CHAP. III.

Filled with such agitating interests, neither Kara Aziek nor Sebastian marked the dangers of their voyage: they heard the raging storms without apprehension; mightier storms were threatening from afar, of still-deadlier import, and though they cherished a rational hope of finding the scene less fearful than they dreaded, they felt a presentiment of impending evils.

In something more than three months they reached St. Lucar, whence they immediately took a passage up the Straits, to Messina.

They had re-embarked, and the vessel was under weigh, when a stranger put off in a boat from the shore, and gained the ship. He had come post from Madrid on some business near St. Lucar, and was now anxious to reach the Venetian gulph where he calculated on obtaining a birth in some vessel proceeding to Venice: his looks were those of a man who has just quitted a scene of confusion: he had indeed left the capital of Castille an hour after its gloomy tyrant had breathed his last.

Philip the second was dead: and as if the whole fabric of her enormous power was shaken by this event, the strangers in Madrid all hurried to convey the news, each to his own country, anxious to proclaim that this was the moment for crushing the despotism of Spain.

Sebastian was sitting alone with Kara Aziek in the cabin they had exclusively engaged for themselves, when the captain suddenly entered, and unconscious of the peculiar interest his passengers had in such a communication, imparted the death of Philip merely as a piece of news. He then bolted out again, leaving Sebastian transfixed with surprise.

This event was indeed important to him: it was that which would give his confederates every advantage, by affording them the opportunity of falling upon Spain at a moment when her unsettled government could but feebly resist, or would find it policy to comply with their demands: such an event looked like an omen of success.

Amazement had struck both Sebastian and Kara Aziek speechless: they did not hear the concluding sentence of the captain, who had requested leave to send his new passenger into their cabin, as he was of rank, and no other part of the ship was fit for his reception; they were startled therefore to see a stranger of good mien and richly habited, enter their apartment.

The bright flush of their countenances subsided directly, and they turned towards the windows; for Sebastian was anxious to avoid the chance of recognition.

The stranger hesitated; at length closing the door, he advanced and apologized for his intrusion, pleading the necessity occasioned by a violent fall of rain, which drove him from the deck, and obliged him thus to throw himself upon the politeness of others.

The gentleman spoke in Italian, which was evidently his native tongue.

His address was too courteous for Kara Aziek to persist in an appearance of incivility; she turned round, and pronounced with hesitation, the permission he sought.

Sebastian remained as if in thought, with his face to the windows; the stranger sat down: he continued to converse with his fair companion, who listened attentively, since he talked of the event which occupied her thoughts. He spoke eloquently of the atrocious crimes that had disgraced the life of Philip, and hazarded several acute conjectures upon the changes which his death would produce in the cabinets of Europe. In particular, he described one of the tyrant’s most insolent acts to the republic of Venice, and anathematized his iniquitous treatment of Portugal.

At this part of his harangue, Sebastian unconsciously turned round, and fixed an earnest look on the speaker; the latter started, stretched eagerly forward, betrayed signs of doubt and surprize, and for a moment was silent; but he resumed his discourse, on seeing that Sebastian precipitately moved away.

While the Italian continued to speak, he watched every movement of Sebastian: his countenance rapidly expressed the succession of thoughts which this observation excited; suddenly rising he came directly in front of the person he scrutinized. At this action an indignant flush crimsoned Sebastian’s features; his look became severe; and the proud majesty with which he stepped back from the advance of his observer, made the latter pause.

“I mean not to offend, Sir!” said the stranger, respectfully inclining his head, “Gracious Virgin! can it be possible; I know not what to—I dream surely!—so many years!—if I am right in my suspicion, my knee should follow the homage of my mind.”

Sebastian saw that he was discovered, but resolving to retain concealment as long as possible, he gravely replied, “your manners surprise me, sir! I am unconscious of ever having seen you before.”

