Part 7 (2/2)
The youth, who felt his indignation rise, and who was touched with the sorrow which he saw he had infused into all the spectators, as well as into the Friar, suppressed his emotions, and putting off his doublet, and unb.u.t.toning, his collar, knelt down to his prayers. As he stooped, his s.h.i.+rt slipped down below his shoulder, and discovered the mark of a b.l.o.o.d.y arrow.
”Gracious heaven!” cried the holy man, starting; ”what do I see? It is my child! my Theodore!”
The pa.s.sions that ensued must be conceived; they cannot be painted. The tears of the a.s.sistants were suspended by wonder, rather than stopped by joy. They seemed to inquire in the eyes of their Lord what they ought to feel. Surprise, doubt, tenderness, respect, succeeded each other in the countenance of the youth. He received with modest submission the effusion of the old man's tears and embraces. Yet afraid of giving a loose to hope, and suspecting from what had pa.s.sed the inflexibility of Manfred's temper, he cast a glance towards the Prince, as if to say, canst thou be unmoved at such a scene as this?
Manfred's heart was capable of being touched. He forgot his anger in his astonishment; yet his pride forbad his owning himself affected. He even doubted whether this discovery was not a contrivance of the Friar to save the youth.
”What may this mean?” said he. ”How can he be thy son? Is it consistent with thy profession or reputed sanct.i.ty to avow a peasant's offspring for the fruit of thy irregular amours!”
”Oh, G.o.d!” said the holy man, ”dost thou question his being mine? Could I feel the anguish I do if I were not his father? Spare him! good Prince! spare him! and revile me as thou pleasest.”
”Spare him! spare him!” cried the attendants; ”for this good man's sake!”
”Peace!” said Manfred, sternly. ”I must know more ere I am disposed to pardon. A Saint's b.a.s.t.a.r.d may be no saint himself.”
”Injurious Lord!” said Theodore, ”add not insult to cruelty. If I am this venerable man's son, though no Prince, as thou art, know the blood that flows in my veins-”
”Yes,” said the Friar, interrupting him, ”his blood is n.o.ble; nor is he that abject thing, my Lord, you speak him. He is my lawful son, and Sicily can boast of few houses more ancient than that of Falconara. But alas! my Lord, what is blood! what is n.o.bility! We are all reptiles, miserable, sinful creatures. It is piety alone that can distinguish us from the dust whence we sprung, and whither we must return.”
”Truce to your sermon,” said Manfred; ”you forget you are no longer Friar Jerome, but the Count of Falconara. Let me know your history; you will have time to moralise hereafter, if you should not happen to obtain the grace of that st.u.r.dy criminal there.”
”Mother of G.o.d!” said the Friar, ”is it possible my Lord can refuse a father the life of his only, his long-lost, child! Trample me, my Lord, scorn, afflict me, accept my life for his, but spare my son!”
”Thou canst feel, then,” said Manfred, ”what it is to lose an only son!
A little hour ago thou didst preach up resignation to me: _my_ house, if fate so pleased, must perish-but the Count of Falconara-”
”Alas! my Lord,” said Jerome, ”I confess I have offended; but aggravate not an old man's sufferings! I boast not of my family, nor think of such vanities-it is nature, that pleads for this boy; it is the memory of the dear woman that bore him. Is she, Theodore, is she dead?”
”Her soul has long been with the blessed,” said Theodore.
”Oh! how?” cried Jerome, ”tell me-no-she is happy! Thou art all my care now!-Most dread Lord! will you-will you grant me my poor boy's life?”
”Return to thy convent,” answered Manfred; ”conduct the Princess. .h.i.ther; obey me in what else thou knowest; and I promise thee the life of thy son.”
”Oh! my Lord,” said Jerome, ”is my honesty the price I must pay for this dear youth's safety?”
”For me!” cried Theodore. ”Let me die a thousand deaths, rather than stain thy conscience. What is it the tyrant would exact of thee? Is the Princess still safe from his power? Protect her, thou venerable old man; and let all the weight of his wrath fall on me.”
Jerome endeavoured to check the impetuosity of the youth; and ere Manfred could reply, the trampling of horses was heard, and a brazen trumpet, which hung without the gate of the castle, was suddenly sounded. At the same instant the sable plumes on the enchanted helmet, which still remained at the other end of the court, were tempestuously agitated, and nodded thrice, as if bowed by some invisible wearer.
CHAPTER III.
Manfred's heart misgave him when he beheld the plumage on the miraculous casque shaken in concert with the sounding of the brazen trumpet.
”Father!” said he to Jerome, whom he now ceased to treat as Count of Falconara, ”what mean these portents? If I have offended-” the plumes were shaken with greater violence than before.
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