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 SignorMorosini; 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 thismeeting: 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 weptover 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 interestinganecdotes 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 hishead 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 perfectcandour, 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 theirdomestic 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 ofBraganza. 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 thememory 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 ofreason 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 herheart 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!”
Prosperousas were the views before them, Sebastian and Kara Aziek did not leave their Blanche a second time without a trying conflict; but they left her in the hands of another mother, and a short voyage wafted them into scenes of most momentous interest.
Signor Morosini received them at his mansion in Venice, with a vivacity of joy: and the Doge evinced his respect, by paying the homage of a first visit to his illustrious supplicant.
In this interview the terms of their future alliance were specified and fixed, and the mode of their proceedings settled. Morosini was appointed to repair immediately to Madrid, with a formal notification to Philip III. of his royal relation’s existence, he was to assert the identity of Don Sebastian, and to demand the restitution of Portugal; should Philip hesitate, he was then empowered to announce the Republic’s intention to maintain the rights of their ancient ally. Armed with the assurance of aid from England, France, and the Low Countries, the Venetians feared not to embark in a cause so ably supported; a sense of recent injuries from the proud house of Austria, contributed to inflame their zeal.
On the day of Morosini’s departure from Venice, messengers were sent off for all the different courts in Europe, calling on them to assist in replacing a brother-monarch. Sebastian wrote with his own hand to Queen Elizabeth and to Essex, requiring the former to abate her hard conditions, and to accept any other guarantee for his fidelity to the engagements she exacted, than his only child.
While these agents were rapidly passingto and fro, the King of Portugal remained in the house of Morosini, not yet formally declared before the senate, (because Morosini’s presence would be necessary for his acknowledgment,) but in private implicitly trusted, and honorably attended by every senator.
The protestant powers had already replied favorably to the letters of Sebastian, and dispatched their representative to the court of Madrid, testifying their conviction of his identity, and making his restoration the basis of a general peace: no decisive answer was yet come from that court.
Morosini wrote, that Philip, and his ministers of course, rested their delay on the question of identity; and willing to consider Sebastian as an impostor, were then endeavouring to find him so: he advised an instant appeal to the Pontiff of Rome, whose investigation of the truth or falsehood of this wonderful event would be guided by pious motives alone,therefore to his decision the King of Spain must submit.
At this suggestion, Sebastian felt called upon to reveal his bosom principles; after explicitly detailing them, and pledging his solemn oath never to let them interfere with his conduct in public affairs, he declared his resolution to live and to die a Protestant, whether as a King or as a fugitive. He abjured the authority of Rome, protesting his willingness to meet the scrutiny of the Pope in common with other temporal Princes, but never to consider him as his superior in spiritual things.
Here was a stay to the forward zeal of Venice! the Doge receded with terrified precipitancy at this unforeseen avowal, and the reply of Morosini was full of dismay and persuasion!
Clouds began once more to gather over the fortunes of Sebastian; his warmest Italian friends avoided his society, or employed their zeal only in vain arguments to induce him to recant those doctrines which they deemed abominable, and which they dared not pollute themselves by hearing!
The Pope’s legate finding exhortations and promises totally useless, at length pronounced the sentence of reprobation in his master’s name; and threatened the inhabitants of Venice with excommunication if they continued to uphold him, whom he proclaimed to be a devil, or a magician, assuming the form of the really deceased Sebastian.
Morosini returned from Madrid: his manner was changed, his zeal extinct. Of a character eagerly open to new impressions, which by their vivacity deceived the observer into a belief of their durability, he had been fascinated by the insinuating graces of Philip III. and suddenly chilled by the discovery of Don Sebastian’s altered sentiments on the most important of subjects.
Philip had address enough to perceive the unsubstantial character he had to deal with; he affected to lament the affronts offered to Venice, he promised ample reparation, and by the most studied attentions to Morosini, flattered his vanity, and lighted up a transient flame of enthusiasm in his inflammable breast.
Morosini yet wavered between the romantic interest which a fugitive King excited, and the vain exultation inspired by a young and prosperous monarch’s caresses, when the Pope’s bull fell like a thunderbolt between him and the fortunes of the former, and severed him from them for ever.
He now met Sebastian with confusion and restraint: his discourse was full of abstruse dogmas and church threatenings; he eulogized the unshakable, yet unpersecuting spirit with which Philip III. possessed the faith of Rome; and he reluctantly confessed, that unless the King of Portugal would consent to acknowledge the supremacy of the Papal See, and to accept his crown on her conditions, the Senate of Venice could not openly proclaim, or secretly support him.
