Posthumous birth: Life overcoming death

II Death before life

In January 1554, the streets of Lisbon were filled with cries of sorrow for the loss of prince John Manuel of Portugal, and cries of joy for the birth of the eagerly awaited heir Sebastian, his posthumous son. Leading up to his early death without descendants in the disastrous battle of Alcazarquivir (1578), early modern chroniclers depicted Sebastian’s life as closely interwoven with the circumstances surrounding his birth. While he was still in his mother’s womb, bad omens announced future misfortunes. Even before having started his life, it seemed his destiny was already written in the stars: Battle sounds had been heard and a cloud in the shape of a tomb had appeared in the sky above the city; a weeping woman dressed in mourning had appeared to the pregnant princess Joan of Austria and lights had turned off without anyone discerning who had done it. Confined to her mother-in-law’s chamber, princess Joan grew suspicious of her husband’s absence. King John III and queen Catherine wanted to shield her from deep sorrow until she gave birth, to neither endanger her, nor her baby’s, wellbeing. It was believed that the expectant mother and the fetus formed an inextricable physical and mental unity, and that the mother’s strong emotions could influence the outcome of the birth as well as the newborn’s character and future. Sebastian was born on 20 January 1554, just 18 days after his father’s death. After his mother’s departure to Castile, he remained in the care of his grandmother Catherine, who shared a similar birth story as she was Philip I’s posthumous daughter. 

Posthumous births put the cycle of the renewal of generations into fast forward. Sebastian of Portugal was the longed-for heir, a last legacy of his father in flesh and blood and represented hope for the future of Portugal; life born amidst death. [Alice Dulmovits]