which
distinguished her, were contrasted by the slight and budding graces of
Blanche’s more airy form. Her step was quick, bounding, and uncertain as
the young Gazelle’s; her looks were timid, not majestic; and like spring
preceding summer, she sportively advanced, admiring every object she had
seen and admired a thousand times before.

Sebastian scarcely descried her ere she was at his side: by an
irresistible impulse he took her in his arms, and holding her to his
heart, suffered the tears he could no longer restrain, to fall over her
face.

It was the first time that Blanche had ever felt her father’s tears; she
looked up, and the bright roses of health and delight faded from her
cheek.

“Be not alarmed, my child!” he whispered in a faltering voice, as he let
her go again, “I will rejoin your mother soon--speak not to her of this
weakness--I must explain it myself.”

Having spoken, he turned away, and hurrying towards a sugar-mill, which
he entered, as if intent on business, left Blanche to wait for her
mother, who seeing nothing extraordinary in this conduct of her husband,
entered her own habitation.

It was long ere Sebastian sufficiently recovered himself to join Kara
Aziek; the smile with which he dressed his pale countenance could not
conceal from her the unusual agitation of his heart: she fearfully
inquired its cause, and was answered by a cautious explanation of De
Castro’s situation and engagements.

Kara Aziek listened to him in profound silence, which she did not break
till some moments after he had concluded; she then turned on him her
expressive eyes; no tears were there, but they were full of that
maternal anguish she felt called upon to control.

She looked tenderly at him, as if she believed him unable to avert the
calamity with which she was threatened, and as if she considered him
equally with herself, an object of compassion. “I submit:” she said at
length, turning her eyes from her husband and fixing them on Heaven;
“There are periods in which I dare not yield to my feelings. That God
who has blessed us with our Blanche, calls her now to become an
instrument for her father’s restoration: I may not detain her.”--

At the last words, Kara Aziek closed her eyes as if she would have shut
from her husband’s sight the anguish of her soul: a general trembling
seized her, and unable to relieve herself by tears, she made an effort
to smile, and pressing his hand, leaned her face upon his shoulder.

Sebastian gently supported her. This unresisting acquiescence, this
uncomplaining grief, affected him far more than the most violent
despair: in proportion as his Aziek appeared more worthy of happiness,
her different destiny seemed more cruel.

“Dearest and best of women!” he exclaimed, “is it to day that I am to
receive the strongest proof of that love which has been the angel of my
life?--You know my heart, and you spare me the misery of contending with
tenderness for you, and duty to Portugal: you weep not, you complain
not!--O my Aziek, am I then indeed, dearer to thee than the child to
whom thou gavest birth?--I expected lamentation, remonstrance, shall I
confess it?--sorrowful reproaches--I find gentleness and heroism; I find
that I am still the first in that precious heart.”--

Transported out of himself by such a conviction, Sebastian folded his
arms around his wife, whose countenance suddenly glowing with vivid
emotion, was now bathed in tears. Instantaneously melted by this burst
of affection, she wept profusely, but her tears had no bitterness in
them; she forgot at that moment the impending evil she had been
contemplating.

By degrees this rapture subsided, and the separation from her daughter
returned in all its force. “I will try to merit these kind praises:” she
said faintly, “but my heart may not always have such strength: pardon me
therefore Sebastian, if some moments of weakness should make me the
selfish creature you feared to find me. Remember that in this discourse
I have spoken my real sentiments, and do not attend to the temporary
ravings of a mother, who cannot always hear the voices of Reason and
Religion; who cannot always obey their commands. In my soul I am
convinced we ought to make this sacrifice; as such, it shall be
completed.”

Again the tears of Kara Aziek ceased to flow, and her features resumed
their former paleness. Sebastian still looked at her with a mixture of
anguish and delight. His affection was eloquent, and repeated tributes
to the fortitude he admired, contributed to support and to console Kara
Aziek.

One important matter yet remained to be discussed; should they or should
they not suffer Blanche to depart without knowing the story of her
birth?

Many arguments in favor of each line of conduct presented themselves
during this interesting discussion; but those had the most weight, which
dictated explanation.

Blanche was of an age and a character to feel the value of such a
confidence: the knowledge of her parents misfortunes would surely endear
them to her heart; and when widely separated, that anxiety which must
result from her acquaintance with their critical situation, would form
still a link of union. Their thoughts, their wishes, their solicitudes,
would yet remain the same, though their persons might be divided; it
would be impossible for Blanche not to remember and to love her
parents, when her dearest interests were inseparably interwoven with
their images.

In addition to this consideration, Sebastian urged one equally
important: Blanche would sooner attain the qualities requisite for her
future guidance through life, by this early call upon them. Discretion,
courage, attentive observation of persons and events, careful
calculation of actions, and their consequences, would be the natural
fruit of thus giving her a necessity for all these properties.

With the prospect of one day filling a station of responsibility, seeing
in the example of her father the awful vicissitudes to which even
monarchy is exposed, and feeling, in her own person, the dependance of
man on man, she would avoid the risk of becoming intoxicated with a
distinction which presented itself under a shape so forbidding.

Her imagination, chastized by experience, and her heart disciplined by
early care, would mature, fix, and ennoble her character: if Providence
should call her to a throne, that education would enable her to fill it
with honour; if destined to pass her life in obscurity, the memory of
her parents lot, would teach her the emptiness of the world, and the
rarer treasures of that benevolence which makes joy to itself in every
station.

If blind to the advantages of candour, Sebastian should permit Blanche
to depart in ignorance of her real condition, he reflected, that she
must go with either a sentiment of curiosity about the concealed motives
of her parents, or with a sentiment of disappointment at their
seemingly-lukewarm affection: continual deception must be practised on
her; and bearing away with her no quickening principle of anxiety, her
filial love would soon languish.

The remembrance of her happy home, would, from its very happiness, only
serve to excuse her to herself for ceasing to feel an animated interest
in its inhabitants; and delivering up her young mind to the charms and
novelties of a gay life, she would perhaps lose much of her goodness and
all her simplicity.

These reflections decided Sebastian, for Kara Aziek had decided at
first, from the mere impulse of feeling.

Having left his Aziek seeking additional strength at that sacred source
whence human virtue is derived, he sought Gaspar, and imparted to him
the resolution to which he had brought himself: Gaspar’s emotion was
purely joyful; he neither dreaded dangers nor difficulties, oceans, nor
dungeons, when the prospect of being useful to his King lay before him.

His sanguine nature made him certain that he should not be long
separated from Sebastian: the destruction of Spanish tyranny, and the
restoration of Portugal, were events that he concluded must follow the
interference of England; he was but leading his sweet young mistress to
a triumph, not to a struggle; he was but going to make the path broad
and open which led back to the throne of her ancestors.

“We part, Sire! it is true;” he said, “yet what is our parting?--we
shall meet again, and meet in happiness. I feel that Providence has now
set a period to your trials: this is the epoch destined for the recovery
of your former possessions.--We shall reach England--England will raise
her powerful arm, and as if by magic, the whole mass of foreign tyranny
will crumble to dust. My honoured young mistress will then be given to
the Portuguese as a pledge that their beloved sovereign yet lives, and
will condescend to reign over them: you will arrive, Sire, to find in
your own kingdom, power, adoration, and happiness!”

“Not adoration Gaspar,” said Sebastian, smiling kindly, “not adoration,
that is an impious tribute to kings, which, thank God, I never required,
nay, which I abhorred, even in my proudest day.--If I may regain the
_love_ of my people, by convincing them that a parental tenderness for
them glows in this time-tried heart, I shall indeed rejoice that the
meridian hours of my life are not to pass away at Cachoeira. Marvellous
destiny! (he added after a thoughtful pause) shall I ever again find
myself the ruler of a mighty nation--the arbiter of their fates--the
earthly God to punish and to reward?--When I look back to the period in
which I _was_ this powerful creature, it seems to me a long-past dream;
suffering and seclusion, the only realities!”

“Not so, Sire!” gravely observed Gaspar, “you are a sovereign and a God
at Cachoeira; you are the happiest of husbands and of fathers,--and do
you say that there are no realities but suffering and seclusion?”

Sebastian fixed his eyes on him, with a look of generous approval,
“Ever, my friend!” he exclaimed; “ever watchful over my character as
much as my interest! I spoke, Gaspar, in a way too familiar with me: I
spoke from the impression of one recollection only; I remembered
therefore my losses, and forgot my possessions. Be satisfied, my soul is
fully sensible of the rare blessings I enjoy. Had I not lost my liberty
and crown, I should never have been the happy father and husband, never
have opened my eyes on the light of pure Christianity: this thought
makes me consider my misfortunes as benefits.”

Gaspar expressed his satisfaction at so ingenuous a confession of error,
and proceeded to name the time and preparations that would be required,
ere he could commence his voyage.

He knew that merchant-ships were then in the bay of St. Salvador, bound
for St. Lucar: in one of these, it was agreed he should procure a
passage for himself and his young charge, with whom he might easily
proceed from St. Lucar to Messina.

Nothing was more common than for the children of Brazilian settlers to
be sent to Europe for their education or health, and one of these
motives would certainly be attributed to Blanche’s separation from her
parents, should any persons think such an event of sufficient
consequence to employ their thoughts.

Charged with securing the cabin of the merchant-ship, and with providing
all things requisite for a tedious voyage, Gaspar hastened to St.
Salvador, leaving sadness in that house, which until now, never knew
more than the shadow of passing clouds.

The interview with his daughter was a trying hour to Sebastian: Kara
Aziek declined being present: her heart dreaded itself; and the nearer
drew the moment in which she was to make the sacrifice demanded, the
more her fears and her agitation increased.

“If I should fail at last!” she constantly repeated to herself, while
striving to strengthen her resolution by the recollection of
Sebastian’s commendations; “if I should disappoint his trust in my
promise of submission! ah God! pity me, succour me, support my feeble
spirit, and give me that added confidence in thy mercy, that added
tenderness for his feelings, which may successfully wrestle against the
despair of a mother.”

Impressed with a sense of her own weakness, Kara Aziek fled from every
scene which could enervate her still further, courageous from that very
tenderness of character, with which her courage had to struggle, she
refused to herself the luxury of indulging her grief, and of
participating in that affecting interview which must increase it.

While she surrounded herself by various occupations, forcibly wresting
her mind towards the interest of others, Sebastian was unfolding to
their daughter the wonderful story of his youth.

Her amazement and sympathy may be imagined; they were in proportion to
the sensibility of her character: but Sebastian looked beyond these, and
as he slowly related the events of his life, and pointed out the lessons
to be learned from them, he watched their effect on her who might
hereafter need such beacons to guide her in the same course.

A serious joy warmed his heart, when he beheld the impression made by
the knowledge of her birth: looks of trouble and apprehension were
instantly diffused over her features: she was not ambitious therefore:
to inspire her with zeal for her own rights, it would be requisite to
teach her the benevolent purposes to which they might be directed.

No parts of her father’s narrative so absorbed the attention of Blanche,
as those which related to her mother. While Sebastian detailed the
variety of Kara Aziek’s destiny, and the transitions from pain to
pleasure which they had had mutually endured, the eyes of Blanche
alternately shone with the brightness of joy, or fell to the ground
blinded with tears. It was evident, that from the moment Kara Aziek
appeared upon the scene, her affectionate child saw in her love the best
blessing of life, and ceasing to think of her father’s loftier
anxieties, was solely interested in reaching the moment which gave her
parents to each other.

Once, and only once, did her agitated heart burst through the restraint
which delicate timidity, and filial respect had imposed: it was at the
description of Sebastian’s return to Portugal, at the reception of Donna
Gonsalva, and the conversation of the two noblemen at the house of Lopez
Vernara.

Powerfully moved by these incidents, she suddenly threw herself on the
bosom of her father, exclaiming, in a voice broken by sobs, “Ah send me
not to such a dreadful world! let me not live with people who have thus
outraged my dearest father!”

Much affected by a sensibility as just as it was exquisite, Sebastian
strained her to his breast, and lifting up the scattered ringlets from
her cheek, he kissed it fondly. That roseate cheek, those eyes now
closed with grief, but lovely still from the long lashes which fringed
them, the soft arms that twined around his neck, and the beautiful
tresses which fell dishevelled over them, all these were so like his
Aziek’s, that he repeated his caresses, and abandoned to a moment of
weakness, whispered, “Should I not risk all things to go with my child?”

At this unexpected dawn of hope, Blanche raised her face, the sunshine
of happy youth was on it. “O my father;” she cried, “let us go
together!--my mother, my dear mother too--we cannot live without her.”

Sebastian had now recovered himself, and sorrowing to destroy the
illusion his own words had raised, he proceeded in a calmer tone, to
explain to her the weighty reasons which rendered it necessary for him
to trust the judgment of De Castro, and to act by his suggestion: he
alone could decide on the prudence of measures, which must be influenced
by the conduct of those potentates amongst whom he was acting.

Blanche had been early taught to yield to the voice of reason: the
moment she was convinced that what she wished was hostile to her better
interests, or blameable in itself, she ceased to form a wish on the
subject. She submitted to the commands of duty, as to the irreversible
decrees of Heaven.

This valuable habit of moral obedience, now enabled her to acquiesce in
the dreary prospect of separating from her parents, and committing
herself to a world, of which the history had made her afraid. She wept
bitterly; but she frequently repeated, that she saw her father could
not in justice to himself and his country, and in gratitude to those
friends who were now risking their lives for his sake by secret
correspondence with the enemies of Philip, do otherwise than grant them
some rallying point like herself.

Sebastian contemplated her as she sat struggling against her grief,
kissing his hands and looking at him with humid smiles: Sebastian
contemplated her with many an admiring thought. He contrasted her
character and conduct with what his own had been at a much more forward
period of youth: at that period the whole globe was scarce large enough
for his tempestuous passions to rage in. Shame and compunction were on
his brow. “Blanche,” he exclaimed, “if the certainty that you possess
the fullest love, the most perfect approbation of your father, can give
comfort to your heart, be assured that you do possess them--never my
child, never were you half so dear or so estimable to me, as at this
moment.”

Blanche started from her seat, and threw herself before him; Sebastian
bent towards her, and holding her against his breast in the lovely
attitude in which she had placed herself, he resumed his discourse.
“Cultivate this self-government which ennobles you thus in a parent’s
eyes!--O my daughter, self-government is dignity, is happiness, is
dominion!--’tis the secret of disarming adversity of its sting--’tis the
virtue which comprehends all others--’tis that which will entitle you to
a crown in Heaven!--Had I been like thee, my child, at this instant I
should have nothing to reproach myself with; I should have been dwelling
in the house of my fathers, and I should not have had to send my
innocent Blanche into a faithless world in search of that possession
which my folly threw away.”

He stopt, and several deep sighs followed his words. Blanche kissed his
hand with repressed ardour; her timid voice trembled as she spoke. “You
have profited by your chastisements, dearest father, or how should I
have become the character you praise?--ah me! shall I always remain so?
your virtues have sprung up out of your trials; and mine perhaps may die
under them.”

Struck with the justice of this observation, and charmed with the
salutary humility which it proved, her gratified father pursued the
theme she had begun, and discoursing on principles and passions, on
trials and temptations, forgot the lapse of time.

Kara Aziek’s voice near the windows of the apartment in which they sat,
roused him to recollection, and taking Blanche by the hand, he went
forth to join her mother.

By the same impulse, Kara Aziek and her daughter pressed each other in
their arms without speaking; Sebastian approached, and drew them towards
him! he too was silent: after some moments of extreme emotion, they
recovered themselves, and rose from this sad embrace. The faces of Kara
Aziek and Blanche were bathed in tears, that of Sebastian was pale, but
more composed.

As if by tacit agreement, no one ventured to speak of the only subject
that engrossed their thoughts: their conversation was serious, and
interrupted by long pauses, but it was evidently connected with their
most interesting reflections.

Not till she was alone with her daughter, a few days previous to her
departure, had Kara Aziek courage to name the trial they were about to
encounter: at this instant fortitude forsook her, and the weeping
Blanche beheld for the first time, her gentle and hitherto patient
mother, given up to an agony of despair.

Periods like these, are not those in which human comfortings avail: the
soul must seek and find its comforter in itself. It must be habituated
to believe that all the decrees of Heaven are wise and good; then will
sorrow gradually subside, and a consolation past utterance will succeed
to distraction.

Experience had taught this most precious lesson to Kara Aziek; for often
had she had occasion to feel in her own person, and through that of her
husband, that

                  “We, ignorant of ourselves,
    Beg often our own harms, which the wise powers
    Deny us for our good: so find we profit
    By losing of our prayers.”

The silent caresses and touching tears of her daughter, contributed to
console, rather than to afflict her: so sweet, so amiable, so excellent
a creature, was she not destined to ornament and to bless mankind?--The
heart of a fond mother answered in the affirmative; and like the sick
person who courageously bears the crisis of a disorder when the paroxysm
is expected to work his cure, she roused herself to support a parting
which she hoped would lead to permanent re-union.

Though flattering herself that many months would not elapse ere the path
should be open for Sebastian’s return to Portugal, she exhorted Blanche,
as if their separation were to endure for years: her admonitions were
few and impressive; she had nothing new to teach her daughter, but what
she had been hitherto teaching her every day by example rather than
precept, she now summed up, in easily-remembered maxims.

This discourse with her mother was never forgotten by Blanche.

Gaspar had provided the accommodations requisite for his young mistress;
all their arrangements were completed, and the day was fixed for the
sailing of the vessel which was to convey them to Europe. Sebastian
confided to his friend a packet for Don Emanuel De Castro, signifying
the extent to which he would engage himself with any foreign power
willing to assist him: this packet contained also a letter to Queen
Elizabeth, which Blanche was to deliver at their first meeting.

Sebastian had written with the dignity of a King, and the tenderness of
a father: by the warmth of his paternal expressions, he sought to make
her sensible that she could not hope to injure or distress his child
with impunity. He expressed himself strongly, yet with such courtly
address, that although Elizabeth must feel his meaning, and see his
doubts, she could not openly reply to them.

The hour of separation drew near; the ship was to sail on the morrow.

Having resolved to let no other objects share her heart with her
parents, at that moment in which she alone would occupy theirs, Blanche
took leave of the Indians on the preceding evening: their uncontrolled
lamentations affected her powerfully; and it was not till the night was
far advanced, that she recovered from the mournful impression.

Day-break awoke her: when she first opened her eyes at the rustling of
the breeze among the tall tops of a grove of Magnolias, when she saw
their beautiful foliage, and heard the birds singing from their
branches, she felt a sudden shock; for this was the last time in which
she should see these trees, or feel this air!

She was going far away! she was going from her parents! at this
conviction a death-like sickness oppressed her very heart; she sunk back
on her pillow, and believing the effort impossible, resigned herself to
an excess of despair. The tears which she shed in floods, gradually
relieved her feelings, and left them more obedient to her will: she
repeated to herself the injunctions and arguments of her parents, she
strove to fix a short period for the continuance of their separation,
and having recourse to devotion, was enabled to quit her chamber with a
tolerably serene countenance.

It was yet early day; no one else was stirring, and Blanche rose thus
soon, that she might take a parting look at the recent grave of Barémel.

This playmate and guardian of her infant days, had died of old age, and
was buried by Sebastian himself under a cluster of Palmito’s in his
garden. No stone, with indecent resemblance to the monument of departed
man, marked the place where he laid; but a circle of plaited reeds
enclosed the little mound, and Blanche often stole there, to cover the
bed of her favorite with flowers.

She now moved lightly and timidly towards it, half-ashamed of a
sensibility it was amiable to feel. O lovely season of youth! how sweet
art thou to behold, with thy attendant graces of modesty,
susceptibility, and self-distrust!

The colours of the blooming flowers through which she passed painted the
soft complexion of Blanche; hers was the complexion that announced a
tender and intelligent heart, for it varied with every thought and every
feeling; it was now flushed with strong emotion.

She approached Barémel’s grave, and was going to throw herself upon it
with a violence of sorrow pardonable at her early age, when she was
checked by the apprehension of its being criminal.--“Yet he was so
loving, and faithful!” she exclaimed, tears trembling in her eyes, “I
think it cannot be wrong to remember him with affection.” Her innocent
heart decided in the affirmative, and sitting down near the grassy heap,
she strewed it with blossoms, and gave loose to her tears.

Her mind was quickly thronged with long-past images: different epochs of
holidays and festivals in which Barémel had constantly performed some
amusing part; passed in review before her. She remembered his joyful
bark, his supplicating whine, his watchful and loving looks, his
unwearied attendance of her from infancy to youth, over all the romantic
region that surrounded Cachoeira. “Poor Barémel! I can never see thee
again!” she said, sighing: that apostrophe conveyed to her heart a
salutary exhortation to take comfort on a far dearer subject.

She was indeed going to quit her parents, but not for ever; they were
yet in the flower of their lives, and Providence therefore permitted her
to anticipate their future re-union. Blanche was of a grateful
disposition; she loved to be happy, and far from partaking in the nature
of those wretchedly tempered spirits who seem to feast on discontent,
and refuse to be comforted; she opened her soul to admit the smallest
particle of consolation.

Her reflections now assumed a more serious cast, (for they were employed
in enumerating the mercies she yet possessed, and those she might
anticipate without presumption,) but they were no longer afflicting:
anxious to seize this moment of resignation for appearing before her
parents, she got up, and giving a long look of regret to the
resting-place of her early companion, turned homeward.

Sebastian was advancing in search of her: “I have only been to look at
poor Barémel’s grave,” she said blushing, “since you have told me all
that I owe to him, his memory has become almost sacred to me, he saved
my dear father’s life.”

Blanche added the last sentence with trepidation which shewed she was
eager to give an honorable excuse for what might have been deemed a
weakness. Sebastian pressed her hand as he led her forward: “like thy
mother in all things!” he observed, “ever diffident of thy best and most
engaging actions!”

They proceeded in silence to the apartment of Kara Aziek: she had yet
many things to say, or to repeat, and she was now gathering fortitude to
pronounce them calmly. Blanche sat down between her parents: each held
one of her hands, and frequently pressed it; but as yet, none of them
spoke: their eyes were fixed on the ground.

Why is it that the dearest connexions, when about to lose sight of each
other, avoid looking on the countenance they love, and which they will
so soon long to behold again? is it that the soul instinctively prepares
for its calamity, and tries to soften the pang by gradual abandonment of
its enjoyments? or is it that grief would be uncontrollable if those
delightful feelings were indulged which we are conscious must end with
the removal of the person beloved?

Whatever be the motive, its effect was seen in the family at Cachoeira:
they remained silent and immovable, drawing by stealth long and
interrupted sighs. They were summoning resolution to speak of parting.

At this moment Gaspar hastily entered; every eye was raised towards him:
“The ship sails an hour earlier than we expected, a messenger has just
come from St. Salvador to say so, we have not an instant to lose.”

Kara Aziek uttered a loud shriek, and clasped her daughter in her arms;
they had started up at Gaspar’s first words, and now remained clinging
to each other. Tears, sobs, broken exclamations, embraces repeated again
and again, were the witnesses of their sorrow.

Gaspar called on them to remember the fatal consequence of delay: almost
subdued himself, he yet had courage to appear barbarous, that he might
shorten the pangs of others.

Blanche heard him not: she flung herself alternately from the arms of
one parent to those of the other, and as she deluged their bosoms with
her tears, she called on them to assure her that their separation should
not be eternal.

Cold damps stood on the brow of Sebastian, for the pains of death were
in his heart, but his eyes were tearless. Kara Aziek was like one
frantic; her softness had given place to a wild and resisting despair:
she clung to her child, and no remonstrances had power to loosen her
grasp!

Sebastian trembled for her reason, and that fear gave him strength to
accomplish what he knew to be indispensible. He advanced towards his
wife, forcibly, yet tenderly, unlocked her hands as they met round the
waist of Blanche, and hastily pushing his daughter towards Gaspar,
exclaimed, “Go, go my child! if you would not kill your mother. I have,
I have blessed you--I bless you again.”

Gaspar had seized the arm of Blanche, while his agitated master was
trying to detain Kara Aziek; he now led the former towards the door, and
lifting her up, ran with her from the house to the caloche which was to
carry them to St. Salvador.

On reaching the carriage, he found that she had fainted; less alarmed at
this natural effect of sorrow, than he would have been grieved by her
lamentations, he got into the vehicle, and supporting her against his
shoulder, proceeded to bathe her temples with a pungent essence he
usually wore about him.

His exertion succeeded, Blanche revived: she looked round, and seeing
herself on the road, she knew that all hope of present change was
desperate: her eyes closed again, but it was only to weep with less
obviousness, and to preserve their last look of her parents.



CHAP. II.


It was long ere Sebastian could calm the anguish of her, who still

    “Warmed his fond heart, and beat in every pulse:”

To the pang of parting, quickly succeeded the tortures of suspense; her
child was at the mercy of an ocean whose horrors she had herself
experienced too awfully not to apprehend similar disaster for others.

Aziek soon ceased to complain, but Sebastian’s watchful eyes marked the
sudden alteration in hers at every blast of wind. Those wintry storms
which formerly served to heighten the sublimity of their scenery, were
now heard with horror: the pale cheek, the lifted eye, the
scarce-breathed, half-checked apostrophe, all testified the suffering of
an anxious mother.

Sebastian perceived the inutility of remonstrance and exhortation; these
might teach her to conceal her grief, but they could not bring her to
conquer it: he abandoned them therefore, contenting himself with winning
her to other interests, and planning new calls upon her benevolence.

He talked perpetually of Blanche, he talked without gloom; he reverted
to her sweet manners and virtues, he repeated the anecdotes of her
childhood, (anecdotes, which a mother never ceases to hear with
interest) he drew various imaginary pictures of her future destiny, and
he took care to make those pictures pleasing. By degrees Kara Aziek
learnt to associate the prospect of happiness with this temporary
privation; she learnt to believe the sanguine fortunes he foretold, and
her mind, permitted to dwell on one dear object, readily took the only
way he chose should lead to it. If tears sometimes trickled down her
cheek at the name of her far-distant treasure, they were tender tears,
full of gratitude and hope.

The tedious months at length wore away, and letters arrived from Sicily.

What were the emotions of the parents when they saw the writing of their
daughter, and were thus assured of her safety! for some time they could
not read her letter; but they opened not any other, their child’s
sentiments and situation absorbed all their interest. Having recovered
himself, Sebastian read the letter aloud, though his voice and his hand
yet betrayed signs of remaining agitation.

The letter contained an account of Blanche’s voyage, a warm
acknowledgement of Gaspar’s cares, description of her reception by the
Duchess of Medina Sidonia, and a confession of her pleasurable emotions
on witnessing the customs and refinements of Europe.

To these details was added the most affecting expressions of love for
her parents, and of sorrow at their wide separation: it was evident
that the simple enjoyments of her native village yet held their place in
her uncorrupted heart; the amusements of Sicily could not displace them,
for these amusements only gratified her senses.

Charmed with the Duke and Duchess of Medina Sidonia, she described their
kindness in glowing language: her delineation of their sentiments
relieved Kara Aziek from many fears; with such noble persons she could
trust her daughter’s heart.

The packets from De Castro and Gaspar were chiefly on business:
Sebastian perused them attentively. They informed him that Queen
Elizabeth’s favorable disposition yet remained unimpaired, but that
being desirous of acting on certainties, and avoiding indiscreet
reliance on her good faith, De Castro thought it expedient to return to
London with his credentials from Sebastian, for the settlement of a
final treaty between them; of which Princess Blanche should be the
pledge on the side of Portugal, and an immediate loan of money, (for
the furtherance of their schemes,) the guarantee on the part of England.

This arranged, he would instantly send for Blanche, who might be safely
committed to Gaspar, and would be permitted to retain this watchful
friend about her person, at the court of London.

Through the exertions of Lord Essex, some German Princes had promised to
join the triple league against their common enemy, and Henry of France,
(perhaps secretly favoring those principles he had weakly yielded up to
gain a throne,) actually advanced an unconditional sum of money for the
aid of Sebastian’s agents in their various missions.

A formidable expedition under the gallant Essex, was fitting out in the
ports of England; the capture or destruction of Cadiz was its object.
But the most extraordinary part of this communication, was contained in
the following sentences.

“Amongst the volunteers in our expedition, there are two, at whose names
your majesty will start. Antonio of Crato, and his son Don Christopher.
For some time the prior had been upheld by the English, but on
discovering the instability and levity of his character, they abandoned
his interests: I found him living a neglected and private individual in
London.

“He was unconscious that my exertions here were caused by any stronger
motive than the abhorrence of the Spanish yoke, (for our secret goes not
beyond a small circle) and he deemed it right to visit me--my reception
was so cold, that he quickly left me, and we have never met since.

“He is embarked in the enterprize, foolishly believing that it is meant
for his exaltation: Lord Essex is aware of the use which may be made of
this folly, (as it indeed serves to mask the real candidate for
Portugal) and suffers him therefore to boast as he will.

“Don Christopher is of a different stamp: there is an honourable
melancholy about him, that touched me at first sight; it is easy to
perceive that he blushes at the remembrance of his mother, and that the
story of your majesty’s wrongs has reached his ears. He accompanies the
Earl of Essex as his lieutenant: for he is a true patriot, and seems
earnest to make some atonement for the sins of his parents. Let me,
sire, bespeak your favor for him, when you meet him in Portugal.”

