holding hers; he watched her yet, but his looks were no longer sad and
patient, they expressed alarm, anguish, desperation. He put his lips to
hers; no breath mingled with his; his hand sought her heart,--all there
was still!--a mortal cry came from his very soul, and dropping the cold
arm he was grasping, the desolate Sebastian fell lifeless upon the body
of her he lamented.
Supported by her lover, Blanche was kneeling by the bed, distracted
between grief for her mother, and fear for her father’s senses;
Hyppolito hastily resigned her to Baptista, and judging this to be the
decisive moment, he dashed away his own tears, and motioning to the pale
Don Christopher, they lifted Sebastian from the chamber into the open
air.
Trusting him to their attention, Blanche allowed herself to yield to her
own sorrow, and remained weeping over the beauteous remains of the
tenderest of women. Meanwhile Hyppolito and Don Christopher hastened to
the boat, placed their royal charge within it, covered him with their
clothes, and swiftly rowed away towards that part of the coast where
their larger vessel was in waiting. When Sebastian recovered, he looked
round, and beheld himself in an open boat on the wide ocean, over which
the grey of morning just began to glimmer; he saw that Don Christopher
and Hyppolito were his companions. At first his scattered senses were
unable to recollect more than his late escape from the galley, and he
fancied himself newly rescued from that dismal situation; but soon the
dejected looks of his friends, and returning memory, banished this short
delusion, and he awoke to the consciousness of being bereft of all he
loved.
Sebastian had risen from the bottom of the boat, he now sat down again
without having spoken; and neither uttering groan nor sigh, neither
shedding a tear, nor raising his head, he remained like one stupefied
into stone.
This dismal silence was unbroken by his pitying friends; they plyed
their oars unremittingly, and after much toil came along side the ship,
which they hailed and mounted.
All this time Sebastian spoke not; he suffered Hyppolito to lead him
into the cabin, while Don Christopher remained above, to give directions
for her immediate sailing. When the latter re-appeared, he rose to
depart. In silence he bent his knee to kiss the hand of Sebastian,--in
silence the grief-wrapt Sebastian placed his hands on his head in token
of benediction.
“You bless me as your son, my father!” asked the young man, with much
emotion.
The desolate Sebastian strained him in his arms, and attempted to speak,
but finding the effort impossible, he repeated the embrace, and
motioning for his friends to withdraw, he shut himself in the cabin, and
delivered himself up to despair.
Hyppolito earnestly commended the unfortunate King to his friend Don
Christopher, settled with him their mode of communication, promised to
visit France the instant he could obtain permission to travel, and bring
with him his wedded Blanche; then exchanging an affectionate farewel, he
leaped into the boat, again seized the oars, and toiled through the
sullen waves to the fishing lodge.
THE CONCLUSION.
About thirty years after the period in which Don Sebastian was conveyed
into France, a majestic old man was seen to enter the palace of the
Braganza’s, at Villa Viciosa; his mourning garments were plain, but not
ignoble; his steps were supported by a staff; the hair that parted from
his serene, yet time-worn brow, was whiter than silver; in his eye, and
on his lips, sat a sort of sweet mournfulness, that added a touching
interest to his venerable age; the ashes of that youthful fire which had
once blazed there, still remained to say that such fire had been; but
the fire itself was extinct. Resignation, peace, and benignity, had
taken its place.
He enquired for the Duke and Duchess of Braganza: the former was at the
village of Almada, but the young Duchess was alone, and the stranger was
conducted to her presence.
Upon entering a splendid hall, where sculpture, painting, and armorial
decorations united to bestow grandeur, the hoary-headed traveller
paused, and fixed his eyes upon one object. It was a young and admirably
lovely woman, who had just laid her sleeping infant upon a couch, where
she stood gazing on him with a mother’s fondness.
Her graceful figure owed nothing to the imposing aid of dress; a plain
sattin robe, and a cluster of roses knotting up her bright, dark hair,
were its only ornaments; but “she was covered with the light of beauty,”
and wanted no other decorations.
At the sound of a heavy sigh, she turned round, and perceiving a
stranger, hastened forward to meet him. The old man continued looking
at her as she advanced: “my eyes are somewhat dim,” he said, in a voice
broken by emotion rather than by feebleness, “but I think you are the
last surviving child of her who is now an angel in heaven!”
