evening before, on the death of Philip II. and ere Sebastian reached
Messina, had gone for Spain with his only son Don Hyppolito, in order to
appear at the first council of their new sovereign. This circumstance,
though it robbed Sebastian of that Nobleman’s advice, was yet to be
considered as replete with advantages, since in quality of counsellor to
the new monarch, he might add his influence to the Portuguese party,
when England and the other allies should openly proclaim in his favor.
Eager to introduce her protectress, Blanche now hastened away for that
purpose; she returned, preceded by the Duchess.
Her resemblance to Don Emanuel deeply affected Sebastian, he kissed her
hand in silence, and as he lifted up his head again, the Duchess saw
that tears were on his cheek; interpreting their cause, she too, turned
aside to hide rising emotion.
It is only a half-sorrow which seeks to display itself: true grief, like
true virtue, courts the shade.
Not a heart there, but was full of De Castro’s memory, yet not a lip
trusted itself to breathe his name.
The conversation flowed less on the past, than the future. Sebastian
found that the Duchess possessed an acute and penetrating mind: she had
entered into all the views of her brother and husband; and though the
latter had never consented to act in rebellion against his own lawful
sovereign, he was forward to avow his abhorrence of usurpation, and to
prove it, by entering his protest against a detention of the Portuguese
crown, should Philip refuse to resign it on the appearance of Sebastian.
She stated these principles with perfect candour, professing no more in
her husband’s name, than she knew him earnest to perform. She offered
Sebastian the protection of her house, and the use of the revenues
attached to it; for the family of Medina Sidonia was the richest in
Spain, and this Sicilian estate made but a small part of their wealth.
Impressed by her generous conduct, both Sebastian and Kara Aziek renewed
those protestations of eternal gratitude which they had first uttered,
while acknowledging all they owed to her for her maternal care of their
daughter, but they neither required nor accepted any additional favors
beyond that of shelter for awhile.
Happy were the days that now flowed away at the villa Rosolia; in the
enjoyment of life’s most hallowed affections, the parents and the child
refused to allow any moment of their time to distracting cares; they
were all absorbed in each other.
Gaspar might be said to hover over their domestic circle; for his
spirit was always with them, though their inequality of rank rendered
the discretion of distant respect an act of necessity. At some periods
however, this restraint was amply compensated. Innocent stratagems were
devised by which he had opportunities of conversing whole hours with his
noble friends; and though his wife was not entrusted with the secret of
Blanche’s connexion with these extraordinary strangers, she knew them to
be his former master and mistress, and wondered not at their
graciousness to her husband.
Letters from Spain and Venice changed the calm aspect of villa
Rosolia.--Medina Sidonia wrote, that he found the new King well-inclined
to lighten the burthens which his predecessor had imposed on the
Portuguese, nay, that he was aware of the danger of driving them to
despair, and the policy of conciliation; and that he had listened with
attention to Medina’s suggestion of placing at the head of their
government their first noble, the Duke of Braganza. This suggestion had
been hazarded to try Philip’s pulse, and from the moderation with which
he received it, Medina sanguinely concluded, that he would not attempt
retaining the crown when the legitimate owner was proved to be living.
Signor Morosini’s packet contained more substantial good fortune: it
accompanied an invitation from the Doge, for Don Sebastian to repair
immediately to Venice, where he promised (on certain conditions,
advantageous for the republic, and not inimical to the interests of
Portugal) to protect him against Spain, to procure the assistance of
other Italian states, and if supported by England and France, to take up
arms in his cause.
Among the motives for gratitude to Don Sebastian which the Venetian
republic felt and acknowledged, was a very considerable loan of money
which she had borrowed at a time of imminent want, and which she had not
since been able to return. Sebastian had cancelled the debt; and he now
received this forwardness to assert his rights, as an honourable proof
that political virtue had not abandoned the world.
A list of illustrious names was subscribed to this letter: he well
remembered many of their signatures, that had been inscribed on official
papers at the period alluded to, and no longer doubting either the
sincerity or the success of Signor Morosini, he once more gave the reins
to his sanguine nature, and believed himself justified in trusting to
the honor of the Venetians.