At this mention of his perfidious cousin, Sebastian felt an emotion long
unknown: his blood ran cold, and hastily putting down the letter, he
took up that of Gaspar.

Kara Aziek had no attention to bestow on the abject Prior of Crato: she
was absorbed in grateful contemplation of the happy prospect before her.
Don Emanuel had enumerated so many Spanish and Portuguese nobles, eager
to assist in the re-establishment of Sebastian or his offspring, that
it would have been criminal to refuse placing some confidence in their
efforts. England, France, and Holland, were on their side, and nothing
remained to be concluded, except the signing of a treaty, and the
delivery of their mutual pledges.

With these prospects she was not merely consoled, she was inspirited:
for the first time since the departure of Blanche her lovely eyes shone
with happiness, and she smiled without effort. Her hopes were gay, her
joy unclouded; for of the political world and its tumults, she had
experienced too little to form a distant idea of its rapid mutations.

Sebastian on the contrary, though he abounded in hope also, formed an
instantaneous picture of all the struggles and vicissitudes likely to
follow the public proclamation of his claims. The lives, the fortunes,
of every one embarked in his cause were now at stake: if Spain should
feel in herself the strength adequate to resistance, she would
certainly refuse to yield back the crown of Portugal, at the mere
summons of England. War then, must decide it at last; that war which he
had hitherto so carefully shunned!

To the painfulness of this reflection he opposed the chief argument of
De Castro, which consisted in the horrible oppression of Philip: his
extortions and cruelty, daily ruined or maddened some noble Portuguese;
he carried their youth to fight against the Netherlands, and since not
even personal safety was purchased by submission to his yoke, was it not
better to shed their blood in brave resistance?

Aided by other powers, they would contend on equal terms, in point of
physical strength: and the force of a powerful sentiment would surely
give them superiority in all that related to opinion.

Revived by this reasoning, Sebastian banished the gloom of useless
regret, yet he could not cease to occupy himself with conjecture and
anticipation:--his mind was active and anxious, but that activity and
that anxiety were full of cheerfulness.

From this day the discourses of Sebastian and Kara Aziek lost their
pensive strain: they conversed more frequently together, and the theme
they dwelt on was their return to Europe. Time seemed long to them,
because they were eager, but it had ceased to be sad.

In these new emotions their former duties were not forgotten: as they
anticipated a removal from Cachoeira, its peaceful inhabitants, formed
by their care, and dependent on their goodness, became more interesting
to them; the Guaymures had claims on their hearts, which neither
Sebastian nor Kara Aziek were of a nature to disregard. They now
redoubled their solicitude for their welfare; and Sebastian already
decided on leaving part of his property in the hands of two respectable
Portuguese, who had settled near his abode: to these men he might
safely trust it, as a deposit for the promotion of public works, or as a
fund in case of any unexpected calamity by fire.

Months had gone by, and the second appearance of ships from that quarter
of the globe where all their interests was centered, was looked for
eagerly by Sebastian and Kara Aziek: the ships arrived.

Assured of his daughter’s health by seeing her hand writing, and now
deeply solicitous to learn the event of the pending negociation,
Sebastian transferred her letter to his wife, and opened the packet from
Don Emanuel.

It was written immediately after his second return from England: it was
full of joyous expectation, Elizabeth had acceded to all the requests of
the King of Portugal; she was ready to exchange a large subsidy for the
person of the Princess Blanche; her expedition against Spain had sailed,
and the moment she should obtain some advantage there, and have the
presumptive heiress of Portugal in her possession, she meant to send and
demand of Philip the restitution of her father’s kingdom.

De Castro was come back to Sicily for the purpose of securing his
brother-in-law’s support to the measures of England: by the council of
his nobles, Philip might be influenced to resign a crown which he could
not keep without their assistance.

Affairs then were at their crisis; or rather that crisis was past, and
at this moment, Blanche was either residing in the palace of her
ancestors, and accepted as the representative of her father, or dwelling
in England, while foreign armies were disputing for her father’s rights.

The agitation excited by this idea, was yet fresh in the hearts of Kara
Aziek and her Sebastian, when a vessel with dispatches to the governor,
brought intelligence that Cadiz was taken by the English, that it was
suspected they meant to send out a fleet against Spanish America, and
that consequently the governor was called on to prepare for obstinate
defence.

These news reached Cachoeira by the messenger who brought a letter that
had come in the same ship.

The letter was from Gaspar, and but a month later in date than that of
De Castro: it was short and afflicting: Don Emanuel was dead. A long and
violent fever with which he had been seized soon after his return to
Messina, had delayed the departure of Blanche, and had at last
terminated the life of her most valuable friend.

De Castro had died in the full belief that Providence favoured the cause
of justice and his King; he had died at the brightest moment of their
enterprize; he was therefore to be envied perhaps, if Providence should
will a different fate, and ordain disappointment to the allies.

But what a shock was this event! what a loss! the grief of Sebastian was
as profound as remembrance of De Castro’s past services, and dependence
on his exertions might be expected to render it: he lamented not only
the best of men, but the most zealous of friends. The sinew of his
strength was gone; nay rather, was not De Castro the soul of every
project?

A solemn check was here given to those anticipations which had so lately
spread joy through Cachoeira: one blow, taught him who had been stricken
by repeated misfortune, to expect another, and while he mourned the
companion he loved, he trembled to imagine that new calamities might be
in store for himself and others.

Kara Aziek entered into all his feelings; her daughter, deprived of this
faithful protector, whom power and influence rendered more valuable than
the humbler though equally devoted Gaspar, pressed on her heart, and
called aloud for succour.

Upon the affection of the Duke and Duchess of Medina, she slightly
calculated, (for we do not receive strong impressions by mere
description, we must witness attachment, to rely on its existence) Kara
Aziek only saw her inexperienced daughter, alone, desolate, and sad,
going amongst strangers, to whose honour she must trust for generous
treatment.

Distracted, bewildered, unconscious of what to wish or to propose, she
fell into a passion of grief which Sebastian understood but too well. He
was standing buried in thought: at the sound of her sobs he started, and
approaching her to support her, said in a composed tone: “We have indeed
lost our best friend, my Aziek! he cannot be replaced. Ought I not to
consider his death as the vice of Heaven calling me to abandon this
solitude and appear on the scene myself? Even in his most sanguine
moments De Castro regarded England with suspicion, and knew her to be
guided by self-interest: that base principle may as easily lead to her
betraying my affairs, as to her advancing them. What then would be the
fate of our Blanche? rouse yourself my beloved! we must stand the shock
of peril together--my resolution is taken--I quit Brazil.”

At these words Kara Aziek flung herself on his bosom with a cry of joy;
she had lost sight of every object except her daughter, and
contemplating her desolate state, possible danger to her husband was
forgotten. “O my Sebastian!” she exclaimed, “let us indeed brave the
world united; give me back my child, and then whatever be the destiny
awarded us, we shall meet it with courage. Here, our peaceful days are
over--long, long have they been over, without Blanche we live on, bereft
of our soul.--Shall we ever see her again? O thought too blissful!”

She ceased, overcome with an emotion which Sebastian endeavoured to
moderate, by assuring her that when once they had regained their
daughter, no political motive should induce him to resign her a second
time.

The letter from Caspar was again read; and a long postscript which
Sebastian had overlooked in his first consternation, now served to guide
him in his plan for the future.

This postscript informed him that Juan (the cousin of Don Emanuel) had
set off for England with the intelligence of their loss; and that the
detention of Blanche had been agreed upon amongst them, until Queen
Elizabeth should fulfil her promise by sending part of the stipulated
subsidy. This caution, together with the length of time which must pass
ere Don Juan could return, (in consequence of the secret and circuitous
route by which all voyages to an enemy’s country were necessarily taken)
animated Sebastian to hope that his daughter had not yet left Sicily,
and that he might find her still at Messina.

It was his intention rather to become his own pledge of faith, than to
risk the security of his child. Known in Sicily as the orphan ward of
Don Emanuel, she had hitherto lived unsuspected, under the protection of
his sister: it was true, most people concluded her to be the
illegitimate offspring of her reputed guardian, but that conclusion
excited no further inquiries, and threatened her with no danger: it was
therefore the safest asylum in which affection could place her.

Having formed his resolution, Sebastian lost no time in beginning to
act: he settled his arrangements at Cachoeira; he left the largest
portion of his remaining property in the hands he had proposed, and
preparing his mind for toils and troubles to which it was now disused,
he bade an eternal farewel to Brazil.

It was a day of dismal sadness at Cachoeira, when its founder departed:
the importunate lamentations of his Indians followed him even to St.
Salvador; many of them petitioned to go with him, some refused to quit
his side till they saw him embarked, others flung themselves into the
sea and swam after the ship.

Sebastian had thanks and benedictions for them all: Kara Aziek repaid
them with her tears, and affectionate though mournful smiles. She knew
they were never to meet again, and her heart ached to think how delusive
were the hopes of their return, which each ardent native continued to
express, and demanded to have confirmed.

At length the sounds of sorrow no longer reached them from the receding
shore, it became more distant every moment, it lessened to a speck, it
sunk beneath the horizon! They looked back, and that vast continent was
blotted out from their sight: nothing remained but their solitary vessel
in the midst of that solemn and toiling ocean, beyond which they were
going to court difficulty and danger.

Their situation was like that of a soul returning a second time into
mortal life, after having long reposed on the calm of another world.
Kara Aziek doubted whether she should have strength to encounter the
cares inseparable from such a change; and Sebastian searched his spirit
to discover some of that fire and decisiveness which once predominated
in his character, though it had lain dormant at Cachoeira.

Bereft of Don Emanuel De Castro, he felt dependent chiefly on himself:
(for Don Juan he remembered merely as a very young lord whose character
was not yet developed when they sailed for Africa,) he shuddered to
think what might ensue should the Duke of Medina fail him at this awful
moment: should he have betrayed the secret of Blanche’s birth, her
parents might be hastening only to hear that their innocent child was
immured in a Castillian prison; but should he prove faithful, his
counsel might in some measure atone for the loss of De Castro.

Sebastian revolved these thoughts with deep attention; for the period
was critical, and he was about to play a solemn game that staked his
liberty and his life, the safety of his wife and daughter, and the
existence of Portugal.



CHAP. III.


Filled with such agitating interests, neither Kara Aziek nor Sebastian
marked the dangers of their voyage: they heard the raging storms without
apprehension; mightier storms were threatening from afar, of
still-deadlier import, and though they cherished a rational hope of
finding the scene less fearful than they dreaded, they felt a
presentiment of impending evils.

In something more than three months they reached St. Lucar, whence they
immediately took a passage up the Straits, to Messina.

They had re-embarked, and the vessel was under weigh, when a stranger
put off in a boat from the shore, and gained the ship. He had come post
from Madrid on some business near St. Lucar, and was now anxious to
reach the Venetian gulph where he calculated on obtaining a birth in
some vessel proceeding to Venice: his looks were those of a man who has
just quitted a scene of confusion: he had indeed left the capital of
Castille an hour after its gloomy tyrant had breathed his last.

Philip the second was dead: and as if the whole fabric of her enormous
power was shaken by this event, the strangers in Madrid all hurried to
convey the news, each to his own country, anxious to proclaim that this
was the moment for crushing the despotism of Spain.

Sebastian was sitting alone with Kara Aziek in the cabin they had
exclusively engaged for themselves, when the captain suddenly entered,
and unconscious of the peculiar interest his passengers had in such a
communication, imparted the death of Philip merely as a piece of news.
He then bolted out again, leaving Sebastian transfixed with surprise.

This event was indeed important to him: it was that which would give his
confederates every advantage, by affording them the opportunity of
falling upon Spain at a moment when her unsettled government could but
feebly resist, or would find it policy to comply with their demands:
such an event looked like an omen of success.

Amazement had struck both Sebastian and Kara Aziek speechless: they did
not hear the concluding sentence of the captain, who had requested leave
to send his new passenger into their cabin, as he was of rank, and no
other part of the ship was fit for his reception; they were startled
therefore to see a stranger of good mien and richly habited, enter their
apartment.

The bright flush of their countenances subsided directly, and they
turned towards the windows; for Sebastian was anxious to avoid the
chance of recognition.

The stranger hesitated; at length closing the door, he advanced and
apologized for his intrusion, pleading the necessity occasioned by a
violent fall of rain, which drove him from the deck, and obliged him
thus to throw himself upon the politeness of others.

The gentleman spoke in Italian, which was evidently his native tongue.

His address was too courteous for Kara Aziek to persist in an appearance
of incivility; she turned round, and pronounced with hesitation, the
permission he sought.

Sebastian remained as if in thought, with his face to the windows; the
stranger sat down: he continued to converse with his fair companion, who
listened attentively, since he talked of the event which occupied her
thoughts. He spoke eloquently of the atrocious crimes that had disgraced
the life of Philip, and hazarded several acute conjectures upon the
changes which his death would produce in the cabinets of Europe. In
particular, he described one of the tyrant’s most insolent acts to the
republic of Venice, and anathematized his iniquitous treatment of
Portugal.

At this part of his harangue, Sebastian unconsciously turned round, and
fixed an earnest look on the speaker; the latter started, stretched
eagerly forward, betrayed signs of doubt and surprize, and for a moment
was silent; but he resumed his discourse, on seeing that Sebastian
precipitately moved away.

While the Italian continued to speak, he watched every movement of
Sebastian: his countenance rapidly expressed the succession of thoughts
which this observation excited; suddenly rising he came directly in
front of the person he scrutinized. At this action an indignant flush
crimsoned Sebastian’s features; his look became severe; and the proud
majesty with which he stepped back from the advance of his observer,
made the latter pause.

“I mean not to offend, Sir!” said the stranger, respectfully inclining
his head, “Gracious Virgin! can it be possible; I know not what to--I
dream surely!--so many years!--if I am right in my suspicion, my knee
should follow the homage of my mind.”

Sebastian saw that he was discovered, but resolving to retain
concealment as long as possible, he gravely replied, “your manners
surprise me, sir! I am unconscious of ever having seen you before.”

The stranger still kept his eyes rivetted to the face of Sebastian, but
their expression was rather inviting than hostile. “My memory assures
me, sir,” he returned, “that I have seen you before: it was in the
palace of Santos de Veiel, on the coast of Algarve, where I went on a
secret mission from the Venetian Republic, to the young king of
Portugal. Many years have gone by since that period, but I still retain
the impression made on me by Don Sebastian’s most princely lineaments
and gracious presence.--His moderation, justice, and magnanimity in the
conduct of state business, I had then an opportunity of observing; his
ardent piety was no less my admiration:--and since the fatal year in
which he was said to have perished, I have always been one of those who
most eagerly listened to the various stories of his re-appearance.--I
wish you to know _me_ completely, sir: I am Signor Giuseppe Morosini:
the name of the noblest house in Venice, is, I trust, a herald of
honour:--at this day, my brother holds the first dignity of the
republic.”

“Your mien announced your nobility, sir!” replied Sebastian,
endeavouring to preserve the repelling coldness with which he awed the
vivacity of the Italian: Signor Morosini looked disappointed and
embarrassed; this remark did not answer his question, and he feared to
repeat it.

“My enthusiasm transports me too far;” he said, after a short silence,
“if you are not the personage I imagine; my discourse must sound like
the ravings of a madman, pardon me sir, I have no curiosity; respect and
disinterested zeal, alone dwell in my heart.--I see that I am not
understood--or not recollected--or not credited:--I am at a loss what to
do.”--

The Venetian stopt, and sitting down, Sebastian perceived that he
contrived to let his mantle fall off, and discover below the collar of
his ruff, a device of diamonds which fastened it to his vest: this very
bauble he remembered having given to the Venetian envoy, at the period
mentioned by this stranger. He now examined him attentively; and as
Signor Morosini’s countenance had lost its vivacity, and taken an air of
mortification, that expression came nearer to the serious air of a man
of business: he began to recollect his features and his figure; though
the former were extremely darkened, and the latter greatly enlarged
since they had met at De Veiel. But still he shrunk from precipitate
disclosure, and remained silent.

Kara Aziek, in whom the stranger’s first address had awakened a thousand
fears, now recovered from that impression, and exchanged an approving
glance with Sebastian: she ventured not to speak, and for some time,
silence succeeded to the warmth of energetic discourse.

The reflections of Sebastian were fluctuating and troubled: his nature
led him to implicit confidence in the protestations of a man of whom he
remembered nothing that was not honourable; but experience had taught
him to doubt and to investigate, ere he trusted past recal.

Yet in what way should he act? if Signor Giuseppe were permitted to
depart under the impression which it was evident he retained, pique at
being distrusted, might render him forward to describe the person he had
seen, and the surprise that encounter had caused him. Such conduct must
prove destructive of that secrecy, which, for awhile, should belong to
Sebastian’s intercourse with Spanish subjects: he would be traced to
Messina, to the abode of the Duke de Medina Sidonia’s wife, and the
sacrifice of their whole family might follow the annihilation of his
own.

Was it not better therefore, to take a bold step, and rely at once on
the honour and truth of this Venetian? his near relationship to the
Doge, and the aversion he expressed to the memory of Philip, might be
fairly considered as grounds for confidence; and if his favorable
remembrance of the Portuguese monarch, inspired him to attempt acquiring
for the confederate powers, the assistance of Venice, his friendship
must be considered as an important advantage.

These thoughts were agitating her husband, while Kara Aziek tried to
support languid conversation with Signor Morosini: the latter preserved
a timid and mortified air, yet now and then he stole an earnest glance
towards both his mysterious companions.

Sebastian suddenly approached, and lowering his voice, said, “I would
learn from you, noble Venetian, the name of him for whom you take me?”

Signor Giuseppe raised his head, and said frankly, “For Don Sebastian
himself.”

Sebastian gave no other answer than a gracious smile: the Venetian
seized the confession made by this well-remembered smile, and bent his
knee to the ground; the King gave him his hand, raised him up, and
seated himself by his side.

Signor Morosini, with the vivacity of his country, then began to pour
forth expressions of sincere joy, of wonder, of curiosity: he was eager
to learn where the King of Portugal could have been concealed so long;
and ere Sebastian found voice to reply, had imagined a thousand
fantastic and improbable adventures, which he uttered with more than his
usual rapidity.

Sebastian briefly replied, then added, “You find Signor, that I know
what is due to the bare word of an honorable man: you have merely
assured me that you wish to serve me, and relying on that assurance, I
no longer hesitate to employ your friendship in negotiation with the
Republic. For my long irresolution at our first meeting, your own sense
of discretion will plead: in circumstances like mine, caution is a
virtue.”

Signor Morosini replied with an excess of urbanity: his looks witnessed
his words; and the readiness with which he promised to use the utmost
diligence and prudence, in his negotiation with the Doge and the Senate,
forced Sebastian to confess, that his warmest friends were ever those on
whom he had no right to calculate.

Kara Aziek had retired to another part of the cabin, and taking up some
needlework, ventured not to share in a discourse, where every word was
of consequence to Sebastian, who alone could know how much to withhold
or to confide.

She observed that he never mentioned Blanche, that he prayed leave to
postpone telling the whole of his adventures, and that although he spoke
of England, France, and Holland, as favourably disposed towards him, he
did so in general terms; declining further explanation, until Venice had
determined on what course she would pursue.

Signor Giuseppe understood only, that the King of Portugal was going to
seek some old friend in Sicily; and solemnly swearing not to confide
that secret, even to his brother, he promised to be speedy in
dispatching news of success or failure, to Messina.

Thus situated, the vessel brought them to the mouth of the Venetian
gulph.

So many ships were proceeding to Venice, that Signor Morosini found no
difficulty in procuring the passage he sought: he renewed his promises
of secresy and devotedness, and getting into a felucca, was soon removed
from the vessel of Sebastian.

Filled with unexpected satisfaction by this Providential rencontre, and
led to hope complete success, since Philip was snatched from the world,
Sebastian discouraged not the expression of Kara Aziek’s joyful
feelings. He believed that the terror of Philip’s name no longer
operating to intimidate other sovereigns, past injuries would make them
rise to limit the power of his successor, such an event must prove a
signal for Portugal to start forward in her own cause: and if at the
same time her long-lost monarch should appear at the head of a
confederate army, would not his miraculous appearance stimulate them to
victory.

It was now that the sun once more shone out over the darkened fate of
Sebastian: how various, how trying had been his lot! but he was
becoming accustomed to change; and that equanimity of soul which so
peculiarly distinguishes those who have passed through many
vicissitudes, was already visible, equally under sunshine or under
storms.

Kara Aziek was less philosophic, and more animated; she thought their
allotted time of suffering had reached its termination, and fondly
anticipating a re-union with her daughter, trusted that after this
moment, their destiny must remain bright and secure.

The wind favored her eagerness: their vessel proceeded rapidly, and
gained the port of Messina.

The house of Marco Cattizone (a name assumed by Gaspar, who believed it
prudent to lull curiosity, by passing for an Italian) was easily
discovered: as Sebastian and Kara Aziek approached it, their hearts
throbbed with apprehension, lest they should not find him: if he were
gone to England with Blanche, another tedious voyage must be taken.

They had wrapped themselves in large mantles to conceal their figures,
without appearing to have studied concealment, and having landed towards
night, they reached the house unnoticed. Sebastian knew that Gaspar had
married the favorite woman of the Duchess Medina, (by whom this little
estate was given as her dowry) he was therefore prepared to act
cautiously, when appearing thus unexpectedly before a friend, whose
surprise might betray him into indiscretion.

Having learned that Marco Cattizone was at home and alone in his garden,
he went with Kara Aziek into a retired room, and desired him to be sent
for. In a few moments Gaspar entered: Sebastian and Kara Aziek stood
with their faces averted till the servant had closed the door, they then
turned round, and Gaspar uttered a cry of joy: the next instant his
countenance changed, and he exclaimed, “In the name of God, dearest
master, why are you here? this precipitate step”--His looks expressed
the apprehension he felt.

Regardless of themselves, the impatient parents only pronounced the name
of Blanche. “She is here, blessed be Heaven!” returned Gaspar, “still
the care and delight of our good Duchess.”

“Does she remember us,” exclaimed Kara Aziek, “does she love us as she
used to do?”

Gaspar’s animated reply drew a flood of joyful tears down the cheeks of
the tender mother: lost in delightful anticipations, she listened not to
the alternate interrogatories and explanations of Sebastian and his
friend; when they spoke of the subject nearest her heart, she was all
ear again.

They spoke of Blanche’s prolonged stay at Messina.--Caspar confessed,
that after the death of Don Emanuel de Castro, some wavering conduct on
the part of Queen Elizabeth, had rendered him fearful of committing so
precious a pledge to her good faith. Elizabeth had taken advantage of
their loss, to dictate new terms of alliance, and in her conversation
with Father Texere, had stipulated for two of the most important islands
belonging to Portugal, in the Atlantic and Indian ocean, to be given her
as a compensation for her services, in case Don Sebastian should be
restored: the repayment of the subsidy, of course, was not abandoned in
her altered articles.

Her avidity, and the ungenerous advantage thus taken of desperate
circumstances, had alarmed Gaspar, and disgusted the other adherents of
Sebastian: they deemed it right to detain Princess Blanche till the
English Queen should come back to her former terms; since once delivered
into her possession, the safety of Blanche might be turned by her into
an instrument of fresh extortion.

The ultimatum of the confederate nobles had lately been sent to London,
and at this period, Don Juan De Castro, (who was the bearer of it) was
daily expected to arrive with the decision of Elizabeth.

Intelligence like this must have struck a death-blow to the hopes of
Sebastian, had he not possessed a ground of encouragement in the
prospect of Venetian aid, and some consolation from the death of him who
had trampled on his country: his countenance was undismayed. “Let us not
despond, my friend! I have other resources yet.--Providence has not
abandoned your King:--our prime enemy is gone to answer for all his
crimes against God and man,--Philip of Spain is dead.”

Gaspar looked as if doubtful whether he were dreaming or awake, he
turned a vacant gaze from Sebastian to Kara Aziek: the former repeated
his assertion, briefly adding the source whence his information was
derived. That explanation led to a narrative of the adventure with
Signor Morosini; at which Gaspar passed from the extreme of
despondency, to the extreme of joy.

All his trouble vanished: he rightly believed that the accession of
fresh allies would force Elizabeth into moderation and fidelity; and
that Philip III. unwilling to strain the nerves of an infant government,
and eager to regain those friends which his gloomy predecessor had
spurned from him, might yield with a good grace to the mediation of so
many princes, and restore the crown of Portugal.

Relieved from the torture of contemplating future disasters, he now
considered the arrival of his sovereign, as an alarum to raise the
spirits and confirm the loyalty of his adherents; and no longer
apprehensive for his personal security, he delivered himself up to the
gratifications of friendship.

Only the remembrance of De Castro, the generous De Castro, saddened
this meeting: his activity and virtues were sincerely eulogised: his
last hours were described by Gaspar; and many were the tears which then
embalmed his memory.

The distance of villa Rosolia, obliged Kara Aziek to resign the
expectation of embracing her daughter before the next day. Gaspar dwelt
at Messina for the convenience of receiving and forwarding dispatches
beyond sea; and Kara Aziek divined, that as his wife still retained her
situation about the person of the Duchess, he had formed the connection
chiefly that he might visit the villa unnoticed by the other domestics;
thus preserving his intercourse with the Duke, and his interest in
Blanche undiscovered.

Villa Rosolia was two leagues off, but Gaspar deemed it expedient to
dispatch a messenger with a letter to Blanche under cover to his wife,
informing her of the arrival of her parents, and preparing her to
receive them on the ensuing day.

The return of this messenger brought a letter from Blanche written in
the overflowings of filial joy: she named an early hour for receiving
her parents on the morrow, when she hoped they were to meet never to
part again.

Parental emotions banished sleep from the pillow of Kara Aziek and
Sebastian: their night was spent in conversation about her, upon whom
hung all their domestic happiness. Would they find her still the same
artless and admirable creature they had parted with in Brazil! would the
same beautiful countenance present itself unchanged to their partial
sight?

A multitude of natural doubts and fears moderated their joy, but
increased their impatience, and they rose soon, to commence their short
journey to Rosolia.

Gaspar had the self-denial to remain behind, lest his appearance in
familiar society with the visitors of the Duchess Medina, should excite
curiosity in her household.

The hired carriage which conveyed them from Messina, was not long of
bringing them to the gate of the villa. At beholding that house which
contained her child, Kara Aziek’s emotion was heightened to painfulness:
she turned pale, grew faint, and alighting from the carriage, tottered
into a hall, almost unconscious of existence.

Having paused a little to recover herself, a servant led them into an
unoccupied apartment, where they were immediately joined by their
daughter.--She came alone.

At her entrance, both parents stretched out their arms towards her,
without having power to advance; they scarcely saw the beautiful young
creature who sprung to their embrace with the bloom of a Hebé, and a
sensibility which covered her glowing cheeks with tears: they knew it
was their child; for her voice vibrated in well-remembered sweetness on
their ear. They blessed, they embraced, they wept over her; they
murmured out their gratitude to Heaven; and lost to every thing else,
thought only that they were indeed met to part no more.

When this mutual transport had a little subsided, they were able to look
attentively on Blanche: it was not her extreme beauty (though she was
lovelier than any “mortal mixture of earth’s mould”) that elevated and
delighted their hearts; it was the expression which made that beauty
beautiful to them. Her eyes still beamed the tenderness and sweetness of
her mother, her brow yet announced the energy and heroism of her father:
her manner was still simple and modest; her words the language of
unperverted truth.

The mutual details of this happy family may be easily imagined: they
consisted on the part of the parents in the repetition of what they had
already repeated to Gaspar; and on the side of Blanche, in accounts of
her habits of life, and such interesting anecdotes of her protectress
as were connected with them.

She informed her father that the Duke had been sent for express the
evening before, on the death of Philip II. and ere Sebastian reached
Messina, had gone for Spain with his only son Don Hyppolito, in order to
appear at the first council of their new sovereign. This circumstance,
though it robbed Sebastian of that Nobleman’s advice, was yet to be
considered as replete with advantages, since in quality of counsellor to
the new monarch, he might add his influence to the Portuguese party,
when England and the other allies should openly proclaim in his favor.

Eager to introduce her protectress, Blanche now hastened away for that
purpose; she returned, preceded by the Duchess.

Her resemblance to Don Emanuel deeply affected Sebastian, he kissed her
hand in silence, and as he lifted up his head again, the Duchess saw
that tears were on his cheek; interpreting their cause, she too, turned
aside to hide rising emotion.

It is only a half-sorrow which seeks to display itself: true grief, like
true virtue, courts the shade.

Not a heart there, but was full of De Castro’s memory, yet not a lip
trusted itself to breathe his name.

The conversation flowed less on the past, than the future. Sebastian
found that the Duchess possessed an acute and penetrating mind: she had
entered into all the views of her brother and husband; and though the
latter had never consented to act in rebellion against his own lawful
sovereign, he was forward to avow his abhorrence of usurpation, and to
prove it, by entering his protest against a detention of the Portuguese
crown, should Philip refuse to resign it on the appearance of Sebastian.

She stated these principles with perfect candour, professing no more in
her husband’s name, than she knew him earnest to perform. She offered
Sebastian the protection of her house, and the use of the revenues
attached to it; for the family of Medina Sidonia was the richest in
Spain, and this Sicilian estate made but a small part of their wealth.

