The personality, nature and life of Sebastian, King of Portugal,
lent themselves to the strange structure of events which followed
his strenuous and somewhat eccentric and stormy life. He was born in
1554, and was the son of Prince John and his wife Juana, daughter of
the Emperor Charles V. He succeeded his grandfather, John III, at
the age of three. His long minority aided the special development
of his character. The preceptor appointed to rule his youth was a
Jesuit, Luiz-Goncalvoz de Camara. Not unnaturally his teacher used his
position to further the religious aims and intrigues of his strenuous
Order. Sebastian was the kind of youth who is beloved by his female
relatives--quite apart from his being a King; and naturally he was
treated by the women in a manner to further his waywardness. When he
was fourteen years old he was crowned. From thence on he insisted on
having his way in everything, and grew into a young manhood which was
of the type beloved of an adventurous people. He was thus described:
“He was a headstrong violent nature, of reckless courage, of boundless
ambition founded on a deep religious feeling. At the time of his
coronation he was called ‘Another Alexander.’ He loved all kinds of
danger, and found a keen pleasure in going out in a tempest in a small
boat and in actually running under the guns of his own forts where his
commands were stringent that any vessel coming in shore should be fired
on. He was a notable horseman and could steer his charger efficiently
by the pressure of either knee--indeed he was of such muscular vigour
that he could, by the mere stringency of the pressure of his knees,
make a powerful horse tremble and sweat. He was a great swordsman, and
quite fearless. ‘What is fear?’ he used to say. Restless by nature he
hardly knew what it was to be tired.”
And yet this young man--warrior as he was, had a feminine cast of
face; his features were symmetrically formed with just sufficient
droop in the lower lip to give the characteristic ‘note’ of Austrian
physiognomy. His complexion was as fine and transparent as a girl’s;
his eyes were clear and of blue; his hair of reddish gold. His height
was medium, his figure fine; he was vigorous and active. He had an
air of profound gravity and stern enthusiasm. Altogether he was, even
without his Royal state, just such a young man as might stand for the
idol of a young maid’s dream.
And yet he did not seem much of a lover. When, in 1576, he entered
Spain to meet Philip II at Guadaloupe to ask the hand of the Infanta
Isabella in marriage, he was described as “cold as a wooer as he
was ardent as a warrior.” His eyes were so set on ambition that mere
woman’s beauty did not seem to attract him. Events--even that event,
the meeting--fostered his ambition. When he knelt to his host, the
elder king kissed him and addressed him as “Your Majesty” the first
time the great title had been used to a Portuguese king. The effect
must have come but little later for at that meeting he kissed the
hand of the old warrior, the Duke of Alva, and uncovered to him. His
underlying pride, however, was shewn at the close of that very meeting,
for he claimed equal rights in formality with the Spanish king; and
there was a danger that the visit of ceremony might end worse than it
began. Neither king would enter the carriage in which they were to
proceed together, until the host suggested that as there were two doors
they should enter at the same time.
Sebastian’s religious fervour and military ambition became one when
he conceived the idea of renewing the Crusades; he would recover the
Holy Land from the dominion of the Paynim and become himself master of
Morocco in the doing of it. With the latter object in his immediate
view, he made in 1574, against the wise counsels of Queen Catherine,
a _sortie de reconnaissance_ of the African coast; but without any
result--except the fixing of his resolution to proceed. In 1578 his
scheme was complete. He would listen to no warning or counsel on the
subject even from the Pope, the Grand Duke of Tuscany, or the Duke of
Nassau. He seemed to foresee the realization of his dreams, and would
forego nothing. He gathered an army of some 18,000 men (of which less
than 2,000 were horsemen) and about a dozen cannon. The preparation was
made with great splendour--a sort of forerunner of the Great Armada. It
seemed to be, as in the case of the projected invasion of England ten
years later by Spain, a case of “counting the chickens before they were
hatched.”
Some indication of the number of adventurers and camp followers
accompanying the army is given by the fact that the 800 craft ordained
for the invasion of Morocco carried in all some 24,000 persons,
inclusive of the fighting men. The paraphernalia and officials of
victory comprised amongst many other luxuries: lists for jousts, a
crown ready for the new King of Morocco to put on, and poets with
completed poems celebrating victory.
