sway of different powers, genii of earth, and air, and ocean; who made
it their shadowy abode; or rather, it is the retiring place of old
worn-out deities and dynasties, that once ruled the poetic world,
but are now nearly shorn of all their attributes. Here Neptune and
Amphitrite hold a diminished court, like sovereigns in exile. Their
ocean-chariot lies bottom upward, in a cave of the island, almost a
perfect wreck, while their pursy Tritons and haggard Nereids bask
listlessly, like seals about the rocks. Sometimes they assume a shadow
of their ancient pomp, and glide in state about the glassy sea; while
the crew of some tall Indiaman, that lies becalmed with flapping sails,
hear with astonishment the mellow note of the Triton's shell swelling
upon the ear, as the invisible pageant sweeps by. Sometimes the quondam
monarch of the ocean is permitted to make himself visible to mortal
eyes, visiting the ships that cross the line, to exact a tribute from
new-comers; the only remnant of his ancient rule, and that, alas!
performed with tattered state, and tarnished splendor.
On the shores of this wondrous island, the mighty kraken heaves his
bulk, and wallows many a rood; here, too, the sea-serpent lies coiled
up, during the intervals of his much-contested revelations to the
eyes of true believers; and here it is said, even the Flying Dutchman
finds a port and casts his anchor, and furls his shadowy sail, and
takes a short repose from his eternal wanderings.
Here all the treasures lost in the deep are safely garnered. The caverns
of the shores are piled with golden ingots, hexes of pearls, rich bales
of oriental silks; and their deep recesses sparkle with diamonds, or
flame with carbuncles. Here, in deep bays and harbors, lies many a
spell-bound ship, long given up as lost by the ruined merchant. Here,
too, its crew, long bewailed as swallowed up in ocean, lie sleeping in
mossy grottoes, from age to age, or wander about enchanted shores and
groves, in pleasing oblivion of all things.
Such are some of the marvels related of this island, and which may serve
to throw some light on the following legend, of unquestionable truth,
which I recommend to the entire belief of the reader.
* * * * *
_THE ADELANTADO OF THE SEVEN CITIES_.
A LEGEND OF ST. BRANDAN.
In the early part of the fifteenth century, when Prince Henry of
Portugal, of worthy memory, was pushing the career of discovery along
the western coast of Africa, and the world was resounding with reports
of golden regions on the main land, and new-found islands in the ocean,
there arrived at Lisbon an old bewildered pilot of the seas, who had
been driven by tempests, he knew not whither, and who raved about an
island far in the deep, on which he had landed, and which he had found
peopled with Christians, and adorned with noble cities.
The inhabitants, he said, gathered round, and regarded him with
surprise, having never before been visited by a ship. They told him they
were descendants of a band of Christians, who fled from Spain when that
country was conquered by the Moslems. They were curious about the state
of their fatherland, and grieved to hear that the Moslems still held
possession of the kingdom of Granada. They would have taken the old
navigator to church, to convince him of their orthodoxy; but, either
through lack of devotion, or lack of faith in their words, he declined
their invitation, and preferred to return on board of his ship. He was
properly punished. A furious storm arose, drove him from his anchorage,
hurried him out to sea, and he saw no more of the unknown island.
This strange story caused great marvel in Lisbon and elsewhere. Those
versed in history, remembered to have read, in an ancient chronicle,
that, at the time of the conquest of Spain, in the eighth century, when
the blessed cross was cast down, and the crescent erected in its place,
and when Christian churches were turned into Moslem mosques, seven
bishops, at the head of seven bands of pious exiles, had fled from the
peninsula, and embarked in quest of some ocean island, or distant land,
where they might found seven Christian cities, and enjoy their faith
unmolested.
The fate of these pious saints errant had hitherto remained a
mystery, and their story had faded from memory; the report of the old
tempest-tossed pilot, however, revived this long-forgotten theme; and
it was determined by the pious and enthusiastic, that the island thus
accidentally discovered, was the identical place of refuge, whither the
wandering bishops had been guided by a protecting Providence, and where
they had folded their flocks.
