Chapter II: Part 2

The impetuous monarch disturbed at the thought of her departure, sprang forward, intreating that she would stay. Gonsalva half turned round--“So, you are here again my good friend?”--she said, in a tone of careless gaiety which her sparkling looks contradicted,--“are you come to teach me another lesson out of your new catechism of female subjection?--let me tell you that air of authority that you have, is abominably provoking, and I should like vastly to break its neck: one grain of humility would make you--not absolutely hateful.”

“You shall find me humbler to you, than to any other being in the world;” replied Sebastian smiling, “if you will but strive to think of me with tenderness.” Gonsalva laughed. “What a pleasant madman chance has introduced me to!--upon what do you ground these extravagant pretensions? pretensions too, so insolently urged! did you never read the Spanish author, who calls _Love, that courteous affront offered to beauty_?--prithee con over his definition and profit by it. Think of you with tenderness! why, my presumptuous friend, if I think of you at all in any way ’tis more than you should expect. Think of you with tenderness, when all I know of you is that you have a tolerable figure, which sillier women than myself may have persuaded you is irresistible!--A potentate could not woo with more authority.”

The accidentally penetrating glance of her eyes while speaking these words, so confounded Sebastian, that it made the blood mantle on his cheeks, she laughed again. “Come, this is the colouring of penitence, so I must not chide you any more. Never let me hear a presumptuous word breathed, consent to be docile as a lamb, and I may condescend to be so much interested in you as to ask you, who you are? whence you come! and whither you go?”

During this discourse Donna Gonsalva had entered a path leading off the terrace, and they were now advancing through an olive plantation which effectually secured them from observation. Sebastian was encouraged by her arch freedom: “Whence I come, and whither I go, fair Gonsalva,” he said, “matters not; what I am, you shall know. I am a soldier: one that hitherto had no other passion than glory; one that never yet bowed either heart or knee to beauty. If you see honour and honesty in my countenance, believe me when I swear that neither my rank nor fortune are unworthy of the count Vimiosa’s heiress: but ask me no further; imperious circumstances render me mysterious. Suffer me to see you, suffer me to attempt winning _your_ heart, and losing _my own_, and then,”--“O ye saints!” interrupted Gonsalva, “what excess of gallantry! So--you have not _lost your_ heart yet! but wait most obsequiously for the surrender of mine! I protest count, or duke, or whatever you are, you have a very taking way of making love! This cloven foot of arbitrary insolence is for ever shewing itself: I have a shrewd notion you are one of our young King’s attendants, and have caught his character?” “And what is the King’s character?” asked Sebastian smiling. “An excellent one for a King, doubtless,” replied Gonsalva. “He thinks of nothing but rule and dominion, breathes nothing but war and devastation, and would fancy himself _un-kinged_ if he were to yield an _iota_ to a woman. All the court ladies love him mortally, and hate him mortally: they are charmed by his accomplishments, but piqued at his coldness. I have heard some of them say so repeatedly. Give him the world to reign over, and he would not care if there was not a woman in it.”

Sebastian did not reply: he was momentarily lost in rumination upon the injustice done to his actions by mistaking their motives. It was evident that Gonsalva had learned his character from report, and spoke therefore the prevailing opinion. After a pause he said, “I have been told that Don Sebastian young as he is, cannot be justly taxed with a thirst for mere power; he is _said_ to be actuated by zeal for our holy faith.”

“_You know_ it perhaps?” rejoined Gonsalva playfully. “Come, come, confess that you are one of his court. I hear his majesty is at Crato with Don Antonio, and of course some of his lords must be in attendance on him.”

“Well then,” replied Sebastian, “I may frankly own that I came with the King, and must return with him to Lisbon. My visits here are secret; Don Sebastian has always expressed such disdain at lovers, that if he knew me capable of humbling myself to such a merciless tyrant as your fair self, I fear he would blush for my altered sentiments. Allow me to hope, charming Gonsalva, that you will permit me to see you here again at this hour to-morrow? The King will soon return to Lisbon, and then I shall see you no more.”

Sebastian pronounced the last words with a sigh, and anxiously looked on the heavenly features of Gonsalva for an expression of answering regret: those heavenly features were as usual brilliant with delight; her heart did not appear touched by the intimation of this separation. “Do you see that tower yonder?” she asked, pointing to a part of the house which rose above some trees--“my apartments are there: under the tower-window passes a neglected path half choaked with shrubs, where if you chuse to ramble and take the chance of seeing me, and being noticed, I shall not command you away. A short excursion by moonlight will do you no harm: but mark me--no serenading.”

“Then it is at night I am to expect the happiness of seeing you?”

“Have I not told you, not to _expect_ any thing? if you won’t consent to take even trifles as unlooked-for favors, you will lose my friendship. I _will_ be absolute in my way; a very counterpart of your royal master. Fare you well, Don Fabian, if you should miss seeing me at my window, take this as a complete adieu: and, do you hear, when you return to Lisbon, do set about curing both yourself and the King, of your abominable insolence.”

Away flew the volatile beauty with the grace of a nymph, leaving Sebastian pierced with pains which he dreaded to analyze; too certain they were occasioned by her seeming indifference. Something like resentment swelled his proud heart as he recalled the tenderness of his parting manner, and the carelessness of hers: he felt as if he had been duped; and execrated himself for having yielded even momentarily to a weakness which had thus sunk him into the play-thing of a coquet. To have gained gently upon her affections, and fanned an infant fire with the softest breath of respectful love, had been the aim of his wishes; but to worship an idol without a heart, feed an inhuman deity with groans and tears, to dote on what he could not esteem, was a meanness he scorned.

