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diff --git a/696-0.txt b/696-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..10deca3 --- /dev/null +++ b/696-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4505 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Castle of Otranto, by Horace Walpole + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you +will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before +using this eBook. + +Title: The Castle of Otranto + +Author: Horace Walpole + +Release Date: October 22, 1996 [eBook #696] +[Most recently updated: April 9, 2021] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +Produced by: David Price + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CASTLE OF OTRANTO *** + + + + + + CASSELL’S NATIONAL LIBRARY + (New Series) + + * * * * * + + + + + + THE + CASTLE OF OTRANTO. + + + * * * * * + + BY + HORACE WALPOLE. + + [Picture: Decorative graphic] + + CASSELL AND COMPANY, LIMITED + _LONDON_, _PARIS_, _NEW YORK & MELBOURNE_ + 1901 + + + + +INTRODUCTION + + +HORACE WALPOLE was the youngest son of Sir Robert Walpole, the great +statesman, who died Earl of Orford. He was born in 1717, the year in +which his father resigned office, remaining in opposition for almost +three years before his return to a long tenure of power. Horace Walpole +was educated at Eton, where he formed a school friendship with Thomas +Gray, who was but a few months older. In 1739 Gray was +travelling-companion with Walpole in France and Italy until they differed +and parted; but the friendship was afterwards renewed, and remained firm +to the end. Horace Walpole went from Eton to King’s College, Cambridge, +and entered Parliament in 1741, the year before his father’s final +resignation and acceptance of an earldom. His way of life was made easy +to him. As Usher of the Exchequer, Comptroller of the Pipe, and Clerk of +the Estreats in the Exchequer, he received nearly two thousand a year for +doing nothing, lived with his father, and amused himself. + +Horace Walpole idled, and amused himself with the small life of the +fashionable world to which he was proud of belonging, though he had a +quick eye for its vanities. He had social wit, and liked to put it to +small uses. But he was not an empty idler, and there were seasons when +he could become a sharp judge of himself. “I am sensible,” he wrote to +his most intimate friend, “I am sensible of having more follies and +weaknesses and fewer real good qualities than most men. I sometimes +reflect on this, though, I own, too seldom. I always want to begin +acting like a man, and a sensible one, which I think I might be if I +would.” He had deep home affections, and, under many polite +affectations, plenty of good sense. + +Horace Walpole’s father died in 1745. The eldest son, who succeeded to +the earldom, died in 1751, and left a son, George, who was for a time +insane, and lived until 1791. As George left no child, the title and +estates passed to Horace Walpole, then seventy-four years old, and the +only uncle who survived. Horace Walpole thus became Earl of Orford, +during the last six years of his life. As to the title, he said that he +felt himself being called names in his old age. He died unmarried, in +the year 1797, at the age of eighty. + +He had turned his house at Strawberry Hill, by the Thames, near +Twickenham, into a Gothic villa—eighteenth-century Gothic—and amused +himself by spending freely upon its adornment with such things as were +then fashionable as objects of taste. But he delighted also in his +flowers and his trellises of roses, and the quiet Thames. When confined +by gout to his London house in Arlington Street, flowers from Strawberry +Hill and a bird were necessary consolations. He set up also at +Strawberry Hill a private printing press, at which he printed his friend +Gray’s poems, also in 1758 his own “Catalogue of the Royal and Noble +Authors of England,” and five volumes of “Anecdotes of Painting in +England,” between 1762 and 1771. + +Horace Walpole produced _The Castle of Otranto_ in 1765, at the mature +age of forty-eight. It was suggested by a dream from which he said he +waked one morning, and of which “all I could recover was, that I had +thought myself in an ancient castle (a very natural dream for a head like +mine, filled with Gothic story), and that on the uppermost banister of a +great staircase I saw a gigantic hand in armour. In the evening I sat +down and began to write, without knowing in the least what I intended to +say or relate.” So began the tale which professed to be translated by +“William Marshal, gentleman, from the Italian of Onuphro Muralto, canon +of the Church of St. Nicholas, at Otranto.” It was written in two +months. Walpole’s friend Gray reported to him that at Cambridge the book +made “some of them cry a little, and all in general afraid to go to bed +o’ nights.” _The Castle of Otranto_ was, in its own way, an early sign +of the reaction towards romance in the latter part of the last century. +This gives it interest. But it has had many followers, and the hardy +modern reader, when he reads Gray’s note from Cambridge, needs to be +reminded of its date. + + H. M. + + + + +PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION. + + +The following work was found in the library of an ancient Catholic family +in the north of England. It was printed at Naples, in the black letter, +in the year 1529. How much sooner it was written does not appear. The +principal incidents are such as were believed in the darkest ages of +Christianity; but the language and conduct have nothing that savours of +barbarism. The style is the purest Italian. + +If the story was written near the time when it is supposed to have +happened, it must have been between 1095, the era of the first Crusade, +and 1243, the date of the last, or not long afterwards. There is no +other circumstance in the work that can lead us to guess at the period in +which the scene is laid: the names of the actors are evidently +fictitious, and probably disguised on purpose: yet the Spanish names of +the domestics seem to indicate that this work was not composed until the +establishment of the Arragonian Kings in Naples had made Spanish +appellations familiar in that country. The beauty of the diction, and +the zeal of the author (moderated, however, by singular judgment) concur +to make me think that the date of the composition was little antecedent +to that of the impression. Letters were then in their most flourishing +state in Italy, and contributed to dispel the empire of superstition, at +that time so forcibly attacked by the reformers. It is not unlikely that +an artful priest might endeavour to turn their own arms on the +innovators, and might avail himself of his abilities as an author to +confirm the populace in their ancient errors and superstitions. If this +was his view, he has certainly acted with signal address. Such a work as +the following would enslave a hundred vulgar minds beyond half the books +of controversy that have been written from the days of Luther to the +present hour. + +This solution of the author’s motives is, however, offered as a mere +conjecture. Whatever his views were, or whatever effects the execution +of them might have, his work can only be laid before the public at +present as a matter of entertainment. Even as such, some apology for it +is necessary. Miracles, visions, necromancy, dreams, and other +preternatural events, are exploded now even from romances. That was not +the case when our author wrote; much less when the story itself is +supposed to have happened. Belief in every kind of prodigy was so +established in those dark ages, that an author would not be faithful to +the manners of the times, who should omit all mention of them. He is not +bound to believe them himself, but he must represent his actors as +believing them. + +If this air of the miraculous is excused, the reader will find nothing +else unworthy of his perusal. Allow the possibility of the facts, and +all the actors comport themselves as persons would do in their situation. +There is no bombast, no similes, flowers, digressions, or unnecessary +descriptions. Everything tends directly to the catastrophe. Never is +the reader’s attention relaxed. The rules of the drama are almost +observed throughout the conduct of the piece. The characters are well +drawn, and still better maintained. Terror, the author’s principal +engine, prevents the story from ever languishing; and it is so often +contrasted by pity, that the mind is kept up in a constant vicissitude of +interesting passions. + +Some persons may perhaps think the characters of the domestics too little +serious for the general cast of the story; but besides their opposition +to the principal personages, the art of the author is very observable in +his conduct of the subalterns. They discover many passages essential to +the story, which could not be well brought to light but by their +_naïveté_ and simplicity. In particular, the womanish terror and foibles +of Bianca, in the last chapter, conduce essentially towards advancing the +catastrophe. + +It is natural for a translator to be prejudiced in favour of his adopted +work. More impartial readers may not be so much struck with the beauties +of this piece as I was. Yet I am not blind to my author’s defects. I +could wish he had grounded his plan on a more useful moral than this: +that “the sins of fathers are visited on their children to the third and +fourth generation.” I doubt whether, in his time, any more than at +present, ambition curbed its appetite of dominion from the dread of so +remote a punishment. And yet this moral is weakened by that less direct +insinuation, that even such anathema may be diverted by devotion to St. +Nicholas. Here the interest of the Monk plainly gets the better of the +judgment of the author. However, with all its faults, I have no doubt +but the English reader will be pleased with a sight of this performance. +The piety that reigns throughout, the lessons of virtue that are +inculcated, and the rigid purity of the sentiments, exempt this work from +the censure to which romances are but too liable. Should it meet with +the success I hope for, I may be encouraged to reprint the original +Italian, though it will tend to depreciate my own labour. Our language +falls far short of the charms of the Italian, both for variety and +harmony. The latter is peculiarly excellent for simple narrative. It is +difficult in English to relate without falling too low or rising too +high; a fault obviously occasioned by the little care taken to speak pure +language in common conversation. Every Italian or Frenchman of any rank +piques himself on speaking his own tongue correctly and with choice. I +cannot flatter myself with having done justice to my author in this +respect: his style is as elegant as his conduct of the passions is +masterly. It is a pity that he did not apply his talents to what they +were evidently proper for—the theatre. + +I will detain the reader no longer, but to make one short remark. Though +the machinery is invention, and the names of the actors imaginary, I +cannot but believe that the groundwork of the story is founded on truth. +The scene is undoubtedly laid in some real castle. The author seems +frequently, without design, to describe particular parts. “The chamber,” +says he, “on the right hand;” “the door on the left hand;” “the distance +from the chapel to Conrad’s apartment:” these and other passages are +strong presumptions that the author had some certain building in his eye. +Curious persons, who have leisure to employ in such researches, may +possibly discover in the Italian writers the foundation on which our +author has built. If a catastrophe, at all resembling that which he +describes, is believed to have given rise to this work, it will +contribute to interest the reader, and will make the “Castle of Otranto” +a still more moving story. + + + + +SONNET TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE LADY MARY COKE. + + + The gentle maid, whose hapless tale + These melancholy pages speak; + Say, gracious lady, shall she fail + To draw the tear adown thy cheek? + + No; never was thy pitying breast + Insensible to human woes; + Tender, tho’ firm, it melts distrest + For weaknesses it never knows. + + Oh! guard the marvels I relate + Of fell ambition scourg’d by fate, + From reason’s peevish blame. + Blest with thy smile, my dauntless sail + I dare expand to Fancy’s gale, + For sure thy smiles are Fame. + + H. W. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + + +Manfred, Prince of Otranto, had one son and one daughter: the latter, a +most beautiful virgin, aged eighteen, was called Matilda. Conrad, the +son, was three years younger, a homely youth, sickly, and of no promising +disposition; yet he was the darling of his father, who never showed any +symptoms of affection to Matilda. Manfred had contracted a marriage for +his son with the Marquis of Vicenza’s daughter, Isabella; and she had +already been delivered by her guardians into the hands of Manfred, that +he might celebrate the wedding as soon as Conrad’s infirm state of health +would permit. + +Manfred’s impatience for this ceremonial was remarked by his family and +neighbours. The former, indeed, apprehending the severity of their +Prince’s disposition, did not dare to utter their surmises on this +precipitation. Hippolita, his wife, an amiable lady, did sometimes +venture to represent the danger of marrying their only son so early, +considering his great youth, and greater infirmities; but she never +received any other answer than reflections on her own sterility, who had +given him but one heir. His tenants and subjects were less cautious in +their discourses. They attributed this hasty wedding to the Prince’s +dread of seeing accomplished an ancient prophecy, which was said to have +pronounced that the castle and lordship of Otranto “should pass from the +present family, whenever the real owner should be grown too large to +inhabit it.” It was difficult to make any sense of this prophecy; and +still less easy to conceive what it had to do with the marriage in +question. Yet these mysteries, or contradictions, did not make the +populace adhere the less to their opinion. + +Young Conrad’s birthday was fixed for his espousals. The company was +assembled in the chapel of the Castle, and everything ready for beginning +the divine office, when Conrad himself was missing. Manfred, impatient +of the least delay, and who had not observed his son retire, despatched +one of his attendants to summon the young Prince. The servant, who had +not stayed long enough to have crossed the court to Conrad’s apartment, +came running back breathless, in a frantic manner, his eyes staring, and +foaming at the mouth. He said nothing, but pointed to the court. + +The company were struck with terror and amazement. The Princess +Hippolita, without knowing what was the matter, but anxious for her son, +swooned away. Manfred, less apprehensive than enraged at the +procrastination of the nuptials, and at the folly of his domestic, asked +imperiously what was the matter? The fellow made no answer, but +continued pointing towards the courtyard; and at last, after repeated +questions put to him, cried out, “Oh! the helmet! the helmet!” + +In the meantime, some of the company had run into the court, from whence +was heard a confused noise of shrieks, horror, and surprise. Manfred, +who began to be alarmed at not seeing his son, went himself to get +information of what occasioned this strange confusion. Matilda remained +endeavouring to assist her mother, and Isabella stayed for the same +purpose, and to avoid showing any impatience for the bridegroom, for +whom, in truth, she had conceived little affection. + +The first thing that struck Manfred’s eyes was a group of his servants +endeavouring to raise something that appeared to him a mountain of sable +plumes. He gazed without believing his sight. + +“What are ye doing?” cried Manfred, wrathfully; “where is my son?” + +A volley of voices replied, “Oh! my Lord! the Prince! the Prince! the +helmet! the helmet!” + +Shocked with these lamentable sounds, and dreading he knew not what, he +advanced hastily,—but what a sight for a father’s eyes!—he beheld his +child dashed to pieces, and almost buried under an enormous helmet, an +hundred times more large than any casque ever made for human being, and +shaded with a proportionable quantity of black feathers. + +The horror of the spectacle, the ignorance of all around how this +misfortune had happened, and above all, the tremendous phenomenon before +him, took away the Prince’s speech. Yet his silence lasted longer than +even grief could occasion. He fixed his eyes on what he wished in vain +to believe a vision; and seemed less attentive to his loss, than buried +in meditation on the stupendous object that had occasioned it. He +touched, he examined the fatal casque; nor could even the bleeding +mangled remains of the young Prince divert the eyes of Manfred from the +portent before him. + +All who had known his partial fondness for young Conrad, were as much +surprised at their Prince’s insensibility, as thunderstruck themselves at +the miracle of the helmet. They conveyed the disfigured corpse into the +hall, without receiving the least direction from Manfred. As little was +he attentive to the ladies who remained in the chapel. On the contrary, +without mentioning the unhappy princesses, his wife and daughter, the +first sounds that dropped from Manfred’s lips were, “Take care of the +Lady Isabella.” + +The domestics, without observing the singularity of this direction, were +guided by their affection to their mistress, to consider it as peculiarly +addressed to her situation, and flew to her assistance. They conveyed +her to her chamber more dead than alive, and indifferent to all the +strange circumstances she heard, except the death of her son. + +Matilda, who doted on her mother, smothered her own grief and amazement, +and thought of nothing but assisting and comforting her afflicted parent. +Isabella, who had been treated by Hippolita like a daughter, and who +returned that tenderness with equal duty and affection, was scarce less +assiduous about the Princess; at the same time endeavouring to partake +and lessen the weight of sorrow which she saw Matilda strove to suppress, +for whom she had conceived the warmest sympathy of friendship. Yet her +own situation could not help finding its place in her thoughts. She felt +no concern for the death of young Conrad, except commiseration; and she +was not sorry to be delivered from a marriage which had promised her +little felicity, either from her destined bridegroom, or from the severe +temper of Manfred, who, though he had distinguished her by great +indulgence, had imprinted her mind with terror, from his causeless rigour +to such amiable princesses as Hippolita and Matilda. + +While the ladies were conveying the wretched mother to her bed, Manfred +remained in the court, gazing on the ominous casque, and regardless of +the crowd which the strangeness of the event had now assembled around +him. The few words he articulated, tended solely to inquiries, whether +any man knew from whence it could have come? Nobody could give him the +least information. However, as it seemed to be the sole object of his +curiosity, it soon became so to the rest of the spectators, whose +conjectures were as absurd and improbable, as the catastrophe itself was +unprecedented. In the midst of their senseless guesses, a young peasant, +whom rumour had drawn thither from a neighbouring village, observed that +the miraculous helmet was exactly like that on the figure in black marble +of Alfonso the Good, one of their former princes, in the church of St. +Nicholas. + +“Villain! What sayest thou?” cried Manfred, starting from his trance in +a tempest of rage, and seizing the young man by the collar; “how darest +thou utter such treason? Thy life shall pay for it.” + +The spectators, who as little comprehended the cause of the Prince’s fury +as all the rest they had seen, were at a loss to unravel this new +circumstance. The young peasant himself was still more astonished, not +conceiving how he had offended the Prince. Yet recollecting himself, +with a mixture of grace and humility, he disengaged himself from +Manfred’s grip, and then with an obeisance, which discovered more +jealousy of innocence than dismay, he asked, with respect, of what he was +guilty? Manfred, more enraged at the vigour, however decently exerted, +with which the young man had shaken off his hold, than appeased by his +submission, ordered his attendants to seize him, and, if he had not been +withheld by his friends whom he had invited to the nuptials, would have +poignarded the peasant in their arms. + +During this altercation, some of the vulgar spectators had run to the +great church, which stood near the castle, and came back open-mouthed, +declaring that the helmet was missing from Alfonso’s statue. Manfred, at +this news, grew perfectly frantic; and, as if he sought a subject on +which to vent the tempest within him, he rushed again on the young +peasant, crying— + +“Villain! Monster! Sorcerer! ’tis thou hast done this! ’tis thou hast +slain my son!” + +The mob, who wanted some object within the scope of their capacities, on +whom they might discharge their bewildered reasoning, caught the words +from the mouth of their lord, and re-echoed— + +“Ay, ay; ’tis he, ’tis he: he has stolen the helmet from good Alfonso’s +tomb, and dashed out the brains of our young Prince with it,” never +reflecting how enormous the disproportion was between the marble helmet +that had been in the church, and that of steel before their eyes; nor how +impossible it was for a youth seemingly not twenty, to wield a piece of +armour of so prodigious a weight. + +The folly of these ejaculations brought Manfred to himself: yet whether +provoked at the peasant having observed the resemblance between the two +helmets, and thereby led to the farther discovery of the absence of that +in the church, or wishing to bury any such rumour under so impertinent a +supposition, he gravely pronounced that the young man was certainly a +necromancer, and that till the Church could take cognisance of the +affair, he would have the Magician, whom they had thus detected, kept +prisoner under the helmet itself, which he ordered his attendants to +raise, and place the young man under it; declaring he should be kept +there without food, with which his own infernal art might furnish him. + +It was in vain for the youth to represent against this preposterous +sentence: in vain did Manfred’s friends endeavour to divert him from this +savage and ill-grounded resolution. The generality were charmed with +their lord’s decision, which, to their apprehensions, carried great +appearance of justice, as the Magician was to be punished by the very +instrument with which he had offended: nor were they struck with the +least compunction at the probability of the youth being starved, for they +firmly believed that, by his diabolic skill, he could easily supply +himself with nutriment. + +Manfred thus saw his commands even cheerfully obeyed; and appointing a +guard with strict orders to prevent any food being conveyed to the +prisoner, he dismissed his friends and attendants, and retired to his own +chamber, after locking the gates of the castle, in which he suffered none +but his domestics to remain. + +In the meantime, the care and zeal of the young Ladies had brought the +Princess Hippolita to herself, who amidst the transports of her own +sorrow frequently demanded news of her lord, would have dismissed her +attendants to watch over him, and at last enjoined Matilda to leave her, +and visit and comfort her father. Matilda, who wanted no affectionate +duty to Manfred, though she trembled at his austerity, obeyed the orders +of Hippolita, whom she tenderly recommended to Isabella; and inquiring of +the domestics for her father, was informed that he was retired to his +chamber, and had commanded that nobody should have admittance to him. +Concluding that he was immersed in sorrow for the death of her brother, +and fearing to renew his tears by the sight of his sole remaining child, +she hesitated whether she should break in upon his affliction; yet +solicitude for him, backed by the commands of her mother, encouraged her +to venture disobeying the orders he had given; a fault she had never been +guilty of before. + +The gentle timidity of her nature made her pause for some minutes at his +door. She heard him traverse his chamber backwards, and forwards with +disordered steps; a mood which increased her apprehensions. She was, +however, just going to beg admittance, when Manfred suddenly opened the +door; and as it was now twilight, concurring with the disorder of his +mind, he did not distinguish the person, but asked angrily, who it was? +Matilda replied, trembling— + +“My dearest father, it is I, your daughter.” + +Manfred, stepping back hastily, cried, “Begone! I do not want a +daughter;” and flinging back abruptly, clapped the door against the +terrified Matilda. + +She was too well acquainted with her father’s impetuosity to venture a +second intrusion. When she had a little recovered the shock of so bitter +a reception, she wiped away her tears to prevent the additional stab that +the knowledge of it would give to Hippolita, who questioned her in the +most anxious terms on the health of Manfred, and how he bore his loss. +Matilda assured her he was well, and supported his misfortune with manly +fortitude. + +“But will he not let me see him?” said Hippolita mournfully; “will he not +permit me to blend my tears with his, and shed a mother’s sorrows in the +bosom of her Lord? Or do you deceive me, Matilda? I know how Manfred +doted on his son: is not the stroke too heavy for him? has he not sunk +under it? You do not answer me—alas! I dread the worst!