This most excitable of worlds has always some darling object of
chimerical enterprise: the "Island of the Seven Cities" now awakened as
much interest and longing among zealous Christians, as has the renowned
city of Timbuctoo among adventurous travellers, or the North-east
Passage among hardy navigators; and it was a frequent prayer of the
devout, that these scattered and lost portions of the Christian family
might be discovered, and reunited to the great body of Christendom.
No one, however, entered into the matter with half the zeal of Don
Fernando de Ulmo, a young cavalier of high standing in the Portuguese
court, and of most sanguine and romantic temperament. He had recently
come to his estate, and had run the round of all kinds of pleasures and
excitements, when this new theme of popular talk and wonder presented
itself. The Island of the Seven Cities became now the constant subject
of his thoughts by day and his dreams by night; it even rivalled his
passion for a beautiful girl, one of the greatest belles of Lisbon, to
whom he was betrothed. At length his imagination became so inflamed on
the subject, that he determined to fit out an expedition, at his own
expense, and set sail in quest of this sainted island. It could not be
a cruise of any great extent; for according to the calculations of the
tempest-tossed pilot, it must be somewhere in the latitude of the
Canaries; which at that time, when the new world was as yet undiscovered,
formed the frontier of ocean enterprise. Don Fernando applied to the
crown for countenance and protection. As he was a favorite at court, the
usual patronage was readily extended to him; that is to say, he received
a commission from the king, Don Ioam II., constituting him Adelantado,
or military governor, of any country he might discover, with the single
proviso, that he should bear all the expenses of the discovery and pay a
tenth of the profits to the crown.
Don Fernando now set to work in the true spirit of a projector. He sold
acre after acre of solid land, and invested the proceeds in ships, guns,
ammunition, and sea-stores. Even his old family mansion in Lisbon was
mortgaged without scruple, for "he looked forward to a palace in one of
the Seven Cities of which he was to be Adelantado." This was the age of
nautical romance, when the thoughts of all speculative dreamers were
turned to the ocean. The scheme of Don Fernando, therefore, drew
adventurers of every kind. The merchant promised himself new marts of
opulent traffic; the soldier hoped to sack and plunder some one or other
of those Seven Cities; even the fat monk shook off the sleep and sloth
of the cloister, to join in a crusade which promised such increase to
the possessions of the church.
One person alone regarded the whole project with sovereign contempt
and growling hostility. This was Don Ramiro Alvarez, the father of the
beautiful Serafina, to whom Don Fernando was betrothed. He was one of
those perverse, matter-of-fact old men who are prone to oppose every
thing speculative and romantic. He had no faith in the Island of the
Seven Cities; regarded the projected cruise as a crack-brained freak;
looked with angry eye and internal heart-burning on the conduct of his
intended son-in-law, chaffering away solid lands for lands in the moon,
and scoffingly dubbed him Adelantado of Lubberland. In fact, he had
never really relished the intended match, to which his consent had been
slowly extorted by the tears and entreaties of his daughter. It is true
he could have no reasonable objections to the youth, for Don Fernando
was the very flower of Portuguese chivalry. No one could excel him at
the tilting match, or the riding at the ring; none was more bold and
dexterous in the bull-fight; none composed more gallant madrigals in
praise of his lady's charms, or sang them with sweeter tones to the
accompaniment of her guitar; nor could any one handle the castanets
and dance the bolero with more captivating grace. All these admirable
qualities and endowments, however, though they had been sufficient to
win the heart of Serafina, were nothing in the eyes of her unreasonable
father. O Cupid, god of Love! why will fathers always be so
unreasonable!
The engagement to Serafina had threatened at first to throw an obstacle
in the way of the expedition of Don Fernando, and for a time perplexed
him in the extreme. He was passionately attached to the young lady; but
he was also passionately bent on this romantic enterprise. How should
he reconcile the two passionate inclinations? A simple and obvious
arrangement at length presented itself: marry Serafina, enjoy a portion
of the honeymoon at once, and defer the rest until his return from the
discovery of the Seven Cities!