“You _have_ seen me for the last time, insensible Gonsalva!” he exclaimed, as turning from the view of the tower, he rushed towards the mountains.

Vexed at himself, and irritated with disappointment, he rode to Crato in a mood that clouded his physiognomy. The prior was waiting his return: Sebastian scarcely noticing him, seized a bundle of dispatches sent from one of his ministers, and began to read them eagerly. Don Antonio ventured a jocular remark upon his disturbed countenance.

“I am in an ill-humour cousin,” replied the King, “in a rage at my own conduct; and at this moment could tear up the roots of earth itself.”--Antonio expressed some astonishment and more curiosity: Sebastian declined satisfying it, adding, “I have quite enough to bear, cousin, when I have my own contempt to encounter, without seeking the addition of yours. Let this squall of temper have its way--for heaven’s sake talk with me of business, news, nonsense, any thing--change the current of my thoughts if possible.--What said Alcoçava and the cardinal to my refusal of the Frenchwoman?”

“Since you require me to change the current of your thoughts, and thus lead to the subject of love and marriage, I may conclude the mischief-making God has had no hand in raising the present storm?”--Don Antonio spoke this with a forced smile, and not without hesitation; yet he fixed his eyes earnestly upon those of his cousin: the ingenuous countenance of the latter was immediately crimsoned over; he turned away, uttering an exclamation of contempt, coupled with the idea of love, and abruptly entered on another topic. The prior surprized and disturbed, appeared somewhat hurt at the King’s reserve, for he became thoughtful, and supported conversation with less spirit than was usual with him; but at length this mutual restraint wore off, and the remainder of the day was spent in all the freedom of friendship.

Sebastian’s resolution to avoid Gonsalva, lasted rather longer than his indignation. By degrees the flattering parts of her manner came oftener to his memory than those gay airs of indifference which had mortified his too sanguine nature: the agitating blush, the hope-awakening smile haunted his day-dreams; sometimes he saw her in the visions of the night, yielding him one of those tresses like the morn, which shaded her ivory neck, and half-averting a cheek now glowing with the sensibility of a melting heart.--He awoke, but the seducing image still swam before him.

Sebastian then revolved the probability of his having judged hastily and harshly: delicacy alone, or love distrustful of its empire, might have dictated that sprightly carelessness which had shocked him: though she had said they might not meet again, she did not perhaps think so, nor mean him to seek for her in vain at her window; would it not be well then, to make another essay to observe the effect of his absence? the youthful lover decided in the affirmative.

Being unexpectedly summoned by state affairs to his capital, he determined to make a last trial of Gonsalva’s sentiments, by visiting her on the night before his departure. When that night came, he excused himself from the amusements of his courtiers, and leaving Don Antonio chained down to a game of chess, he glided away unobserved, and was soon conveyed by his swiftest horse to the domain of Vimiosa.

A soft moonlight distinctly discovered the spot to which Gonsalva had directed him six days before. He saw the steep romantic bank shading the road towards which he now turned his steps: as he trod it lightly, the smell of orange flowers and wild thyme, came mingling from the hills and the gardens. While his eyes were fixed on the windows of the tower, where perhaps Gonsalva slept, some low tender sounds caught his ear: he listened, but they had ceased; the next moment they returned again; drawing gently nearer he found they proceeded from a lute which some one was touching at intervals with an unsteady hand, another pause succeeded: he stood still, and scarcely respired; for now the voice of Gonsalva was heard singing this canzonet.

“Hast thou, a sleepless pillow prest,
And vainly, vainly sought for rest?
Ah! say, have sighs and tears confess’d
That love was kindling in thy breast?

Alas! if not, why dost thou fly
To haunt my gate, my path, mine eye,
Still looking as thou wanderest nigh
A world of fond idolatry?

O cease, if vanity should be
The only aim that leads to me;
O cease, while yet my heart is free
From hope, and fear, and love, and thee!”

Rapt, enchanted, Sebastian stood listening to this celestial voice: its thrilling tones revolving in continual sweetness but endless variety, were like the melodious warblings of a nightingale. The serene Heavens, the resplendent moonlight, the fragrance of the earth, the transport and the gratitude of his own heart, all conspired to heighten its magical effect. Donna Gonsalva had evidently chosen this song because it pourtrayed a situation like her own; this thought finished the intoxication of Sebastian, and he vehemently exclaimed, “Angel!”

At this expression, Gonsalva dropped her lute, and flying forward, uttered a cry of pleasure. “Ah, is it you, ungrateful Fabian!” she cried: her beauty and her emotion completed the conquest over her sovereign. She was without a veil, and he now beheld for the first time, all the charms of that matchless face: traces of tears were on it.

Scarcely conscious of the extreme joy he betrayed, the king uttered a passionate expression at this visible mark of sensibility; and forcing his way up the bank through shrubs and roots of trees, got sufficiently near the object of his tenderness to kiss her hand from the window. The night breeze blowing among his fine hair, and the moon beams falling on his white forehead, gave lustre and animation to the noblest countenance that ever yet united sublimity with beauty: Donna Gonsalva evidently beheld him with admiration.

Endeavouring to recover from the effects of her surprize, she attempted to answer his ardent assurances of repentance and gratitude, by light railleries: She acknowledged that she had been in tears, but would not confess that his absence was their cause: Sometimes she spoke in a tone of touching sensibility, then suddenly flew off into sallies of gaiety: her air and her words were at variance. Sebastian, though little skilled in the science of woman’s heart, could not help perceiving the whimsical inconsistencies of Gonsalva: while her voice fluttered, her complexion glowed, her eyes sparkled, she persisted in assuring him that he had never once entered her thoughts since they parted, and that even now, if his ridiculous speeches did not amuse her excessively, she would not stay a second moment at the window.

