own sovereign, and cheering himself by hoping that like Francis,
Sebastian would one day return to his dominions, he detailed the
sufferings and the triumph of that monarch with peculiar enthusiasm.
Blanche listened, wondered, and remembered, but the more she heard, the
less she envied the lot of Gaspar’s heroes; her soul alive to pleasure
rather than to ambition, loved to diffuse itself over the beauties of
creation: she frequently forgot her lecturer in the sternest part of his
histories, while she watched the majestic motion of some tall magnolia
as the land-breeze slowly lifted its far-spreading branches, and
showered its white blossoms on every side like vegetable snows.
Her ear was entranced with music, her eye with colours; the song of
birds, and the varieties of verdure, were at all times more magical to
her than barren descriptions of gaudy courts, or frightful portraits of
warring armies. She loved Gaspar, but it was rather for the manner in
which he told his narratives, than for the narratives themselves:
affection beaming in all his looks, went at once to her infant heart,
and often did she break upon his details and banish from his mind
everything but herself, by suddenly clasping him round the neck,
uttering some endearing epithet, and printing on his cheek the pure,
the angel kiss of childish love.
Carried in his arms to the summit of such mountains as human industry
had succeeded in making accessible to human feet, she would gaze with
him on the distant sea, and hear with delight that she was one day to
cross it and to behold the happy country he described: then she would
eagerly draw a plan of their removal from Cachoeira, in which every
inhabitant was included.
The children must go because they were her playfellows, their parents
could not be left behind, else her young associates would be sad, and
the very aged people ought to accompany them also, since otherwise they
must perish for want of care and food: Barémel, dear Barémel, taught her
to feel that every other young heart would have some dumb favorite to
carry away, till at last she would multiply her companions in this
removal, so that Gaspar was obliged to confess she must have an ark
larger than Noah’s to transport the whole colony.
Blanche would then abandon the idea totally, (for curiosity was a feeble
sentiment in her breast when compared with tenderness) she loved the
good Indians, and no novelty in Europe compensated to her for the pain
of quitting them for ever.
Content with her situation, occupied and amused by turns, passionately
fond of her parents, she found no blank in the days that flowed on at
Cachoeira: innocence, gaiety, and affection, made them all charming.
Blanche had attained her seventh year, when some change was produced in
the prospects of her family.
An autumnal evening had closed a day of pastoral pleasure: it was the
birthday of Blanche, and it had been celebrated by her young playmates,
with such honors as their limited means would allow. The flowers and the
fruits which grew in their own gardens were all the offerings or
ornaments they had to spread before the child of their benefactor; but
with these they formed new bowers, and loaded mossy tables; with these
they decorated themselves, and beneath the glorious vault of Heaven
presented a scene more picturesquely beautiful than any which could be
found under the domes of man.
Tired with so many hours festivity, Kara Aziek threw herself on a couch
to enjoy the fresh air, which blowing through pendent branches of
passion-flower and clematis, that curtained an open porch, came sweet as
cooling: the risen moon shone full upon her lovely figure, illuminating
those eloquent eyes which were fixed on their dearest object. Blanche
had fallen asleep: her delicate little form partly rested on the ground,
partly leaned on the body of Barémel, who having made no inconsiderable
appearance in the fairy revels, was like his mistress profusely adorned
with flowers, and full as weary.
Everything within, was still; everything without, was tranquil. Nothing
was heard, save the monotonous and plaintive hum of swarms of Brazilian
bats, which instead of disturbing, induced repose.
Sebastian sat by the couch of Kara Aziek, wrapt in a tender trance of
fond contemplation; his child and his wife were equally the objects of
that sweet delight which gently warmed his heart; and the faithful
Barémel shared the admiration.--A book was in his hand; he had taken it
up to read to Kara Aziek: she reminded him of it, and opening the
volume, he read with a low, gentle voice, the following poem.
THE INDIAN ISLAND.
The sunbeams gild the waters green
That float round Borneo’s palmy shore,
And angel-forms are dimly seen
Gliding the glassy ocean o’er.
Moveless one little bark remains,
That lately skimm’d the liquid way;
Silence thro’ all her chambers reigns,
And no one chides her short delay:
Above, below, entrancing sounds
Now breathe, now ring, now sudden cease;
Then balmy mist the ship surrounds,
While all is stillness, sweetness, peace!
Again the airy voices swell!
Again the light blast sweeps the sea!
Again the balmy vapours dwell
On every wave, and every tree!
Swift shoots the bark, (unfetter’d now,)
Tho’ smooth the tide and calm the air;
Its purple sail and gilded prow,
Some power unseen, must onward bear.