“What then!” exclaimed Sebastian, with some of his former impetuosity, “do you maintain the impious doctrine that man is more powerful than God? what human hand dare bar my hand to that throne on which the divine hand had placed me at the hour of my birth? Your birth-right is your patrimonial house, your noble name, your rank in the republic—mine is the throne of Portugal and the Indies; and now, by the blessing of God, I will perish ere I renounce it. When Kings are prosperous, then do you make them Gods; when they are in adversity, you reduce them below humanity: what manner of justice is this? Who shall say that aught but crimes can deprive a common individual of his lawful inheritance? and are Princes to be more hardly dealtwith than their subjects?—shame on such base conclusions.”
“It is a crime, Sir, to abandon the only true faith, and adopt the creed of heretics.” Morosini spoke with a ruffled though hesitating voice. “I dare not league my soul with any Prince who professes enmity to the church of Peter. If this were a mere political matter, we should not scrutinize the opinions of an ally, but it is a question of conscience. Can the Catholic republic of Venice consistently with its character, assist in taking the crown of Portugal from the head of a pious King, to place it on that of an apostate?”
Sebastian gave him a lightning glance of proud indignation, but quelling the sudden emotion as it arose, he said deliberately,
“The republic of Venice knows that my sentiments are in direct opposition to all persecution: that liberty of conscience which I claim for myself, I am ready togrant to others. Man cannot answer for man, at the last dread day; beware then, how you yield up your soul to the authority of a mortal like yourself!—I disclaim all power over the spiritual part of my subjects: they are responsible to God, not to their King, for those religious tenets from which their good or evil actions proceed. When I return to Portugal I return to obey and to execute the laws; to provide for the political prosperity of my people; to endeavour at forwarding their moral improvement by my example; and to live in amity with all nations who acknowledge one obligation to worship one creator, and to obey the one law of virtue that he has placed in every heart: further, than this, I exact of no man; different portions of reason and different habits, will produce, to the end of time, different degrees in the scale of religious advancement.
“Morosini, you now know my sentiments; which I solemnly take Heaven towitness are faithfully delivered to you. If your republic will continue to support a man of such sentiments in his just claim, I pledge myself for eternal gratitude: if not, I condemn her not; I lament her slavery to that anti-christian authority which once fettered myself, and I will depart in peace.”
“Not so, Sir!” said Morosini, changing colour, and in a hurried voice, for shame was at his heart. “The republic is under the painful necessity of detaining you until our most holy father the Pope has signified his pleasure respecting her conduct.”
Sebastian was transfixed by this reply; the blood recoiled upon his heart, and he stood some moments incapable of speech; then advancing and fixing a stern look on Signor Giuseppe, he said,
“On the faith of the whole republic, not merely on the word of him who proffered friendship unasked, did I come hither: eternal infamy will lighten thatrepublic if they suffer a hair of this head to fall. Beware how you damn yourselves to posterity by this unheard of treachery.”
“What treachery, does Don Sebastian injuriously apprehend?” asked Giuseppe, endeavouring to look tranquil.
“That which lays upon the surface of your own words,” was the reply—“you return from the court of him who has fallen heir to my usurped dominions, with a determination to make the fulfilment of your hasty promises depend upon my renunciation of those principles, which still believing, I dare not abjure. You cannot dispute the identity which your own eyes and lips have acknowledged, therefore, (seduced into Philip’s interest,) you take refuge under papal authority, and will deliver me up to imprisonment or to death, at the ordination of Rome.”
Morosini appeared indignant at the supposition: indeed his mind was not yet made up to any decision; and though fanaticism had taken alarm at the obstinateheresy of his former idol, he was far from lending a willing assent to an act of violence.
“I am cruelly situated:” he exclaimed, at length, and the facile tears stood in his eyes—“remember, Don Sebastian, that at the period I swore to serve you unto death, I knew not that you were otherwise than a son of the church: since then you have undeceived me; and that difference of opinion on matters of conscience which you have yourself established, obliges me to stifle the pleadings of my ardent prejudice in your favor, and to place my future conduct at the disposal of my spiritual director. In this instance I am only the organ of the republic; it is she, who waits the result of her message to Rome: till that arrives, your majesty must condescend still to consider this house as your own. You command here, as the guest of Giuseppe Morosini.”
Sebastian turned towards the Italian with a strong expression of disgust at his now-offensive courteousness: his bloodboiled: but quickly subsiding, he repeated with a smile of contempt a short quotation from the Poet of England.
“Note this, good Sirs!When zeal begins to sicken and decay,It useth an enforced ceremony.”
“Note this, good Sirs!When zeal begins to sicken and decay,It useth an enforced ceremony.”
“Note this, good Sirs!When zeal begins to sicken and decay,It useth an enforced ceremony.”