It was in vain she asserted this: the delighted lover assured her in return, that the stratagem of insincerity was fruitless. Since he was resolved to win the heart, she seemed determined not to surrender.--“And if you were to take it by storm, (as I perceive that is your mode of conquering,)” replied Gonsalva, “what would it avail? You know, daughters are not allowed to dispose of themselves: I have a father, Don Fabian, and it is from his hand I must take my husband.”

Sebastian gazed on her enamoured, smiling with the consciousness of sovereign power: “Let us not talk of fathers, fair Gonsalva; were I beloved, I should fear nothing: what will not a joyful and ardent passion accomplish? Do not deny me then the hope of having interested you?--I must quit Crato to-morrow; the King is recalled by important business, and I cannot remain behind.”

“O! how much you are in love!” exclaimed Gonsalva, with an air of tender reproach, “you profess to live only in my sight, and yet you can leave me merely for the sake of preserving an empty honor about the King!”

The gratified Sebastian protested that nothing but a sense of duty could make him forego the delight of these stolen interviews, which he would hasten to renew; promising soon to return. “Till that blissful moment, let this remind you of Fabian,” said he, (unloosing from his neck a brilliant cross of the order of Christus which had hitherto been concealed by his vest.) “Let this _assure_ you, that your lover is noble.”

“And if he were not”--exclaimed Gonsalva, stopping and ending the sentence with a tender sigh. The triumph of Sebastian was now complete: “and if he were not, charming Gonsalva, you would not cease to bid him hope?--Dare I flatter myself that such was the sentiment your modesty deprived me of?”--Gonsalva bowed her fair neck without speaking, while rapture sparkled in her eyes: the King lightly threw over her head the embroidered ribbon by which the order was suspended, and when he did so, lifted some of the tresses of her hair to his lips. “Might I bear away with me one of these glittering ringlets!--Surely you will not deny me the precious gift?”

A faint denial only served to stimulate the young monarch, Gonsalva refused, and chided, and jested, but yielded at last.

At parting, the coy beauty would not utter a confession of regret, though she suffered the sentiment to appear in her swimming eyes. Sebastian was perhaps more enamoured by this conduct: the difficulty of subduing so haughty or so delicate a heart, gave additional pleasure to the attempt; and the spirit of domination then mixed with the tender desires of love. He returned to Crato with his golden prize, believing himself a conqueror when he was in reality a slave.

The vivacity of Sebastian’s feelings were in proportion to their novelty: he loved for the first time, therefore he loved with his whole soul; and the idea of being beloved in return, _for his own sake_, finished the enchantment.

During their rapid journey to Lisbon, he disclosed the romantic secret to his cousin.

Though Don Antonio was evidently too discreet for the indulgence of ill-timed raillery or unpalatable rebuke, the King perceived that his imprudent attachment surprized and shocked him: the prior’s florid complexion changed frequently, and he spoke with a trepidation unusual to him. Donna Gonsalva’s comparatively inferior birth, was in his opinion an insurmountable objection; but he forbore to press other arguments upon his sovereign, whose suddenly inflamed looks warned him to beware. Having by a strong effort conquered his excessive surprize, which secret circumstances rendered almost insufferable, he gradually acquiesced in the passionate reasoning of his kinsman, and began to assist him with plans for the completion of these new wishes.

To facilitate the King’s interviews with Donna Gonsalva, and yet conceal the affair from his court, it was requisite that some plausible excuse should be found for his visiting Crato again: Antonio therefore offered to return almost immediately to his priory, feign sickness there, and intreat the society of his gracious cousin. This offer was accepted: Don Antonio scarcely refreshed himself in Lisbon ere he set out once more for Crato: the King remained behind, and for the first time in his life gave audience to his ministers with a divided mind, after dispatching the various state affairs for which he had returned to his capital, he waited impatiently the prior’s summons, and shortly receiving it, hastened, with a very small train, to the hunting lodge.

The interviews of the lovers were now regular, and every interview heightened the young monarch’s passion. His fair mistress stimulated this ardor by just as much condescension as excited without satisfying hope; acquiring at each unexpected act of kindness fresh power over his peace. Sebastian gradually lost that self-command upon which he piqued himself, and often found that he bartered some of his independence for a smile or a kiss: but he had learned the art of silencing his own reproofs; and constantly declared to his cousin that he knew himself beloved to excess, or he would not stoop to acts which otherwise would be mean submissions.

At length, the moment so long panted after, arrived; Gonsalva one evening pronounced the tender confession of reciprocal preference, and was rewarded the next instant by an avowal of her lover’s sovereign rank.

Confused and agitated, the fair Portuguese half sunk upon her knee, faltering out a few words of humility and gratitude: Sebastian hastened to raise, and clasp her in his arms, while he explained his intention of recalling her father from France in order to witness their immediate marriage. Donna Gonsalva changed colour, averted her eyes, hesitated, panted for breath, and at length apprehensively confessed that she was under engagements to a young nobleman; nay, that her father had given her to him in marriage at the age of seven years.

Had the earth opened at the feet of Sebastian, he could not have felt more horror.--Speechless with emotion, his looks only continued to interrogate Gonsalva: she trembled and wept, but conjured him to believe that after the ceremony was performed, she had almost forgotten it, as her bridegroom had gone out to Goa with his grandfather the viceroy of India, and was but lately returned.