Ah who is she, that lonely lies
Beneath the broad o’er-arching sail,
With panting breast and closing eyes,
With with’ring wreath, and floating veil?
Loose o’er her neck the golden hair
Like lucid moonshine softly streams;
Her glowing cheek, (etherial fair!)
Thro’ tears of tender transport beams:
For joy’s excess, o’er all her face
Hath cast a clouded sweetness dim;
Smiling she leans with languid grace,
While round her dreams ecstatic, swim:
Fixed in a trance of twilight sleep,
She hears at times the magic choir,
And scents the mists that o’er the deep
Now forward flow, and now retire.
Onward the winged vessel flies,
Till sudden in a verdant bay
It stops: while viewless being’s sighs
Waft the meridian fires away.
Umbrageous on the kissing hills
Tam’rinds and cedars mix their boughs;
And sounds are there of trickling rills,
And smell of cassia, myrrh, and rose:
Satiate with musky breath of flowers,
With luscious clove, and sandal sweet,
The hot air pants in leafy bowers
Where birds and beasts for shade retreat.
And now the virgin’s slumbers fade,
As clashing cymbals shake the trees:
Ah, ’tis not Delos, wretched maid,
That rises mid these foreign seas!
’Tis not thy dear, thy native isle,
Where green andrachnés shade the vales,
Where almonds blush, and olives smile,
And spring leads on the freshning gales!
’Tis not the distant coast of Greece
That stretches there along the main:
Lo! as the spicy heats increase,
Thou seek’st thy natal airs in vain.
Ah! never, (haply,) shall thou more
Thy parents or thy love behold;
Thou touchest now, wild Borneo’s shore;
Thou see’st the land of crime and gold!
A shadowy shape, (more heav’nly bright
Than that which opes the gates of day,)
Oft melting from her wondering sight,
Now points the fearful stranger’s way.
Thro’ citron woods, and palmy dells,
(Thick set with flowers,) where every sweet,
That scattered thro’ the wide world, dwells,
Seems there in verdant home to meet;
O’er heights with orange blossoms strewn,
By springs that gild the dipping grass,
By rocks of crystal yet unhewn,
And mines of glitt’ring gems, they pass.
High in the centre of the isle,
Where broad bananas thickly grow,
Ascends a fair, majestic pile,
Whiter than Lapland’s drifted snow:
Around its alabaster base,
Unnumber’d flowers their garlands wreathe;
There jasmine leads her fragrant race,
Carnations bloom, and roses breathe;
Above its proud, imperial crest,
Like plumed helm of giant mold,
The streaming clouds fantastic rest,
And shade its battlements of gold.
Now to the spot appointed, come,
Here stays the lovely stranger’s guide;
She flits before the stately dome,
And lo! its portals open wide.
With rainbow splendour, blinding bright,
The di’mond hall at once appears,
But sightless with that blaze of light,
The thrilling Láis only hears.
Echoes the vaulted roof above,
With voices like the turning spheres;
Such as in grotto, dell, or grove,
Came never yet to mortal ears;
While harps harmonious, ring around,
One silver flute alternate sighs;
And floating on a tide of sound,
The soul in trance celestial lies.
High piled with food ambrosial, towers
A board, whose garniture of pride
Displays each precious gem that pours
Thro’ earth’s deep gloom a tinctured tide:
There glows the sunny topaz, there
The vernal em’rald freshly smiles,
And ruby cups such nectars bear,
As Bacchus brought from Indian isles.
With flowers immortal, gaily crowned,
(Unknown to man’s obscure abodes;)
A dazzling band the feast surround;
It seems a banquet of the Gods!--
All, brighter than the starry host,
Which Hesper (monarch of the train,)
Leads o’er Siberia’s glittering coast,
When night and frost together reign!
All, fairer than a grove of palm,
When now its spring-tide leaves are on;
Or pillar’d dome in evening’s calm;
Or ocean bright’ning in the sun!
But rais’d supreme on sapphire throne,
One glorious form, unequall’d, shines;
The Genius of the burning zone,
The God of India’s woods and mines.
Dark as the olive’s deepening dye,
Yet radiant are his faultless limbs:
Effulgent, large, his lifted eye,
The hall and host immortal, dims!
It burns upon the Grecian maid,
Who like a sun-struck lily bends;
For to her startled gaze displayed
The genius from his throne descends.
Trembling she sinks, and deems that now
Before her stands the Delian God;
Such was his height and beamy brow,
When first on Cynthus’ top he trod;
Such was his voice, (inspiring sweet!)