He hastened to make known this most excellent arrangement to Don Ramiro,
when the long-smothered wrath of the old cavalier burst forth in a storm
about his ears. He reproached him with being the dupe of wandering
vagabonds and wild schemers, and of squandering all his real possessions
in pursuit of empty bubbles. Don Fernando was too sanguine a projector,
and too young a man, to listen tamely to such language. He acted with
what is technically called "becoming spirit." A high quarrel ensued; Don
Ramiro pronounced him a mad man, and forbade all farther intercourse
with his daughter, until he should give proof of returning sanity by
abandoning this mad-cap enterprise; while Don Fernando flung out of
the house, more bent than ever on the expedition, from the idea of
triumphing over the incredulity of the gray-beard when he should return
successful.
Don Ramiro repaired to his daughter's chamber the moment the youth had
departed. He represented to her the sanguine, unsteady character of her
lover and the chimerical nature of his schemes; showed her the propriety
of suspending all intercourse with him until he should recover from his
present hallucination; folded her to his bosom with parental fondness,
kissed the tear that stole down her cheek, and, as he left the chamber,
gently locked the door; for although he was a fond father, and had a
high opinion of the submissive temper of his child, he had a still
higher opinion of the conservative virtues of lock and key. Whether the
damsel had been in any wise shaken in her faith as to the schemes of her
lover, and the existence of the Island of the Seven Cities, by the sage
representations of her father, tradition does not say; but it is certain
that she became a firm believer the moment she heard him turn the key in
the lock.
Notwithstanding the interdict of Don Ramiro, therefore, and his
shrewd precautions, the intercourse of the lovers continued, although
clandestinely. Don Fernando toiled all day, hurrying forward his
nautical enterprise, while at night he would repair, beneath the
grated balcony of his mistress, to carry on at equal pace the no less
interesting enterprise of the heart. At length the preparations for the
expedition were completed. Two gallant caravels lay anchored in the
Tagus, ready to sail with the morning dawn; while late at night, by the
pale light of a waning moon, Don Fernando sought the stately mansion of
Alvarez to take a last farewell of Serafina. The customary signal of a
few low touches of a guitar brought her to the balcony. She was sad at
heart and full of gloomy forebodings; but her lover strove to impart to
her his own buoyant hope and youthful confidence. "A few short months,"
said he, "and I shall return in triumph. Thy father will then blush at
his incredulity, and will once more welcome me to his house, when
I cross its threshold a wealthy suitor and Adelantado of the Seven
Cities."
The beautiful Serafina shook her head mournfully. It was not on those
points that she felt doubt or dismay. She believed most implicitly in
the Island of the Seven Cities, and trusted devoutly in the success of
the enterprise; but she had heard of the inconstancy of the seas, and
the inconstancy of those who roam them. Now, let the truth be spoken,
Don Fernando, if he had any fault in the world, it was that he was a
little too inflammable; that is to say, a little too subject to take
fire from the sparkle of every bright eye: he had been somewhat of a
rover among the sex on shore, what might he not be on sea? Might he
not meet with other loves in foreign ports? Might he not behold some
peerless beauty in one or other of those seven cities, who might efface
the image of Serafina from his thoughts?
At length she ventured to hint her doubts; but Don Fernando spurned at
the very idea. Never could his heart be false to Serafina! Never could
another be captivating in his eyes!--never--never! Repeatedly did he
bend his knee, and smite his breast, and call upon the silver moon to
witness the sincerity of his vows. But might not Serafina, herself, be
forgetful of her plighted faith? Might not some wealthier rival present,
while he was tossing on the sea, and, backed by the authority of her
father, win the treasure of her hand? Alas, how little did he know
Serafina's heart! The more her father should oppose, the more would she
be fixed in her faith. Though years should pass before his return, he
would find her true to her vows. Even should the salt seas swallow him
up, (and her eyes streamed with salt tears at the very thought,) never
would she be the wife of another--never--never! She raised her beautiful
white arms between the iron bars of the balcony, and invoked the moon as
a testimonial of her faith.
Thus, according to immemorial usage, the lovers parted, with many a vow
of eternal constancy. But will they keep those vows? Perish the doubt!