“Morosini!” he added, (and he spoke sternly, and with an air of majesty) “I must be spared in future this mockery of respect.
“You cannot feel it, if you sincerely believe me reprobate of Heaven; and if you do not believe me so, this abandonment of my cause either from interest or from fear, renders you despicable in the eyes of an honest and a brave man. Leave me, Sir! I remain then, your prisoner—but I have friends without these walls who may with God’s blessing shake them to their centre; yea, the foundations of your city itself.”
Sebastian turned away as he concluded, and Morosini abruptly retired.
Sebastian was still too ingenuous for theworld he lived in: the moment that roused his feelings or inflamed his passions, laid his whole heart open: that mantle of reserve, in which long efforts had taught him to wrap himself, was instantly discarded, and he shewed himself to his adversary, with all his weaknesses and all his strength.
Fatal was his present sincerity: Morosini left him, mortified, humiliated, and enraged; one hour’s discourse had made him his determined foe.
When Kara Aziek rejoined her husband, she saw in his perturbed looks the herald of disagreeable tidings: her first thought was of Blanche, and she pronounced her name. Sebastian quieted this natural fear, and then, conscious that it is vain to think of concealing evils which we know must endure for a certain period, he proceeded to tell her the nature of his interview with Morosini.
She was prepared for disappointment, but not for an actual misfortune; and atthe intimation of their being prisoners in Venice, the blood forsook her cheeks. Her rapid imagination instantly created a thousand frightful images, which were indeed too likely to be realized: she sat cold and speechless as a statue, while Sebastian, tenderly enumerating the motives to courage under this evil, exhorted her not only to confidence in the exertions of their friends, but to confidence in heaven.
Kara Aziek, with streaming eyes, did indeed look only to that heaven for succour: but dark and intricate are the ways of Providence, and who dare assure themselves that what they dread most, is not destined to form part of those trials by which their souls are to be disciplined for a purer being? She despaired not, but she ventured not to expect; scarcely did she hope.
Sebastian’s courage rose in proportion to the peril with which he was threatened, and in seeking to tranquillize her he loved, he re-assured himself.
Resolute to assert his freedom, and not tamely to bend his neck to the yoke imposed, he addressed a short note to the Doge and Senate, requiring their immediate answer to his question, of whether they sanctioned the words of Signor Morosini, and demanding permission to leave their territory, in case they declined fulfilling their former engagements.
This letter was answered by a request that he would attend the council of senators at midnight.
At the hour appointed, Sebastian got into the gondola of the Doge, which was sent for his conveyance: it conveyed him not to the senate-house, but to the state-prison.
Morosini’s private resentment had cooperated with his ambition, his interest, and his dread of excommunication: he alone of the Venetians knew the personof Don Sebastian, and upon his professing to believe that he had been imposed upon by the extreme likeness and great address of an impostor, the senate took alarm, readily seized this opportunity of abandoning a man whom the Pope anathematized, and for whose detention Philip had recently offered them the most tempting advantages, and precipitately determined on committing him to prison.
When Sebastian found himself thus betrayed, his fortitude transiently forsook him, and his limbs shook under him; it seemed as if he had seen the last of all he loved: but quickly recovering, he turned to the governor of the place, and said calmly—
“I demand the consolation of my wife’s society. Tell your senate, that I charge them, as they are men sensible to human affection, that they separate us not! as they deal with me now, so will I requite them hereafter: for let them not believe that they may corrupt the justice of Heaven.”
Signor Valdorno bowed and obeyed, and after a long absence, re-appeared with Kara Aziek.
Left alone with her husband in an apartment, which though commodious, was still part of a prison, Kara Aziek looked round her with an air of distraction: her eyes were wild and tearless, her hands burning as she clasped those of Sebastian. “Here then, we are to die!” she exclaimed, “or here we are to live, buried from our child!”
She fell senseless on his breast as she spoke, and lost for awhile all consciousness of their misfortune. Her recovery was followed by tears and incessant sighs, that pierced the heart of Sebastian: he sought to comfort her, but every delusive expression faltered on his tongue, and at length he remained silent, hopeless of success.
The silent and deep sadness of him who was still the dearest object of her love, made Kara Aziek sensible to thecruelty of indulging her own sorrow: she checked her sobs, she wiped away her tears, and firmly striving to resign herself to her fate, she rose from his supporting arms.
“We have not yet lost all!” she cried, “since we retain each other! for that greatest of mercies, O may I be properly thankful! pardon your Aziek my Sebastian, she is herself again.”
Sebastian embraced her without speaking, for now tenderness subdued him, and his words were suffocated. The remainder of their night was spent in mutual attempts at animating the courage of each other, and in secret aspirations to the only source of real fortitude.