When green Inopus’ banks among,
He first from out her deep retreat
Called Echo, with the lyric song!
Gazing, the youthful Genius hangs
Enamoured, o’er the kneeling Greek;
Then thrill’d by love’s delightful pangs,
Thus gives his kindling heart to speak.
“See here, the nymph by magic brought!
“See here, the boast of human charms!
“Can wildest wishes ask for aught
“Of fairer mould to fill my arms?
“No genii, no!--these deathless flowers
“Of rosy light, embodied air,
“That grew in Eden’s summer bowers,
“Are not so sweet, or trancing fair:
“The countless, sparkling forms that gleam,
“Or shine, or fade, or vanish quite,
“Sporting in sunny Fancy’s beam,
“Are not so perfect, not so bright.
“Then hail your Queen! for sure those eyes
“Will glow with tender bliss for me;
“Those lips repay my ardent sighs;
“That heart, my heart’s dear treasure be!”--
Raised from his head, the circlet gay
He places fondly on her brow;
Her senses fade,--she swoons away,
And fills his arms, a wreath of snow!
When back returns her trembling sight,
A soothing stillness round her spreads!
The pearly walls reflect a light
Like that which doubtful morning sheds:
No sound is near, save rustlings soft
Of myrtles waving to and fro,
And nightingales, that warbling oft
At distance, pour the plaint of woe:
Thro’ violet beds whose sweets distil,
A far-off, gliding fount she hears;
And lo! the youthful genius still,
(But prostrate at her feet) appears!
Eclipsed by tears, no more his eyes
Burn, or insufferably shine;
Faultering with fear and broken sighs,
His voice no longer rings divine.
“And have I seen thee but to love!
“And hast thou seen me but to hate!--
“Ah, that with thee in Delian grove,
“’Twere mine beloved to share thy fate!
“Ah that with thee, ’twere mine to tend
“A peaceful flock on Cynthus’ plain,
“Or bless’d with thy rare smiles, to spend
“A transient life of joy and pain!
“For this, my days immortal, given,
“My boundless power o’er Indies deep,
“My throne on earth, my rank in heaven,
“Were even then, a purchase cheap!”--
“O cease thou unknown God! or say
“By what strange magic am I here?
“Why torn from all I love away,
“And doom’d thy fruitless vows to hear?
“Art thou a God, and dost not know
“That I this withering garland wore,
“To welcome from a vanquished foe,
“The warlike youth whom I adore?
“That as his conquering gallies rode
“Majestic o’er the foamy sea,
“I hasted from the shouting croud,
“To shed the tears of ecstacy;
“And while my raised, transported soul,
“On joy’s tumultuous surge was tost,
“Strange slumbers o’er my senses stole,
“That fled but on thy fearful coast?--
“What means that cry of wild despair?
“That look of more than mortal pain?
“Why dost thou rend thy radiant hair?
“O, waft me to my home again!”
“Cease then to talk of love, or be
“Thy voice for me thus thrilling sweet;
“Thy love-expressive eyes, from me
“Thro’ softer mists, abashed retreat!
“O let me, let me fondly press
“These trembling, longing lips to thine,
“And lost in rapture’s tranc’d excess,
“Blend all thy lovely soul with mine!
“Then shalt thou share my ample throne;
“Then to my prayer incessant, given,
“Thine shall it be, yes thine alone,
“In mortal shape to range thro’ heaven!”
“Forbear! forbear!” she breathless cries,
(As now with wild, impassion’d start,
With burning cheeks and burning eyes,
The Genius strains her to his heart.)
“O, by those precious tears, that late
“Thy splendor quench’d, and seem’d to prove
“A breast incapable of hate,
“But warm with pity, as with love;
“O, by those drops of sacred dew,
“I charge thee now, this storm control!
“Death could not thus affright my view,
“Thy guilty transports stain my soul!
“Wrapt in these arms, with chastest bliss
“Oft has my blooming Phaon sighed;
“This cheek hath blush’d beneath his kiss,
“These eyes to his fond gaze replied;
“Then by the Queen of Night I swear!
“The spotless Goddess of the chase,
“Never shall god or mortal, share
“With him I love, my pure embrace!
“Betrothed to his, my wedded heart
“No time, no distance can divorce:
“At first was shot thy deadliest dart;
“Thou hast no more of equal force;”
Like a clear cloud, in which appears
The wat’ry moon or showery bow;
Shining thro’ sad yet tender tears,
She stands awhile in silent woe;
In mem’ry’s glass she sees the grove,
Where Phaon met her oft by night;
She beauteous as the queen of love,
He like the young Adonis bright,
Prone at her feet, the Genius sinks
With frantic looks of new desire;
His eye her melting beauty drinks,
His lips impassion’d sighs respire.