—Raise me, my +maidens; I will, I will see my Lord. Bear me to him instantly: he is +dearer to me even than my children.” + +Matilda made signs to Isabella to prevent Hippolita’s rising; and both +those lovely young women were using their gentle violence to stop and +calm the Princess, when a servant, on the part of Manfred, arrived and +told Isabella that his Lord demanded to speak with her. + +“With me!” cried Isabella. + +“Go,” said Hippolita, relieved by a message from her Lord: “Manfred +cannot support the sight of his own family. He thinks you less +disordered than we are, and dreads the shock of my grief. Console him, +dear Isabella, and tell him I will smother my own anguish rather than add +to his.” + +As it was now evening the servant who conducted Isabella bore a torch +before her. When they came to Manfred, who was walking impatiently about +the gallery, he started, and said hastily— + +“Take away that light, and begone.” + +Then shutting the door impetuously, he flung himself upon a bench against +the wall, and bade Isabella sit by him. She obeyed trembling. + +“I sent for you, Lady,” said he—and then stopped under great appearance +of confusion. + +“My Lord!” + +“Yes, I sent for you on a matter of great moment,” resumed he. “Dry your +tears, young Lady—you have lost your bridegroom. Yes, cruel fate! and I +have lost the hopes of my race! But Conrad was not worthy of your +beauty.” + +“How, my Lord!” said Isabella; “sure you do not suspect me of not feeling +the concern I ought: my duty and affection would have always—” + +“Think no more of him,” interrupted Manfred; “he was a sickly, puny +child, and Heaven has perhaps taken him away, that I might not trust the +honours of my house on so frail a foundation. The line of Manfred calls +for numerous supports. My foolish fondness for that boy blinded the eyes +of my prudence—but it is better as it is. I hope, in a few years, to +have reason to rejoice at the death of Conrad.” + +Words cannot paint the astonishment of Isabella. At first she +apprehended that grief had disordered Manfred’s understanding. Her next +thought suggested that this strange discourse was designed to ensnare +her: she feared that Manfred had perceived her indifference for his son: +and in consequence of that idea she replied— + +“Good my Lord, do not doubt my tenderness: my heart would have +accompanied my hand. Conrad would have engrossed all my care; and +wherever fate shall dispose of me, I shall always cherish his memory, and +regard your Highness and the virtuous Hippolita as my parents.” + +“Curse on Hippolita!” cried Manfred. “Forget her from this moment, as I +do. In short, Lady, you have missed a husband undeserving of your +charms: they shall now be better disposed of. Instead of a sickly boy, +you shall have a husband in the prime of his age, who will know how to +value your beauties, and who may expect a numerous offspring.” + +“Alas, my Lord!” said Isabella, “my mind is too sadly engrossed by the +recent catastrophe in your family to think of another marriage. If ever +my father returns, and it shall be his pleasure, I shall obey, as I did +when I consented to give my hand to your son: but until his return, +permit me to remain under your hospitable roof, and employ the melancholy +hours in assuaging yours, Hippolita’s, and the fair Matilda’s +affliction.” + +“I desired you once before,” said Manfred angrily, “not to name that +woman: from this hour she must be a stranger to you, as she must be to +me. In short, Isabella, since I cannot give you my son, I offer you +myself.” + +“Heavens!” cried Isabella, waking from her delusion, “what do I hear? +You! my Lord! You! My father-in-law! the father of Conrad! the husband +of the virtuous and tender Hippolita!” + +“I tell you,” said Manfred imperiously, “Hippolita is no longer my wife; +I divorce her from this hour. Too long has she cursed me by her +unfruitfulness. My fate depends on having sons, and this night I trust +will give a new date to my hopes.” + +At those words he seized the cold hand of Isabella, who was half dead +with fright and horror. She shrieked, and started from him, Manfred rose +to pursue her, when the moon, which was now up, and gleamed in at the +opposite casement, presented to his sight the plumes of the fatal helmet, +which rose to the height of the windows, waving backwards and forwards in +a tempestuous manner, and accompanied with a hollow and rustling sound. +Isabella, who gathered courage from her situation, and who dreaded +nothing so much as Manfred’s pursuit of his declaration, cried— + +“Look, my Lord! see, Heaven itself declares against your impious +intentions!” + +“Heaven nor Hell shall impede my designs,” said Manfred, advancing again +to seize the Princess. + +At that instant the portrait of his grandfather, which hung over the +bench where they had been sitting, uttered a deep sigh, and heaved its +breast. + +Isabella, whose back was turned to the picture, saw not the motion, nor +knew whence the sound came, but started, and said— + +“Hark, my Lord! What sound was that?” and at the same time made towards +the door. + +Manfred, distracted between the flight of Isabella, who had now reached +the stairs, and yet unable to keep his eyes from the picture, which began +to move, had, however, advanced some steps after her, still looking +backwards on the portrait, when he saw it quit its panel, and descend on +the floor with a grave and melancholy air. + +“Do I dream?” cried Manfred, returning; “or are the devils themselves in +league against me? Speak, infernal spectre! Or, if thou art my +grandsire, why dost thou too conspire against thy wretched descendant, +who too dearly pays for—” Ere he could finish the sentence, the vision +sighed again, and made a sign to Manfred to follow him. + +“Lead on!” cried Manfred; “I will follow thee to the gulf of perdition.” + +The spectre marched sedately, but dejected, to the end of the gallery, +and turned into a chamber on the right hand. Manfred accompanied him at +a little distance, full of anxiety and horror, but resolved. As he would +have entered the chamber, the door was clapped to with violence by an +invisible hand. The Prince, collecting courage from this delay, would +have forcibly burst open the door with his foot, but found that it +resisted his utmost efforts. + +“Since Hell will not satisfy my curiosity,” said Manfred, “I will use the +human means in my power for preserving my race; Isabella shall not escape +me.” + +The lady, whose resolution had given way to terror the moment she had +quitted Manfred, continued her flight to the bottom of the principal +staircase. There she stopped, not knowing whither to direct her steps, +nor how to escape from the impetuosity of the Prince. The gates of the +castle, she knew, were locked, and guards placed in the court. Should +she, as her heart prompted her, go and prepare Hippolita for the cruel +destiny that awaited her, she did not doubt but Manfred would seek her +there, and that his violence would incite him to double the injury he +meditated, without leaving room for them to avoid the impetuosity of his +passions. Delay might give him time to reflect on the horrid measures he +had conceived, or produce some circumstance in her favour, if she +could—for that night, at least—avoid his odious purpose. Yet where +conceal herself? How avoid the pursuit he would infallibly make +throughout the castle? + +As these thoughts passed rapidly through her mind, she recollected a +subterraneous passage which led from the vaults of the castle to the +church of St. Nicholas. Could she reach the altar before she was +overtaken, she knew even Manfred’s violence would not dare to profane the +sacredness of the place; and she determined, if no other means of +deliverance offered, to shut herself up for ever among the holy virgins +whose convent was contiguous to the cathedral. In this resolution, she +seized a lamp that burned at the foot of the staircase, and hurried +towards the secret passage. + +The lower part of the castle was hollowed into several intricate +cloisters; and it was not easy for one under so much anxiety to find the +door that opened into the cavern. An awful silence reigned throughout +those subterraneous regions, except now and then some blasts of wind that +shook the doors she had passed, and which, grating on the rusty hinges, +were re-echoed through that long labyrinth of darkness. Every murmur +struck her with new terror; yet more she dreaded to hear the wrathful +voice of Manfred urging his domestics to pursue her. + +She trod as softly as impatience would give her leave, yet frequently +stopped and listened to hear if she was followed. In one of those +moments she thought she heard a sigh. She shuddered, and recoiled a few +paces. In a moment she thought she heard the step of some person. Her +blood curdled; she concluded it was Manfred. Every suggestion that +horror could inspire rushed into her mind. She condemned her rash +flight, which had thus exposed her to his rage in a place where her cries +were not likely to draw anybody to her assistance. Yet the sound seemed +not to come from behind. If Manfred knew where she was, he must have +followed her. She was still in one of the cloisters, and the steps she +had heard were too distinct to proceed from the way she had come. +Cheered with this reflection, and hoping to find a friend in whoever was +not the Prince, she was going to advance, when a door that stood ajar, at +some distance to the left, was opened gently: but ere her lamp, which she +held up, could discover who opened it, the person retreated precipitately +on seeing the light. + +Isabella, whom every incident was sufficient to dismay, hesitated whether +she should proceed. Her dread of Manfred soon outweighed every other +terror. The very circumstance of the person avoiding her gave her a sort +of courage. It could only be, she thought, some domestic belonging to +the castle. Her gentleness had never raised her an enemy, and conscious +innocence made her hope that, unless sent by the Prince’s order to seek +her, his servants would rather assist than prevent her flight. +Fortifying herself with these reflections, and believing by what she +could observe that she was near the mouth of the subterraneous cavern, +she approached the door that had been opened; but a sudden gust of wind +that met her at the door extinguished her lamp, and left her in total +darkness. + +Words cannot paint the horror of the Princess’s situation. Alone in so +dismal a place, her mind imprinted with all the terrible events of the +day, hopeless of escaping, expecting every moment the arrival of Manfred, +and far from tranquil on knowing she was within reach of somebody, she +knew not whom, who for some cause seemed concealed thereabouts; all these +thoughts crowded on her distracted mind, and she was ready to sink under +her apprehensions. She addressed herself to every saint in heaven, and +inwardly implored their assistance. For a considerable time she remained +in an agony of despair. + +At last, as softly as was possible, she felt for the door, and having +found it, entered trembling into the vault from whence she had heard the +sigh and steps. It gave her a kind of momentary joy to perceive an +imperfect ray of clouded moonshine gleam from the roof of the vault, +which seemed to be fallen in, and from whence hung a fragment of earth or +building, she could not distinguish which, that appeared to have been +crushed inwards. She advanced eagerly towards this chasm, when she +discerned a human form standing close against the wall. + +She shrieked, believing it the ghost of her betrothed Conrad. The +figure, advancing, said, in a submissive voice— + +“Be not alarmed, Lady; I will not injure you.” + +Isabella, a little encouraged by the words and tone of voice of the +stranger, and recollecting that this must be the person who had opened +the door, recovered her spirits enough to reply— + +“Sir, whoever you are, take pity on a wretched Princess, standing on the +brink of destruction. Assist me to escape from this fatal castle, or in +a few moments I may be made miserable for ever.” + +“Alas!” said the stranger, “what can I do to assist you? I will die in +your defence; but I am unacquainted with the castle, and want—” + +“Oh!” said Isabella, hastily interrupting him; “help me but to find a +trap-door that must be hereabout, and it is the greatest service you can +do me, for I have not a minute to lose.” + +Saying these words, she felt about on the pavement, and directed the +stranger to search likewise, for a smooth piece of brass enclosed in +one of the stones. + +“That,” said she, “is the lock, which opens with a spring, of which I +know the secret. If we can find that, I may escape—if not, alas! +courteous stranger, I fear I shall have involved you in my misfortunes: +Manfred will suspect you for the accomplice of my flight, and you will +fall a victim to his resentment.” + +“I value not my life,” said the stranger, “and it will be some comfort to +lose it in trying to deliver you from his tyranny.” + +“Generous youth,” said Isabella, “how shall I ever requite—” + +As she uttered those words, a ray of moonshine, streaming through a +cranny of the ruin above, shone directly on the lock they sought. + +“Oh! transport!” said Isabella; “here is the trap-door!” and, taking out +the key, she touched the spring, which, starting aside, discovered an +iron ring. “Lift up the door,” said the Princess. + +The stranger obeyed, and beneath appeared some stone steps descending +into a vault totally dark. + +“We must go down here,” said Isabella. “Follow me; dark and dismal as it +is, we cannot miss our way; it leads directly to the church of St. +Nicholas. But, perhaps,” added the Princess modestly, “you have no +reason to leave the castle, nor have I farther occasion for your service; +in a few minutes I shall be safe from Manfred’s rage—only let me know to +whom I am so much obliged.” + +“I will never quit you,” said the stranger eagerly, “until I have placed +you in safety—nor think me, Princess, more generous than I am; though you +are my principal care—” + +The stranger was interrupted by a sudden noise of voices that seemed +approaching, and they soon distinguished these words— + +“Talk not to me of necromancers; I tell you she must be in the castle; I +will find her in spite of enchantment.” + +“Oh, heavens!” cried Isabella; “it is the voice of Manfred! Make haste, +or we are ruined! and shut the trap-door after you.” + +Saying this, she descended the steps precipitately; and as the stranger +hastened to follow her, he let the door slip out of his hands: it fell, +and the spring closed over it. He tried in vain to open it, not having +observed Isabella’s method of touching the spring; nor had he many +moments to make an essay. The noise of the falling door had been heard +by Manfred, who, directed by the sound, hastened thither, attended by his +servants with torches. + +“It must be Isabella,” cried Manfred, before he entered the vault. “She +is escaping by the subterraneous passage, but she cannot have got far.” + +What was the astonishment of the Prince when, instead of Isabella, the +light of the torches discovered to him the young peasant whom he thought +confined under the fatal helmet! + +“Traitor!” said Manfred; “how camest thou here? I thought thee in +durance above in the court.” + +“I am no traitor,” replied the young man boldly, “nor am I answerable for +your thoughts.” + +“Presumptuous villain!” cried Manfred; “dost thou provoke my wrath? Tell +me, how hast thou escaped from above? Thou hast corrupted thy guards, +and their lives shall answer it.” + +“My poverty,” said the peasant calmly, “will disculpate them: though the +ministers of a tyrant’s wrath, to thee they are faithful, and but too +willing to execute the orders which you unjustly imposed upon them.” + +“Art thou so hardy as to dare my vengeance?” said the Prince; “but +tortures shall force the truth from thee. Tell me; I will know thy +accomplices.” + +“There was my accomplice!” said the youth, smiling, and pointing to the +roof. + +Manfred ordered the torches to be held up, and perceived that one of the +cheeks of the enchanted casque had forced its way through the pavement of +the court, as his servants had let it fall over the peasant, and had +broken through into the vault, leaving a gap, through which the peasant +had pressed himself some minutes before he was found by Isabella. + +“Was that the way by which thou didst descend?” said Manfred. + +“It was,” said the youth. + +“But what noise was that,” said Manfred, “which I heard as I entered the +cloister?” + +“A door clapped,” said the peasant; “I heard it as well as you.” + +“What door?” said Manfred hastily. + +“I am not acquainted with your castle,” said the peasant; “this is the +first time I ever entered it, and this vault the only part of it within +which I ever was.” + +“But I tell thee,” said Manfred (wishing to find out if the youth had +discovered the trap-door), “it was this way I heard the noise. My +servants heard it too.” + +“My Lord,” interrupted one of them officiously, “to be sure it was the +trap-door, and he was going to make his escape.” + +“Peace, blockhead!” said the Prince angrily; “if he was going to escape, +how should he come on this side? I will know from his own mouth what +noise it was I heard. Tell me truly; thy life depends on thy veracity.” + +“My veracity is dearer to me than my life,” said the peasant; “nor would +I purchase the one by forfeiting the other.” + +“Indeed, young philosopher!” said Manfred contemptuously; “tell me, then, +what was the noise I heard?” + +“Ask me what I can answer,” said he, “and put me to death instantly if I +tell you a lie.” + +Manfred, growing impatient at the steady valour and indifference of the +youth, cried— + +“Well, then, thou man of truth, answer! Was it the fall of the trap-door +that I heard?” + +“It was,” said the youth. + +“It was!” said the Prince; “and how didst thou come to know there was a +trap-door here?” + +“I saw the plate of brass by a gleam of moonshine,” replied he. + +“But what told thee it was a lock?” said Manfred. “How didst thou +discover the secret of opening it?” + +“Providence, that delivered me from the helmet, was able to direct me to +the spring of a lock,” said he. + +“Providence should have gone a little farther, and have placed thee out +of the reach of my resentment,” said Manfred. “When Providence had +taught thee to open the lock, it abandoned thee for a fool, who did not +know how to make use of its favours. Why didst thou not pursue the path +pointed out for thy escape? Why didst thou shut the trap-door before +thou hadst descended the steps?” + +“I might ask you, my Lord,” said the peasant, “how I, totally +unacquainted with your castle, was to know that those steps led to any +outlet? but I scorn to evade your questions. Wherever those steps lead +to, perhaps I should have explored the way—I could not be in a worse +situation than I was. But the truth is, I let the trap-door fall: your +immediate arrival followed. I had given the alarm—what imported it to me +whether I was seized a minute sooner or a minute later?” + +“Thou art a resolute villain for thy years,” said Manfred; “yet on +reflection I suspect thou dost but trifle with me. Thou hast not yet +told me how thou didst open the lock.” + +“That I will show you, my Lord,” said the peasant; and, taking up a +fragment of stone that had fallen from above, he laid himself on the +trap-door, and began to beat on the piece of brass that covered it, +meaning to gain time for the escape of the Princess. This presence of +mind, joined to the frankness of the youth, staggered Manfred. He even +felt a disposition towards pardoning one who had been guilty of no crime. +Manfred was not one of those savage tyrants who wanton in cruelty +unprovoked. The circumstances of his fortune had given an asperity to +his temper, which was naturally humane; and his virtues were always ready +to operate, when his passions did not obscure his reason. + +While the Prince was in this suspense, a confused noise of voices echoed +through the distant vaults. As the sound approached, he distinguished +the clamours of some of his domestics, whom he had dispersed through the +castle in search of Isabella, calling out— + +“Where is my Lord? where is the Prince?” + +“Here I am,” said Manfred, as they came nearer; “have you found the +Princess?” + +The first that arrived, replied, “Oh, my Lord! I am glad we have found +you.” + +“Found me!” said Manfred; “have you found the Princess?” + +“We thought we had, my Lord,” said the fellow, looking terrified, “but—” + +“But, what?” cried the Prince; “has she escaped?” + +“Jaquez and I, my Lord—” + +“Yes, I and Diego,” interrupted the second, who came up in still greater +consternation. + +“Speak one of you at a time,” said Manfred; “I ask you, where is the +Princess?” + +“We do not know,” said they both together; “but we are frightened out of +our wits.” + +“So I think, blockheads,” said Manfred; “what is it has scared you thus?” + +“Oh! my Lord,” said Jaquez, “Diego has seen such a sight! your Highness +would not believe our eyes.” + +“What new absurdity is this?” cried Manfred; “give me a direct answer, +or, by Heaven—” + +“Why, my Lord, if it please your Highness to hear me,” said the poor +fellow, “Diego and I—” + +“Yes, I and Jaquez—” cried his comrade. + +“Did not I forbid you to speak both at a time?” said the Prince: “you, +Jaquez, answer; for the other fool seems more distracted than thou art; +what is the matter?” + +“My gracious Lord,” said Jaquez, “if it please your Highness to hear me; +Diego and I, according to your Highness’s orders, went to search for the +young Lady; but being comprehensive that we might meet the ghost of my +young Lord, your Highness’s son, God rest his soul, as he has not +received Christian burial—” + +“Sot!” cried Manfred in a rage; “is it only a ghost, then, that thou hast +seen?” + +“Oh! worse! worse! my Lord,” cried Diego: “I had rather have seen ten +whole ghosts.” + +“Grant me patience!” said Manfred; “these blockheads distract me. Out of +my sight, Diego! and thou, Jaquez, tell me in one word, art thou sober? +art thou raving? thou wast wont to have some sense: has the other sot +frightened himself and thee too? Speak; what is it he fancies he has +seen?” + +“Why, my Lord,” replied Jaquez, trembling, “I was going to tell your +Highness, that since the calamitous misfortune of my young Lord, God rest +his precious soul! not one of us your Highness’s faithful servants—indeed +we are, my Lord, though poor men—I say, not one of us has dared to set a +foot about the castle, but two together: so Diego and I, thinking that my +young Lady might be in the great gallery, went up there to look for her, +and tell her your Highness wanted something to impart to her.” + +“O blundering fools!” cried Manfred; “and in the meantime, she has made +her escape, because you were afraid of goblins!—Why, thou knave! she left +me in the gallery; I came from thence myself.” + +“For all that, she may be there still for aught I know,” said Jaquez; +“but the devil shall have me before I seek her there again—poor Diego! I +do not believe he will ever recover it.” + +“Recover what?” said Manfred; “am I never to learn what it is has +terrified these rascals?—but I lose my time; follow me, slave; I will see +if she is in the gallery.” + +“For Heaven’s sake, my dear, good Lord,” cried Jaquez, “do not go to the +gallery. Satan himself I believe is in the chamber next to the gallery.” + +Manfred, who hitherto had treated the terror of his servants as an idle +panic, was struck at this new circumstance. He recollected the +apparition of the portrait, and the sudden closing of the door at the end +of the gallery. His voice faltered, and he asked with disorder— + +“What is in the great chamber?” + +“My Lord,” said Jaquez, “when Diego and I came into the gallery, he went +first, for he said he had more courage than I. So when we came into the +gallery we found nobody. We looked under every bench and stool; and +still we found nobody.” + +“Were all the pictures in their places?” said Manfred. + +“Yes, my Lord,” answered Jaquez; “but we did not think of looking behind +them.” + +“Well, well!” said Manfred; “proceed.” + +“When we came to the door of the great chamber,” continued Jaquez, “we +found it shut.” + +“And could not you open it?” said Manfred. + +“Oh! yes, my Lord; would to Heaven we had not!” replied he—“nay, it was +not I neither; it was Diego: he was grown foolhardy, and would go on, +though I advised him not—if ever I open a door that is shut again—” + +“Trifle not,” said Manfred, shuddering, “but tell me what you saw in the +great chamber on opening the door.” + +“I, my Lord!” said Jaquez; “I was behind Diego; but I heard the noise.” + +“Jaquez,” said Manfred, in a solemn tone of voice; “tell me, I adjure +thee by the souls of my ancestors, what was it thou sawest? what was it +thou heardest?” + +“It was Diego saw it, my Lord, it was not I,” replied Jaquez; “I only +heard the noise. Diego had no sooner opened the door, than he cried out, +and ran back. I ran back too, and said, ‘Is it the ghost?’ ‘The ghost! +no, no,’ said Diego, and his hair stood on end—‘it is a giant, I believe; +he is all clad in armour, for I saw his foot and part of his leg, and +they are as large as the helmet below in the court.’ As he said these +words, my Lord, we heard a violent motion and the rattling of armour, as +if the giant was rising, for Diego has told me since that he believes the +giant was lying down, for the foot and leg were stretched at length on +the floor. Before we could get to the end of the gallery, we heard the +door of the great chamber clap behind us, but we did not dare turn back +to see if the giant was following us—yet, now I think on it, we must have +heard him if he had pursued us—but for Heaven’s sake, good my Lord, send +for the chaplain, and have the castle exorcised, for, for certain, it is +enchanted.” + +“Ay, pray do, my Lord,” cried all the servants at once, “or we must leave +your Highness’s service.” + +“Peace, dotards!” said Manfred, “and follow me; I will know what all this +means.” + +“We! my Lord!” cried they with one voice; “we would not go up to the +gallery for your Highness’s revenue.” The young peasant, who had stood +silent, now spoke. + +“Will your Highness,” said he, “permit me to try this adventure? My life +is of consequence to nobody; I fear no bad angel, and have offended no +good one.” + +“Your behaviour is above your seeming,” said Manfred, viewing him with +surprise and admiration—“hereafter I will reward your bravery—but now,” +continued he with a sigh, “I am so circumstanced, that I dare trust no +eyes but my own. However, I give you leave to accompany me.” + +Manfred, when he first followed Isabella from the gallery, had gone +directly to the apartment of his wife, concluding the Princess had +retired thither. Hippolita, who knew his step, rose with anxious +fondness to meet her Lord, whom she had not seen since the death of their +son. She would have flown in a transport mixed of joy and grief to his +bosom, but he pushed her rudely off, and said— + +“Where is Isabella?” + +“Isabella! my Lord!” said the astonished Hippolita. + +“Yes, Isabella,” cried Manfred imperiously; “I want Isabella.” + +“My Lord,” replied Matilda, who perceived how much his behaviour had +shocked her mother, “she has not been with us since your Highness +summoned her to your apartment.” + +“Tell me where she is,” said the Prince; “I do not want to know where she +has been.” + +“My good Lord,” says Hippolita, “your daughter tells you the truth: +Isabella left us by your command, and has not returned since;—but, my +good Lord, compose yourself: retire to your rest: this dismal day has +disordered you. Isabella shall wait your orders in the morning.” + +“What, then, you know where she is!” cried Manfred. “Tell me directly, +for I will not lose an instant—and you, woman,” speaking to his wife, +“order your chaplain to attend me forthwith.” + +“Isabella,” said Hippolita calmly, “is retired, I suppose, to her +chamber: she is not accustomed to watch at this late hour. Gracious my +Lord,” continued she, “let me know what has disturbed you. Has Isabella +offended you?” + +“Trouble me not with questions,” said Manfred, “but tell me where she +is.” + +“Matilda shall call her,” said the Princess. “Sit down, my Lord, and +resume your wonted fortitude.” + +“What, art thou jealous of Isabella?” replied he, “that you wish to be +present at our interview!” + +“Good heavens! my Lord,” said Hippolita, “what is it your Highness +means?” + +“Thou wilt know ere many minutes are passed,” said the cruel Prince. +“Send your chaplain to me, and wait my pleasure here.” + +At these words he flung out of the room in search of Isabella, leaving +the amazed ladies thunderstruck with his words and frantic deportment, +and lost in vain conjectures on what he was meditating. + +Manfred was now returning from the vault, attended by the peasant and a +few of his servants whom he had obliged to accompany him. He ascended +the staircase without stopping till he arrived at the gallery, at the +door of which he met Hippolita and her chaplain. When Diego had been +dismissed by Manfred, he had gone directly to the Princess’s apartment +with the alarm of what he had seen. That excellent Lady, who no more +than Manfred doubted of the reality of the vision, yet affected to treat +it as a delirium of the servant. Willing, however, to save her Lord from +any additional shock, and prepared by a series of griefs not to tremble +at any accession to it, she determined to make herself the first +sacrifice, if fate had marked the present hour for their destruction. +Dismissing the reluctant Matilda to her rest, who in vain sued for leave +to accompany her mother, and attended only by her chaplain, Hippolita had +visited the gallery and great chamber; and now with more serenity of soul +than she had felt for many hours, she met her Lord, and assured him that +the vision of the gigantic leg and foot was all a fable; and no doubt an +impression made by fear, and the dark and dismal hour of the night, on +the minds of his servants. She and the chaplain had examined the +chamber, and found everything in the usual order. + +Manfred, though persuaded, like his wife, that the vision had been no +work of fancy, recovered a little from the tempest of mind into which so +many strange events had thrown him. Ashamed, too, of his inhuman +treatment of a Princess who returned every injury with new marks of +tenderness and duty, he felt returning love forcing itself into his eyes; +but not less ashamed of feeling remorse towards one against whom he was +inwardly meditating a yet more bitter outrage, he curbed the yearnings of +his heart, and did not dare to lean even towards pity. The next +transition of his soul was to exquisite villainy. + +Presuming on the unshaken submission of Hippolita, he flattered himself +that she would not only acquiesce with patience to a divorce, but would +obey, if it was his pleasure, in endeavouring to persuade Isabella to +give him her hand—but ere he could indulge his horrid hope, he reflected +that Isabella was not to be found. Coming to himself, he gave orders +that every avenue to the castle should be strictly guarded, and charged +his domestics on pain of their lives to suffer nobody to pass out. The +young peasant, to whom he spoke favourably, he ordered to remain in a +small chamber on the stairs, in which there was a pallet-bed, and the key +of which he took away himself, telling the youth he would talk with him +in the morning. Then dismissing his attendants, and bestowing a sullen +kind of half-nod on Hippolita, he retired to his own chamber. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + +Matilda, who by Hippolita’s order had retired to her apartment, was +ill-disposed to take any rest. The shocking fate of her brother had +deeply affected her. She was surprised at not seeing Isabella; but the +strange words which had fallen from her father, and his obscure menace to +the Princess his wife, accompanied by the most furious behaviour, had +filled her gentle mind with terror and alarm. She waited anxiously for +the return of Bianca, a young damsel that attended her, whom she had sent +to learn what was become of Isabella. Bianca soon appeared, and informed +her mistress of what she had gathered from the servants, that Isabella +was nowhere to be found. She related the adventure of the young peasant +who had been discovered in the vault, though with many simple additions +from the incoherent accounts of the domestics; and she dwelt principally +on the gigantic leg and foot which had been seen in the gallery-chamber. +This last circumstance had terrified Bianca so much, that she was +rejoiced when Matilda told her that she would not go to rest, but would +watch till the Princess should rise. + +The young Princess wearied herself in conjectures on the flight of +Isabella, and on the threats of Manfred to her mother. “But what +business could he have so urgent with the chaplain?” said Matilda, “Does +he intend to have my brother’s body interred privately in the chapel?” + +“Oh, Madam!” said Bianca, “now I guess. As you are become his heiress, +he is impatient to have you married: he has always been raving for more +sons; I warrant he is now impatient for grandsons. As sure as I live, +Madam, I shall see you a bride at last.—Good madam, you won’t cast off +your faithful Bianca: you won’t put Donna Rosara over me now you are a +great Princess.” + +“My poor Bianca,” said Matilda, “how fast your thoughts amble! I a great +princess! What hast thou seen in Manfred’s behaviour since my brother’s +death that bespeaks any increase of tenderness to me? No, Bianca; his +heart was ever a stranger to me—but he is my father, and I must not +complain. Nay, if Heaven shuts my father’s heart against me, it overpays +my little merit in the tenderness of my mother—O that dear mother! yes, +Bianca, ’tis there I feel the rugged temper of Manfred. I can support +his harshness to me with patience; but it wounds my soul when I am +witness to his causeless severity towards her.” + +“Oh! Madam,” said Bianca, “all men use their wives so, when they are +weary of them.” + +“And yet you congratulated me but now,” said Matilda, “when you fancied +my father intended to dispose of me!” + +“I would have you a great Lady,” replied Bianca, “come what will. I do +not wish to see you moped in a convent, as you would be if you had your +will, and if my Lady, your mother, who knows that a bad husband is better +than no husband at all, did not hinder you.—Bless me! what noise is that! +St. Nicholas forgive me! I was but in jest.” + +“It is the wind,” said Matilda, “whistling through the battlements in the +tower above: you have heard it a thousand times.” + +“Nay,” said Bianca, “there was no harm neither in what I said: it is no +sin to talk of matrimony—and so, Madam, as I was saying, if my Lord +Manfred should offer you a handsome young Prince for a bridegroom, you +would drop him a curtsey, and tell him you would rather take the veil?” + +“Thank Heaven! I am in no such danger,” said Matilda: “you know how many +proposals for me he has rejected—” + +“And you thank him, like a dutiful daughter, do you, Madam? But come, +Madam; suppose, to-morrow morning, he was to send for you to the great +council chamber, and there you should find at his elbow a lovely young +Prince, with large black eyes, a smooth white forehead, and manly curling +locks like jet; in short, Madam, a young hero resembling the picture of +the good Alfonso in the gallery, which you sit and gaze at for hours +together—” + +“Do not speak lightly of that picture,” interrupted Matilda sighing; “I +know the adoration with which I look at that picture is uncommon—but I am +not in love with a coloured panel. The character of that virtuous +Prince, the veneration with which my mother has inspired me for his +memory, the orisons which, I know not why, she has enjoined me to pour +forth at his tomb, all have concurred to persuade me that somehow or +other my destiny is linked with something relating to him.” + +“Lord, Madam! how should that be?” said Bianca; “I have always heard that +your family was in no way related to his: and I am sure I cannot conceive +why my Lady, the Princess, sends you in a cold morning or a damp evening +to pray at his tomb: he is no saint by the almanack. If you must pray, +why does she not bid you address yourself to our great St. Nicholas? I +am sure he is the saint I pray to for a husband.” + +“Perhaps my mind would be less affected,” said Matilda, “if my mother +would explain her reasons to me: but it is the mystery she observes, that +inspires me with this—I know not what to call it. As she never acts from +caprice, I am sure there is some fatal secret at bottom—nay, I know there +is: in her agony of grief for my brother’s death she dropped some words +that intimated as much.” + +“Oh! dear Madam,” cried Bianca, “what were they?” + +“No,” said Matilda, “if a parent lets fall a word, and wishes it +recalled, it is not for a child to utter it.” + +“What! was she sorry for what she had said?” asked Bianca; “I am sure, +Madam, you may trust me—” + +“With my own little secrets when I have any, I may,” said Matilda; “but +never with my mother’s: a child ought to have no ears or eyes but as a +parent directs.” + +“Well! to be sure, Madam, you were born to be a saint,” said Bianca, “and +there is no resisting one’s vocation: you will end in a convent at last. +But there is my Lady Isabella would not be so reserved to me: she will +let me talk to her of young men: and when a handsome cavalier has come to +the castle, she has owned to me that she wished your brother Conrad +resembled him.” + +“Bianca,” said the Princess, “I do not allow you to mention my friend +disrespectfully. Isabella is of a cheerful disposition, but her soul is +pure as virtue itself. She knows your idle babbling humour, and perhaps +has now and then encouraged it, to divert melancholy, and enliven the +solitude in which my father keeps us—” + +“Blessed Mary!” said Bianca, starting, “there it is again! Dear Madam, +do you hear nothing? this castle is certainly haunted!” + +“Peace!” said Matilda, “and listen! I did think I heard a voice—but it +must be fancy: your terrors, I suppose, have infected me.” + +“Indeed! indeed! Madam,” said Bianca, half-weeping with agony, “I am +sure I heard a voice.” + +“Does anybody lie in the chamber beneath?” said the Princess. + +“Nobody has dared to lie there,” answered Bianca, “since the great +astrologer, that was your brother’s tutor, drowned himself. For certain, +Madam, his ghost and the young Prince’s are now met in the chamber +below—for Heaven’s sake let us fly to your mother’s apartment!” + +“I charge you not to stir,” said Matilda. “If they are spirits in pain, +we may ease their sufferings by questioning them. They can mean no hurt +to us, for we have not injured them—and if they should, shall we be more +safe in one chamber than in another? Reach me my beads; we will say a +prayer, and then speak to them.” + +“Oh! dear Lady, I would not speak to a ghost for the world!” cried +Bianca. As she said those words they heard the casement of the little +chamber below Matilda’s open. They listened attentively, and in a few +minutes thought they heard a person sing, but could not distinguish the +words. + +“This can be no evil spirit,” said the Princess, in a low voice; “it is +undoubtedly one of the family—open the window, and we shall know the +voice.” + +“I dare not, indeed, Madam,” said Bianca. + +“Thou art a very fool,” said Matilda, opening the window gently herself. +The noise the Princess made was, however, heard by the person beneath, +who stopped; and they concluded had heard the casement open. + +“Is anybody below?” said the Princess; “if there is, speak.” + +“Yes,” said an unknown voice. + +“Who is it?” said Matilda. + +“A stranger,” replied the voice. + +“What stranger?” said she; “and how didst thou come there at this unusual +hour, when all the gates of the castle are locked?” + +“I am not here willingly,” answered the voice. “But pardon me, Lady, if +I have disturbed your rest; I knew not that I was overheard. Sleep had +forsaken me; I left a restless couch, and came to waste the irksome hours +with gazing on the fair approach of morning, impatient to be dismissed +from this castle.” + +“Thy words and accents,” said Matilda, “are of melancholy cast; if thou +art unhappy, I pity thee. If poverty afflicts thee, let me know it; I +will mention thee to the Princess, whose beneficent soul ever melts for +the distressed, and she will relieve thee.” + +“I am indeed unhappy,” said the stranger; “and I know not what wealth is. +But I do not complain of the lot which Heaven has cast for me; I am young +and healthy, and am not ashamed of owing my support to myself—yet think +me not proud, or that I disdain your generous offers. I will remember +you in my orisons, and will pray for blessings on your gracious self and +your noble mistress—if I sigh, Lady, it is for others, not for myself.” + +“Now I have it, Madam,” said Bianca, whispering the Princess; “this is +certainly the young peasant; and, by my conscience, he is in love—Well! +this is a charming adventure!—do, Madam, let us sift him. He does not +know you, but takes you for one of my Lady Hippolita’s women.” + +“Art thou not ashamed, Bianca!” said the Princess. “What right have we +to pry into the secrets of this young man’s heart? He seems virtuous and +frank, and tells us he is unhappy. Are those circumstances that +authorise us to make a property of him? How are we entitled to his +confidence?” + +“Lord, Madam! how little you know of love!” replied Bianca; “why, lovers +have no pleasure equal to talking of their mistress.” + +“And would you have _me_ become a peasant’s confidante?” said the +Princess. + +“Well, then, let me talk to him,” said Bianca; “though I have the honour +of being your Highness’s maid of honour, I was not always so great. +Besides, if love levels ranks, it raises them too; I have a respect for +any young man in love.” + +“Peace, simpleton!” said the Princess. “Though he said he was unhappy, +it does not follow that he must be in love. Think of all that has +happened to-day, and tell me if there are no misfortunes but what love +causes.—Stranger,” resumed the Princess, “if thy misfortunes have not +been occasioned by thy own fault, and are within the compass of the +Princess Hippolita’s power to redress, I will take upon me to answer that +she will be thy protectress. When thou art dismissed from this castle, +repair to holy father Jerome, at the convent adjoining to the church of +St. Nicholas, and make thy story known to him, as far as thou thinkest +meet. He will not fail to inform the Princess, who is the mother of all +that want her assistance. Farewell; it is not seemly for me to hold +farther converse with a man at this unwonted hour.” + +“May the saints guard thee, gracious Lady!” replied the peasant; “but oh! +if a poor and worthless stranger might presume to beg a minute’s audience +farther; am I so happy? the casement is not shut; might I venture to +ask—” + +“Speak quickly,” said Matilda; “the morning dawns apace: should the +labourers come into the fields and perceive us—What wouldst thou ask?” + +“I know not how, I know not if I dare,” said the young stranger, +faltering; “yet the humanity with which you have spoken to me +emboldens—Lady! dare I trust you?” + +“Heavens!” said Matilda, “what dost thou mean? With what wouldst thou +trust me? Speak boldly, if thy secret is fit to be entrusted to a +virtuous breast.” + +“I would ask,” said the peasant, recollecting himself, “whether what I +have heard from the domestics is true, that the Princess is missing from +the castle?” + +“What imports it to thee to know?” replied Matilda. “Thy first words +bespoke a prudent and becoming gravity. Dost thou come hither to pry +into the secrets of Manfred? Adieu. I have been mistaken in thee.” +Saying these words she shut the casement hastily, without giving the +young man time to reply. + +“I had acted more wisely,” said the Princess to Bianca, with some +sharpness, “if I had let thee converse with this peasant; his +inquisitiveness seems of a piece with thy own.” + +“It is not fit for me to argue with your Highness,” replied Bianca; “but +perhaps the questions I should have put to him would have been more to +the purpose than those you have been pleased to ask him.” + +“Oh! no doubt,” said Matilda; “you are a very discreet personage! May I +know what _you_ would have asked him?” + +“A bystander often sees more of the game than those that play,” answered +Bianca. “Does your Highness think, Madam, that this question about my +Lady Isabella was the result of mere curiosity? No, no, Madam, there is +more in it than you great folks are aware of. Lopez told me that all the +servants believe this young fellow contrived my Lady Isabella’s escape; +now, pray, Madam, observe you and I both know that my Lady Isabella never +much fancied the Prince your brother. Well! he is killed just in a +critical minute—I accuse nobody. A helmet falls from the moon—so, my +Lord, your father says; but Lopez and all the servants say that this +young spark is a magician, and stole it from Alfonso’s tomb—” + +“Have done with this rhapsody of impertinence,” said Matilda. + +“Nay, Madam, as you please,” cried Bianca; “yet it is very particular +though, that my Lady Isabella should be missing the very same day, and +that this young sorcerer should be found at the mouth of the trap-door. +I accuse nobody; but if my young Lord came honestly by his death—” + +“Dare not on thy duty,” said Matilda, “to breathe a suspicion on the +purity of my dear Isabella’s fame.” + +“Purity, or not purity,” said Bianca, “gone she is—a stranger is found +that nobody knows; you question him yourself; he tells you he is in love, +or unhappy, it is the same thing—nay, he owned he was unhappy about +others; and is anybody unhappy about another, unless they are in love +with them? and at the very next word, he asks innocently, pour soul! if +my Lady Isabella is missing.” + +“To be sure,” said Matilda, “thy observations are not totally without +foundation—Isabella’s flight amazes me. The curiosity of the stranger is +very particular; yet Isabella never concealed a thought from me.” + +“So she told you,” said Bianca, “to fish out your secrets; but who knows, +Madam, but this stranger may be some Prince in disguise? Do, Madam, let +me open the window, and ask him a few questions.” + +“No,” replied Matilda, “I will ask him myself, if he knows aught of +Isabella; he is not worthy I should converse farther with him.” She was +going to open the casement, when they heard the bell ring at the +postern-gate of the castle, which is on the right hand of the tower, +where Matilda lay. This prevented the Princess from renewing the +conversation with the stranger. + +After continuing silent for some time, “I am persuaded,” said she to +Bianca, “that whatever be the cause of Isabella’s flight it had no +unworthy motive. If this stranger was accessory to it, she must be +satisfied with his fidelity and worth. I observed, did not you, Bianca? +that his words were tinctured with an uncommon infusion of piety. It was +no ruffian’s speech; his phrases were becoming a man of gentle birth.” + +“I told you, Madam,” said Bianca, “that I was sure he was some Prince in +disguise.” + +“Yet,” said Matilda, “if he was privy to her escape, how will you account +for his not accompanying her in her flight? why expose himself +unnecessarily and rashly to my father’s resentment?” + +“As for that, Madam,” replied she, “if he could get from under the +helmet, he will find ways of eluding your father’s anger. I do not doubt +but he has some talisman or other about him.” + +“You resolve everything into magic,” said Matilda; “but a man who has any +intercourse with infernal spirits, does not dare to make use of those +tremendous and holy words which he uttered. Didst thou not observe with +what fervour he vowed to remember _me_ to heaven in his prayers? Yes; +Isabella was undoubtedly convinced of his piety.” + +“Commend me to the piety of a young fellow and a damsel that consult to +elope!” said Bianca. “No, no, Madam, my Lady Isabella is of another +guess mould than you take her for. She used indeed to sigh and lift up +her eyes in your company, because she knows you are a saint; but when +your back was turned—” + +“You wrong her,” said Matilda; “Isabella is no hypocrite; she has a due +sense of devotion, but never affected a call she has not. On the +contrary, she always combated my inclination for the cloister; and though +I own the mystery she has made to me of her flight confounds me; though +it seems inconsistent with the friendship between us; I cannot forget the +disinterested warmth with which she always opposed my taking the veil. +She wished to see me married, though my dower would have been a loss to +her and my brother’s children. For her sake I will believe well of this +young peasant.” + +“Then you do think there is some liking between them,” said Bianca. +While she was speaking, a servant came hastily into the chamber and told +the Princess that the Lady Isabella was found. + +“Where?” said Matilda. + +“She has taken sanctuary in St. Nicholas’s church,” replied the servant; +“Father Jerome has brought the news himself; he is below with his +Highness.” + +“Where is my mother?” said Matilda. + +“She is in her own chamber, Madam, and has asked for you.” + +Manfred had risen at the first dawn of light, and gone to Hippolita’s +apartment, to inquire if she knew aught of Isabella. While he was +questioning her, word was brought that Jerome demanded to speak with him. +Manfred, little suspecting the cause of the Friar’s arrival, and knowing +he was employed by Hippolita in her charities, ordered him to be +admitted, intending to leave them together, while he pursued his search +after Isabella. + +“Is your business with me or the Princess?” said Manfred. + +“With both,” replied the holy man. “The Lady Isabella—” + +“What of her?” interrupted Manfred, eagerly. + +“Is at St. Nicholas’s altar,” replied Jerome. + +“That is no business of Hippolita,” said Manfred with confusion; “let us +retire to my chamber, Father, and inform me how she came thither.” + +“No, my Lord,” replied the good man, with an air of firmness and +authority, that daunted even the resolute Manfred, who could not help +revering the saint-like virtues of Jerome; “my commission is to both, and +with your Highness’s good-liking, in the presence of both I shall deliver +it; but first, my Lord, I must interrogate the Princess, whether she is +acquainted with the cause of the Lady Isabella’s retirement from your +castle.” + +“No, on my soul,” said Hippolita; “does Isabella charge me with being +privy to it?” + +“Father,” interrupted Manfred, “I pay due reverence to your holy +profession; but I am sovereign here, and will allow no meddling priest to +interfere in the affairs of my domestic. If you have aught to say attend +me to my chamber; I do not use to let my wife be acquainted with the +secret affairs of my state; they are not within a woman’s province.” + +“My Lord,” said the holy man, “I am no intruder into the secrets of +families. My office is to promote peace, to heal divisions, to preach +repentance, and teach mankind to curb their headstrong passions. I +forgive your Highness’s uncharitable apostrophe; I know my duty, and am +the minister of a mightier prince than Manfred. Hearken to him who +speaks through my organs.” + +Manfred trembled with rage and shame. Hippolita’s countenance declared +her astonishment and impatience to know where this would end. Her +silence more strongly spoke her observance of Manfred. + +“The Lady Isabella,” resumed Jerome, “commends herself to both your +Highnesses; she thanks both for the kindness with which she has been +treated in your castle: she deplores the loss of your son, and her own +misfortune in not becoming the daughter of such wise and noble Princes, +whom she shall always respect as Parents; she prays for uninterrupted +union and felicity between you” [Manfred’s colour changed]: “but as it is +no longer possible for her to be allied to you, she entreats your consent +to remain in sanctuary, till she can learn news of her father, or, by the +certainty of his death, be at liberty, with the approbation of her +guardians, to dispose of herself in suitable marriage.” + +“I shall give no such consent,” said the Prince, “but insist on her +return to the castle without delay: I am answerable for her person to her +guardians, and will not brook her being in any hands but my own.” + +“Your Highness will recollect whether that can any longer be proper,” +replied the Friar. + +“I want no monitor,” said Manfred, colouring; “Isabella’s conduct leaves +room for strange suspicions—and that young villain, who was at least the +accomplice of her flight, if not the cause of it—” + +“The cause!” interrupted Jerome; “was a _young_ man the cause?” + +“This is not to be borne!” cried Manfred. “Am I to be bearded in my own +palace by an insolent Monk? Thou art privy, I guess, to their amours.” + +“I would pray to heaven to clear up your uncharitable surmises,” said +Jerome, “if your Highness were not satisfied in your conscience how +unjustly you accuse me. I do pray to heaven to pardon that +uncharitableness: and I implore your Highness to leave the Princess at +peace in that holy place, where she is not liable to be disturbed by such +vain and worldly fantasies as discourses of love from any man.” + +“Cant not to me,” said Manfred, “but return and bring the Princess to her +duty.” + +“It is my duty to prevent her return hither,” said Jerome. “She is where +orphans and virgins are safest from the snares and wiles of this world; +and nothing but a parent’s authority shall take her thence.” + +“I am her parent,” cried Manfred, “and demand her.” + +“She wished to have you for her parent,” said the Friar; “but Heaven that +forbad that connection has for ever dissolved all ties betwixt you: and I +announce to your Highness—” + +“Stop! audacious man,” said Manfred, “and dread my displeasure.” + +“Holy Father,” said Hippolita, “it is your office to be no respecter of +persons: you must speak as your duty prescribes: but it is my duty to +hear nothing that it pleases not my Lord I should hear. Attend the +Prince to his chamber. I will retire to my oratory, and pray to the +blessed Virgin to inspire you with her holy counsels, and to restore the +heart of my gracious Lord to its wonted peace and gentleness.” + +“Excellent woman!” said the Friar. “My Lord, I attend your pleasure.” + +Manfred, accompanied by the Friar, passed to his own apartment, where +shutting the door, “I perceive, Father,” said he, “that Isabella has +acquainted you with my purpose. Now hear my resolve, and obey. Reasons +of state, most urgent reasons, my own and the safety of my people, demand +that I should have a son. It is in vain to expect an heir from +Hippolita. I have made choice of Isabella. You must bring her back; and +you must do more. I know the influence you have with Hippolita: her +conscience is in your hands. She is, I allow, a faultless woman: her +soul is set on heaven, and scorns the little grandeur of this world: you +can withdraw her from it entirely. Persuade her to consent to the +dissolution of our marriage, and to retire into a monastery—she shall +endow one if she will; and she shall have the means of being as liberal +to your order as she or you can wish. Thus you will divert the +calamities that are hanging over our heads, and have the merit of saving +the principality of Otranto from destruction. You are a prudent man, and +though the warmth of my temper betrayed me into some unbecoming +expressions, I honour your virtue, and wish to be indebted to you for the +repose of my life and the preservation of my family.” + +“The will of heaven be done!” said the Friar. “I am but its worthless +instrument. It makes use of my tongue to tell thee, Prince, of thy +unwarrantable designs. The injuries of the virtuous Hippolita have +mounted to the throne of pity. By me thou art reprimanded for thy +adulterous intention of repudiating her: by me thou art warned not to +pursue the incestuous design on thy contracted daughter. Heaven that +delivered her from thy fury, when the judgments so recently fallen on thy +house ought to have inspired thee with other thoughts, will continue to +watch over her. Even I, a poor and despised Friar, am able to protect +her from thy violence—I, sinner as I am, and uncharitably reviled by your +Highness as an accomplice of I know not what amours, scorn the +allurements with which it has pleased thee to tempt mine honesty. I love +my order; I honour devout souls; I respect the piety of thy Princess—but +I will not betray the confidence she reposes in me, nor serve even the +cause of religion by foul and sinful compliances—but forsooth! the +welfare of the state depends on your Highness having a son! Heaven mocks +the short-sighted views of man. But yester-morn, whose house was so +great, so flourishing as Manfred’s?