Have they not called the constant moon to witness?
With the morning dawn the caravels dropped down the Tagus and put
to sea. They steered for the Canaries, in those days the regions of
nautical romance. Scarcely had they reached those latitudes, when a
violent tempest arose. Don Fernando soon lost sight of the accompanying
caravel, and was driven out of all reckoning by the fury of the storm.
For several weary days and nights he was tossed to and fro, at the mercy
of the elements, expecting each moment to be swallowed up. At length,
one day toward evening, the storm subsided; the clouds cleared up, as
though a veil had suddenly been withdrawn from the face of heaven, and
the setting sun shone gloriously upon a fair and mountainous island,
that seemed close at hand. The tempest-tossed mariners rubbed their
eyes, and gazed almost incredulously upon this land, that had emerged so
suddenly from the murky gloom; yet there it lay, spread out in lovely
landscapes; enlivened by villages, and towers, and spires, while the
late stormy sea rolled in peaceful billows to its shores. About a league
from the sea, on the banks of a river, stood a noble city, with lofty
walls and towers, and a protecting castle. Don Fernando anchored off
the mouth of the river, which appeared to form a spacious harbor. In a
little while a barge was seen issuing from the river. It was evidently
a barge of ceremony, for it was richly though quaintly carved and gilt,
and decorated with a silken awning and fluttering streamers, while a
banner, bearing the sacred emblem of the cross, floated to the breeze.
The barge advanced slowly, impelled by sixteen oars, painted of a bright
crimson. The oarsmen were uncouth, or rather antique, in their garb, and
kept stroke to the regular cadence of an old Spanish ditty. Beneath the
awning sat a cavalier, in a rich though old-fashioned doublet, with an
enormous sombrero and feather. When the barge reached the caravel, the
cavalier stepped on board. He was tall and gaunt, with a long, Spanish
visage, and lack-lustre eyes, and an air of lofty and somewhat pompous
gravity. His mustaches were curled up to his ears, his beard was forked
and precise; he wore gauntlets that reached to his elbows, and a Toledo
blade that strutted out behind, while, in front, its huge basket-hilt
might have served for a porringer.
Thrusting out a long spindle leg, and taking off his sombrero with a
grave and stately sweep, he saluted Don Fernando by name, and welcomed
him, in old Castilian language, and in the style of old Castilian
courtesy.
Don Fernando was startled at hearing himself accosted by name, by an
utter stranger, in a strange land. As soon as he could recover from his
surprise, he inquired what land it was at which he had arrived.
"The Island of the Seven Cities!"
Could this be true? Had he indeed been thus tempest-driven upon the very
land of which he was in quest? It was even so. The other caravel, from
which he had been separated in the storm, had made a neighboring port of
the island, and announced the tidings of this expedition, which came to
restore the country to the great community of Christendom. The whole
island, he was told, was given up to rejoicings on the happy event; and
they only awaited his arrival to acknowledge allegiance to the crown of
Portugal, and hail him as Adelantado of the Seven Cities. A grand fête
was to be solemnized that very night in the palace of the Alcayde or
governor of the city; who, on beholding the most opportune arrival of
the caravel, had despatched his grand chamberlain, in his barge of
state, to conduct the future Adelantado to the ceremony.
Don Fernando could scarcely believe but that this was all a dream.
He fixed a scrutinizing gaze upon the grand chamberlain, who, having
delivered his message, stood in buckram dignity, drawn up to his full
stature, curling his whiskers, stroking his beard, and looking down upon
him with inexpressible loftiness through his lack-lustre eyes. There was
no doubting the word of so grave and ceremonious a hidalgo.
Don Fernando now arrayed himself in gala attire. He would have launched
his boat, and gone on shore with his own men, but he was informed the
barge of state was expressly provided for his accommodation, and, after
the fête, would bring him back to his ship; in which, on the following
day, he might enter the harbor in befitting style. He accordingly
stepped into the barge, and took his seat beneath the awning. The grand
chamberlain seated himself on the cushion opposite. The rowers bent to
their oars, and renewed their mournful old ditty, and the gorgeous, but
unwieldy barge moved slowly and solemnly through the water.