Impressed by her generous conduct, both Sebastian and Kara Aziek renewed
those protestations of eternal gratitude which they had first uttered,
while acknowledging all they owed to her for her maternal care of their
daughter, but they neither required nor accepted any additional favors
beyond that of shelter for awhile.

Happy were the days that now flowed away at the villa Rosolia; in the
enjoyment of life’s most hallowed affections, the parents and the child
refused to allow any moment of their time to distracting cares; they
were all absorbed in each other.

Gaspar might be said to hover over their domestic circle; for his
spirit was always with them, though their inequality of rank rendered
the discretion of distant respect an act of necessity. At some periods
however, this restraint was amply compensated. Innocent stratagems were
devised by which he had opportunities of conversing whole hours with his
noble friends; and though his wife was not entrusted with the secret of
Blanche’s connexion with these extraordinary strangers, she knew them to
be his former master and mistress, and wondered not at their
graciousness to her husband.

Letters from Spain and Venice changed the calm aspect of villa
Rosolia.--Medina Sidonia wrote, that he found the new King well-inclined
to lighten the burthens which his predecessor had imposed on the
Portuguese, nay, that he was aware of the danger of driving them to
despair, and the policy of conciliation; and that he had listened with
attention to Medina’s suggestion of placing at the head of their
government their first noble, the Duke of Braganza. This suggestion had
been hazarded to try Philip’s pulse, and from the moderation with which
he received it, Medina sanguinely concluded, that he would not attempt
retaining the crown when the legitimate owner was proved to be living.

Signor Morosini’s packet contained more substantial good fortune: it
accompanied an invitation from the Doge, for Don Sebastian to repair
immediately to Venice, where he promised (on certain conditions,
advantageous for the republic, and not inimical to the interests of
Portugal) to protect him against Spain, to procure the assistance of
other Italian states, and if supported by England and France, to take up
arms in his cause.

Among the motives for gratitude to Don Sebastian which the Venetian
republic felt and acknowledged, was a very considerable loan of money
which she had borrowed at a time of imminent want, and which she had not
since been able to return. Sebastian had cancelled the debt; and he now
received this forwardness to assert his rights, as an honourable proof
that political virtue had not abandoned the world.

A list of illustrious names was subscribed to this letter: he well
remembered many of their signatures, that had been inscribed on official
papers at the period alluded to, and no longer doubting either the
sincerity or the success of Signor Morosini, he once more gave the reins
to his sanguine nature, and believed himself justified in trusting to
the honor of the Venetians.

This seemed the crisis of his fate, the hour that was to determine
whether Portugal should be emancipated, or doomed to eternal slavery.
The bold act of suddenly claiming his rights from the bosom of an
independent state, would fix the wavering inclinations of France and
England; Holland had never retracted her good faith; and thus supported,
Sebastian believed himself called on to resolve decisively.

It was important for him to secure the friendly offices of some powerful
personage in his own dominions, and to whom could he look with such
certainty, as to his kinsman the duke of Braganza?

This nobleman was that Theodosius, Duke of Barcelos, who at eleven years
old had borne a royal standard over the field of Alcazar: he was now the
only representative of their ancient house. To him, (as one dear to his
recollection, and well acquainted with his hand-writing) Sebastian
intended to address a confidential letter, informing him of his
existence, and of his determination to repair immediately to Venice,
whence he should send a summons to Philip for the restoration of his
dominions.

Gaspar eagerly offered to become the bearer of this important dispatch,
fearful that any messenger less aware of its momentous nature, might
fail of delivering it, or loiter on his way. Gaspar’s long absence from
Portugal persuaded him that his person would be worn out of the memory
of all but his most familiar associates, and to none of them, except his
sisters, was his return from Barbary known. Besides the motive of duty,
he pleaded his wish of once more beholding his relations, and to the
force of such a plea rather than to his reasoning, Sebastian reluctantly
conceded the permission he sought.

The letter for Braganza was given to Gaspar, who prepared for instant
departure from Messina.

“This is a time of joy, honored Sire!” exclaimed he, as he knelt to
receive the parting benediction of his master, “why then that serious
and almost sad look? I go with such a glow of hope in this heart of
mine, that it convinces me Providence ordains Gaspar Ribeiro to be one
of the favored instruments in the great event we anticipate. Give me a
farewel smile, my beloved liege! or I shall fear you doubt my
discretion.”

Sebastian gave the smile which his faithful servant solicited, but his
heart smiled not, for the recollection of De Castro’s death came over
him, and he shuddered to think that even of this friend also accident
might deprive him.

The departure of Gaspar was followed by preparations for that of
Sebastian: his resolution was taken; and not even the fantastic fears of
Kara Aziek (whose courage failed her when the moment drew near in which
they must wholly depend on the sincerity of Venice) could make him
shrink from the bold experiment he was about to hazard.

“Better to sink at once,” he said to himself, “than to continue thus
struggling for life, in a stormy ocean of perpetual vicissitudes: the
most precious things are not precious, unless held with a security of
possession. I will lose or I will gain all!”

This determination, as it rather endangered his own security, than
involved that of others, was equally the effect of reason as of
feeling: he was no longer able to dwell in obscurity, since half Europe
knew of his existence, and should he let this favorable crisis escape
him, Spain would have time to win away his adherents, and might finally
end by extirpating him and his race.

Again, therefore, must he repose his only child on the affection of the
Duchess Medina Sidonia. Adopted by her, and known but as the offspring
of Don Emanuel De Castro, should Providence ordain her parents to perish
or to fail, she might pursue her blameless life in retirement, striving
to forget that she had ever dreamed of power or of distinction.

Kara Aziek felt the urgency of this reasoning too strongly not to
acquiesce in its decision: the safety of Blanche was far dearer to her
than her own gratification; but the lover of her youth, the tender
friend and long-endeared companion of her maturity, had claims on her
heart which not even her child could weaken.

“I share thy fate, my Sebastian!” she said, as he spoke to her of
remaining in Sicily, “time has not changed thy Aziek’s soul: dost thou
believe her less thine, or more capable of outliving thy loss, than when
she drooped for thee to the tomb in Africa?--Ah, know her still!”

“I do, I do know thee still!” exclaimed Sebastian, with an overflowing
heart,--“and it is only my anxious care for thy safety, that makes me
apprehend any danger where I expect none for myself. We go then,
together, My Aziek! May the Almighty grant that this may be the last,
the decisive struggle!”



CHAP. IV.


Prosperous as were the views before them, Sebastian and Kara Aziek did
not leave their Blanche a second time without a trying conflict; but
they left her in the hands of another mother, and a short voyage wafted
them into scenes of most momentous interest.

Signor Morosini received them at his mansion in Venice, with a vivacity
of joy: and the Doge evinced his respect, by paying the homage of a
first visit to his illustrious supplicant.

In this interview the terms of their future alliance were specified and
fixed, and the mode of their proceedings settled. Morosini was appointed
to repair immediately to Madrid, with a formal notification to Philip
III. of his royal relation’s existence, he was to assert the identity of
Don Sebastian, and to demand the restitution of Portugal; should Philip
hesitate, he was then empowered to announce the Republic’s intention to
maintain the rights of their ancient ally. Armed with the assurance of
aid from England, France, and the Low Countries, the Venetians feared
not to embark in a cause so ably supported; a sense of recent injuries
from the proud house of Austria, contributed to inflame their zeal.

On the day of Morosini’s departure from Venice, messengers were sent off
for all the different courts in Europe, calling on them to assist in
replacing a brother-monarch. Sebastian wrote with his own hand to Queen
Elizabeth and to Essex, requiring the former to abate her hard
conditions, and to accept any other guarantee for his fidelity to the
engagements she exacted, than his only child.

While these agents were rapidly passing to and fro, the King of
Portugal remained in the house of Morosini, not yet formally declared
before the senate, (because Morosini’s presence would be necessary for
his acknowledgment,) but in private implicitly trusted, and honorably
attended by every senator.

The protestant powers had already replied favorably to the letters of
Sebastian, and dispatched their representative to the court of Madrid,
testifying their conviction of his identity, and making his restoration
the basis of a general peace: no decisive answer was yet come from that
court.

Morosini wrote, that Philip, and his ministers of course, rested their
delay on the question of identity; and willing to consider Sebastian as
an impostor, were then endeavouring to find him so: he advised an
instant appeal to the Pontiff of Rome, whose investigation of the truth
or falsehood of this wonderful event would be guided by pious motives
alone, therefore to his decision the King of Spain must submit.

At this suggestion, Sebastian felt called upon to reveal his bosom
principles; after explicitly detailing them, and pledging his solemn
oath never to let them interfere with his conduct in public affairs, he
declared his resolution to live and to die a Protestant, whether as a
King or as a fugitive. He abjured the authority of Rome, protesting his
willingness to meet the scrutiny of the Pope in common with other
temporal Princes, but never to consider him as his superior in spiritual
things.

Here was a stay to the forward zeal of Venice! the Doge receded with
terrified precipitancy at this unforeseen avowal, and the reply of
Morosini was full of dismay and persuasion!

Clouds began once more to gather over the fortunes of Sebastian; his
warmest Italian friends avoided his society, or employed their zeal
only in vain arguments to induce him to recant those doctrines which
they deemed abominable, and which they dared not pollute themselves by
hearing!

The Pope’s legate finding exhortations and promises totally useless, at
length pronounced the sentence of reprobation in his master’s name; and
threatened the inhabitants of Venice with excommunication if they
continued to uphold him, whom he proclaimed to be a devil, or a
magician, assuming the form of the really deceased Sebastian.

Morosini returned from Madrid: his manner was changed, his zeal extinct.
Of a character eagerly open to new impressions, which by their vivacity
deceived the observer into a belief of their durability, he had been
fascinated by the insinuating graces of Philip III. and suddenly chilled
by the discovery of Don Sebastian’s altered sentiments on the most
important of subjects.

Philip had address enough to perceive the unsubstantial character he had
to deal with; he affected to lament the affronts offered to Venice, he
promised ample reparation, and by the most studied attentions to
Morosini, flattered his vanity, and lighted up a transient flame of
enthusiasm in his inflammable breast.

Morosini yet wavered between the romantic interest which a fugitive King
excited, and the vain exultation inspired by a young and prosperous
monarch’s caresses, when the Pope’s bull fell like a thunderbolt between
him and the fortunes of the former, and severed him from them for ever.

He now met Sebastian with confusion and restraint: his discourse was
full of abstruse dogmas and church threatenings; he eulogized the
unshakable, yet unpersecuting spirit with which Philip III. possessed
the faith of Rome; and he reluctantly confessed, that unless the King of
Portugal would consent to acknowledge the supremacy of the Papal See,
and to accept his crown on her conditions, the Senate of Venice could
not openly proclaim, or secretly support him.

“What then!” exclaimed Sebastian, with some of his former impetuosity,
“do you maintain the impious doctrine that man is more powerful than
God? what human hand dare bar my hand to that throne on which the divine
hand had placed me at the hour of my birth? Your birth-right is your
patrimonial house, your noble name, your rank in the republic--mine is
the throne of Portugal and the Indies; and now, by the blessing of God,
I will perish ere I renounce it. When Kings are prosperous, then do you
make them Gods; when they are in adversity, you reduce them below
humanity: what manner of justice is this? Who shall say that aught but
crimes can deprive a common individual of his lawful inheritance? and
are Princes to be more hardly dealt with than their subjects?--shame on
such base conclusions.”

“It is a crime, Sir, to abandon the only true faith, and adopt the creed
of heretics.” Morosini spoke with a ruffled though hesitating voice. “I
dare not league my soul with any Prince who professes enmity to the
church of Peter. If this were a mere political matter, we should not
scrutinize the opinions of an ally, but it is a question of conscience.
Can the Catholic republic of Venice consistently with its character,
assist in taking the crown of Portugal from the head of a pious King, to
place it on that of an apostate?”

Sebastian gave him a lightning glance of proud indignation, but quelling
the sudden emotion as it arose, he said deliberately,

“The republic of Venice knows that my sentiments are in direct
opposition to all persecution: that liberty of conscience which I claim
for myself, I am ready to grant to others. Man cannot answer for man,
at the last dread day; beware then, how you yield up your soul to the
authority of a mortal like yourself!--I disclaim all power over the
spiritual part of my subjects: they are responsible to God, not to their
King, for those religious tenets from which their good or evil actions
proceed. When I return to Portugal I return to obey and to execute the
laws; to provide for the political prosperity of my people; to endeavour
at forwarding their moral improvement by my example; and to live in
amity with all nations who acknowledge one obligation to worship one
creator, and to obey the one law of virtue that he has placed in every
heart: further, than this, I exact of no man; different portions of
reason and different habits, will produce, to the end of time, different
degrees in the scale of religious advancement.

“Morosini, you now know my sentiments; which I solemnly take Heaven to
witness are faithfully delivered to you. If your republic will continue
to support a man of such sentiments in his just claim, I pledge myself
for eternal gratitude: if not, I condemn her not; I lament her slavery
to that anti-christian authority which once fettered myself, and I will
depart in peace.”

“Not so, Sir!” said Morosini, changing colour, and in a hurried voice,
for shame was at his heart. “The republic is under the painful necessity
of detaining you until our most holy father the Pope has signified his
pleasure respecting her conduct.”

Sebastian was transfixed by this reply; the blood recoiled upon his
heart, and he stood some moments incapable of speech; then advancing and
fixing a stern look on Signor Giuseppe, he said,

“On the faith of the whole republic, not merely on the word of him who
proffered friendship unasked, did I come hither: eternal infamy will
lighten that republic if they suffer a hair of this head to fall.
Beware how you damn yourselves to posterity by this unheard of
treachery.”

“What treachery, does Don Sebastian injuriously apprehend?” asked
Giuseppe, endeavouring to look tranquil.

“That which lays upon the surface of your own words,” was the
reply--“you return from the court of him who has fallen heir to my
usurped dominions, with a determination to make the fulfilment of your
hasty promises depend upon my renunciation of those principles, which
still believing, I dare not abjure. You cannot dispute the identity
which your own eyes and lips have acknowledged, therefore, (seduced into
Philip’s interest,) you take refuge under papal authority, and will
deliver me up to imprisonment or to death, at the ordination of Rome.”

Morosini appeared indignant at the supposition: indeed his mind was not
yet made up to any decision; and though fanaticism had taken alarm at
the obstinate heresy of his former idol, he was far from lending a
willing assent to an act of violence.

“I am cruelly situated:” he exclaimed, at length, and the facile tears
stood in his eyes--“remember, Don Sebastian, that at the period I swore
to serve you unto death, I knew not that you were otherwise than a son
of the church: since then you have undeceived me; and that difference of
opinion on matters of conscience which you have yourself established,
obliges me to stifle the pleadings of my ardent prejudice in your favor,
and to place my future conduct at the disposal of my spiritual director.
In this instance I am only the organ of the republic; it is she, who
waits the result of her message to Rome: till that arrives, your majesty
must condescend still to consider this house as your own. You command
here, as the guest of Giuseppe Morosini.”

Sebastian turned towards the Italian with a strong expression of disgust
at his now-offensive courteousness: his blood boiled: but quickly
subsiding, he repeated with a smile of contempt a short quotation from
the Poet of England.

          “Note this, good Sirs!
    When zeal begins to sicken and decay,
    It useth an enforced ceremony.”

“Morosini!” he added, (and he spoke sternly, and with an air of majesty)
“I must be spared in future this mockery of respect.

“You cannot feel it, if you sincerely believe me reprobate of Heaven;
and if you do not believe me so, this abandonment of my cause either
from interest or from fear, renders you despicable in the eyes of an
honest and a brave man. Leave me, Sir! I remain then, your prisoner--but
I have friends without these walls who may with God’s blessing shake
them to their centre; yea, the foundations of your city itself.”

Sebastian turned away as he concluded, and Morosini abruptly retired.

Sebastian was still too ingenuous for the world he lived in: the moment
that roused his feelings or inflamed his passions, laid his whole heart
open: that mantle of reserve, in which long efforts had taught him to
wrap himself, was instantly discarded, and he shewed himself to his
adversary, with all his weaknesses and all his strength.

Fatal was his present sincerity: Morosini left him, mortified,
humiliated, and enraged; one hour’s discourse had made him his
determined foe.

When Kara Aziek rejoined her husband, she saw in his perturbed looks the
herald of disagreeable tidings: her first thought was of Blanche, and
she pronounced her name. Sebastian quieted this natural fear, and then,
conscious that it is vain to think of concealing evils which we know
must endure for a certain period, he proceeded to tell her the nature of
his interview with Morosini.

She was prepared for disappointment, but not for an actual misfortune;
and at the intimation of their being prisoners in Venice, the blood
forsook her cheeks. Her rapid imagination instantly created a thousand
frightful images, which were indeed too likely to be realized: she sat
cold and speechless as a statue, while Sebastian, tenderly enumerating
the motives to courage under this evil, exhorted her not only to
confidence in the exertions of their friends, but to confidence in
heaven.

Kara Aziek, with streaming eyes, did indeed look only to that heaven for
succour: but dark and intricate are the ways of Providence, and who dare
assure themselves that what they dread most, is not destined to form
part of those trials by which their souls are to be disciplined for a
purer being? She despaired not, but she ventured not to expect; scarcely
did she hope.

Sebastian’s courage rose in proportion to the peril with which he was
threatened, and in seeking to tranquillize her he loved, he re-assured
himself.

Resolute to assert his freedom, and not tamely to bend his neck to the
yoke imposed, he addressed a short note to the Doge and Senate,
requiring their immediate answer to his question, of whether they
sanctioned the words of Signor Morosini, and demanding permission to
leave their territory, in case they declined fulfilling their former
engagements.

This letter was answered by a request that he would attend the council
of senators at midnight.

At the hour appointed, Sebastian got into the gondola of the Doge, which
was sent for his conveyance: it conveyed him not to the senate-house,
but to the state-prison.

Morosini’s private resentment had cooperated with his ambition, his
interest, and his dread of excommunication: he alone of the Venetians
knew the person of Don Sebastian, and upon his professing to believe
that he had been imposed upon by the extreme likeness and great address
of an impostor, the senate took alarm, readily seized this opportunity
of abandoning a man whom the Pope anathematized, and for whose detention
Philip had recently offered them the most tempting advantages, and
precipitately determined on committing him to prison.

When Sebastian found himself thus betrayed, his fortitude transiently
forsook him, and his limbs shook under him; it seemed as if he had seen
the last of all he loved: but quickly recovering, he turned to the
governor of the place, and said calmly--

“I demand the consolation of my wife’s society. Tell your senate, that I
charge them, as they are men sensible to human affection, that they
separate us not! as they deal with me now, so will I requite them
hereafter: for let them not believe that they may corrupt the justice of
Heaven.”

Signor Valdorno bowed and obeyed, and after a long absence, re-appeared
with Kara Aziek.

Left alone with her husband in an apartment, which though commodious,
was still part of a prison, Kara Aziek looked round her with an air of
distraction: her eyes were wild and tearless, her hands burning as she
clasped those of Sebastian. “Here then, we are to die!” she exclaimed,
“or here we are to live, buried from our child!”

She fell senseless on his breast as she spoke, and lost for awhile all
consciousness of their misfortune. Her recovery was followed by tears
and incessant sighs, that pierced the heart of Sebastian: he sought to
comfort her, but every delusive expression faltered on his tongue, and
at length he remained silent, hopeless of success.

The silent and deep sadness of him who was still the dearest object of
her love, made Kara Aziek sensible to the cruelty of indulging her own
sorrow: she checked her sobs, she wiped away her tears, and firmly
striving to resign herself to her fate, she rose from his supporting
arms.

“We have not yet lost all!” she cried, “since we retain each other! for
that greatest of mercies, O may I be properly thankful! pardon your
Aziek my Sebastian, she is herself again.”

Sebastian embraced her without speaking, for now tenderness subdued him,
and his words were suffocated. The remainder of their night was spent in
mutual attempts at animating the courage of each other, and in secret
aspirations to the only source of real fortitude.

When the governor appeared on the morrow, to make a courteous offer of
any service he might venture to bestow, Sebastian charged him with a
second message to the senate, demanding the reason of this outrageous
treatment, and calling on them to remember the respect due to the
Lord’s anointed. He had to learn that the senate of Venice no longer
acknowledged his claim to such a title.

Morosini’s moral apostacy had given them all a plausible pretext for
violating the law of hospitality in the person of their dubious guest.
If he were indeed an impostor, no crowned head would resent their
treatment of him, no individual blame it: without having recourse to the
plea of religion, (which might embroil them with potentates professing
the same faith with their victim) they might surely detain and punish
him as a deceiver.

Most of the lords believed Morosini’s assertion, (who had nearly
persuaded himself to believe it also) that an extreme likeness had
misled him, together with some circumstances which accident might have
brought to the knowledge of the pretended King, but that in their last
interview, these were rendered of no importance, since the incredible
difference between the religion of the true and the false Sebastian,
was a decisive proof of his imposture.

Many Venetians doubted this explanation; but they were spell-bound by
spiritual terrors, and were willing to let events take their course.

Both parties united in outwardly discrediting his identity, and to that
effect they answered his message.

“Since they have taken their stand on this vain ground,” cried Sebastian
to the governor, “my hour of triumph is at hand. Your senate dare not
have the boldness or injustice to deny bringing me to the proof. I
demand to be seen of the Portuguese: I am anxious to court the scrutiny
of those who have known me from infancy to manhood. There are personal
marks about most men which may certify them to others: my body is
remarkable for them: let me be seen by those now living that have served
about my person! I challenge your republic to produce me before the
world. I invite the amplest investigation: if they find me not what I
maintain myself, Sebastian the King of Portugal, let my head be smitten
off--carry this message, sir, to the Doge.”

Fluctuating, and fearful, and interested, the Doge and his counsellors
were ill-disposed to grant the fair demands of him they were betraying:
the threats of Rome, and the persuasions of Spain, could not induce them
to deliver up Sebastian to certain destruction; but they temporized and
qualified, and by detaining the object of Philip’s alarm till he should
gain time to win over Sebastian’s friends to his views, they hoped to
obtain the dazzling favors he promised, and to avert the curses
denounced by the descendant of Peter.

Morosini already reaped the fruit of his infidelity: he was caressed by
the new monarch of Spain, and gratified with the distinction of being
admitted into the order of its grandees: he was in short become the
secret spy of Philip.

No reply was vouchsafed to the frequent messages of the injured King,
and as time wore away, his amazed mind began to admit the horrid thought
that Kara Aziek’s prophecy was indeed true, and that they were doomed to
finish their days in imprisonment together.

But what were become of his friends, and of those princes who had
entered into a compact for his sake? they had not abandoned him.

No sooner did the news of this atrocious act meet the different agents
of Sebastian on their arrival at Venice, where they had hastened to see
and acknowledge him, than they importuned the senate for permission to
visit him in his prison, in order to satisfy themselves whether it was
or was not their lawful King.

The senate were deaf to their intreaties, and again De Castro, Texere,
and Don Christopher of Crato, hastened back to England, Holland, and
France, to procure the interference of these powers with the republic,
for a sight of him who proclaimed himself their sovereign.

The Duke of Medina Sidonia vehemently urged at the court of Castille,
his abhorrence of the perfidy and injustice of the Venetians, calling on
his monarch to assert the honour of Spain, by disavowing such conduct,
and proceeding to an open investigation of the stranger’s story.

The Duke of Braganza dispatched his late mother’s confessor, the Father
Sampayo, with a written deposition of the person and natural marks of
Don Sebastian, taken from the testimony of his foster-brother and his
servants, requiring the republic to compare that description with her
prisoner.

These various exertions were now making in favour of him, who remote
from all intelligence, remained a prey to every species of misery. The
fate of these friends themselves, and of his innocent daughter, began to
alarm his fears, and the possibility of being torn from his wife and
child, filled him with dismay.

He was sitting one wintry night, (listening to the hollow wind that
swept in gusts over the Adriatic) now looking towards the chamber where
Aziek had sunk into a short slumber, now fixing his eyes in sad
abstraction on the ground, when the door opened, and Signor Valdorno the
governor appeared, followed by a person in the dress of a monk.

“This holy man’s importunities have made me hazard my office to give you
comfort, sir,” said Valdorno, speaking low--“your interview shall be
private--I will return in an hour.”

The governor closed the door, which he fastened on the outside again,
and then departed.

Sebastian had risen up: he looked earnestly towards the monk, who was
standing with his eyes fixed as wistfully upon him. Sebastian looked to
find the features of Gaspar beneath this disguise; but he saw only an
aged and care-worn visage, over which a few tears began slowly to
trickle.

“So changed! so very much changed!” said the old man in a feeble voice
after a long silence, “yet noble and princely still! Can twenty years,
then, make such havoc in manly beauty! speak to me, Sir! let me be sure
it is my lord and master Don Sebastian; on whose head I laid these
withered hands in benediction at the house of the Duchess Braganza, on
the day of his embarkation for Africa. Speak to me, Sir--let me hear
your voice!”

“Sampayo! good father Sampayo!” exclaimed Sebastian, falling on his
neck, and melting into weakness, “do you live to seek me? has your old
age been spared only to find your master thus?”

Sampayo wrung his hands in transport, “It is, it is my King!” he
exclaimed, while essaying to bend his trembling knee, Sebastian stayed
him on his arm. “Not so, good father! but our time is short; say whence
you come, and from whom! know you aught of my friend Juan De Castro--and
of him the most faithful, most dear, whom I sent to my kinsman in
Portugal?”

“I am but just come from Lisbon,” replied Sampayo, looking down and
lowering his voice; “your kinsman the Duke of Braganza has sent me, on
his representations, to ascertain your identity: denied admittance to
you by the senate, I have procured admittance through the humanity of
your gaoler; I go now, to re-urge the Duke’s request to the republic for
your Majesty to be publicly compared with a written testimonial of your
person, which I carry. Despair not, Sire! you still live in the hearts
of the Portuguese, and you have zealous friends. England, France,
Holland, openly demand of Venice, the satisfaction of bringing your
truth or falsehood to the proof. I lament the sad change in your
religion; but you are my dear lord and master still.”

The old man shed tears as he spoke, and devoutly crossing himself,
repeated an inward prayer for the soul of him he believed seduced into
error.

Sebastian’s countenance brightened: “All is not lost then!” he
exclaimed, “the path is rugged and hard to climb, Sampayo! but I shall
gain the summit at last. Yet talk to me of my friend! where is he? why
stays he from me at the time of my extremest need?”

Sampayo was silent: his care-worn countenance altered visibly, and
appalled Sebastian: the latter fixed a look on him, as if he would have
dived into his soul. “Why stays he?” he repeated hastily; still Sampayo
replied not, and the frightful silence which followed, was first broken
by the King.

“In the name of God, father! answer my question.”

Sampayo looked sorrowfully up, and said in a trembling voice, “Ours is a
chequered life, dear master! grief and gladness, gain and loss are so
woven together, that--

“No preparations father!” cried the King, grasping his arm with a wild
sternness, “what have I to learn?--that some horrible misfortune has
befallen my last friend?--that I am bereft of him also?”

“Yours is the misfortune, Sire! his, the blessing:” returned Sampayo,
“he is gone to everlasting joy.”

The blow was too sudden to be borne: Sebastian uttered a dismal cry, and
fell suddenly to the ground.

At the sound of his voice, Kara Aziek awoke, and starting up, ran into
the apartment: She beheld her husband seemingly lifeless, lying at the
feet of a very aged man, whose shaking hands were feebly essaying to
lift him up. She sprang towards them, she raised Sebastian in her arms,
and slackening the collar of his doublet, sprinkled his face with water:
her cares were all employed for him, but her mind was full of alarm for
her daughter, and she incoherently questioned the stranger about her
alone.

Sampayo’s answers convinced her that he knew not of whom she spoke: and
now her fears took a new direction, and she believed him a messenger of
death to her husband.

At this moment Sebastian opened his eyes; he turned them from her in
search of Sampayo, with a look of unutterable grief; then raised and
fixed them upon Heaven.

Kara Aziek’s faltering voice could with difficulty intreat an
explanation of the scene before her: Sampayo briefly repeated it. For a
more vital wound, her imagination had so far prepared her, that she
received this without that acuteness of anguish which otherwise must
have assaulted her sensibility; she merely sunk down upon a seat, pale,
speechless, and awe-struck.

Sebastian leaned against the wall of the chamber, with his head bent
down, unconsciously knocking his hand against his heart, with a violent
motion that shewed how intolerable was the pain he felt there. “Half my
life is gone!” he said, after a long and doleful silence, “he was the
dearest of my friends, for we had suffered together; he lived only in
me, doubtless he died for!”

At this thought a burst of tenderness forced the passage from his heart,
and covered his face with tears: Kara Aziek and father Sampayo wept with
him. Several times Sebastian attempted to inquire the particulars of his
loss, and as often did a passion of sorrow sweep the words away.

It was now Kara Aziek’s part to interpose herself between him and
affliction: she tenderly besought him to retire into the room she had
quitted, while she learned from father Sampayo those circumstances which
he could not hear without fresh emotion. Sebastian hastened to comply;
for he was no longer master of himself, and his grief increased rather
than subsided.

While he ran to hide his lamentations in solitude, father Sampayo
proceeded to detail the mournful event of which it was his fate to be
made the messenger.