—where is young Conrad now?—My Lord, I +respect your tears—but I mean not to check them—let them flow, Prince! +They will weigh more with heaven toward the welfare of thy subjects, than +a marriage, which, founded on lust or policy, could never prosper. The +sceptre, which passed from the race of Alfonso to thine, cannot be +preserved by a match which the church will never allow. If it is the +will of the Most High that Manfred’s name must perish, resign yourself, +my Lord, to its decrees; and thus deserve a crown that can never pass +away. Come, my Lord; I like this sorrow—let us return to the Princess: +she is not apprised of your cruel intentions; nor did I mean more than to +alarm you. You saw with what gentle patience, with what efforts of love, +she heard, she rejected hearing, the extent of your guilt. I know she +longs to fold you in her arms, and assure you of her unalterable +affection.” + +“Father,” said the Prince, “you mistake my compunction: true, I honour +Hippolita’s virtues; I think her a Saint; and wish it were for my soul’s +health to tie faster the knot that has united us—but alas! Father, you +know not the bitterest of my pangs! it is some time that I have had +scruples on the legality of our union: Hippolita is related to me in the +fourth degree—it is true, we had a dispensation: but I have been informed +that she had also been contracted to another. This it is that sits heavy +at my heart: to this state of unlawful wedlock I impute the visitation +that has fallen on me in the death of Conrad!—ease my conscience of this +burden: dissolve our marriage, and accomplish the work of godliness—which +your divine exhortations have commenced in my soul.” + +How cutting was the anguish which the good man felt, when he perceived +this turn in the wily Prince! He trembled for Hippolita, whose ruin he +saw was determined; and he feared if Manfred had no hope of recovering +Isabella, that his impatience for a son would direct him to some other +object, who might not be equally proof against the temptation of +Manfred’s rank. For some time the holy man remained absorbed in thought. +At length, conceiving some hopes from delay, he thought the wisest +conduct would be to prevent the Prince from despairing of recovering +Isabella. Her the Friar knew he could dispose, from her affection to +Hippolita, and from the aversion she had expressed to him for Manfred’s +addresses, to second his views, till the censures of the church could be +fulminated against a divorce. With this intention, as if struck with the +Prince’s scruples, he at length said: + +“My Lord, I have been pondering on what your Highness has said; and if in +truth it is delicacy of conscience that is the real motive of your +repugnance to your virtuous Lady, far be it from me to endeavour to +harden your heart. The church is an indulgent mother: unfold your griefs +to her: she alone can administer comfort to your soul, either by +satisfying your conscience, or upon examination of your scruples, by +setting you at liberty, and indulging you in the lawful means of +continuing your lineage. In the latter case, if the Lady Isabella can be +brought to consent—” + +Manfred, who concluded that he had either over-reached the good man, or +that his first warmth had been but a tribute paid to appearance, was +overjoyed at this sudden turn, and repeated the most magnificent +promises, if he should succeed by the Friar’s mediation. The +well-meaning priest suffered him to deceive himself, fully determined to +traverse his views, instead of seconding them. + +“Since we now understand one another,” resumed the Prince, “I expect, +Father, that you satisfy me in one point. Who is the youth that I found +in the vault? He must have been privy to Isabella’s flight: tell me +truly, is he her lover? or is he an agent for another’s passion? I have +often suspected Isabella’s indifference to my son: a thousand +circumstances crowd on my mind that confirm that suspicion. She herself +was so conscious of it, that while I discoursed her in the gallery, she +outran my suspicions, and endeavoured to justify herself from coolness to +Conrad.” + +The Friar, who knew nothing of the youth, but what he had learnt +occasionally from the Princess, ignorant what was become of him, and not +sufficiently reflecting on the impetuosity of Manfred’s temper, conceived +that it might not be amiss to sow the seeds of jealousy in his mind: they +might be turned to some use hereafter, either by prejudicing the Prince +against Isabella, if he persisted in that union or by diverting his +attention to a wrong scent, and employing his thoughts on a visionary +intrigue, prevent his engaging in any new pursuit. With this unhappy +policy, he answered in a manner to confirm Manfred in the belief of some +connection between Isabella and the youth. The Prince, whose passions +wanted little fuel to throw them into a blaze, fell into a rage at the +idea of what the Friar suggested. + +“I will fathom to the bottom of this intrigue,” cried he; and quitting +Jerome abruptly, with a command to remain there till his return, he +hastened to the great hall of the castle, and ordered the peasant to be +brought before him. + +“Thou hardened young impostor!” said the Prince, as soon as he saw the +youth; “what becomes of thy boasted veracity now? it was Providence, was +it, and the light of the moon, that discovered the lock of the trap-door +to thee? Tell me, audacious boy, who thou art, and how long thou hast +been acquainted with the Princess—and take care to answer with less +equivocation than thou didst last night, or tortures shall wring the +truth from thee.” + +The young man, perceiving that his share in the flight of the Princess +was discovered, and concluding that anything he should say could no +longer be of any service or detriment to her, replied— + +“I am no impostor, my Lord, nor have I deserved opprobrious language. I +answered to every question your Highness put to me last night with the +same veracity that I shall speak now: and that will not be from fear of +your tortures, but because my soul abhors a falsehood. Please to repeat +your questions, my Lord; I am ready to give you all the satisfaction in +my power.” + +“You know my questions,” replied the Prince, “and only want time to +prepare an evasion. Speak directly; who art thou? and how long hast thou +been known to the Princess?” + +“I am a labourer at the next village,” said the peasant; “my name is +Theodore. The Princess found me in the vault last night: before that +hour I never was in her presence.” + +“I may believe as much or as little as I please of this,” said Manfred; +“but I will hear thy own story before I examine into the truth of it. +Tell me, what reason did the Princess give thee for making her escape? +thy life depends on thy answer.” + +“She told me,” replied Theodore, “that she was on the brink of +destruction, and that if she could not escape from the castle, she was in +danger in a few moments of being made miserable for ever.” + +“And on this slight foundation, on a silly girl’s report,” said Manfred, +“thou didst hazard my displeasure?” + +“I fear no man’s displeasure,” said Theodore, “when a woman in distress +puts herself under my protection.” + +During this examination, Matilda was going to the apartment of Hippolita. +At the upper end of the hall, where Manfred sat, was a boarded gallery +with latticed windows, through which Matilda and Bianca were to pass. +Hearing her father’s voice, and seeing the servants assembled round him, +she stopped to learn the occasion. The prisoner soon drew her attention: +the steady and composed manner in which he answered, and the gallantry of +his last reply, which were the first words she heard distinctly, +interested her in his favour. His person was noble, handsome, and +commanding, even in that situation: but his countenance soon engrossed +her whole care. + +“Heavens! Bianca,” said the Princess softly, “do I dream? or is not that +youth the exact resemblance of Alfonso’s picture in the gallery?” + +She could say no more, for her father’s voice grew louder at every word. + +“This bravado,” said he, “surpasses all thy former insolence. Thou shalt +experience the wrath with which thou darest to trifle. Seize him,” +continued Manfred, “and bind him—the first news the Princess hears of her +champion shall be, that he has lost his head for her sake.” + +“The injustice of which thou art guilty towards me,” said Theodore, +“convinces me that I have done a good deed in delivering the Princess +from thy tyranny. May she be happy, whatever becomes of me!” + +“This is a lover!” cried Manfred in a rage: “a peasant within sight of +death is not animated by such sentiments. Tell me, tell me, rash boy, +who thou art, or the rack shall force thy secret from thee.” + +“Thou hast threatened me with death already,” said the youth, “for the +truth I have told thee: if that is all the encouragement I am to expect +for sincerity, I am not tempted to indulge thy vain curiosity farther.” + +“Then thou wilt not speak?” said Manfred. + +“I will not,” replied he. + +“Bear him away into the courtyard,” said Manfred; “I will see his head +this instant severed from his body.” + +Matilda fainted at hearing those words. Bianca shrieked, and cried—“Help! help! the Princess is dead!” + +Manfred started at this ejaculation, and demanded what was the matter! +The young peasant, who heard it too, was struck with horror, and asked +eagerly the same question; but Manfred ordered him to be hurried into +the court, and kept there for execution, till he had informed himself +of the cause of Bianca’s shrieks. When he learned the meaning, he +treated it as a womanish panic, and ordering Matilda to be carried to +her apartment, he rushed into the court, and calling for one of his +guards, bade Theodore kneel down, and prepare to receive the fatal blow. + +The undaunted youth received the bitter sentence with a resignation that +touched every heart but Manfred’s. He wished earnestly to know the +meaning of the words he had heard relating to the Princess; but fearing +to exasperate the tyrant more against her, he desisted. The only boon he +deigned to ask was, that he might be permitted to have a confessor, and +make his peace with heaven. Manfred, who hoped by the confessor’s means +to come at the youth’s history, readily granted his request; and being +convinced that Father Jerome was now in his interest, he ordered him to +be called and shrive the prisoner. The holy man, who had little foreseen +the catastrophe that his imprudence occasioned, fell on his knees to the +Prince, and adjured him in the most solemn manner not to shed innocent +blood. He accused himself in the bitterest terms for his indiscretion, +endeavoured to disculpate the youth, and left no method untried to soften +the tyrant’s rage. Manfred, more incensed than appeased by Jerome’s +intercession, whose retraction now made him suspect he had been imposed +upon by both, commanded the Friar to do his duty, telling him he would +not allow the prisoner many minutes for confession. + +“Nor do I ask many, my Lord,” said the unhappy young man. “My sins, +thank heaven, have not been numerous; nor exceed what might be expected +at my years. Dry your tears, good Father, and let us despatch. This is +a bad world; nor have I had cause to leave it with regret.” + +“Oh wretched youth!” said Jerome; “how canst thou bear the sight of me +with patience? I am thy murderer! it is I have brought this dismal hour +upon thee!” + +“I forgive thee from my soul,” said the youth, “as I hope heaven will +pardon me. Hear my confession, Father; and give me thy blessing.” + +“How can I prepare thee for thy passage as I ought?” said Jerome. “Thou +canst not be saved without pardoning thy foes—and canst thou forgive that +impious man there?” + +“I can,” said Theodore; “I do.” + +“And does not this touch thee, cruel Prince?” said the Friar. + +“I sent for thee to confess him,” said Manfred, sternly; “not to plead +for him. Thou didst first incense me against him—his blood be upon thy +head!” + +“It will! it will!” said the good man, in an agony of sorrow. “Thou and +I must never hope to go where this blessed youth is going!” + +“Despatch!” said Manfred; “I am no more to be moved by the whining of +priests than by the shrieks of women.” + +“What!” said the youth; “is it possible that my fate could have +occasioned what I heard! Is the Princess then again in thy power?” + +“Thou dost but remember me of my wrath,” said Manfred. “Prepare thee, +for this moment is thy last.” + +The youth, who felt his indignation rise, and who was touched with the +sorrow which he saw he had infused into all the spectators, as well as +into the Friar, suppressed his emotions, and putting off his doublet, and +unbuttoning his collar, knelt down to his prayers. As he stooped, his +shirt slipped down below his shoulder, and discovered the mark of a +bloody arrow. + +“Gracious heaven!” cried the holy man, starting; “what do I see? It is +my child! my Theodore!” + +The passions that ensued must be conceived; they cannot be painted. The +tears of the assistants were suspended by wonder, rather than stopped by +joy. They seemed to inquire in the eyes of their Lord what they ought to +feel. Surprise, doubt, tenderness, respect, succeeded each other in the +countenance of the youth. He received with modest submission the +effusion of the old man’s tears and embraces. Yet afraid of giving a +loose to hope, and suspecting from what had passed the inflexibility of +Manfred’s temper, he cast a glance towards the Prince, as if to say, +canst thou be unmoved at such a scene as this? + +Manfred’s heart was capable of being touched. He forgot his anger in his +astonishment; yet his pride forbad his owning himself affected. He even +doubted whether this discovery was not a contrivance of the Friar to save +the youth. + +“What may this mean?” said he. “How can he be thy son? Is it consistent +with thy profession or reputed sanctity to avow a peasant’s offspring for +the fruit of thy irregular amours!” + +“Oh, God!” said the holy man, “dost thou question his being mine? Could +I feel the anguish I do if I were not his father? Spare him! good +Prince! spare him! and revile me as thou pleasest.” + +“Spare him! spare him!” cried the attendants; “for this good man’s sake!” + +“Peace!” said Manfred, sternly. “I must know more ere I am disposed to +pardon. A Saint’s bastard may be no saint himself.” + +“Injurious Lord!” said Theodore, “add not insult to cruelty. If I am +this venerable man’s son, though no Prince, as thou art, know the blood +that flows in my veins—” + +“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. 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.” + +“Mother of God!” said the Friar, “is it possible my Lord can refuse a +father the life of his only, his long-lost, child! Trample me, my Lord, +scorn, afflict me, accept my life for his, but spare my son!” + +“Thou canst feel, then,” said Manfred, “what it is to lose an only son! +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. Is she, Theodore, is she dead?” + +“Her soul has long been with the blessed,” said Theodore. + +“Oh! how?” cried Jerome, “tell me—no—she is happy! Thou art all my care +now!—Most dread Lord! will you—will you grant me my poor boy’s life?” + +“Return to thy convent,” answered Manfred; “conduct the Princess hither; +obey me in what else thou knowest; and I promise thee the life of thy +son.” + +“Oh! my Lord,” said Jerome, “is my honesty the price I must pay for this +dear youth’s safety?” + +“For me!” cried Theodore. “Let me die a thousand deaths, rather than +stain thy conscience. What is it the tyrant would exact of thee? Is the +Princess still safe from his power? Protect her, thou venerable old man; +and let all the weight of his wrath fall on me.” + +Jerome endeavoured to check the impetuosity of the youth; and ere Manfred +could reply, the trampling of horses was heard, and a brazen trumpet, +which hung without the gate of the castle, was suddenly sounded. At the +same instant the sable plumes on the enchanted helmet, which still +remained at the other end of the court, were tempestuously agitated, and +nodded thrice, as if bowed by some invisible wearer. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + + +Manfred’s heart misgave him when he beheld the plumage on the miraculous +casque shaken in concert with the sounding of the brazen trumpet. + +“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. Submit yourself to the church; and cease to +persecute her ministers. Dismiss this innocent youth; and learn to +respect the holy character I wear. Heaven will not be trifled with: you +see—” the trumpet sounded again. + +“I acknowledge I have been too hasty,” said Manfred. “Father, do you go +to the wicket, and demand who is at the gate.” + +“Do you grant me the life of Theodore?” replied the Friar. + +“I do,” said Manfred; “but inquire who is without!” + +Jerome, falling on the neck of his son, discharged a flood of tears, that +spoke the fulness of his soul. + +“You promised to go to the gate,” said Manfred. + +“I thought,” replied the Friar, “your Highness would excuse my thanking +you first in this tribute of my heart.” + +“Go, dearest Sir,” said Theodore; “obey the Prince. I do not deserve +that you should delay his satisfaction for me.” + +Jerome, inquiring who was without, was answered, “A Herald.” + +“From whom?” said he. + +“From the Knight of the Gigantic Sabre,” said the Herald; “and I must +speak with the usurper of Otranto.” + +Jerome returned to the Prince, and did not fail to repeat the message in +the very words it had been uttered. The first sounds struck Manfred with +terror; but when he heard himself styled usurper, his rage rekindled, and +all his courage revived. + +“Usurper!—insolent villain!” cried he; “who dares to question my title? +Retire, Father; this is no business for Monks: I will meet this +presumptuous man myself. Go to your convent and prepare the Princess’s +return. Your son shall be a hostage for your fidelity: his life depends +on your obedience.” + +“Good heaven! my Lord,” cried Jerome, “your Highness did but this instant +freely pardon my child—have you so soon forgot the interposition of +heaven?” + +“Heaven,” replied Manfred, “does not send Heralds to question the title +of a lawful Prince. I doubt whether it even notifies its will through +Friars—but that is your affair, not mine. At present you know my +pleasure; and it is not a saucy Herald that shall save your son, if you +do not return with the Princess.” + +It was in vain for the holy man to reply. Manfred commanded him to be +conducted to the postern-gate, and shut out from the castle. And he +ordered some of his attendants to carry Theodore to the top of the black +tower, and guard him strictly; scarce permitting the father and son to +exchange a hasty embrace at parting. He then withdrew to the hall, and +seating himself in princely state, ordered the Herald to be admitted to +his presence. + +“Well! thou insolent!” said the Prince, “what wouldst thou with me?” + +“I come,” replied he, “to thee, Manfred, usurper of the principality of +Otranto, from the renowned and invincible Knight, the Knight of the +Gigantic Sabre: in the name of his Lord, Frederic, Marquis of Vicenza, he +demands the Lady Isabella, daughter of that Prince, whom thou hast basely +and traitorously got into thy power, by bribing her false guardians +during his absence; and he requires thee to resign the principality of +Otranto, which thou hast usurped from the said Lord Frederic, the nearest +of blood to the last rightful Lord, Alfonso the Good. If thou dost not +instantly comply with these just demands, he defies thee to single combat +to the last extremity.” And so saying the Herald cast down his warder. + +“And where is this braggart who sends thee?” said Manfred. + +“At the distance of a league,” said the Herald: “he comes to make good +his Lord’s claim against thee, as he is a true knight, and thou an +usurper and ravisher.” + +Injurious as this challenge was, Manfred reflected that it was not his +interest to provoke the Marquis. He knew how well founded the claim of +Frederic was; nor was this the first time he had heard of it. Frederic’s +ancestors had assumed the style of Princes of Otranto, from the death of +Alfonso the Good without issue; but Manfred, his father, and grandfather, +had been too powerful for the house of Vicenza to dispossess them. +Frederic, a martial and amorous young Prince, had married a beautiful +young lady, of whom he was enamoured, and who had died in childbed of +Isabella. Her death affected him so much that he had taken the cross and +gone to the Holy Land, where he was wounded in an engagement against the +infidels, made prisoner, and reported to be dead. When the news reached +Manfred’s ears, he bribed the guardians of the Lady Isabella to deliver +her up to him as a bride for his son Conrad, by which alliance he had +proposed to unite the claims of the two houses. This motive, on Conrad’s +death, had co-operated to make him so suddenly resolve on espousing her +himself; and the same reflection determined him now to endeavour at +obtaining the consent of Frederic to this marriage. A like policy +inspired him with the thought of inviting Frederic’s champion into the +castle, lest he should be informed of Isabella’s flight, which he +strictly enjoined his domestics not to disclose to any of the Knight’s +retinue. + +“Herald,” said Manfred, as soon as he had digested these reflections, +“return to thy master, and tell him, ere we liquidate our differences by +the sword, Manfred would hold some converse with him. Bid him welcome to +my castle, where by my faith, as I am a true Knight, he shall have +courteous reception, and full security for himself and followers. If we +cannot adjust our quarrel by amicable means, I swear he shall depart in +safety, and shall have full satisfaction according to the laws of arms: +So help me God and His holy Trinity!” + +The Herald made three obeisances and retired. + +During this interview Jerome’s mind was agitated by a thousand contrary +passions. He trembled for the life of his son, and his first thought was +to persuade Isabella to return to the castle. Yet he was scarce less +alarmed at the thought of her union with Manfred. He dreaded Hippolita’s +unbounded submission to the will of her Lord; and though he did not doubt +but he could alarm her piety not to consent to a divorce, if he could get +access to her; yet should Manfred discover that the obstruction came from +him, it might be equally fatal to Theodore. He was impatient to know +whence came the Herald, who with so little management had questioned the +title of Manfred: yet he did not dare absent himself from the convent, +lest Isabella should leave it, and her flight be imputed to him. He +returned disconsolately to the monastery, uncertain on what conduct to +resolve. A Monk, who met him in the porch and observed his melancholy +air, said— + +“Alas! brother, is it then true that we have lost our excellent Princess +Hippolita?” + +The holy man started, and cried, “What meanest thou, brother? I come +this instant from the castle, and left her in perfect health.” + +“Martelli,” replied the other Friar, “passed by the convent but a quarter +of an hour ago on his way from the castle, and reported that her Highness +was dead. All our brethren are gone to the chapel to pray for her happy +transit to a better life, and willed me to wait thy arrival. They know +thy holy attachment to that good Lady, and are anxious for the affliction +it will cause in thee—indeed we have all reason to weep; she was a mother +to our house. But this life is but a pilgrimage; we must not murmur—we +shall all follow her! May our end be like hers!” + +“Good brother, thou dreamest,” said Jerome. “I tell thee I come from the +castle, and left the Princess well. Where is the Lady Isabella?” + +“Poor Gentlewoman!” replied the Friar; “I told her the sad news, and +offered her spiritual comfort. I reminded her of the transitory +condition of mortality, and advised her to take the veil: I quoted the +example of the holy Princess Sanchia of Arragon.” + +“Thy zeal was laudable,” said Jerome, impatiently; “but at present it was +unnecessary: Hippolita is well—at least I trust in the Lord she is; I +heard nothing to the contrary—yet, methinks, the Prince’s +earnestness—Well, brother, but where is the Lady Isabella?” + +“I know not,” said the Friar; “she wept much, and said she would retire +to her chamber.” + +Jerome left his comrade abruptly, and hastened to the Princess, but she +was not in her chamber. He inquired of the domestics of the convent, but +could learn no news of her. He searched in vain throughout the monastery +and the church, and despatched messengers round the neighbourhood, to get +intelligence if she had been seen; but to no purpose. Nothing could +equal the good man’s perplexity. He judged that Isabella, suspecting +Manfred of having precipitated his wife’s death, had taken the alarm, and +withdrawn herself to some more secret place of concealment. This new +flight would probably carry the Prince’s fury to the height. The report +of Hippolita’s death, though it seemed almost incredible, increased his +consternation; and though Isabella’s escape bespoke her aversion of +Manfred for a husband, Jerome could feel no comfort from it, while it +endangered the life of his son. He determined to return to the castle, +and made several of his brethren accompany him to attest his innocence to +Manfred, and, if necessary, join their intercession with his for +Theodore. + +The Prince, in the meantime, had passed into the court, and ordered the +gates of the castle to be flung open for the reception of the stranger +Knight and his train. In a few minutes the cavalcade arrived. First +came two harbingers with wands. Next a herald, followed by two pages and +two trumpets. Then a hundred foot-guards. These were attended by as +many horse. After them fifty footmen, clothed in scarlet and black, the +colours of the Knight. Then a led horse. Two heralds on each side of a +gentleman on horseback bearing a banner with the arms of Vicenza and +Otranto quarterly—a circumstance that much offended Manfred—but he +stifled his resentment. Two more pages. The Knight’s confessor telling +his beads. Fifty more footmen clad as before. Two Knights habited in +complete armour, their beavers down, comrades to the principal Knight. +The squires of the two Knights, carrying their shields and devices. The +Knight’s own squire. A hundred gentlemen bearing an enormous sword, and +seeming to faint under the weight of it. The Knight himself on a +chestnut steed, in complete armour, his lance in the rest, his face +entirely concealed by his vizor, which was surmounted by a large plume of +scarlet and black feathers. Fifty foot-guards with drums and trumpets +closed the procession, which wheeled off to the right and left to make +room for the principal Knight. + +As soon as he approached the gate he stopped; and the herald advancing, +read again the words of the challenge. Manfred’s eyes were fixed on the +gigantic sword, and he scarce seemed to attend to the cartel: but his +attention was soon diverted by a tempest of wind that rose behind him. +He turned and beheld the Plumes of the enchanted helmet agitated in the +same extraordinary manner as before. It required intrepidity like +Manfred’s not to sink under a concurrence of circumstances that seemed to +announce his fate. Yet scorning in the presence of strangers to betray +the courage he had always manifested, he said boldly— + +“Sir Knight, whoever thou art, I bid thee welcome. If thou art of mortal +mould, thy valour shall meet its equal: and if thou art a true Knight, +thou wilt scorn to employ sorcery to carry thy point. Be these omens +from heaven or hell, Manfred trusts to the righteousness of his cause and +to the aid of St. Nicholas, who has ever protected his house. Alight, +Sir Knight, and repose thyself. To-morrow thou shalt have a fair field, +and heaven befriend the juster side!” + +The Knight made no reply, but dismounting, was conducted by Manfred to +the great hall of the castle. As they traversed the court, the Knight +stopped to gaze on the miraculous casque; and kneeling down, seemed to +pray inwardly for some minutes. Rising, he made a sign to the Prince to +lead on. As soon as they entered the hall, Manfred proposed to the +stranger to disarm, but the Knight shook his head in token of refusal. + +“Sir Knight,” said Manfred, “this is not courteous, but by my good faith +I will not cross thee, nor shalt thou have cause to complain of the +Prince of Otranto. No treachery is designed on my part; I hope none is +intended on thine; here take my gage” (giving him his ring): “your +friends and you shall enjoy the laws of hospitality. Rest here until +refreshments are brought. I will but give orders for the accommodation +of your train, and return to you.” The three Knights bowed as accepting +his courtesy. Manfred directed the stranger’s retinue to be conducted to +an adjacent hospital, founded by the Princess Hippolita for the reception +of pilgrims. As they made the circuit of the court to return towards the +gate, the gigantic sword burst from the supporters, and falling to the +ground opposite to the helmet, remained immovable. Manfred, almost +hardened to preternatural appearances, surmounted the shock of this new +prodigy; and returning to the hall, where by this time the feast was +ready, he invited his silent guests to take their places. Manfred, +however ill his heart was at ease, endeavoured to inspire the company +with mirth. He put several questions to them, but was answered only by +signs. They raised their vizors but sufficiently to feed themselves, and +that sparingly. + +“Sirs” said the Prince, “ye are the first guests I ever treated within +these walls who scorned to hold any intercourse with me: nor has it oft +been customary, I ween, for princes to hazard their state and dignity +against strangers and mutes. You say you come in the name of Frederic of +Vicenza; I have ever heard that he was a gallant and courteous Knight; +nor would he, I am bold to say, think it beneath him to mix in social +converse with a Prince that is his equal, and not unknown by deeds in +arms. Still ye are silent—well! be it as it may—by the laws of +hospitality and chivalry ye are masters under this roof: ye shall do your +pleasure. But come, give me a goblet of wine; ye will not refuse to +pledge me to the healths of your fair mistresses.” + +The principal Knight sighed and crossed himself, and was rising from the +board. + +“Sir Knight,” said Manfred, “what I said was but in sport. I shall +constrain you in nothing: use your good liking. Since mirth is not your +mood, let us be sad. Business may hit your fancies better. Let us +withdraw, and hear if what I have to unfold may be better relished than +the vain efforts I have made for your pastime.” + +Manfred then conducting the three Knights into an inner chamber, shut the +door, and inviting them to be seated, began thus, addressing himself to +the chief personage:— + +“You come, Sir Knight, as I understand, in the name of the Marquis of +Vicenza, to re-demand the Lady Isabella, his daughter, who has been +contracted in the face of Holy Church to my son, by the consent of her +legal guardians; and to require me to resign my dominions to your Lord, +who gives himself for the nearest of blood to Prince Alfonso, whose soul +God rest! I shall speak to the latter article of your demands first. +You must know, your Lord knows, that I enjoy the principality of Otranto +from my father, Don Manuel, as he received it from his father, Don +Ricardo. Alfonso, their predecessor, dying childless in the Holy Land, +bequeathed his estates to my grandfather, Don Ricardo, in consideration +of his faithful services.” The stranger shook his head. + +“Sir Knight,” said Manfred, warmly, “Ricardo was a valiant and upright +man; he was a pious man; witness his munificent foundation of the +adjoining church and two convents. He was peculiarly patronised by St. +Nicholas—my grandfather was incapable—I say, Sir, Don Ricardo was +incapable—excuse me, your interruption has disordered me. I venerate the +memory of my grandfather. Well, Sirs, he held this estate; he held it by +his good sword and by the favour of St. Nicholas—so did my father; and +so, Sirs, will I, come what come will. But Frederic, your Lord, is +nearest in blood. I have consented to put my title to the issue of the +sword. Does that imply a vicious title? I might have asked, where is +Frederic your Lord? Report speaks him dead in captivity. You say, your +actions say, he lives—I question it not—I might, Sirs, I might—but I do +not. Other Princes would bid Frederic take his inheritance by force, if +he can: they would not stake their dignity on a single combat: they would +not submit it to the decision of unknown mutes!—pardon me, gentlemen, I +am too warm: but suppose yourselves in my situation: as ye are stout +Knights, would it not move your choler to have your own and the honour of +your ancestors called in question?” “But to the point. Ye require me to +deliver up the Lady Isabella. Sirs, I must ask if ye are authorised to +receive her?” + +The Knight nodded. + +“Receive her,” continued Manfred; “well, you are authorised to receive +her, but, gentle Knight, may I ask if you have full powers?” + +The Knight nodded. + +“’Tis well,” said Manfred; “then hear what I have to offer. Ye see, +gentlemen, before you, the most unhappy of men!” (he began to weep); +“afford me your compassion; I am entitled to it, indeed I am. Know, I +have lost my only hope, my joy, the support of my house—Conrad died +yester morning.” + +The Knights discovered signs of surprise. + +“Yes, Sirs, fate has disposed of my son. Isabella is at liberty.” + +“Do you then restore her?” cried the chief Knight, breaking silence. + +“Afford me your patience,” said Manfred. “I rejoice to find, by this +testimony of your goodwill, that this matter may be adjusted without +blood. It is no interest of mine dictates what little I have farther to +say. Ye behold in me a man disgusted with the world: the loss of my son +has weaned me from earthly cares. Power and greatness have no longer any +charms in my eyes. I wished to transmit the sceptre I had received from +my ancestors with honour to my son—but that is over! Life itself is so +indifferent to me, that I accepted your defiance with joy. A good Knight +cannot go to the grave with more satisfaction than when falling in his +vocation: whatever is the will of heaven, I submit; for alas! Sirs, I am +a man of many sorrows. Manfred is no object of envy, but no doubt you +are acquainted with my story.” + +The Knight made signs of ignorance, and seemed curious to have Manfred +proceed. + +“Is it possible, Sirs,” continued the Prince, “that my story should be a +secret to you? Have you heard nothing relating to me and the Princess +Hippolita?” + +They shook their heads. + +“No! Thus, then, Sirs, it is. You think me ambitious: ambition, alas! +is composed of more rugged materials. If I were ambitious, I should not +for so many years have been a prey to all the hell of conscientious +scruples. But I weary your patience: I will be brief. Know, then, that +I have long been troubled in mind on my union with the Princess +Hippolita. Oh! Sirs, if ye were acquainted with that excellent woman! if +ye knew that I adore her like a mistress, and cherish her as a friend—but +man was not born for perfect happiness! She shares my scruples, and with +her consent I have brought this matter before the church, for we are +related within the forbidden degrees. I expect every hour the definitive +sentence that must separate us for ever—I am sure you feel for me—I see +you do—pardon these tears!” + +The Knights gazed on each other, wondering where this would end. + +Manfred continued— + +“The death of my son betiding while my soul was under this anxiety, I +thought of nothing but resigning my dominions, and retiring for ever from +the sight of mankind. My only difficulty was to fix on a successor, who +would be tender of my people, and to dispose of the Lady Isabella, who is +dear to me as my own blood. I was willing to restore the line of +Alfonso, even in his most distant kindred. And though, pardon me, I am +satisfied it was his will that Ricardo’s lineage should take place of his +own relations; yet where was I to search for those relations? I knew of +none but Frederic, your Lord; he was a captive to the infidels, or dead; +and were he living, and at home, would he quit the flourishing State of +Vicenza for the inconsiderable principality of Otranto? If he would not, +could I bear the thought of seeing a hard, unfeeling, Viceroy set over my +poor faithful people? for, Sirs, I love my people, and thank heaven am +beloved by them. But ye will ask whither tends this long discourse? +Briefly, then, thus, Sirs. Heaven in your arrival seems to point out a +remedy for these difficulties and my misfortunes. The Lady Isabella is +at liberty; I shall soon be so. I would submit to anything for the good +of my people. Were it not the best, the only way to extinguish the feuds +between our families, if I was to take the Lady Isabella to wife? You +start. But though Hippolita’s virtues will ever be dear to me, a Prince +must not consider himself; he is born for his people.” A servant at that +instant entering the chamber apprised Manfred that Jerome and several of +his brethren demanded immediate access to him. + +The Prince, provoked at this interruption, and fearing that the Friar +would discover to the strangers that Isabella had taken sanctuary, was +going to forbid Jerome’s entrance. But recollecting that he was +certainly arrived to notify the Princess’s return, Manfred began to +excuse himself to the Knights for leaving them for a few moments, but was +prevented by the arrival of the Friars. Manfred angrily reprimanded them +for their intrusion, and would have forced them back from the chamber; +but Jerome was too much agitated to be repulsed. He declared aloud the +flight of Isabella, with protestations of his own innocence. + +Manfred, distracted at the news, and not less at its coming to the +knowledge of the strangers, uttered nothing but incoherent sentences, now +upbraiding the Friar, now apologising to the Knights, earnest to know +what was become of Isabella, yet equally afraid of their knowing; +impatient to pursue her, yet dreading to have them join in the pursuit. +He offered to despatch messengers in quest of her, but the chief Knight, +no longer keeping silence, reproached Manfred in bitter terms for his +dark and ambiguous dealing, and demanded the cause of Isabella’s first +absence from the castle. Manfred, casting a stern look at Jerome, +implying a command of silence, pretended that on Conrad’s death he had +placed her in sanctuary until he could determine how to dispose of her. +Jerome, who trembled for his son’s life, did not dare contradict this +falsehood, but one of his brethren, not under the same anxiety, declared +frankly that she had fled to their church in the preceding night. The +Prince in vain endeavoured to stop this discovery, which overwhelmed him +with shame and confusion. The principal stranger, amazed at the +contradictions he heard, and more than half persuaded that Manfred had +secreted the Princess, notwithstanding the concern he expressed at her +flight, rushing to the door, said— + +“Thou traitor Prince! Isabella shall be found.” + +Manfred endeavoured to hold him, but the other Knights assisting their +comrade, he broke from the Prince, and hastened into the court, demanding +his attendants. Manfred, finding it vain to divert him from the pursuit, +offered to accompany him and summoning his attendants, and taking Jerome +and some of the Friars to guide them, they issued from the castle; +Manfred privately giving orders to have the Knight’s company secured, +while to the knight he affected to despatch a messenger to require their +assistance. + +The company had no sooner quitted the castle than Matilda, who felt +herself deeply interested for the young peasant, since she had seen him +condemned to death in the hall, and whose thoughts had been taken up with +concerting measures to save him, was informed by some of the female +attendants that Manfred had despatched all his men various ways in +pursuit of Isabella. He had in his hurry given this order in general +terms, not meaning to extend it to the guard he had set upon Theodore, +but forgetting it. The domestics, officious to obey so peremptory a +Prince, and urged by their own curiosity and love of novelty to join in +any precipitate chase, had to a man left the castle. Matilda disengaged +herself from her women, stole up to the black tower, and unbolting the +door, presented herself to the astonished Theodore. + +“Young man,” said she, “though filial duty and womanly modesty condemn +the step I am taking, yet holy charity, surmounting all other ties, +justifies this act. Fly; the doors of thy prison are open: my father and +his domestics are absent; but they may soon return. Be gone in safety; +and may the angels of heaven direct thy course!” + +“Thou art surely one of those angels!” said the enraptured Theodore: +“none but a blessed saint could speak, could act—could look—like thee. +May I not know the name of my divine protectress? Methought thou namedst +thy father. Is it possible? Can Manfred’s blood feel holy pity! Lovely +Lady, thou answerest not. But how art thou here thyself? Why dost thou +neglect thy own safety, and waste a thought on a wretch like Theodore? +Let us fly together: the life thou bestowest shall be dedicated to thy +defence.” + +“Alas! thou mistakest,” said Matilda, sighing: “I am Manfred’s daughter, +but no dangers await me.” + +“Amazement!” said Theodore; “but last night I blessed myself for yielding +thee the service thy gracious compassion so charitably returns me now.” + +“Still thou art in an error,” said the Princess; “but this is no time for +explanation. Fly, virtuous youth, while it is in my power to save thee: +should my father return, thou and I both should indeed have cause to +tremble.” + +“How!” said Theodore; “thinkest thou, charming maid, that I will accept +of life at the hazard of aught calamitous to thee? Better I endured a +thousand deaths.” + +“I run no risk,” said Matilda, “but by thy delay. Depart; it cannot be +known that I have assisted thy flight.” + +“Swear by the saints above,” said Theodore, “that thou canst not be +suspected; else here I vow to await whatever can befall me.” + +“Oh! thou art too generous,” said Matilda; “but rest assured that no +suspicion can alight on me.” + +“Give me thy beauteous hand in token that thou dost not deceive me,” said +Theodore; “and let me bathe it with the warm tears of gratitude.” + +“Forbear!” said the Princess; “this must not be.” + +“Alas!” said Theodore, “I have never known but calamity until this +hour—perhaps shall never know other fortune again: suffer the chaste +raptures of holy gratitude: ’tis my soul would print its effusions on thy +hand.” + +“Forbear, and be gone,” said Matilda. “How would Isabella approve of +seeing thee at my feet?” + +“Who is Isabella?” said the young man with surprise. + +“Ah, me! I fear,” said the Princess, “I am serving a deceitful one. +Hast thou forgot thy curiosity this morning?” + +“Thy looks, thy actions, all thy beauteous self seem an emanation of +divinity,” said Theodore; “but thy words are dark and mysterious. Speak, +Lady; speak to thy servant’s comprehension.” + +“Thou understandest but too well!” said Matilda; “but once more I command +thee to be gone: thy blood, which I may preserve, will be on my head, if +I waste the time in vain discourse.” + +“I go, Lady,” said Theodore, “because it is thy will, and because I would +not bring the grey hairs of my father with sorrow to the grave. Say but, +adored Lady, that I have thy gentle pity.” + +“Stay,” said Matilda; “I will conduct thee to the subterraneous vault by +which Isabella escaped; it will lead thee to the church of St. Nicholas, +where thou mayst take sanctuary.” + +“What!” said Theodore, “was it another, and not thy lovely self that I +assisted to find the subterraneous passage?” + +“It was,” said Matilda; “but ask no more; I tremble to see thee still +abide here; fly to the sanctuary.” + +“To sanctuary,” said Theodore; “no, Princess; sanctuaries are for +helpless damsels, or for criminals. Theodore’s soul is free from guilt, +nor will wear the appearance of it. Give me a sword, Lady, and thy +father shall learn that Theodore scorns an ignominious flight.” + +“Rash youth!” said Matilda; “thou wouldst not dare to lift thy +presumptuous arm against the Prince of Otranto?” + +“Not against thy father; indeed, I dare not,” said Theodore. “Excuse me, +Lady; I had forgotten. But could I gaze on thee, and remember thou art +sprung from the tyrant Manfred! But he is thy father, and from this +moment my injuries are buried in oblivion.” + +A deep and hollow groan, which seemed to come from above, startled the +Princess and Theodore. + +“Good heaven! we are overheard!” said the Princess. They listened; but +perceiving no further noise, they both concluded it the effect of pent-up +vapours. And the Princess, preceding Theodore softly, carried him to her +father’s armoury, where, equipping him with a complete suit, he was +conducted by Matilda to the postern-gate. + +“Avoid the town,” said the Princess, “and all the western side of the +castle. ’Tis there the search must be making by Manfred and the +strangers; but hie thee to the opposite quarter. Yonder behind that +forest to the east is a chain of rocks, hollowed into a labyrinth of +caverns that reach to the sea coast. There thou mayst lie concealed, +till thou canst make signs to some vessel to put on shore, and take thee +off. Go! heaven be thy guide!