The stranger still kept his eyes rivetted to the face of Sebastian, but their expression was rather inviting than hostile. “My memory assures me, sir,” he returned, “that I have seen you before: it was in the palace of Santos de Veiel, on the coast of Algarve, where I went on a secret mission from the Venetian Republic, to the young king of Portugal. Many years have gone by since that period, but I still retain the impression made on me by Don Sebastian’s most princely lineaments and gracious presence.—His moderation, justice, and magnanimity in the conduct of state business, I had then an opportunity of observing; his ardent piety was no less my admiration:—and since the fatal year in which he was said to have perished, I have always been one of those who most eagerly listened to the various stories of his re-appearance.—I wish you to know me completely, sir: I am Signor Giuseppe Morosini: the name of the noblest house in Venice, is, I trust, a herald of honour:—at this day, my brother holds the first dignity of the republic.”

“Your mien announced your nobility, sir!” replied Sebastian, endeavouring to preserve the repelling coldness with which he awed the vivacity of the Italian: Signor Morosini looked disappointed and embarrassed; this remark did not answer his question, and he feared to repeat it.

“My enthusiasm transports me too far;” he said, after a short silence, “if you are not the personage I imagine; my discourse must sound like the ravings of a madman, pardon me sir, I have no curiosity; respect and disinterested zeal, alone dwell in my heart.—I see that I am not understood—or not recollected—or not credited:—I am at a loss what to do.”—

The Venetian stopt, and sitting down, Sebastian perceived that he contrived to let his mantle fall off, and discover below the collar of his ruff, a device of diamonds which fastened it to his vest: this very bauble he remembered having given to the Venetian envoy, at the period mentioned by this stranger. He now examined him attentively; and as Signor Morosini’s countenance had lost its vivacity, and taken an air of mortification, that expression came nearer to the serious air of a man of business: he began to recollect his features and his figure; though the former were extremely darkened, and the latter greatly enlarged since they had met at De Veiel. But still he shrunk from precipitate disclosure, and remained silent.

Kara Aziek, in whom the stranger’s first address had awakened a thousand fears, now recovered from that impression, and exchanged an approving glance with Sebastian: she ventured not to speak, and for some time, silence succeeded to the warmth of energetic discourse.

The reflections of Sebastian were fluctuating and troubled: his nature led him to implicit confidence in the protestations of a man of whom he remembered nothing that was not honourable; but experience had taught him to doubt and to investigate, ere he trusted past recal.

Yet in what way should he act? if Signor Giuseppe were permitted to depart under the impression which it was evident he retained, pique at being distrusted, might render him forward to describe the person he had seen, and the surprise that encounter had caused him. Such conduct must prove destructive of that secrecy, which, for awhile, should belong to Sebastian’s intercourse with Spanish subjects: he would be traced to Messina, to the abode of the Duke de Medina Sidonia’s wife, and the sacrifice of their whole family might follow the annihilation of his own.

Was it not better therefore, to take a bold step, and rely at once on the honour and truth of this Venetian? his near relationship to the Doge, and the aversion he expressed to the memory of Philip, might be fairly considered as grounds for confidence; and if his favorable remembrance of the Portuguese monarch, inspired him to attempt acquiring for the confederate powers, the assistance of Venice, his friendship must be considered as an important advantage.

These thoughts were agitating her husband, while Kara Aziek tried to support languid conversation with Signor Morosini: the latter preserved a timid and mortified air, yet now and then he stole an earnest glance towards both his mysterious companions.

Sebastian suddenly approached, and lowering his voice, said, “I would learn from you, noble Venetian, the name of him for whom you take me?”

Signor Giuseppe raised his head, and said frankly, “For Don Sebastian himself.”

Sebastian gave no other answer than a gracious smile: the Venetian seized the confession made by this well-remembered smile, and bent his knee to the ground; the King gave him his hand, raised him up, and seated himself by his side.

Signor Morosini, with the vivacity of his country, then began to pour forth expressions of sincere joy, of wonder, of curiosity: he was eager to learn where the King of Portugal could have been concealed so long; and ere Sebastian found voice to reply, had imagined a thousand fantastic and improbable adventures, which he uttered with more than his usual rapidity.

Sebastian briefly replied, then added, “You find Signor, that I know what is due to the bare word of an honorable man: you have merely assured me that you wish to serve me, and relying on that assurance, I no longer hesitate to employ your friendship in negotiation with the Republic. For my long irresolution at our first meeting, your own sense of discretion will plead: in circumstances like mine, caution is a virtue.”