At this time Morocco was entering on the throes of civil war. Muley
Abd-el-Mulek, the reigning Sultan, was opposed by his nephew, Mohammed,
and to aid the latter, who promised to bring in 400 horsemen, was the
immediate object of Sebastian. But the fiery young King of Portugal had
undertaken more than he was able to perform. Abd-el-Mulek opposed his
18,000 Portuguese with 55,000 Moors, (of whom 36,000 were horsemen)
and with three times his number of cannon. The young Crusader’s
generalship was distinctly defective; he was a fine fighting man, but
a poor commander. Instead of attacking at once on his arrival and so
putting the zeal of his own troops and the discouragement of the enemy
to the best advantage, he wasted nearly a week in hunting parties and
ineffectual manœuvring. When finally issue was joined, Abd-el-Mulek,
though he was actually dying, surrounded the Portuguese forces and cut
them to pieces. Sebastian, though he fought like a lion, and had three
horses killed under him, was hopelessly beaten. There was an attendant
piece of the grimmest comedy on record. The Sultan died during the
battle, but he was a stern old warrior, and as he fell back in his
litter he put his finger on his lip to order with his last movement
that his death should be kept secret for the time being. The officer
beside him closed the curtains and went on with the fight, pretending
to take orders from the dead man and to transmit them to the captains.
The fate of Sebastian was sealed in that battle. Whether he lived or
died, he disappeared on 5 August, 1578. One story was that after the
battle of Alcaçer-el-Kebir, his body stripped and showing seven wounds
was found in a heap of the slain; that it was taken to Fez and there
buried; but was afterwards removed to Europe and found resting place
in the Convent of Belen. Another story was that after a brilliant
charge on his enemies he was taken in, but having been rescued by Lui
de Brito he escaped unpursued. Certainly no one seemed to have seen
the King killed, and it was strange that no part of his clothing or
accoutrements was ever found. These were of great splendour, beauty and
worth, and must have been easily traceable. There was a rumour that on
the night following the battle some fugitives, amongst whom was one of
commanding distinction, sought refuge at Arzilla.
Alcaçer-el-Kebir was known as the “Battle of the three Kings.” All the
principals engaged in it perished. Sebastian was killed or disappeared.
Abd-el-Mulek died as we have seen, and Mohammed was drowned in trying
to cross the river.
The dubiety of Sebastian’s death gave rise in after years to several
impostures.
The first began six years after Sebastian’s successor--his uncle,
Cardinal Henry--was placed on the throne. The impostor was known as the
“King of Penamacor.” The son of a potter at Alcobaca, he established
himself at Albuquerque, within the Spanish borders, somewhat to the
north of Badajos, and there gave himself out as “a survivor of the
African Campaign.” As usual the public went a little further and said
openly that he was the missing Don Sebastian. At first he denied the
soft impeachment, but later on the temptation became too great for him
and he accepted it and set up in Penamacor, where he became known as
the “King of Penamacor.” He was arrested and paraded through Lisbon,
bareheaded, as if to let the public see that he in no way resembled the
personality of Sebastian. He was sent to the galleys for life. But he
must have escaped, for later on he appeared in Paris as Silvio Pellico,
Duke of Normandy, and was accepted as such in many of the salons in the
exclusive Faubourg St. Germain.
The second personator of Sebastian was one Matheus Alvares, who having
failed to become a monk, a year later imitated the first impostor, and
in 1585 set up a hermitage at Ericeira. He bore some resemblance to the
late king in build, and in the strength of this he boldly gave himself
out as “King Sebastian” and set out for Lisbon. But he was arrested
by the way and entered as a prisoner. He was tried and executed with
frightful accessories to the execution.
The third artist in this imposture appeared in 1594. He was a Spaniard
from Madrigal in Old Castile--a cook, sixty years old (Sebastian would
have been just forty if he had lived). When arrested he was given but
short shrift and shared the same ghastly fate as his predecessor.
The fourth, and last, imposture was more serious. This time the
personator began in Venice in 1598, calling himself “Knight of the
Cross.”
