CHAP. VI.

Let me pass lightly over the period in which the King of Portugal and his Aziek journeyed from Ispahan to Cairo. They embarked there in a vessel bound for Venice; sojourned at Venice only till they procured a passage in a ship going to India; the captain of which engaged to stop at Massignan, where Brazil-traders usually watered, and where he might then transfer his passengers according to their wishes.

As the Venetian bark sailed between the shores of Spain and of Africa, and leaving the smiling waves of the Mediterranean, entered upon the stern Atlantic, emotions of awe, of apprehension, of gratitude, springing from the memory of former days, grew upon the hearts of Sebastian and Kara Aziek.

After so many vicissitudes, so many anxieties, they were united inseparably;

Buried in profound thought, they sat together with their eyes fixed on the two coasts that recalled such various remembrances. Kara Aziek gazed on Africa, thinking of her father and Abensallah: Sebastian regarded the Spanish shore, gradually turning his reflections from remote events to such as had been lately detailed to him at Venice.—He had learned there several important facts, upon which he now ruminated in serious silence.

Since his departure from Portugal, and after sojourning in Persia, much change had taken place. Cardinal Henry was dead, the succession to his throne had been hotly contested by a croud of pretenders: Don Antonio was proclaimed by one party, Philip II. by another; the streets of Lisbon had been filled with assassination and tumults; her prisons alternately thronged with the adherents of the Braganzas and the d’Aveyros. Finally Spain prevailed: Antonio had escaped with difficulty beyond sea, thrown himself on the protection of England, embarked in a vain expedition, lost all hope again, and was now wandering through France, mocking poverty with the title of King, which his rank and vicious conduct rendered but a seal of infamy.

Seated on his throne of Spain, Philip made the neck of Portugal his footstool: she felt her new sovereign only by the weight of his tyranny: her nobles were torn from her, her court filled with the greedy followers of a Castilian Regent; her treasures were wafted into Spanish ports, and her halls of justice transported to the capital of her oppressor.—Crushed with accumulating burthens, her people lost their strength to resist; and terrified by the bloody vengeance which Philip took on them for yielding to the delusion of two impostors who had successively started up proclaiming themselves Don Sebastian, they thought no more of their rights; they crouched under his iron sceptre, appearing to believe themselves fortunate if but permitted to breathe.

With her towns garrisoned by foreign troops, her arms wrested from her grasp, her treasury rifled, her fleet dismantled, what could wretched Portugal do but sit sullenly in her chains, desperate of relief? Could the hand of one man, even though the hand of her lawful King, hope to break those bonds? The thought was madness.

Sebastian saw that to follow his heart’s impulse, and fly immediately to the succour of his subjects, would be only to offer himself up an useless victim; he would be only exciting fresh blood to flow, fresh horrors to arise: unless acknowledged and assisted by other powers, and that at some critical moment of Spanish weakness, he could not expect to regain or to restore his people to liberty. There was no path for him but that he was now in: he must seek the advice of Don Emanuel De Castro, and try through him the temper of his trans-atlantic subjects.

The bitterness of his regret for having originally caused all this suffering to Portugal, was like the anguish of a father who beholds his only son plunged into crime and misery through his own faulty indulgence.

Sebastian’s heart might be said to weep blood, while he enumerated the enormities of Philip, and the wrongs of the Portuguese: the gloom of his looks saddened Kara Aziek, and when tenderly inquiring his thoughts, she learnt their painful nature, it cost her some effort to conquer her sympathy, and exert herself to argue away his excess of self-reproach.

By gentle degrees she changed the current of his reflections, though they turned into one not so smooth as the hand of wedded love would willingly have made it.

Sebastian had frequently conversed with his wife on the subject of her new religion; but in the hurry of land-travelling, those conversations had been short and unsatisfactory: sufficient however to shew the afflicted husband that the wife of his bosom nourished what he believed a fatal system of error, denounced by the church, and abhorred of God.

It was in the leisure of a long voyage that he hoped to eradicate these pernicious doctrines.

Having fortunately encountered a Brazil-trader at Massignan and procured a passage in her to St. Salvador, he began now to make the attempt: Kara Aziek met his scrutiny with frankness and confidence. All other opinions she would have hoped and wished to find yield to his sounder reasoning; but over this important point, the weakness of fond woman dared not usurp any influence.