“My royal master is already informed of the noble Braganza’s favourable
reception of his confidential agent.” Convinced by the hand-writing of
Don Sebastian, and by several anecdotes of the Braganza family, which
Gaspar Ribeiro repeated, the Duke lent all his authority to the mission
of your friend, he permitted him to use his name in every attempt to
disseminate a spirit of inquiry on this important subject through our
countrymen. Gaspar had succeeded to a marvel: aided by one Lopez Vernara
(an old inn-keeper, who testified to the return of Don Sebastian,
though he knew not at the time the royal guest he was harbouring,) he
drew crowds to follow him, calling aloud for their lawful King.

About this period the Venetian proclamation of Don Sebastian’s
existence, and their remonstrance with Spain, followed by those of other
powerful states, was known in Portugal: this circumstance substantiating
Gaspar’s assertions, caused such tumults of joy amongst the people, that
the Marquis Castel Rodrigo, who now governs Portugal as viceroy, took
alarm, and commanded the noble Braganza to deliver up the man who had
originally excited this commotion.

Braganza refused: he told Castel Rodrigo, that on the truth or falsehood
of Gaspar’s report his reward or punishment might depend: he was willing
to pledge himself for the accused’s appearance, on the event of the
examination at Venice: when if the stranger there, who called himself
their royal kinsman, were shewn to be an impostor, this agent of his
should be delivered up to the will of Spain: till then, (believing his
story) he should maintain his liberty against the whole force of Spanish
power.

To this brave answer the Marquis replied, by commanding the Duke to
attend him in private, with the person he protected, for the sake of
hearing his strange story. Braganza went: and leaving his armed escort
in the hall of the palace, ascended with Gaspar to the audience chamber.

“Pardon me dear Lady! let me breathe awhile! I am old and soon overcome,
and there are some events one cannot recal without sorrow.”

Father Sampayo paused to rest himself; while Kara Aziek, pale with
anxiety, and trembling with anticipated horror, waited all ear to catch
his renewed discourse. It was many minutes ere he had strength to
resume.

“Time will not permit me to enter minutely into the scene which
followed: the two nobles met avowedly to examine Gaspar’s evidence
without prejudice. Castel Rodrigo had professed moderation; but in
proportion to his conviction of the truth of what he wished to
disbelieve, his anger rose: he reviled Gaspar; and finding Braganza
resolute to protect his liberty with the lives and liberties of his
adherents, he lost all command of himself, called the Duke an ambitious
traitor, and aimed a blow at his person.

“The intrepid Gaspar saved my honored master from such disgrace: he
sprung forward, and with a sudden grasp, arrested the arm of the
viceroy; but his own hour was come: Rodrigo nimbly drew forth a dagger
with his other hand, and plunged it into the heart of Gaspar. He fell,
exclaiming, “Commend me to my dear lord! I die as I have wished--in his
cause.”

At this part of his narrative Sampayo stopt again; and Kara Aziek,
drowned in tears covered her face, and faintly motioned him not to
continue. Removed from the sight of Sebastian, whose grief would have
been heightened by hers, she felt privileged to give a loose to those
feelings of regret, admiration, gratitude, and affection, which the
conduct and the memory of Gaspar excited.

Her ill-suppressed sobs were not unheard by Sebastian: but he had the
resolution to remove further from the door of his apartment, sensible,
that at a moment like this, he could not bear any addition to his pains.

After a dreary interval of silence, Kara Aziek said tremulously. “Died
he indeed, happy, good father; how would this calamity be sweetened to
us, if we dare believe that Gaspar left the world with hope and comfort
at his heart.”

“The triumphant smile which sat on his pale lips,” replied Sampayo,
“assures me that he did so: that smile was still there, when his
lifeless body was conveyed to the Braganza palace, for mourning and
honourable interment.

“The brutal Marquis, satisfied with the death of his victim, opposed not
this act of my lord’s; and the lowly Gaspar Ribeiro now lies by the side
of noble dust: he sleeps in the vault of the Braganzas.”

“Ah what avails it!” exclaimed Kara Aziek, weeping afresh, “empty
tribute to the best and noblest of human beings! Honours cannot recal
him to us.”

“Yet evincing the esteem of others, they may soothe his nearer friends.”
Replied Sampayo. “I have brought with me a relic of remembrance, a lock
of his hair: my royal master may one day love to look on it.”

Kara Aziek averted her head as she stretched out her trembling hand to
receive the sad memorial: she ventured not to look at it, even while
pressing it to her lips and to her closed eyelids. Moistened by
increasing tears, she placed the relic in her breast.

A step was now heard approaching: “It is the governor,” cried Sampayo,
“farewel, dearest lady, I may not see my dear sovereign again: tell him
I go to solicit afresh--bid him be of good cheer--so monstrous an act
must arm all Europe against Spain and the Republic.” Sampayo had but
just time to salute the hem of her garment, when Signor Valdorno
appeared, and led him from the apartment.



CHAP. V.


Sebastian did not suffer Kara Aziek to remain alone: he rejoined her
with an air of desolation, which though profound, was composed. “I am
now prepared to hear all that relates to my dear friend: tell me Aziek,
how is he lost to us?”

Kara Aziek answered, with quivering lips, and the narrative she
repeated, once more subdued the fortitude of Sebastian. What love, what
grief was in his heart while he listened to the death-scene of him,
whose whole life had been devoted to his fortunes!

The visit of father Sampayo, and the event of his mission, could not
abstract his thoughts a single moment from the memory of Gaspar. But
Kara Aziek, in whom every new event excited a new apprehension, felt a
tumultuous trouble of soul, to which no reasoning could give rest.

Her daughter’s situation (of which she was ignorant) tortured her with
fear: Alas! what were the feelings of that affectionate child? and how
were they to learn whether the unexpected misfortune of her parents, had
not driven her to distraction? Since perfidy or inconstancy had shewn
itself in the character of Morosini, who should say that the Duke of
Medina Sidonia would continue his perilous protection to Blanche, and
stand the scrutiny which might follow the present inquiries of Spain?

Should Medina fail them, Blanche must fall a hopeless victim into the
hands of their enemy: and should the influence of the confederates
produce no effect on Venetian cowardice, her parents might too probably
share her wretched fate.

How sad was the prospect! treachery and alarm were succeeding to
enthusiasm and boldness: one by one, their firmest and dearest friends
were torn from them; and Kara Aziek looked at Sebastian with an
expression of piercing pain, as she thought for a moment, that ere a
little while, they might possess only each other in the world.

Times of rousing anxiety, times in which our fortunes, our comforts,
nay, our very existence, stand on the fate of a moment, are not the
periods in which the soul surrenders itself to lamentation: but
frequently when solicitude for one object is united with regret for
another, we yield to a gloomy sadness, that tinctures every thing with
the same hue, and renders the sufferer inaccessible to one cheering
emotion.

Aziek and Sebastian indulged not in sorrow, though it might be said to
embue their whole being: they tacitly agreed to give their private hours
to the memory of him they lamented, and when together, to converse but
on such topics as might benefit them by consultation.

Signor Valdorno’s indulgence tempted Aziek to suggest a hope, that by
his connivance they might escape from Venice, and she eagerly gave it
utterance.

Sebastian returned a glance of surprize and concern: “What, my beloved!”
he exclaimed, “would you have me the assassin of my own honour? To fly,
would be to avow myself the impostor they would willingly prove me:
no--I am resolved to wait the scrutiny I will never cease demanding. If
they suffer me to wear out my days in this obscurity, posterity will do
me justice, and own that I must have been the true King of Portugal: but
if I basely fly, history will rank me with those miserable madmen who
usurped my name, and perished in their folly. Trust still in Heaven, my
Aziek; my soul is anchored there.”

His eyes raised and filled with virtuous confidence, infused some of
their own energy into those of Kara Aziek; she smiled through tears, and
the glow which spread over her face, assured him that their feelings
were in unison.

Meanwhile the good Sampayo hastened to renew his solicitations to the
Doge and senators: the rank and character of his master would not permit
the Venetians to hazard refusing him admittance to their council. He was
admitted, together with Juan De Castro and Father Texere, who came to
present remonstrances from England and France.

Having briefly stated their request, Sampayo concluded thus.

“My lords! I neither assert nor deny the identity of this man, who
proclaims himself Don Sebastian of Portugal; I merely come from his
noble kinsman, to ascertain his truth or to detect his falsehood. I come
provided with a minute description of the person and bodily marks of Don
Sebastian; all of which deposed to by his foster-brother and his
confidential servant, now dwelling at Lisbon: I come accompanied by
divers persons, all well acquainted with various minute circumstances,
upon which they are ready to question him publicly, so to establish or
to disprove his assertions.

“Believe you not, my lords, that it is important for the Portuguese to
discover the truth of this man? think you that we are eager to place
ourselves under the dominion of a low-born impostor? think you that the
Duke of Braganza would resign his pretension to the succession, (in case
of failure in the Spanish line) to any other than to the real Don
Sebastian? no, my lords! we are actuated solely by respect for the
memory of him whom we have so long lamented. Examine this person, try
him before your senate in the face of Europe, or expect to have the
whole world filled with outcries against your perfidy and injustice. You
can no otherwise efface the shame of your present bold conduct than by
proving the guilt of him you detain. You say he is an impostor; in the
name of God then, hasten to make it appear; and tell your new friend
Philip III. that even his stern predecessor dealt not thus with the
pretended Sebastians of his less settled day.”

“Your holy office protects you, father!” observed the Castillian
ambassador, as Sampayo concluded, “or this licence of speech would
surely draw down on you the resentment of the republic: let that sacred
character remind you of your duty. Is it a priest of the Romish church
who thus advocates the cause of an heretic? be he, or be he not the true
Sebastian, he is an apostate, and an alien from the protection of
heaven, and we dare not stir a step in so solemn a crisis, without the
directing hand of our august oracle the Pope.

“Beware how you draw the lightning of the consistory upon your heads--I
speak to you both, Sampayo and Texere--for both of you tread on the
precincts of spiritual rebellion.”

“Our sins be on ourselves!” said Texere, with an undaunted air, “neither
of us will shrink from an honest defence, when it is needful to make it:
now, it is for your illustrious prisoner that we speak, not for our own
principles. First admit his story to a fair hearing and investigation,
after that pronounce on his character; punish him as an impostor, or as
the King of Portugal, let our sacred superior exhort him to
reconciliation with the church.

“While the Portuguese are ready to receive their King, without insisting
on his abjuration of certain private opinions, he is King of Portugal
still.”

“What abominable doctrine is this!” exclaimed the ambassador, “is it a
son of the church, that dares proclaim the Vox Populi, Vox Dei? but I
forget myself--the speaker is Francisco Joseph Texere, a fellow hanging
between the heaven and hell of truth and error; one that has not yet
decided whether he is to adhere to the rock of St. Peter, or to follow
the standard of Martin Luther. I have heard of his residence in England,
his attention to her new theories, and the heretical books which he has
published, I am not surprized therefore, to see him abet the cause of an
impostor, or at least an apostate!”

Texere frowned severely, and disregarding the speaker further, resumed
his address to the senate: good father Sampayo suffered some tears to
trickle down his aged cheeks.

“It is our well-beloved monarch whom we would support,” he said mildly,
“justice and loyalty demand such conduct at our hands; and Christian
charity should teach us to hope, that when restored to his throne, and
placed again within the reach of spiritual instruction, his pious soul
will retrace its steps, and return to the bosom of the true faith!”

“We are bound to act solely by the Pope’s direction;” gravely observed
the Doge, “if you may obtain his holiness’s permission to hold converse
with this mysterious personage, the republic will cheerfully add her
consent--till then, he remains unseen by any one. This is our answer;
you may withdraw.”

Texere and Sampayo quitted the assembly, and retiring with their
Portuguese friends who waited them without, proceeded to consultation
upon their future movements.

It was deemed expedient for one of them to repair immediately to Rome;
and as father Sampayo’s orthodoxy and ghostly life had never been
impeached, the choice fell upon him. Careless of his age and
infirmities, he departed on the instant, and the remainder of the
Portuguese lingered in Venice to wait the event, to continue their
importunities, and to invite all such persons as remembered the figure
of Don Sebastian to join in demanding permission to see and to peruse
him.

The long interval of time which elapsed between this period and that in
which the different travellers met again, was spent in torturing anxiety
by Kara Aziek and Sebastian. Bereft of their faithfulest friend, the
devoted Gaspar, no one remained to share their hearts with each other,
but their far distant Blanche: yet of her, they dared not inquire.

Experience had taught them suspicion of all around them; and since the
very existence of Blanche was a secret between England and the late Don
Emanuel De Castro’s family, they blest his prudence, and resolved to
perish with anxiety, rather than betray their child into danger.

To believe her ignorant of their changed fortune, was to imagine an
impossibility: the interruption of their correspondence alone, would
arouse her inquiries, and those inquiries must lead to explanation. How
then, was she suffering? and how would her tender nature enable her to
live through months, perhaps years of constant apprehension?

These thoughts preyed upon each; yet neither of them gave utterance to
their sorrow. Sebastian never permitted himself to lament any other
misfortune than that of knowing himself the prime cause of so much
misery to the woman he loved; and Kara Aziek, afflicted by this
self-reproach, became solicitous to prove that her sorrows were not yet
so insupportable as he believed.

Mutually endeared by these mutual sacrifices, their prison still
enclosed two hearts that felt not a diminution of love; and even their
bitterest hours were sweetened by the fond glance of approval, the
tender smile of gratitude.

Signor Valdorno witnessed this dignified and true attachment with
feelings that did him honour; and though strict in the performance of
his duty, his manners were full of respectful pity, and his
communications on the events without, as explanatory as he dared
hazard. It was from him that Sebastian at length drew an account of the
various exertions which were still making by his friends; and at this
information his hopes revived.

The fitful day of his fate might yet change! so many vicissitudes had
already marked its progress, that he deemed it impious to despair; and
the more so, while allowed to retain those precious objects of his soul,
without whom, no destiny could bestow happiness.

In the midst of reviving hope, father Sampayo returned from Rome with
the Pope’s order to the Senate of Venice for an immediate and private
interview with their prisoner.

A bright sunbeam shone through the window of Sebastian’s chamber, on the
face of old Sampayo, as he entered where Sebastian and Kara Aziek sat
expecting him; a brighter beam, for it emanated from a comforted heart,
was there also.

Sebastian run forward to welcome him; Sampayo whispered a benediction,
and dropt a joyful tear over the hand of Kara Aziek, as he feebly
grasped it within his. “This is a happy or a sad hour to me, as my Liege
shall chuse to make it!” said Sampayo, slowly seating his exhausted
frame. “I come back charged with an important mission: the fate of this
dear lady, your own fate, honored Sire! the lives and comforts of
millions are now in your hands, a single word will destroy or save all.”

Kara Aziek looked on him with an anxiety which suspended her breath and
her pulsation: Sebastian already guessed the mission of Sampayo. “Say
on!” he cried, with a steady voice, “I am prepared to hear you with
attention and singleness of heart.--It is of God and our conscience,
that we are about to speak.”

There was something so impressive in the tone of his last words, and so
much of truth and dignity on his brow, that father Sampayo’s looks took
an impression of still deeper interest, and dropping on his knees, the
old man raised his hoary head and withered hands towards him, while
earnestly repeating.

“Ere I begin my mission, let me, Sire! charge you on my knees, to put
from you all obstinate prejudice, all proud presumption--all vain desire
of men’s praises for a seeming contempt of temporal things! avow
conviction and repentance if they touch your heart, and be content to
suffer a short odium from heretics, for the sake of your eternal
salvation, and for the worldly prosperity of Portugal. Let the example
of the pious Henry of France sustain your courage. I am come to invite
you back to the arms of our indulgent father; he empowers me to exhort
and to instruct you. If my humble endeavours may avail, he promises to
command every catholic Prince to concur in demanding the restitution of
Portugal: so must Philip yield up the crown, and your sceptre pass into
your royal hand in peace. No sword will be drawn, no blood shed, no
families divided by civil dispute, no fortunes ruined. Europe will
behold the long-exiled Sebastian calmly retake his seat amongst her
monarchs, and universal gladness will follow.”

Sampayo stopt, and Sebastian raised him kindly from the ground; but the
lofty smile with which he did so, answered the fearful inquiry of Kara
Aziek’s eyes: that smile spoke to her of a heavenly crown, not a
temporal one, and half-raised, half-sunk her trembling spirit. She
seated herself near her husband, while he placed himself in an attitude
of attention, requesting the venerable priest to continue his discourse.

All that zeal, and affection, and ability, can inspire in support of a
weak cause, was urged by father Sampayo: sincerely professing the
doctrines of Rome, he understood and explained them better than any
other man, but his explanations were unsatisfactory, his reasonings
barred by mysteries; he talked eloquently, but he talked in vain, for
he convinced not his hearers.

After frequent pauses, and as frequent renewals of the important theme,
his powers were exhausted, and he awaited the reply of Sebastian. The
latter gave him a long look, full of gratitude and esteem, and pressing
the hand of Kara Aziek as it rested trembling on his, he thus addressed
him.

“It is not my aim to change or to disturb the opinions of one who stands
on the brink of time, and whose holy life, and sincerity, though in
error, may redeem his creed: I have but to assure you father, on the
solemn word of an accountable man, that my heart has not yet been
shaken, nor my understanding momentarily enlightened by a single
argument adduced in support of papal Christianity. I feel and I believe
that the reformed religion of Luther approaches much nearer to the pure
doctrines of our blessed Redeemer, and as such I will profess it unto
death.

“If the recovery of my rights is to depend upon my abjuration of my
principles, I may say at once, “My kingdom is not of this world.”
Father! I fear not the censure of men, I court not their applause; but
the voice of God and of my conscience resounds from the depths of this
heart, warning me not to betray my everlasting soul for a perishable
honour.”

He now turned his softened eyes upon his wife, and went on. “I presume
not to read the decrees of Providence; whatever be the cup presented me
by the divine hand, shall we not drink it my Aziek? aye, drink it
together!--Does not thy virtuous spirit make the same covenant with that
of him who has known no joy on earth without thee, and almost fears
there would be none for him in heaven if he had not thee to share it.”

Aziek replied in whispered sighs upon her bosom, where she threw
herself, oppressed to agony: she exulted in the magnanimity of her
Sebastian; she shared his ardours, but she foresaw the price that must
be paid for the immortal crown he preferred to that of earth, and some
human weakness enfeebled without subduing her.

Sebastian knew her thoughts, and prized her heroism the more, from
seeing the tenderness with which it had to struggle. Father Sampayo was
plunged in sorrow; his arguments were now succeeded by lamentations and
entreaties; he wept, he prayed, but his tears only served to make
Sebastian regret without altering his resolution.

Day passed unheeded in this painful contest, till at length the
confessor was obliged to quit the prison. “This hope then is over,” he
said, preparing to withdraw, “your obstinacy, sire, is to be the signal
for our great superior’s pronouncing you once more an impostor, and
excommunicating all who appear in your defence. He persists in
declaring that the true Don Sebastian was the elect of God, and could
not fall into such accursed heresy. I have now no further hopes; all
rests on the good offices of your protestant allies. May the blessed
virgin and the saints intercede for your darkened soul! may a miracle
restore you! perhaps these aged eyes will never more behold you till we
wake together in--another world.”--The good man’s voice faltered as he
uttered the last words, for he dared not say in Paradise, since he
addressed a heretic.

Sebastian bent his knee to receive his benediction, and Kara Aziek
partook in the affecting farewel. Sampayo embraced and blessed them
together, then hastened out of the apartment.

The past scene would have dwelt long on their hearts, had not the
father, as he departed, drawn a packet from his vest, and put it into
the hand of Aziek; the writing was unknown to her, but opening it, she
glanced over these words: “A confidential servant of the Duchess Medina
Sidonia has ventured to entrust the enclosed to father Sampayo; he has
been long in Venice anxiously seeking some safe method of transmitting
it according to his instructions.”

Every shew of composure and self-command vanished at this moment from
the countenances of Kara Aziek and Sebastian; they tore open the letter,
they ran over it together with swelling hearts and frequent exclamations
of joy; its contents were indeed balm to their tortured minds.

The Duchess wrote to assure them of her inviolable fidelity to the
secret of their daughter’s birth, and to promise her continued
protection to the amiable girl through any change of fortune; she told
them that Blanche’s real parents had never yet been guessed at even by
Paula, the wife of Gaspar, for whose infant son the Duke of Braganza had
sent into Sicily, proclaiming his intention of repaying to the child
the timely service of his father.

Renewed vows of friendship, repeated exhortations to hope and patience,
and trust in Providence, concluded the letter of the Duchess; that of
Blanche, though filled with expressions of filial sorrow and love,
happily convinced her parents that she knew not the worst of their
destiny, but was encouraged to hope beyond probability or present
prospect.

Sweet were the tears that now stole down the cheeks of these illustrious
sufferers! they beheld the writing of their child, they believed her out
of the reach of their misfortunes, and their misfortunes ceased to
afflict or to affright them.

The consolation afforded by this unforeseen blessing, together with the
inward satisfaction of having sacrificed interest to principle, spread a
cheering light through their hitherto dreary prison, they were comforted
and revived; and patient in joy as in sorrow, they cheerfully resigned
themselves to await the good time of heaven.

While all within the prison was peace, all without was confusion and
indecision; every day messages and noble persons arrived from different
states, to know the fate of the extraordinary man whom the Portuguese
called their King. The friends of Sebastian zealously disseminated their
belief of his identity; the partizans of Philip and of Rome as hotly
proclaimed his falsehood. Venice herself knew not how to act; she began
to tremble for the consequences of her rash union with Spain, and to
listen with troubled attention to the remonstrances of France, England,
and the States-General. The city was now crowded with foreigners of
various ranks and ages, daily besieging the Senate with alternate
reproach and solicitation.

In the midst of this tumult, Don Christopher of Crato, arrived from the
court of London with a threatening letter from the English Queen. She
demanded a public trial of the pretended impostor, menacing Venice and
Spain with immediate destruction if they refused compliance. The terror
of a British fleet decided the irresolution of the Venetians, and
summoning a full senate, they consented to hear their royal prisoner.

It was in vain that the Portuguese lords prayed permission to be present
at this examination, in order to compare him with their own recollection
of the unfortunate Sebastian. The Seigniory alleged that the Portuguese
were all too desirous of believing the impostor to give an impartial
testimony, and that by questioning him on the events of his life, they
were more certain to detect him in contradictions.

Venice yet feared and hoped much from Philip, whose ambassador
alternately threatened and caressed her; and armed with assertions which
Morosini’s communications enabled him to fulminate, he now made one of
the assembly, proudly pronouncing himself the umpire, since he had
frequently seen the real Don Sebastian in his palace of Ribera.

It was midnight, and cold December, when Valdorno came to conduct
Sebastian into the presence of the senators: Sebastian wished never more
to lose sight of Kara Aziek, and with an air of high authority that
would not be denied, he persisted in making her his companion.

A solemn expectancy sat on the faces of the numerous senators who with
the Doge, habited in their most imposing habits, formed a semi-circle in
the grand hall of the senate-house. One massy branch of lights threw a
sullen gleam over the more sullen crowd: no sound was heard amongst
them, as the great doors were opened, and Don Sebastian appeared,
advancing between Kara Aziek and Signor Valdorno. He paused when he had
passed the threshold, and cast an undaunted look around the hall.

The King of Portugal was now at that period of life, when manly beauty
assumes a character of majesty, and awes rather than wins: the bright
colours of youth were no longer on his cheek, nor its luxuriant fulness
on his limbs, but his countenance was splendid still, for the fire of
his eyes was unextinguished. He looked

            “Not less
    Than archangel ruined.”

By his side stood the gentle Aziek, with loveliness faded, not
obliterated; graces so lightly touched by the hand of time, and so
interestingly mixed with looks of unresisting sweetness, that she
appeared born to contrast the severe dignity of Sebastian. But there was
a modest nobleness in her air that seemed as if love had copied the
object beloved, and made her worthy of it.

At the first sight of these august sufferers, murmurs of shame and
admiration ran through the assembly. Sebastian advanced to the Castilian
ambassador, whom his eagle glance had singled out, and stopping before
him, said in a high voice, “Here is one that should know me. Sir! whom
say you I am?”

The Spaniard who had half-discredited, half-believed the existence of
Don Sebastian, now amazed into perfect conviction, turned pale, and the
acknowledgment was bursting from his lips, when recollecting himself, he
turned aside, and said coldly, “I know you not.”

“We have sent for you, Stranger!” interrupted the Doge, as he saw
Sebastian hastening to speak, “not to question others, but to answer for
yourself, we are met here, without prejudice or partiality, to decide
between you and the most Christian King Philip III. of Spain, Portugal,
and the Indies. I charge you answer truly to the questions that shall be
put to you.”

“As an honest man desirous to have his truth apparent to all the world,
I am ready to answer you,” replied Sebastian, “I will forget awhile that
I am a King--aye Lords! a King: (he added, seeing them look strangely
at each other,) there are some amongst you that know I am so. Woe unto
them, sons of Judas! have they not betrayed me with the kiss of
friendship?”

Signor Morosini drew back at this expression, and averted his head; the
Doge proceeded to speak.

“How comes it, that you have thus long suffered the kingdom of Portugal
to be enjoyed by the sovereigns of Spain, if confident that you were its
lawful possessor?”

“Because I had not any direct promise of support from other Princes, and
abhorred the thought of plunging my people into war.”

“Where have you passed the long period of twenty years which has elapsed
since the battle of Alcazar? and how comes it that you are the husband
of a Moorish woman?”

“Part of that period has been spent in Barbary, part in Persia, the
remainder in Brazil. You ask me how it comes that I am the husband of a
Moorish woman, I answer, because I loved her, I owed her eternal
gratitude, and she deserved both sentiments.”

“What say you to the well-known fact of Don Sebastian’s body having been
found in a suit of green armour on the field of Alcazar?”

“I reply, that it was the body of some other person. Near the cave of
Abensallah, a Moorish hermit, who dwelt among the mountains of
Benzeroel, my armour will be found buried under a plane tree; the royal
insignia are on it; since Spain and Morocco are at peace, I challenge
you to have it sought for.”

“How comes it, that having passed this long period, first in Mahometan
countries, and lastly in a Catholic one, that you should profess
doctrines known only to a few miserable European states?”

“I was instructed in them by the Moorish proselyte of an English slave;
I heard, and examined, and believed.”

“Enough!” exclaimed the Doge, “now hear what you are said to be. A
Calabrian impostor: we have inquired, and heard of a strange person
bearing the name of Marco Tullo Cattizone, who abode some time at
Messina, and him thou art. This woman is--I know not what;--thy lawful
wife is the servant of the Duchess Medina Sidonia, and is now in this
city ready to swear to thee as her husband.”

“Peace!” exclaimed Sebastian, with a voice of thunder, and throwing his
arm round Kara Aziek with a look of protection. At that moment his eye
caught Morosini’s, and the tide of resentment turned: it was evident
that he was the informer, since after their first meeting, Sebastian had
directed Giuseppe to address his letters to Cattizone at Messina, and
doubtless having supposed that he bore that name, they had confounded
him with Gaspar, and discovering his wife, who concluding him to be her
husband, without intending to abet falsehood, was beguiled into doing
so.

Sebastian briefly stated these circumstances, adding, “of his evidence I
am deprived by the most cruel misfortune; my faithful follower is no
more; but his dying words attest my truth, and the noble Braganza is
prepared to repeat them. Let this woman you speak of, be brought hither;
she will quickly acknowledge that I am not her husband. If I am a
Calabrian, bring forward those who know my birth and lineage.--You have
state papers signed by Don Sebastian’s name, compare these signatures
with my hand writing now. Question me on the secret articles of our
various negociations; if you find me falter in my answers, then brand me
with imposture. Let my person be compared with the description of Don
Sebastian’s: shew me to my Portuguese, they will know the voice and the
features of their King, though time and sorrow have marked me with
their heaviest print: if my own people deny me, then let disgrace and
death light on me and mine.”

Sebastian concluded, and seeing that his last words had taken the colour
from Kara Aziek’s cheek, he gave her such a smile as might in calmer
times have transported her to fall upon his neck in an ecstacy of
delight: but now, it redoubled her anguish, by heightening her love, and
she remained wildly gazing on the men who had the fate of her husband in
their hands.

A sharp debate ensued amongst the Venetians. Some, moved by the
interesting softness of Kara Aziek, were forward to espouse the cause of
her husband, insisting on the equity of complying with his demands.
Some, awed into admiration of Sebastian, feared to maintain the
assertion of his imposture, but excused their conduct on the plea of his
apostacy: others, denounced him in the same breath as an impostor, an
apostate, a magician, calling for his instant delivery into the hands
of Rome, or of the Inquisition. All questioned him with perplexing
varieties of inquiries, which he compelled himself to satisfy.

The Castillian grew clamorous; and at each convincing explanation,
called out, “He is an impious sorcerer!”

But the senate, though far from unanimously believing this superstitious
assertion of their ally’s envoy, were too much afraid of papal power,
and of protestant indignation, to take a decisive part on either side:
they deemed it best to steer the middle course, and getting rid of
Sebastian without providing for his protection, leave him to his fate in
the midst of Philip’s adherents.

They commanded their prisoner to withdraw, and leave them to deliberate
on the nature of the decision they were about to pronounce. Sebastian
retired with Kara Aziek.