The young Duchess trembled with sudden emotion, and her fine countenance
assumed an expression of veneration, joy, and sorrow, which heightened
its charms; she half bent her knee, while exclaiming, “who is it that I
behold? O majestic stranger, dare I believe that I see in you--”
“The father of your mother!” replied the old man, tears trickling down
his cheek, “the widowed, wandering Sebastian.”
Luisa sunk at his feet, and devoutly kissed them. “You return then, at
last!” she said, weeping with delight, “all who have known or persecuted
you, my honoured father, are vanished from the earth. Here in the arms
of your remaining race, your old age may now pass in security and
honour, and your latest sigh be breathed on the bosom of affectionate
children.”
As she spoke, she tenderly led him towards a seat, where placing herself
beside him, she continued to wait his answer, with both hands clasping
one of his.
Sebastian fondly regarded her a long time in affecting silence, the
tears chasing one another down his venerable face, increasing as they
flowed, till he could discern her no longer.
“Pardon me my child!” he said, “the sight of you brings back the
feelings of my youth. At that period I loved and possessed the dearest
of women: at that period your mother was a young and lovely creature
like yourself; I had friends and kindred: where are they now? all gone
down to dust! O it is sad to think that I have outlived them all; that
in you and your husband I behold the second generation from myself, and
from my cousin of Braganza. Mighty Providence! what an instant is the
life of mortal man!”
“Tell me, my child, (he added, after a thoughtful pause) are you happy?
do you possess in your husband such a friend as your heart devotes
itself to with perfect sincerity?”
A vivid glow kindled on the cheek of Luisa, her eyes were instantly full
of her soul: “I am the happiest of women,” she said ardently, “the whole
world contains nothing of what is valuable, great, or endearing, that is
not comprised in the character of my Juan. O my father, I am only too
happy; and my fond heart trembles sometimes at its own felicity.”
Tears glittered in her brilliant eyes, and the love that blushed through
every vein of her delicate frame, communicated a sad thrill to those of
the aged wanderer.
“Gone, gone, for ever gone!” he repeated mournfully; then stopping,
added with a divine smile, “not so: in the world to which I hasten
Luisa, these sweet emotions will revive again, even for me. Surely our
virtuous affections are not destined to perish?”
A smile of equal brightness answered this remark. “But tell me, dearest
Sir, whither have you been wandering? and how has your old age been
supported with those comforts which should follow it everywhere?”
“I shall make winter nights seem short,” replied Sebastian! “when I
relate to you, all that I have seen and felt. Since the death of her
whom no time can efface from this widowed heart, you know that I have
lived a life of wandering. I have traversed Europe, Africa, and Asia, on
foot, with no other companion than this staff and scrip; no other
protection save my grey hairs. My pleasure has been the study of human
character under all the accidents of different climates, laws, and
customs; my duty has been the task of instructing and enlightening the
ignorant or wicked of the countries through which I passed. Gratitude
and kindness have rarely failed of recompensing these efforts, and I
return therefore in good-will with all my fellow creatures.”
“Yet ah! Sir, how could you separate from my dear parents?”
“Had you felt what I have felt, Luisa,” replied Sebastian, raising his
head and fixing his eyes on her, “you would not ask that question. I was
bereaved of my soul. When Kara Aziek was ravished from me by death, I
saw all my faithful adherents ruined and dispersed through their
fidelity to my hopeless cause; I had no other way to end their
destructive efforts, and ceaseless importunities, but to remove beyond
their reach. I left France and journeyed into Persia to the court of my
friend Schah Abbas: twice I returned to Europe, twice embraced my
children and their offspring. Twelve years ago I entered Spain a third
time; I found you an orphan, and the only surviving memorial of Blanche
and Hyppolito. What then could bind me to a place where but one
unconscious child remained? that child one whom I dared not claim or
take to myself? I departed again, and it was not till I heard in
Germany, (where as his friend, yet unknown by my real name, I had
followed the steps of the great Gustavus Adolphus) that you were the
wife of Braganza, that I determined to return and close my life under
your roof. There is something awful and striking, my child, in this
union with the race of Braganza: their claim to my abdicated crown, is
next to your own: those claims are now joined--what great event does
Providence intend?”
