João and Isabel had just finished a very pleasant dinner at the Hieronymites Monastery. They stood up from the table, profusely thanking their hosts, who in turn replied that there was no greater honour than dining with the King. They left the monastery, smiling and waving at the monks. But as soon as the doors were closed, João turned to his daughter: his expression was grave.
"I don't feel well", he said. "There's a funny feeling in my stomach."
"Why?", asked Isabel. "What could have happened?"
"I don't know", said João. "Maybe the food was a bit too rich, or maybe I ate a bit too much. But, anyway, let's get back to the palace, and see if I feel better then."
They climbed into the carriage that would take them back to Bemposta Palace. Suddenly, João vomited quite violently: the servant who was with them looked scandalised, Isabel looked alarmed.
"Are you all right, Papa?", she asked, more as a desperate attempt to reassure herself than in expectation of a positive answer.
"I have convulsions in my stomach", said João, "but I'm sure I'll be all right."
"I'm not sure about that", Isabel admitted. "This is serious."
She could see that her father's face looked deathly pale. An ominous feeling began to grow within her, despite her best efforts to dismiss it.
"You're only 59", she pointed out, "and you've always been in good health. So how . . ."
But before she could finish, João vomited again, and did so several times before reaching the palace. He then staggered out of the coach, aided by Isabel, who was now doing her best not to panic. Into the palace they went, where João vomited in front of the all the palace staff, who all turned their faces away in disgust and pity. Isabel had the servants take him to his bed, where she sat beside him, her face full of worry. He continued to vomit periodically, and he wheezed frequently. Isabel fervently prayed to God for her father's recovery.
By the next day, word had got round that the King was seriously ill. Palmela came to his bedside, with concern etched on his face.
"Your Majesty", he said, "I am very sorry to hear of your sad condition. Are you any better today?"
"I feel about the same as yesterday", groaned João. "But I think I'll be all right."
"May that be God's will", replied Palmela, but he did not feel so hopeful. He looks absolutely terrible, Palmela thought, he'll do well to survive this. And if the worst comes to the worst, the heir to the throne is an ocean away, and the younger son is hellbent of the complete extirpation of liberty in this country. Will Portugal be ruled by Brazil? Will there be civil war? Will all hope for a future based on liberty be crushed?
Two days passed, and João remained confined to his bed: Isabel remained by his side at all times. He seemed to be breathing a little easier now, she thought.
"Are you feeling better, now, Papa?", she asked hopefully.
"I don't know", groaned João. "I'm not getting any worse, but my stomach still doesn't feel right."
"Have you any idea what happened to you?", inquired Isabel. "I know Mama is saying that the Freemasons poisoned you, but . . ."
"Maybe . . . maybe", murmured João. "But what concerns me more is that she hasn't bothered to visit me."
There was an awkward silence, before Isabel spoke again:
"Do you think you will get better, Papa?"
"Well", said João, "just in case, you know . . . you shall be the Regent of Portugal and the Algarves until the legitimate heir shall return to the Kingdom."
He smiled at her, but Isabel did not look at all comforted by this announcement, and hastily began chatting about more cheerful matters.
After another three nights, João once again started coughing and wheezing violently. Isabel gripped his hand tightly. This is the end, she thought: instinctively she knew it.
"Farewell, Isabel", breathed João, his voice barely audible. "I am soon to meet my Maker."
Isabel bowed her head, and did not reply.
"I know you will be a good regent", said João, "and I hope that Pedro will once again unite this country with Brazil. Goodbye, my dearest daughter."
His breathing stopped, his head fell back on his pillow, and the hand that Isabel was holding became clammy. Isabel threw herself on her father's body and sobbed desperately.
"Papa . . . papa . . .", she cried.
Isabel stopped crying after about 10 minutes, and willed herself to stand upright. I have duties that must be attended to, she reminded herself. She gave orders for a proclamation to be read all over the country:
"Whereas it has pleased the Lord to call away His Majesty Dom João VI, of blessed and glorious memory, the crown of these kingdoms is now come to His Imperial Majesty Dom Pedro I, Emperor of Brazil, the true and undoubted heir to the throne; we therefore proclaim that the said Emperor of Brazil is now, by the demise of our late King, become His Imperial and Royal Majesty Dom Pedro IV, King of Portugal and the Algarves, to whom we all owe dutiful obedience. Long live the King!"
Isabel also summoned Palmela, and instructed him to lead a delegation to Brazil to inform Pedro of the news.
In Porto, Costa was walking through the street when he heard the proclamation. He had been briefly imprisoned after João had dissolved the Cortes, but had been released in an amnesty after six months. He involuntarily flinched when he heard the announcement that Pedro was now King of Portugal. What, that traitor, that rebel, is now our King? And are we going to be under Brazilian rule once more? But then he thought: better Dom Pedro than Dom Miguel.
"Dom Miguel is the rightful King!", shouted Oliveira when the proclamation reached his ears. He made his way home quickly, and wrote a letter to Miguel:
"Your Majesty,
It is with the greatest sadness and regret that I must inform you that your illustrious father, Dom João VI, is dead. My sincerest condolences I extend to you. It therefore follows that, by the Fundamental Laws of the Kingdom, Your Majesty is now the King of Portugal and the Algarves. Alas, however, Dom Pedro has been quite improperly proclaimed as King instead. As Your Majesty's humble and faithful subject, let it be known that I will wholeheartedly support Your Majesty in whatever actions you may take to recover your rights and save our country from the liberal scourge.
With humble affection,
Oliveira"
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