vivacity, “I feel now, and for the first time in my life, that I can
admire, I can prize, I can love, perhaps; but you must not expect me to
renounce equality with the object. I must have heart for heart, I must
excite as many tender apprehensions as I feel, or--”
“And who are you, that can never speak without an _I must_:” exclaimed
Gonsalva, laughing excessively--“but I have not time to hear your
answer, leave me I say--we may perhaps meet again, and then--I hear
footsteps--farewell count.”--She turned abruptly into a side path, and
Sebastian desirous of remaining unknown, hastened out of the domain.
He was no sooner at a distance from the villa Vimiosa, than he began to
muse over the confession of admiration into which he had been hurried,
and to dwell with extreme pleasure on the concluding words of Gonsalva,
as they certainly intimated a wish to see him again. In less than an
hour, a complete set of new ideas had taken possession of his mind: the
conversation with Don Antonio, and the wish of his people, blending
with the image of Donna Gonsalva, awakened in his bosom an emotion
hitherto unknown; but an emotion too sweet and subtle for rejection.
The adventure itself had the charm of novelty; as for the first time in
his life he beheld a young and lovely woman, who so far from dreaming
of his rank, believed herself his superior. Amongst the ladies of
the court he had seen beauty, but it was beauty divested of its most
touching graces, the play of innocent freedom: he had never met with
one who did not appear emulous to attract the King’s notice; and as he
possessed too much delicacy to bear the thought of owing any thing to
an exalted station, he despised and avoided their homage.
Occupied solely with the romantic reveries of an amiable, though erring
ambition, he had hitherto felt without reasoning upon the subject, that
he had no time for love; conscious that whenever he yielded to that
sentiment it would influence his happiness entirely. Here, now, was the
only opportunity that might ever present itself for acquiring a female
heart, without the hateful aid of royalty; here was an opportunity of
gratifying his people without mortifying his own feelings. The prospect
of arms and victories, no longer filled the void of his capacious soul,
and how could he better console himself for this, than by trying to
accommodate his private inclinations with those of his subjects?
The extreme beauty and graceful gaiety of Donna Gonsalva delighted the
senses of Sebastian; he hoped to find her equally charming in mind
and heart: above all he passionately desired to make her love him.
With the inperiousness of a King, he resolved to reign absolute over
her affections, to have his power avowed and submitted to, or not to
reign at all: he determined to be preferred as Don Fabian, before he
should be known as Sebastian. Every thing promised success to this
romantic resolution; and the more he reflected on it the more he was
confirmed in the intention of concealing his real rank from Gonsalva;
as she lived much secluded, and at some miles distance from Crato,
discovery was unlikely, besides which, the clandestine nature of their
intercourse rendered enquiries on her part almost impossible.
Satisfied with these mental arrangements, the King rode gaily home,
forgetful of the foolish vow he had taken; treading lightly on the
delightful precincts of Love, whose first prospects are like “the
opening of Heaven’s everlasting gates, on golden hinges turning.”--
He finished the day amongst his young nobles, with uncommon animation.
The prior of Crato was expected the next morning: Sebastian saw day
dawn, after passing a night of sweet wakefulness, during which the
image of Donna Gonsalva had floated perpetually before him. Eager to
behold her in reality, ere the return of his cousin, the King withdrew
early from his attending lords, and took the road to Vimiosa.
As he was proceeding to enter the path through the thicket, he saw
Gonsalva at a distance, in another part of the domain, walking on a
terrace, cut on the side of a hill, that overlooked the house; he
hastened thither, but perceiving that she had a female companion,
retreated and placed himself under the boughs of a tree. The ladies
turned, and walked towards him: as they approached, his heart beat with
an anxiety that surprized himself; _if Gonsalva should not see him_!
he shook the branches of the tree with a trembling hand, at which
she started and put aside her veil. The same bright glow of pleasure
irradiated her effulgent beauty, the same smile that had charmed away
the reason of Sebastian, again transported him; but she dropped her
veil, and passed on without speaking.
After taking several turns together, the ladies separated: the aunt
of Gonsalva descended a flight of steps over which the trees hung so
thick, as soon to exclude her from sight, while her fair niece at
first advanced towards the grove which concealed Sebastian, and then
capriciously struck into a path sloping directly from him.
