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diff --git a/696-h/696-h.htm b/696-h/696-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..262e823 --- /dev/null +++ b/696-h/696-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,6112 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Castle of Otranto, by Horace Walpole</title> + +<style type="text/css"> + +body { margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; + text-align: justify; } + +h1, h2, h3, h4, h5 {text-align: center; font-style: normal; font-weight: +normal; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;} + +h1 {font-size: 300%; + margin-top: 0.6em; + margin-bottom: 0.6em; + letter-spacing: 0.12em; + word-spacing: 0.2em; + text-indent: 0em;} +h2 {font-size: 150%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} +h3 {font-size: 130%; margin-top: 1em;} +h4 {font-size: 120%;} +h5 {font-size: 110%;} + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always; margin-top: 4em;} + +p {text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-bottom: 0.25em; } + +p.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-size: 90%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + + .GutSmall { font-size: 0.7em; } + + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + img { border: none; } + div.gapspace { height: 0.8em; } + div.gapshortline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; margin-left:40%; border-top: 1px solid; } + + </style> +</head> +<body> + +<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold;'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Castle of Otranto, by Horace Walpole</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. 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. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The Castle of Otranto</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Horace Walpole</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Release Date: October 22, 1996 [eBook #696]<br /> +[Most recently updated: April 9, 2021]</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: David Price</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em;margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CASTLE OF OTRANTO ***</div> + +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">CASSELL’S NATIONAL LIBRARY</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall">(New Series)</span> +</p> +<div class="gapshortline"></div> +<h1>The<br /> +Castle of Otranto</h1> +<div class="gapspace"></div> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">BY</span><br +/> +HORACE WALPOLE. +</p> + +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p0b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Decorative graphic" +title= +"Decorative graphic" +src="images/p0s.jpg" /> +</a> +</p> + +<p style="text-align: center">CASSELL <span +class="GutSmall">AND</span> COMPANY, <span +class="smcap">Limited</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall"><i>LONDON</i></span><span +class="GutSmall">, </span><span +class="GutSmall"><i>PARIS</i></span><span class="GutSmall">, +</span><span class="GutSmall"><i>NEW YORK & +MELBOURNE</i></span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall">1901</span> +</p> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>INTRODUCTION</h2> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">Horace Walpole</span> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Horace Walpole produced <i>The Castle of Otranto</i> 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.” <i>The +Castle of Otranto</i> 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. +</p> + +<p style="text-align: right"> +H. M. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION.</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>naïveté</i> and +simplicity. In particular, the womanish terror and foibles of Bianca, in the +last chapter, conduce essentially towards advancing the catastrophe. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>SONNET TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE LADY MARY COKE.</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +The gentle maid, whose hapless tale<br /> + These melancholy pages speak;<br /> +Say, gracious lady, shall she fail<br /> + To draw the tear adown thy cheek?<br /> +<br /> +No; never was thy pitying breast<br /> + Insensible to human woes;<br /> +Tender, tho’ firm, it melts distrest<br /> + For weaknesses it never knows.<br /> +<br /> +Oh! guard the marvels I relate<br /> +Of fell ambition scourg’d by fate,<br /> + From reason’s peevish blame.<br /> +Blest with thy smile, my dauntless sail<br /> +I dare expand to Fancy’s gale,<br /> + For sure thy smiles are Fame. +</p> + +<p style="text-align: right"> +H. W. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER I.</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“What are ye doing?” cried Manfred, wrathfully; “where is my +son?” +</p> + +<p> +A volley of voices replied, “Oh! my Lord! the Prince! the Prince! the +helmet! the helmet!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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— +</p> + +<p> +“Villain! Monster! Sorcerer! ’tis thou hast done this! ’tis +thou hast slain my son!” +</p> + +<p> +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— +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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— +</p> + +<p> +“My dearest father, it is I, your daughter.” +</p> + +<p> +Manfred, stepping back hastily, cried, “Begone! I do not want a +daughter;” and flinging back abruptly, clapped the door against the +terrified Matilda. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“With me!” cried Isabella. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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— +</p> + +<p> +“Take away that light, and begone.” +</p> + +<p> +Then shutting the door impetuously, he flung himself upon a bench against the +wall, and bade Isabella sit by him. She obeyed trembling. +</p> + +<p> +“I sent for you, Lady,” said he—and then stopped under great +appearance of confusion. +</p> + +<p> +“My Lord!” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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—” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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— +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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— +</p> + +<p> +“Look, my Lord! see, Heaven itself declares against your impious +intentions!” +</p> + +<p> +“Heaven nor Hell shall impede my designs,” said Manfred, advancing +again to seize the Princess. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Isabella, whose back was turned to the picture, saw not the motion, nor knew +whence the sound came, but started, and said— +</p> + +<p> +“Hark, my Lord! What sound was that?” and at the same time made +towards the door. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Lead on!” cried Manfred; “I will follow thee to the gulf of +perdition.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +She shrieked, believing it the ghost of her betrothed Conrad. The figure, +advancing, said, in a submissive voice— +</p> + +<p> +“Be not alarmed, Lady; I will not injure you.” +</p> + +<p> +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— +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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—” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Generous youth,” said Isabella, “how shall I ever +requite—” +</p> + +<p> +As she uttered those words, a ray of moonshine, streaming through a cranny of +the ruin above, shone directly on the lock they sought. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +The stranger obeyed, and beneath appeared some stone steps descending into a +vault totally dark. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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—” +</p> + +<p> +The stranger was interrupted by a sudden noise of voices that seemed +approaching, and they soon distinguished these words— +</p> + +<p> +“Talk not to me of necromancers; I tell you she must be in the castle; I +will find her in spite of enchantment.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, heavens!” cried Isabella; “it is the voice of Manfred! +Make haste, or we are ruined! and shut the trap-door after you.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“It must be Isabella,” cried Manfred, before he entered the vault. +“She is escaping by the subterraneous passage, but she cannot have got +far.” +</p> + +<p> +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! +</p> + +<p> +“Traitor!” said Manfred; “how camest thou here? I thought +thee in durance above in the court.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am no traitor,” replied the young man boldly, “nor am I +answerable for your thoughts.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“There was my accomplice!” said the youth, smiling, and pointing to +the roof. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Was that the way by which thou didst descend?” said Manfred. +</p> + +<p> +“It was,” said the youth. +</p> + +<p> +“But what noise was that,” said Manfred, “which I heard as I +entered the cloister?” +</p> + +<p> +“A door clapped,” said the peasant; “I heard it as well as +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“What door?” said Manfred hastily. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“My Lord,” interrupted one of them officiously, “to be sure +it was the trap-door, and he was going to make his escape.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“My veracity is dearer to me than my life,” said the peasant; +“nor would I purchase the one by forfeiting the other.” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed, young philosopher!” said Manfred contemptuously; +“tell me, then, what was the noise I heard?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ask me what I can answer,” said he, “and put me to death +instantly if I tell you a lie.” +</p> + +<p> +Manfred, growing impatient at the steady valour and indifference of the youth, +cried— +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then, thou man of truth, answer! Was it the fall of the trap-door +that I heard?” +</p> + +<p> +“It was,” said the youth. +</p> + +<p> +“It was!” said the Prince; “and how didst thou come to know +there was a trap-door here?” +</p> + +<p> +“I saw the plate of brass by a gleam of moonshine,” replied he. +</p> + +<p> +“But what told thee it was a lock?” said Manfred. “How didst +thou discover the secret of opening it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Providence, that delivered me from the helmet, was able to direct me to +the spring of a lock,” said he. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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— +</p> + +<p> +“Where is my Lord? where is the Prince?” +</p> + +<p> +“Here I am,” said Manfred, as they came nearer; “have you +found the Princess?” +</p> + +<p> +The first that arrived, replied, “Oh, my Lord! I am glad we have found +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Found me!” said Manfred; “have you found the +Princess?” +</p> + +<p> +“We thought we had, my Lord,” said the fellow, looking terrified, +“but—” +</p> + +<p> +“But, what?” cried the Prince; “has she escaped?” +</p> + +<p> +“Jaquez and I, my Lord—” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I and Diego,” interrupted the second, who came up in still +greater consternation. +</p> + +<p> +“Speak one of you at a time,” said Manfred; “I ask you, where +is the Princess?” +</p> + +<p> +“We do not know,” said they both together; “but we are +frightened out of our wits.” +</p> + +<p> +“So I think, blockheads,” said Manfred; “what is it has +scared you thus?