The young Duchess fixed on him a look of trouble mixed with heroism--“I
sometimes venture to believe,” she said, “that my admirable Juan is
ordained to restore the glory of Portugal. The machinations of Spain
have failed hitherto of ensnaring him; he yet remains in his country,
the idol of its people, the leading star of its nobles. O! my father,
how many frightful plots have been formed to deprive him of life or
liberty! he has ever scorned to live with less than the splendor
befitting his royal blood, and has continued to spend his princely
revenues in princely acts: this conduct has fixed every eye and every
heart upon him alone; the Spanish court have become alarmed, and not
daring to use violence, have artfully sought to entrap him by a shew of
favour.”
Olivares, the prime minister of Philip IV. would have persuaded Juan to
accept the government of Milan; but what Italian government could tempt
him who knew himself the lawful heir to a throne? On the successful
revolt of the Catalans, this artful politician sent to demand the
assistance of my husband; Juan would not assist in oppressing a brave
and outraged people, and he refused to appear under arms in such a
cause. Dangerous was this noble frankness! the Spaniard dissembling his
resentment by a mask of confidence, appointed Juan to command the troops
which then lined the coast, protecting it against the threatened attack
of the French fleet; the navy of Spain came to menace them in turn, and
its admiral Ossorio, invited my Braganza with his principal officers to
an entertainment on board his vessel. Providentially, the secretary (a
Portuguese by birth) seized with remorse, privily informed us that
Ossorio had orders to sail away with his victims for the remotest
Spanish port.
“Whilst we debated how to elude this treachery without appearing to
suspect its existence, a storm dispersed the rival fleets, and drove the
admiral’s ship, a total wreck, into the harbour of Cadiz.”
“Providential indeed,” exclaimed Sebastian, “what followed this?”
“Disappointed in his base design, Olivares was not slow in forming
another;” resumed the Duchess, “he invested Braganza with some mockery
of power, the duty of which consisted in his visiting the fortresses
throughout Portugal, inspecting their state, and reporting it to the
court of Madrid. The friends of my dear lord discovered that the same
orders which had been given to Ossorio, were issued to the Spanish
garrisons; he was to be seized, detained, and hurried into Castille.
“My Juan’s answer to this proposed favor, was worthy of his illustrious
soul: he told Olivares that the next heir to the crown of Portugal,
deemed any other title a degradation rather than a distinction:--he
declined the office, and the name annexed to it.”
“There spoke his noble blood!” exclaimed Sebastian, while some youthful
fire warmed his veins, “Heaven’s blessing be on him! may he fulfil the
prophetic hopes which your words kindle in this time-chilled heart!--Go
on, sweet daughter! go on!”
Luisa with all the enthusiasm of ardent affection, resumed her
discourse.
“The spirit of her noblest Grandee appears to have lighted up a happy
flame in the bosoms of a few gallant patriots: whole provinces have
refused to follow the banners of Spain in her attempt to recover
Barcelona. The city of Evora resisting an oppressive tax lately levied
by our foreign governors, have loudly called for their legitimate
sovereign, Juan of Braganza: the garrisons, almost emptied of their
Spanish soldiers, (for Philip needs every aid in his war with Catalonia
and France) offer an easy prey to our countrymen, whenever they shall
have courage to assert their independence.
“As yet, no plan has been formed, no absolute party made for either
pretender to the succession. The families D’Avegro, and Villa-Real,
plead their affinity to the throne; but my husband’s right is too clear
for dispute: your’s alone--and O! how joyfully will he bow to it--may
pass before him.”
Sebastian smiled, and shook his head, “The world and I, my dear
daughter, have long since shaken hands, and said farewel to each other:
I have no more to do with its honours or its pleasures: these eyes see
but one place of rest, and I am fast hastening to it. Sceptres and
crowns, at fourscore years, are the toys and rattles of second
childhood, and to desire them is to prove that we are become infants
again. To rejoice in the emancipation of Portugal from an oppressive
yoke, to rejoice at beholding the reins of her government in young and
able hands, is yet permitted me. I would cheerfully devote these grey
hairs to the dust, could that effect so blessed an event.