—and sometimes in thy prayers +remember—Matilda!” + +Theodore flung himself at her feet, and seizing her lily hand, which with +struggles she suffered him to kiss, he vowed on the earliest opportunity +to get himself knighted, and fervently entreated her permission to swear +himself eternally her knight. Ere the Princess could reply, a clap of +thunder was suddenly heard that shook the battlements. Theodore, +regardless of the tempest, would have urged his suit: but the Princess, +dismayed, retreated hastily into the castle, and commanded the youth to +be gone with an air that would not be disobeyed. He sighed, and retired, +but with eyes fixed on the gate, until Matilda, closing it, put an end to +an interview, in which the hearts of both had drunk so deeply of a +passion, which both now tasted for the first time. + +Theodore went pensively to the convent, to acquaint his father with his +deliverance. There he learned the absence of Jerome, and the pursuit +that was making after the Lady Isabella, with some particulars of whose +story he now first became acquainted. The generous gallantry of his +nature prompted him to wish to assist her; but the Monks could lend him +no lights to guess at the route she had taken. He was not tempted to +wander far in search of her, for the idea of Matilda had imprinted itself +so strongly on his heart, that he could not bear to absent himself at +much distance from her abode. The tenderness Jerome had expressed for +him concurred to confirm this reluctance; and he even persuaded himself +that filial affection was the chief cause of his hovering between the +castle and monastery. + +Until Jerome should return at night, Theodore at length determined to +repair to the forest that Matilda had pointed out to him. Arriving +there, he sought the gloomiest shades, as best suited to the pleasing +melancholy that reigned in his mind. In this mood he roved insensibly to +the caves which had formerly served as a retreat to hermits, and were now +reported round the country to be haunted by evil spirits. He recollected +to have heard this tradition; and being of a brave and adventurous +disposition, he willingly indulged his curiosity in exploring the secret +recesses of this labyrinth. He had not penetrated far before he thought +he heard the steps of some person who seemed to retreat before him. + +Theodore, though firmly grounded in all our holy faith enjoins to be +believed, had no apprehension that good men were abandoned without cause +to the malice of the powers of darkness. He thought the place more +likely to be infested by robbers than by those infernal agents who are +reported to molest and bewilder travellers. He had long burned with +impatience to approve his valour. Drawing his sabre, he marched sedately +onwards, still directing his steps as the imperfect rustling sound before +him led the way. The armour he wore was a like indication to the person +who avoided him. Theodore, now convinced that he was not mistaken, +redoubled his pace, and evidently gained on the person that fled, whose +haste increasing, Theodore came up just as a woman fell breathless before +him. He hasted to raise her, but her terror was so great that he +apprehended she would faint in his arms. He used every gentle word to +dispel her alarms, and assured her that far from injuring, he would +defend her at the peril of his life. The Lady recovering her spirits +from his courteous demeanour, and gazing on her protector, said— + +“Sure, I have heard that voice before!” + +“Not to my knowledge,” replied Theodore; “unless, as I conjecture, thou +art the Lady Isabella.” + +“Merciful heaven!” cried she. “Thou art not sent in quest of me, art +thou?” And saying those words, she threw herself at his feet, and +besought him not to deliver her up to Manfred. + +“To Manfred!” cried Theodore—“no, Lady; I have once already delivered +thee from his tyranny, and it shall fare hard with me now, but I will +place thee out of the reach of his daring.” + +“Is it possible,” said she, “that thou shouldst be the generous unknown +whom I met last night in the vault of the castle? Sure thou art not a +mortal, but my guardian angel. On my knees, let me thank—” + +“Hold! gentle Princess,” said Theodore, “nor demean thyself before a poor +and friendless young man. If heaven has selected me for thy deliverer, +it will accomplish its work, and strengthen my arm in thy cause. But +come, Lady, we are too near the mouth of the cavern; let us seek its +inmost recesses. I can have no tranquillity till I have placed thee +beyond the reach of danger.” + +“Alas! what mean you, sir?” said she. “Though all your actions are +noble, though your sentiments speak the purity of your soul, is it +fitting that I should accompany you alone into these perplexed retreats? +Should we be found together, what would a censorious world think of my +conduct?” + +“I respect your virtuous delicacy,” said Theodore; “nor do you harbour a +suspicion that wounds my honour. I meant to conduct you into the most +private cavity of these rocks, and then at the hazard of my life to guard +their entrance against every living thing. Besides, Lady,” continued he, +drawing a deep sigh, “beauteous and all perfect as your form is, and +though my wishes are not guiltless of aspiring, know, my soul is +dedicated to another; and although—” A sudden noise prevented Theodore +from proceeding. They soon distinguished these sounds— + +“Isabella! what, ho! Isabella!” The trembling Princess relapsed into her +former agony of fear. Theodore endeavoured to encourage her, but in +vain. He assured her he would die rather than suffer her to return under +Manfred’s power; and begging her to remain concealed, he went forth to +prevent the person in search of her from approaching. + +At the mouth of the cavern he found an armed Knight, discoursing with a +peasant, who assured him he had seen a lady enter the passes of the rock. +The Knight was preparing to seek her, when Theodore, placing himself in +his way, with his sword drawn, sternly forbad him at his peril to +advance. + +“And who art thou, who darest to cross my way?” said the Knight, +haughtily. + +“One who does not dare more than he will perform,” said Theodore. + +“I seek the Lady Isabella,” said the Knight, “and understand she has +taken refuge among these rocks. Impede me not, or thou wilt repent +having provoked my resentment.” + +“Thy purpose is as odious as thy resentment is contemptible,” said +Theodore. “Return whence thou camest, or we shall soon know whose +resentment is most terrible.” + +The stranger, who was the principal Knight that had arrived from the +Marquis of Vicenza, had galloped from Manfred as he was busied in getting +information of the Princess, and giving various orders to prevent her +falling into the power of the three Knights. Their chief had suspected +Manfred of being privy to the Princess’s absconding, and this insult from +a man, who he concluded was stationed by that Prince to secrete her, +confirming his suspicions, he made no reply, but discharging a blow with +his sabre at Theodore, would soon have removed all obstruction, if +Theodore, who took him for one of Manfred’s captains, and who had no +sooner given the provocation than prepared to support it, had not +received the stroke on his shield. The valour that had so long been +smothered in his breast broke forth at once; he rushed impetuously on the +Knight, whose pride and wrath were not less powerful incentives to hardy +deeds. The combat was furious, but not long. Theodore wounded the +Knight in three several places, and at last disarmed him as he fainted by +the loss of blood. + +The peasant, who had fled on the first onset, had given the alarm to some +of Manfred’s domestics, who, by his orders, were dispersed through the +forest in pursuit of Isabella. They came up as the Knight fell, whom +they soon discovered to be the noble stranger. Theodore, notwithstanding +his hatred to Manfred, could not behold the victory he had gained without +emotions of pity and generosity. But he was more touched when he learned +the quality of his adversary, and was informed that he was no retainer, +but an enemy, of Manfred. He assisted the servants of the latter in +disarming the Knight, and in endeavouring to stanch the blood that flowed +from his wounds. The Knight recovering his speech, said, in a faint and +faltering voice— + +“Generous foe, we have both been in an error. I took thee for an +instrument of the tyrant; I perceive thou hast made the like mistake. It +is too late for excuses. I faint. If Isabella is at hand—call her—I +have important secrets to—” + +“He is dying!” said one of the attendants; “has nobody a crucifix about +them? Andrea, do thou pray over him.” + +“Fetch some water,” said Theodore, “and pour it down his throat, while I +hasten to the Princess.” + +Saying this, he flew to Isabella, and in few words told her modestly that +he had been so unfortunate by mistake as to wound a gentleman from her +father’s court, who wished, ere he died, to impart something of +consequence to her. + +The Princess, who had been transported at hearing the voice of Theodore, +as he called to her to come forth, was astonished at what she heard. +Suffering herself to be conducted by Theodore, the new proof of whose +valour recalled her dispersed spirits, she came where the bleeding Knight +lay speechless on the ground. But her fears returned when she beheld the +domestics of Manfred. She would again have fled if Theodore had not made +her observe that they were unarmed, and had not threatened them with +instant death if they should dare to seize the Princess. + +The stranger, opening his eyes, and beholding a woman, said, “Art +thou—pray tell me truly—art thou Isabella of Vicenza?” + +“I am,” said she: “good heaven restore thee!” + +“Then thou—then thou”—said the Knight, struggling for +utterance—“seest—thy father. Give me one—” + +“Oh! amazement! horror! what do I hear! what do I see!” cried Isabella. +“My father! You my father! How came you here, Sir? For heaven’s sake, +speak! Oh! run for help, or he will expire!” + +“’Tis most true,” said the wounded Knight, exerting all his force; “I am +Frederic thy father. Yes, I came to deliver thee. It will not be. Give +me a parting kiss, and take—” + +“Sir,” said Theodore, “do not exhaust yourself; suffer us to convey you +to the castle.” + +“To the castle!” said Isabella. “Is there no help nearer than the +castle? Would you expose my father to the tyrant? If he goes thither, I +dare not accompany him; and yet, can I leave him!” + +“My child,” said Frederic, “it matters not for me whither I am carried. +A few minutes will place me beyond danger; but while I have eyes to dote +on thee, forsake me not, dear Isabella! This brave Knight—I know not who +he is—will protect thy innocence. Sir, you will not abandon my child, +will you?” + +Theodore, shedding tears over his victim, and vowing to guard the +Princess at the expense of his life, persuaded Frederic to suffer himself +to be conducted to the castle. They placed him on a horse belonging to +one of the domestics, after binding up his wounds as well as they were +able. Theodore marched by his side; and the afflicted Isabella, who +could not bear to quit him, followed mournfully behind. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + + +The sorrowful troop no sooner arrived at the castle, than they were met +by Hippolita and Matilda, whom Isabella had sent one of the domestics +before to advertise of their approach. The ladies causing Frederic to be +conveyed into the nearest chamber, retired, while the surgeons examined +his wounds. Matilda blushed at seeing Theodore and Isabella together; +but endeavoured to conceal it by embracing the latter, and condoling with +her on her father’s mischance. The surgeons soon came to acquaint +Hippolita that none of the Marquis’s wounds were dangerous; and that he +was desirous of seeing his daughter and the Princesses. + +Theodore, under pretence of expressing his joy at being freed from his +apprehensions of the combat being fatal to Frederic, could not resist the +impulse of following Matilda. Her eyes were so often cast down on +meeting his, that Isabella, who regarded Theodore as attentively as he +gazed on Matilda, soon divined who the object was that he had told her in +the cave engaged his affections. While this mute scene passed, Hippolita +demanded of Frederic the cause of his having taken that mysterious course +for reclaiming his daughter; and threw in various apologies to excuse her +Lord for the match contracted between their children. + +Frederic, however incensed against Manfred, was not insensible to the +courtesy and benevolence of Hippolita: but he was still more struck with +the lovely form of Matilda. Wishing to detain them by his bedside, he +informed Hippolita of his story. He told her that, while prisoner to the +infidels, he had dreamed that his daughter, of whom he had learned no +news since his captivity, was detained in a castle, where she was in +danger of the most dreadful misfortunes: and that if he obtained his +liberty, and repaired to a wood near Joppa, he would learn more. Alarmed +at this dream, and incapable of obeying the direction given by it, his +chains became more grievous than ever. But while his thoughts were +occupied on the means of obtaining his liberty, he received the agreeable +news that the confederate Princes who were warring in Palestine had paid +his ransom. He instantly set out for the wood that had been marked in +his dream. + +For three days he and his attendants had wandered in the forest without +seeing a human form: but on the evening of the third they came to a cell, +in which they found a venerable hermit in the agonies of death. Applying +rich cordials, they brought the fainting man to his speech. + +“My sons,” said he, “I am bounden to your charity—but it is in vain—I am +going to my eternal rest—yet I die with the satisfaction of performing +the will of heaven. When first I repaired to this solitude, after seeing +my country become a prey to unbelievers—it is alas! above fifty years +since I was witness to that dreadful scene! St. Nicholas appeared to me, +and revealed a secret, which he bade me never disclose to mortal man, but +on my death-bed. This is that tremendous hour, and ye are no doubt the +chosen warriors to whom I was ordered to reveal my trust. As soon as ye +have done the last offices to this wretched corse, dig under the seventh +tree on the left hand of this poor cave, and your pains will—Oh! good +heaven receive my soul!” With those words the devout man breathed his +last. + +“By break of day,” continued Frederic, “when we had committed the holy +relics to earth, we dug according to direction. But what was our +astonishment when about the depth of six feet we discovered an enormous +sabre—the very weapon yonder in the court. On the blade, which was then +partly out of the scabbard, though since closed by our efforts in +removing it, were written the following lines—no; excuse me, Madam,” +added the Marquis, turning to Hippolita; “if I forbear to repeat them: I +respect your sex and rank, and would not be guilty of offending your ear +with sounds injurious to aught that is dear to you.” + +He paused. Hippolita trembled. She did not doubt but Frederic was +destined by heaven to accomplish the fate that seemed to threaten her +house. Looking with anxious fondness at Matilda, a silent tear stole +down her cheek: but recollecting herself, she said— + +“Proceed, my Lord; heaven does nothing in vain; mortals must receive its +divine behests with lowliness and submission. It is our part to +deprecate its wrath, or bow to its decrees. Repeat the sentence, my +Lord; we listen resigned.” + +Frederic was grieved that he had proceeded so far. The dignity and +patient firmness of Hippolita penetrated him with respect, and the tender +silent affection with which the Princess and her daughter regarded each +other, melted him almost to tears. Yet apprehensive that his forbearance +to obey would be more alarming, he repeated in a faltering and low voice +the following lines: + + “Where’er a casque that suits this sword is found, + With perils is thy daughter compass’d round; + _Alfonso’s_ blood alone can save the maid, + And quiet a long restless Prince’s shade.” + +“What is there in these lines,” said Theodore impatiently, “that affects +these Princesses? Why were they to be shocked by a mysterious delicacy, +that has so little foundation?” + +“Your words are rude, young man,” said the Marquis; “and though fortune +has favoured you once—” + +“My honoured Lord,” said Isabella, who resented Theodore’s warmth, which +she perceived was dictated by his sentiments for Matilda, “discompose not +yourself for the glosing of a peasant’s son: he forgets the reverence he +owes you; but he is not accustomed—” + +Hippolita, concerned at the heat that had arisen, checked Theodore for +his boldness, but with an air acknowledging his zeal; and changing the +conversation, demanded of Frederic where he had left her Lord? As the +Marquis was going to reply, they heard a noise without, and rising to +inquire the cause, Manfred, Jerome, and part of the troop, who had met an +imperfect rumour of what had happened, entered the chamber. Manfred +advanced hastily towards Frederic’s bed to condole with him on his +misfortune, and to learn the circumstances of the combat, when starting +in an agony of terror and amazement, he cried— + +“Ha! what art thou? thou dreadful spectre! is my hour come?” + +“My dearest, gracious Lord,” cried Hippolita, clasping him in her arms, +“what is it you see! Why do you fix your eye-balls thus?” + +“What!” cried Manfred breathless; “dost thou see nothing, Hippolita? Is +this ghastly phantom sent to me alone—to me, who did not—” + +“For mercy’s sweetest self, my Lord,” said Hippolita, “resume your soul, +command your reason. There is none here, but us, your friends.” + +“What, is not that Alfonso?” cried Manfred. “Dost thou not see him? can +it be my brain’s delirium?” + +“This! my Lord,” said Hippolita; “this is Theodore, the youth who has +been so unfortunate.” + +“Theodore!” said Manfred mournfully, and striking his forehead; “Theodore +or a phantom, he has unhinged the soul of Manfred. But how comes he +here? and how comes he in armour?” + +“I believe he went in search of Isabella,” said Hippolita. + +“Of Isabella!” said Manfred, relapsing into rage; “yes, yes, that is not +doubtful—. But how did he escape from durance in which I left him? Was +it Isabella, or this hypocritical old Friar, that procured his +enlargement?” + +“And would a parent be criminal, my Lord,” said Theodore, “if he +meditated the deliverance of his child?” + +Jerome, amazed to hear himself in a manner accused by his son, and +without foundation, knew not what to think. He could not comprehend how +Theodore had escaped, how he came to be armed, and to encounter Frederic. +Still he would not venture to ask any questions that might tend to +inflame Manfred’s wrath against his son. Jerome’s silence convinced +Manfred that he had contrived Theodore’s release. + +“And is it thus, thou ungrateful old man,” said the Prince, addressing +himself to the Friar, “that thou repayest mine and Hippolita’s bounties? +And not content with traversing my heart’s nearest wishes, thou armest +thy bastard, and bringest him into my own castle to insult me!” + +“My Lord,” said Theodore, “you wrong my father: neither he nor I are +capable of harbouring a thought against your peace. Is it insolence thus +to surrender myself to your Highness’s pleasure?” added he, laying his +sword respectfully at Manfred’s feet. “Behold my bosom; strike, my Lord, +if you suspect that a disloyal thought is lodged there. There is not a +sentiment engraven on my heart that does not venerate you and yours.” + +The grace and fervour with which Theodore uttered these words interested +every person present in his favour. Even Manfred was touched—yet still +possessed with his resemblance to Alfonso, his admiration was dashed with +secret horror. + +“Rise,” said he; “thy life is not my present purpose. But tell me thy +history, and how thou camest connected with this old traitor here.” + +“My Lord,” said Jerome eagerly. + +“Peace! impostor!” said Manfred; “I will not have him prompted.” + +“My Lord,” said Theodore, “I want no assistance; my story is very brief. +I was carried at five years of age to Algiers with my mother, who had +been taken by corsairs from the coast of Sicily. 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.” + +“Again I enjoin thee silence,” said Manfred: “proceed.” + +“I remained in slavery,” said Theodore, “until within these two years, +when attending on my master in his cruises, I was delivered by a +Christian vessel, which overpowered the pirate; and discovering myself to +the captain, he generously put me on shore in Sicily; but alas! instead +of finding a father, I learned that his estate, which was situated on the +coast, had, during his absence, been laid waste by the Rover who had +carried my mother and me into captivity: that his castle had been burnt +to the ground, and that my father on his return had sold what remained, +and was retired into religion in the kingdom of Naples, but where no man +could inform me. Destitute and friendless, hopeless almost of attaining +the transport of a parent’s embrace, I took the first opportunity of +setting sail for Naples, from whence, within these six days, I wandered +into this province, still supporting myself by the labour of my hands; +nor until yester-morn did I believe that heaven had reserved any lot for +me but peace of mind and contented poverty. This, my Lord, is Theodore’s +story. I am blessed beyond my hope in finding a father; I am unfortunate +beyond my desert in having incurred your Highness’s displeasure.” + +He ceased. A murmur of approbation gently arose from the audience. + +“This is not all,” said Frederic; “I am bound in honour to add what he +suppresses. Though he is modest, I must be generous; he is one of the +bravest youths on Christian ground. He is warm too; and from the short +knowledge I have of him, I will pledge myself for his veracity: if what +he reports of himself were not true, he would not utter it—and for me, +youth, I honour a frankness which becomes thy birth; but now, and thou +didst offend me: yet the noble blood which flows in thy veins, may well +be allowed to boil out, when it has so recently traced itself to its +source. Come, my Lord,” (turning to Manfred), “if I can pardon him, +surely you may; it is not the youth’s fault, if you took him for a +spectre.” + +This bitter taunt galled the soul of Manfred. + +“If beings from another world,” replied he haughtily, “have power to +impress my mind with awe, it is more than living man can do; nor could a +stripling’s arm.” + +“My Lord,” interrupted Hippolita, “your guest has occasion for repose: +shall we not leave him to his rest?” Saying this, and taking Manfred by +the hand, she took leave of Frederic, and led the company forth. + +The Prince, not sorry to quit a conversation which recalled to mind the +discovery he had made of his most secret sensations, suffered himself to +be conducted to his own apartment, after permitting Theodore, though +under engagement to return to the castle on the morrow (a condition the +young man gladly accepted), to retire with his father to the convent. +Matilda and Isabella were too much occupied with their own reflections, +and too little content with each other, to wish for farther converse that +night. They separated each to her chamber, with more expressions of +ceremony and fewer of affection than had passed between them since their +childhood. + +If they parted with small cordiality, they did but meet with greater +impatience, as soon as the sun was risen. Their minds were in a +situation that excluded sleep, and each recollected a thousand questions +which she wished she had put to the other overnight. Matilda reflected +that Isabella had been twice delivered by Theodore in very critical +situations, which she could not believe accidental. His eyes, it was +true, had been fixed on her in Frederic’s chamber; but that might have +been to disguise his passion for Isabella from the fathers of both. It +were better to clear this up. She wished to know the truth, lest she +should wrong her friend by entertaining a passion for Isabella’s lover. +Thus jealousy prompted, and at the same time borrowed an excuse from +friendship to justify its curiosity. + +Isabella, not less restless, had better foundation for her suspicions. +Both Theodore’s tongue and eyes had told her his heart was engaged; it +was true—yet, perhaps, Matilda might not correspond to his passion; she +had ever appeared insensible to love: all her thoughts were set on +heaven. + +“Why did I dissuade her?” said Isabella to herself; “I am punished for my +generosity; but when did they meet? where? It cannot be; I have deceived +myself; perhaps last night was the first time they ever beheld each +other; it must be some other object that has prepossessed his +affections—if it is, I am not so unhappy as I thought; if it is not my +friend Matilda—how! Can I stoop to wish for the affection of a man, who +rudely and unnecessarily acquainted me with his indifference? and that at +the very moment in which common courtesy demanded at least expressions of +civility. I will go to my dear Matilda, who will confirm me in this +becoming pride. Man is false—I will advise with her on taking the veil: +she will rejoice to find me in this disposition; and I will acquaint her +that I no longer oppose her inclination for the cloister.” + +In this frame of mind, and determined to open her heart entirely to +Matilda, she went to that Princess’s chamber, whom she found already +dressed, and leaning pensively on her arm. This attitude, so +correspondent to what she felt herself, revived Isabella’s suspicions, +and destroyed the confidence she had purposed to place in her friend. +They blushed at meeting, and were too much novices to disguise their +sensations with address. After some unmeaning questions and replies, +Matilda demanded of Isabella the cause of her flight? The latter, who +had almost forgotten Manfred’s passion, so entirely was she occupied by +her own, concluding that Matilda referred to her last escape from the +convent, which had occasioned the events of the preceding evening, +replied— + +“Martelli brought word to the convent that your mother was dead.” + +“Oh!” said Matilda, interrupting her, “Bianca has explained that mistake +to me: on seeing me faint, she cried out, ‘The Princess is dead!’ and +Martelli, who had come for the usual dole to the castle—” + +“And what made you faint?” said Isabella, indifferent to the rest. +Matilda blushed and stammered— + +“My father—he was sitting in judgment on a criminal—” + +“What criminal?” said Isabella eagerly. + +“A young man,” said Matilda; “I believe—I think it was that young man that—” + +“What, Theodore?” said Isabella. + +“Yes,” answered she; “I never saw him before; I do not know how he had +offended my father, but as he has been of service to you, I am glad my +Lord has pardoned him.” + +“Served me!” replied Isabella; “do you term it serving me, to wound my +father, and almost occasion his death? Though it is but since yesterday +that I am blessed with knowing a parent, I hope Matilda does not think I +am such a stranger to filial tenderness as not to resent the boldness of +that audacious youth, and that it is impossible for me ever to feel any +affection for one who dared to lift his arm against the author of my +being. No, Matilda, my heart abhors him; and if you still retain the +friendship for me that you have vowed from your infancy, you will detest +a man who has been on the point of making me miserable for ever.” + +Matilda held down her head and replied: “I hope my dearest Isabella does +not doubt her Matilda’s friendship: I never beheld that youth until +yesterday; he is almost a stranger to me: but as the surgeons have +pronounced your father out of danger, you ought not to harbour +uncharitable resentment against one, who I am persuaded did not know the +Marquis was related to you.” + +“You plead his cause very pathetically,” said Isabella, “considering he +is so much a stranger to you! I am mistaken, or he returns your +charity.” + +“What mean you?” said Matilda. + +“Nothing,” said Isabella, repenting that she had given Matilda a hint of +Theodore’s inclination for her. Then changing the discourse, she asked +Matilda what occasioned Manfred to take Theodore for a spectre? + +“Bless me,” said Matilda, “did not you observe his extreme resemblance to +the portrait of Alfonso in the gallery? I took notice of it to Bianca +even before I saw him in armour; but with the helmet on, he is the very +image of that picture.” + +“I do not much observe pictures,” said Isabella: “much less have I +examined this young man so attentively as you seem to have done. Ah? +Matilda, your heart is in danger, but let me warn you as a friend, he has +owned to me that he is in love; it cannot be with you, for yesterday was +the first time you ever met—was it not?” + +“Certainly,” replied Matilda; “but why does my dearest Isabella conclude +from anything I have said, that”—she paused—then continuing: “he saw you +first, and I am far from having the vanity to think that my little +portion of charms could engage a heart devoted to you; may you be happy, +Isabella, whatever is the fate of Matilda!” + +“My lovely friend,” said Isabella, whose heart was too honest to resist a +kind expression, “it is you that Theodore admires; I saw it; I am +persuaded of it; nor shall a thought of my own happiness suffer me to +interfere with yours.” + +This frankness drew tears from the gentle Matilda; and jealousy that for +a moment had raised a coolness between these amiable maidens soon gave +way to the natural sincerity and candour of their souls. Each confessed +to the other the impression that Theodore had made on her; and this +confidence was followed by a struggle of generosity, each insisting on +yielding her claim to her friend. At length the dignity of Isabella’s +virtue reminding her of the preference which Theodore had almost declared +for her rival, made her determine to conquer her passion, and cede the +beloved object to her friend. + +During this contest of amity, Hippolita entered her daughter’s chamber. + +“Madam,” said she to Isabella, “you have so much tenderness for Matilda, +and interest yourself so kindly in whatever affects our wretched house, +that I can have no secrets with my child which are not proper for you to +hear.” + +The princesses were all attention and anxiety. + +“Know then, Madam,” continued Hippolita, “and you my dearest Matilda, +that being convinced by all the events of these two last ominous days, +that heaven purposes the sceptre of Otranto should pass from Manfred’s +hands into those of the Marquis Frederic, I have been perhaps inspired +with the thought of averting our total destruction by the union of our +rival houses. With this view I have been proposing to Manfred, my lord, +to tender this dear, dear child to Frederic, your father.” + +“Me to Lord Frederic!” cried Matilda; “good heavens! my gracious +mother—and have you named it to my father?” + +“I have,” said Hippolita; “he listened benignly to my proposal, and is +gone to break it to the Marquis.” + +“Ah! wretched princess!” cried Isabella; “what hast thou done! what ruin +has thy inadvertent goodness been preparing for thyself, for me, and for +Matilda!” + +“Ruin from me to you and to my child!” said Hippolita “what can this +mean?” + +“Alas!” said Isabella, “the purity of your own heart prevents your seeing +the depravity of others. Manfred, your lord, that impious man—” + +“Hold,” said Hippolita; “you must not in my presence, young lady, mention +Manfred with disrespect: he is my lord and husband, and—” + +“Will not long be so,” said Isabella, “if his wicked purposes can be +carried into execution.” + +“This language amazes me,” said Hippolita. “Your feeling, Isabella, is +warm; but until this hour I never knew it betray you into intemperance. +What deed of Manfred authorises you to treat him as a murderer, an +assassin?” + +“Thou virtuous, and too credulous Princess!” replied Isabella; “it is not +thy life he aims at—it is to separate himself from thee! to divorce thee! +to—” + +“To divorce me!” “To divorce my mother!” cried Hippolita and Matilda at +once. + +“Yes,” said Isabella; “and to complete his crime, he meditates—I cannot +speak it!” + +“What can surpass what thou hast already uttered?” said Matilda. + +Hippolita was silent. Grief choked her speech; and the recollection of +Manfred’s late ambiguous discourses confirmed what she heard. + +“Excellent, dear lady! madam! mother!” cried Isabella, flinging herself +at Hippolita’s feet in a transport of passion; “trust me, believe me, I +will die a thousand deaths sooner than consent to injure you, than yield +to so odious—oh!