“Mother of God!” 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 hither; 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.
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.
“Unhappy Prince that I am,” cried Manfred.
“Holy Father! will you not assist me with your
prayers?”
“My Lord,” replied Jerome, “heaven
is no doubt displeased with your mockery of its servants.
Submit yourself to the church; and cease to persecute
her ministers. Dismiss this innocent youth; and
learn to respect the holy character I wear.
Heaven will not be trifled with: you see—”
the trumpet sounded again.
“I acknowledge I have been too hasty,”
said Manfred. “Father, do you go to the
wicket, and demand who is at the gate.”
“Do you grant me the life of Theodore?”
replied the Friar.