In converting her friend from Mahometanism to Christianity, Emilia had gone back to the source whence alone man can expect to draw pure doctrine: she had taught her from the sacred book itself, such as it appears to an attentive, inquiring, and docile mind:—She had stripped herself of every prejudice, even in favor of the great Reformer to whom so many souls stand indebted for an example of mental courage; and perhaps in dictating the creed which she thus formed out of the commands of our Lord, and the exhortations of his apostles, she taught a purer religion than Luther himself.

Emilia had then compared this scriptural Christianity with the monstrous system of Popery: how simple, how beautiful, how divine, was the one! how complicated, how contradictory, how merely human, the other!

Kara Aziek found her hesitation and doubts vanish with the fantastic mysteries which had given them birth: her spirit prostrated itself with tears of joy, of love, of adoration, at the feet of the meek and spotless Jesus! she acknowledged her Redeemer and her divine Master, in him who spoke to the understanding as well as to the heart; and building her faith upon examination and conviction, she built it upon a rock.

The readiness with which she met inquiry, and the attention she gave to argument, at first inspirited Sebastian, but he soon found that to some of her interrogatories he was unable to reply, and that several of her observations startled his own faith.

Shocked, alarmed, afflicted, his soul recoiled from the sight of that precipice, to which he believed himself on the point of being hurried: he precipitately abandoned his enterprize, and for some days their conversation flowed solely upon other subjects.

Vain was the attempt to banish from his mind the remembrance of those remarks which troubled him; as vain the hope of being content to see Aziek’s soul divided from his own. Tormenting apprehensions for her, or doubts for himself, by turns distracted him, poisoning the sweet hours of love and of confidence.

Irresolute, fearful, virtuously fearful of sinning by presumption, he trembled to proceed in an investigation, which threatened the destruction of his long-nursed superstitions; but at length a naturally courageous mind shook off its fetters, and decided him to go on.

The first advantage was gained by Aziek; Sebastian allowed the fairness of taking scripture for a guide: when he granted this to her reasoning, he knew not to what important concessions it would lead. From the instant he abandoned the popish stronghold of traditionary doctrine, Kara Aziek triumphed.

With the sacred volume in her hand, and every faculty roused to comprehend and to explain its dubious passages, she continued to subdue one by one all the errors of Sebastian: the mists of prejudice, the denser fog of superstition, gradually cleared away before her bright and steady reason: conviction waited on judgment, and the amazed zealot found himself at last walking in broad day, regarding with astonishment those monstrous chimeras, which rolling afar off, disappeared like dark clouds at the uprise of the sun.

Behold him then a convert to truth!—elevated to the noble consciousness of worshipping the living God with a willing heart and a free mind; exercising the powers of that mind in the delightful and purifying act of meditation on the divine nature; no longer agitated by a dread of meditating too much or too closely!

Far from damping the ardour of his piety, this change in some of his opinions served but to encrease it. Satisfaction exists but with conviction, and to be satisfied with any principle is to love it. Sebastian felt affection animate him in his new religion, and formerly only a vehement sense of duty had impelled his actions; he could not love what he dared not examine and trembled to understand; but he would have devoted himself and half the world to death in obedience to its commands, because he believed blind submission necessary to salvation: now Judgment and Will went together.

If it were precious to feel this honorable freedom of soul, this sentiment of self-respect, which so far from rendering Christians presumptuous, exalts their notions of that august Being who will not accept brute worship from man, but invites him to study and to love his creator, how sweet was it to live in complete sympathy with the heart of Kara Aziek! how sweet to look upon her as the source of this inestimable blessing.

Their days, unbroken by a single dissonant sentiment, now flowed on in one soft stream of tender and tranquil enjoyment: occupied with each other, elevated from earth by their recent studies, they forgot the past and thought not of the future; for awhile the present only, filled and satisfied their souls.

But soon the land of Brazil rising from the vast Atlantic, called back emotions of friendship and solicitude; Sebastian’s heart rushed towards Gaspar. Kara Aziek with feminine eagerness anticipated the beautiful novelties of this unknown country; and an agreeable distraction followed the former concentration of their thoughts.

As their ship approached the new world, its majestic appearance roused Sebastian into admiration: the magnificence, of its coasts, the towering and brilliant verdure which crowned them; the gigantic scale of its rivers and forests, the purity of its atmosphere, and the stately elevation of St. Salvador, towards which they steered, stirred his spirit and kindled some kingly exultation.

This wide and glorious land was his—this glowing Paradise, which appeared created for the residence of Gods! While he contemplated it, a proud glow mantled his cheek: Kara Aziek noted the flush, and divined its meaning: she laid her hand gently upon his arm as he stood looking from the deck upon the city. “With love, friendship, and competency, in that enchanting region, shall we not be happy my Sebastian? Shall we not rest?”