Signor Morosini replied with an excess of urbanity: his looks witnessed his words; and the readiness with which he promised to use the utmost diligence and prudence, in his negotiation with the Doge and the Senate, forced Sebastian to confess, that his warmest friends were ever those on whom he had no right to calculate.

Kara Aziek had retired to another part of the cabin, and taking up some needlework, ventured not to share in a discourse, where every word was of consequence to Sebastian, who alone could know how much to withhold or to confide.

She observed that he never mentioned Blanche, that he prayed leave to postpone telling the whole of his adventures, and that although he spoke of England, France, and Holland, as favourably disposed towards him, he did so in general terms; declining further explanation, until Venice had determined on what course she would pursue.

Signor Giuseppe understood only, that the King of Portugal was going to seek some old friend in Sicily; and solemnly swearing not to confide that secret, even to his brother, he promised to be speedy in dispatching news of success or failure, to Messina.

Thus situated, the vessel brought them to the mouth of the Venetian gulph.

So many ships were proceeding to Venice, that Signor Morosini found no difficulty in procuring the passage he sought: he renewed his promises of secresy and devotedness, and getting into a felucca, was soon removed from the vessel of Sebastian.

Filled with unexpected satisfaction by this Providential rencontre, and led to hope complete success, since Philip was snatched from the world, Sebastian discouraged not the expression of Kara Aziek’s joyful feelings. He believed that the terror of Philip’s name no longer operating to intimidate other sovereigns, past injuries would make them rise to limit the power of his successor, such an event must prove a signal for Portugal to start forward in her own cause: and if at the same time her long-lost monarch should appear at the head of a confederate army, would not his miraculous appearance stimulate them to victory.

It was now that the sun once more shone out over the darkened fate of Sebastian: how various, how trying had been his lot! but he was becoming accustomed to change; and that equanimity of soul which so peculiarly distinguishes those who have passed through many vicissitudes, was already visible, equally under sunshine or under storms.

Kara Aziek was less philosophic, and more animated; she thought their allotted time of suffering had reached its termination, and fondly anticipating a re-union with her daughter, trusted that after this moment, their destiny must remain bright and secure.

The wind favored her eagerness: their vessel proceeded rapidly, and gained the port of Messina.

The house of Marco Cattizone (a name assumed by Gaspar, who believed it prudent to lull curiosity, by passing for an Italian) was easily discovered: as Sebastian and Kara Aziek approached it, their hearts throbbed with apprehension, lest they should not find him: if he were gone to England with Blanche, another tedious voyage must be taken.

They had wrapped themselves in large mantles to conceal their figures, without appearing to have studied concealment, and having landed towards night, they reached the house unnoticed. Sebastian knew that Gaspar had married the favorite woman of the Duchess Medina, (by whom this little estate was given as her dowry) he was therefore prepared to act cautiously, when appearing thus unexpectedly before a friend, whose surprise might betray him into indiscretion.

Having learned that Marco Cattizone was at home and alone in his garden, he went with Kara Aziek into a retired room, and desired him to be sent for. In a few moments Gaspar entered: Sebastian and Kara Aziek stood with their faces averted till the servant had closed the door, they then turned round, and Gaspar uttered a cry of joy: the next instant his countenance changed, and he exclaimed, “In the name of God, dearest master, why are you here? this precipitate step”—His looks expressed the apprehension he felt.

Regardless of themselves, the impatient parents only pronounced the name of Blanche. “She is here, blessed be Heaven!” returned Gaspar, “still the care and delight of our good Duchess.”

“Does she remember us,” exclaimed Kara Aziek, “does she love us as she used to do?”

Gaspar’s animated reply drew a flood of joyful tears down the cheeks of the tender mother: lost in delightful anticipations, she listened not to the alternate interrogatories and explanations of Sebastian and his friend; when they spoke of the subject nearest her heart, she was all ear again.

They spoke of Blanche’s prolonged stay at Messina.—Caspar confessed, that after the death of Don Emanuel de Castro, some wavering conduct on the part of Queen Elizabeth, had rendered him fearful of committing so precious a pledge to her good faith. Elizabeth had taken advantage of their loss, to dictate new terms of alliance, and in her conversation with Father Texere, had stipulated for two of the most important islands belonging to Portugal, in the Atlantic and Indian ocean, to be given her as a compensation for her services, in case Don Sebastian should be restored: the repayment of the subsidy, of course, was not abandoned in her altered articles.