“And you have seen him Gonsalva?” asked the King mournfully. “Yes, I have seen him thrice, but without giving him the least hope that I would ratify the cruel engagement in which my infant mind had no share.--When he visited me last, you were absent, your love was doubtful, your real rank unknown, I was uncertain whether you might ever return to me, and yet I told him my resolution.”

“Then you loved me from the first?” cried the transported Sebastian, “let not my Gonsalva ever again torture me with assumed indifference, when this conduct shews that she preferred the pain of concealment to the hazard of losing me by the early mention of this hateful obstacle. Take courage, dearest! ties like these may be broken without dishonour; and thank God! I am a King.”

The impetuous and imperious Sebastian forgot at this moment his character of _just_; he was incapable of admitting either a parent’s or a husband’s right, when the one had used his power tyrannically, and the other had been forced upon a child incapable of choice. To obtain the pope’s bull for annulling this marriage, seemed not a matter of difficulty; the consent of Vimiosa was of course certain; and as the rival husband had not been long returned from India, he was not likely to oppose the divorce from any motive of attachment: at all events, Sebastian resolved to use his prerogative if necessary, since Gonsalva had expressed for him the most passionate preference, and ought not her happiness to be the first object of his life!--She now repeated her promise of living for him alone, and at that sound the momentary obstacle disappeared from her lover’s sight.

After this conference the rash young monarch dispatched couriers into France with letters to the count Vimiosa, demanding his daughter, and inviting him to return and assist in dissolving the bands which tied her to Don Emanuel de Castro: at the same time he sent a magnificent embassy to Rome, praying for a divorce; and commissioned his cousin Antonio to see and converse with Don Emanuel.

Meanwhile Donna Gonsalva had hinted to Sebastian the impropriety of exposing her reputation to the scandal of being discovered in a clandestine intercourse with her sovereign: having no longer a reason for concealment, Sebastian embraced the permission this hint gave him, and came with a splendid retinue to Vimiosa. His lords saw nothing extraordinary in a young monarch paying a courteous visit to the sister and daughter of one of his greatest subjects, but no sooner did they behold the transcendent beauty of Donna Gonsalva, and the emotion of their royal master, than a suspicion of the truth was awakened amongst them.

Lost in a round of new and delightful enjoyments, Sebastian was from that hour continually at the house of his mistress: his cousin accompanied him in these visits, and warmly applauded his choice. But the eloquence of the latter had been used in vain to obtain an hearing from Don Emanuel De Castro; that young nobleman refusing to converse on the subject of her marriage with any other than the King himself.

Sebastian’s nature was too generous not to revolt from some arbitrary measures which Antonio suggested in the height of his zeal and displeasure: he refused to degrade or distress his rival; and the dictates of delicacy forbade him to attempt purchasing his acquiescence by mere honours.

De Castro was indeed worthy of this liberal treatment: he had distinguished himself in the Indies under his grandfather, by the most brilliant services. His intrepidity and genius for war were not the only themes of praise; to these were added justice, temperance, a benevolent attention to the natural propensities, habits, and even prejudices of the Indians, and a conciliating manner which subdued them still more than his arms. Filial piety was the first of his virtues: after twelve years residence in India, a dangerous disease fastened upon his aged parent, which compelled him to return home: Don Emanuel was advised to remain at Goa, where he would in all probability receive an immediate nomination to succeed the viceroy in his government; but he refused to act thus:--abandoning this expectation, and resigning his military command, he left the eastern world, chiefly for the sake of softening the discomforts of a tedious voyage to a relation he revered; though the idea of claiming his young bride sweetened the sacrifice.

On reaching Portugal, the viceroy had gone to his seat at Santaren, from whence Don Emanuel had twice visited Gonsalva: but the death of his beloved grandfather quickly followed, and prevented him from seeing her again, till the first days of his mourning were passed.--Don Emanuel was preparing to appear at court for the first time, when the King’s pleasure was intimated to him by the prior of Crato. Refusing to discuss so important a matter with a third person, he was ordered into the presence of his sovereign.--The King alone, and secretly at war with himself, received him with embarrassment: his excessive emotion formed a decided contrast to the grave and dignified composure of De Castro. The latter was just going to pay the usual mark of homage to princes, when Sebastian impetuously caught him by the arm, exclaiming, “Bend not your knee to one who would dismiss from your mind in this conference all thought of his authority: I wish you to hear me, Don Emanuel, not as a King, who might insist, but as a man who is willing to submit to the decision of equity.--In conversing on this interesting topic, let us think only of the rights and the happiness of Donna Gonsalva--let us forget, if possible, our own desires.--Believe me, if I did not flatter myself with being inexpressibly dear to her, if I did not abhor and renounce with my whole heart this unnatural practice of infant nuptials, I would not seek to release her hand, though certain of commanding it the next instant:--nay, had I known earlier of her engagements, preposterous as I deem them, I would have avoided the scandal and the pain of dissolving them.”

De Castro fixed his eyes upon the ingenuous though disturbed countenance of the King: esteem and compassion were in the look.--“This is the first time,” he said, “in which I have had the honour of seeing and conversing with my sovereign, and I foresee it will add to my former loyalty, the sentiments of gratitude and admiration.--my fortunes, my services, my life, sire, are at your feet, dispose of them henceforth as you will; but I beseech you for your own honour and happiness, for the sake of your people, proceed no further in dissolving my union with Donna Gonsalva.”