The impetuous monarch disturbed at the thought of her departure,
sprang forward, intreating that she would stay. Gonsalva half turned
round--“So, you are here again my good friend?”--she said, in a tone
of careless gaiety which her sparkling looks contradicted,--“are you
come to teach me another lesson out of your new catechism of female
subjection?--let me tell you that air of authority that you have, is
abominably provoking, and I should like vastly to break its neck: one
grain of humility would make you--not absolutely hateful.”
“You shall find me humbler to you, than to any other being in the
world;” replied Sebastian smiling, “if you will but strive to think
of me with tenderness.” Gonsalva laughed. “What a pleasant madman
chance has introduced me to!--upon what do you ground these extravagant
pretensions? pretensions too, so insolently urged! did you never read
the Spanish author, who calls _Love, that courteous affront offered
to beauty_?--prithee con over his definition and profit by it. Think
of you with tenderness! why, my presumptuous friend, if I think of
you at all in any way ’tis more than you should expect. Think of you
with tenderness, when all I know of you is that you have a tolerable
figure, which sillier women than myself may have persuaded you is
irresistible!--A potentate could not woo with more authority.”
The accidentally penetrating glance of her eyes while speaking these
words, so confounded Sebastian, that it made the blood mantle on his
cheeks, she laughed again. “Come, this is the colouring of penitence,
so I must not chide you any more. Never let me hear a presumptuous word
breathed, consent to be docile as a lamb, and I may condescend to be so
much interested in you as to ask you, who you are? whence you come! and
whither you go?”
During this discourse Donna Gonsalva had entered a path leading off the
terrace, and they were now advancing through an olive plantation which
effectually secured them from observation. Sebastian was encouraged by
her arch freedom: “Whence I come, and whither I go, fair Gonsalva,” he
said, “matters not; what I am, you shall know. I am a soldier: one
that hitherto had no other passion than glory; one that never yet bowed
either heart or knee to beauty. If you see honour and honesty in my
countenance, believe me when I swear that neither my rank nor fortune
are unworthy of the count Vimiosa’s heiress: but ask me no further;
imperious circumstances render me mysterious. Suffer me to see you,
suffer me to attempt winning _your_ heart, and losing _my own_, and
then,”--“O ye saints!” interrupted Gonsalva, “what excess of gallantry!
So--you have not _lost your_ heart yet! but wait most obsequiously
for the surrender of mine! I protest count, or duke, or whatever you
are, you have a very taking way of making love! This cloven foot
of arbitrary insolence is for ever shewing itself: I have a shrewd
notion you are one of our young King’s attendants, and have caught
his character?” “And what is the King’s character?” asked Sebastian
smiling. “An excellent one for a King, doubtless,” replied Gonsalva.
“He thinks of nothing but rule and dominion, breathes nothing but war
and devastation, and would fancy himself _un-kinged_ if he were to
yield an _iota_ to a woman. All the court ladies love him mortally, and
hate him mortally: they are charmed by his accomplishments, but piqued
at his coldness. I have heard some of them say so repeatedly. Give him
the world to reign over, and he would not care if there was not a woman
in it.”
Sebastian did not reply: he was momentarily lost in rumination upon
the injustice done to his actions by mistaking their motives. It was
evident that Gonsalva had learned his character from report, and spoke
therefore the prevailing opinion. After a pause he said, “I have been
told that Don Sebastian young as he is, cannot be justly taxed with a
thirst for mere power; he is _said_ to be actuated by zeal for our holy
faith.”
“_You know_ it perhaps?” rejoined Gonsalva playfully. “Come, come,
confess that you are one of his court. I hear his majesty is at Crato
with Don Antonio, and of course some of his lords must be in attendance
on him.”
“Well then,” replied Sebastian, “I may frankly own that I came with the
King, and must return with him to Lisbon. My visits here are secret;
Don Sebastian has always expressed such disdain at lovers, that if he
knew me capable of humbling myself to such a merciless tyrant as your
fair self, I fear he would blush for my altered sentiments. Allow me to
hope, charming Gonsalva, that you will permit me to see you here again
at this hour to-morrow? The King will soon return to Lisbon, and then I
shall see you no more.”