Her avidity, and the ungenerous advantage thus taken of desperate circumstances, had alarmed Gaspar, and disgusted the other adherents of Sebastian: they deemed it right to detain Princess Blanche till the English Queen should come back to her former terms; since once delivered into her possession, the safety of Blanche might be turned by her into an instrument of fresh extortion.

The ultimatum of the confederate nobles had lately been sent to London, and at this period, Don Juan De Castro, (who was the bearer of it) was daily expected to arrive with the decision of Elizabeth.

Intelligence like this must have struck a death-blow to the hopes of Sebastian, had he not possessed a ground of encouragement in the prospect of Venetian aid, and some consolation from the death of him who had trampled on his country: his countenance was undismayed. “Let us not despond, my friend! I have other resources yet.—Providence has not abandoned your King:—our prime enemy is gone to answer for all his crimes against God and man,—Philip of Spain is dead.”

Gaspar looked as if doubtful whether he were dreaming or awake, he turned a vacant gaze from Sebastian to Kara Aziek: the former repeated his assertion, briefly adding the source whence his information was derived. That explanation led to a narrative of the adventure with Signor Morosini; at which Gaspar passed from the extreme of despondency, to the extreme of joy.

All his trouble vanished: he rightly believed that the accession of fresh allies would force Elizabeth into moderation and fidelity; and that Philip III. unwilling to strain the nerves of an infant government, and eager to regain those friends which his gloomy predecessor had spurned from him, might yield with a good grace to the mediation of so many princes, and restore the crown of Portugal.

Relieved from the torture of contemplating future disasters, he now considered the arrival of his sovereign, as an alarum to raise the spirits and confirm the loyalty of his adherents; and no longer apprehensive for his personal security, he delivered himself up to the gratifications of friendship.

Only the remembrance of De Castro, the generous De Castro, saddened this meeting: his activity and virtues were sincerely eulogised: his last hours were described by Gaspar; and many were the tears which then embalmed his memory.

The distance of villa Rosolia, obliged Kara Aziek to resign the expectation of embracing her daughter before the next day. Gaspar dwelt at Messina for the convenience of receiving and forwarding dispatches beyond sea; and Kara Aziek divined, that as his wife still retained her situation about the person of the Duchess, he had formed the connection chiefly that he might visit the villa unnoticed by the other domestics; thus preserving his intercourse with the Duke, and his interest in Blanche undiscovered.

Villa Rosolia was two leagues off, but Gaspar deemed it expedient to dispatch a messenger with a letter to Blanche under cover to his wife, informing her of the arrival of her parents, and preparing her to receive them on the ensuing day.

The return of this messenger brought a letter from Blanche written in the overflowings of filial joy: she named an early hour for receiving her parents on the morrow, when she hoped they were to meet never to part again.

Parental emotions banished sleep from the pillow of Kara Aziek and Sebastian: their night was spent in conversation about her, upon whom hung all their domestic happiness. Would they find her still the same artless and admirable creature they had parted with in Brazil! would the same beautiful countenance present itself unchanged to their partial sight?

A multitude of natural doubts and fears moderated their joy, but increased their impatience, and they rose soon, to commence their short journey to Rosolia.

Gaspar had the self-denial to remain behind, lest his appearance in familiar society with the visitors of the Duchess Medina, should excite curiosity in her household.

The hired carriage which conveyed them from Messina, was not long of bringing them to the gate of the villa. At beholding that house which contained her child, Kara Aziek’s emotion was heightened to painfulness: she turned pale, grew faint, and alighting from the carriage, tottered into a hall, almost unconscious of existence.

Having paused a little to recover herself, a servant led them into an unoccupied apartment, where they were immediately joined by their daughter.—She came alone.

At her entrance, both parents stretched out their arms towards her, without having power to advance; they scarcely saw the beautiful young creature who sprung to their embrace with the bloom of a Hebé, and a sensibility which covered her glowing cheeks with tears: they knew it was their child; for her voice vibrated in well-remembered sweetness on their ear. They blessed, they embraced, they wept over her; they murmured out their gratitude to Heaven; and lost to every thing else, thought only that they were indeed met to part no more.