When the governor appeared on the morrow, to make a courteous offer of any service he might venture to bestow, Sebastian charged him with a second message to the senate, demanding the reason of this outrageous treatment, and calling on them to remember the respect due tothe Lord’s anointed. He had to learn that the senate of Venice no longer acknowledged his claim to such a title.
Morosini’s moral apostacy had given them all a plausible pretext for violating the law of hospitality in the person of their dubious guest. If he were indeed an impostor, no crowned head would resent their treatment of him, no individual blame it: without having recourse to the plea of religion, (which might embroil them with potentates professing the same faith with their victim) they might surely detain and punish him as a deceiver.
Most of the lords believed Morosini’s assertion, (who had nearly persuaded himself to believe it also) that an extreme likeness had misled him, together with some circumstances which accident might have brought to the knowledge of the pretended King, but that in their last interview, these were rendered of no importance, since the incredible difference betweenthe religion of the true and the false Sebastian, was a decisive proof of his imposture.
Many Venetians doubted this explanation; but they were spell-bound by spiritual terrors, and were willing to let events take their course.
Both parties united in outwardly discrediting his identity, and to that effect they answered his message.
“Since they have taken their stand on this vain ground,” cried Sebastian to the governor, “my hour of triumph is at hand. Your senate dare not have the boldness or injustice to deny bringing me to the proof. I demand to be seen of the Portuguese: I am anxious to court the scrutiny of those who have known me from infancy to manhood. There are personal marks about most men which may certify them to others: my body is remarkable for them: let me be seen by those now living that have served about my person! I challenge your republic toproduce me before the world. I invite the amplest investigation: if they find me not what I maintain myself, Sebastian the King of Portugal, let my head be smitten off—carry this message, sir, to the Doge.”
Fluctuating, and fearful, and interested, the Doge and his counsellors were ill-disposed to grant the fair demands of him they were betraying: the threats of Rome, and the persuasions of Spain, could not induce them to deliver up Sebastian to certain destruction; but they temporized and qualified, and by detaining the object of Philip’s alarm till he should gain time to win over Sebastian’s friends to his views, they hoped to obtain the dazzling favors he promised, and to avert the curses denounced by the descendant of Peter.
Morosini already reaped the fruit of his infidelity: he was caressed by the new monarch of Spain, and gratified with the distinction of being admitted into the order of its grandees: he was in short become the secret spy of Philip.
No reply was vouchsafed to the frequent messages of the injured King, and as time wore away, his amazed mind began to admit the horrid thought that Kara Aziek’s prophecy was indeed true, and that they were doomed to finish their days in imprisonment together.
But what were become of his friends, and of those princes who had entered into a compact for his sake? they had not abandoned him.
No sooner did the news of this atrocious act meet the different agents of Sebastian on their arrival at Venice, where they had hastened to see and acknowledge him, than they importuned the senate for permission to visit him in his prison, in order to satisfy themselves whether it was or was not their lawful King.
The senate were deaf to their intreaties, and again De Castro, Texere, and Don Christopher of Crato, hastened back to England, Holland, and France, to procurethe interference of these powers with the republic, for a sight of him who proclaimed himself their sovereign.
The Duke of Medina Sidonia vehemently urged at the court of Castille, his abhorrence of the perfidy and injustice of the Venetians, calling on his monarch to assert the honour of Spain, by disavowing such conduct, and proceeding to an open investigation of the stranger’s story.
The Duke of Braganza dispatched his late mother’s confessor, the Father Sampayo, with a written deposition of the person and natural marks of Don Sebastian, taken from the testimony of his foster-brother and his servants, requiring the republic to compare that description with her prisoner.
These various exertions were now making in favour of him, who remote from all intelligence, remained a prey to every species of misery. The fate of these friends themselves, and of his innocent daughter, began to alarm his fears, andthe possibility of being torn from his wife and child, filled him with dismay.
He was sitting one wintry night, (listening to the hollow wind that swept in gusts over the Adriatic) now looking towards the chamber where Aziek had sunk into a short slumber, now fixing his eyes in sad abstraction on the ground, when the door opened, and Signor Valdorno the governor appeared, followed by a person in the dress of a monk.
“This holy man’s importunities have made me hazard my office to give you comfort, sir,” said Valdorno, speaking low—“your interview shall be private—I will return in an hour.”
The governor closed the door, which he fastened on the outside again, and then departed.
Sebastian had risen up: he looked earnestly towards the monk, who was standing with his eyes fixed as wistfully upon him. Sebastian looked to find thefeatures of Gaspar beneath this disguise; but he saw only an aged and care-worn visage, over which a few tears began slowly to trickle.