Sebastian pronounced the last words with a sigh, and anxiously looked
on the heavenly features of Gonsalva for an expression of answering
regret: those heavenly features were as usual brilliant with delight;
her heart did not appear touched by the intimation of this separation.
“Do you see that tower yonder?” she asked, pointing to a part of the
house which rose above some trees--“my apartments are there: under the
tower-window passes a neglected path half choaked with shrubs, where
if you chuse to ramble and take the chance of seeing me, and being
noticed, I shall not command you away. A short excursion by moonlight
will do you no harm: but mark me--no serenading.”
“Then it is at night I am to expect the happiness of seeing you?”
“Have I not told you, not to _expect_ any thing? if you won’t consent
to take even trifles as unlooked-for favors, you will lose my
friendship. I _will_ be absolute in my way; a very counterpart of your
royal master. Fare you well, Don Fabian, if you should miss seeing me
at my window, take this as a complete adieu: and, do you hear, when you
return to Lisbon, do set about curing both yourself and the King, of
your abominable insolence.”
Away flew the volatile beauty with the grace of a nymph, leaving
Sebastian pierced with pains which he dreaded to analyze; too certain
they were occasioned by her seeming indifference. Something like
resentment swelled his proud heart as he recalled the tenderness of his
parting manner, and the carelessness of hers: he felt as if he had been
duped; and execrated himself for having yielded even momentarily to a
weakness which had thus sunk him into the play-thing of a coquet. To
have gained gently upon her affections, and fanned an infant fire with
the softest breath of respectful love, had been the aim of his wishes;
but to worship an idol without a heart, feed an inhuman deity with
groans and tears, to dote on what he could not esteem, was a meanness
he scorned.
“You _have_ seen me for the last time, insensible Gonsalva!” he
exclaimed, as turning from the view of the tower, he rushed towards
the mountains.
Vexed at himself, and irritated with disappointment, he rode to Crato
in a mood that clouded his physiognomy. The prior was waiting his
return: Sebastian scarcely noticing him, seized a bundle of dispatches
sent from one of his ministers, and began to read them eagerly. Don
Antonio ventured a jocular remark upon his disturbed countenance.
“I am in an ill-humour cousin,” replied the King, “in a rage at my
own conduct; and at this moment could tear up the roots of earth
itself.”--Antonio expressed some astonishment and more curiosity:
Sebastian declined satisfying it, adding, “I have quite enough to bear,
cousin, when I have my own contempt to encounter, without seeking the
addition of yours. Let this squall of temper have its way--for heaven’s
sake talk with me of business, news, nonsense, any thing--change
the current of my thoughts if possible.--What said Alcoçava and the
cardinal to my refusal of the Frenchwoman?”
“Since you require me to change the current of your thoughts, and
thus lead to the subject of love and marriage, I may conclude the
mischief-making God has had no hand in raising the present storm?”--Don
Antonio spoke this with a forced smile, and not without hesitation; yet
he fixed his eyes earnestly upon those of his cousin: the ingenuous
countenance of the latter was immediately crimsoned over; he turned
away, uttering an exclamation of contempt, coupled with the idea of
love, and abruptly entered on another topic. The prior surprized and
disturbed, appeared somewhat hurt at the King’s reserve, for he became
thoughtful, and supported conversation with less spirit than was
usual with him; but at length this mutual restraint wore off, and the
remainder of the day was spent in all the freedom of friendship.
Sebastian’s resolution to avoid Gonsalva, lasted rather longer than
his indignation. By degrees the flattering parts of her manner came
oftener to his memory than those gay airs of indifference which
had mortified his too sanguine nature: the agitating blush, the
hope-awakening smile haunted his day-dreams; sometimes he saw her
in the visions of the night, yielding him one of those tresses like
the morn, which shaded her ivory neck, and half-averting a cheek now
glowing with the sensibility of a melting heart.--He awoke, but the
seducing image still swam before him.
Sebastian then revolved the probability of his having judged hastily
and harshly: delicacy alone, or love distrustful of its empire, might
have dictated that sprightly carelessness which had shocked him: though
she had said they might not meet again, she did not perhaps think so,
nor mean him to seek for her in vain at her window; would it not be
well then, to make another essay to observe the effect of his absence?
the youthful lover decided in the affirmative.