When this mutual transport had a little subsided, they were able to look attentively on Blanche: it was not her extreme beauty (though she was lovelier than any “mortal mixture of earth’s mould”) that elevated and delighted their hearts; it was the expression which made that beauty beautiful to them. Her eyes still beamed the tenderness and sweetness of her mother, her brow yet announced the energy and heroism of her father: her manner was still simple and modest; her words the language of unperverted truth.

The mutual details of this happy family may be easily imagined: they consisted on the part of the parents in the repetition of what they had already repeated to Gaspar; and on the side of Blanche, in accounts of her habits of life, and such interesting anecdotes of her protectress as were connected with them.

She informed her father that the Duke had been sent for express the evening before, on the death of Philip II. and ere Sebastian reached Messina, had gone for Spain with his only son Don Hyppolito, in order to appear at the first council of their new sovereign. This circumstance, though it robbed Sebastian of that Nobleman’s advice, was yet to be considered as replete with advantages, since in quality of counsellor to the new monarch, he might add his influence to the Portuguese party, when England and the other allies should openly proclaim in his favor.

Eager to introduce her protectress, Blanche now hastened away for that purpose; she returned, preceded by the Duchess.

Her resemblance to Don Emanuel deeply affected Sebastian, he kissed her hand in silence, and as he lifted up his head again, the Duchess saw that tears were on his cheek; interpreting their cause, she too, turned aside to hide rising emotion.

It is only a half-sorrow which seeks to display itself: true grief, like true virtue, courts the shade.

Not a heart there, but was full of De Castro’s memory, yet not a lip trusted itself to breathe his name.

The conversation flowed less on the past, than the future. Sebastian found that the Duchess possessed an acute and penetrating mind: she had entered into all the views of her brother and husband; and though the latter had never consented to act in rebellion against his own lawful sovereign, he was forward to avow his abhorrence of usurpation, and to prove it, by entering his protest against a detention of the Portuguese crown, should Philip refuse to resign it on the appearance of Sebastian.

She stated these principles with perfect candour, professing no more in her husband’s name, than she knew him earnest to perform. She offered Sebastian the protection of her house, and the use of the revenues attached to it; for the family of Medina Sidonia was the richest in Spain, and this Sicilian estate made but a small part of their wealth.

Impressed by her generous conduct, both Sebastian and Kara Aziek renewed those protestations of eternal gratitude which they had first uttered, while acknowledging all they owed to her for her maternal care of their daughter, but they neither required nor accepted any additional favors beyond that of shelter for awhile.

Happy were the days that now flowed away at the villa Rosolia; in the enjoyment of life’s most hallowed affections, the parents and the child refused to allow any moment of their time to distracting cares; they were all absorbed in each other.

Gaspar might be said to hover over their domestic circle; for his spirit was always with them, though their inequality of rank rendered the discretion of distant respect an act of necessity. At some periods however, this restraint was amply compensated. Innocent stratagems were devised by which he had opportunities of conversing whole hours with his noble friends; and though his wife was not entrusted with the secret of Blanche’s connexion with these extraordinary strangers, she knew them to be his former master and mistress, and wondered not at their graciousness to her husband.

Letters from Spain and Venice changed the calm aspect of villa Rosolia.—Medina Sidonia wrote, that he found the new King well-inclined to lighten the burthens which his predecessor had imposed on the Portuguese, nay, that he was aware of the danger of driving them to despair, and the policy of conciliation; and that he had listened with attention to Medina’s suggestion of placing at the head of their government their first noble, the Duke of Braganza. This suggestion had been hazarded to try Philip’s pulse, and from the moderation with which he received it, Medina sanguinely concluded, that he would not attempt retaining the crown when the legitimate owner was proved to be living.

Signor Morosini’s packet contained more substantial good fortune: it accompanied an invitation from the Doge, for Don Sebastian to repair immediately to Venice, where he promised (on certain conditions, advantageous for the republic, and not inimical to the interests of Portugal) to protect him against Spain, to procure the assistance of other Italian states, and if supported by England and France, to take up arms in his cause.

Among the motives for gratitude to Don Sebastian which the Venetian republic felt and acknowledged, was a very considerable loan of money which she had borrowed at a time of imminent want, and which she had not since been able to return. Sebastian had cancelled the debt; and he now received this forwardness to assert his rights, as an honourable proof that political virtue had not abandoned the world.