This seemed the crisis of his fate, the hour that was to determine
whether Portugal should be emancipated, or doomed to eternal slavery.
The bold act of suddenly claiming his rights from the bosom of an
independent state, would fix the wavering inclinations of France and
England; Holland had never retracted her good faith; and thus supported,
Sebastian believed himself called on to resolve decisively.
It was important for him to secure the friendly offices of some powerful
personage in his own dominions, and to whom could he look with such
certainty, as to his kinsman the duke of Braganza?
This nobleman was that Theodosius, Duke of Barcelos, who at eleven years
old had borne a royal standard over the field of Alcazar: he was now the
only representative of their ancient house. To him, (as one dear to his
recollection, and well acquainted with his hand-writing) Sebastian
intended to address a confidential letter, informing him of his
existence, and of his determination to repair immediately to Venice,
whence he should send a summons to Philip for the restoration of his
dominions.
Gaspar eagerly offered to become the bearer of this important dispatch,
fearful that any messenger less aware of its momentous nature, might
fail of delivering it, or loiter on his way. Gaspar’s long absence from
Portugal persuaded him that his person would be worn out of the memory
of all but his most familiar associates, and to none of them, except his
sisters, was his return from Barbary known. Besides the motive of duty,
he pleaded his wish of once more beholding his relations, and to the
force of such a plea rather than to his reasoning, Sebastian reluctantly
conceded the permission he sought.
The letter for Braganza was given to Gaspar, who prepared for instant
departure from Messina.
“This is a time of joy, honored Sire!” exclaimed he, as he knelt to
receive the parting benediction of his master, “why then that serious
and almost sad look? I go with such a glow of hope in this heart of
mine, that it convinces me Providence ordains Gaspar Ribeiro to be one
of the favored instruments in the great event we anticipate. Give me a
farewel smile, my beloved liege! or I shall fear you doubt my
discretion.”
Sebastian gave the smile which his faithful servant solicited, but his
heart smiled not, for the recollection of De Castro’s death came over
him, and he shuddered to think that even of this friend also accident
might deprive him.
The departure of Gaspar was followed by preparations for that of
Sebastian: his resolution was taken; and not even the fantastic fears of
Kara Aziek (whose courage failed her when the moment drew near in which
they must wholly depend on the sincerity of Venice) could make him
shrink from the bold experiment he was about to hazard.
“Better to sink at once,” he said to himself, “than to continue thus
struggling for life, in a stormy ocean of perpetual vicissitudes: the
most precious things are not precious, unless held with a security of
possession. I will lose or I will gain all!”
This determination, as it rather endangered his own security, than
involved that of others, was equally the effect of reason as of
feeling: he was no longer able to dwell in obscurity, since half Europe
knew of his existence, and should he let this favorable crisis escape
him, Spain would have time to win away his adherents, and might finally
end by extirpating him and his race.
Again, therefore, must he repose his only child on the affection of the
Duchess Medina Sidonia. Adopted by her, and known but as the offspring
of Don Emanuel De Castro, should Providence ordain her parents to perish
or to fail, she might pursue her blameless life in retirement, striving
to forget that she had ever dreamed of power or of distinction.
Kara Aziek felt the urgency of this reasoning too strongly not to
acquiesce in its decision: the safety of Blanche was far dearer to her
than her own gratification; but the lover of her youth, the tender
friend and long-endeared companion of her maturity, had claims on her
heart which not even her child could weaken.
“I share thy fate, my Sebastian!” she said, as he spoke to her of
remaining in Sicily, “time has not changed thy Aziek’s soul: dost thou
believe her less thine, or more capable of outliving thy loss, than when
she drooped for thee to the tomb in Africa?--Ah, know her still!”
“I do, I do know thee still!” exclaimed Sebastian, with an overflowing
heart,--“and it is only my anxious care for thy safety, that makes me
apprehend any danger where I expect none for myself. We go then,
together, My Aziek! May the Almighty grant that this may be the last,
the decisive struggle!”
CHAP. IV.
Prosperous as were the views before them, Sebastian and Kara Aziek did
not leave their Blanche a second time without a trying conflict; but
they left her in the hands of another mother, and a short voyage wafted
them into scenes of most momentous interest.