Being unexpectedly summoned by state affairs to his capital, he
determined to make a last trial of Gonsalva’s sentiments, by visiting
her on the night before his departure. When that night came, he excused
himself from the amusements of his courtiers, and leaving Don Antonio
chained down to a game of chess, he glided away unobserved, and was
soon conveyed by his swiftest horse to the domain of Vimiosa.
A soft moonlight distinctly discovered the spot to which Gonsalva had
directed him six days before. He saw the steep romantic bank shading
the road towards which he now turned his steps: as he trod it lightly,
the smell of orange flowers and wild thyme, came mingling from the
hills and the gardens. While his eyes were fixed on the windows of the
tower, where perhaps Gonsalva slept, some low tender sounds caught his
ear: he listened, but they had ceased; the next moment they returned
again; drawing gently nearer he found they proceeded from a lute which
some one was touching at intervals with an unsteady hand, another
pause succeeded: he stood still, and scarcely respired; for now the
voice of Gonsalva was heard singing this canzonet.
“Hast thou, a sleepless pillow prest,
And vainly, vainly sought for rest?
Ah! say, have sighs and tears confess’d
That love was kindling in thy breast?
Alas! if not, why dost thou fly
To haunt my gate, my path, mine eye,
Still looking as thou wanderest nigh
A world of fond idolatry?
O cease, if vanity should be
The only aim that leads to me;
O cease, while yet my heart is free
From hope, and fear, and love, and thee!”
Rapt, enchanted, Sebastian stood listening to this celestial voice: its
thrilling tones revolving in continual sweetness but endless variety,
were like the melodious warblings of a nightingale. The serene Heavens,
the resplendent moonlight, the fragrance of the earth, the transport
and the gratitude of his own heart, all conspired to heighten its
magical effect. Donna Gonsalva had evidently chosen this song because
it pourtrayed a situation like her own; this thought finished the
intoxication of Sebastian, and he vehemently exclaimed, “Angel!”
At this expression, Gonsalva dropped her lute, and flying forward,
uttered a cry of pleasure. “Ah, is it you, ungrateful Fabian!” she
cried: her beauty and her emotion completed the conquest over her
sovereign. She was without a veil, and he now beheld for the first
time, all the charms of that matchless face: traces of tears were on it.
Scarcely conscious of the extreme joy he betrayed, the king uttered a
passionate expression at this visible mark of sensibility; and forcing
his way up the bank through shrubs and roots of trees, got sufficiently
near the object of his tenderness to kiss her hand from the window.
The night breeze blowing among his fine hair, and the moon beams
falling on his white forehead, gave lustre and animation to the noblest
countenance that ever yet united sublimity with beauty: Donna Gonsalva
evidently beheld him with admiration.
Endeavouring to recover from the effects of her surprize, she attempted
to answer his ardent assurances of repentance and gratitude, by
light railleries: She acknowledged that she had been in tears, but
would not confess that his absence was their cause: Sometimes she
spoke in a tone of touching sensibility, then suddenly flew off into
sallies of gaiety: her air and her words were at variance. Sebastian,
though little skilled in the science of woman’s heart, could not help
perceiving the whimsical inconsistencies of Gonsalva: while her voice
fluttered, her complexion glowed, her eyes sparkled, she persisted in
assuring him that he had never once entered her thoughts since they
parted, and that even now, if his ridiculous speeches did not amuse her
excessively, she would not stay a second moment at the window.
It was in vain she asserted this: the delighted lover assured her
in return, that the stratagem of insincerity was fruitless. Since
he was resolved to win the heart, she seemed determined not to
surrender.--“And if you were to take it by storm, (as I perceive that
is your mode of conquering,)” replied Gonsalva, “what would it avail?
You know, daughters are not allowed to dispose of themselves: I have a
father, Don Fabian, and it is from his hand I must take my husband.”
