The Sicilian Vespers

This series has six easy 5 minute installments. This first installment: Resistance to the French Yoke.

Introduction
Under Frederic II, Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire, Sicily had been governed wisely. His son Conrad succeeded him as King of Sicily in 1250, but went to Germany, where his crown was being contested by William of Holland, leaving his illegitimate brother Manfred to administer Sicily. Conrad and his brother Henry died in 1254. Manfred continued to rule Sicily as regent for his nephew Conradin, son of Conrad, but in 1258, upon a rumor of Conradin’s death, he assumed the crown.

Pope Alexander IV and his successor Urban IV, a Frenchman, would not recognize Manfred as ruler. Urban offered the Sicilian crown to a brother of Louis IX of France, Charles, Count of Anjou, who promised to hold Sicily as a fief of the holy see. Charles was compelled to conquer his new kingdom, and with a large army of Frenchmen invaded Sicily. Manfred was defeated and slain in a sanguinary battle at Grandella, near Benevento, and Charles soon made himself master of the kingdom. Young Conradin was still living, but was defeated at Tagliacozzo in 1268, and was beheaded at Naples by order of Charles.

The French earned the scarcely veiled hatred of the Sicilians by their tyranny and cruelties, and a conspiracy arose to give the crown to Pedro, King of Aragon, who had married Constance, daughter of Manfred. Charles of Anjou was not ignorant of the fact that his throne was in danger, nor was he totally unprepared. The overthrow of the French power in Sicily, however, was precipitated by an incident at Palermo on Easter Monday, the 30th of March, 1282, which led to the wholesale massacre known to history as the “Sicilian Vespers,” because of its commencement at the hour of vespers.

The book from which this series was drawn was translated and edited by Francis Egerton, Earl of Ellesmere.

This selection is from History of the War of the Sicilian Vespers by Michele Amari published in 1850. For works benefiting from the latest research see the “More information” section at the bottom of these pages.

Michele Amari (1806-1889) was an Italian nationalist and historian.

Time: 1282

The Sicilians endured the French yoke — though cursing it — until the spring of 1282. The military preparations of the King of Aragon were not yet completed, nor, even if partially known in Sicily, could they inspire any immediate hope. The people were overawed by the immense armaments of Charles destined against Constantinople; and forty-two royal castles, either in the principal cities or in situations of great natural strength, served to keep the island in check. A still greater number were held by French feudatories; the standing troops were collected and in arms; and the feudal militia, composed in great part of foreign subfeudatories, waited only the signal to assemble. In such a posture of affairs, which the foresight of the prudent would never have selected for an outbreak, the officers of Charles continued to grind down the Sicilian people, satisfied that their patience would endure forever.

New outrages shed a gloom over the festival of Easter at Palermo, the ancient capital of the kingdom, detested by the strangers more than any other city as being the strongest and the most deeply injured. Messina was the seat of the King’s viceroy in Sicily, Herbert of Orleans; Palermo was governed by the Justiciary of Val di Mazzara, John of St. Remigio, a minister worthy of Charles. His subalterns, worthy both of the Justiciary and of the King, had recently launched out into fresh acts of rapine and violence. But the people submitted. It even went so far that the citizens of Palermo, seeking comfort from God amid their worldly tribulations, and having entered a church to pray, in that very church, on the days sacred to the memory of the Savior’s passion, and amid the penitential rites, were exposed to the most cruel outrages. The ban-dogs of the exchequer searched out among them those who had failed in the payment of the taxes, dragged them forth from the sacred edifice, manacled, and bore them to prison, crying out, insultingly, before the multitude attracted to the spot, “Pay, faterini, pay!” And the people still submitted.

The Monday after Easter, which fell on the 30th of March, there was a festival at the Church of Santo Spirito. On that occasion a heinous outrage against the liberties of the Sicilians afforded the impulse, and the patience of the people gave way.

Half a mile from the southern wall of the city, on the brink of the ravine of Oreto, stands a church dedicated to the Holy Ghost, concerning which the Latin fathers have not failed to record that on the day on which the first stone of it was laid, in the twelfth century, the sun was darkened by an eclipse. On one side of it were the precipice and the river; on the other, the plain extending to the city, which in the present day is in great part divided by walls and dotted with gardens; while a square enclosure of moderate size, shaded by dusky cypresses, honeycombed with tombs, and adorned with urns and other sepulchral monuments, surrounds the church. This is a public cemetery, laid out toward the end of the eighteenth century, and fearfully filled in three weeks by the dire pestilence which devastated Sicily in 1837. On the Tuesday following Easter, at the hour of vespers, religion and custom drew crowds of people to this cheerful plain, then carpeted with the flowers of spring. Citizens, wending their way toward the church, divided into numerous groups. They walked, sat in clusters, spread the tables, or danced upon the grass; and — whether it were a defect or a merit of the Sicilian character — threw off, for the moment, the recollection of their sufferings.

Suddenly the followers of the Justiciary appeared among them, and every bosom thrilled with a shudder of disgust. The strangers came with their usual insolent demeanor, as they said, to maintain tranquility; and for this purpose they mingled with the groups, joined in the dances, and familiarly accosted the women; pressing the hand of one, taking unwarranted liberties with others; addressing indecent words and gestures to those more distant, until some temperately admonished them to depart, in God’s name, without insulting the women; and others murmured angrily; but the hot-blooded youths raised their voices so fiercely that the soldiers said to one another, “These insolent paterini must be armed, that they dare thus to answer,” and replied to them with the most offensive insults, insisting, with great insolence, on searching them for arms, and even here and there striking them with sticks or thongs. Every heart already throbbed fiercely on either side, when a young woman, of singular beauty and of modest and dignified deportment, appeared with her husband and relations, bending her steps toward the church. Drouet, a Frenchman, impelled either by insolence or license, approached her as if to examine her for concealed weapons; seized her and searched her bosom. She fell fainting into her husband’s arms, who, in a voice almost choked with rage, exclaimed, “Death, death to the French!” At the same moment a youth burst from the crowd which had gathered round them, sprang upon Drouet, disarmed and slew him; and probably, at the same moment, paid the penalty by the loss of his own life, leaving his name unknown and the mystery forever unsolved — whether it were love for the injured woman, the impulse of a generous heart, or the more exalted flame of patriotism that prompted him thus to give the signal of deliverance.

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