THE FATE OF THE HOUSE OF SUABIA.
The soft climate of the south, and the rich and varied scenery upon the
banks of the Arlanzon, invited Eleanora to long walks in the suburbs of
Burgos: and she found the greatest delight in watching the changing
foliage, which announced the approach of the mellow autumn.
Her recent interviews with the philosopher had given a new direction to
her thoughts. She experienced a pleasure before unknown in studying the
various aspects of nature, and contemplating the subtle arrangement by
which all these beautiful phenomena were produced. New proofs of an
All-creative Intelligence were daily forced upon her with peculiar
distinctness, and her mind was thus fortified against the cold,
insinuating doubts, with which her brother continually assailed her faith.
Often she became so lost in reflection as to be insensible to all external
circumstances, and her ladies, loosed from the restraints of court
etiquette, revelled in the unwonted freedom of these rural strolls.
Eleanora was often lured from her speculative abstraction by the sportive
gayety of their amusements, and she saw with benevolent pleasure the ready
tact with which the young Jewess avoided every inquiry that might lead to
a discovery of her nation or position, without in the least compromising
her truthfulness or transgressing the rules of courtesy.
During one of these rambles, a mendicant of the order of St. Francis
approached the queen, and asked an alms. The smoothly-shaven chin of the
monk, closely clipped hair, and unsandalled feet, at first completely
imposed upon her credulity, but his voice at once betrayed Procida.
With a troubled look she gave him a few _denier_, as if desirous to escape
all parley. But the monk lingered; and after a pause, hesitatingly
remarked in a low tone, "I am about to leave Burgos, and I would fain
confer with the queen before my departure."
"But wherefore the monkish habit? Has the Jew resolved to do penance for
his sins?" inquired Eleanora.
"Nay," replied Procida, evasively, "if my gracious mistress will grant me
an audience, I will unfold to her the purpose that hath moved me to this
disguise."
"I cannot tell," replied the queen, with a tone of unwonted reproach, "if
it be desirable to entrust thy plans to my keeping, since I may not
encourage deceit, and I would not that thy Agnes, so innocent of guile,
should learn that her father, for some dark purpose, has assumed the garb
he abhors."
Tears glistened in the eyes of Procida, as he replied, "Thou sayest well
and wisely. The sweet child knoweth not more of the secret schemes of her
father, than do the angels of the dark deeds of fiends. But--"
"I hear the voice of my maidens," exclaimed the queen impatiently, "expose
not thyself to their observation."
"_Benedicite_," murmured the counterfeit priest, turning away to avoid the
scrutiny of the approaching group.
But Procida was so determined to secure the approbation of the queen, that
the following day he craved an audience at the palace.
"My royal mistress," said he, "must permit me once more, to plead the
rights of the illustrious house of Suabia, before I depart on my
pilgrimage, that if I never return, she may justify my acts in the eyes of
my daughter."
"Speak," said Eleanora, moved by the sorrowful earnestness of his manner.
"My royal master Frederic," began the Jew, "had little cause to love the
church. Hated by the pope, for that with a strong arm he claimed his
hereditary possessions in Italy, he was excommunicated for refusing the
pilgrimage, and again cursed for fulfilling his vow; and had not the
honest pagan, Melech Camel, been more his friend than the christian troops
by whom he was surrounded, he would have perished by treason in the Holy
City itself.
"Freed from superstition, he looked upon all religions as formed to impose
upon the vulgar; and it was through his instructions, that I learned the
policy of conforming to the prejudices of mankind, and now avail myself of
the privileges of an order, who wander everywhere, and are everywhere well
received.
"The emperor, like thy brother Alphonso, was a man of science. He opened
schools in Sicily, and maintained poor scholars from his own purse, and by
every means promoted the welfare of his subjects; but he could not escape
the toils spread around him by his great enemy the church."
As he said these words the queen beheld in his eyes the same vengeful fire
that once had before so startled and shocked her.
"Thy pardon, sovereign lady," said he, recollecting himself, "but the
wrongs of the master have well-nigh maddened the brain of the servant.
"His own son Henry, wrought upon by the malicious representations of the
pope, revolted, and his beautiful boy Enzio, pined away his young life in
the prison of Bologna. The great Frederic died; and his wretched Procida
vowed to avenge him upon his murderers." He paused a moment overcome by
his emotions, and then continued, "There yet remained Conrad and Manfred:
the former, only son of the Queen of Jerusalem, and the latter,
illegitimate offspring of a Saracen woman. Conrad passed into Italy to
claim his inheritance, only to be poisoned by the pope; while Manfred,
calling around him the friends of his mother, battled for his father's
strongholds and treasures. He was brave, generous and noble. He would have
made peace even with his enemy, but the tyrant d'Anjou spurned his
overtures, and insultingly replied to the messenger, 'Go tell the Sultan
of Nocera, that I desire war only, and this very day I will send him to
hell, or he shall send me to Paradise.' He prepared for the conflict. As
he fastened on his helmet it twice slipped from his grasp. 'It is the hand
of God,' was his exclamation, and with a presentiment of his fall, he
hurried to the fight. I stood by his side in the bloody battle of
Benevento, and we made a holocaust of our enemies; but a fatal spear
pierced his brain! The implacable d'Anjou would have the poor
excommunicated corpse remain unburied, but the French soldiers, less
barbarous than their master, brought each a stone, and so reared him a
tomb."