“So changed! so very much changed!” said the old man in a feeble voice after a long silence, “yet noble and princely still! Can twenty years, then, make such havoc in manly beauty! speak to me, Sir! let me be sure it is my lord and master Don Sebastian; on whose head I laid these withered hands in benediction at the house of the Duchess Braganza, on the day of his embarkation for Africa. Speak to me, Sir—let me hear your voice!”
“Sampayo! good father Sampayo!” exclaimed Sebastian, falling on his neck, and melting into weakness, “do you live to seek me? has your old age been spared only to find your master thus?”
Sampayo wrung his hands in transport, “It is, it is my King!” he exclaimed,while essaying to bend his trembling knee, Sebastian stayed him on his arm. “Not so, good father! but our time is short; say whence you come, and from whom! know you aught of my friend Juan De Castro—and of him the most faithful, most dear, whom I sent to my kinsman in Portugal?”
“I am but just come from Lisbon,” replied Sampayo, looking down and lowering his voice; “your kinsman the Duke of Braganza has sent me, on his representations, to ascertain your identity: denied admittance to you by the senate, I have procured admittance through the humanity of your gaoler; I go now, to re-urge the Duke’s request to the republic for your Majesty to be publicly compared with a written testimonial of your person, which I carry. Despair not, Sire! you still live in the hearts of the Portuguese, and you have zealous friends. England, France, Holland, openly demand of Venice, the satisfaction of bringing your truth or falsehood to the proof. I lament the sad change in your religion; but you are my dear lord and master still.”
The old man shed tears as he spoke, and devoutly crossing himself, repeated an inward prayer for the soul of him he believed seduced into error.
Sebastian’s countenance brightened: “All is not lost then!” he exclaimed, “the path is rugged and hard to climb, Sampayo! but I shall gain the summit at last. Yet talk to me of my friend! where is he? why stays he from me at the time of my extremest need?”
Sampayo was silent: his care-worn countenance altered visibly, and appalled Sebastian: the latter fixed a look on him, as if he would have dived into his soul. “Why stays he?” he repeated hastily; still Sampayo replied not, and the frightful silence which followed, was first broken by the King.
“In the name of God, father! answer my question.”
Sampayo looked sorrowfully up, and said in a trembling voice, “Ours is a chequered life, dear master! grief and gladness, gain and loss are so woven together, that—
“No preparations father!” cried the King, grasping his arm with a wild sternness, “what have I to learn?—that some horrible misfortune has befallen my last friend?—that I am bereft of him also?”
“Yours is the misfortune, Sire! his, the blessing:” returned Sampayo, “he is gone to everlasting joy.”
The blow was too sudden to be borne: Sebastian uttered a dismal cry, and fell suddenly to the ground.
At the sound of his voice, Kara Aziek awoke, and starting up, ran into the apartment: She beheld her husband seemingly lifeless, lying at the feet of a very aged man, whose shaking hands were feebly essaying to lift him up. She sprang towards them, she raised Sebastian in her arms, and slackening the collar of his doublet, sprinkled his face with water: her cares were all employed for him, but her mind was full of alarm for her daughter, and she incoherently questioned the stranger about her alone.
Sampayo’s answers convinced her that he knew not of whom she spoke: and now her fears took a new direction, and she believed him a messenger of death to her husband.
At this moment Sebastian opened his eyes; he turned them from her in search of Sampayo, with a look of unutterable grief; then raised and fixed them upon Heaven.
Kara Aziek’s faltering voice could with difficulty intreat an explanation of the scene before her: Sampayo briefly repeated it. For a more vital wound, her imagination had so far prepared her, that she received this without that acuteness of anguish which otherwise must have assaulted her sensibility; she merely sunk down upon a seat, pale, speechless, and awe-struck.
Sebastian leaned against the wall of the chamber, with his head bent down, unconsciously knocking his hand against his heart, with a violent motion that shewed how intolerable was the pain he felt there. “Half my life is gone!” he said, after a long and doleful silence, “he was the dearest of my friends, for we had suffered together; he lived only in me, doubtless he died for!”
At this thought a burst of tenderness forced the passage from his heart, and covered his face with tears: Kara Aziek and father Sampayo wept with him. Several times Sebastian attempted to inquire the particulars of his loss, and as often did a passion of sorrow sweep the words away.
It was now Kara Aziek’s part to interpose herself between him and affliction: she tenderly besought him to retire intothe room she had quitted, while she learned from father Sampayo those circumstances which he could not hear without fresh emotion. Sebastian hastened to comply; for he was no longer master of himself, and his grief increased rather than subsided.