Signor Morosini received them at his mansion in Venice, with a vivacity
of joy: and the Doge evinced his respect, by paying the homage of a
first visit to his illustrious supplicant.
In this interview the terms of their future alliance were specified and
fixed, and the mode of their proceedings settled. Morosini was appointed
to repair immediately to Madrid, with a formal notification to Philip
III. of his royal relation’s existence, he was to assert the identity of
Don Sebastian, and to demand the restitution of Portugal; should Philip
hesitate, he was then empowered to announce the Republic’s intention to
maintain the rights of their ancient ally. Armed with the assurance of
aid from England, France, and the Low Countries, the Venetians feared
not to embark in a cause so ably supported; a sense of recent injuries
from the proud house of Austria, contributed to inflame their zeal.
On the day of Morosini’s departure from Venice, messengers were sent off
for all the different courts in Europe, calling on them to assist in
replacing a brother-monarch. Sebastian wrote with his own hand to Queen
Elizabeth and to Essex, requiring the former to abate her hard
conditions, and to accept any other guarantee for his fidelity to the
engagements she exacted, than his only child.
While these agents were rapidly passing to and fro, the King of
Portugal remained in the house of Morosini, not yet formally declared
before the senate, (because Morosini’s presence would be necessary for
his acknowledgment,) but in private implicitly trusted, and honorably
attended by every senator.
The protestant powers had already replied favorably to the letters of
Sebastian, and dispatched their representative to the court of Madrid,
testifying their conviction of his identity, and making his restoration
the basis of a general peace: no decisive answer was yet come from that
court.
Morosini wrote, that Philip, and his ministers of course, rested their
delay on the question of identity; and willing to consider Sebastian as
an impostor, were then endeavouring to find him so: he advised an
instant appeal to the Pontiff of Rome, whose investigation of the truth
or falsehood of this wonderful event would be guided by pious motives
alone, therefore to his decision the King of Spain must submit.
At this suggestion, Sebastian felt called upon to reveal his bosom
principles; after explicitly detailing them, and pledging his solemn
oath never to let them interfere with his conduct in public affairs, he
declared his resolution to live and to die a Protestant, whether as a
King or as a fugitive. He abjured the authority of Rome, protesting his
willingness to meet the scrutiny of the Pope in common with other
temporal Princes, but never to consider him as his superior in spiritual
things.
Here was a stay to the forward zeal of Venice! the Doge receded with
terrified precipitancy at this unforeseen avowal, and the reply of
Morosini was full of dismay and persuasion!
Clouds began once more to gather over the fortunes of Sebastian; his
warmest Italian friends avoided his society, or employed their zeal
only in vain arguments to induce him to recant those doctrines which
they deemed abominable, and which they dared not pollute themselves by
hearing!
The Pope’s legate finding exhortations and promises totally useless, at
length pronounced the sentence of reprobation in his master’s name; and
threatened the inhabitants of Venice with excommunication if they
continued to uphold him, whom he proclaimed to be a devil, or a
magician, assuming the form of the really deceased Sebastian.
Morosini returned from Madrid: his manner was changed, his zeal extinct.
Of a character eagerly open to new impressions, which by their vivacity
deceived the observer into a belief of their durability, he had been
fascinated by the insinuating graces of Philip III. and suddenly chilled
by the discovery of Don Sebastian’s altered sentiments on the most
important of subjects.
Philip had address enough to perceive the unsubstantial character he had
to deal with; he affected to lament the affronts offered to Venice, he
promised ample reparation, and by the most studied attentions to
Morosini, flattered his vanity, and lighted up a transient flame of
enthusiasm in his inflammable breast.
Morosini yet wavered between the romantic interest which a fugitive King
excited, and the vain exultation inspired by a young and prosperous
monarch’s caresses, when the Pope’s bull fell like a thunderbolt between
him and the fortunes of the former, and severed him from them for ever.
He now met Sebastian with confusion and restraint: his discourse was
full of abstruse dogmas and church threatenings; he eulogized the
unshakable, yet unpersecuting spirit with which Philip III. possessed
the faith of Rome; and he reluctantly confessed, that unless the King of
Portugal would consent to acknowledge the supremacy of the Papal See,
and to accept his crown on her conditions, the Senate of Venice could
not openly proclaim, or secretly support him.