In a vacant anti-chamber, attended only by Signor Valdorno, whom
respectful pity kept silent, they sat awaiting the moment of their
recal. The tumult of sharp debate still reached them from the senate
hall: at each noisy burst, the blood retreated yet further into the
heart of Kara Aziek; her lips, her cheeks, her very eyes were pale:
violent tremblings alone gave to her death-like figure any semblance of
life. She sat with one hand closely grasping that of Sebastian, who
continued in low and tender tones to chide such apprehension.

He felt the King in his breast, and he could not conceive the
possibility of being doomed to leave the world denied and reviled.

At length a person appeared at the door, Sebastian arose, but Kara Aziek
hung on his arm unable to raise her sinking frame. That moment was come
in which their fate was to be pronounced! Scarcely could Valdorno
support her on his stronger arm, as they followed Sebastian into the
council room.

The Doge was standing.--“Stranger!” he said, “he to whom you applied for
acknowledgment of your bold pretensions, the ambassador of our noble
ally, Philip of Spain, solemnly assures us, that your features are
unknown to him: we may not therefore, examine you further: to do so,
would be to insult the honour of a great sovereign, in the person of his
representative. We leave you at liberty to seek other investigation: and
as we acknowledge no other King of Portugal, besides Philip III. of
Spain, we command him who usurps that title, to depart this city within
three days, on pain of perpetual imprisonment.”

The Doge reseated himself, and with a shriek of joy, Kara Aziek fell
lifeless at the feet of her husband. Signor Valdorno hastened to raise
her in his arms: Sebastian cast on her a look of sad tenderness, but
attempted not to remove her from Valdorno. He turned to the assembly,
and viewing them with an undaunted and indignant air, that struck
conviction of his royal dignity to every soul, he said aloud, “Once more
I tell you, I am Sebastian King of Portugal. I go, with God’s help, to
prove this assertion on the war-fields of my country, since thus he
wills it.”

He vouchsafed no glance to Morosini, but passing his arm round Kara
Aziek, with Valdorno’s aid, carried her forth. A gondola was provided
for their conveyance to the lodgings of Don Juan De Castro: Kara Aziek
recovered her senses at the movement of the boat, and then so many
powerful emotions (joy relapsing into fear, gratitude suddenly checked
by remembrance of former evils, love for her husband, and indignation at
his false friends) shook her frame, that she evidently trembled on the
verge of death and madness.

Sebastian succeeded in beseeching her to let this agitation subside, ere
she mixed in a scene likely to increase it still more; it was long past
midnight, and as they entered De Castro’s house, he resigned her into
the care of a female domestic, whom they encountered in the hall,
desiring her to conduct the exhausted lady to a place where she might
take rest.

Having disposed of her who demanded all his care, Sebastian preceded the
courteous Valdorno into a saloon filled with a numerous concourse of
friends and strangers, and glaringly lighted. He advanced with his usual
kingly port into the centre of them, and stopped there without speaking:
Don Juan De Castro fell back amazed at the figure he saw before him.

De Castro retained the vivid image of a young and smiling warrior,
gallantly attired, bright with health, and happiness, and conscious
power; he now saw a man in the autumn of life, negligently habited,
darkened by foreign suns, wasted with many cares, dimmed by long
experience of this world’s uncertainty and emptiness. He scarcely knew
how to trust his sight: but as Sebastian, observing his trouble, and
conjecturing its cause, mournfully smiled, Juan precipitated himself at
his feet, exclaiming, “My King, my King!”

That well-remembered smile was decisive: at the same instant, several
other persons cast themselves on the ground, proclaiming the person they
beheld, to be their King.

Eyes, that had never wept before, now flowed in sympathy with the
Portuguese and their persecuted sovereign: Sebastian’s full heart
overflowed at every side; and calling each friend by their name, he
turned from one to the other, alternately embracing and raising them to
his bosom.

When they were standing around him, he cast a look over the circle, and
seeing them variously habited, most of them in disguises, which were
assumed for the purpose of dispatch on their different missions, some in
the fashion of France, some in that of England, some in that of Holland,
others as pilgrims, a few as mendicants; he smiled pensively again, and
said with a heavy sigh, “So many sorts!”--

The sad grace with which he spoke, once more touched every heart, and
renewing their exclamations, the Portuguese crowded about him to kiss
his hands and his garments.

Amongst this groupe he distinguished the Fathers Texere and Sampayo, De
Brito, who had last seen him on the field of Alcazar, when they fought
together in defence of the royal standard, Mascaranhas, his favorite
attendant, and a tall fair young man, whose countenance was peculiar
from its expression.

Sebastian fixed his eyes on this last, with extreme earnestness; the
colour fluctuated on the young man’s cheek; “Is it not a kinsman I
behold in you, young sir!” he said kindly, “Don Christopher of Crato, I
think.”

Don Christopher answered by a painful blush; Sebastian resumed, and his
heart yearned towards him as he spoke, “You resemble your father in
complexion; God grant you grace to resemble your grandfather in deeds!”

“The infant Don Louis is the only parent I wish to remember,” replied
Don Christopher, dropping his eyes, while a deeper dye covered his face.

Sebastian’s eyes were still rivetted on him; for now he recalled that
dreadful hour, when he had seen this young man a child in the cradle at
Xabregas, and remembered anguish seized him with a transient pang.
“Where is his father!” he whispered to Don Juan. “He is dead, my liege,
at Florence.” Sebastian gave a sigh to their former attachment, then
turning with animation to those around, said--

“Which of you will compare this wreck of Sebastian, with what the proud
vessel was, in her day of brave appointment? Care may have furrowed this
once smooth brow, but nothing could obliterate these well known marks.”
As he spoke, he lifted aside his hair, and shewed a deep scar above the
right eyebrow, which had been caused in his earliest youth, by an
accident in hunting.

“Here De Brito! is the memorial of a wound you saw me receive, on the
most fatal of days,” and bending his head, he displayed another large
cut above the forehead itself. “This body is flesh, not iron, on which a
man may grave what he pleases, yet these marks are accidental; what I am
about to shew, were imprinted on me by the hand of nature.”

He now pushed down his cloak, and baring one shoulder, discovered on the
exceedingly white skin, a singular mole resembling a dark seal or coin:
at the same time he extricated his left foot from its sandal, and
shewed another curious mark, well remembered by all his familiar
associates.

At these convincing evidences, those who secretly wavered between doubt
and belief, uttered a cry of gladness, and again the tumultuous murmurs
of joy and sorrow (for how could such recognition be made otherwise?)
ran through the crowd.

While the King was answering the many questions which followed this
complete conviction, and thanking the surrounding strangers for their
generous sympathy, Father Texere came forward, leading in his hand a
monk in the vigour of life, tall and commanding, on whose acute brow
were stamped energy and ability: “Sire!” he said, “suffer me to claim
your notice for this excellent person, who of all men present, has
sacrificed the most for your sake: it is now some months since he added
his powerful support to our party.”

“What is he, good Texere? to whom stand I indebted for the zeal you will
find me warm to acknowledge?”

“To Father Chrysostom, the most distinguished follower of our holy
Faith. He lately filled the office of almoner and confessor to the
Viceroy of Portugal, but struck by the recital of your story by Caspar
Ribeiro, and indignant at that atrocious act which brought Ribeiro to
the grave, he abandoned his high situation, resigned the revenues and
honours granted him by the Marquis Castel Rodrigo, and having travelled
through these countries at the peril of his life, boldly declaring your
existence wherever he went, and rousing the people to demand their King,
he has reached Venice, and become the most zealous for your Majesty’s
enlargement.

“On his eloquence we depend for reconciling his holiness to your
espousal of the new doctrines. Father Chrysostom is unimpeachable in
his own profession, and what he sanctions, no devout catholic may
venture to question. Sampayo and myself fail of surmounting the
religious prejudice which opposes you, Sire! for they accuse me of being
a Lutheran in my heart, and Sampayo of being too little careful for the
salvation of others.

“Deign then to accept the services of Father Chrysostom, and to admit
him into the number of your chosen servants.”

Sebastian extended his hand towards the lofty-looking Chrysostom, who
received it with respect, and the calm aspect of a man that is actuated
rather by reflection and principle, than by any enthusiastic impulse.
His thoughtful looks, his temperate words, his unimpassioned manner,
when connected with the knowledge of his ardent actions, made Sebastian
muse on the contrast between this sacrificing friend and the selfish
Morosini.

How different, thought he, look truth and falsehood; or rather, how
different does a steady and an unstable character express the same
feelings!

When Sebastian had urged many inquiries to Chrysostom respecting the
Braganza family, and the situation of Portugal, some of the Portuguese
would have learned from him the particulars of his own exile, but
sadness shaded his countenance, and praying them to forbear awhile,
since the relation of his adventures must painfully revive the memory of
early error, he proceeded to learn the state of his affairs at foreign
courts, fixing on fit operations for the future.

The unsettled posture of Holland forbade him to seek that asylum there,
which he purposed seeking somewhere; (an asylum was necessary to rest in
till Portugal should proclaim him, and his allies fulfil their
engagements of furnishing him with men and money.) England was beginning
to dread a change, for Essex was fallen into disgrace, Elizabeth, grown
so capricious with age and jealousy, that she changed her humour every
hour, and no longer listened to the solicitations for Don Sebastian,
since her favourite was not nigh to urge them. France was the only
country that opened her arms to the fugitive.

The King, deeply interested in depressing the house of Austria, and
convinced of Sebastian’s identity, from the representations of others,
had empowered Don Christopher to offer the persecuted monarch an
honourable asylum. It was to his court that Sebastian resolved to direct
his steps: while he hastened thither to join the army which Henry
offered to raise, [if swelled by succours from any other Prince;]
Sampayo and his companions were to return into Portugal, and proclaim
their sovereign; Braganza was to seize on the national fleet and the
treasury: two acts less difficult than they appeared, owing to the
devotion of the sailors to Don Sebastian’s memory, and the extreme
weakness of the Spanish garrisons.

Sebastian reckoned not on Castillian assistance; he did not even permit
himself to name his friends of Medina Sidonia; for he justly concluded,
that although he might trust implicitly where his own safety alone was
implicated, he should rigidly abstain from all imprudence when it might
endanger another.

He found that the Duke of Medina Sidonia had been suspected of having
favoured his cause, and had been strictly sifted by the minister of
Philip; but as no proof appeared of his knowing the stranger in any
other character than that of a Portuguese from Brazil, to whom his wife
had shewn attention out of regard to her brother’s memory, he was
dismissed with nothing more than a severe warning.

Upon this information Sebastian remarked in such terms that no one
present guessed him at all in correspondence with Medina; and
restraining his anxiety to learn, if possible, whether his daughter had
been alarmingly noticed, he returned to the subject of his departure
from Venice. No doubts could be entertained of the republic’s
willingness to further in secret, Philip’s aim of getting his rival into
his power, and this conviction rendered extreme precaution
indispensible. By the influence of Philip’s ambassadors, all the
passages into France and Germany were closed against them; wherever
Sebastian went openly, he must expect to be seized as a subject of
Spain, being pronounced a Calabrian. (Calabria now forming part of its
Italian possessions.) Father Chrysostom therefore proposed that their
numerous party should separate, and by different parcels, and different
ways, seek their different places of destination. He offered to risk
himself through Italy, with Don Sebastian alone, provided he would
assume the disguise of a monk, and travel under that character to a
free port, where they might embark for France.

This advice, after some consideration, met with general concurrence; it
was agreed that the King, with Aziek and their prudent guide, should
pass first to Chiozzi; from thence through Ferrara to Florence, so to
Leghorn, and finally take ship for Marseilles. Such of his Portuguese as
chose to join him on his route might rendezvous at Florence, where they
were not likely to be known or stayed, and they might then proceed all
together to Marseilles.

Upon this arrangement the consultation ended, and leaving their
well-beloved monarch to the care of Juan De Castro and of Don
Christopher; the several Portuguese repaired to their respective
lodgings, wishing the morning soon to appear, since they were permitted
to return at noon, in order to be introduced to their Queen.

The next day re-assembled the friends of Sebastian. Kara Aziek entered
the apartment where they met, with extreme emotion, so much had she to
look back upon with horror, so much to look forward to with anxiety! yet
gratitude and joy were in her bosom, and on her countenance.

She presented herself to the Portuguese with a timid grace, (as if
beseeching them to love her for their sovereign’s sake) her gentle
demeanor won all their hearts, and when the separate nobles repeated
their oaths of fidelity to Sebastian, thanks, mixed with tears and
smiles, heightened the interest excited by her beauty.

Juan De Castro had undertaken the task of conveying letters to his
cousin Medina Sidonia, and to Blanche; this prospect gladdened the
mother’s spirit, and she now entered into discourse of their momentous
departure with cheerful courage.

The assembly separated before dusk, and at night-fall, attired as
pilgrims, with Father Chrysostom in his monk’s habit, Kara Aziek and
Sebastian took their eventful departure from Venice.

The speed with which they journeyed induced them to hope that they
should reach Florence (where Don Christopher and De Castro were gone to
await them) ere suspicion of their route could arise. The Venetians
concluded that Sebastian’s escape would, if possible be made to England,
and of course the Castillian ambassador’s search after him would be
directed to the shores of the Adriatic; this idea was what determined
Chrysostom to take the route of Tuscany.



CHAP. VI.


Day was just breaking when the travellers reached the gates of Florence.

“We are now safe!” exclaimed Father Chrysostom, “here ends our toil.”

“Not absolutely,” replied Sebastian, looking gladly around him, “till I
rest these weary limbs in Portugal, my fatigues cannot be said to
cease.”

“But we are almost safe,” whispered Aziek, “beyond the Venetian
territory we may breathe and dismiss apprehension.”

Chrysostom turned on her as she spoke, and his dark grey eyes assumed an
expression that made her recoil; ere she recovered from the strange
alarm they struck into her, he had seized a hand of each, and bringing
them through the gates which were just opening, stopped before a party
of military.

“Here ends our toil!” he repeated, in an altered, triumphant, and
ferocious tone, “Soldiers sieze this Calabrian! my duty is done!”

Sebastian was instantly surrounded by a band of armed men, who drawing
their swords at the same moment with a horrid noise, which drew forth a
shriek from Kara Aziek, flashed them before him with menacing attitudes.

Sebastian stood root-bound in their circle, his eyes fixed with
amazement on the perfidious Chrysostom: stunned by so atrocious a
perfidy, his faculties were for awhile overpowered: at length bursting
into such a tempest of rage as had been long unknown to him, he called
out, “Traitor! fear you not that heaven’s bolt will fall and strike
you?”

“Bridle this madness, impostor or apostate!” (whichever name you affect
most) replied the stern friar, “I fear no bolts; I look rather for the
mantle of Elisha! Chrysostom might indeed have dreaded divine judgment,
had he acted with the inconsistency of his reprobate brethren. Your
damnable creed is my abhorrence: whoever you are, for that creed I would
burn you at the stake, did I rule in Spain. My stratagem has succeeded;
I have secured to myself the gratitude of the whole church; and may
every pernicious heretic thus run into the snare of destruction!”

“And may every---- but no, I will not curse,” exclaimed Sebastian,
interrupting his own fierce transport. “God will avenge.”

“Thy ways are hard to understand, O Father all-powerful! teach me to
adore and to submit.”

His head fell on his breast at the last words, and he remained so
awefully wrapt in meditation that he saw not Kara Aziek fall at the feet
of Chrysostom, and wildly embrace his knees. Her supplicating voice
first awakened him: he recovered himself with a smile almost divine, and
tenderly raising her, said calmly, “kneel not there, my beloved! forget
not that we are in the hands of God as well as man; if _he_ commands to
spare, who shall destroy?”

Aziek answered but with low and grievous groans, while she continued to
hang upon him; and he, motioning for the soldiers to take him where they
would, prepared to follow them.

More confounded by this majestic acquiescence, than by the fiercest
violence, Chrysostom stood with a troubled look: “Is this hypocrisy! or
what is it?” he exclaimed.

“It is Christian submission,” returned Sebastian, not deigning to turn
his eyes on him. The friar made an effort to resume himself: “Rather
say, coward consciousness of base desert! cease to profane the name of
our Redeemer, by uniting it with the accursed doctrines you profess:
your miserable imposture is over: you also, madam, may queen it no
longer, or if you will still appeal to some tribunal, prepare yourselves
for answering at the great judgment-seat of Heaven.”

Chrysostom’s withering eyes were levelled at both his victims; he stood
with his arm extended in the attitude of denunciation, and every
lineament of his gigantic figure seemed to grow in power and malignity.
Kara Aziek shuddered, turned deathly pale, and closing her eyes,
suffered her head to fall back upon the shoulder of her Lord.

Sebastian earnestly gazed on the man before him: “Of what stuff art thou
formed?” he said, “art thou man, or devil? is it avarice, or ambition,
or hellish bigotry, that has prompted thee to a deed like this? O! blind
to the merciful and faithful character of him thou professest to
follow! thinkest thou that he will reward thee for perjury and lies?
study his doctrines better.”

“Away with him!” cried Chrysostom, “the revilings of reprobate souls,
are the testimonies of the saints--my glory is his opprobrium.”

The soldiers now hurried their prisoner forward, who (suffered to hold
her in his arms from whom he trusted nothing but death would hereafter
divide him) still retained a gleam of comfort to illuminate future days
of darkest misery.

The loathsomeness of the dungeon into which they were thrust, was a
melancholy earnest of their intended treatment: but Sebastian complained
not; and all devoted to the hard task of detaining the flitting soul of
his Aziek, in its feeble tenement, he passed a weary day without
learning to what fate he was doomed.

His thoughts were less employed upon personal sufferings, than with
amazed consideration of the black treachery of him whom the Portuguese
had so incautiously trusted; and many were the censures he passed on
them for their credulity.

But in truth Sebastian blamed them unjustly: hypocrisy is the only evil
that walks unseen “by man and angels;” and father Chrysostom was a
hypocrite even to himself: he could cajole and cheat his own soul.

While his thoughts were in reality fixed upon earthly distinctions, he
believed they were solely turned towards heavenly ones. He fasted, he
prayed, he mortified his affections and his senses; he distributed alms,
he visited sufferers, he arrayed his body in “sackcloth and ashes,” and
he persuaded himself that he did all this from love and zeal for our
divine master. But it was the praise of men he coveted, rather than the
approbation of conscience; and having early fixed his eyes on the
triple crown, he placed not his foot except where the step promised to
lead towards that envied object.

His advancement had been gradual and sure: now it was likely to prove
more rapid. In his quality of confessor to the Portuguese viceroy, he
speedily heard of Sebastian’s re-appearance, and of the alarm which the
success of his various agents spread through the Spanish court. Rodrigo
acknowledged that it was Philip’s earnest wish to have the pretender at
his mercy; and upon this acknowledgment Chrysostom suddenly conceived
the bold plan of affecting zeal for the Portuguese monarch, insinuating
himself into his confidence, learning who were his secret abettors, and
in case the Venetians should not deliver him up to Spain, deceive him
into her power by the means described.

His affected renunciation of places and profits, together with a shew of
hot persecution from the Spanish and papal court, warranted the friends
of Sebastian in their fatal dependance on his superior talents: he
obtained his victim; and secure of the Duke of Tuscany’s concurrence,
apprized him of the day and hour at which they should enter the gates of
Florence.

Juan De Castro, and Don Christopher, who were already in the city, no
sooner heard of their King’s second detention, than aware of the danger
which menaced themselves, and conscious that by the captivity or death
of his friends, Sebastian’s situation would only be rendered more
hopeless, they fled hastily, severally betaking themselves to France and
England with entreaties for effectual aid from both those powers.

Meanwhile Sebastian was reconveyed, with the faithful partner of his
afflictions, from the Florentine prison, to the nearest sea-port, where
being embarked in a Spanish ship of war, and closely kept from the sight
of the crew, they set sail for Naples.

Sebastian rarely condescended to question the only person who was
allowed to attend him, for the man was cold and savage, and seemed
prepared to reply with insults; but on launching again upon that ocean
which he had so often traversed under such variety of fortune, he one
day broke silence, and asked whither they were going to take him. “To
the prison Del Ovo, for life,”--was all the answer of his attendant, as
he shut and bolted the cabin door.

Sebastian and Kara Aziek turned their eyes on each other: they needed
not speech to understand what was passing in each others hearts: their
daughter’s fate alone occupied every feeling.

“Ah, if I could be assured that her innocent life would be spared, her
days pass in peace,” exclaimed Kara Aziek, “my soul would find rest: I
could bound my little remnant of happiness with the walls of my
Sebastian’s prison, or I could die with thee, my husband--die gladly.”
She bent her face on his neck to hide her gushing tears, as she thought
of their perishing together.

Sebastian regarded her tenderly: “I do believe it, my Aziek! cherish
this angel resignation; and since it seems Heaven’s will, that the sins
and the errors of thy husband should descend upon thy guiltless head, O
let me hope, that with so grievous an addition to my burthen as that
conviction, Heaven will be satisfied, and spare me the pang of having
caused my child’s wretchedness.”

To combat this painful and incessant throe of self-condemnation, Kara
Aziek now roused up her fortitude with her love, and while she exhorted
him to remember that human sufferings are much more frequently promised
to the favorites of God, as trials and perfecters, than as penalties and
punishments, her own spirit was elevated and comforted, and she suddenly
appeared endowed with supernatural strength.

Resigned to bear, because humble and confiding, no voice of lamentation
was heard from the chamber of Sebastian and Kara Aziek. Their dignified
stillness, with their gentle and unresisting looks, sometimes moved even
the rough fellow who supplied them with food to murmur as he left them,
“I shall be sorry to hear that they come to harm.”

Sebastian could take no other advantage of this compassion, than that of
winning from his attendant the name of the Neapolitan Viceroy. He learnt
with pleasure that it was the Count of Lemos, a very old and worthy
Spaniard, who had been nobly entertained at the Portuguese court by Don
Sebastian, and had more than once bravely hazarded advice to him on
important subjects, when his own courtiers shrunk from the delicate
task.

From a nobleman of this character, both Sebastian and Kara Aziek now
ventured to hope for at least an amelioration of their destiny; and with
something like satisfaction beheld their vessel cast anchor in the bay
of Naples. They were speedily conveyed to the castle Del Ovo, a dark and
fearful fortress, now become a prison for criminals. At sight of the
narrow dungeon, without any other furniture than straw, Kara Aziek’s
looks betrayed the sudden horror with which she was seized, “Is it here
we are to linger out our lives?” she exclaimed, sorrowfully.

“I have no instructions to confine you,” observed the man who had
conducted them, “indeed I never heard of any other prisoner than this
gentleman, so you must be content to abide somewhere else.”

He attempted to take her hand to lead her out, but Kara Aziek sprang
back, and Sebastian advanced to deprecate the heaviest of their
misfortunes. The man urged his orders to confine the pretended Calabrian
in a solitary dungeon; Kara Aziek still resisted, she clung to her
husband, wildly exclaiming:

“Kill me--kill me--tear this poor frame to atoms--still will I remain
here.--Surely no force can take me away, if I am resolved to die beside
him.”

Wrung to torture by her frenzy, Sebastian earnestly sued for permission
to detain her. The man’s inclinations were in favour of compliance, but
his life might have been risked by yielding, and promising to urge their
suit in the morning to the Viceroy’s secretary, he reluctantly repeated
his orders.

The arguments and soothings of Sebastian, rather than the explanation
and peremptory behests of the gaoler, allayed the ravings of Kara Aziek;
suddenly she grew calm, started from the ground, and as if alarmed lest
her obstinacy might endanger her husband’s safety, she cried out, “Now,
now I am ready to go!”--a convulsive embrace was exchanged between her
and Sebastian, and the next moment the door of the dungeon closed and
divided them.

“No further!” said she, in a low hurried voice, as the man would have
led her from the spot, “Here is my bed this night--every night--here
will I live till he is restored to me again--force me not from this sad
lodging, if you have love or pity in your heart--I cannot get back to
him--I may but hear his steps and his sighs, and know that he is near
me.--Alas! is that too much of consolation?”

The bitter tears which flowed down her cheeks, and the sorrowful
wringing of her hands, presented so moving a picture, that the
Neapolitan said kindly, “Well, stay here then, I will surely get you
admitted in the morning--what shall I bring you to sleep on?”

“O no sleep--no sleep”--she replied, with joyful wildness, “I will wake
to bless you and to pray for him.” She lightly seated herself on the
stone floor while speaking, and leaning her head against the door of
Sebastian’s cell, remained drinking in at her ear each breath he drew.

Frequently did she long to speak and tell him she was near; but then
conscious that the idea of her being alone and unprotected in an open
passage, exposed to the insults of the wandering guards, and doomed to
rest only on a damp pavement, would overbalance the satisfaction of
hearing her voice, she checked the wish, and relapsed into stillness.

Morning was far advanced when Stephano appeared; he had been to the
secretary and had returned successful. At this intimation, which Kara
Aziek demanded even while he was afar off, she uttered a cry of
transport; it was answered by the voice of Sebastian from within, “Kind
heaven! my Aziek, art thou here again so soon?”

“I have been here the whole night; I would not leave thy door.” While
Aziek was speaking, Stephano unlocked the dungeon, and she flew into the
melancholy, grateful embrace of her husband.

It seemed as if Providence had allotted them this temporary privation
only to make them sensible, that while undivided, they had no right to
abandon themselves to despair. Kara Aziek with overflowing thankfulness
acknowledged this truth, and promised henceforth to grieve no
more.--Stephano passed his hands across his eyes, and replied to some
anxious inquiries of Sebastian.

As it was the most earnest wish of the King to be seen by the Count of
Lemos, he learnt with regret that Lemos was then lying ill of a
dangerous disorder, which devolved his duties upon Sossa, the next
nobleman to him in rank and civil honours. This information was indeed
unwelcome; however, Stephano promised to inquire regularly after the
Viceroy’s health, and to discover whenever his Excellency was in a state
to hear of business.

“I am heartily sorry,” he added, “to be forced to deal hardly with you
and this sweet lady: whatever you be, King or poor Calabrian, you seem
to love your wife, so I would fain make you both comfortable. But the
Auditor-General (he that commands now) has charged me to keep you very
strictly; and since your wife insists on sharing your prison, she is to
be served with bread and water like yourself. I am heartily sorry for
it, Sir, but I must do my duty.”

Sebastian bowed in token of reply, for his emotion choaked him as he
gazed on the heavenly smile which shone through the tears of Aziek; that
smile said how little she regarded the pains and privations of the
body--and at that moment he loved her dearer than ever, for never had
her unrivalled attachment been so perfectly displayed.

Stephano withdrew, leaving the husband and the wife to seek consolation
in the possession of each other’s attachment.

On the fifth morning, Sebastian was surprised by the appearance of the
Auditor-General with his secretaries, who entering his cell, regarded
him some time with severe scrutiny. “I am come hither,” said he, “to
ask you for the first and last time, whether you persist in your
imposture? if you abjure your crime, and consent to make public
confession of it before all men, I am commissioned by our sovereign,
Philip III. to promise you life and liberty: but if you continue thus to
maintain a falsehood, you will either be left to linger out your days on
bread and water, or perish at once by the hands of the executioner. What
is your reply?”

Sebastian turned on him a look of exceeding majesty: “I disclaim your
authority with that of your master, for I am his equal and his kinsman:
let him do with me as he will, I will still call God to witness that I
am that self-same Sebastian King of Portugal, who in the year 1578,
passed into Africa against the Moors; and the very same, who to augment
the name and the power of the Christians, put his life to the hazard,
together with that of twenty thousand brave men, whom his criminal
obstinacy devoted to slaughter. I am that unfortunate Prince, who for
the punishment of his sins lost the battle of Alcazar!--this is a truth
which I may not deny without endangering my immortal soul. Deal with me
as you are commanded, I will continue to utter the same words, in prison
or at the stake.”

Sebastian turned from him as he concluded, and awed by his royal manner,
the auditor with his notaries (who had taken down the King’s words in
writing) departed without further speech.

Day after day now lingered by, and as they passed they cast a deeper
gloom over the prospects of Sebastian. The Count Lemos grew worse, and
Sossa (naturally of a harsh temper, and devoted to Philip) prohibited
the slightest mitigation of suffering to the unfortunate Sebastian.

Not for himself did Sebastian grieve, but for her whose tender heart and
delicate frame, were so ill suited to the rigours of their destiny. Yet
alas! his grief was vain and powerless.

Nearly two weeks had elapsed, when Stephano entered with a glad look, to
communicate the news of Count Lemos’s disorder having taken a favourable
turn; and to assure Sebastian that his friend the secretary (whose
mediation had procured to Kara Aziek the liberty of sharing her
husband’s fate) had promised to inform his master, of the peculiar
severity with which the alleged Calabrian was treated.

The secretary kept his promise. No sooner was Count Lemos in a situation
to investigate business, than he granted Don Sebastian permission to
appear before him, and for that purpose had him brought privately to his
house.

Neither time nor suffering could wholly deface the rare lineaments of
him, who might once have stood forth the model of manly beauty. Lemos
was not long of recognising in this interesting stranger the noble and
heart-winning Sebastian: he looked at him with sorrow and surprize; and
having questioned him on several matters known only to themselves, he
acknowledged himself convinced.