While he ran to hide his lamentations in solitude, father Sampayo proceeded to detail the mournful event of which it was his fate to be made the messenger.
“My royal master is already informed of the noble Braganza’s favourable reception of his confidential agent.” Convinced by the hand-writing of Don Sebastian, and by several anecdotes of the Braganza family, which Gaspar Ribeiro repeated, the Duke lent all his authority to the mission of your friend, he permitted him to use his name in every attempt to disseminate a spirit of inquiry on this important subject through our countrymen. Gaspar had succeeded to a marvel: aided by one Lopez Vernara (an old inn-keeper,who testified to the return of Don Sebastian, though he knew not at the time the royal guest he was harbouring,) he drew crowds to follow him, calling aloud for their lawful King.
About this period the Venetian proclamation of Don Sebastian’s existence, and their remonstrance with Spain, followed by those of other powerful states, was known in Portugal: this circumstance substantiating Gaspar’s assertions, caused such tumults of joy amongst the people, that the Marquis Castel Rodrigo, who now governs Portugal as viceroy, took alarm, and commanded the noble Braganza to deliver up the man who had originally excited this commotion.
Braganza refused: he told Castel Rodrigo, that on the truth or falsehood of Gaspar’s report his reward or punishment might depend: he was willing to pledge himself for the accused’s appearance, on the event of the examination at Venice: when if the stranger there, who calledhimself their royal kinsman, were shewn to be an impostor, this agent of his should be delivered up to the will of Spain: till then, (believing his story) he should maintain his liberty against the whole force of Spanish power.
To this brave answer the Marquis replied, by commanding the Duke to attend him in private, with the person he protected, for the sake of hearing his strange story. Braganza went: and leaving his armed escort in the hall of the palace, ascended with Gaspar to the audience chamber.
“Pardon me dear Lady! let me breathe awhile! I am old and soon overcome, and there are some events one cannot recal without sorrow.”
Father Sampayo paused to rest himself; while Kara Aziek, pale with anxiety, and trembling with anticipated horror, waited all ear to catch his renewed discourse. It was many minutes ere he had strength to resume.
“Time will not permit me to enter minutely into the scene which followed: the two nobles met avowedly to examine Gaspar’s evidence without prejudice. Castel Rodrigo had professed moderation; but in proportion to his conviction of the truth of what he wished to disbelieve, his anger rose: he reviled Gaspar; and finding Braganza resolute to protect his liberty with the lives and liberties of his adherents, he lost all command of himself, called the Duke an ambitious traitor, and aimed a blow at his person.
“The intrepid Gaspar saved my honored master from such disgrace: he sprung forward, and with a sudden grasp, arrested the arm of the viceroy; but his own hour was come: Rodrigo nimbly drew forth a dagger with his other hand, and plunged it into the heart of Gaspar. He fell, exclaiming, “Commend me to my dear lord! I die as I have wished—in his cause.”
At this part of his narrative Sampayo stopt again; and Kara Aziek, drowned intears covered her face, and faintly motioned him not to continue. Removed from the sight of Sebastian, whose grief would have been heightened by hers, she felt privileged to give a loose to those feelings of regret, admiration, gratitude, and affection, which the conduct and the memory of Gaspar excited.
Her ill-suppressed sobs were not unheard by Sebastian: but he had the resolution to remove further from the door of his apartment, sensible, that at a moment like this, he could not bear any addition to his pains.
After a dreary interval of silence, Kara Aziek said tremulously. “Died he indeed, happy, good father; how would this calamity be sweetened to us, if we dare believe that Gaspar left the world with hope and comfort at his heart.”
“The triumphant smile which sat on his pale lips,” replied Sampayo, “assures me that he did so: that smile was still there, when his lifeless body was conveyed to theBraganza palace, for mourning and honourable interment.
“The brutal Marquis, satisfied with the death of his victim, opposed not this act of my lord’s; and the lowly Gaspar Ribeiro now lies by the side of noble dust: he sleeps in the vault of the Braganzas.”
“Ah what avails it!” exclaimed Kara Aziek, weeping afresh, “empty tribute to the best and noblest of human beings! Honours cannot recal him to us.”
“Yet evincing the esteem of others, they may soothe his nearer friends.” Replied Sampayo. “I have brought with me a relic of remembrance, a lock of his hair: my royal master may one day love to look on it.”
Kara Aziek averted her head as she stretched out her trembling hand to receive the sad memorial: she ventured not to look at it, even while pressing it to her lips and to her closed eyelids. Moistened by increasing tears, she placed the relic in her breast.
