Take it for all in all, the case of this claimant is certainly the most
wonderful one on record. For thirty-eight years Frederick the Second
had nominally ruled Germany, but his foreign wars and Italian States
had occupied so much of his time that only seven years of his long
reign were really spent in his imperial dominions. He died at
Ferentino, in 1250, in the fifty-fifth year of his age; and in a little
while the enormously extended empire which he had obtained for his
family had passed from their hands, and his many sons, and even his
grandsons, were despoiled of their crowns, and lost their lives by
violence.
Warfare and contention in the various states succeeded Frederick's
decease. In Germany a long interregnum of misery ensued, and it was
not until 1273, when Rudolph of Hapsburgh was elected to the imperial
crown, that the nation could obtain either the administration of
justice or respite from hostilities, foreign and intestine. Rudolph's
long reign proved very beneficial to the distracted empire, and for
several years Germany enjoyed an unwonted amount of prosperity, when,
in 1284, the people were startled by the report that Frederick the
Second, whom for thirty-four years everybody had believed dead and
buried, was still alive, and, although nearly ninety years old, seeking
to recover the imperial crown.
And true it was that an aged man, claiming to be the supposed defunct
monarch, had appeared, giving so plausible an account of his lengthy
seclusion, and displaying so remarkable a knowledge of Frederick's most
private transactions, that multitudes, including the Landgrave of
Thuringia and other important personages, believed his story and
afforded him support.
The narration which he gave to account for his long silence, and
abstention from the exercise of his imperial functions, was as follows:
Declaring himself persistently to be Frederick the Second, Emperor of
Germany, King of Naples and Sicily, the old man traced the story of his
life back to A.D. 1250, when, as he truly stated, the last of the
Swabian emperors, worn out with his ceaseless conflicts with the
Papacy, disheartened by his own reverses and the capture by the
Bolognese of his illegitimate son Encius, King of Sardinia, retired to
his castle of Ferentino, in the Capitanate of Naples. Here, according
to historical records, Frederick died of dysentery, but, according to
the tale put forward by the aged claimant, no such event took place.
Wearied with the world, troubled by the bane of excommunication, and
sickened by the fatality which overtook his progeny one after the
other, he, Frederick, determined to forsake the pomp of royalty and
seek an undiscoverable retreat. Feigning illness, he sent for one of
his former retainers, a man who had long since left his service, and
whose brother was Prior of the Carthusian Monastery of Squillace, in
Calabria. To this old servitor he communicated his purpose, and
besought him to accompany his former master to this frightfully
secluded place, which St. Bruno, institutor of the Carthusian Monks,
had founded. He consented to Frederick's wish. A very faithful valet,
by the Emperor's order, now set to work to disinter the body of a man
of about fifty years of age, who, conveniently for the purpose, had
died the preceding day, and had, in accordance with southern custom,
been buried a few hours after his death. Luckily for the success of
the scheme, the night was very obscure, so that the man was enabled
unobserved to bring his ghastly burden under the Emperor's window,
where, by means of a rope, the confederates succeeded in drawing it up
into the chamber. The dead body was dressed in the Emperor's attire
and placed in the imperial bed, whereupon Frederick and his follower
descended by the rope into the garden, and, quite unnoticed by the
guards, made good their retreat.
By easy stages the Chartreuse was reached, and the Emperor, after
rewarding the Sicilian valet with diamonds of sufficient value to keep
him in comfort for the rest of his days, made rich offerings to the
Prior, and then, without revealing his real name or condition, was
received into the monastery as a simple brother, and as such was
employed in the cultivation of the adjacent garden.
In this healthy occupation, ran the pretender's story, he continued
until 1268, when his unfortunate young grandson Conradrin was
atrociously beheaded by order of Charles of Anjou. He then changed his
abode to another Carthusian monastery in Champagne, near the town of
Luni, and thence he passed into Germany once more, and as all his male
descendants were deceased, asserted his right to reclaim the imperial
crown.
Many persons believed, or appeared to believe, this strange story. The
Landgrave of Thuringia, and others of less note, publicly proffered
their allegiance. The people of West Friesland, then at war with
Florentius, Count of Holland, sent deputies to him to complain of the
perpetual raids which the Dutch made into their lands, and to beg him
to protect them as vassals of the empire against the insults and
vexations of their enemies. The pseudo Frederick, only too glad of the
opportunity of airing his pretensions, wrote to Count Florentius to the
effect that unless he at once desisted from this warfare, he would put
him under the ban of the empire, and attack him with the imperial
forces; moreover, if he had, as he asserted, any right to Friesland,
let him come to him, Frederick, at Misina, to produce his evidence and
receive the Imperial decision.
The Count of Holland was greatly enraged at this affront, but, as
recorded by Vossius in his History of Holland, condescended to reply,
to the effect that his correspondent had plenty of assurance to take
upon himself the name of the Emperor Frederick the Second, thirty-four
years after that monarch's death. There were, however, he reminded the
claimant, yet living persons who had beheld Frederick's dead body;
whilst, as he pointed out, not only were the Emperor's affairs at the
time of his death far from desperate enough to cause him to conceal
himself, but also the impossibility for such an illustrious personage
to have remained for so long a time in obscurity. He then strongly
advised the pretender to quietly return to his proper station in
society, adding that he could not have any dread of his armaments,
seeing that he possessed none, not even being master of Misina, where
he resided.
Not satisfied with this exhibition of his claims, the pseudo Frederick
now wrote to the Emperor Rudolph commanding him to resign the imperial
dignity, and unattended, and simply as a tributary prince, to come and
do homage to him, his sovereign. This was too much for the patience of
Rudolph, who soon determined to dispose of this competitor for his
crown. Historians differ somewhat as to how he obtained possession of
the claimant, but according to the most reliable accounts he would
appear to have been taken prisoner at Wetzlaer, in Hesse, after that
town had sustained a cruel siege on his account; thence he was taken to
Nuz, in the Electorate of Cologne, and, after having been subjected to
torture, confessed, so it was declared, that his real name was Tilon
Colup, and that the many private details of Frederick's life, of which
he had displayed such an intimate knowledge, were learnt whilst he was
in the Emperor's service as a domestic. Contemporary records aver that
he bore great resemblance to Frederick, that he was perfectly
acquainted with the most minute particulars of that monarch's life,
both public and private, and that he simulated the deceased sovereign
so well in conversation that he convinced all with whom he conversed.
Ultimately, he was sentenced to death as a necromancer, and, together
with two of his chief adherents, burnt to death in Nuz. The
inhabitants of Colmar, a large town in the hereditary dominions of
Frederick, who had embraced the claimant's cause with great zeal, were
inflicted with a heavy pecuniary fine in lieu of death, to which
punishment they were, at first, sentenced.