Sebastian gazed on her enamoured, smiling with the consciousness of
sovereign power: “Let us not talk of fathers, fair Gonsalva; were I
beloved, I should fear nothing: what will not a joyful and ardent
passion accomplish? Do not deny me then the hope of having interested
you?--I must quit Crato to-morrow; the King is recalled by important
business, and I cannot remain behind.”
“O! how much you are in love!” exclaimed Gonsalva, with an air of
tender reproach, “you profess to live only in my sight, and yet you can
leave me merely for the sake of preserving an empty honor about the
King!”
The gratified Sebastian protested that nothing but a sense of duty
could make him forego the delight of these stolen interviews, which he
would hasten to renew; promising soon to return. “Till that blissful
moment, let this remind you of Fabian,” said he, (unloosing from his
neck a brilliant cross of the order of Christus which had hitherto been
concealed by his vest.) “Let this _assure_ you, that your lover is
noble.”
“And if he were not”--exclaimed Gonsalva, stopping and ending the
sentence with a tender sigh. The triumph of Sebastian was now complete:
“and if he were not, charming Gonsalva, you would not cease to bid him
hope?--Dare I flatter myself that such was the sentiment your modesty
deprived me of?”--Gonsalva bowed her fair neck without speaking, while
rapture sparkled in her eyes: the King lightly threw over her head the
embroidered ribbon by which the order was suspended, and when he did
so, lifted some of the tresses of her hair to his lips. “Might I bear
away with me one of these glittering ringlets!--Surely you will not
deny me the precious gift?”
A faint denial only served to stimulate the young monarch, Gonsalva
refused, and chided, and jested, but yielded at last.
At parting, the coy beauty would not utter a confession of regret,
though she suffered the sentiment to appear in her swimming eyes.
Sebastian was perhaps more enamoured by this conduct: the difficulty of
subduing so haughty or so delicate a heart, gave additional pleasure
to the attempt; and the spirit of domination then mixed with the tender
desires of love. He returned to Crato with his golden prize, believing
himself a conqueror when he was in reality a slave.
The vivacity of Sebastian’s feelings were in proportion to their
novelty: he loved for the first time, therefore he loved with his whole
soul; and the idea of being beloved in return, _for his own sake_,
finished the enchantment.
During their rapid journey to Lisbon, he disclosed the romantic secret
to his cousin.
Though Don Antonio was evidently too discreet for the indulgence of
ill-timed raillery or unpalatable rebuke, the King perceived that his
imprudent attachment surprized and shocked him: the prior’s florid
complexion changed frequently, and he spoke with a trepidation unusual
to him. Donna Gonsalva’s comparatively inferior birth, was in his
opinion an insurmountable objection; but he forbore to press other
arguments upon his sovereign, whose suddenly inflamed looks warned him
to beware. Having by a strong effort conquered his excessive surprize,
which secret circumstances rendered almost insufferable, he gradually
acquiesced in the passionate reasoning of his kinsman, and began to
assist him with plans for the completion of these new wishes.
To facilitate the King’s interviews with Donna Gonsalva, and yet
conceal the affair from his court, it was requisite that some plausible
excuse should be found for his visiting Crato again: Antonio therefore
offered to return almost immediately to his priory, feign sickness
there, and intreat the society of his gracious cousin. This offer was
accepted: Don Antonio scarcely refreshed himself in Lisbon ere he set
out once more for Crato: the King remained behind, and for the first
time in his life gave audience to his ministers with a divided mind,
after dispatching the various state affairs for which he had returned
to his capital, he waited impatiently the prior’s summons, and shortly
receiving it, hastened, with a very small train, to the hunting lodge.
The interviews of the lovers were now regular, and every interview
heightened the young monarch’s passion. His fair mistress stimulated
this ardor by just as much condescension as excited without satisfying
hope; acquiring at each unexpected act of kindness fresh power over his
peace. Sebastian gradually lost that self-command upon which he piqued
himself, and often found that he bartered some of his independence for
a smile or a kiss: but he had learned the art of silencing his own
reproofs; and constantly declared to his cousin that he knew himself
beloved to excess, or he would not stoop to acts which otherwise would
be mean submissions.
At length, the moment so long panted after, arrived; Gonsalva one
evening pronounced the tender confession of reciprocal preference, and
was rewarded the next instant by an avowal of her lover’s sovereign
rank.