A step was now heard approaching: “It is the governor,” cried Sampayo, “farewel, dearest lady, I may not see my dear sovereign again: tell him I go to solicit afresh—bid him be of good cheer—so monstrous an act must arm all Europe against Spain and the Republic.” Sampayo had but just time to salute the hem of her garment, when Signor Valdorno appeared, and led him from the apartment.
Sebastiandid not suffer Kara Aziek to remain alone: he rejoined her with an air of desolation, which though profound, was composed. “I am now prepared to hear all that relates to my dear friend: tell me Aziek, how is he lost to us?”
Kara Aziek answered, with quivering lips, and the narrative she repeated, once more subdued the fortitude of Sebastian. What love, what grief was in his heart while he listened to the death-scene of him, whose whole life had been devoted to his fortunes!
The visit of father Sampayo, and the event of his mission, could not abstract his thoughts a single moment from thememory of Gaspar. But Kara Aziek, in whom every new event excited a new apprehension, felt a tumultuous trouble of soul, to which no reasoning could give rest.
Her daughter’s situation (of which she was ignorant) tortured her with fear: Alas! what were the feelings of that affectionate child? and how were they to learn whether the unexpected misfortune of her parents, had not driven her to distraction? Since perfidy or inconstancy had shewn itself in the character of Morosini, who should say that the Duke of Medina Sidonia would continue his perilous protection to Blanche, and stand the scrutiny which might follow the present inquiries of Spain?
Should Medina fail them, Blanche must fall a hopeless victim into the hands of their enemy: and should the influence of the confederates produce no effect on Venetian cowardice, her parents might too probably share her wretched fate.
How sad was the prospect! treachery and alarm were succeeding to enthusiasm and boldness: one by one, their firmest and dearest friends were torn from them; and Kara Aziek looked at Sebastian with an expression of piercing pain, as she thought for a moment, that ere a little while, they might possess only each other in the world.
Times of rousing anxiety, times in which our fortunes, our comforts, nay, our very existence, stand on the fate of a moment, are not the periods in which the soul surrenders itself to lamentation: but frequently when solicitude for one object is united with regret for another, we yield to a gloomy sadness, that tinctures every thing with the same hue, and renders the sufferer inaccessible to one cheering emotion.
Aziek and Sebastian indulged not in sorrow, though it might be said to embue their whole being: they tacitly agreed to give their private hours to the memory ofhim they lamented, and when together, to converse but on such topics as might benefit them by consultation.
Signor Valdorno’s indulgence tempted Aziek to suggest a hope, that by his connivance they might escape from Venice, and she eagerly gave it utterance.
Sebastian returned a glance of surprize and concern: “What, my beloved!” he exclaimed, “would you have me the assassin of my own honour? To fly, would be to avow myself the impostor they would willingly prove me: no—I am resolved to wait the scrutiny I will never cease demanding. If they suffer me to wear out my days in this obscurity, posterity will do me justice, and own that I must have been the true King of Portugal: but if I basely fly, history will rank me with those miserable madmen who usurped my name, and perished in their folly. Trust still in Heaven, my Aziek; my soul is anchored there.”
His eyes raised and filled with virtuousconfidence, infused some of their own energy into those of Kara Aziek; she smiled through tears, and the glow which spread over her face, assured him that their feelings were in unison.
Meanwhile the good Sampayo hastened to renew his solicitations to the Doge and senators: the rank and character of his master would not permit the Venetians to hazard refusing him admittance to their council. He was admitted, together with Juan De Castro and Father Texere, who came to present remonstrances from England and France.
Having briefly stated their request, Sampayo concluded thus.
“My lords! I neither assert nor deny the identity of this man, who proclaims himself Don Sebastian of Portugal; I merely come from his noble kinsman, to ascertain his truth or to detect his falsehood. I come provided with a minute description of the person and bodily marks of Don Sebastian; all of whichdeposed to by his foster-brother and his confidential servant, now dwelling at Lisbon: I come accompanied by divers persons, all well acquainted with various minute circumstances, upon which they are ready to question him publicly, so to establish or to disprove his assertions.
“Believe you not, my lords, that it is important for the Portuguese to discover the truth of this man? think you that we are eager to place ourselves under the dominion of a low-born impostor? think you that the Duke of Braganza would resign his pretension to the succession, (in case of failure in the Spanish line) to any other than to the real Don Sebastian? no, my lords! we are actuated solely by respect for the memory of him whom we have so long lamented. Examine this person, try him before your senate in the face of Europe, or expect to have the whole world filled with outcries against your perfidy and injustice. You can no otherwise efface the shame of your present bold conduct than by proving the guilt of him you detain. You say he is an impostor; in the name of God then, hasten to make it appear; and tell your new friend Philip III. that even his stern predecessor dealt not thus with the pretended Sebastians of his less settled day.”
