“He could kill them all!” replied Ferdinand, then added solemnly, bowing low and crossing himself, “He could, my son, but he would not, out of respect for the holy religion.”
* * * * * * * *
Ferdinand the Second’s system of police and priestly rule did not fail to bear fruit in the shape of numerous uprisings and attempted assassinations that terrorized the last years of his reign. He knew himself to be an object of universal hatred and that hundreds were plotting against his life, and grew more nervous and uneasy every day. Added to these mental anxieties he had acute physical sufferings. The unfortunate prince could find no rest, day or night. At the age of forty-five his hair had turned completely white and he looked like an old man.
His natural tendency toward bigotry increased with illness and worry and he became as superstitious as the most orthodox prince of the Middle Ages. Before mounting a horse he always crossed himself, and he never met a priest or monk on one of his drives without stopping the carriage while he alighted and knelt upon the ground until the holy man had passed. He went frequently to confession and had daily masses read for himself in all the churches. Every night he prayed, rosary in hand, with his wife and children, and before retiring would kiss each of the holy images with which the walls of his bedchamber were adorned. But even these pious observances failed to bring relief. Conscience tortured him, and he sought sleep in vain.
The betrothal of his eldest son and heir to the Bavarian Princess brought a gleam of light into the darkness. The house of Wittelsbach, besides its high rank and antiquity, was strongly orthodox in its Catholicism, a most important item in Ferdinand’s eyes; and the alliance was a strong one politically, for by it his son would become the brother-in-law of the Emperor of Austria, and closely connected also with several others of the reigning houses of Europe. In spite of his state of health, the King had determined to be present at the second and real wedding of Francis and Maria, and succeeded, indeed, in reaching Bari, where the ceremony was to take place; but the fatigue and hardships of a Winter journey over the Apennines were too much for his strength, and he arrived at Bari so ill and exhausted that there was no possibility of his being able to assist in the festivities.
The King ill unto death, the country on the verge of revolution, the royal house and kingdom threatened by enemies at home and abroad—a sorry state of affairs to greet the fair young Bavarian Princess, entering for the first time the land of which she was soon to become the sovereign!
Chapter VI
Maria Sophia’s Arrival
It was on a beautiful Spring morning, the third of February, 1859, that the Crown Princess approached her new home. All the roads leading to Bari were filled with curious sightseers, eager for a glimpse of the bride. All tongues were busy with praises of her beauty and goodness. Her name was on every lip; but instead of being called the Princess of Bavaria or Duchess of Calabria, she was and still is familiarly spoken of in Italy as Maria Sophia, to distinguish her from many of her predecessors on the throne who had borne the name of Maria. The whole royal family had journeyed to Bari to welcome her and were lodged on the first floor of the Intendant’s palace, where apartments had also been prepared for the Duchess of Calabria and her suite; but in spite of the joyous air of expectancy that pervaded the town, a dark cloud hung over the palace itself, owing to the condition of the King, who was confined to his bed and suffering greatly. He had looked forward with the deepest pleasure and interest to his son’s marriage, and it was a bitter disappointment to him not to be present at the wedding ceremonies.
About ten o’clock in the morning, the thunder of cannon proclaimed the approach of the Fulminante and the Tancredo. The troops lined up, the mayor of Bari and other dignitaries took their places in a pavilion which had been erected in the middle of the landing stage for the bride’s reception, while ten state equipages, escorted by a mounted guard, issued from the palace and drove down to the pavilion, where the Queen, with her stepson, the Duke of Calabria, and her little daughters, alighted and boarded a steam launch to go out to meet the Duchess.
On the Fulminante, meanwhile, all was stir and excitement. The bride, as she stood on deck dressed in a handsome travelling costume, looked more than ever like her sister Elizabeth. She had the same wonderful dark blue eyes and rich brown hair; and although not so tall as the Empress, her figure was quite as beautifully formed. On this occasion her usual expression of childish innocence and gayety had given place to one of serious expectancy, and she was very pale, a result partly owing to fatigue, partly to emotions natural to the situation. During the journey she had plied Nina Rizzo and her new chamberlain with questions about her future husband; how he looked, how he behaved toward his parents, his brothers, and his subjects; and she had never tired of hearing tales of his childhood. To her naive inquiry as to whether Francis was really as disagreeable as he was said to be in Bavaria, both had done their best to reassure the Princess by expatiating on his good qualities.