A list of illustrious names was subscribed to this letter: he well remembered many of their signatures, that had been inscribed on official papers at the period alluded to, and no longer doubting either the sincerity or the success of Signor Morosini, he once more gave the reins to his sanguine nature, and believed himself justified in trusting to the honor of the Venetians.

This seemed the crisis of his fate, the hour that was to determine whether Portugal should be emancipated, or doomed to eternal slavery. The bold act of suddenly claiming his rights from the bosom of an independent state, would fix the wavering inclinations of France and England; Holland had never retracted her good faith; and thus supported, Sebastian believed himself called on to resolve decisively.

It was important for him to secure the friendly offices of some powerful personage in his own dominions, and to whom could he look with such certainty, as to his kinsman the duke of Braganza?

This nobleman was that Theodosius, Duke of Barcelos, who at eleven years old had borne a royal standard over the field of Alcazar: he was now the only representative of their ancient house. To him, (as one dear to his recollection, and well acquainted with his hand-writing) Sebastian intended to address a confidential letter, informing him of his existence, and of his determination to repair immediately to Venice, whence he should send a summons to Philip for the restoration of his dominions.

Gaspar eagerly offered to become the bearer of this important dispatch, fearful that any messenger less aware of its momentous nature, might fail of delivering it, or loiter on his way. Gaspar’s long absence from Portugal persuaded him that his person would be worn out of the memory of all but his most familiar associates, and to none of them, except his sisters, was his return from Barbary known. Besides the motive of duty, he pleaded his wish of once more beholding his relations, and to the force of such a plea rather than to his reasoning, Sebastian reluctantly conceded the permission he sought.

The letter for Braganza was given to Gaspar, who prepared for instant departure from Messina.

“This is a time of joy, honored Sire!” exclaimed he, as he knelt to receive the parting benediction of his master, “why then that serious and almost sad look? I go with such a glow of hope in this heart of mine, that it convinces me Providence ordains Gaspar Ribeiro to be one of the favored instruments in the great event we anticipate. Give me a farewel smile, my beloved liege! or I shall fear you doubt my discretion.”

Sebastian gave the smile which his faithful servant solicited, but his heart smiled not, for the recollection of De Castro’s death came over him, and he shuddered to think that even of this friend also accident might deprive him.

The departure of Gaspar was followed by preparations for that of Sebastian: his resolution was taken; and not even the fantastic fears of Kara Aziek (whose courage failed her when the moment drew near in which they must wholly depend on the sincerity of Venice) could make him shrink from the bold experiment he was about to hazard.

“Better to sink at once,” he said to himself, “than to continue thus struggling for life, in a stormy ocean of perpetual vicissitudes: the most precious things are not precious, unless held with a security of possession. I will lose or I will gain all!”

This determination, as it rather endangered his own security, than involved that of others, was equally the effect of reason as of feeling: he was no longer able to dwell in obscurity, since half Europe knew of his existence, and should he let this favorable crisis escape him, Spain would have time to win away his adherents, and might finally end by extirpating him and his race.

Again, therefore, must he repose his only child on the affection of the Duchess Medina Sidonia. Adopted by her, and known but as the offspring of Don Emanuel De Castro, should Providence ordain her parents to perish or to fail, she might pursue her blameless life in retirement, striving to forget that she had ever dreamed of power or of distinction.

Kara Aziek felt the urgency of this reasoning too strongly not to acquiesce in its decision: the safety of Blanche was far dearer to her than her own gratification; but the lover of her youth, the tender friend and long-endeared companion of her maturity, had claims on her heart which not even her child could weaken.

“I share thy fate, my Sebastian!” she said, as he spoke to her of remaining in Sicily, “time has not changed thy Aziek’s soul: dost thou believe her less thine, or more capable of outliving thy loss, than when she drooped for thee to the tomb in Africa?—Ah, know her still!”

“I do, I do know thee still!” exclaimed Sebastian, with an overflowing heart,—“and it is only my anxious care for thy safety, that makes me apprehend any danger where I expect none for myself. We go then, together, My Aziek! May the Almighty grant that this may be the last, the decisive struggle!”