“How! Don Emanuel,” exclaimed Sebastian, “do you pretend to persuade me of these animated sentiments, and yet deny me the only favor peculiarly your own to bestow? as your sovereign I may command your services and life; but when I ask of you with the simplicity of an equal, to resign the shadow of a right over a woman whom _you_ cannot love, whom _I_ love with all the ardour of virtuous tenderness, and who blesses me in return, when I ask _this_ at your hands, you capriciously, tyrannically deny me. What conduct is this? how dare you mock me with expressions of devoted regard?”

Embarrassed yet not confounded, Don Emanuel was silent; the king pressed his remark with increased ardour, adding, in a tone of greater emotion, “You were contracted to Donna Gonsalva at the age of thirteen, you went immediately after to India, from whence you are returned but three months; in that period you have seen the fair Gonsalva only thrice, and that in reserved interviews before her aunt, where nothing beyond personal graces could speak to your senses. No charm of varied discourse; no enchantment of sensibility could penetrate to your soul; the coldness of her feelings must have chilled yours: love feeds, grows, lives upon love! Can you then, will you then have the injustice to place your mere admiration of her beauty upon a par with my lively preference of her character, and my tender sympathy with her disinterested affection? Have a care, Don Emmanuel, force me not to resume the King; you may rouse me into measures which otherwise I would have spurned.”

“I trust, Sire, to your own conviction of the justice of my claim, replied De Castro firmly, the king of Portugal is born to be the glory and the examplar of Kings: he will teach the Portuguese to obey the laws, by first obeying them himself; he will respect even the simplest rights of his subjects; he will reflect that absolute power tempts to oppression, and renders self-denial the greatest effort of virtue; and in proportion as injustice is easy to him, his magnanimity will render it difficult.” Don Emanuel paused, but Sebastian was silent; for there was something in Don Emanuel’s manner which at once inspired respect, and rivetted attention: interpreting his sovereign’s looks, that nobleman continued--“Pardon my boldness, sire, if I venture to tell you, that in marrying a subject, and that subject a woman ravished from her husband, you will stain your unsullied name, and disappoint your people. Hitherto, monarchs of Portugal have strengthened their power by foreign alliances--you, sire, have refused daughters of France and Spain; and when it is known that you have refused them for a private person, may we not dread the consequences?”

“What! Don Emanuel,” interrupted Sebastian, “does your otherwise admirable theory of a prince’s duties, lead to this extravagant conclusion, that he is bound to sacrifice his domestic happiness to a mere shew of benefitting his people?--Is a powerful alliance more than a political pageant?--When did you ever find the dearest connections amongst earthly potentates, (and I blush for them whilst I urge it,) able to counterbalance the promptings of ambition and opportunity? every solid advantage would be as firmly secured to Portugal by my union with a subject as with a princess. I am not the first King of Portugal who has declared that ‘marriage is the prerogative of every man.’”

“True, Sire!” returned De Castro, respectfully, “but your majesty will remember that the august monarch who made this declaration, coupled it with these words--_I promise never to invade this prerogative in the person of another, and for that reason expect never to have it invaded in my own._”

“De Castro,” said the King earnestly, “tell me that you tenderly, exclusively love her--swear it to me by your hope of eternal salvation, and whatever it may cost me, I will relinquish my own happiness, but never again expect to behold the face of your sovereign: for the man who would force to his arms an unwilling bride, must have a soul with which mine can have no fellowship.”

Extremely affected by the honourable emotion of his royal master, Don Emanuel’s voice faltered as he replied, “My nature, sire, is incapable of deriving gratification from any forced submission; much less from that submission of woman’s heart, which must be voluntary to be sweet:--be assured Donna Gonsalva shall not be compelled into my arms. To swear I love her dearer than any thing on earth, would be false, for I love my King better: I take Heaven to witness it is more for his honor and prosperity, than for my own wishes, that I thus desperately risk his displeasure. Time, perhaps, may plead in my justification, and convince you, sire, that though I refuse every other ground of discussion except that of right, yet am I sincere when I repeat, that for loyalty and the most passionate wish for your majesty’s real happiness, my heart may challenge any heart in Portugal.”

Sebastian’s indignant eyes searched the countenance of Don Emanuel; “There is a proud mystery about you, sir,” he said, “which displeases me:--I have humbled myself too much.--Since it is to be a question of right, learn to respect the rights of your prince. From this hour know that I will be obeyed.”

Don Emanuel threw himself at the King’s feet.--“Then I must _implore_ for justice, and conjure my sovereign to decide on my claim as he would have done in a similar cause in which he was not a party. Ah, sire! you turn pale! your upright soul feels the force of that plain appeal. Would to God, for your own august sake, that you would not precipitately do an act of violence.--Have you no fears, sire, that the woman who could so long conceal, and so lightly break a sacred tie (however imposed,) has been actuated by less disinterested motives than those of virtuous love?”

At this unexpected question, the King lost all command of his passions, and fiercely motioned for Don Emanuel to withdraw; his look and gesture were too violent not to warn de Castro that he trod on the brink of a precipice: that young nobleman rose from the ground, and as he bowed respectfully, a deep sigh escaped him, he bowed again, and left the King to his own thoughts.

CHAP. III.

Sebastian’s mind was a tempest of angry feelings. It was now evident, that unless the presence and arguments of the Count Vimiosa should prevail over De Castro’s obstinacy, he must be forced to use compulsion: such measures were so abhorrent to his nature that he felt increased aversion for the man who thus rendered them necessary.