As twenty years had now elapsed since the disappearance of Sebastian,
he would have changed much in appearance, so in one respect the
personator had less to contend against. Moreover the scene of endeavour
was this time laid in Venice, a place even more widely removed in the
sixteenth century from Lisbon by circumstances than by geographical
position. Again witnesses who could give testimony to the individuality
of the missing King of twenty years ago were few and far between. But
on the other hand the new impostor had new difficulties to contend
against. Henry, the Cardinal, had only occupied the Portuguese throne
two years, for in 1580 Philip II of Spain had united the two crowns,
and had held the dual monarchy for eighteen years. He was a very
different antagonist from any one that might be of purely Portuguese
origin.
In the eyes of many of the people--like all the Latin races naturally
superstitious--one circumstance powerfully upheld the impostor’s
claim. So long ago as 1587, Don John de Castro had made a seemingly
prophetic statement that Sebastian was alive and would manifest himself
in due time. His utterance was, like most such prophecies of the
kind, “conducive to its own fulfilment;” there were many--and some of
them powerful--who were willing at the start to back up any initiator
of such a claim. In his time Sebastian had been used, so far as it
was possible to use a man of his temperament and position, by the
intriguers of the Catholic Church, and the present occasion lent itself
to their still-existent aims. Rome was very powerful four centuries
ago, and its legions of adherents bound in many ties, were scattered
throughout the known world. Be sure these could and would aid in any
movement or intrigue which could be useful to the Church.
“The Knight of the Cross”--who insinuated, though he did not state
so, that he was a Royal person was arrested on the showing of the
Spanish Ambassador. He was a born liar, with all the readiness which
the carrying out of such an adventure as he had planned requires. Not
only was he well posted in known facts, but he seemed to be actually
proof against cross-examination. The story he told was that after the
battle of Alcaçer-el-Kebir he with some others, had sought temporary
refuge in Arzilla and in trying to make his way from there to the East
Indies, he had got to “Prester John’s” land--the semi-fabled Ethiopia
of those days. From thence he had been turned back, and had, after
many adventures and much wandering--in the course of which he had been
bought and sold a dozen times or more, found his way, alone, to Venice.
Amongst other statements he alleged that Sebastian’s confessor had
already recognised and acknowledged him; but he was doubtless ignorant,
when he made the statement, that Padre Mauricio, Don Sebastian’s
confessor, fell with his king in 1578. Two things, one, a positive
inference and the other negative, told against him. He only knew of
such matters as had been made public in depositions, and _he did not
know Portuguese_. The result of his first trial was that he was sent to
prison for two years.
But those two years of prison improved his case immensely. In that
time he learned the Portuguese language and many facts of history.
One of the first to believe--or to allege belief, in his story, Fray
Estevan de Sampayo, a Dominican monk, was in 1599, sent by the Venetian
authorities to Portugal to obtain an accredited description of the
personal marks of King Sebastian. He returned within a year with a
list of sixteen personal marks--attested by an Apostolic notary.
Strange to say the prisoner exhibited every one of them--a complete
agreement which in itself gave rise to the new suspicion that the list
had been made out by, or on behalf of, the prisoner. The proof however
was accepted--for the time; and he was released on the 28th of July,
1600--but with the imperative, humiliating proviso that he was to quit
Venice within four and twenty hours under penalty of being sent to
the galleys. A number of his supporters, who met him before he went,
found that he had in reality no sort of resemblance to Sebastian. Don
John de Castro, who was amongst them, said that a great change in
Sebastian seemed to have taken place. (He had prophesied and adhered
to his prophecy.) He now described him as a man of medium height and
powerful frame, with hair and beard of black or dark brown, and said
he had completely lost his beauty. “What has become of my fairness?”
the swarthy ex-prisoner used to say. He had eyes of uncertain colour,
not large but sparkling; high cheek bones; long nose; thin lips with
the “Hapsburg droop” in the lower one. He was short from the waist
up. (Sebastian’s doublet would fit no other person.) His right leg
and arm were longer than the left, the legs being slightly bowed like
Sebastian’s. He had small feet with extraordinarily high insteps; and
large hands. “In fine,” Don John summed up illogically, “he is the
self-same Sebastian--except for such differences as resulted from years
and labours.” Some other particulars he added which are in no way
helpful to a conclusion.