“The groans of a people once too dear to me--ever dear to me--reach my
heart even yet. O might I live to see them freed from their grievous
burthen; to see thee, my child, share thy lawful inheritance with my
noble kinsman, how would it cheer, how would it exalt my parting soul.”
Luisa was about to answer, when the doors of the saloon opening,
discovered a crowd of officers, attendants, and guards, in the midst of
whom was the Duke of Braganza. Luisa rose to welcome her husband; and as
he dismissed his train, the doors closed again, and he advanced alone
into the apartment.
Earnest to observe the countenance of Braganza, Sebastian inclined his
venerable person, and lifted up the white locks which obscured his
sight. His imagination had represented the husband of Luisa, with a mien
dignified, but somewhat austere, and a brow armed with the lofty courage
of his conduct. On the contrary, he beheld a man in the prime of life,
whose elegantly proportioned figure moved with gentle gracefulness;
whose face, (seriously sweet) invited love, destroyed apprehension, and
spoke a heart warmed with the most amiable affections.
The soft tenderness of his eyes as he took and kissed the hand of his
wife, was suddenly changed into the brightness of glad surprise, when
she hastily told him who was awaiting his embrace: Braganza broke away,
and hurried to throw himself at the feet of his illustrious relative.
Sebastian bent to raise and to press him in his arms, “I need no other
warrant of thy worth, my dear son,” he exclaimed, “than these sweet
looks: you are like the noblest child of the Braganza race. My pretty
Diego! how freshly I remember him!”
“At what a moment, Sire, do I behold you!” exclaimed Braganza, “the time
is critical: Portugal stands on the brink of a great revolution: she is
resolved to make one glorious effort--to perish or be free.”
The aged King raised his hands and eyes to heaven in an ecstacy: the
Duchess briefly informed her husband of her grandfather’s resolution
never to resume the throne which he had so long abandoned. Braganza
endeavoured to combat this resolution with the rhetoric of one who
speaks from the heart; but Sebastian had reason on his side, and his
arguments were unanswerable.
When this amicable contest was ended, the Duke resumed the subject which
had led to it. “I am come,” he said, (and as he spoke, his eyes kindled
into the fire of enthusiasm) “I am come from a secret assembly of the
most potent nobles and citizens in Lisbon: they met at Almeyda, to swear
fidelity to each other, and to the sacred cause of freedom. They demand
a leader; and it is upon me that they have fixed their eyes. Luisa, I am
yours; I am doubly yours, for you have made me a father--it is you
therefore that must answer for your Juan. Tell me, sweetest! have you
courage to let me share this glorious conflict.”
The eyes of Juan, as he now suffered them to rest solely upon her to
whom he spoke, by turns softened and sparkled, as love and patriotism
succeeded to displace each other in his mind: those of the hoary-headed
Sebastian expressed an apprehensive anxiety.
Luisa’s changing complexion betrayed an inward and a severe struggle;
but courageously conquering every selfish care, she looked up, and said
firmly, “It is true, you are mine, Juan! but not to the exclusion of
sublimer duties and affections: your country’s claims supersede all
others. Awful is the thought of what may follow this consent I give; for
does not the bolt strike him first who stands on the highest ground?
Yet, better to die nobly, than to live meanly!--better to lament a dead
hero, than to retain”----“A base coward!” interrupted Braganza,
snatching her to his breast with transporting exultation. “O my brave
wife! may your spirit animate our boy!”
“Bless thee, mighty God!” cried the aged King, as he rose and extended
his hands over the admirable pair, “bless them here and hereafter; and
grant that their race may ever sit on the throne of Portugal!”
His august figure, dignified yet further by the sublime emotion which
elevated his soul, stood like some time-shattered tower, whose ruins
shew its former strength and beauty. Luisa contemplated these remains of
the once young and love-inspiring Sebastian, with a melting heart; for
she thought of all the events and feelings which had filled his
chequered life, and sighed to think how barren and how desolate was that
Sebastian now.
Braganza looked at him with respect and admiration: “Honored Sire! dear
Father!” he said, “I have but one ardent wish--’tis that I may not
disgrace the illustrious blood which flows in my veins. If there be one
drop there poisoned by vile ambition, if there be but one that does not
flow purely for freedom and my country, may the whole tide that circles
through this body, redden the swords of Spain.”