Don Emanuel was forbid to appear at court; yet his still generous, though indignant sovereign, neither abridged his honours nor his liberty: he testified his displeasure merely by banishing him from his presence. The prior of Crato observed this moderation and blamed it: Sebastian answered him by saying, “De Castro has to thank me for much more forbearance: were I to follow the dictates of my proud spirit, I would crush him with benefits, and render this perseverance odious to the whole world. But I disdain to take so unfair an advantage.” Antonio was not reconciled to such a refinement of honour, yet he attempted not to ridicule it. The arrival of the Count Vimiosa revived the spirits of the King; from him he expected implicit submission, and he found it. The Count had early learned the court lesson of obedience; and was besides intoxicated with the height to which his daughter’s elevation would raise himself: he professed his willingness to repair in person to Rome for the dispensation; inveighing bitterly against the rash and selfish man who thus ventured to contend with his prince.

Sebastian could not conceal from his own thoughts that he despised this pliant father, who boasted acquiescence as the fruit of reverence to royal authority, not as springing from the conviction of woman’s right to dispose of her affection and her hand: Sebastian was accustomed to estimate the value of men’s actions by their motives; and scorning those of Vimiosa, scarcely brooked his presence even in the society of his daughter. However, for her sake he gave him the palace of Xabregas, to which she was shortly after removed with her discreet aunt from the vicinity of Crato.

Though debarred from personally appearing before the King, Don Emanuel addressed a letter to him full of duteous affection, in which he offered to forego all claim upon Donna Gonsalva, provided she continued to wish it at the expiration of six months: but for that period he stipulated that she must either retire into a convent, or accept the protection of his aunt Donna Garcia di Nugnez, a lady of unblemished reputation, under her roof she might receive his visits, and those of the King also.

This proposal De Castro pressed with such earnestness (offering to pledge himself under forfeiture of his estates and life, to use no authority over the will of Donna Gonsalva,) that Sebastian was induced to consider it--there was such an air of sincerity in the whole of that young nobleman’s conduct, and his character had hitherto been so irreproachable, that it was impossible even for the passion-blinded King to refuse believing him innocent of wanton insolence. Whatever romantic notions of right and honour might tempt him into the present opposition, it was evident that he rather sought to give his prince time to recollect himself, than finally to thwart his wishes.

Stimulated to convince Don Emanuel that his choice arose not from a temporary gust of passion, Sebastian half-resolved to accept these offered terms, and consent to six months probation. With this view he hastened from the palace of Ribera to that of Xabregas, to communicate the letter to Donna Gonsalva: he found her in the midst of her little court, like the Queen of beauty surrounded by graces and loves. On his entrance the nobles retired, leaving only the prior of Crato, and Donna Sancha Vimiosa.

While the fair Portuguese read De Castro’s letter, the blood suddenly forsook her lips and cheeks; she fixed her amazed eyes on Don Antonio, as if unconscious of what they looked on, repeating aloud “for six months!”--at that moment Sebastian forgot his rational resolution; “but we are not to be debarred the society of each other all that time, my Gonsalva!” said he, tenderly kissing her hand.

Gonsalva gazed at him with a mixture of astonishment and apprehension--“already so indifferent!” she exclaimed--“artful De Castro, thou knowest but too well, I fear, how those six months would end!”

“Donna Gonsalva!” cried the prior, with no very respectful roughness, “are you in your senses?--observe the king.”

Instantaneously recalled, the beautiful Gonsalva recovered from her extraordinary agitation, and turning to her lover, beheld on his countenance such an expression of grateful surprize and fond regret, then she half sunk into his arms, repeating with the voice of a syren “you will not banish me from happiness for six long months? you will not kill your Gonsalva with fears which your authority may end for ever!”

Sebastian pressed her to him in a transport of love--“what is it you fear!” he exclaimed, “what is it alarms my Gonsalva!”

His charming mistress cast down her eyes abashed, “I fear, without cause perhaps,” she said, “yet, you have yourself often remarked, that true tenderness trembles at every delay of what it sighs for.--These six months passed with a relation of the man who calls himself my husband--these six months in which you may be wrought on to abandon me--are so frightful--so sad--alas! how shall I live through them!”

Antonio, who was reading the important letter, now broke in upon Sebastian’s soothings: he spoke with peculiar warmth on the weakness of allowing himself to be thus trifled with by an inferior. He could not understand, he observed, any of those romantic notions which his royal master urged in defence of Don Emanuel; but frankly gave it as his opinion that De Castro, so far from being sincere in his promise of resigning the lady in half a year, was more likely to take a base advantage of a husband’s authority, and whenever Donna Gonsalva should be removed from her own family, render it impossible for her to return to her lover.

“I am not a deep reasoner, my honoured cousin,” added the prior, with his usual good-humoured levity--“but depend on it I see actions as they are; and never am out in men’s motives,--shall I tell you what I would do in your majesty’s place?--I would flatly refuse this insidious offer, and send the proposer of it back to the Indies: give him the viceroyalty by way of consolation.”

“Not to get him quietly out of the way:” replied the King, “do not injure yourself so in my thoughts Antonio, by urging such unworthy conduct!--no, he shall be heard at the tribunal to which I appeal. I am not going to _rob_ him.”

“Your majesty’s apprehension is so quick, and so erring sometimes!” cried the smiling prior, “I simply meant him to be complimented with the government of India, _after_ the cause had gone against him.”

“No, nor that either,” answered Sebastian, “I will not purchase the silence of an enemy at the expense of my people. If I am to believe De Castro insincere and unworthy, he is not to be trusted with the destinies of thousands.”