But the old nobleman was too well versed in the character of ambition,
to hope that Philip’s persecution arose from a real belief of imposture:
he justly thought that his august prisoner was secretly devoted to a
lingering death, and thus trusted to his keeping, from the apprehension,
that if brought either into Spain or Portugal, his escape would be
productive of more immediate danger, or his death exasperate the people
into a revolt.

Lemos could only promise what he sincerely meant to perform, a strong
testimonial to the truth of Sebastian, and a consequent remonstrance
with his royal master: should that fail, he must content himself with
watching over the life of his prisoner, and yielding him all the
comforts within his power: to permit his escape, a nice sense of honor
forbade.

“Whatever be the trust reposed in me, Sire!” he said, “if I accept it, I
am bound to hold it inviolate: and as my respect may sweeten your
majesty’s hard destiny, to refuse the charge of your person would be
only to deliver you up into the hands of a severer guardian.”

Too grateful for any amelioration of his fate, since that of Kara Aziek
was inseparable from it, Sebastian urged not a single argument against
the opinion of Count Lemos: he bestowed a warm eulogium upon his justice
and generosity, and accepted with gladness the offer he made him of
future protection.

By Lemos’s orders, the royal prisoners were removed into the best
chamber of the fortress, where Stephano and his sister were permitted to
wait on them. Books, musical instruments, and occasional walks in the
garden, under certain restrictions, now lightened their captivity: air
and better diet quickly restored some bloom to the cheek of Kara Aziek,
and the information (which she covertly obtained during the visit of
Count Lemos) that the Medina Sidonia family remained undisturbed,
brought back some peace to her mind. But anxiety for the ultimate end of
their misfortunes, devoured the inmost part of her heart, and like a
canker-worm, preyed on the source of life.

It was well for Sebastian that some innocent recreations enlivened his
captivity, since the prospect of ever being released, seemed daily less
probable. Philip’s answer to Lemos, had been in his usual strain of
artful moderation: afraid of exasperating that most respectable of his
nobles, into a revolt from his authority, and a public espousal of Don
Sebastian’s interests, he deemed it wise to tolerate him in dispensing
those indulgencies to the prisoner, which he boldly avowed his intention
of always allowing; while at the same time he peremptorily forbade the
viceroy to write or to speak to him in defence of an impostor. This
title Philip scrupled not to give him, in defiance of the Count’s
testimony, being determined to resolve every difficulty into the unreal
solution of those days, absolute sorcery.

Several of the Portuguese, who had openly taken part with Sebastian,
were outlawed, and their properties confiscated: amongst them were Don
Christopher of Crato, and Juan De Castro.

Braganza’s high birth and vast influence alone saved him from feeling
the heaviest weight of Spanish resentment: policy taught Philip not to
exasperate the Portuguese too much, and Braganza was therefore spared.
But in the persons of his retainers he felt the malice of his
rival:--Father Sampayo was cast into the cells of the Inquisition on
spiritual charges; and had not Texere escaped into England, (where Sir
Anthony Shirley for the love he bore his master, granted him an
honorable and safe asylum) he too must have groaned in the same dismal
prison.

Either by threats or bribes, the Spanish King had allured into his
views, nearly all of his courtiers that had been hardy enough to plead
for a fair scrutiny of the pretender. Rome had launched her lightnings
and terrified France again into silence: and in England, the disastrous
fall of Essex, the death of Elizabeth, and the succession of James, had
changed its politics, and rendered any expectation of support from that
quarter a vain chimera.

To pass their lives in the castle Del Ovo, was therefore the last
prospect that remained to Sebastian and to his blameless wife. When our
fate appears inevitable, who is it that weakly continues to contend
against it? Confiding their daughter’s future happiness to Heaven, and
to the Duchess Medina Sidonia, they dried their tears, as they sometimes
flowed, when thinking of their eternal separation, and taught
themselves to rejoice in her liberty.

Of the world they now thought only as of a scene on which they should
never more appear: they banished its hopes, its fears, its anxieties,
and submitting to the divine decree, made their world in each other’s
hearts.

Those qualities which had never failed to attract and to attach every
one within their influence, still continued to win the affections of
whatever persons approached them. Stephano and Baptista privately
confessed to their friends, their admiration of the royal sufferers, and
their firm belief of Sebastian’s just claim on liberty and dominion:
these confidential discourses, spreading from confidant to confidant, at
length diffused throughout Naples so lively an interest in the supposed
impostor, that Sossa and others of Philip’s party became uneasy, and
remonstrated against the indulgence of Count Lemos.

While persisting in his generous line of conduct, the good Lemos was
seized by a return of his disorder, and in a very few days reduced to
the brink of the grave: his son, who was just arrived from the Spanish
court, and who came hotly zealous for the punishment of him, whom Philip
affected to consider a base-born Calabrian, was summoned to the deathbed
of his aged parent.

Count Lemos spoke of the prisoner: having listened patiently to the
short but violent reply of his son, Lemos raised himself on his pillow,
and addressing him with a solemn voice, said, “I am dying, my son! and
the words of a dying man may be trusted.--As I hope for mercy and pardon
at the judgment seat of Christ, I believe this man whom you call an
impostor, to be the true and lawful Sebastian King of Portugal: as such
I charge you (should my government devolve on you) treat him nobly; and
let no worldly honours tempt you to touch his life, or to connive at the
violence of others. Friends! you who surround and hear me at this awful
moment, I charge you all to testify what I have said, and to bear with
it, my dying request to my sovereign master Don Philip: I intreat him
for his soul’s sake, to sift this matter more closely.”

Exhausted by this exertion, Count Lemos stopt, and laid his head back
upon the pillow:--shortly after he breathed his last, and nothing
remained of the venerable old man, but a clay-cold corpse.

This event was a fatal blow to the comparatively happy state of
Sebastian and Kara Aziek: they were immediately remanded back to their
dungeon by Sossa; for Lemos feared Philip too much to obey his departed
father, and compromising with his conscience, by resigning the invidious
task into another’s hand, pretended that an excess of filial grief, made
him unfit to investigate so momentous a subject.

This severe treatment was followed by a visit from the stern auditor:
he came to demand a second time, the outraged King’s reply to his
insulting questions. Again Sebastian declared, that were he to live a
thousand years, and every hour of that long period to be employed in
making the same demand, he could not return any other answer than that
he would live and die professing his truth and his wrongs; that he
appealed to a public trial in his own dominions; that he protested
against the injustice of his kinsman’s proceedings, and would persist in
doing so to his last breath.

“Your sentence is then pronounced,” returned Sossa, as he departed,
“your obstinacy condemns yourself: our illustrious and long-suffering
monarch has condemned you for life to the galleys.”

As the auditor disappeared, Sebastian fixed a fond but sad look on the
agitated features of Aziek. “Faint not, my beloved?” he said, “our
appointed trials must be bravely borne to the last--every species of
oppression and insult are to swell the cup of your Sebastian’s destiny;
but remember the bitterness of that mortal draught is short, in
comparison with the eternal spring, of which, through God’s grace I hope
we shall drink together in Heaven.”

Kara Aziek smiled with a breaking heart, and filled with admiration of
her husband’s magnanimity, earnestly prayed for strength to imitate so
noble an example.

On the day which removed Sebastian to this new scene of misery, he was
led from his prison to be conveyed to the gallies. Lemos and Sossa
believed that to shew this compassionated sufferer to the expecting
crowd under degrading circumstances, would be a surer antidote to their
respect, than if they beheld him brought to public execution: they had
therefore decreed that he should be led through the streets of Naples to
the port, mounted on the most ignoble of animals, and followed by his
faithful Aziek, in the meanest attire.

At the gate of the castle, he beheld multitudes of soldiers and
spectators, and a herald holding the ass upon which he was to mount:[A]
his countenance was unchanged: he placed himself on the lowly animal
with a serene and majestic aspect that might have become a throne; it
ennobled his sorry garments, and touched every beholder with respect and
pity.

[A] This incident is an historical fact.

His eyes, (brightening as he moved) were fixed upon Heaven: it seemed as
if in this triumph over human weakness and human passion, he felt the
blessed earnest of eternal reward.

As Kara Aziek hastened to follow the slow progress of Sebastian, some
unfeeling wretches scoffingly bade her behold the King her husband, and
admire the splendor of his array; she flashed on her insulters a glance
of honourable indignation, for in her heart was love and veneration
united for him they contemned. No fear, no shame could find entrance
there: love raised to enthusiasm by grief and admiration, irradiated her
features, and gave its former bright flush to her burning cheek: a
single black garment wrapt her somewhat wasted figure; her head and feet
were bare, by orders of the merciless Sossa; but those delicate feet
rending their tender surface against the sharp pavement of the streets,
and that hair which fell dishevelled in all its beauty around her,
excited only the more compassion. Beauty is the most touching orator;
and the loveliness of Kara Aziek heightened the effect produced by her
devoted attachment to the husband she followed.

As they moved along, preceded by a herald, proclaiming the offence and
the sentence awarded to Sebastian, the murmurs which at first rose among
the crowd, gradually died away, till an awful and unbroken silence
universally prevailed. The people looked on each other with sorrow and
amazement; while Sebastian now and then removing his eyes from Heaven,
looked round upon the spectators with pardon and pity for their sin of
consenting to so black an act. At times, when the herald called aloud,
“this man whom traitors assert to be the King of Portugal, &c.”
Sebastian would interrupt him in a loud voice, exclaiming, “and so I
am,”--then resuming his calm attitude, proceed in dignified silence.

Arrived at his place of destination, he turned to bid farewel to some of
his humblest friends, whom he recognized amongst the crowd. “Friends!”
he said, “ere you lose sight of me for the last time perhaps, bear
witness that I testify to the truth of my own assertion: I am Sebastian
King of Portugal; this matchless woman my lawful and beloved wife. I
submit humbly to the will of God, not basely to the oppression of man:
my body I account for nothing; and upon that only, may Philip heap
indignity and pain; my soul, is above his reach.

“From such of you as have suffered, or may suffer loss for my sake, I
crave pardon and pity; the most grievous of my sorrow, is the
consciousness of having caused sorrow to others: Heaven will reward you,
since the unfortunate Sebastian has no longer any thing to bestow but
his poor thanks.”

He had scarce spoken, when the sound of weeping was heard, and a woman
pressing forward, threw herself on the earth before him and Kara Aziek:
it was Paula the widow of Gaspar. At sight of her, Sebastian turned pale
from excess of emotion, and tears gushed from his eyes. “My poor
Gaspar!” he exclaimed, “I regretted thee when I should have rejoiced!
hadst thou lived to see this woeful day!”

Sebastian stopt, for Kara Aziek’s long-stifled grief, now burst forth
with such passionate violence at the prospect of separation from him
(for she was denied the consolation of sharing his destiny) that his
fortitude began to faint, and his limbs shook as he sought to support
her.

Meanwhile Paula was calling on the people around, to witness, that since
she now saw the person whom they had taken her to Venice to swear was
Marco Cattizone, she denied his being so; that she recognized in him the
former master of her deceased husband, and not that dear husband
himself. She wept the memory of Gaspar with unfeigned sorrow, which
encouraged Sebastian to require her care of his Aziek, for whom no
better habitation offered an asylum than the humble one of Baptista and
Stephano.

These good people had promised to receive and to comfort Kara Aziek at
the fatal moment in which she must be severed from the partner of her
life. Baptista engaged to effect occasional interviews between the wife
and husband, through her influence over a young man in the galley to
which Sebastian was doomed; and it was from this promise that Kara
Aziek gained strength to live through the wretched scene in which she
was now performing.

Amidst tears, embraces, lamentations, and exhortations, she was torn
from the arms of Sebastian: he was hurried into the galley, and she led
almost lifeless away to the lodging of Baptista.

Associated with slaves and malefactors, behold the once imperious and
fiery King of Portugal submitting to his destiny with a resignation that
gave a dignity to humiliation: he arraigned not Providence, for he
remembered his past bigotry; and though the humanity of his nature had
prevented him from carrying his zeal into absolute persecution, he
ventured not to say how far that zeal might eventually have transported
him; devising it just that he should find his present punishment from
that disposition in others, which he had cherished in himself.

Even the most merciless of his oppressors in Naples, dared not outrage
that dignity which awed them, by insisting on his labouring like a
criminal at the oar: he was condemned to the galley merely as to a more
public prison. Philip thus making a show of believing that the more he
was seen, the less he would be credited; but in reality hoping that one
of those malignant fevers common to the galleys, would soon send him to
another world.

Stephano kept his word, and procured more than one meeting between the
royal sufferers. Paula undertook to transmit an account of the King’s
situation to his kinsman Braganza, by whom her infant was now protected.
She herself was thus far on her way to rejoin the Duchess of Medina
Sidonia in Spain, whither Paula found her gone to take leave of a dying
friend. Paula used all her rhetoric to persuade Kara Aziek to accompany
her: but not even the temptation of beholding Blanche again, could
swerve the conjugal love of Aziek: she was determined to follow the fate
of her husband, wherever it might lead; and as the Duchess held in her
possession the little remnant of their wealth, and might transmit it
through Paula, Aziek resolved to avail herself of Stephano’s protection,
and dwell at least in the vicinity of the galleys.

Charged with letters to their beloved child, and to the Duchess, in
which the anxious parents besought all efforts for their own happiness
to cease, and nothing be attempted but for that of Blanche, Paula
departed from Naples.

No sooner was the injured King of Portugal placed in a situation which
exposed him to all eyes, than crowds flocked to see and to converse with
him. Every day, every hour, produced fresh testimonies to his truth: and
had not religious prejudices enfeebled their compassion, and lowered
their respect, the Neapolitans would have joined the loyal Portuguese
in rescuing him by force from the galleys.

This universal discontent so far alarmed the new Count Lemos, that he
dispatched a messenger to Madrid, with a detail of what he feared: the
consequence of his dispatch, was an order for the galleys to quit the
Mediterranean and come down to the western coast of Spain.

Not even this change, could divide Kara Aziek from Sebastian: she
followed him in a little vessel bound for the same port, accompanied by
Baptista, whom kindness and fidelity had endeared to her, and rendered
her chief solace.

The galleys were commanded to ride in the bay of St. Lucar: and at St.
Lucar Kara Aziek took up her abode.

Unknown and unnoticed, she depended solely on the humanity of Baptista’s
lover, for distant interviews with her husband.

The saddest period of Kara Aziek’s life was now present: she lived
forlorn of every comfort except only the humble attentions of her
servant, and the occasional sight of him from whom she once fondly hoped
nothing less than death would ever have parted her. She beheld this
object of her heart’s idolatry, loaded with chains, and condemned to the
vilest of human stations: her imagination pictured the closing scene of
this dismal tragedy, and presented him at the stake, or on the block.
Her amiable daughter was now far away, and too probably the eyes of each
fond parent would close for ever without beholding her again. Their
private friends were dead, or dispersed; their more potent ones, the
sovereigns of Europe, changed by circumstances, or rendered powerless
from necessities of their own. All around was dark and dreary; and
wherever she looked, still the same black horizon shut in her fate.

Where is the spirit that can resist calamities so heavy? Religion may
enable us to curb complaint, to submit with humility and a thorough
conviction that he who ordains, is all-wise, and all good; but not even
religion can benumb “the nerve whence agony is born:” The heart may
break while it yields.

Kara Aziek felt hers to be fast decaying: sorrow wasted her bodily
strength, and with it her mental energy. A deep sadness was fixed upon
her countenance, and heavy and continual sighs (of which she was herself
unconscious) told the attached Baptista, that her suffering mistress was
hastening to the repose of Heaven.

At this period, Baptista unexpectedly heard that the family of Medina
Sidonia had a residence in the neighbourhood of St. Lucar, and were
coming to visit it: she imparted this to Kara Aziek, believing Paula
likely to be in the Duchess’s suite, and knowing of no other interesting
object; this intelligence lifted up the soul of the fond mother; she
hazarded a letter to the Duchess through the medium of Paula, and
remained with trembling eagerness anticipating an answer.



CHAP. VII.


Some days had passed in anxious expectation, when in the dusk of
evening, a man in a domestic’s habit appeared at the obscure abode of
Baptista, and announcing himself sent by the Duchess Medina, urged
admittance to Kara Aziek. She received him alone.

Having cautiously closed the door, the stranger threw off his cloak and
hat, and Kara Aziek saw at her feet a young and handsome man, on whose
intelligent countenance nature’s hand had stamped truth and goodness.

“It is the Queen of Portugal to whom I bend my knee?” said the animated
youth, with a look that demanded if he were right. Kara Aziek answered
with ready tears, “Alas! it is the most desolate of women--the
wife of him whom would to God I could say was not born to a throne
but you come from the Duchess of Medina Sidonia--know you her young
companion--Blanche?”

A graceful disorder appeared on the face of the stranger, as with
deepened colour and a fluttering voice, he replied that she was even
then near St. Lucar. Kara Aziek clasped her hands together in an ecstasy
of gratitude: but the emotion of the stranger did not escape her; and
his menial habit so ill suited to the elegance of his air, made her
attach an agitating meaning to the emotion he betrayed.

“I do not see a domestic of the Duchess Sidonia’s?”

“No, Madam--you behold her son.”

Don Hyppolito now put into her hands a letter from his mother, which
Kara Aziek eagerly read. It informed her that Hyppolito was zealous in
the cause of Don Sebastian, though wholly ignorant of their lovely
ward’s connexion with his fate; that the Duchess was eager to afford the
parents a sight of their daughter; and that the Duke having been
fortunately importuned by all the Spanish grandees around, to visit the
newly arrived galley, in which the King of Portugal was confined, in
order to disprove the impostor from his personal knowledge of the true
Sebastian, he had seized the opportunity of yielding to his own earnest
desire, and was come openly to St. Lucar for the avowed purpose.

Desirous of bringing the mother and child to an immediate meeting, the
good Duchess had sent her son (disguised thus to prevent observation)
with orders to attend Kara Aziek to their dwelling near the town.
Hyppolito (thus ended the letter) has no suspicion of the relationship
we so religiously conceal, it will depend on yourself and the royal
Sebastian, whether he may ever be so greatly trusted.

But Hyppolito scarcely needed to be now informed of the momentous
secret; the likeness to Blanche, which a lover’s eye directly
discovered, together with a recollection of Blanche’s distracted
sympathy with the sufferings of the King and Queen of Portugal, and now
the wild joy of Kara Aziek, all united to shew him the fact. Trouble and
apprehension succeeded to his lively enthusiasm; and a multitude of
strange pangs seized his young heart, as he prepared to lead forth the
trembling mother.

During their hasty, and rather long walk, no words were exchanged
between them; Hyppolito stopped under the high wall of a garden, and
opening a small door concealed by trees, conducted Kara Aziek in. The
next moment brought them to a pavilion, where he would have left his
companion to enter alone, (so his mother had instructed him) but
detaining him by the arm, she exclaimed in a low voice, “O no--leave me
not--I owe you the reward of seeing how happy you have made me.”

Hyppolito caught at the permission; he pushed open the door, and the
next moment beheld the mother and the daughter senseless in each other’s
arms.

Joy and grief so blended, were too powerful for their hearts: nature
sunk under such a meeting, and it was long ere the Duchess and her son
succeeded in restoring them to life.

Sorrowful happiness was that which the young Hyppolito now witnessed; no
sounds, save those of weeping and sighing, were heard through the
apartment. Though the mother and daughter fondly embraced, fondly gazed
on each other, their hearts were full of Sebastian, and incapable of
real joy.

The tears of Blanche flowed with redoubled impetuosity whenever she
looked on her mother. What a change did she see in that face and that
figure! as her eyes wildly noted the ravages made there by sickness and
sorrow, cold chills crept through her veins; she felt that a moment was
approaching in which she would require the consolation of some object
equally dear, and her eyes then sought those of him to whom her innocent
heart unconsciously trusted for all its future comfort. Hyppolito’s soul
speaking from his face, answered the supplication of hers: he advanced,
and joining the hands of Kara Aziek and her daughter, in one of his, he
pressed them with trembling lips, while a tear fell from his cheek upon
the hand of Blanche. Kara Aziek smiled benignly, and returned the
affectionate pressure.

To proclaim her maternal claim on the love of Blanche, seemed needless;
but Kara Aziek gratified the Duchess by requesting her to place that
confidence in the young Hyppolito. After a hasty explanation, the
Duchess ventured to offer some incitement to hope of better days,
lamented the circumscribed power of her husband, but assured Kara Aziek,
that after he had seen Don Sebastian, by the desire and in the society
of those noblemen who had urged him to the interview, and had convinced
himself, by ocular proof of his identity, he would boldly publish the
truth at all hazards. The Duke was now absent at the Governor of St.
Lucar’s, but the morrow was pitched on for his visit to the galleys.

This information infused a faint hope through the bosom of his wife; she
recovered by degrees from the excess of her first emotion, and remained
till night was far advanced, tasting a sad pleasure in noticing the
ardent and respectful passion which now blazed out, now receded from the
fine eyes of Hyppolito, and fitfully coloured the cheeks of the bashful
Blanche.

This love unknown to themselves, even while for ever felt, was not
unmarked by the Duchess; and her looks had already interrogated those
of Kara Aziek, with a sort of pleadingness for her son’s happiness,
which gave the most solid satisfaction to the anxious mother.

Kara Aziek returned from this interview with a placidity long unknown to
her; and Baptista, who merely guessed that she had been visiting Paula,
made no inquiries, contented to observe that her mistress was really
less dejected than usual.

But violent emotions, whether sad or exhilarating, are equally dangerous
to a weakened frame: Kara Aziek was unable to rise from her humble couch
on the ensuing morning, when Hyppolito came to inform her he was going
with his father to recognize Don Sebastian.

Her death-like paleness (over which a smile of grateful regard cast the
brightness of immortal beauty) touched the romantic heart of Hyppolito,
and as he earnestly regarded the lovely wreck before him, love and pity
inspired him with the determination of attempting something to smooth
at least, her departing hour.

Having received a tender message for Don Sebastian, he hurried back to
Blanche, whose duteous love did not wait for the disclosure of his wish
ere it prompted her to exclaim. “So ill! so desolate!--O, Hyppolito,
since my dear mother may not dwell here unsuspected, I will go to her
habited less gaudily: confined to her sick chamber alone, in such an
obscure quarter of the city, who will know the adopted child of the
Duchess Medina Sidonia?--Some excuse may be invented for my absence, to
prevent the curiosity of domestics--Ah! if she were to be torn from me,
without my having the consolation of----”

Tears choaked her utterance, and covering her face, she remained
abandoned to sorrow, while Hyppolito was urging the Duchess to sanction
their pious project.

What mother could refuse such pleadings? Blanche was allowed to follow
the impulse of filial tenderness; her dress was secretly exchanged for
one of Paula’s, and gliding unseen through the garden, Hyppolito
conducted her out of the private door, and led her safely to the arms of
her expecting mother.

The ardent young man had not time to do more than kiss the hand of Kara
Aziek, ere he ran off to join his father, and the rest of the grandees.

Accompanied by his wife, the Duke of Sidonia proceeded to the shore; his
aspect was grave and thoughtful; for he was reflecting on the wondrous
vicissitudes of our mortal life. That unfortunate Prince, upon whom all
men might now gaze unchecked, all tongues move in reviling, was that
same Sebastian whom Medina had last beheld, surrounded by power and
majesty. It was that King whom Medina had himself served twenty years
before, with submissive awe; whom he had feasted and entertained with
tilt, and tournament, and ball, while he waited at Cadiz for the troops
of Philip II. These reflections occupied the Duke till his company
reached and mounted the chief galley.

Hyppolito was the first to spring on deck: he looked eagerly round, and
immediately singled out the august object of his search. Removed from
the other slaves, in a lonely quarter of the ship, he saw a man seated,
with his arms folded, and his head bent towards the ground; his single
garment was coarse and dark; his head and limbs were without covering;
but the large and noble proportions of those once powerful limbs, and
the majestic air of that head, denoted him to be the King of Portugal.

Hyppolito hastily advanced, and his quick breathing stirred the
attention of Sebastian; he looked up, his eyes met those of Hyppolito,
who felt them enter into his soul. By a sudden impulse, the young man
half bent his knee; surprise and inquiry illuminated the countenance he
was observing. Sebastian slowly arose, and as he did so, his youthful
companion heard the clank of chains.

Such an expression of shame and indignation banished the air of
veneration with which Hyppolito was looking at him, that Sebastian
understood what passed in his mind. “Young man,” said he, “blush not for
me--blush for my oppressors, and my coward friends!--deserved punishment
is disgrace--but unmerited oppression, if nobly borne, is glory!”--He
moved away as he concluded, leaving Hyppolito gazing after his kingly
step, and yet--commanding figure.

The vessel was soon crowded with illustrious visitants from the yacht of
Medina Sidonia; the captain of the galley understanding their errand,
shewed the Duchess and her company to a wider part of the deck, and sent
to inform Sebastian that they entreated to see him. He turned back with
the captain, and calmly advanced into the circle formed by his
examiners.

The Duchess who had last met him at Villa Rosolia, under such different
circumstances, almost uttered a cry of melancholy welcome: her company
burst forth into remarks and questionings: the Duke remained on one
spot, steadily eyeing the figure before him.

So long was his scrutiny, that some of the group impatiently demanded
whether the man they saw, were not really an impostor. Medina suffered
them to importune him for an answer, and at length seriously replied,
“Am I to speak the truth my lords?--I declare then, that in the voice
and mien of this stranger, I recognize the very voice and mien of the
King of Portugal. The alteration I find in his face and figure, is only
such as twenty years of suffering might be expected to produce.”

“What then, you believe he is Don Sebastian? You assert it?”

“I assert nothing: persons and voices may resemble; but in events we
cannot be mistaken. If this be the King, whom I entertained at Cadiz,
ere his expedition to Africa, he will be able to point out to me amongst
some armour which I have had brought hither, the present he made to me
at that period.”

“I gave thee a sword, Sidonia!” said Sebastian, “and I think I should
remember it again.”

The surrounding nobles, with dismay and surprise, followed the Duke to
the stern of the galley, where some attendants had just arrived with a
heap of swords, spurs, curious pistols, and daggers. The Duke silently
pointed out to them all, the weapon given him by the King, which being
less costly than any of the others, was the least likely to be guessed
at as a royal gift.

Sebastian, who had remained exchanging looks of interesting meaning with
the protectress of his daughter, courteously went to meet the returning
party; an old servant displayed the armour: Hyppolito bent anxiously
forward, fearful, that if the King’s memory failed of retaining such a
trifle, they who chose to cavil at this truth, might seize so plausible
a pretext, and pronounce his father deceived.

But, at the first glance, Sebastian recognized his own plain sword, and
drew it from beneath a heap of others. “With this sword did I make thee
a knight of Avis!” he said, sorrowfully, “O sad remembrance! for what a
train of bitter recollections is in its train!”

“Now, my lords, what say you?” exclaimed the indiscreet
Hyppolito,--“should you not bow your knee and acknowledge the royal
kinsman of our sovereign Philip of Spain, and should we not all join in
bringing this convincing proof to his abused ear?”

Most of the nobles, who well knew that the ear of Philip was wilfully
stopt, fell back, murmuring “Sorcery or accident,” while others
expressed their conviction, but lamented their want of influence. The
captain of the galley stood with an air of sincere remorse, which did
not escape Hyppolito. The old servant holding the armour, having
carefully examined the lineaments of the King, added his testimony to
that of his master. The deck of the galley became for a while a scene of
confusion and strong emotion. Sebastian alone, was little moved; he was
no longer to be deceived by vain hopes; he knew that all those people
would go home convinced of his truth, pitying his misfortunes, and
earnest in wishing them at an end; but that in a short time their wonder
and their concern would cease; he would be forgotten, and left to his
fate.

With Medina Sidonia he conversed aloud on various subjects, calculated
to place his integrity under a yet broader light; the gratitude he felt
for the protection afforded to his daughter, gave warmth to his manner,
and attracted the heart of Don Hyppolito.

Upon that young man Sebastian cast many approving looks, for there was a
careless intrepidity in the young Spaniard’s manner, and an ardent
precipitation in his speech, which announced a generous and a brave
character. Sebastian loved such characters, and he therefore beheld the
homage of Hyppolito with engaging benignity.

The grandees who accompanied Medina Sidonia forcibly betrayed an extreme
anxiety to depart; the Duke requested them to stay a moment.

“Nobles!” he said, “it was through your importunities that I came hither
to determine on the truth or falsehood of the illustrious person before
us, when you intreated me, you all promised to bear witness to the
faithful testimony I should give, whatever that might prove him. I now
insist upon your performance of this promise, and require that you set
off with me on the instant for the court of our royal master, in order
that he may hear from us together, the singular circumstances of this
morning. That done, the event remains in our sovereign’s breast; we
shall have acquitted ourselves to God, to our conscience, and to this
injured monarch.”

Ashamed of opposing so equitable a demand, and trusting to private
representations of their own unwillingness, the nobles were obliged to
assent, and taking leave of Don Sebastian, they descended into the yacht
which had brought them from St. Lucar.

Don Hyppolito lingered behind: no one was near Sebastian; he approached,
and hastily whispered, “Blanche is with her mother--fear not for them--I
will watch over their safety: for that purpose I remain in St. Lucar.”
Hyppolito hurried away, and joining his party, was conveyed to shore.