“Vain are thy vows! for never more
“Canst thou to Delos’ coast return:
“Thee only would I thus implore;
“For thee I languish, thee I burn!
“Eternal fires my breast destroy,
“My thoughts in strange deliriums float:
“O never can that earthly boy
“So wildly love, so madly dote!--
“Abhorrent still then take thy fate!
“Hence to a life of ceaseless fear!
“Ne’er shall thy heart’s alarm abate,
“Till that proud heart hath wished me near!”
He speaks, and instant darkness falls
Stilly and thick, o’er all things round;
Silence that virtue’s self appalls,
Succeeds to Love and Music’s sounds;
Sudden loud thunders peal on high,
Huge forests crash, and ocean raves;
While beasts of prey tremendous cry,
And Echo calls from all her caves;--
At this part of the ballad, the sudden entrance of Don Emanuel de Castro
interrupted Sebastian, and throwing aside the book, he arose to welcome
him.
CHAP. IX.
The countenance of the viceroy announced important intelligence: “What
have I to learn?” exclaimed Sebastian, eagerly advancing.
“That I am recalled:” answered De Castro. “I am now a simple individual
in Brazil. A new governor is just landed; and the same ship which
conveyed him from Spain, has brought me letters from my sister of my
Medina Sidonia: their contents make me welcome my recal as a
harbinger”--
Here Kara Aziek springing up with a blanched cheek, caught his arm,
exclaiming in a voice of alarm,
“O say not that our peaceful days are over! rouse not those thoughts,
those wishes--danger, anxiety, destruction perhaps, await--ah! my
Sebastian, thy looks tell me what I have to fear.”--
Sebastian received her trembling frame in his arms, as weeping and faint
she turned from Don Emanuel to him; she felt that his body shook with
strong emotion: he spoke not to her, but he pressed her against his
heart while his eyes impatiently searched those of De Castro. The
unusual animation he saw there, deceived him; his rapid imagination shot
away, and seized the utmost of his wishes: in breathless haste he could
scarcely articulate;
“You are recalled--a new viceroy is arrived!--Philip then is dead!”--
“Not dead, nor dying,”--replied De Castro, pained to observe the
delusion his manner had excited.
Sebastian’s cheek lost its flush, and he sunk down on the couch Aziek
had quitted, with such a deep sigh of disappointment, that De Castro
stopped.
The King recovered himself after a short struggle, and while a blush
recoloured his face, said faintly, “This is foolish in me--quite foolish
De Castro!--you see how imperfectly I have quelled my character: after
so many years of discipline, imagination and passion are as omnipotent
as ever!--Well, tell me what you have to relate of our ill-fated
Portugal.”
Kara Aziek folded her arms closely round him, in silence; as if fearful
that De Castro’s next words were to tear him from her: pale and
speechless she hung upon his looks.
“The situation of Europe, Sire!” resumed Don Emanuel, “affords for the
first time a rational prospect of hope. The Low Countries still wage
successful war against Philip; their young Prince Maurice proves himself
worthy of his father; England has openly declared against Spain; the
grand armada of Philip has been destroyed on her coast, and she
threatens to attack his shores in return. Henry of France has been
assassinated!--the Protestant King of Navarre is his successor. The
Catholic league thus shaken, France, England, Holland, Sweden, and the
petty states of Germany all professing the same faith with my sovereign,
all hostile to the religious opinions and political views of the
relentless bigot, may we not conclude, that to seat a protestant prince
on the throne of Portugal will be considered by them as an act of sound
policy?”
Don Emanuel paused, and his temperate eyes met the fixed ones of
Sebastian; how much was in them!--Animated by their kindling expression,
he went on.
“These are the hopes which make me hail my recal: I shall be enabled to
ascertain the situation, and to feel the pulse of the Portuguese. After
satisfying myself on these points, it is my intention to pass into
England or into France, as circumstances may direct; and there, should
my sovereign approve the bold design, I may unfold the plan of a
quadruple alliance between the four Protestant powers, which could not
fail of crushing the general tyrant, and giving peace to Europe.--O
Sire! might I but live to be instrumental in bringing you back to your
people; might I but live to see a Portuguese Prince wear the crown so
long usurped by the very fiend of intolerance, I should think my life
nobly filled up, and its duties done.”
As De Castro spoke he bent his knee to the earth, and kissed the hand of
the King: Sebastian raised him.
