Meanwhile Miguel de Vasconcellos had been warned that something was occurring. He was yet in bed and had scarcely time to dress, when, following on the warning, a strange noise was heard in the corridors. Pale with fear he ran to the door and locked it on the inside, and immediately heard the nobles knocking furiously at the door, when the wood was shivered with the hatchets they had brought to break it down. Thereupon, seeing that he was lost, he seized a loaded musket and shut himself into a cupboard full of papers. There holding his breath, his forehead bathed with the sweat of anguish, he heard the door give way; the nobles entered like a torrent, and blaspheming, searched in every corner of the apartment. His safety hung on a thread; as, not finding him, the conspirators were about to make their way to the department of India, to which place they presumed he had fled, when the narrowness of his hiding-place caused Vasconcellos to make a slight movement. It was heard; with a shout of ferocious joy they rushed upon his hiding-place; a few shots were fired, two balls pierced his throat, and he fell dead, the blood spouting from him. After killing him, the avengers of their country abandoned him, and it was the servants who threw the body of the hated minister out of the window. When the tumultuous crowd of people who filled the courtyard saw the body of their oppressor thus contemptuously thrown out, they gave a roar of triumph and in the satisfying of their eagerly desired vengeance there was no insult which they did not heap on the pitiful remains.
While the nobles rushed from the secretary’s apartments to those of the vice-queen, the people with shouts of enthusiasm crossed the courtyard, shouting, “Liberty!” And meanwhile the rabble—who ever desecrate victory and insult the conquered, who to-day drag in the mire their oppressors and to-morrow their liberators—surrounded Vasconcellos’ body, dragging out his beard, putting out his eyes, and foolishly laughing at the infamous jests of a Moorish slave of the victim, who, seated on the corpse, mocked at and execrated him before whom he had trembled when alive. On the following day the body of the unfortunate wretch was yet in the courtyard, and seeing it João Pinto Ribeiro expressed his astonishment that none had shown Christian piety to him who had so cruelly expiated his faults. Some of Ribeiro’s men carried the body away in a skiff.
The duchess of Mantua had already heard the noise, and coming to the window, she cried out in a loud voice: “What is this, Portuguese? Where is your loyalty?” Meanwhile some of the conspirators, having forced open all the doors they had found closed, courteously compelled her to withdraw from the window. She wished to descend to the courtyard, and as the nobles prevented her: “Enough, gentlemen!” she cried, “the guilty minister has already paid for his sins. Go no further, I pledge my word that the king of Castile shall not merely pardon you, but shall thank you for having delivered the kingdom from the excesses of the secretary.” The nobles replied that they no longer recognised any king but Dom João de Braganza. This answer so enraged her that Dom Charles de Noronha begged her to retire before they lost respect for her. “For me!—how?” she inquired haughtily. “By obliging your highness to leave by the window, if you will not go in by this door,” replied the noble in tones equally haughty. Realising that under the circumstances resistance was folly, the princess gave way and withdrew to her oratory.
The nobles dispersed through the town to rouse public enthusiasm with the cry of victory, and in a short time the multitude rushed through the streets drunk with joy. A vast cry arose of “Miracle! miracle!” and from mouth to mouth the report spread, that the arm of the Christ on the crucifix, carried by one of the chaplains, had unnailed itself to bless the people. This incident, which probably had been prepared, produced an enormous effect, exciting the imagination and rousing popular enthusiasm. Many prisoners had been set at liberty, and it was feared that they would commit great acts of vengeance; but on the contrary numerous reconciliations took place of long standing enemies, and not one act of violence occurred throughout the city. At eleven in the morning the town had already peaceably resumed its usual occupations.
Meanwhile the government was careful to take all necessary measures to secure public order, stationing companies of militia at different posts. The fortresses surrendered peaceably and the commander of the galleons at anchor in the Tagus was convinced of the uselessness of bombardment and perhaps feared reprisals.
On the same day, Pedro de Mendonça and Jorge de Mello set out for Villa Viçosa; they found Dom João in the chapel, who having heard the news with calmness, commanded the divine office to be continued. This being concluded, he entered a carriage and set out for Lisbon escorted merely by a few mounted servants, being enthusiastically received in all the towns and lands through which he passed. He reached the capital on the 6th.
The speed with which the revolution spread in the provinces is a proof how eagerly liberty was desired. A few days sufficed for a yoke of sixty years[172] to be thrown off, and the Spanish monarchy, yet powerful, could not resist a disarmed and weak people, to whom invincible energy was lent by the thirst for liberty and the despair born of oppression.[i]
FOOTNOTES
[164] [“The young king was rather German than Portuguese in appearance, with his blue eyes and fair hair and face disfigured by the Habsburg lip, and in his nature there was much of the Teuton dreaminess and love of the marvellous.”—Stephens.[e]]
[165] [La Clède[g] will allow no virtue to Philip, who, he pretends, suddenly approved the enterprise, in the diabolical view of hastening the destruction of his nephew, and profiting by the catastrophe. “Philippe avait fait, de son côté ses réflexions: autant qu’il s’étoit d’abord opposé à l’entreprise que le roi de Portugal méditoit, autant il montra de désir que l’on l’exécutât. Sébastien étoit jeune téméraire, sans enfans: il pourroit périr et alors le Portugal pouvait être réuni à la Castille.”]