Sebastian turned his softened eyes on her with a look of tender regret: “Would I had been born for thee only Aziek;—rest, alas! is not for a man whom sacred duties bind to action; I belong to my suffering people. But we shall rest, sweetest! (he added soothingly, seeing tears gather on her cheek) we shall rest at least awhile.”

Only an eloquent smile replied to him; for now the vessel entered the harbour of St. Salvador, and cast anchor amongst a wood of masts.

All was bustle and happy animation: the different voyagers hastened to taste the pleasure of touching land and breathing the air of trees and flowers. Sebastian conducted his Aziek and her attendant from the boat to the quay; there he heard Portuguese tongues and saw Portuguese faces: his heart yearned towards them. True to early impressions, his first emotion at the sight of Monks and Convents, was an emotion of religious gladness, he had to recollect that with their pageantry he had done for ever. As he passed along, the grandeur of the city (then the capital of Brazil) filled him with admiration, and while he contemplated its massy edifices, he believed that he beheld the seat of his new empire.

Having inquired the name of the viceroy, and learned that De Castro still held that powerful station, he led Aziek into a house provided for travellers, where persuading her to repose herself on a couch, he wrote to the viceroy: his letter contained these words.

“To Don Emanuel de Castro,

“It is your King and your friend, Don Emanuel, who confides himself to your honour; he comes to seek his country in Brazil: he reposes his safety on your loyalty,—confident that neither the remembrance of past injustice, nor the temptation to present revenge, can sway a generous soul from its duty. Come hither privily, come and counsel your fugitive prince.”

The interval which passed between the dispatch of this billet, and the arrival of Don Emanuel’s reply, was one of great anxiety: Sebastian thought less of his own reception than of Gaspar, of whom he hoped to hear from De Castro. To see, to embrace that lowly but precious friend, to demonstrate the constancy of his attachment, became the most lively wish of his heart.

In a short time a letter was brought from the governor: an habitual expectation of customary observances, made the proud monarch start when he saw this paper.—What!—did De Castro also cease to consider him a King!—should he not have hastened to evince his unabated respect, by personally answering to his sovereign’s confidence?—Sebastian felt, that between a complete abandonment of him, and that deeper devotedness which generous pity inspires, there could be no medium:—he execrated his own hasty reliance, and believing that it had betrayed him, he opened the suspected billet.

How quickly did its contents dissipate this rash pre-judgment! they were as follows:—

LETTER.

“Sire!

“The first impulse of my heart is to fly to my sovereign’s feet, there to entreat him to dispose of myself and of all that is mine, but an important consideration checks me: it is this.—The creatures of Philip surround us even here; if it were known that I, the representative of that monarch, visited an unknown stranger, suspicion would follow, and the august person of my King might be endangered.

“I restrain, therefore, my impatience—I do violence to my duty and my affection—I venture to risk his Majesty’s displeasure, by supplicating him to accompany the bearer of this to my residence: his loyalty, attested by months of zealous attention in Africa.”—

Sebastian dropt the letter at this sentence, and springing to the door with a flush of joy, called out—“where, where is my friend?”

Gaspar was not far distant: he ran forward, and would have thrown himself at the feet of his King, but Sebastian prevented him by falling on his neck. What a sacred moment was that which re-united two friends so variously endeared, and so long separated!—their hearts were big with past events; they could not speak, but remained strained in each other’s arms, without attempting to express any part of their feelings.

This silence was first broken by Sebastian: “Come, come Gaspar!” he said, catching his hand and leading him towards an interior room—“here is another joy for thee.”

At sight of Kara Aziek whom the tumultuous sounds of their meeting had roused, Gaspar stood a moment, as if collecting his scattered and delightfully-amazed senses, then rushing forward, he cast himself at her feet;

“What do I see?” he exclaimed, “dearest lady! am I to believe that the virgin has heard my prayers, and united two hearts equally noble—equally gifted, to bless—to attach—O joy too, too much!”

Love and happiness replied in the thrilling look which Kara Aziek directed towards Sebastian, and then turned upon Gaspar; her eloquent eyes ever seemed to render speech useless: Gaspar understood their language; his transport redoubled, and as he alternately kissed the hands of two persons dearer to him than life, he forgot that the world was not at his disposal, and that the master he adored, might yet have to wander from clime to clime a fugitive and a beggar.

Some moments were now given to mutual inquiries and mutual details: various emotions of sorrow, indignation, commiseration, and gratitude, were called forth by these recitals.

After much suffering, Gaspar had reached Brazil, and was now in the service of Don Emanuel.