“What then!” exclaimed Sebastian, with some of his former impetuosity,
“do you maintain the impious doctrine that man is more powerful than
God? what human hand dare bar my hand to that throne on which the divine
hand had placed me at the hour of my birth? Your birth-right is your
patrimonial house, your noble name, your rank in the republic--mine is
the throne of Portugal and the Indies; and now, by the blessing of God,
I will perish ere I renounce it. When Kings are prosperous, then do you
make them Gods; when they are in adversity, you reduce them below
humanity: what manner of justice is this? Who shall say that aught but
crimes can deprive a common individual of his lawful inheritance? and
are Princes to be more hardly dealt with than their subjects?--shame on
such base conclusions.”
“It is a crime, Sir, to abandon the only true faith, and adopt the creed
of heretics.” Morosini spoke with a ruffled though hesitating voice. “I
dare not league my soul with any Prince who professes enmity to the
church of Peter. If this were a mere political matter, we should not
scrutinize the opinions of an ally, but it is a question of conscience.
Can the Catholic republic of Venice consistently with its character,
assist in taking the crown of Portugal from the head of a pious King, to
place it on that of an apostate?”
Sebastian gave him a lightning glance of proud indignation, but quelling
the sudden emotion as it arose, he said deliberately,
“The republic of Venice knows that my sentiments are in direct
opposition to all persecution: that liberty of conscience which I claim
for myself, I am ready to grant to others. Man cannot answer for man,
at the last dread day; beware then, how you yield up your soul to the
authority of a mortal like yourself!--I disclaim all power over the
spiritual part of my subjects: they are responsible to God, not to their
King, for those religious tenets from which their good or evil actions
proceed. When I return to Portugal I return to obey and to execute the
laws; to provide for the political prosperity of my people; to endeavour
at forwarding their moral improvement by my example; and to live in
amity with all nations who acknowledge one obligation to worship one
creator, and to obey the one law of virtue that he has placed in every
heart: further, than this, I exact of no man; different portions of
reason and different habits, will produce, to the end of time, different
degrees in the scale of religious advancement.
“Morosini, you now know my sentiments; which I solemnly take Heaven to
witness are faithfully delivered to you. If your republic will continue
to support a man of such sentiments in his just claim, I pledge myself
for eternal gratitude: if not, I condemn her not; I lament her slavery
to that anti-christian authority which once fettered myself, and I will
depart in peace.”
“Not so, Sir!” said Morosini, changing colour, and in a hurried voice,
for shame was at his heart. “The republic is under the painful necessity
of detaining you until our most holy father the Pope has signified his
pleasure respecting her conduct.”
Sebastian was transfixed by this reply; the blood recoiled upon his
heart, and he stood some moments incapable of speech; then advancing and
fixing a stern look on Signor Giuseppe, he said,
“On the faith of the whole republic, not merely on the word of him who
proffered friendship unasked, did I come hither: eternal infamy will
lighten that republic if they suffer a hair of this head to fall.
Beware how you damn yourselves to posterity by this unheard of
treachery.”
“What treachery, does Don Sebastian injuriously apprehend?” asked
Giuseppe, endeavouring to look tranquil.
“That which lays upon the surface of your own words,” was the
reply--“you return from the court of him who has fallen heir to my
usurped dominions, with a determination to make the fulfilment of your
hasty promises depend upon my renunciation of those principles, which
still believing, I dare not abjure. You cannot dispute the identity
which your own eyes and lips have acknowledged, therefore, (seduced into
Philip’s interest,) you take refuge under papal authority, and will
deliver me up to imprisonment or to death, at the ordination of Rome.”
Morosini appeared indignant at the supposition: indeed his mind was not
yet made up to any decision; and though fanaticism had taken alarm at
the obstinate heresy of his former idol, he was far from lending a
willing assent to an act of violence.