“Your holy office protects you, father!” observed the Castillian ambassador, as Sampayo concluded, “or this licence of speech would surely draw down on you the resentment of the republic: let that sacred character remind you of your duty. Is it a priest of the Romish church who thus advocates the cause of an heretic? be he, or be he not the true Sebastian, he is an apostate, and an alien from the protection of heaven, and we dare not stir a step in so solemn a crisis, without the directing hand of our august oracle the Pope.
“Beware how you draw the lightning of the consistory upon your heads—I speak to you both, Sampayo and Texere—for both of you tread on the precincts of spiritual rebellion.”
“Our sins be on ourselves!” said Texere, with an undaunted air, “neither of us will shrink from an honest defence, when it is needful to make it: now, it is for your illustrious prisoner that we speak, not for our own principles. First admit his story to a fair hearing and investigation, after that pronounce on his character; punish him as an impostor, or as the King of Portugal, let our sacred superior exhort him to reconciliation with the church.
“While the Portuguese are ready to receive their King, without insisting on his abjuration of certain private opinions, he is King of Portugal still.”
“What abominable doctrine is this!” exclaimed the ambassador, “is it a son of the church, that dares proclaim the Vox Populi, Vox Dei? but I forget myself—the speaker is Francisco Joseph Texere, a fellow hanging between theheaven and hell of truth and error; one that has not yet decided whether he is to adhere to the rock of St. Peter, or to follow the standard of Martin Luther. I have heard of his residence in England, his attention to her new theories, and the heretical books which he has published, I am not surprized therefore, to see him abet the cause of an impostor, or at least an apostate!”
Texere frowned severely, and disregarding the speaker further, resumed his address to the senate: good father Sampayo suffered some tears to trickle down his aged cheeks.
“It is our well-beloved monarch whom we would support,” he said mildly, “justice and loyalty demand such conduct at our hands; and Christian charity should teach us to hope, that when restored to his throne, and placed again within the reach of spiritual instruction, his pious soul will retrace its steps, and return to the bosom of the true faith!”
“We are bound to act solely by the Pope’s direction;” gravely observed the Doge, “if you may obtain his holiness’s permission to hold converse with this mysterious personage, the republic will cheerfully add her consent—till then, he remains unseen by any one. This is our answer; you may withdraw.”
Texere and Sampayo quitted the assembly, and retiring with their Portuguese friends who waited them without, proceeded to consultation upon their future movements.
It was deemed expedient for one of them to repair immediately to Rome; and as father Sampayo’s orthodoxy and ghostly life had never been impeached, the choice fell upon him. Careless of his age and infirmities, he departed on the instant, and the remainder of the Portuguese lingered in Venice to wait the event, to continue their importunities, and to invite all such persons as remembered the figure of Don Sebastian to join in demanding permission to see and to peruse him.
The long interval of time which elapsed between this period and that in which the different travellers met again, was spent in torturing anxiety by Kara Aziek and Sebastian. Bereft of their faithfulest friend, the devoted Gaspar, no one remained to share their hearts with each other, but their far distant Blanche: yet of her, they dared not inquire.
Experience had taught them suspicion of all around them; and since the very existence of Blanche was a secret between England and the late Don Emanuel De Castro’s family, they blest his prudence, and resolved to perish with anxiety, rather than betray their child into danger.
To believe her ignorant of their changed fortune, was to imagine an impossibility: the interruption of their correspondence alone, would arouse her inquiries, and those inquiries must lead to explanation. How then, was she suffering? and how would her tender nature enable her to livethrough months, perhaps years of constant apprehension?
These thoughts preyed upon each; yet neither of them gave utterance to their sorrow. Sebastian never permitted himself to lament any other misfortune than that of knowing himself the prime cause of so much misery to the woman he loved; and Kara Aziek, afflicted by this self-reproach, became solicitous to prove that her sorrows were not yet so insupportable as he believed.
Mutually endeared by these mutual sacrifices, their prison still enclosed two hearts that felt not a diminution of love; and even their bitterest hours were sweetened by the fond glance of approval, the tender smile of gratitude.
Signor Valdorno witnessed this dignified and true attachment with feelings that did him honour; and though strict in the performance of his duty, his manners were full of respectful pity, and his communications on the events without, as explanatory as he dared hazard. It was from him that Sebastian at length drew an account of the various exertions which were still making by his friends; and at this information his hopes revived.
The fitful day of his fate might yet change! so many vicissitudes had already marked its progress, that he deemed it impious to despair; and the more so, while allowed to retain those precious objects of his soul, without whom, no destiny could bestow happiness.