“Well, you must pardon my zeal, sire!--I would perform a ten year’s penance for your sake, (and your majesty knows how ill long fasts and sleepless nights suit my taste,) and it chafes me into uncharitableness, perhaps, to find a fellow cheating your generous nature with mere breath.”

“I know your affectionate heart!” said the King, with one of his benign smiles: then turning to Gonsalva, who had been all this time resting her fair cheek on his shoulder, and moistening it with tears, he besought her to pronounce her will, and it should be obeyed.

“Renew your solicitations at Rome!” she exclaimed, pleasure sparkling in her eyes--“suffer me still to remain at Xabregas with my kind aunt here--and from this hour till the blessed one which makes me yours, refuse to see or hear from Don Emanuel.--Never, never again let me be tortured with his presence.”

The King kissed her hand in token of assent; and De Castro’s proposal was rejected.

A second embassy was now dispatched under the Count Vimiosa into Italy; while Don Emanuel, wearied with fruitless efforts to see the King again, and secretly supported by many of the nobility, who envied the elevation of the Vimiosas, went himself to Rome to ask for justice at the feet of the pope. His cause was strengthened by the French court, exasperated at the refusal of their alliance with Portugal; and strenuously promoted by the influence of a high Italian family with whom he was connected by blood.--But Sebastian felt secure of success, and intoxicated by the delight of love, could not conceive the possibility of disappointment.

His beautiful idol was now the idol of the people and the nobles; wherever she moved, crowds hung upon her charms; the graces of her air, and the bewitching playfulness of her manner, attracted hearts as well as eyes, and among the young lords who approached the fascination of her accomplishments, scarcely any one preserved himself from the torment of fruitless desires.--This admiration from others, increased the passion, because it flattered the pride of the King; and assured of being exclusively beloved, he no longer blushed to display the excess and tenderness of his feelings.

At length the pope’s decision arrived;--Count Vimiosa returned triumphant; De Castro foiled.

Transported with joy, Sebastian flew to impart the tidings to Donna Gonsalva: how was she struck on finding that her father had obtained her lover’s suit, only by promising his holiness the performance of an imprudent vow once made by the King to Don Antonio!--that vow would leave her still without perfect security; it would take him into Africa, amidst danger and death!

The most violent bursts of tears, shrieks, and fits, followed this unhappy disclosure; Sebastian had never before seen her so moved: ravished with such convincing proofs of his empire over her heart, he renewed his protestations of eternal fidelity, accompanying them with many a fond endearment. By degrees his arguments and caresses produced soothing effects, and the weeping beauty was pacified.--Nature indeed had blessed her with a disposition so averse from thought and care, that grief dwelt with her but an instant: she made her lover repeat all his vows of love and truth, and the assurance of denying De Castro’s return to court, and then she revived to smiling happiness.

The arrival of Vimiosa had been expected to prove the signal of De Castro’s disgrace; but on the contrary the King simply announced the continuance of his banishment from palace parties, while he distinguished his former services by such honorary rewards as in those days of high-pitched honour, were more dearly prized and more eagerly sought, than are the _substantial recompensings_ of modern times.

Donna Gonsalva, soon after, blazing in jewels, and attended by a splendid retinue of pages and ladies, received the compliments of the nobility in the palace of Xabregas.--Everywhere announced as their future queen, her favour was courted, her influence implored: it was no longer Sebastian, but she who ruled in Portugal.

Don Emanuel de Castro shocked at this ascendancy, which it was in vain for him to attempt opposing, retired to the house of a relation in a remote province, where he passed his hours in study and benevolent acts: his name ceased to be spoken of at court, and even his remembrance shortly wore out of the minds of the courtiers.

Blended with the idea of happiness and Gonsalva, the enterprize against Africa, had commenced. Sebastian’s roused spirit once more breathed war and religious enthusiasm: he directed levies to be made, youth trained, foreign powers solicited, and a crusade preached throughout his dominions; he passed himself from province to province, ascertaining its strength and proportioning its supplies to its ability: he stimulated the exertions of his officers, by new distinctions, and solicitously sought to obtain the aid of his uncle Philip II. who then ruled in Spain. This was liberally promised him; shamefully withholden!

The prior of Crato, enflamed with the same ardour, and sanctioned by the title of a religious war, accompanied his royal cousin in these progresses, liberally offering his revenues and retainers to aid and support the cause:--he was to make one in the formidable expedition; a circumstance highly agreeable to the King, who loved his enlivening talents, and was accustomed to talk with him of Gonsalva.

But the glory of their little army consisted in one gallant stranger, Sir Thomas Stukeley of England.--This brave adventurer had left his native country from the restlessness of a disordered but fine mind, and hearing of Sebastian’s intended attack upon the Moors, came to offer his services at the head of a band of noble Italians.

The chivalric romance of Stukeley captivated our youthful hero; he found in him that ardour of enterprize, and those unquenchable hopes, which he had hitherto believed his own peculiar property. While they conversed together, both burned with the same fire; prudential calculations were equally despised by each; danger only, possessed charms for them, and success, unless torn from the arms of destruction, was to them destitute of honour.

Stukeley’s reason had once been rudely assaulted by a domestic calamity; and though it still remained uninjured in the eyes of most men, deeper observers beheld a lamentable chasm in his once perfect mind:--an exuberance of imagination had usurped the place of the reasoning faculty; while his heart, true to its nature and to its habits, fed this imagination with visions of exalted but often hazardous virtue.

The wild inspiration of his countenance, breathing goodness and greatness, never suggested to Sebastian the idea of an unsettled intellect: what might have appeared feverish ravings in another, were sublimed by the magnificent eloquence of Stukeley into theories of god-like excellence, and heroic exploit.--The young monarch listened to these effusions till their magic transformed impossibilities into certainties: hitherto his character impelled others; now, it was impelled in its turn, and borne with resistless force before the mighty character of Stukeley.