In whispers to his father, he excused himself from attending him to
Madrid, pleading the comparative insignificance of his youth, and the
indecorum of leaving his mother alone. The Duke, little dreaming of the
romantic scheme which his son was then revolving, made no hesitation of
according to his wish, and the Duchess was too much gratified with such
filial attention to receive it without pleasure.

Having left his parents at their own house, Hyppolito hastened to detail
the scene he had just witnessed to the expecting Blanche.

In his progress across one of the squares, he was stopped by a knot of
young lords, who knowing the visit that had been proposed, now stayed
him with various questions. Hyppolito’s answers were full of his usual
candour, and were mixed with so many passionate expressions and sympathy
with the wrongs of Sebastian, and so many invectives against the
inactive Portuguese, that he attracted and fixed the attention of a
person, who clothed as a mendicant, remained without being noticed upon
one spot close to the speakers.

After uttering a few unthinking jests, the young lords went away, and
Hyppolito was now proceeding alone, when the mendicant followed, and
drew nigh to him: Hyppolito threw him a piece of money unasked; the man
passed it with trepidation, and said in a low voice, “I am no beggar,
noble Guzman! but a friend of him you compassionate; one, that you see,
is willing to risk his life on any scheme that may serve Sebastian of
Portugal.”

Hyppolito turned joyfully round, and looking on the stranger, saw the
features of a brave and honest youth, under the squalid rags in which
he was enveloped. He made him a sign to follow at some distance, and
getting out of the streets as fast as possible, the two young men found
themselves in a lonely thicket, just beyond its precincts, “Now then,
say on,” cried Hyppolito, “tell me your name and purpose,--we both risk
much by this sudden confidence; but who would not risk all, save his
immortal soul, for the injured Sebastian.”

“I am Don Christopher of Crato,” replied the stranger, blushing and
sighing as he pronounced the name he mentioned, “my grandfather was
great uncle to Sebastian, I am therefore bound to his fortunes by the
ties of blood. Having returned into France after the base detention of
my dear sovereign at Florence, I obtained from the French King a solemn
promise of inviolable protection (a promise written by his own hand, and
which I now possess) for Sebastian and his Queen, should I ever be able
to effect their liberation. For this purpose the generous King has
given me a large sum of money, with which I hastened to Naples,
determined to attempt the rescue of Sebastian either by bribery or by
artifice; but I found him removed to St. Lucar: hither I have followed
him, and disguised as you see, am now watching an opportunity for the
performance of a duty.”

At the name of Don Christopher, (whom the late Emanuel de Castro had so
often extolled at Villa Rosolia,) Hyppolito dismissed his fears and
suspicions, and at once unfolded to him the design he had himself formed
during his visit to the galley.

From the countenance of her Captain, and the mean salary attached to his
station, Hyppolito believed he might be induced to receive a rich reward
for conniving at the escape of his prisoners; all the jewellery in his
own possession he had already in thought, devoted to this generous
purpose;--even the brilliant chanfraine which had sparkled round the
brow of his horse when its master was proclaimed victor at a tournament,
and he had ridden up to Blanche to receive her praises and her smiles.
But Don Christopher shewed him the wisdom of keeping these gems as a
fund for future emergency. “I have enough for our purpose:” he said,
“enough to take us into France, and after that, I can offer from myself,
a noble asylum to my royal relation. The fairest and the richest heiress
of Brittany, will bless me with her hand the moment I return to claim
it. Own that I love my King, Don Hyppolito, when I confess that nothing
but his service should have torn me from the feet of my adorable
Adelaide.”

Hyppolito smiled approbation, and returning to the plan for Sebastian’s
escape, continued to converse on that subject, till a neighbouring clock
twice reminded them that they should part. They now separated:
Hyppolito promising to impart the meeting to Kara Aziek, and Don
Christopher expressing a hope, that should he repair at dusk to her
abode, in less lowly attire, she would admit him into her presence.

The interesting circumstances which Hyppolito related to Kara Aziek,
shed a bright light over her long benighted spirit: at the description
of Sebastian’s conduct, and the impressions it produced on all the
beholders, she shed tears of exultation: her life was closing, but could
she preserve his, bestow Blanche upon Don Hyppolito, and obtain their
solemn promise to forget that the blood of Kings flowed in the veins of
their children, she should die happy. Some such prospect now opened on
her, and the ardent language of young Guzman taught her to believe it
near.

Blanche spoke not; though her eyes, (fixed on Hyppolito with such
fulness of love and gratitude, that she thought not what they was
expressing) thrilled through all his frame, awakening a transporting
conviction, that he was exclusively beloved.

No sooner had Don Christopher paid his respectful visit to Kara Aziek,
than the two young men proceeded to commence their attack upon the
honesty, or the compassion, of Haro, captain of the galley. The man was
necessitous and he was humane: both motives rendered him accessible.
Since the recognition of his prisoner by the Duke of Medina, he had
granted to him, (by the Duke’s request) the indulgence of walking over
the vessel with his ancles unfettered: this indulgence might, he
thought, be turned into an apology for his disappearance. Thus free in
his limbs, nothing would be sooner credited than that the wretched
Sebastian had thrown himself into the sea, and perished by a voluntary
death.

Haro proposed that Don Christopher and Don Hyppolito, should come some
midnight under the stern of the vessel, when he would undertake to have
all the slaves, and other officers, either at rest or at a distance; he
alone, watching by Sebastian.

To convey the King privately down the side of the galley into the boat
without discovery, might be difficult, but not impracticable; and the
moment the boat received him and rowed away round the other end of the
galley, Haro was to extinguish his lamp as if by accident, fling some
large substance into the sea loaded with the chains of Sebastian, and by
his outcry bring all the other persons to this end of the ship.

The clank of irons and the descent of a heavy body, might well pass for
the last plunge of the living Sebastian: with a conviction of his
self-murder, the sanguine Hyppolito believed that even Philip himself
would rest satisfied. Should success crown their project, Don
Christopher was to proceed into France with his prize; and as in that
case, Aziek would remain behind, and Blanche be denied the joy of
embracing her father, Hyppolito projected a scheme to attract his mother
into meeting these two friends at a lonely fishing lodge which he
possessed on the coast, only a few leagues off. It would be easy to land
the King there, allow him a few hours conference with his child, and
afterwards depart with him and Aziek for France.

This arrangement was no sooner settled, and Haro put into possession of
half the sum he was to receive in recompense for so important a service,
than he permitted an interview between his captive and the two young
noblemen, who conversing with him apart from the other slaves, (a
circumstance now so frequent that it was not regarded) opened before him
a prospect of freedom and of peace.

Like light suddenly restored to the blind, was this amazing hope to the
soul of Sebastian: touched by the chivalric ardour of two youths to
whom his qualities were so little known, and recalled to the fond wishes
of a father and a husband, he prest his hand on his heart unable to
express in any other way, what was swelling there.

After some moments silence, he uttered a few animated words of gratitude
and gratification, coupled with apprehension for their safety, should he
accept their services, and accident hereafter discover them to the King
of Spain.

Don Christopher declared he risked nothing, since he was already exiled
from his country, and dependant on the favour of the French monarch, to
whom he should return: and Hyppolito laughing at the chimera of a
discovery, braved it as a phantom, protesting his belief that accident
could not develope their share in a transaction to which no other person
than Haro, would be privy.

His tongue, eloquently, though hastily, represented the joy which her
father’s release would bestow on Blanche and on Kara Aziek, whom he
reluctantly confessed to be now in a state, which rendered a peaceful
mind absolutely necessary if they would preserve her life.

At this argument Sebastian lost sight of all other objects, and eagerly
yielded assent. To regain, to preserve her, was it not to regain more
than liberty? and where was the obscure spot in creation, to which he
would not fly for that blessed purpose?

Don Christopher briefly referred him to Haro for the management of his
part of the plot; and in order to silence all the King’s apprehension,
declared his belief that an offer from the French King would allure Haro
into France, where an honourable provision might recompence him for thus
abandoning his country--in such a case, neither Haro nor Don Christopher
need dread being known as the accomplices in Sebastian’s escape, when
the time should arrive in which he would re-appear as a candidate for
Portugal.

Sebastian listened patiently, then sadly smiling, said in a voice of
determination. “Mark me, generous young man! too long have I struggled
against the visible will of Heaven, too long have I sacrificed all that
is nearest and dearest to me, for that enfeebled people who have shewn
themselves rather disposed to clamour against my injuries, than bravely
to arm and redress them. For their sakes I have made shipwreck of all
that was precious unto me: alas! if I may but save one little
remnant--if I may but find some retirement to shelter me and mine, where
we may live and die in happy oblivion--my heart will have attained all
its present wishes. I feel that I have acquitted myself of my duty to
Portugal, and now I abandon her throne for ever.”

“What, Sire!” exclaimed the young Hyppolito in a transport of awakened
hope, “and the amiable Blanche, do you abandon for her, all claim.”

Sebastian’s penetrating eye read the lover’s heart; he smiled
graciously, and pressing his hand, said, “Yes, for her also, I speak:
her safety and her happiness are the sole objects of her father’s
anxiety; and how are they to be secured, save in domestic privacy? Think
of her again, Hyppolito, as you were used to do; forget the Princess of
Portugal, but ever protect and cherish the unpretending Blanche.”

Hyppolito hid his suddenly suffused face upon the hand which he now
carried to his lips; his heart beat with strange and delightful emotion.
Don Christopher earnestly strove to alter the resolution of Sebastian:
the latter was inflexible. “I owe the remainder of my life,” he
observed, “to my family and my friends; the period is too short for us
to waste it in fresh struggles: let us be content Don Christopher to
pass it in tranquillity.”

The captain of the galley now approached, and breaking off their
discourse, the young men hastened to impart the consent they had
obtained, to name the day of their enterprize, and to return to St.
Lucar.

The short interval between this period and that which was to crown or to
blast all their expectations, was spent by the young friends in active
preparation, and by Kara Aziek and her daughter in the most agitating
anxiety. The stimulus thus given to the nerves of Kara Aziek, imparted a
transient hope of returning health: a bright glow was ever on her cheek,
a brighter light for ever in her eye. With a motive for desiring life,
the power of retaining life seemed to be granted; and while she opened
her heart to receive the sanguine anticipations of Blanche and
Hyppolito, they fondly fancied that her hour of danger was passed.

The Duchess Medina Sidonia was wilfully kept ignorant of the important
affair now agitating: Hyppolito secretly resolved to meet the punishment
of his temerity alone, (should any chance discover it to King Philip)
since, if he could solemnly swear and prove that his parents were not
accessary to the act, he justly believed that not even the deadliest
tyrant would dare violate their lives, or their fortunes.

The evening preceding that on which Sebastian was to be carried off,
Aziek and her daughter were removed to the fishing lodge of Hyppolito,
(a lone house almost buried among rocks and thickets) of which only one
purblind domestic had the charge.

Hyppolito suggested this place as more suited to an invalid than a noisy
sea-port, besides which he urged, that his mother, who might not hazard
the singular act of visiting a humble individual in her mean abode,
might safely give them the meeting here, and occasionally come to share
in the pious cares of Blanche.

Satisfied with so natural and considerate an arangement, the Duchess
hastened to embrace the suffering Aziek, whom even this short journey
contributed to enfeeble. Knowing the effect which solicitude too highly
raised, ever produced on her mother, Blanche forbade Hyppolito to
mention the real night of his enterprize; certain that such an
enterprize was on the point of execution, she would in some degree be
prepared for its failure or success, yet being deceived as to the
precise instant would spare her the useless torture of suspence.

Obedient to this judicious injunction, on the very evening of their
plot, the young friends named a succeeding one, and departed for St.
Lucar.

Blanche had now to rouse up the whole force of her spirit to support the
hard task of concealing an agitation which amounted to agony. As she
hung over the couch of her pallid mother, indistinct apostrophe’s to
Heaven, perpetually faltered on her lips, while hiding the flush of her
cheeks and the restless wandering of her eye, from the unconscious
Duchess, she strove to smile and to talk on subjects of trivial
interest.

It was a serene and balmy evening, and as the stars appeared one by one
in the firmament, and the illuminated sea slowly advanced and receded
from the cliffs surrounding the fishing lodge; so much of peace and
beauty pervaded every object, that Kara Aziek felt the scene
tranquillize and renovate her.

“Suffer me to remain here, my child!” she said, (as Blanche hearing the
clock strike ten, would have had her retire to rest) “the sight of these
boundless and sublime objects, seems to elevate and calm my spirit.
Never before have I beheld them with such feelings. How wonderous! how
magnificent, how surpassing all human ideas of nobleness, wisdom, and
goodness, must be that great being by whom they were created! it is fit
I should habituate myself to contemplate and adore that divine
perfection which I may so soon be summoned to adore in the courts of
Heaven.”

Aziek paused, and her eyes floating in sweet though mournful tears,
remained fixed upon the stars. Blanche turned weeping away, and the
Duchess ventured to utter a few words of hope.

Kara Aziek smiled gratefully, shook her head, and repeated in so low a
voice that her words were scarce audible, “I am past hope, and you must
not deceive yourselves: might I but behold my Sebastian once again, know
him safe, and obtain from him one promise, I should die completely
happy.”

Blanche spoke not: she clasped her hands together with convulsive
energy, and her heart only uttered a fervent petition to the Omnipotent
for the success of her lover.

The Duchess seated herself near the couch of the invalid. “And what,
dearest madam!” she said respectfully, “what commands do you leave me
for my future conduct to this dear girl whom I love as I do Hyppolito? a
day must arrive when other affections than filial ones, will arise in
her bosom--how then am I to decide for the Princess of Portugal?”

Kara Aziek withdrew her eyes from above, and fixed them on the Duchess:
the look which they exchanged at that moment, needed no interpreter.
“Decide for her happiness, my kind friend! and let the generous man who
may devote himself to the obscure and untitled Blanche, accept the
blessing of her dying mother, for her dowry. I have nothing else to
bestow.”

Drowned in tears, flowing from various sources, Blanche precipitated
herself by the side of her mother, covering her hands with kisses; the
Duchess resumed, “Such are your sentiments, but what are those of Don
Sebastian? Would not he frown on the presumptuous house of Medina
Sidonia, were they to hazard a wish for uniting their proudest boast,
their brightest hope, with the heiress of Portugal? My Hyppolito feels
far more than a brother’s love for our Blanche; his passion is worthy
its object, for he loved her ere he knew her rank.”

Blanche heard not her mother’s reply, for a loud blast of wind, shaking
the walls of the fishing lodge, made her start up and hurry to the
window. The stars were disappearing under volumes of clouds, which this
sudden wind had driven up from the horizon; extreme darkness was
succeeding to light and beauty:--gloom was favourable to the views of
the adventurers, and Blanche blest the darkness, even while trembling at
the storm.

Kara Aziek and the Duchess continued so long and so earnest in
conversation, that they did not notice the watchful looks of her about
whom they were talking: by degrees the wind fell, and although the stars
were but faintly discernible at intervals, there was still enough light
to guide experienced manners on their road over the waves. Blanche stole
back to her former station, and knelt down by her mother’s couch,
listening to her discourse. She had scarcely placed herself, when the
sound of distant oars grew on the stillness of night. At first, her
limbs lost their power, and she could not rise from her kneeling
posture, but quickly recovering again, she started abruptly up, and
complaining of the sensation of suffocation, opened a door leading down
a slope which terminated on the sands.

Having bounded away with bird-like swiftness, she turned aside among
some rocks which formed a creek for the shelter of small vessels; by the
dim light, she fancied that she perceived a boat afar off: her eyes
remained fixed on the object--the night grew clearer, she saw more
distinctly, and at length became certain that a single boat was
approaching, rowed by two men.

But where was the third? where was her father? it might be, that he was
concealed at the bottom of the little vessel, or that Hyppolito had
failed. The rowers frequently looked behind them, as if afraid of
pursuit, but they made no signal to her.

Blanche leaped upon a high point, and waved her handkerchief; the
boatmen answered only by redoubling their exertions to make the land.
They approached--they moved swifter as they advanced nearer; and the
agitated girl hastening from the cliffs to the sands, eagerly rushed
into the very waves; for now she beheld by the star-light, a human
figure lying at the bottom of the boat.

The voice of Hyppolito warned her of her danger, and the next instant
some one plunged into the water, and springing to shore caught her in
his arms: it was Sebastian himself.

By the same impulse, both father and daughter sunk on their knees in
each other’s embrace; their hearts gushed out at their eyes in silent
gratitude.

Don Christopher hurried to break the joyful news to her, whose patient
suffering had quickened their exertions; and Hyppolito mooring his bark,
flew to share in the happiness he had bestowed.

Rising from the sand, Sebastian now beheld the amiable youth kneeling by
the side of Blanche; he stooped to embrace him also. As he encircled
them both, and pressed their beating hearts together, he fervently
repeated, “I bless you both, my children! may I not say, that I join you
in your father’s arms? would to God that this union may be eternal!”

Transported to ecstacy, Hyppolito hurried forth a crowd of rapturous and
tumultuous expressions, in which Sebastian peculiarly distinguished the
promise of resigning for Blanche, and for her offspring, all pretensions
to dispute the crown of Portugal.

Blanche answered the eager questions of her lover, and the more
temperate inquiry of her father, by sinking her blushing face on the
shoulder of him to whom she was given, and tenderly returning the
pressure of his hand. Hyppolito was in heaven, and forgot for awhile
that the heart-wearied Sebastian was anxiously waiting the re-appearance
of Don Christopher, from whom he was to learn whether Kara Aziek had
strength to bear an interview.

Don Christopher at last appeared; and his countenance shewed how much he
had been affected. Sebastian silently accepted the offer of his
supporting arm, as they turned towards the house, leaving Hyppolito to
lead the tottering steps of Blanche, whom joy, grief, and love, rendered
feeble.

Imagination must picture the solemn and moving scene which took place in
the apartment of Kara Aziek; the tears, the embraces, the broken
exclamations, the fond and distracted perusal of each other’s altered
persons, the alternate bursts of transport and anguish, which succeeded
to this certainty of being restored to each other, and this fear of
being doomed to part for ever.

When a little tranquilized, Kara Aziek desired to be left alone with her
husband, and then she unfolded to him her last wishes for him and their
daughter. Sebastian’s soul had gone on the like track with her’s; she
found that the same events had produced on each the same effects, and
that he was as willing to promise, as she was to exact, a determination
of abandoning every thought of Portugal.

Believed self-destroyed, he was resolved to enter France with Don
Christopher, and retiring to some solitude with her, and such of his
friends as chose to join his retirement, pass his life in such happy
obscurity as they had done at Cachoeira. Though separated from Blanche
by the union to which they destined her, they believed this sacrifice
demanded of them, in gratitude for the services of the Medina Sidonia
family; and since occasional visits from Blanche and Hyppolito, would
enliven their retirement, Sebastian tried to persuade his Aziek that
they might yet find happiness.

“A few brief years,” she said tenderly, “and then my beloved, we _shall_
enjoy it together. I go to prepare a place for thee in that world to
which we have so long accustomed ourselves to look for imperishable
joys! My soul exhausted with suffering, languishes for the rest of
heaven. Shake not thus, my Sebastian--what mortal agony convulses those
dear features? Wouldst thou then retain me in a world like this? O!
rather rejoice that I am going to leave it. Shall I not breathe my last
on thy faithful breast? O blessing! O comfort unutterable!”

Sebastian believed at this moment that she was indeed drawing her latest
breath; for spent with emotion, her heart ceased to beat, and her eyes
closed. He folded her in his arms, and uttering a doleful cry, remained
gazing on her pale face with the stare of madness.

Alarmed by his voice, his friends and daughter rushed in, and finding
that Kara Aziek yet breathed, though almost imperceptibly, they exerted
their influence to persuade him to withdraw awhile.

During their short absence from the apartment, Don Christopher
hesitatingly asked, what measures his King meant to pursue; the vessel
that was to carry them to France, lay at anchor two leagues up the
coast, and as Kara Aziek could not be moved thither, without the
certainty of immediate death, Don Christopher ventured to hint that his
sovereign’s safety could only be secured by his departing with him
alone.

At this friendly suggestion, some of his youthful impetuosity burst from
Sebastian: “What! leave her!” he exclaimed, “My Aziek! my wife! my
life’s comforter! the very soul of all my past happiness!--no, no,
young man. I will stay by her, till heaven restores, or tears her from
me: after that blow, all the world will be nothing to the undone
Sebastian, and Philip may triumph as he will, over this senseless body.
Think of your own safety--I ought to urge you--but my whole soul is
swallowed up in one sad object. You have my thanks for your loving
care--some other time perhaps,”---- Sebastian could not proceed, and
again he returned to the room where he left Kara Aziek.

Recovered by the assistance of the Duchess and Blanche, Kara Aziek had
strength sufficient to assure them that she was better, and believed
herself capable of being removed in any way that was requisite to speed
the departure of her husband. To this assurance, Sebastian replied with
a steady declaration of his late taken resolution, and being joined by
Hyppolito in arguing against the chance of a discovery at a lodge so
little known, when the story of his self-murder would lull inquiry, he
vanquished the reluctance of Kara Aziek to let him remain beside her.

Don Christopher then suggested the prudence of suffering the Duchess to
return to St. Lucar, lest her longer absence should create any
curiosity, and with an unwilling mind, after receiving again Sebastian’s
pledge that he would resign Blanche to Hyppolito, she departed from the
fishing lodge.

For three successive days and nights, Kara Aziek enjoyed the sacred
pleasure of seeing her sick bed attended by the object dearest to her on
earth; whenever she opened her eyes, during the day or the night, still
they met the anxious gaze either of her husband or her daughter.
Hyppolito too, watched her with a son’s tenderness, and the attached
Baptista shared in all their feelings.

Contemplating her husband restored to liberty by the noble youth with
whom Blanche was to unite her destiny, seeing in Don Christopher the
faithful friend that was to repair her loss, and cheer the spirit of
Sebastian, Kara Aziek felt a grateful and placid happiness, which
sweetened the pains of approaching death. How much was there to be
thankful for, in a death thus softened, which otherwise must have
approached in unutterable horror!

She ventured not to repine that her life was prematurely abridged by
late sorrow, since of former felicity, she had enjoyed so large a
portion; and fixing her thoughts on that eternity which would re-unite
her with her husband, she gently yielded to the decay of all her powers.

Like gradual sleep, death stole over her faculties and her feelings; she
lay stretched on a couch, losing by degrees the powers of motion, and of
speech, the faculty of hearing, and of sight.

Sebastian hung over her marble form, speechless, pale, and despairing:
he spoke, and she heard him not; he touched her, and the death-cold
hand that returned not the agonizing grasp of his, convinced him that
she felt not the pressure. But still her closing eyes were directed
towards him, and the heavenly smile that moved her lips, spoke to his
breaking heart of love and better hopes.

Too soon these dim eyes ceased to see the objects before them, her faint
breathing was scarce perceptible,--she breathed only at intervals; at
length her eyelids closed for ever, and she breathed no more!

Blessed close of a virtuous life! what are all the wild transports of
earthly joy, when compared with the mercy of thus “falling asleep” to
wake in Paradise?

Sebastian was standing with his eyes fixed on her face, and his hand
holding hers; he watched her yet, but his looks were no longer sad and
patient, they expressed alarm, anguish, desperation. He put his lips to
hers; no breath mingled with his; his hand sought her heart,--all there
was still!--a mortal cry came from his very soul, and dropping the cold
arm he was grasping, the desolate Sebastian fell lifeless upon the body
of her he lamented.

Supported by her lover, Blanche was kneeling by the bed, distracted
between grief for her mother, and fear for her father’s senses;
Hyppolito hastily resigned her to Baptista, and judging this to be the
decisive moment, he dashed away his own tears, and motioning to the pale
Don Christopher, they lifted Sebastian from the chamber into the open
air.

Trusting him to their attention, Blanche allowed herself to yield to her
own sorrow, and remained weeping over the beauteous remains of the
tenderest of women. Meanwhile Hyppolito and Don Christopher hastened to
the boat, placed their royal charge within it, covered him with their
clothes, and swiftly rowed away towards that part of the coast where
their larger vessel was in waiting. When Sebastian recovered, he looked
round, and beheld himself in an open boat on the wide ocean, over which
the grey of morning just began to glimmer; he saw that Don Christopher
and Hyppolito were his companions. At first his scattered senses were
unable to recollect more than his late escape from the galley, and he
fancied himself newly rescued from that dismal situation; but soon the
dejected looks of his friends, and returning memory, banished this short
delusion, and he awoke to the consciousness of being bereft of all he
loved.

Sebastian had risen from the bottom of the boat, he now sat down again
without having spoken; and neither uttering groan nor sigh, neither
shedding a tear, nor raising his head, he remained like one stupefied
into stone.

This dismal silence was unbroken by his pitying friends; they plyed
their oars unremittingly, and after much toil came along side the ship,
which they hailed and mounted.

All this time Sebastian spoke not; he suffered Hyppolito to lead him
into the cabin, while Don Christopher remained above, to give directions
for her immediate sailing. When the latter re-appeared, he rose to
depart. In silence he bent his knee to kiss the hand of Sebastian,--in
silence the grief-wrapt Sebastian placed his hands on his head in token
of benediction.

“You bless me as your son, my father!” asked the young man, with much
emotion.

The desolate Sebastian strained him in his arms, and attempted to speak,
but finding the effort impossible, he repeated the embrace, and
motioning for his friends to withdraw, he shut himself in the cabin, and
delivered himself up to despair.

Hyppolito earnestly commended the unfortunate King to his friend Don
Christopher, settled with him their mode of communication, promised to
visit France the instant he could obtain permission to travel, and bring
with him his wedded Blanche; then exchanging an affectionate farewel, he
leaped into the boat, again seized the oars, and toiled through the
sullen waves to the fishing lodge.



THE CONCLUSION.


About thirty years after the period in which Don Sebastian was conveyed
into France, a majestic old man was seen to enter the palace of the
Braganza’s, at Villa Viciosa; his mourning garments were plain, but not
ignoble; his steps were supported by a staff; the hair that parted from
his serene, yet time-worn brow, was whiter than silver; in his eye, and
on his lips, sat a sort of sweet mournfulness, that added a touching
interest to his venerable age; the ashes of that youthful fire which had
once blazed there, still remained to say that such fire had been; but
the fire itself was extinct. Resignation, peace, and benignity, had
taken its place.

He enquired for the Duke and Duchess of Braganza: the former was at the
village of Almada, but the young Duchess was alone, and the stranger was
conducted to her presence.

Upon entering a splendid hall, where sculpture, painting, and armorial
decorations united to bestow grandeur, the hoary-headed traveller
paused, and fixed his eyes upon one object. It was a young and admirably
lovely woman, who had just laid her sleeping infant upon a couch, where
she stood gazing on him with a mother’s fondness.

Her graceful figure owed nothing to the imposing aid of dress; a plain
sattin robe, and a cluster of roses knotting up her bright, dark hair,
were its only ornaments; but “she was covered with the light of beauty,”
and wanted no other decorations.

At the sound of a heavy sigh, she turned round, and perceiving a
stranger, hastened forward to meet him. The old man continued looking
at her as she advanced: “my eyes are somewhat dim,” he said, in a voice
broken by emotion rather than by feebleness, “but I think you are the
last surviving child of her who is now an angel in heaven!”

The young Duchess trembled with sudden emotion, and her fine countenance
assumed an expression of veneration, joy, and sorrow, which heightened
its charms; she half bent her knee, while exclaiming, “who is it that I
behold? O majestic stranger, dare I believe that I see in you--”

“The father of your mother!” replied the old man, tears trickling down
his cheek, “the widowed, wandering Sebastian.”

Luisa sunk at his feet, and devoutly kissed them. “You return then, at
last!” she said, weeping with delight, “all who have known or persecuted
you, my honoured father, are vanished from the earth. Here in the arms
of your remaining race, your old age may now pass in security and
honour, and your latest sigh be breathed on the bosom of affectionate
children.”

As she spoke, she tenderly led him towards a seat, where placing herself
beside him, she continued to wait his answer, with both hands clasping
one of his.

Sebastian fondly regarded her a long time in affecting silence, the
tears chasing one another down his venerable face, increasing as they
flowed, till he could discern her no longer.

“Pardon me my child!” he said, “the sight of you brings back the
feelings of my youth. At that period I loved and possessed the dearest
of women: at that period your mother was a young and lovely creature
like yourself; I had friends and kindred: where are they now? all gone
down to dust! O it is sad to think that I have outlived them all; that
in you and your husband I behold the second generation from myself, and
from my cousin of Braganza. Mighty Providence! what an instant is the
life of mortal man!”

“Tell me, my child, (he added, after a thoughtful pause) are you happy?
do you possess in your husband such a friend as your heart devotes
itself to with perfect sincerity?”

A vivid glow kindled on the cheek of Luisa, her eyes were instantly full
of her soul: “I am the happiest of women,” she said ardently, “the whole
world contains nothing of what is valuable, great, or endearing, that is
not comprised in the character of my Juan. O my father, I am only too
happy; and my fond heart trembles sometimes at its own felicity.”

Tears glittered in her brilliant eyes, and the love that blushed through
every vein of her delicate frame, communicated a sad thrill to those of
the aged wanderer.

“Gone, gone, for ever gone!” he repeated mournfully; then stopping,
added with a divine smile, “not so: in the world to which I hasten
Luisa, these sweet emotions will revive again, even for me. Surely our
virtuous affections are not destined to perish?”