—” + +“This is too much!” cried Hippolita: “What crimes does one crime suggest! +Rise, dear Isabella; I do not doubt your virtue. Oh! Matilda, this +stroke is too heavy for thee! weep not, my child; and not a murmur, I +charge thee. Remember, he is thy father still!” + +“But you are my mother too,” said Matilda fervently; “and you are +virtuous, you are guiltless!—Oh! must not I, must not I complain?” + +“You must not,” said Hippolita—“come, all will yet be well. Manfred, in +the agony for the loss of thy brother, knew not what he said; perhaps +Isabella misunderstood him; his heart is good—and, my child, thou knowest +not all! There is a destiny hangs over us; the hand of Providence is +stretched out; oh! could I but save thee from the wreck! Yes,” continued +she in a firmer tone, “perhaps the sacrifice of myself may atone for all; +I will go and offer myself to this divorce—it boots not what becomes of +me. I will withdraw into the neighbouring monastery, and waste the +remainder of life in prayers and tears for my child and—the Prince!” + +“Thou art as much too good for this world,” said Isabella, “as Manfred is +execrable; but think not, lady, that thy weakness shall determine for me. +I swear, hear me all ye angels—” + +“Stop, I adjure thee,” cried Hippolita: “remember thou dost not depend on +thyself; thou hast a father.” + +“My father is too pious, too noble,” interrupted Isabella, “to command an +impious deed. But should he command it; can a father enjoin a cursed +act? I was contracted to the son, can I wed the father? No, madam, no; +force should not drag me to Manfred’s hated bed. I loathe him, I abhor +him: divine and human laws forbid—and my friend, my dearest Matilda! +would I wound her tender soul by injuring her adored mother? my own +mother—I never have known another”— + +“Oh! she is the mother of both!” cried Matilda: “can we, can we, +Isabella, adore her too much?” + +“My lovely children,” said the touched Hippolita, “your tenderness +overpowers me—but I must not give way to it. It is not ours to make +election for ourselves: heaven, our fathers, and our husbands must decide +for us. Have patience until you hear what Manfred and Frederic have +determined. If the Marquis accepts Matilda’s hand, I know she will +readily obey. Heaven may interpose and prevent the rest. What means my +child?” continued she, seeing Matilda fall at her feet with a flood of +speechless tears—“But no; answer me not, my daughter: I must not hear a +word against the pleasure of thy father.” + +“Oh! doubt not my obedience, my dreadful obedience to him and to you!” +said Matilda. “But can I, most respected of women, can I experience all +this tenderness, this world of goodness, and conceal a thought from the +best of mothers?” + +“What art thou going to utter?” said Isabella trembling. “Recollect +thyself, Matilda.” + +“No, Isabella,” said the Princess, “I should not deserve this +incomparable parent, if the inmost recesses of my soul harboured a +thought without her permission—nay, I have offended her; I have suffered +a passion to enter my heart without her avowal—but here I disclaim it; +here I vow to heaven and her—” + +“My child! my child;” said Hippolita, “what words are these! what new +calamities has fate in store for us! Thou, a passion? Thou, in this +hour of destruction—” + +“Oh! I see all my guilt!” said Matilda. “I abhor myself, if I cost my +mother a pang. She is the dearest thing I have on earth—Oh! I will +never, never behold him more!” + +“Isabella,” said Hippolita, “thou art conscious to this unhappy secret, +whatever it is. Speak!” + +“What!” cried Matilda, “have I so forfeited my mother’s love, that she +will not permit me even to speak my own guilt? oh! wretched, wretched +Matilda!” + +“Thou art too cruel,” said Isabella to Hippolita: “canst thou behold this +anguish of a virtuous mind, and not commiserate it?” + +“Not pity my child!” said Hippolita, catching Matilda in her arms—“Oh! I +know she is good, she is all virtue, all tenderness, and duty. I do +forgive thee, my excellent, my only hope!” + +The princesses then revealed to Hippolita their mutual inclination for +Theodore, and the purpose of Isabella to resign him to Matilda. +Hippolita blamed their imprudence, and showed them the improbability that +either father would consent to bestow his heiress on so poor a man, +though nobly born. Some comfort it gave her to find their passion of so +recent a date, and that Theodore had had but little cause to suspect it +in either. She strictly enjoined them to avoid all correspondence with +him. This Matilda fervently promised: but Isabella, who flattered +herself that she meant no more than to promote his union with her friend, +could not determine to avoid him; and made no reply. + +“I will go to the convent,” said Hippolita, “and order new masses to be +said for a deliverance from these calamities.” + +“Oh! my mother,” said Matilda, “you mean to quit us: you mean to take +sanctuary, and to give my father an opportunity of pursuing his fatal +intention. Alas! on my knees I supplicate you to forbear; will you leave +me a prey to Frederic? I will follow you to the convent.” + +“Be at peace, my child,” said Hippolita: “I will return instantly. I +will never abandon thee, until I know it is the will of heaven, and for +thy benefit.” + +“Do not deceive me,” said Matilda. “I will not marry Frederic until thou +commandest it. Alas! what will become of me?” + +“Why that exclamation?” said Hippolita. “I have promised thee to +return—” + +“Ah! my mother,” replied Matilda, “stay and save me from myself. A frown +from thee can do more than all my father’s severity. I have given away +my heart, and you alone can make me recall it.” + +“No more,” said Hippolita; “thou must not relapse, Matilda.” + +“I can quit Theodore,” said she, “but must I wed another? let me attend +thee to the altar, and shut myself from the world for ever.” + +“Thy fate depends on thy father,” said Hippolita; “I have ill-bestowed my +tenderness, if it has taught thee to revere aught beyond him. Adieu! my +child: I go to pray for thee.” + +Hippolita’s real purpose was to demand of Jerome, whether in conscience +she might not consent to the divorce. She had oft urged Manfred to +resign the principality, which the delicacy of her conscience rendered an +hourly burthen to her. These scruples concurred to make the separation +from her husband appear less dreadful to her than it would have seemed in +any other situation. + +Jerome, at quitting the castle overnight, had questioned Theodore +severely why he had accused him to Manfred of being privy to his escape. +Theodore owned it had been with design to prevent Manfred’s suspicion +from alighting on Matilda; and added, the holiness of Jerome’s life and +character secured him from the tyrant’s wrath. Jerome was heartily +grieved to discover his son’s inclination for that princess; and leaving +him to his rest, promised in the morning to acquaint him with important +reasons for conquering his passion. + +Theodore, like Isabella, was too recently acquainted with parental +authority to submit to its decisions against the impulse of his heart. +He had little curiosity to learn the Friar’s reasons, and less +disposition to obey them. The lovely Matilda had made stronger +impressions on him than filial affection. All night he pleased himself +with visions of love; and it was not till late after the morning-office, +that he recollected the Friar’s commands to attend him at Alfonso’s tomb. + +“Young man,” said Jerome, when he saw him, “this tardiness does not +please me. Have a father’s commands already so little weight?” + +Theodore made awkward excuses, and attributed his delay to having +overslept himself. + +“And on whom were thy dreams employed?” said the Friar sternly. His son +blushed. “Come, come,” resumed the Friar, “inconsiderate youth, this +must not be; eradicate this guilty passion from thy breast—” + +“Guilty passion!” cried Theodore: “Can guilt dwell with innocent beauty +and virtuous modesty?” + +“It is sinful,” replied the Friar, “to cherish those whom heaven has +doomed to destruction. A tyrant’s race must be swept from the earth to +the third and fourth generation.” + +“Will heaven visit the innocent for the crimes of the guilty?” said +Theodore. “The fair Matilda has virtues enough—” + +“To undo thee:” interrupted Jerome. “Hast thou so soon forgotten that +twice the savage Manfred has pronounced thy sentence?” + +“Nor have I forgotten, sir,” said Theodore, “that the charity of his +daughter delivered me from his power. I can forget injuries, but never +benefits.” + +“The injuries thou hast received from Manfred’s race,” said the Friar, +“are beyond what thou canst conceive. Reply not, but view this holy +image! Beneath this marble monument rest the ashes of the good Alfonso; +a prince adorned with every virtue: the father of his people! the delight +of mankind! Kneel, headstrong boy, and list, while a father unfolds a +tale of horror that will expel every sentiment from thy soul, but +sensations of sacred vengeance—Alfonso! much injured prince! let thy +unsatisfied shade sit awful on the troubled air, while these trembling +lips—Ha! who comes there?—” + +“The most wretched of women!” said Hippolita, entering the choir. “Good +Father, art thou at leisure?—but why this kneeling youth? what means the +horror imprinted on each countenance? why at this venerable tomb—alas! +hast thou seen aught?” + +“We were pouring forth our orisons to heaven,” replied the Friar, with +some confusion, “to put an end to the woes of this deplorable province. +Join with us, Lady! thy spotless soul may obtain an exemption from the +judgments which the portents of these days but too speakingly denounce +against thy house.” + +“I pray fervently to heaven to divert them,” said the pious Princess. +“Thou knowest it has been the occupation of my life to wrest a blessing +for my Lord and my harmless children.—One alas! is taken from me! would +heaven but hear me for my poor Matilda! Father! intercede for her!” + +“Every heart will bless her,” cried Theodore with rapture. + +“Be dumb, rash youth!” said Jerome. “And thou, fond Princess, contend +not with the Powers above! the Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away: +bless His holy name, and submit to his decrees.” + +“I do most devoutly,” said Hippolita; “but will He not spare my only +comfort? must Matilda perish too?—ah! Father, I came—but dismiss thy +son. No ear but thine must hear what I have to utter.” + +“May heaven grant thy every wish, most excellent Princess!” said Theodore +retiring. Jerome frowned. + +Hippolita then acquainted the Friar with the proposal she had suggested +to Manfred, his approbation of it, and the tender of Matilda that he was +gone to make to Frederic. Jerome could not conceal his dislike of the +notion, which he covered under pretence of the improbability that +Frederic, the nearest of blood to Alfonso, and who was come to claim his +succession, would yield to an alliance with the usurper of his right. +But nothing could equal the perplexity of the Friar, when Hippolita +confessed her readiness not to oppose the separation, and demanded his +opinion on the legality of her acquiescence. The Friar caught eagerly at +her request of his advice, and without explaining his aversion to the +proposed marriage of Manfred and Isabella, he painted to Hippolita in the +most alarming colours the sinfulness of her consent, denounced judgments +against her if she complied, and enjoined her in the severest terms to +treat any such proposition with every mark of indignation and refusal. + +Manfred, in the meantime, had broken his purpose to Frederic, and +proposed the double marriage. That weak Prince, who had been struck with +the charms of Matilda, listened but too eagerly to the offer. He forgot +his enmity to Manfred, whom he saw but little hope of dispossessing by +force; and flattering himself that no issue might succeed from the union +of his daughter with the tyrant, he looked upon his own succession to the +principality as facilitated by wedding Matilda. He made faint opposition +to the proposal; affecting, for form only, not to acquiesce unless +Hippolita should consent to the divorce. Manfred took that upon himself. + +Transported with his success, and impatient to see himself in a situation +to expect sons, he hastened to his wife’s apartment, determined to extort +her compliance. He learned with indignation that she was absent at the +convent. His guilt suggested to him that she had probably been informed +by Isabella of his purpose. He doubted whether her retirement to the +convent did not import an intention of remaining there, until she could +raise obstacles to their divorce; and the suspicions he had already +entertained of Jerome, made him apprehend that the Friar would not only +traverse his views, but might have inspired Hippolita with the resolution +of taking sanctuary. Impatient to unravel this clue, and to defeat its +success, Manfred hastened to the convent, and arrived there as the Friar +was earnestly exhorting the Princess never to yield to the divorce. + +“Madam,” said Manfred, “what business drew you hither? why did you not +await my return from the Marquis?” + +“I came to implore a blessing on your councils,” replied Hippolita. + +“My councils do not need a Friar’s intervention,” said Manfred; “and of +all men living is that hoary traitor the only one whom you delight to +confer with?” + +“Profane Prince!” said Jerome; “is it at the altar that thou choosest to +insult the servants of the altar?—but, Manfred, thy impious schemes are +known. Heaven and this virtuous lady know them—nay, frown not, Prince. +The Church despises thy menaces. Her thunders will be heard above thy +wrath. Dare to proceed in thy cursed purpose of a divorce, until her +sentence be known, and here I lance her anathema at thy head.” + +“Audacious rebel!” said Manfred, endeavouring to conceal the awe with +which the Friar’s words inspired him. “Dost thou presume to threaten thy +lawful Prince?” + +“Thou art no lawful Prince,” said Jerome; “thou art no Prince—go, discuss +thy claim with Frederic; and when that is done—” + +“It is done,” replied Manfred; “Frederic accepts Matilda’s hand, and is +content to waive his claim, unless I have no male issue”—as he spoke +those words three drops of blood fell from the nose of Alfonso’s statue. +Manfred turned pale, and the Princess sank on her knees. + +“Behold!” said the Friar; “mark this miraculous indication that the blood +of Alfonso will never mix with that of Manfred!” + +“My gracious Lord,” said Hippolita, “let us submit ourselves to heaven. +Think not thy ever obedient wife rebels against thy authority. I have no +will but that of my Lord and the Church. To that revered tribunal let us +appeal. It does not depend on us to burst the bonds that unite us. If +the Church shall approve the dissolution of our marriage, be it so—I have +but few years, and those of sorrow, to pass. Where can they be worn away +so well as at the foot of this altar, in prayers for thine and Matilda’s +safety?” + +“But thou shalt not remain here until then,” said Manfred. “Repair with +me to the castle, and there I will advise on the proper measures for a +divorce;—but this meddling Friar comes not thither; my hospitable roof +shall never more harbour a traitor—and for thy Reverence’s offspring,” +continued he, “I banish him from my dominions. He, I ween, is no sacred +personage, nor under the protection of the Church. Whoever weds +Isabella, it shall not be Father Falconara’s started-up son.” + +“They start up,” said the Friar, “who are suddenly beheld in the seat of +lawful Princes; but they wither away like the grass, and their place +knows them no more.” + +Manfred, casting a look of scorn at the Friar, led Hippolita forth; but +at the door of the church whispered one of his attendants to remain +concealed about the convent, and bring him instant notice, if any one +from the castle should repair thither. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + + +Every reflection which Manfred made on the Friar’s behaviour, conspired +to persuade him that Jerome was privy to an amour between Isabella and +Theodore. But Jerome’s new presumption, so dissonant from his former +meekness, suggested still deeper apprehensions. The Prince even +suspected that the Friar depended on some secret support from Frederic, +whose arrival, coinciding with the novel appearance of Theodore, seemed +to bespeak a correspondence. Still more was he troubled with the +resemblance of Theodore to Alfonso’s portrait. The latter he knew had +unquestionably died without issue. Frederic had consented to bestow +Isabella on him. These contradictions agitated his mind with numberless +pangs. + +He saw but two methods of extricating himself from his difficulties. The +one was to resign his dominions to the Marquis—pride, ambition, and his +reliance on ancient prophecies, which had pointed out a possibility of +his preserving them to his posterity, combated that thought. The other +was to press his marriage with Isabella. After long ruminating on these +anxious thoughts, as he marched silently with Hippolita to the castle, he +at last discoursed with that Princess on the subject of his disquiet, and +used every insinuating and plausible argument to extract her consent to, +even her promise of promoting the divorce. Hippolita needed little +persuasions to bend her to his pleasure. She endeavoured to win him over +to the measure of resigning his dominions; but finding her exhortations +fruitless, she assured him, that as far as her conscience would allow, +she would raise no opposition to a separation, though without better +founded scruples than what he yet alleged, she would not engage to be +active in demanding it. + +This compliance, though inadequate, was sufficient to raise Manfred’s +hopes. He trusted that his power and wealth would easily advance his +suit at the court of Rome, whither he resolved to engage Frederic to take +a journey on purpose. That Prince had discovered so much passion for +Matilda, that Manfred hoped to obtain all he wished by holding out or +withdrawing his daughter’s charms, according as the Marquis should appear +more or less disposed to co-operate in his views. Even the absence of +Frederic would be a material point gained, until he could take further +measures for his security. + +Dismissing Hippolita to her apartment, he repaired to that of the +Marquis; but crossing the great hall through which he was to pass he met +Bianca. The damsel he knew was in the confidence of both the young +ladies. It immediately occurred to him to sift her on the subject of +Isabella and Theodore. Calling her aside into the recess of the oriel +window of the hall, and soothing her with many fair words and promises, +he demanded of her whether she knew aught of the state of Isabella’s +affections. + +“I! my Lord! no my Lord—yes my Lord—poor Lady! she is wonderfully alarmed +about her father’s wounds; but I tell her he will do well; don’t your +Highness think so?” + +“I do not ask you,” replied Manfred, “what she thinks about her father; +but you are in her secrets. Come, be a good girl and tell me; is there +any young man—ha!—you understand me.” + +“Lord bless me! understand your Highness? no, not I. I told her a few +vulnerary herbs and repose—” + +“I am not talking,” replied the Prince, impatiently, “about her father; I +know he will do well.” + +“Bless me, I rejoice to hear your Highness say so; for though I thought +it not right to let my young Lady despond, methought his greatness had a +wan look, and a something—I remember when young Ferdinand was wounded by +the Venetian—” + +“Thou answerest from the point,” interrupted Manfred; “but here, take +this jewel, perhaps that may fix thy attention—nay, no reverences; my +favour shall not stop here—come, tell me truly; how stands Isabella’s +heart?” + +“Well! your Highness has such a way!” said Bianca, “to be sure—but can +your Highness keep a secret? if it should ever come out of your lips—” + +“It shall not, it shall not,” cried Manfred. + +“Nay, but swear, your Highness.” + +“By my halidame, if it should ever be known that I said it—” + +“Why, truth is truth, I do not think my Lady Isabella ever much +affectioned my young Lord your son; yet he was a sweet youth as one +should see; I am sure, if I had been a Princess—but bless me! I must +attend my Lady Matilda; she will marvel what is become of me.” + +“Stay,” cried Manfred; “thou hast not satisfied my question. Hast thou +ever carried any message, any letter?” + +“I! good gracious!” cried Bianca; “I carry a letter? I would not to be a +Queen. I hope your Highness thinks, though I am poor, I am honest. Did +your Highness never hear what Count Marsigli offered me, when he came a +wooing to my Lady Matilda?” + +“I have not leisure,” said Manfred, “to listen to thy tale. I do not +question thy honesty. But it is thy duty to conceal nothing from me. +How long has Isabella been acquainted with Theodore?” + +“Nay, there is nothing can escape your Highness!” said Bianca; “not that +I know any thing of the matter. Theodore, to be sure, is a proper young +man, and, as my Lady Matilda says, the very image of good Alfonso. Has +not your Highness remarked it?” + +“Yes, yes,—No—thou torturest me,” said Manfred. “Where did they meet? +when?” + +“Who! my Lady Matilda?” said Bianca. + +“No, no, not Matilda: Isabella; when did Isabella first become acquainted +with this Theodore!” + +“Virgin Mary!” said Bianca, “how should I know?” + +“Thou dost know,” said Manfred; “and I must know; I will—” + +“Lord! your Highness is not jealous of young Theodore!” said Bianca. + +“Jealous! no, no. Why should I be jealous? perhaps I mean to unite +them—If I were sure Isabella would have no repugnance.” + +“Repugnance! no, I’ll warrant her,” said Bianca; “he is as comely a youth +as ever trod on Christian ground. We are all in love with him; there is +not a soul in the castle but would be rejoiced to have him for our +Prince—I mean, when it shall please heaven to call your Highness to +itself.” + +“Indeed!” said Manfred, “has it gone so far! oh! this cursed Friar!—but I +must not lose time—go, Bianca, attend Isabella; but I charge thee, not a +word of what has passed. Find out how she is affected towards Theodore; +bring me good news, and that ring has a companion. Wait at the foot of +the winding staircase: I am going to visit the Marquis, and will talk +further with thee at my return.” + +Manfred, after some general conversation, desired Frederic to dismiss the +two Knights, his companions, having to talk with him on urgent affairs. + +As soon as they were alone, he began in artful guise to sound the Marquis +on the subject of Matilda; and finding him disposed to his wish, he let +drop hints on the difficulties that would attend the celebration of their +marriage, unless—At that instant Bianca burst into the room with a +wildness in her look and gestures that spoke the utmost terror. + +“Oh! my Lord, my Lord!” cried she; “we are all undone! it is come again! +it is come again!” + +“What is come again?” cried Manfred amazed. + +“Oh! the hand! the Giant! the hand!