The night closed in, before they entered the river. They swept along,
past rock and promontory, each guarded by its tower. The sentinels at
every post challenged them as they passed by.
"Who goes there?"
"The Adelantado of the Seven Cities."
"He is welcome. Pass on."
On entering the harbor, they rowed close along an armed galley, of the
most ancient form. Soldiers with cross-bows were stationed on the deck.
"Who goes there?" was again demanded.
"The Adelantado of the Seven Cities."
"He is welcome. Pass on."
They landed at a broad flight of stone steps, leading up, between two
massive towers, to the water-gate of the city, at which they knocked for
admission. A sentinel, in an ancient steel casque, looked over the wall.
"Who is there?"
"The Adelantado of the Seven Cities."
The gate swung slowly open, grating upon its rusty hinges. They entered
between two rows of iron-clad warriors, in battered armor, with
cross-bows, battle-axes, and ancient maces, and with faces as
old-fashioned and rusty as their armor. They saluted Don Fernando in
military style, but with perfect silence, as he passed between their
ranks. The city was illuminated, but in such manner as to give a more
shadowy and solemn effect to its old-time architecture. There were
bonfires in the principal streets, with groups about them in such
old-fashioned garbs, that they looked like the fantastic figures that
roam the streets in carnival time. Even the stately dames who gazed from
the balconies, which they had hung with antique tapestry, looked more
like effigies dressed up for a quaint mummery, than like ladies in their
fashionable attire. Every thing, in short, bore the stamp of former
ages, as if the world had suddenly rolled back a few centuries. Nor was
this to be wondered at. Had not the Island of the Seven Cities been for
several hundred years cut off from all communication with the rest of
the world, and was it not natural that the inhabitants should retain
many of the modes and customs brought here by their ancestors?
One thing certainly they had conserved; the old-fashioned Spanish
gravity and stateliness. Though this was a time of public rejoicing, and
though Don Fernando was the object of their gratulations, every thing
was conducted with the most solemn ceremony, and wherever he appeared,
instead of acclamations, he was received with profound silence, and the
most formal reverences and swayings of their sombreros.
Arrived at the palace of the Alcayde, the usual ceremonial was repeated.
The chamberlain knocked for admission.
"Who is there?" demanded the porter.
"The Adelantado of the Seven Cities."
"He is welcome. Pass on."
The grand portal was thrown open. The chamberlain led the way up a vast
but heavily moulded marble stair-case, and so through one of those
interminable suites of apartments, that are the pride of Spanish
palaces. All were furnished in a style of obsolete magnificence. As they
passed through the chambers, the title of Don Fernando was forwarded on
by servants stationed at every door; and every where produced the most
profound reverences and courtesies. At length they reached a magnificent
saloon, blazing with tapers, in which the Alcayde, and the principal
dignitaries of the city, were waiting to receive their illustrious
guest. The grand chamberlain presented Don Fernando in due form, and
falling back among the other officers of the household, stood as usual
curling his whiskers and stroking his forked beard.
Don Fernando was received by the Alcayde and the other dignitaries with
the same stately and formal courtesy that he had every where remarked.
In fact, there was so much form and ceremonial, that it seemed difficult
to get at any thing social or substantial. Nothing but bows, and
compliments, and old-fashioned courtesies. The Alcayde and his courtiers
resembled, in face and form, those quaint worthies to be seen in the
pictures of old illuminated manuscripts; while the cavaliers and dames
who thronged the saloon, might have beep taken for the antique figures
of gobelin tapestry suddenly vivified and put in motion.
The banquet, which had been kept back until the arrival of Don Fernando,
was now announced; and such a feast! such unknown dishes and obsolete
dainties; with the peacock, that bird of state and ceremony, served up
in full plumage, in a golden dish, at the head of the table. And then,
as Don Fernando cast his eyes over the glittering board, what a vista of
odd heads and head-dresses, of formal bearded dignitaries, and stately
dames, with castellated locks and towering plumes!