The Impostor told his friends that he had in 1597, sent a messenger
from Constantinople to Portugal--one Marco Tullio Catizzone--who had
never returned. Thence he had travelled to Rome--where, when he was
just on the eve of being presented to the Holy Father, he was robbed of
all he had; thence to Verona and so on to Venice. After his expulsion
from Venice he seems to have found his way to Leghorn and Florence, and
thence on to Naples, where he was handed over to the jurisdiction of
the Spanish Viceroy, the Count of Lemos, who had visited him in prison,
and who well remembered King Sebastian whom he had seen when in a
diplomatic mission. The Viceroy came to the conclusion that he bore no
likeness at all to Sebastian, that he was ignorant of all save the well
known historical facts that had been published, and that his speech
was of “corrupt Portuguese mingled with tell-tale phrases of Calabrian
dialect.” Thereupon he took active steps against him. One witness who
was produced, recognized in him the real Marco Tullio Catizzone, and
Count de Lemos sent for his wife, mother-in-law and brother-in-law,
all of whom he had deceived and deserted. His wife, Donna Paula of
Messina, acknowledged him; and he confessed his crime. Condemned to the
galleys for life, Marco Tullio, out of consideration of a possibility
of an error of justice, was so far given indulgence by the authorities
that he did not have to wear prison dress or labour at the oar. Many
of his supporters, who still believed in him, tried to mitigate his
lot and treated him as a companion; so that the hulk at San Lucar, at
the mouth of the Guadalquiver became a minor centre of intrigue. But
still he was not content, and adventuring further, he tried to get
money from the wife of Medina-Sidonia then Governor of Andalusia. He
was again arrested with some of his associates. Incriminating documents
were found on him. He was racked and confessed all. And so in his real
name and parentage, Marco Tullio, son of Ippolit Catizzone of Taverna,
and of Petronia Cortes his wife, and husband of Paula Gallardetta
was executed. He had, though of liberal education, never worked at
any occupation or calling; but he had previously to his great fraud,
personated other men--amongst them Don Diego of Arragon. On 23rd of
September, 1603, he was dragged on a hurdle to the Square of San Lucar;
his right hand was cut off and he was hanged. Five of his companions,
including two priests, shared his fate.
But in a way he and the previous impostors had a sort of posthumous
revenge, for Sebastian had now entered into the region of Romantic
Belief. He was, like King Arthur, the ideal and the heart of a great
myth. He became “The Hidden King” who would some day return to aid his
nation in the hour of peril--the destined Ruler of the Fifth Monarchy,
the founder of an universal Empire of Peace.
A hundred years ago, the custom in British theatres was to finish
the evening’s performance with a farce. On this occasion the tragedy
had been finished two centuries before the “comic relief” came. The
occasion was in the French occupation of Portugal in 1807. The strange
belief in the Hidden King broke out afresh. A rigorous censorship
of Sebastianist literature was without avail--even though its
disseminators were condemned by the still-existing Inquisition. The old
prophecy was renewed, with a local and personal application--Napoleon
was to be destroyed in the Holy Week of 1808, by the waiting Sebastian,
whose approach from his mysterious retreat was to be veiled with a
thick fog. There were to be new portents; the sky was to be emblazoned
with a cross of the Order of Aviz, and on March 19th a full moon was
to occur during the last quarter. All these things were foretold in an
_egg_, afterwards sent by Junot to the National Museum. The general
attitude of the French people towards the subject was illustrated by
a remark in an ironical manner of one writer: “what can be looked for
from a people, one half of whom await the Messiah, the other half Don
Sebastian?” The authority on the subject of King Sebastian, M. d’Antas,
relates that as late as 1838, after the crushing of a Sebastianist
insurrection in Brazil certain still believing Sebastianists were to
be seen along the coast peering through the fog for the sails of the
mythical ship which was to bring to them the Hidden King who was then
to reveal himself.