“Excellent De Castro!” he said, “I have not words to thank you;--here is
one that should thank you too, but love makes a coward of her.--What
fear you, my Aziek! (he said, fondly turning to her, and resting his
lips on her pale cheek,) I am with you--now and for ever with
you:--alike inseparable in danger or obscurity, in weal or woe, in life
or death!”--
The look, the voice, the words of her Sebastian went at once to the
heart of Kara Aziek; she burst into a passion of tears, exclaiming, “Ah!
let me ever have thee here--here in these arms!--I ask but to share thy
fate, not to oppose thy duties or thy wishes.”
“I will have none in which you do not willingly share, my Aziek!”
replied Sebastian, tenderly smiling on her, “be assured that the first
object still in this heart, is thyself, the next our child; but my first
duty is to my country.--Allow me then to risk something for her sake, at
least not to turn aside from the favourable avenue thus suddenly opened
to me by the hand of Heaven itself?”
“And what wouldst thou do, my Sebastian?” asked Kara Aziek, yet clinging
to his arm; “wouldst thou quit Brazil, embark in a perilous enterprize,
and put thy wife, thy child, thy very existence to the hazard?”
This question caused Sebastian to pause and consider what course was
best to pursue. De Castro ventured to suggest some arguments against a
precipitate confidence in any European power, and those arguments being
enforced by the conclusions of Sebastian’s own mind, wrought him to
confess that prudence commanded him to remain in South America.
Till secure of being acknowledged, received, and supported, either by
France, England, or the Netherlands, it would be madness in him to
abandon the peaceful retirement in which he lived; and distant as was
Brazil, still it was better to remain there unsuspected, than to wander
in disguise and apprehension from realm to realm.
Political bodies do not move with the rapidity of natural ones;
consequently a voyage to and from Brazil might be made if required,
without delaying the execution of any grand blow: De Castro’s secret
mission might be diffusing itself through the different courts, till a
moment arrived in which policy would demand the decisive act of
Sebastian’s personal appearance.
In discussion and consultation half the night was consumed, and on the
morrow Gaspar was sent for to take leave of the late viceroy.
No sooner did that faithful friend hear the momentous events which
seemed conducting his King to the point for which he languished, than he
gave way to the wildest joy, and offered Don Emanuel to accompany him if
needful, to the remotest corner of Europe.
Still more endeared by these testimonies of attachment, Sebastian would
not endure the thought of being bereaved of two friends at once; and Don
Emanuel deemed it imprudent to return home accompanied by one who might
be recollected in Portugal as the man who had asserted his sovereign’s
existence in Africa.
He now bade farewel to Cachoeira with some regret, but more presages of
future good: as he kissed the hand of Kara Aziek, she whispered in a
tremulous voice; “Adieu, Don Emanuel! justify the trust my heart reposes
in you, by thinking more of your King’s happiness, than of that
ungrateful Portugal which spurned him from her. In the name of God I
conjure you be well assured of her penitence and resolution--be
confident of the fidelity of other powers, ere you call my Sebastian
from the bosom of benevolent and peaceful enjoyment, to a scene of
contest. I have no ambition for this unconscious child.”
De Castro replied to the touching sigh with which she concluded, by a
glance full of enthusiasm; “But I have, madam!” he said, bending to
press the forehead of little Blanche, “this expansive brow must one day
wear a crown; even now, it promises to be the seat of royal virtues. You
must not tempt me into treason against my country; and treason it would
be to withhold such a treasure from her arms.”
A faint smile shone through the tears of Kara Aziek; she bent towards
her child with a mixture of pain and pleasure, for the mother was
gratified by this tender compliment.
Sebastian embraced his noble friend: his looks were unusually serious,
and by turns the colour on his cheek deepened and faded.
“You go, De Castro!” he said, “you go with our destiny in your hands.
You know my soul--you know the tender ties which render life and liberty
precious to me: once, I would have gone as gladly to death for the mere
chance of recovering my rights, freeing my people, and regaining power
to punish her oppressor, as I would have hasted to my bridal hour; but
now, these dear objects, these more precious parts of myself, in whom I
breathe, live, and enjoy, tug at my heartstrings, and make a coward of
me!”
Sebastian stopt to recover voice, for a tide of tenderness subdued him.
After a moment he resumed. “Think of them in all your actions: be just
to them, as to Portugal: let your zeal for each be equally balanced, and
then whatever be the requisitions you may demand of my domestic
security, I will implicitly comply with them. I am ready to _risk much_
for my people if they be worthy the risk; but I will not _sacrifice all_
to a capricious or ungrateful nobility.”