—support me! I am terrified out of my +senses,” cried Bianca. “I will not sleep in the castle to-night. Where +shall I go? my things may come after me to-morrow—would I had been +content to wed Francesco! this comes of ambition!” + +“What has terrified thee thus, young woman?” said the Marquis. “Thou art +safe here; be not alarmed.” + +“Oh! your Greatness is wonderfully good,” said Bianca, “but I dare +not—no, pray let me go—I had rather leave everything behind me, than stay +another hour under this roof.” + +“Go to, thou hast lost thy senses,” said Manfred. “Interrupt us not; we +were communing on important matters—My Lord, this wench is subject to +fits—Come with me, Bianca.” + +“Oh! the Saints! No,” said Bianca, “for certain it comes to warn your +Highness; why should it appear to me else? I say my prayers morning and +evening—oh! if your Highness had believed Diego! ’Tis the same hand that +he saw the foot to in the gallery-chamber—Father Jerome has often told us +the prophecy would be out one of these days—‘Bianca,’ said he, ‘mark my +words—’” + +“Thou ravest,” said Manfred, in a rage; “be gone, and keep these +fooleries to frighten thy companions.” + +“What! my Lord,” cried Bianca, “do you think I have seen nothing? go to +the foot of the great stairs yourself—as I live I saw it.” + +“Saw what? tell us, fair maid, what thou hast seen,” said Frederic. + +“Can your Highness listen,” said Manfred, “to the delirium of a silly +wench, who has heard stories of apparitions until she believes them?” + +“This is more than fancy,” said the Marquis; “her terror is too natural +and too strongly impressed to be the work of imagination. Tell us, fair +maiden, what it is has moved thee thus?” + +“Yes, my Lord, thank your Greatness,” said Bianca; “I believe I look very +pale; I shall be better when I have recovered myself—I was going to my +Lady Isabella’s chamber, by his Highness’s order—” + +“We do not want the circumstances,” interrupted Manfred. “Since his +Highness will have it so, proceed; but be brief.” + +“Lord! your Highness thwarts one so!” replied Bianca; “I fear my hair—I +am sure I never in my life—well! as I was telling your Greatness, I was +going by his Highness’s order to my Lady Isabella’s chamber; she lies in +the watchet-coloured chamber, on the right hand, one pair of stairs: so +when I came to the great stairs—I was looking on his Highness’s present +here—” + +“Grant me patience!” said Manfred, “will this wench never come to the +point? what imports it to the Marquis, that I gave thee a bauble for thy +faithful attendance on my daughter? we want to know what thou sawest.” + +“I was going to tell your Highness,” said Bianca, “if you would permit +me. So as I was rubbing the ring—I am sure I had not gone up three +steps, but I heard the rattling of armour; for all the world such a +clatter as Diego says he heard when the Giant turned him about in the +gallery-chamber.” + +“What Giant is this, my Lord?” said the Marquis; “is your castle haunted +by giants and goblins?” + +“Lord! what, has not your Greatness heard the story of the Giant in the +gallery-chamber?” cried Bianca. “I marvel his Highness has not told you; +mayhap you do not know there is a prophecy—” + +“This trifling is intolerable,” interrupted Manfred. “Let us dismiss +this silly wench, my Lord! we have more important affairs to discuss.” + +“By your favour,” said Frederic, “these are no trifles. The enormous +sabre I was directed to in the wood, yon casque, its fellow—are these +visions of this poor maiden’s brain?” + +“So Jaquez thinks, may it please your Greatness,” said Bianca. “He says +this moon will not be out without our seeing some strange revolution. +For my part, I should not be surprised if it was to happen to-morrow; +for, as I was saying, when I heard the clattering of armour, I was all in +a cold sweat. I looked up, and, if your Greatness will believe me, I saw +upon the uppermost banister of the great stairs a hand in armour as big +as big. I thought I should have swooned. I never stopped until I came +hither—would I were well out of this castle. My Lady Matilda told me but +yester-morning that her Highness Hippolita knows something.” + +“Thou art an insolent!” cried Manfred. “Lord Marquis, it much misgives +me that this scene is concerted to affront me. Are my own domestics +suborned to spread tales injurious to my honour? Pursue your claim by +manly daring; or let us bury our feuds, as was proposed, by the +intermarriage of our children. But trust me, it ill becomes a Prince of +your bearing to practise on mercenary wenches.” + +“I scorn your imputation,” said Frederic. “Until this hour I never set +eyes on this damsel: I have given her no jewel. My Lord, my Lord, your +conscience, your guilt accuses you, and would throw the suspicion on me; +but keep your daughter, and think no more of Isabella. The judgments +already fallen on your house forbid me matching into it.” + +Manfred, alarmed at the resolute tone in which Frederic delivered these +words, endeavoured to pacify him. Dismissing Bianca, he made such +submissions to the Marquis, and threw in such artful encomiums on +Matilda, that Frederic was once more staggered. However, as his passion +was of so recent a date, it could not at once surmount the scruples he +had conceived. He had gathered enough from Bianca’s discourse to +persuade him that heaven declared itself against Manfred. The proposed +marriages too removed his claim to a distance; and the principality of +Otranto was a stronger temptation than the contingent reversion of it +with Matilda. Still he would not absolutely recede from his engagements; +but purposing to gain time, he demanded of Manfred if it was true in fact +that Hippolita consented to the divorce. The Prince, transported to find +no other obstacle, and depending on his influence over his wife, assured +the Marquis it was so, and that he might satisfy himself of the truth +from her own mouth. + +As they were thus discoursing, word was brought that the banquet was +prepared. Manfred conducted Frederic to the great hall, where they were +received by Hippolita and the young Princesses. Manfred placed the +Marquis next to Matilda, and seated himself between his wife and +Isabella. Hippolita comported herself with an easy gravity; but the +young ladies were silent and melancholy. Manfred, who was determined to +pursue his point with the Marquis in the remainder of the evening, pushed +on the feast until it waxed late; affecting unrestrained gaiety, and +plying Frederic with repeated goblets of wine. The latter, more upon his +guard than Manfred wished, declined his frequent challenges, on pretence +of his late loss of blood; while the Prince, to raise his own disordered +spirits, and to counterfeit unconcern, indulged himself in plentiful +draughts, though not to the intoxication of his senses. + +The evening being far advanced, the banquet concluded. Manfred would +have withdrawn with Frederic; but the latter pleading weakness and want +of repose, retired to his chamber, gallantly telling the Prince that his +daughter should amuse his Highness until himself could attend him. +Manfred accepted the party, and to the no small grief of Isabella, +accompanied her to her apartment. Matilda waited on her mother to enjoy +the freshness of the evening on the ramparts of the castle. + +Soon as the company were dispersed their several ways, Frederic, quitting +his chamber, inquired if Hippolita was alone, and was told by one of her +attendants, who had not noticed her going forth, that at that hour she +generally withdrew to her oratory, where he probably would find her. The +Marquis, during the repast, had beheld Matilda with increase of passion. +He now wished to find Hippolita in the disposition her Lord had promised. +The portents that had alarmed him were forgotten in his desires. +Stealing softly and unobserved to the apartment of Hippolita, he entered +it with a resolution to encourage her acquiescence to the divorce, having +perceived that Manfred was resolved to make the possession of Isabella an +unalterable condition, before he would grant Matilda to his wishes. + +The Marquis was not surprised at the silence that reigned in the +Princess’s apartment. Concluding her, as he had been advertised, in her +oratory, he passed on. The door was ajar; the evening gloomy and +overcast. Pushing open the door gently, he saw a person kneeling before +the altar. As he approached nearer, it seemed not a woman, but one in a +long woollen weed, whose back was towards him. The person seemed +absorbed in prayer. The Marquis was about to return, when the figure, +rising, stood some moments fixed in meditation, without regarding him. +The Marquis, expecting the holy person to come forth, and meaning to +excuse his uncivil interruption, said, + +“Reverend Father, I sought the Lady Hippolita.” + +“Hippolita!” replied a hollow voice; “camest thou to this castle to seek +Hippolita?” and then the figure, turning slowly round, discovered to +Frederic the fleshless jaws and empty sockets of a skeleton, wrapt in a +hermit’s cowl. + +“Angels of grace protect me!” cried Frederic, recoiling. + +“Deserve their protection!” said the Spectre. Frederic, falling on his +knees, adjured the phantom to take pity on him. + +“Dost thou not remember me?” said the apparition. “Remember the wood of +Joppa!” + +“Art thou that holy hermit?” cried Frederic, trembling. “Can I do aught +for thy eternal peace?” + +“Wast thou delivered from bondage,” said the spectre, “to pursue carnal +delights? Hast thou forgotten the buried sabre, and the behest of Heaven +engraven on it?” + +“I have not, I have not,” said Frederic; “but say, blest spirit, what is +thy errand to me? What remains to be done?” + +“To forget Matilda!” said the apparition; and vanished. + +Frederic’s blood froze in his veins. For some minutes he remained +motionless. Then falling prostrate on his face before the altar, he +besought the intercession of every saint for pardon. A flood of tears +succeeded to this transport; and the image of the beauteous Matilda +rushing in spite of him on his thoughts, he lay on the ground in a +conflict of penitence and passion. Ere he could recover from this agony +of his spirits, the Princess Hippolita with a taper in her hand entered +the oratory alone. Seeing a man without motion on the floor, she gave a +shriek, concluding him dead. Her fright brought Frederic to himself. +Rising suddenly, his face bedewed with tears, he would have rushed from +her presence; but Hippolita stopping him, conjured him in the most +plaintive accents to explain the cause of his disorder, and by what +strange chance she had found him there in that posture. + +“Ah, virtuous Princess!” said the Marquis, penetrated with grief, and +stopped. + +“For the love of Heaven, my Lord,” said Hippolita, “disclose the cause of +this transport! What mean these doleful sounds, this alarming +exclamation on my name? What woes has heaven still in store for the +wretched Hippolita? Yet silent! By every pitying angel, I adjure thee, +noble Prince,” continued she, falling at his feet, “to disclose the +purport of what lies at thy heart. I see thou feelest for me; thou +feelest the sharp pangs that thou inflictest—speak, for pity! Does aught +thou knowest concern my child?” + +“I cannot speak,” cried Frederic, bursting from her. “Oh, Matilda!” + +Quitting the Princess thus abruptly, he hastened to his own apartment. +At the door of it he was accosted by Manfred, who flushed by wine and +love had come to seek him, and to propose to waste some hours of the +night in music and revelling. Frederic, offended at an invitation so +dissonant from the mood of his soul, pushed him rudely aside, and +entering his chamber, flung the door intemperately against Manfred, and +bolted it inwards. The haughty Prince, enraged at this unaccountable +behaviour, withdrew in a frame of mind capable of the most fatal +excesses. As he crossed the court, he was met by the domestic whom he +had planted at the convent as a spy on Jerome and Theodore. This man, +almost breathless with the haste he had made, informed his Lord that +Theodore, and some lady from the castle were, at that instant, in private +conference at the tomb of Alfonso in St. Nicholas’s church. He had +dogged Theodore thither, but the gloominess of the night had prevented +his discovering who the woman was. + +Manfred, whose spirits were inflamed, and whom Isabella had driven from +her on his urging his passion with too little reserve, did not doubt but +the inquietude she had expressed had been occasioned by her impatience to +meet Theodore. Provoked by this conjecture, and enraged at her father, +he hastened secretly to the great church. Gliding softly between the +aisles, and guided by an imperfect gleam of moonshine that shone faintly +through the illuminated windows, he stole towards the tomb of Alfonso, to +which he was directed by indistinct whispers of the persons he sought. +The first sounds he could distinguish were— + +“Does it, alas! depend on me? Manfred will never permit our union.” + +“No, this shall prevent it!” cried the tyrant, drawing his dagger, and +plunging it over her shoulder into the bosom of the person that spoke. + +“Ah, me, I am slain!” cried Matilda, sinking. “Good heaven, receive my +soul!” + +“Savage, inhuman monster, what hast thou done!” cried Theodore, rushing +on him, and wrenching his dagger from him. + +“Stop, stop thy impious hand!” cried Matilda; “it is my father!” + +Manfred, waking as from a trance, beat his breast, twisted his hands in +his locks, and endeavoured to recover his dagger from Theodore to +despatch himself. Theodore, scarce less distracted, and only mastering +the transports of his grief to assist Matilda, had now by his cries drawn +some of the monks to his aid. While part of them endeavoured, in concert +with the afflicted Theodore, to stop the blood of the dying Princess, the +rest prevented Manfred from laying violent hands on himself. + +Matilda, resigning herself patiently to her fate, acknowledged with looks +of grateful love the zeal of Theodore. Yet oft as her faintness would +permit her speech its way, she begged the assistants to comfort her +father. Jerome, by this time, had learnt the fatal news, and reached the +church. His looks seemed to reproach Theodore, but turning to Manfred, +he said, + +“Now, tyrant! behold the completion of woe fulfilled on thy impious and +devoted head! The blood of Alfonso cried to heaven for vengeance; and +heaven has permitted its altar to be polluted by assassination, that thou +mightest shed thy own blood at the foot of that Prince’s sepulchre!” + +“Cruel man!” cried Matilda, “to aggravate the woes of a parent; may +heaven bless my father, and forgive him as I do! My Lord, my gracious +Sire, dost thou forgive thy child? Indeed, I came not hither to meet +Theodore. I found him praying at this tomb, whither my mother sent me to +intercede for thee, for her—dearest father, bless your child, and say you +forgive her.” + +“Forgive thee! Murderous monster!” cried Manfred, “can assassins +forgive? I took thee for Isabella; but heaven directed my bloody hand to +the heart of my child. Oh, Matilda!—I cannot utter it—canst thou forgive +the blindness of my rage?” + +“I can, I do; and may heaven confirm it!” said Matilda; “but while I have +life to ask it—oh! my mother! what will she feel? Will you comfort her, +my Lord? Will you not put her away? Indeed she loves you! Oh, I am +faint! bear me to the castle. Can I live to have her close my eyes?” + +Theodore and the monks besought her earnestly to suffer herself to be +borne into the convent; but her instances were so pressing to be carried +to the castle, that placing her on a litter, they conveyed her thither as +she requested. Theodore, supporting her head with his arm, and hanging +over her in an agony of despairing love, still endeavoured to inspire her +with hopes of life. Jerome, on the other side, comforted her with +discourses of heaven, and holding a crucifix before her, which she bathed +with innocent tears, prepared her for her passage to immortality. +Manfred, plunged in the deepest affliction, followed the litter in +despair. + +Ere they reached the castle, Hippolita, informed of the dreadful +catastrophe, had flown to meet her murdered child; but when she saw the +afflicted procession, the mightiness of her grief deprived her of her +senses, and she fell lifeless to the earth in a swoon. Isabella and +Frederic, who attended her, were overwhelmed in almost equal sorrow. +Matilda alone seemed insensible to her own situation: every thought was +lost in tenderness for her mother. + +Ordering the litter to stop, as soon as Hippolita was brought to herself, +she asked for her father. He approached, unable to speak. Matilda, +seizing his hand and her mother’s, locked them in her own, and then +clasped them to her heart. Manfred could not support this act of +pathetic piety. He dashed himself on the ground, and cursed the day he +was born. Isabella, apprehensive that these struggles of passion were +more than Matilda could support, took upon herself to order Manfred to be +borne to his apartment, while she caused Matilda to be conveyed to the +nearest chamber. Hippolita, scarce more alive than her daughter, was +regardless of everything but her; but when the tender Isabella’s care +would have likewise removed her, while the surgeons examined Matilda’s +wound, she cried, + +“Remove me! never, never! I lived but in her, and will expire with her.” + +Matilda raised her eyes at her mother’s voice, but closed them again +without speaking. Her sinking pulse and the damp coldness of her hand +soon dispelled all hopes of recovery. Theodore followed the surgeons +into the outer chamber, and heard them pronounce the fatal sentence with +a transport equal to frenzy. + +“Since she cannot live mine,” cried he, “at least she shall be mine in +death! Father! Jerome! will you not join our hands?” cried he to the +Friar, who, with the Marquis, had accompanied the surgeons. + +“What means thy distracted rashness?” said Jerome. “Is this an hour for +marriage?” + +“It is, it is,” cried Theodore. “Alas! there is no other!” + +“Young man, thou art too unadvised,” said Frederic. “Dost thou think we +are to listen to thy fond transports in this hour of fate? What +pretensions hast thou to the Princess?” + +“Those of a Prince,” said Theodore; “of the sovereign of Otranto. This +reverend man, my father, has informed me who I am.” + +“Thou ravest,” said the Marquis. “There is no Prince of Otranto but +myself, now Manfred, by murder, by sacrilegious murder, has forfeited all +pretensions.” + +“My Lord,” said Jerome, assuming an air of command, “he tells you true. +It was not my purpose the secret should have been divulged so soon, but +fate presses onward to its work. What his hot-headed passion has +revealed, my tongue confirms. Know, Prince, that when Alfonso set sail +for the Holy Land—” + +“Is this a season for explanations?” cried Theodore. “Father, come and +unite me to the Princess; she shall be mine! In every other thing I will +dutifully obey you. My life! my adored Matilda!” continued Theodore, +rushing back into the inner chamber, “will you not be mine? Will you not +bless your—” + +Isabella made signs to him to be silent, apprehending the Princess was +near her end. + +“What, is she dead?” cried Theodore; “is it possible!” + +The violence of his exclamations brought Matilda to herself. Lifting up +her eyes, she looked round for her mother. + +“Life of my soul, I am here!” cried Hippolita; “think not I will quit +thee!” + +“Oh! you are too good,” said Matilda. “But weep not for me, my mother! +I am going where sorrow never dwells—Isabella, thou hast loved me; +wouldst thou not supply my fondness to this dear, dear woman? Indeed I +am faint!” + +“Oh! my child! my child!” said Hippolita in a flood of tears, “can I not +withhold thee a moment?” + +“It will not be,” said Matilda; “commend me to heaven—Where is my father? +forgive him, dearest mother—forgive him my death; it was an error. Oh! +I had forgotten—dearest mother, I vowed never to see Theodore +more—perhaps that has drawn down this calamity—but it was not +intentional—can you pardon me?” + +“Oh! wound not my agonising soul!” said Hippolita; “thou never couldst +offend me—Alas! she faints! help! help!” + +“I would say something more,” said Matilda, struggling, “but it cannot +be—Isabella—Theodore—for my sake—Oh!—” she expired. + +Isabella and her women tore Hippolita from the corse; but Theodore +threatened destruction to all who attempted to remove him from it. He +printed a thousand kisses on her clay-cold hands, and uttered every +expression that despairing love could dictate. + +Isabella, in the meantime, was accompanying the afflicted Hippolita to +her apartment; but, in the middle of the court, they were met by Manfred, +who, distracted with his own thoughts, and anxious once more to behold +his daughter, was advancing to the chamber where she lay. As the moon +was now at its height, he read in the countenances of this unhappy +company the event he dreaded. + +“What! is she dead?” cried he in wild confusion. A clap of thunder at +that instant shook the castle to its foundations; the earth rocked, and +the clank of more than mortal armour was heard behind. Frederic and +Jerome thought the last day was at hand. The latter, forcing Theodore +along with them, rushed into the court. The moment Theodore appeared, +the walls of the castle behind Manfred were thrown down with a mighty +force, and the form of Alfonso, dilated to an immense magnitude, appeared +in the centre of the ruins. + +“Behold in Theodore the true heir of Alfonso!” said the vision: And +having pronounced those words, accompanied by a clap of thunder, it +ascended solemnly towards heaven, where the clouds parting asunder, the +form of St. Nicholas was seen, and receiving Alfonso’s shade, they were +soon wrapt from mortal eyes in a blaze of glory. + +The beholders fell prostrate on their faces, acknowledging the divine +will. The first that broke silence was Hippolita. + +“My Lord,” said she to the desponding Manfred, “behold the vanity of +human greatness! Conrad is gone! Matilda is no more! In Theodore we +view the true Prince of Otranto. By what miracle he is so I know +not—suffice it to us, our doom is pronounced! shall we not, can we but +dedicate the few deplorable hours we have to live, in deprecating the +further wrath of heaven? heaven ejects us—whither can we fly, but to yon +holy cells that yet offer us a retreat.” + +“Thou guiltless but unhappy woman! unhappy by my crimes!” replied +Manfred, “my heart at last is open to thy devout admonitions. Oh! +could—but it cannot be—ye are lost in wonder—let me at last do justice on +myself! To heap shame on my own head is all the satisfaction I have left +to offer to offended heaven. My story has drawn down these judgments: +Let my confession atone—but, ah! what can atone for usurpation and a +murdered child? a child murdered in a consecrated place? List, sirs, and +may this bloody record be a warning to future tyrants!” + +“Alfonso, ye all know, died in the Holy Land—ye would interrupt me; ye +would say he came not fairly to his end—it is most true—why else this +bitter cup which Manfred must drink to the dregs. Ricardo, my +grandfather, was his chamberlain—I would draw a veil over my ancestor’s +crimes—but it is in vain! Alfonso died by poison. A fictitious will +declared Ricardo his heir. His crimes pursued him—yet he lost no Conrad, +no Matilda! I pay the price of usurpation for all! A storm overtook +him. Haunted by his guilt he vowed to St. Nicholas to found a church and +two convents, if he lived to reach Otranto. The sacrifice was accepted: +the saint appeared to him in a dream, and promised that Ricardo’s +posterity should reign in Otranto until the rightful owner should be +grown too large to inhabit the castle, and as long as issue male from +Ricardo’s loins should remain to enjoy it—alas! alas! nor male nor +female, except myself, remains of all his wretched race! I have done—the +woes of these three days speak the rest. How this young man can be +Alfonso’s heir I know not—yet I do not doubt it. His are these +dominions; I resign them—yet I knew not Alfonso had an heir—I question +not the will of heaven—poverty and prayer must fill up the woeful space, +until Manfred shall be summoned to Ricardo.” + +“What remains is my part to declare,” said Jerome. “When Alfonso set +sail for the Holy Land he was driven by a storm to the coast of Sicily. +The other vessel, which bore Ricardo and his train, as your Lordship must +have heard, was separated from him.” + +“It is most true,” said Manfred; “and the title you give me is more than +an outcast can claim—well! be it so—proceed.” + +Jerome blushed, and continued. “For three months Lord Alfonso was +wind-bound in Sicily. There he became enamoured of a fair virgin named +Victoria. He was too pious to tempt her to forbidden pleasures. They +were married. Yet deeming this amour incongruous with the holy vow of +arms by which he was bound, he determined to conceal their nuptials until +his return from the Crusade, when he purposed to seek and acknowledge her +for his lawful wife. He left her pregnant. During his absence she was +delivered of a daughter. But scarce had she felt a mother’s pangs ere +she heard the fatal rumour of her Lord’s death, and the succession of +Ricardo. What could a friendless, helpless woman do? Would her +testimony avail?—yet, my lord, I have an authentic writing—” + +“It needs not,” said Manfred; “the horrors of these days, the vision we +have but now seen, all corroborate thy evidence beyond a thousand +parchments. Matilda’s death and my expulsion—” + +“Be composed, my Lord,” said Hippolita; “this holy man did not mean to +recall your griefs.” Jerome proceeded. + +“I shall not dwell on what is needless. The daughter of which Victoria +was delivered, was at her maturity bestowed in marriage on me. Victoria +died; and the secret remained locked in my breast. Theodore’s narrative +has told the rest.” + +The Friar ceased. The disconsolate company retired to the remaining part +of the castle. In the morning Manfred signed his abdication of the +principality, with the approbation of Hippolita, and each took on them +the habit of religion in the neighbouring convents. Frederic offered his +daughter to the new Prince, which Hippolita’s tenderness for Isabella +concurred to promote. But Theodore’s grief was too fresh to admit the +thought of another love; and it was not until after frequent discourses +with Isabella of his dear Matilda, that he was persuaded he could know no +happiness but in the society of one with whom he could for ever indulge +the melancholy that had taken possession of his soul. + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CASTLE OF OTRANTO *** + +***** This file should be named 696-0.txt or 696-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/6/9/696/ + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the +United States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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