Shuddering at so horrid an image, Luisa threw herself on the neck of her
husband and fondly chid him. His smiles and caresses banished alarm,
while Sebastian, eager to learn the particulars of an association so
fraught with importance, proceeded to inquire the names, characters, and
resources of the confederate nobles.
He found that the party which had thus courted the protection of
Braganza, consisted of the first families in Portugal; and that the
Archbishop of Lisbon, a prelate of great power and probity, had, through
the means of the inferior clergy assured himself of the spirit and
fidelity of three parts of the people.
The Duchess of Mantua, who governed in quality of Vice-Queen, was in
reality but the instrument of Vasconcellos, her secretary. This man,
though by birth a Portuguese, was in heart a Spaniard: or rather, was a
wretch of such wide ambition, such insatiable covetousness, and such
base sensuality, that to gratify these favorite passions, he was ready
to trample on the mother who bore him.
His licentious conduct, dissolute life, cruelties, extortions, and
insults, had by degrees, exasperated the Portuguese into the most deadly
animosity: to this private hatred was added the stronger sentiment of
national honour, and the animating one of attachment to the person of
Braganza.
Nothing could be more ardent or universal than the latter sentiment.
Braganza’s noble spirit pervaded every place: his bounties flowed into
the remotest corners of the kingdom; and while the splendor of his
household, his retinue, his equipages, his entertainments, and his
palaces, kept in perpetual freshness the remembrance of his royal birth,
the ceaseless dew of his secret charities fell all around, penetrating
the hearts of men with gratitude and with love.
In public, his magnificent train, and serious dignity of manner,
preserved to him that profound respect, which should ever follow
distinguished personages: in private the sweetness of a benign and
smiling temper, the graces of a refined taste, the charm of every
accomplishment, and the rivetting talisman of goodness, added affection
to respect, and turned admiration into enthusiasm. He was beloved, he
was venerated throughout Portugal; and so evident was the dominion he
had acquired over his countrymen, that not even the Machiavalian
Olivares, though trembling at his power, dared openly arraign or stop
his course.
There was something strikingly different in the present spirit of
Portugal, from that irresolute, fearful conduct, which had palsied her
exertions for her legitimate sovereign: Sebastian could not refuse a
sigh to the remembrance. Then, not even the probable assistance of other
powers, stimulated them into open insurrection: now, they were nobly
resolved to free themselves, unsupported by other aid than God and their
own arms.
While he was thus revolving past events, the memory of his dearest
friend often mingled with these thoughts, and by a natural association,
reminded him that Caspar had left a son. “Where is he?” he exclaimed
abruptly, pursuing his thoughts aloud, “twelve years ago, I was told
that he belonged to your household, my son?”
“Of whom do you speak, Sir!” asked the Duchess.
“Of Juan Pinto Ribeiro,” replied Sebastian.
The Duke’s features beamed with pleasure. “You ask after the most
attached and estimable of my servants,” he said, “Pinto has always
studied with me, travelled with me, lived with me more like a brother
than a domestic: he is the comptroller of my household; and it is to him
I believe myself indebted for the universal suffrages of my countrymen.
His love for me and his devotion to our country, are sentiments of equal
strength in his excellent heart.”
“What do I hear?” exclaimed Sebastian in extreme emotion, tears
trickling down his cheeks, “is it the son of my faithful Caspar that you
thus commend! O my children, so many feelings, long, long since laid to
sleep in this heart, now awake and overcome me, that I know not myself.
Joy, and the recollection of other days, make an infant of me.”
Sebastian bowed his venerable head, and as he did so, a slight colour
flushed his pale face; for now he wept uncontrolled, and was ashamed of
his weakness.
Braganza respected his age and his tears, and drawing Luisa away to the
couch of their son, they leaned over it together, occupying their
attention with his childish beauty.
After some moments silence, the King resumed in a low, faltering voice.
“Let me see Ribeiro! after that I will take some rest:--my spirit is
more wearied than my body, yet both require repose.”
The Duke hastened to gratify his royal kinsman, and sending for Pinto,
(who was the confidential person appointed to carry his final answer to
the confederates) he led him up to Sebastian.