DON SEBASTIAN;
OR,
THE HOUSE OF BRAGANZA.
J. M‘CREERY, Printer,
Black-horse Court, London.
DON SEBASTIAN;
OR,
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,
OR
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.