"Tell me no more horrors," exclaimed the queen, with a look of painful
emotion.
"Ah! lady," said the artful Procida, sadly, satisfied that his recital had
so moved his royal auditor, "thou art grieved at the very _hearing_ of
these atrocities, but bethink thee of the misery of the poor daughter of
Frederic, wife of the Duke of Saxony. When the family fell, the duke
repented of his alliance with the house of Suabia. From cold neglect and
scorn, he proceeded to violence--he brutally struck her. She, unhappy
woman, thinking he sought her life, endeavored to escape. The castle rose
upon a rock overhanging the Elbe. A faithful servant kept a boat upon the
river, and by a rope, she could let herself down the precipitous descent.
An agonizing thought stayed her footsteps. Her only son lay asleep in the
cradle. She would once more fold him to her breast. She would imprint her
last kiss upon his cheek. With a maddening pang she closed her teeth in
the tender flesh, and fled, pursued by the screams of her wounded child.
The treacherous rope eluded her grasp, and the frantic mother fell,
another victim from the doomed race of Hohenstaufen.
"The little Corradino, who should have been King of Jerusalem, had also a
mother, tender and fond, who would fain have detained him from funereal
Italy, where all his family had found a sepulchre; but ere he attained the
age of manhood the Ghibelline cities called to him for aid, and no
entreaties could withhold the valiant youth. Accompanied by his dearest
friend, Frederic of Austria, and a band of knights, he passed the Alps to
claim his inheritance. There was a battle--there was a defeat--there was a
prisoner--The Vicar of Christ, showed he mercy? He wrote to d'Anjou,
'Corradino's life is Charles's death.' Judges were named, a strange and
unheard-of proceeding; but of these some defended Corradino, and the rest
remained silent. One alone, found him guilty, and began to read his
sentence upon the scaffold. But outraged nature asserted her rights,
d'Anjou's own son-in-law leaped upon the scaffold and slew the inhuman
judge with one stroke of his sword, exclaiming, ''Tis not for a wretch
like thee to condemn to death so noble and gentle a lord.' But the
execution proceeded. I stood among the spectators a shaven priest,
_honoring the decrees of the church_! I heard the piteous exclamation of
the hapless youth, 'Oh my mother, what sad news will bring thee of thy
son.' His eye caught mine, he slipped a ring from his finger, and threw it
into the crowd. I seized the precious jewel, and renewed my vow of
vengeance. The faithful Frederic of Austria stood by his side, and was the
first to receive the fatal stroke. Corradino caught the bleeding head, as
it fell, pressed his own upon the quivering lips, and perished like his
friend. 'Lovely and pleasant in their lives, in death they were not
divided.'"
Tears for a moment quenched the fire in the old man's eyes, and Eleanora
wept in sympathy. "And Enzio--?" she said, mournfully.
"Enzio yet languished in prison, the delicate boy, the idol of his
imperial father. I found my way to Bologna, gold bribed his guard. An
empty wine-cask was at hand, I enclosed him therein, and brought him
safely to the gates. A single lock of hair betrayed my secret. 'Ha!'
exclaimed the sentinel, ''tis only King Enzio has such beautiful fair
hair.' I escaped with difficulty, but the boy was slain."
"Lives there not one of all the princely house?" inquired the queen.
"Frederic the Bitten lives, the deadly enemy of his father, and the
daughter of Manfred is the wife of the Prince of Arragon. To her I carry
the ring. A Saracen servant of the emperor ascribes to it magic virtues.
It shall be the talisman to bind Europe in a league against the infamous
d'Anjou."
"My brother! knows he of thy purpose?" inquired Eleanora, apprehensively.
"I entered Castile to secure his assistance, and devoted myself to the
practice of alchemy, to gain his confidence; but the philosopher is too
intent upon the science of dull atoms to mingle in political strife."
"Thank heaven! that his studies keep him innocent of human blood,"
ejaculated the queen. "Wouldst ought with me?" inquired she, after a
pause, observing that the Jew remained silent with his eyes fixed upon
her.
"Let my gracious queen pardon her servant, that he hath so long detained
her with his tale of horror. Something I would add concerning my sweet
Agnes. Call her not a Jewess. Her father hath long since abjured the
burdensome rites of Judaism, and her mother--'tis enough to say that she
resembled the Queen of England. Though I trust not in the pious fables of
the priests, they seemed to charm her gentle spirit into peace. Let Agnes,
therefore, I pray thee, be instructed in her mother's faith."
"Thy wishes shall be strictly regarded," replied Eleanora, "and may the
same peace thou covetest for thy daughter, yet find its way to thy own
unquiet breast."