When he heard of Philip’s usurpation over Portugal, De Castro would have immediately refused obeying his commands, had not the arrival of Gaspar, and the hope he held out of Don Sebastian’s appearance at Brazil, determined him to retain the vice-royalty, since it might enable him hereafter to restore his legitimate sovereign. Time, however, wore away, and Sebastian appeared not; the expectations of Don Emanuel and of Gaspar gradually died:—each of them in secret believed him dead, or still captive among the Moors; and just at the period of his arrival, they had entirely abandoned all hope of beholding their King at St. Salvador.

During this time of anxiety, De Castro had never ceased interrogating his Portuguese correspondents upon the events of their country, and it was from one of these he learnt what afforded him some ray of hope.

It was reported throughout Lisbon that the lady Gonsalva had beheld and conversed with Don Sebastian in the palace of Xabregas: she refused to repeat the nature of their interview, but asserted the fact with the most startling obstinacy.—Strict search had been made upon this information, by Antonio of Crato, but as it proved unsuccessful, the people believed she had seen his spirit; and by degrees the same horrible idea took possession of her own mind.

Terror and perpetual alarm now pursued her wherever she went; alone or in society, in the arms of her guilty lover, or by the cradles of her children, maddened imagination would suddenly conjure up his phantom—armed, not with mortal weapon, but with looks that seemed empowered to damn her.

At these instants, her hasty shriek struck others with the same panic that convulsed herself: by degrees her friends and her attendants deserted her;—Antonio unwillingly remained, ashamed of abandoning the wretch he had made. But at length even he fled her abode; then terminated the fate of Gonsalva: that phrenzy which had hitherto shewn itself only at intervals, now seized on her wholly, and living in one fearful paroxysm, she was left to rave out her life in the cell of a convent where a charitable sisterhood devoted themselves to assuage this last, worst calamity of human nature.

Too enlightened for belief in the monstrous notion of Don Sebastian’s spiritual re-appearance in a tangible body (for Gonsalva acknowledged having grasped his garments and his hand,) De Castro felt confident that his royal master had really appeared in Lisbon; but of the fate that had befallen him, he dared not think: it was too probable that he had fallen a victim to his uncle or to his cousin.

By suspecting the former, Don Emanuel was guilty of injustice: the aged King had been at that period scarcely more than a cypher; he was governed by a ministry (the creatures of Philip,) who kept from his knowledge every rumour of his nephew’s existence, prevented any subject of whatever rank from addressing him save through their medium, and finally dismissed Don Emanuel to Brazil, and allured Gaspar to prison, without disclosing to the half-childish monarch their motives for either action.

All that Gaspar knew of these events he briefly detailed, ere he indulged his own private feelings by inquiring the situation of his orphan sisters: Sebastian’s donation to them gave peace to his fraternal anxiety.

Not unmoved did the King of Portugal hear the awful catastrophe of Donna Gonsalva; his agitation however, did not appear outwardly in all its force, for horror and amazement locked up the usual expressions of pity, and it was only by the fitful variation of his complexion, and the nervous startings of his body, that Kara Aziek’s heart felt the pangs which wrung his:—she saw that he struggled to hide his suffering from her observation.

Tenderly solicitous to divert him of the apprehension which made him thus dissemble, she approached behind his chair, and bending over him, rested her lips upon his forehead, then pressing his hand, whispered softly, “I should not love thee, if thou didst not pity her.”

Sebastian wrapt his arms round Aziek without speaking; and his heart, thus permitted by her to lament one whom he had formerly idolized, opened itself to a moment of weakness.—Till now, an ocean of time seemed to have flowed between those days, and these present; one instant swept this away, and blended the two periods together: Sebastian saw Gonsalva again in all her beauty and apparent innocence; again he felt the successive thrills of resentment and transport, of misery and delight, which her capricious character used to excite in him; he remembered how he had doated,—he felt how much he now contemned!

Penetrated with a sense of the lamentable uncertainty of all human goods, and of the yet sadder change which circumstances force our hearts to make in their affections and in their wishes, he burst into tears, convulsively pressed Aziek to his breast, then hastily relinquishing her, would have hurried away, had she not gently detained him.

Her soft eyes filled with tears and raised tenderly to his, were expressive of so much sympathy with his grief, and so much confidence in his affection, that yielding to their mute intreaty, he let his head sink again upon her bosom, where he wept unreservedly for some time: Aziek was silent also; but she wept with him, and every sigh that heaved his manly heart, was marked by a yet fonder pressure of her encircling arms.