A smile of equal brightness answered this remark. “But tell me, dearest
Sir, whither have you been wandering? and how has your old age been
supported with those comforts which should follow it everywhere?”

“I shall make winter nights seem short,” replied Sebastian! “when I
relate to you, all that I have seen and felt. Since the death of her
whom no time can efface from this widowed heart, you know that I have
lived a life of wandering. I have traversed Europe, Africa, and Asia, on
foot, with no other companion than this staff and scrip; no other
protection save my grey hairs. My pleasure has been the study of human
character under all the accidents of different climates, laws, and
customs; my duty has been the task of instructing and enlightening the
ignorant or wicked of the countries through which I passed. Gratitude
and kindness have rarely failed of recompensing these efforts, and I
return therefore in good-will with all my fellow creatures.”

“Yet ah! Sir, how could you separate from my dear parents?”

“Had you felt what I have felt, Luisa,” replied Sebastian, raising his
head and fixing his eyes on her, “you would not ask that question. I was
bereaved of my soul. When Kara Aziek was ravished from me by death, I
saw all my faithful adherents ruined and dispersed through their
fidelity to my hopeless cause; I had no other way to end their
destructive efforts, and ceaseless importunities, but to remove beyond
their reach. I left France and journeyed into Persia to the court of my
friend Schah Abbas: twice I returned to Europe, twice embraced my
children and their offspring. Twelve years ago I entered Spain a third
time; I found you an orphan, and the only surviving memorial of Blanche
and Hyppolito. What then could bind me to a place where but one
unconscious child remained? that child one whom I dared not claim or
take to myself? I departed again, and it was not till I heard in
Germany, (where as his friend, yet unknown by my real name, I had
followed the steps of the great Gustavus Adolphus) that you were the
wife of Braganza, that I determined to return and close my life under
your roof. There is something awful and striking, my child, in this
union with the race of Braganza: their claim to my abdicated crown, is
next to your own: those claims are now joined--what great event does
Providence intend?”

The young Duchess fixed on him a look of trouble mixed with heroism--“I
sometimes venture to believe,” she said, “that my admirable Juan is
ordained to restore the glory of Portugal. The machinations of Spain
have failed hitherto of ensnaring him; he yet remains in his country,
the idol of its people, the leading star of its nobles. O! my father,
how many frightful plots have been formed to deprive him of life or
liberty! he has ever scorned to live with less than the splendor
befitting his royal blood, and has continued to spend his princely
revenues in princely acts: this conduct has fixed every eye and every
heart upon him alone; the Spanish court have become alarmed, and not
daring to use violence, have artfully sought to entrap him by a shew of
favour.”

Olivares, the prime minister of Philip IV. would have persuaded Juan to
accept the government of Milan; but what Italian government could tempt
him who knew himself the lawful heir to a throne? On the successful
revolt of the Catalans, this artful politician sent to demand the
assistance of my husband; Juan would not assist in oppressing a brave
and outraged people, and he refused to appear under arms in such a
cause. Dangerous was this noble frankness! the Spaniard dissembling his
resentment by a mask of confidence, appointed Juan to command the troops
which then lined the coast, protecting it against the threatened attack
of the French fleet; the navy of Spain came to menace them in turn, and
its admiral Ossorio, invited my Braganza with his principal officers to
an entertainment on board his vessel. Providentially, the secretary (a
Portuguese by birth) seized with remorse, privily informed us that
Ossorio had orders to sail away with his victims for the remotest
Spanish port.

“Whilst we debated how to elude this treachery without appearing to
suspect its existence, a storm dispersed the rival fleets, and drove the
admiral’s ship, a total wreck, into the harbour of Cadiz.”

“Providential indeed,” exclaimed Sebastian, “what followed this?”

“Disappointed in his base design, Olivares was not slow in forming
another;” resumed the Duchess, “he invested Braganza with some mockery
of power, the duty of which consisted in his visiting the fortresses
throughout Portugal, inspecting their state, and reporting it to the
court of Madrid. The friends of my dear lord discovered that the same
orders which had been given to Ossorio, were issued to the Spanish
garrisons; he was to be seized, detained, and hurried into Castille.

“My Juan’s answer to this proposed favor, was worthy of his illustrious
soul: he told Olivares that the next heir to the crown of Portugal,
deemed any other title a degradation rather than a distinction:--he
declined the office, and the name annexed to it.”

“There spoke his noble blood!” exclaimed Sebastian, while some youthful
fire warmed his veins, “Heaven’s blessing be on him! may he fulfil the
prophetic hopes which your words kindle in this time-chilled heart!--Go
on, sweet daughter! go on!”

Luisa with all the enthusiasm of ardent affection, resumed her
discourse.

“The spirit of her noblest Grandee appears to have lighted up a happy
flame in the bosoms of a few gallant patriots: whole provinces have
refused to follow the banners of Spain in her attempt to recover
Barcelona. The city of Evora resisting an oppressive tax lately levied
by our foreign governors, have loudly called for their legitimate
sovereign, Juan of Braganza: the garrisons, almost emptied of their
Spanish soldiers, (for Philip needs every aid in his war with Catalonia
and France) offer an easy prey to our countrymen, whenever they shall
have courage to assert their independence.

“As yet, no plan has been formed, no absolute party made for either
pretender to the succession. The families D’Avegro, and Villa-Real,
plead their affinity to the throne; but my husband’s right is too clear
for dispute: your’s alone--and O! how joyfully will he bow to it--may
pass before him.”

Sebastian smiled, and shook his head, “The world and I, my dear
daughter, have long since shaken hands, and said farewel to each other:
I have no more to do with its honours or its pleasures: these eyes see
but one place of rest, and I am fast hastening to it. Sceptres and
crowns, at fourscore years, are the toys and rattles of second
childhood, and to desire them is to prove that we are become infants
again. To rejoice in the emancipation of Portugal from an oppressive
yoke, to rejoice at beholding the reins of her government in young and
able hands, is yet permitted me. I would cheerfully devote these grey
hairs to the dust, could that effect so blessed an event.

“The groans of a people once too dear to me--ever dear to me--reach my
heart even yet. O might I live to see them freed from their grievous
burthen; to see thee, my child, share thy lawful inheritance with my
noble kinsman, how would it cheer, how would it exalt my parting soul.”

Luisa was about to answer, when the doors of the saloon opening,
discovered a crowd of officers, attendants, and guards, in the midst of
whom was the Duke of Braganza. Luisa rose to welcome her husband; and as
he dismissed his train, the doors closed again, and he advanced alone
into the apartment.

Earnest to observe the countenance of Braganza, Sebastian inclined his
venerable person, and lifted up the white locks which obscured his
sight. His imagination had represented the husband of Luisa, with a mien
dignified, but somewhat austere, and a brow armed with the lofty courage
of his conduct. On the contrary, he beheld a man in the prime of life,
whose elegantly proportioned figure moved with gentle gracefulness;
whose face, (seriously sweet) invited love, destroyed apprehension, and
spoke a heart warmed with the most amiable affections.

The soft tenderness of his eyes as he took and kissed the hand of his
wife, was suddenly changed into the brightness of glad surprise, when
she hastily told him who was awaiting his embrace: Braganza broke away,
and hurried to throw himself at the feet of his illustrious relative.

Sebastian bent to raise and to press him in his arms, “I need no other
warrant of thy worth, my dear son,” he exclaimed, “than these sweet
looks: you are like the noblest child of the Braganza race. My pretty
Diego! how freshly I remember him!”

“At what a moment, Sire, do I behold you!” exclaimed Braganza, “the time
is critical: Portugal stands on the brink of a great revolution: she is
resolved to make one glorious effort--to perish or be free.”

The aged King raised his hands and eyes to heaven in an ecstacy: the
Duchess briefly informed her husband of her grandfather’s resolution
never to resume the throne which he had so long abandoned. Braganza
endeavoured to combat this resolution with the rhetoric of one who
speaks from the heart; but Sebastian had reason on his side, and his
arguments were unanswerable.

When this amicable contest was ended, the Duke resumed the subject which
had led to it. “I am come,” he said, (and as he spoke, his eyes kindled
into the fire of enthusiasm) “I am come from a secret assembly of the
most potent nobles and citizens in Lisbon: they met at Almeyda, to swear
fidelity to each other, and to the sacred cause of freedom. They demand
a leader; and it is upon me that they have fixed their eyes. Luisa, I am
yours; I am doubly yours, for you have made me a father--it is you
therefore that must answer for your Juan. Tell me, sweetest! have you
courage to let me share this glorious conflict.”

The eyes of Juan, as he now suffered them to rest solely upon her to
whom he spoke, by turns softened and sparkled, as love and patriotism
succeeded to displace each other in his mind: those of the hoary-headed
Sebastian expressed an apprehensive anxiety.

Luisa’s changing complexion betrayed an inward and a severe struggle;
but courageously conquering every selfish care, she looked up, and said
firmly, “It is true, you are mine, Juan! but not to the exclusion of
sublimer duties and affections: your country’s claims supersede all
others. Awful is the thought of what may follow this consent I give; for
does not the bolt strike him first who stands on the highest ground?
Yet, better to die nobly, than to live meanly!--better to lament a dead
hero, than to retain”----“A base coward!” interrupted Braganza,
snatching her to his breast with transporting exultation. “O my brave
wife! may your spirit animate our boy!”

“Bless thee, mighty God!” cried the aged King, as he rose and extended
his hands over the admirable pair, “bless them here and hereafter; and
grant that their race may ever sit on the throne of Portugal!”

His august figure, dignified yet further by the sublime emotion which
elevated his soul, stood like some time-shattered tower, whose ruins
shew its former strength and beauty. Luisa contemplated these remains of
the once young and love-inspiring Sebastian, with a melting heart; for
she thought of all the events and feelings which had filled his
chequered life, and sighed to think how barren and how desolate was that
Sebastian now.

Braganza looked at him with respect and admiration: “Honored Sire! dear
Father!” he said, “I have but one ardent wish--’tis that I may not
disgrace the illustrious blood which flows in my veins. If there be one
drop there poisoned by vile ambition, if there be but one that does not
flow purely for freedom and my country, may the whole tide that circles
through this body, redden the swords of Spain.”

Shuddering at so horrid an image, Luisa threw herself on the neck of her
husband and fondly chid him. His smiles and caresses banished alarm,
while Sebastian, eager to learn the particulars of an association so
fraught with importance, proceeded to inquire the names, characters, and
resources of the confederate nobles.

He found that the party which had thus courted the protection of
Braganza, consisted of the first families in Portugal; and that the
Archbishop of Lisbon, a prelate of great power and probity, had, through
the means of the inferior clergy assured himself of the spirit and
fidelity of three parts of the people.

The Duchess of Mantua, who governed in quality of Vice-Queen, was in
reality but the instrument of Vasconcellos, her secretary. This man,
though by birth a Portuguese, was in heart a Spaniard: or rather, was a
wretch of such wide ambition, such insatiable covetousness, and such
base sensuality, that to gratify these favorite passions, he was ready
to trample on the mother who bore him.

His licentious conduct, dissolute life, cruelties, extortions, and
insults, had by degrees, exasperated the Portuguese into the most deadly
animosity: to this private hatred was added the stronger sentiment of
national honour, and the animating one of attachment to the person of
Braganza.

Nothing could be more ardent or universal than the latter sentiment.
Braganza’s noble spirit pervaded every place: his bounties flowed into
the remotest corners of the kingdom; and while the splendor of his
household, his retinue, his equipages, his entertainments, and his
palaces, kept in perpetual freshness the remembrance of his royal birth,
the ceaseless dew of his secret charities fell all around, penetrating
the hearts of men with gratitude and with love.

In public, his magnificent train, and serious dignity of manner,
preserved to him that profound respect, which should ever follow
distinguished personages: in private the sweetness of a benign and
smiling temper, the graces of a refined taste, the charm of every
accomplishment, and the rivetting talisman of goodness, added affection
to respect, and turned admiration into enthusiasm. He was beloved, he
was venerated throughout Portugal; and so evident was the dominion he
had acquired over his countrymen, that not even the Machiavalian
Olivares, though trembling at his power, dared openly arraign or stop
his course.

There was something strikingly different in the present spirit of
Portugal, from that irresolute, fearful conduct, which had palsied her
exertions for her legitimate sovereign: Sebastian could not refuse a
sigh to the remembrance. Then, not even the probable assistance of other
powers, stimulated them into open insurrection: now, they were nobly
resolved to free themselves, unsupported by other aid than God and their
own arms.

While he was thus revolving past events, the memory of his dearest
friend often mingled with these thoughts, and by a natural association,
reminded him that Caspar had left a son. “Where is he?” he exclaimed
abruptly, pursuing his thoughts aloud, “twelve years ago, I was told
that he belonged to your household, my son?”

“Of whom do you speak, Sir!” asked the Duchess.

“Of Juan Pinto Ribeiro,” replied Sebastian.

The Duke’s features beamed with pleasure. “You ask after the most
attached and estimable of my servants,” he said, “Pinto has always
studied with me, travelled with me, lived with me more like a brother
than a domestic: he is the comptroller of my household; and it is to him
I believe myself indebted for the universal suffrages of my countrymen.
His love for me and his devotion to our country, are sentiments of equal
strength in his excellent heart.”

“What do I hear?” exclaimed Sebastian in extreme emotion, tears
trickling down his cheeks, “is it the son of my faithful Caspar that you
thus commend! O my children, so many feelings, long, long since laid to
sleep in this heart, now awake and overcome me, that I know not myself.
Joy, and the recollection of other days, make an infant of me.”

Sebastian bowed his venerable head, and as he did so, a slight colour
flushed his pale face; for now he wept uncontrolled, and was ashamed of
his weakness.

Braganza respected his age and his tears, and drawing Luisa away to the
couch of their son, they leaned over it together, occupying their
attention with his childish beauty.

After some moments silence, the King resumed in a low, faltering voice.
“Let me see Ribeiro! after that I will take some rest:--my spirit is
more wearied than my body, yet both require repose.”

The Duke hastened to gratify his royal kinsman, and sending for Pinto,
(who was the confidential person appointed to carry his final answer to
the confederates) he led him up to Sebastian.

Some faint resemblance to his father, (a likeness rather of lineament
than of countenance) powerfully affected the venerable monarch: Pinto
was nearly the age that Gaspar was when he left his master for the last
time at Villa Rosolia, and this circumstance heightened the effect of
the resemblance. Sebastian frequently embraced him, and as frequently
repeated the name of his dead friend: he wistfully examined the face
before him, but he did not find it the exact counterpart of Gaspar’s.

Pinto’s eyes and air had the fire of his Italian mother: his look was
neither so mild nor so tender as his father’s; but it was more pregnant
with resolution and talent; it announced him what he was, an intrepid,
ardent, faithful, and enterprizing man.

Sebastian did not require a second glance at this luminous countenance
to decide that Pinto would be the spring and the mover of the Revolution
they meditated. After conversing with him awhile, and hearing anew the
most momentous details connected with the great event in hand, Sebastian
retired, at the pressing instance of his lovely grandchild, who watching
the fluctuations of his venerable face, grew fearful that he might
suffer from so much emotion, and at length succeeded in leading him to a
chamber.

Pinto’s arrival in Lisbon was the signal for active measures: each noble
hurried to his paternal residence, where they severally employed
themselves in secretly securing the support of their tenantry, and their
retainers. The clergy awakened the consciences of their parishioners by
painting resistance as a duty, submission as a crime; they explained the
right of Braganza, while they demonstrated the comparative insufficiency
of Philip’s title to the crown of Portugal. The merchants animated each
other with the view of their present humiliation and their past power;
and the starving artizans whom Pinto sought out and relieved, owing
their lives to his generous master, professed themselves eager to risk
those lives for his advancement.

These springs, though privily worked, were visible in their effects. An
impatience of Spanish oppression, with occasional demonstrations of
contempt, or of hatred, began to occur in every place; Vasconcellos was
alarmed, yet he knew not on whom to fix the eye of suspicion: for
Braganza was retired into the bosom of his own family at Villa Viciosa,
remote from the capital, enjoying himself as usual in the peaceful
pleasures of study, hawking, hunting, and elegant society.

The venerable stranger who was now and then to be seen coming forth upon
the arm of Luisa to breathe the clear air of the parks, or the sweeter
breeze of the gardens, was an object of no curiosity to any of the
Spaniards: Braganza’s palace was so often the asylum of age, misfortune,
and helplessness, that an individual just standing on the brink of
eternity excited no suspicion. Sebastian therefore, dwelt under the
protection of the last of his race, in happy security: his sun was about
to set; but it was sinking beneath a cloudless horizon, to rise again in
the region of everlasting bliss.

While his judgment steadily scanned and approved all the sentiments,
feelings, and actions of the amiable and admirable Braganza; while he
marked the brightness of a soul which no passions obscured, and felt the
benign influence of a disposition diffusing happiness like light, he
became sensible to a solicitude for the event of the revolution, which
entirely banished his long though hardly acquired repose. At every
dispatch from Pinto, his aged frame shook with strong emotion; but
fortune appeared inclined to favour the good cause, and the heroism of
Luisa communicated its own ardour to her parent.

In the midst of this anxiety, an order arrived from the court of Spain,
demanding the attendance of the Duke of Braganza at Madrid. The reason
assigned for this requisition was plausible and difficult to evade! for
Olivares artfully declared that his august master, grieved at the misery
which he was told pervaded Portugal, was determined to investigate the
cause, find out and punish the authors, be they who they might, and
finally place at the head of the government one of its own Princes.

To refuse attendance after such a declaration, was impossible to
Braganza, if he would retain a title to his country’s affection, or
conceal from Olivares that he knew his destructive intentions: he was
obliged to return an evasive answer, which implied that he would appear
at Philip’s court, when he could draw around him a train befitting his
high rank.

At the suggestion of his wife, whom love made politic, he dispatched
this reply by one of his household, who was charged to hire a superb
mansion, engage servants, purchase magnificent furniture, in short amuse
Olivares by the shew of preparing for the reception of his master and
his suite.

So alarming a command as that which would deprive them of their leader,
quickened the exertions of the confederates: it was necessary to
establish strong parties throughout every province, to gain the
soldiery, to secure the possession of the arsenal, to win over the
keepers of prisons, that all confined for resistance to Spanish tyranny
might be set free; in short, that the whole kingdom might rise at once
in one body, as if by an electric touch, and displace the Vice-Queen
without tumult, and without massacre.

To effect these purposes, required more time than it appeared prudent to
allow at a period like this: for messengers came daily from Spain,
expostulating with the Duke on his disrespectful tardiness.

Pinto, who had secretly and rapidly made the circuit of all the towns
devoted to his master’s interest, at length ventured to pronounce that
the trial might be hazarded.

The regiment of Braganza, he had contrived to get stationed at Elvas and
Olivenza, two frontier fortresses, which may be called the keys of
Portugal; these he intended should form a barrier against the
Spaniards, should any obstacle arise in the kingdom itself, and might
keep them in check till the revolution was completely effected.

Humanely desirous to avoid the effusion of blood, Braganza would not
suffer a step to be indiscreetly taken; and Sebastian exhorted Pinto to
avoid temerity, if he would ensure success without slaughter.

They were yet agitating the subject, when an express from Madrid
demanding the appearance of Braganza before the expiration of six days
under pain of forfeiting his estates, decided the debate, and rendered
immediate action a deed of necessity. Pinto proceeded instantly to
Lisbon, circulated the news through the city, and at midnight assembled
the principal patriots, concerted with them fit measures for securing
the persons of the Vice-Queen and her secretary.

It was agreed that four resolute bands, of a hundred men each, should,
at a given signal, seize upon the four avenues of the palace, while the
Portuguese regiment of cavalry (then quartered in the city) should ride
through the streets, proclaiming Juan the IVth, and calling on the other
citizens to join their party. The archbishop undertook to appear at the
head of all the religious orders, animating the people to take the side
of justice and of national honour; and the artizans, headed by the most
popular and intrepid of their order, were pledged to hold themselves in
readiness to rush out completely armed, and follow the standard of
Braganza.

To every city, and every garrison, hurried some noble or some officer,
all sworn to rise and proclaim Juan the IVth at the same hour. Braganza,
under the pretext of paying his respects to the Vice-Queen, ere he set
out for Spain, removed from Villa Viciosa to a hunting seat opposite
Lisbon, where he waited the event with some perturbation of heart.

Sebastian and Luisa were his companions: awful was the time to
both!--Sebastian saw the fate of his country in the balance,--the lives
and liberties of millions; Luisa beheld a crown and an axe suspended
over the head of him she loved beyond all former love. Braganza was the
most tranquil, and the most confident, for he knew his own
disinterestedness, and trusted to receive the blessing which virtuous
motives almost warrant man to expect from a just and approving Being.

The night fixed upon by the confederate patriots now arrived; it was the
sixth of December, an hour before that which was to decide the fortunes
of Braganza. Pinto came to receive his master’s latest instructions, and
to conjure him not to delay providing for his safety by means of a
vessel which his careful friends had secured in case of failure, should
Providence destine Spain to triumph.

As he embraced his zealous adherent, Braganza whispered in a low, but
firm voice, “I go to a throne, or to death: would you that I should
outlive the brave friends that must have fallen, ere flight be my only
refuge? No Pinto! my resolution was taken long since: I rise or fall
with Portugal.”

Luisa heard not this declaration, but her eye caught the strong beam of
Braganza’s, as it flashed an answer to the approving look of Sebastian,
and she felt that her husband’s soul dilated with some great resolve.
Her heart dared not question him; it dared not question itself:--alas!
to imagine for an instant, that he, in whom all joy, all delight, were
summed up, that he who was indeed her earthly god, should be ravished
from her fond arms, and doomed to the death of a rebel, was to think
herself into frenzy. She hastily dismissed the image, and smiling
through tears, gave her hand to Pinto, who respectfully kissing it,
uttered some inspiriting words, and disappeared.

Almost total silence followed the departure of Pinto. At length the
clock striking eight, told them that “the work was begun.” Sebastian
started up at the first stroke of the bell, but immediately sitting down
again, he stroked back his grey hair with a trembling hand, and said,
sighing, “These white locks, and this boyish eagerness, are not
well-suited, my children! we think our characters changed, when the
change is only in our circumstances: for thirty long years, scarcely any
event has moved me strongly, and now I am all weak agitation.”

“Hurry not yourself, dear father!” said Luisa, “by giving that name to
honourable feeling: as the soul draws nearer to her divine source, ought
not her powers to brighten, her sensibilities to increase? I see no
virtue in apathy.”

Sebastian turned on her a grateful and gratified look: Braganza spoke
not; his thoughts were so entirely absorbed by one momentous object,
that he neither heard nor saw what passed around him.

Suddenly confused sounds proceeded from the distant city, shouts,
shrieks, the clamour of alarm bells, the trampling of horses, the beat
of drums, proclaimed the confusion which reigned throughout Lisbon;
amongst the uproar, Braganza listened for the sound of artillery; none
was heard; at this circumstance his hopes expanded, and he exclaimed
aloud, “All then goes well!”

Pale with anxiety, yet bright with heroism, Luisa sat by the side of her
venerable grandsire, alternately returning the agitated pressure of his
hand, or the inquiring glance of his eye; their beating hearts kept time
with each other; but as they looked on the inspiring countenance of
Braganza, apprehension gave way to hope, and hope to security.

The signal of success at last was heard; a cannon fired from the
citadel, announced that Lisbon was in the hands of the patriots, that
the Duke of Braganza was proclaimed King.

At this welcome sound, the transported Luisa threw herself into the arms
of her lord; she intended to salute him by his new title, but love alone
spoke, and half fainting with sweet emotion, she could but murmur out,
“Juan, my dear, dear husband.”

Braganza strained her to his breast, his fine countenance all glowing
with patriot joy, then eagerly snatching the hand of the majestic old
man, he exclaimed,--“Hasten! hasten, my father! that is the call for
me,--our country, our beloved country is unchained.”

A deeper flush illumined his face as he spoke, and the ardour of his
feelings burst forth in tears. It was not usual for Braganza to weep,
and these tears gave testimony to the noble source whence they flowed.

Yielding to the impulse of his hand, Sebastian and Luisa hastened with
him out of the house; his servants had already prepared every thing for
their instant conveyance to Lisbon; they crossed over, and entered the
city.

Sebastian had followed, pale, silent, and uncertain; so many reverses,
so many unforeseen shocks had assaulted him at periods of his greatest
prosperity, that now he hesitated to believe too soon, or to trust the
evidence of other senses than his own.

The gates of Lisbon were thrown open; they were crowded with armed
citizens, wearing the colours of the Braganza’s on their caps and
scarfs; the banners of Portugal waved from every public building, the
convents and the houses were lighted up, and the whole city resounded
with the cry of “Long live Juan the IVth, King of Portugal and of the
Indies.”

Pinto met his new sovereign at the entrance of the palace: he fell at
his feet, and his manly countenance was overflowed with tears; he
attempted to speak, but could not. The archbishop, the clergy, the
nobles, and the other patriots, hailed their King with loud and repeated
acclamations.

“Where is the Duchess of Mantua?” asked Braganza, pausing, ere he passed
the threshold, “My friends, let her be respected, and honourably
conducted beyond the frontier. No blood I hope will flow.”

“One victim only!” exclaimed a bold young man, starting forward, and
advancing a sword yet red with blood. “This sword (be it enrolled and
sainted for the deed) searched the heart of Vasconcellos. I found him
hidden in the Vice-Queen’s chamber: I drew the quivering villain forth,
and at the same moment a hundred weapons was in his breast. The tyrant
is dead! I cried, let liberty live, and Don Juan King of Portugal! At
that cry, all Lisbon echoed a shout of triumph, the Spaniards dropt
their useless arms, and the contest was ended.”

“The Duchess of Mantua has been removed to Xabregas, Sire,” said Pinto,
who now found voice to speak. “The citadel, the arsenal, the fleet, all
is your Majesty’s. Vasconcellos alone has perished, and his crimes
called for the vengeance of heaven.”

Braganza, bowed in token of assent, ashamed of the momentary pang which
the death even of one person caused to his humane heart: he then turned
to the surrounding multitude, and with an air at once full of
thankfulness and of dignity, acknowledged the services of his friends;
promised love and protection to his people; and recommending to them
all, mercy towards their unresisting enemies, retired into the palace.

While these things were transacting, Sebastian appeared to have been
standing in a trance: he now moved slowly on supported between the young
King and Queen, who anxiously watched his varying looks.

They entered the state apartment: their august companion would have sat
down on the first chair he reached, but Braganza gracefully checking
him, led him from it, and placed him, ere he was aware, on the throne
itself. Sebastian bowed his head with a divine smile; his heart was
agitated, was oppressed beyond utterance; for the visions of his youth
were present here.

This throne, these royal banners, these armorial trophies which
witnessed the heroic exploits of his ancestors, those illustrious
portraits covering the walls, the very consciousness that he was in his
own palace, and that even so, another prince was its master, all united
to shake his frame with emotions beyond its strength. But regret mixed
not with the sentiment: it was a solemn and an awful fulness of
contentment.

He looked down and beheld the amiable Juan with his lovely consort,
kneeling before him: their train were left in the outer chamber, and
Pinto alone remained. Beyond the palace walls, the city still rung with
shouts of “Long live our King!” and still the proud discharge of
ordnance shook the buildings around.

Sebastian’s eyes wandered over the illuminated countenances of his grand
children, with an expression of celestial satisfaction; yet he was
mortal pale, and his hands, as he laid them on the heads of Juan and
Luisa, were damp and chilling. “Give me that babe!” he said, after
having blessed the parents. Luisa laid it on his arms.

Sebastian received the boy with trembling avidity:--as he bent to kiss
his infant cheek, his silver locks sweeping over the eyelids of the
little Prince, awoke him, and he looked smiling up. A nobler smile (for
it was radiant with the immortal spirit) lighted up the face of the aged
King, he leaned back in the royal chair, he looked at the son of
Gaspar, then at Braganza and Luisa, cast a last glance at their child,
thought of them he was hastening to rejoin, and fixing his eyes on
heaven, he feebly exclaimed, “Die, die! thou hast lived long enough.”

His eyes closed as he spoke, and Luisa starting up to catch her falling
babe, discovered that the soul had indeed ascended to happiness and its
God!


FINIS.


J. M‘Creery, Printer,
Black-Horse Court, London.


Typographical errors corrected by the etext transcriber:

the paroxym is=> the paroxysm is {pg 25}

has supplicating whine=> his supplicating whine {pg 30}

would be uncontrolable=> would be uncontrollable {pg 33}

the gaurantee on the part=> the guarantee on the part {pg 41}

as a deposite for=> as a deposit for {pg 47}

direcly in front=> directly in front {pg 62}

seating his exhaused=> seating his exhausted {pg 144}

had directed Guiseppe => had directed Giuseppe {pg 160}

take a dicisive part=> take a decisive part {pg 163}

affected reunnciation=> affected renunciation {pg 189}

To the prison del Ovo=> To the prison Del Ovo {pg 191}

some of the groupe=> some of the group {pg 237}

displayed the amour=> displayed the armour {pg 239}

its precints=> its precincts {pg 245}

more distintly=> more distinctly {pg 263}

base sensualiy=> base sensuality {pg 297}




*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Don Sebastian : or, The house of the Braganza; vol. 4" ***

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