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.