“I am cruelly situated:” he exclaimed, at length, and the facile tears
stood in his eyes--“remember, Don Sebastian, that at the period I swore
to serve you unto death, I knew not that you were otherwise than a son
of the church: since then you have undeceived me; and that difference of
opinion on matters of conscience which you have yourself established,
obliges me to stifle the pleadings of my ardent prejudice in your favor,
and to place my future conduct at the disposal of my spiritual director.
In this instance I am only the organ of the republic; it is she, who
waits the result of her message to Rome: till that arrives, your majesty
must condescend still to consider this house as your own. You command
here, as the guest of Giuseppe Morosini.”
Sebastian turned towards the Italian with a strong expression of disgust
at his now-offensive courteousness: his blood boiled: but quickly
subsiding, he repeated with a smile of contempt a short quotation from
the Poet of England.
“Note this, good Sirs!
When zeal begins to sicken and decay,
It useth an enforced ceremony.”
“Morosini!” he added, (and he spoke sternly, and with an air of majesty)
“I must be spared in future this mockery of respect.
“You cannot feel it, if you sincerely believe me reprobate of Heaven;
and if you do not believe me so, this abandonment of my cause either
from interest or from fear, renders you despicable in the eyes of an
honest and a brave man. Leave me, Sir! I remain then, your prisoner--but
I have friends without these walls who may with God’s blessing shake
them to their centre; yea, the foundations of your city itself.”
Sebastian turned away as he concluded, and Morosini abruptly retired.
Sebastian was still too ingenuous for the world he lived in: the moment
that roused his feelings or inflamed his passions, laid his whole heart
open: that mantle of reserve, in which long efforts had taught him to
wrap himself, was instantly discarded, and he shewed himself to his
adversary, with all his weaknesses and all his strength.
Fatal was his present sincerity: Morosini left him, mortified,
humiliated, and enraged; one hour’s discourse had made him his
determined foe.
When Kara Aziek rejoined her husband, she saw in his perturbed looks the
herald of disagreeable tidings: her first thought was of Blanche, and
she pronounced her name. Sebastian quieted this natural fear, and then,
conscious that it is vain to think of concealing evils which we know
must endure for a certain period, he proceeded to tell her the nature of
his interview with Morosini.
She was prepared for disappointment, but not for an actual misfortune;
and at the intimation of their being prisoners in Venice, the blood
forsook her cheeks. Her rapid imagination instantly created a thousand
frightful images, which were indeed too likely to be realized: she sat
cold and speechless as a statue, while Sebastian, tenderly enumerating
the motives to courage under this evil, exhorted her not only to
confidence in the exertions of their friends, but to confidence in
heaven.
Kara Aziek, with streaming eyes, did indeed look only to that heaven for
succour: but dark and intricate are the ways of Providence, and who dare
assure themselves that what they dread most, is not destined to form
part of those trials by which their souls are to be disciplined for a
purer being? She despaired not, but she ventured not to expect; scarcely
did she hope.
Sebastian’s courage rose in proportion to the peril with which he was
threatened, and in seeking to tranquillize her he loved, he re-assured
himself.
Resolute to assert his freedom, and not tamely to bend his neck to the
yoke imposed, he addressed a short note to the Doge and Senate,
requiring their immediate answer to his question, of whether they
sanctioned the words of Signor Morosini, and demanding permission to
leave their territory, in case they declined fulfilling their former
engagements.
This letter was answered by a request that he would attend the council
of senators at midnight.
At the hour appointed, Sebastian got into the gondola of the Doge, which
was sent for his conveyance: it conveyed him not to the senate-house,
but to the state-prison.
Morosini’s private resentment had cooperated with his ambition, his
interest, and his dread of excommunication: he alone of the Venetians
knew the person of Don Sebastian, and upon his professing to believe
that he had been imposed upon by the extreme likeness and great address
of an impostor, the senate took alarm, readily seized this opportunity
of abandoning a man whom the Pope anathematized, and for whose detention
Philip had recently offered them the most tempting advantages, and
precipitately determined on committing him to prison.
When Sebastian found himself thus betrayed, his fortitude transiently
forsook him, and his limbs shook under him; it seemed as if he had seen
the last of all he loved: but quickly recovering, he turned to the
governor of the place, and said calmly--