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Updated: May 21, 2025
"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.
"Yes," said the Friar, interrupting him, "his blood is noble; 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 nobility! We are all reptiles, miserable, sinful creatures.
She died of grief in less than a twelvemonth;" the tears gushed from Jerome's eyes, on whose countenance a thousand anxious passions stood expressed. "Before she died," continued Theodore, "she bound a writing about my arm under my garments, which told me I was the son of the Count Falconara." "It is most true," said Jerome; "I am that wretched father."
He is my lawful son, born to me when I was Count of Falconara; Sicily can boast of few houses more ancient is it possible my lord can refuse a father the life of his long-lost child?" "Return to thy convent," answered Manfred after a pause; "conduct the Princess hither; obey me in what else thou knowest; and I promise thee the life of thy son."
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 sturdy criminal there."
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.
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