With such a coadjutor, the King of Portugal was enabled to give an additional impulse to the martial spirit of his kingdom, Stukeley was a zealous catholic like himself, and the destruction of the infidels was equally the object of his wishes.

An opportunity of prosperously invading Africa, now presented itself. One of the Moorish princes who had been dethroned by his uncle Muley Moloch, King of Fez, Morocco, and Tarradunt, after vainly soliciting the aid of Mahometan courts, came as a suppliant to Portugal: he pleaded his rights and his distress; offering the monarch in lieu of assistance, several valuable territories along the sea-coast.

Sebastian’s zeal for the extension of Christianity would not suffer him to be contented with a mere accession of territory: he dictated new terms; stipulating for the half of whatever was re-conquered, and for the enlargement of every Christian found enslaved amongst the Moors. But the leading article in their treaty was an agreement that no Christian hereafter should be forced into the profession of Mahometanism, and that the Emperor of Morocco should make a law for this purpose, under the penalty of death to any of his subjects who should disobey.

By this arrangement Sebastian insured to himself a substantial hold on Africa; and though aware of the small probability there was that Muley Hamet should fulfil the latter part of their treaty, he was now conscious of possessing in this article, (if infringed) a justifiable plea for turning his arms against so faithless an ally.

On completing this compact with the Moor, and receiving some mercenaries from Germany and Flanders, the King called a general assembly of his nobles and ministers.--After eloquently detailing his motives for taking arms, and the advantages likely to result from it to all Christendom, he proceeded to say, that he convened his council, not to ask their advice, but to instruct them in his aim, and to receive their concurrence. He called God to witness, that his first and dearest aim was the preservation of unnumbered souls who now groaned under the sinful yoke of a detestable religion, and perhaps wanted only to live under a Christian government, and be taught by Christian teachers, to awake from their delusion: he pathetically painted the miseries of his captive countrymen to whom the Portuguese arms were about to give freedom: he then commented on the political advantage of acquiring a maritime frontier in Africa for the protection of their trade with the gold coast; and lastly, he avowed a strong desire for honorable distinction. His impetuous youth here dwelt delighted, and laid claim to some indulgence for this last infirmity of noble minds: he finished an animated confession of that infirmity, by these words from Cicero.

“Should we in the pursuits of virtue have any of its rewards in view, the noblest of all, is glory: this alone compensates the shortness of life, by the immortality of fame; by this we are still present when absent from the world, and survive even after death. By the steps of glory, in short, mortals mount to heaven.”

This speech produced very different effects upon his hearers: the younger were already converts to his opinion; but the old and experienced, who had lived long enough in the world to foresee the probable termination of this military romance, received their King’s determination sorrowfully. Each, in private, endeavoured to persuade him of the impracticability of subduing Africa with a handful of men, unsupported by foreign succours, and depending for their safety in a great measure on the good faith of an infidel ally: they expatiated upon the exhaustless numbers of the Moors, and their knowledge of their own country, where he, would fight upon ground he knew little of, where in the event of a defeat he might be so bewildered as not to get back to his transports, and must consequently resign his troops either to starvation or captivity.

Similar arguments were pressed on him by the ambassadors of foreign courts; but they served only to inflame the courage of Sebastian, and to exasperate him against their masters, those cautious monarchs who proved themselves nominal sons of the church, since they would not contribute one detachment towards his enterprize. His uncle too, the Cardinal Henry, opposed the expedition, and aided by the foreboding lamentations of the Queen dowager, frequently agitated their rash kinsman by unavailing remonstrances.

Sebastian listened respectfully to each; but, seduced into the belief of being born for the destruction of Mahometanism, persevered in his resolution.

To the enchantments of Donna Gonsalva he continually turned from these vexations: her wit enlivened him, her syren voice soothed the most turbulent emotions of his soul, and his unsated eyes found ceaseless delight in following the graceful varieties of her face and figure: yet Sebastian had a void in his heart; a something unfilled, unsatisfied, which he placed to the account of the imperfection of human felicity. Donna Gonsalva was exquisite in person and mind; she certainly loved him, but her love did not meet either the delicacy or the intensity of his: her feelings were obtuse in those trifles to which sensibility is tremblingly alive: she would often pursue her own sprightly pleasures with such eager forgetfulness of him, as to mortify and displease him. Two or three times he had entered her apartments at Xabregas in the bitterness of a spirit traversed and exhausted by political disappointments, and she had not observed it: his watchful passion was never one moment insensible to the slightest variation of its object; not even the mist of an unpleasant thought could shade that heaven of beauty, without disturbing his repose--and she--yes she, often saw him agitated or depressed, without observation.

It was at these periods that Sebastian acknowledged the torments and the omnipotence of love: he saw a defect in his idol, yet he worshipped her still.

But what could he desire more than to be loved with all the powers of her soul? if that soul wanted some of the energy of his, was it not her misfortune rather than her fault? his reason assented to this, though his heart frequently burst out into fond complaints which Gonsalva silenced by the warmest assurance of preference. Under the immediate impression of his grief, she would lose no opportunity of evincing her tenderness, and then Sebastian’s transports would return: but attentions which do not flow spontaneously from a natural softness, seldom are lasting; Donna Gonsalva would soon forget her lover’s character, because her own was of a lighter stamp, and gay thoughtlessness uniformly succeeded a short solicitude.