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! my Lord,” said Jaquez, “Diego has seen such a sight! +your Highness would not believe our eyes.” +</p> + +<p> +“What new absurdity is this?” cried Manfred; “give me a +direct answer, or, by Heaven—” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, my Lord, if it please your Highness to hear me,” said the +poor fellow, “Diego and I—” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I and Jaquez—” cried his comrade. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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—” +</p> + +<p> +“Sot!” cried Manfred in a rage; “is it only a ghost, then, +that thou hast seen?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! worse! worse! my Lord,” cried Diego: “I had rather have +seen ten whole ghosts.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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— +</p> + +<p> +“What is in the great chamber?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Were all the pictures in their places?” said Manfred. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, my Lord,” answered Jaquez; “but we did not think of +looking behind them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, well!” said Manfred; “proceed.” +</p> + +<p> +“When we came to the door of the great chamber,” continued Jaquez, +“we found it shut.” +</p> + +<p> +“And could not you open it?” said Manfred. +</p> + +<p> +“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—” +</p> + +<p> +“Trifle not,” said Manfred, shuddering, “but tell me what you +saw in the great chamber on opening the door.” +</p> + +<p> +“I, my Lord!” said Jaquez; “I was behind Diego; but I heard +the noise.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, pray do, my Lord,” cried all the servants at once, “or +we must leave your Highness’s service.” +</p> + +<p> +“Peace, dotards!” said Manfred, “and follow me; I will know +what all this means.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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— +</p> + +<p> +“Where is Isabella?” +</p> + +<p> +“Isabella! my Lord!” said the astonished Hippolita. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Isabella,” cried Manfred imperiously; “I want +Isabella.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me where she is,” said the Prince; “I do not want to +know where she has been.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Trouble me not with questions,” said Manfred, “but tell me +where she is.” +</p> + +<p> +“Matilda shall call her,” said the Princess. “Sit down, my +Lord, and resume your wonted fortitude.” +</p> + +<p> +“What, art thou jealous of Isabella?” replied he, “that you +wish to be present at our interview!” +</p> + +<p> +“Good heavens! my Lord,” said Hippolita, “what is it your +Highness means?” +</p> + +<p> +“Thou wilt know ere many minutes are passed,” said the cruel +Prince. “Send your chaplain to me, and wait my pleasure here.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER II.</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! Madam,” said Bianca, “all men use their wives so, when +they are weary of them.” +</p> + +<p> +“And yet you congratulated me but now,” said Matilda, “when +you fancied my father intended to dispose of me!” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is the wind,” said Matilda, “whistling through the +battlements in the tower above: you have heard it a thousand times.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank Heaven! I am in no such danger,” said Matilda: “you +know how many proposals for me he has rejected—” +</p> + +<p> +“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—” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! dear Madam,” cried Bianca, “what were they?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Matilda, “if a parent lets fall a word, and wishes +it recalled, it is not for a child to utter it.” +</p> + +<p> +“What! was she sorry for what she had said?” asked Bianca; “I +am sure, Madam, you may trust me—” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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—” +</p> + +<p> +“Blessed Mary!” said Bianca, starting, “there it is again! +Dear Madam, do you hear nothing? this castle is certainly haunted!” +</p> + +<p> +“Peace!” said Matilda, “and listen! I did think I heard a +voice—but it must be fancy: your terrors, I suppose, have infected +me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed! indeed! Madam,” said Bianca, half-weeping with agony, +“I am sure I heard a voice.” +</p> + +<p> +“Does anybody lie in the chamber beneath?” said the Princess. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I dare not, indeed, Madam,” said Bianca. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Is anybody below?” said the Princess; “if there is, +speak.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said an unknown voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Who is it?” said Matilda. +</p> + +<p> +“A stranger,” replied the voice. +</p> + +<p> +“What stranger?” said she; “and how didst thou come there at +this unusual hour, when all the gates of the castle are locked?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Lord, Madam! how little you know of love!” replied Bianca; +“why, lovers have no pleasure equal to talking of their mistress.” +</p> + +<p> +“And would you have <i>me</i> become a peasant’s confidante?” +said the Princess. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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—” +</p> + +<p> +“Speak quickly,” said Matilda; “the morning dawns apace: +should the labourers come into the fields and perceive us—What wouldst +thou ask?” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! no doubt,” said Matilda; “you are a very discreet +personage! May I know what <i>you</i> would have asked him?” +</p> + +<p> +“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—” +</p> + +<p> +“Have done with this rhapsody of impertinence,” said Matilda. +</p> + +<p> +“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—” +</p> + +<p> +“Dare not on thy duty,” said Matilda, “to breathe a suspicion +on the purity of my dear Isabella’s fame.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I told you, Madam,” said Bianca, “that I was sure he was +some Prince in disguise.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>me</i> to heaven in his prayers? Yes; +Isabella was undoubtedly convinced of his piety.” +</p> + +<p> +“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—” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Where?” said Matilda. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where is my mother?” said Matilda. +</p> + +<p> +“She is in her own chamber, Madam, and has asked for you.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Is your business with me or the Princess?” said Manfred. +</p> + +<p> +“With both,” replied the holy man. “The Lady +Isabella—” +</p> + +<p> +“What of her?” interrupted Manfred, eagerly. +</p> + +<p> +“Is at St. Nicholas’s altar,” replied Jerome. +</p> + +<p> +“That is no business of Hippolita,” said Manfred with confusion; +“let us retire to my chamber, Father, and inform me how she came +thither.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, on my soul,” said Hippolita; “does Isabella charge me +with being privy to it?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your Highness will recollect whether that can any longer be +proper,” replied the Friar. +</p> + +<p> +“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—” +</p> + +<p> +“The cause!” interrupted Jerome; “was a <i>young</i> man the +cause?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Cant not to me,” said Manfred, “but return and bring the +Princess to her duty.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am her parent,” cried Manfred, “and demand her.” +</p> + +<p> +“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—” +</p> + +<p> +“Stop! audacious man,” said Manfred, “and dread my +displeasure.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Excellent woman!” said the Friar. “My Lord, I attend your +pleasure.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“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—” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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— +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“And on this slight foundation, on a silly girl’s report,” +said Manfred, “thou didst hazard my displeasure?” +</p> + +<p> +“I fear no man’s displeasure,” said Theodore, “when a +woman in distress puts herself under my protection.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Heavens! Bianca,” said the Princess softly, “do I dream? or +is not that youth the exact resemblance of Alfonso’s picture in the +gallery?” +</p> + +<p> +She could say no more, for her father’s voice grew louder at every word. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then thou wilt not speak?” said Manfred. +</p> + +<p> +“I will not,” replied he. +</p> + +<p> +“Bear him away into the courtyard,” said Manfred; “I will see +his head this instant severed from his body.” +</p> + +<p> +Matilda fainted at hearing those words. Bianca shrieked, and cried—“Help! help! the Princess is dead!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“I can,” said Theodore; “I do.” +</p> + +<p> +“And does not this touch thee, cruel Prince?” said the Friar. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“Despatch!” said Manfred; “I am no more to be moved by the +whining of priests than by the shrieks of women.” +</p> + +<p> +“What!” said the youth; “is it possible that my fate could +have occasioned what I heard! Is the Princess then again in thy power?” +</p> + +<p> +“Thou dost but remember me of my wrath,” said Manfred. +“Prepare thee, for this moment is thy last.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Gracious heaven!” cried the holy man, starting; “what do I +see? It is my child! my Theodore!” +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Spare him! spare him!” cried the attendants; “for this good +man’s sake!” +</p> + +<p> +“Peace!” said Manfred, sternly. “I must know more ere I am +disposed to pardon. A Saint’s bastard may be no saint himself.” +</p> + +<p> +“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—” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“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: <i>my</i> +house, if fate so pleased, must perish—but the Count of +Falconara—” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Her soul has long been with the blessed,” said Theodore. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! my Lord,” said Jerome, “is my honesty the price I must +pay for this dear youth’s safety?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER III.</h2> + +<p> +Manfred’s heart misgave him when he beheld the plumage on the miraculous +casque shaken in concert with the sounding of the brazen trumpet. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Unhappy Prince that I am,” cried Manfred. “Holy Father! will +you not assist me with your prayers?” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“I acknowledge I have been too hasty,” said Manfred. “Father, +do you go to the wicket, and demand who is at the gate.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you grant me the life of Theodore?” replied the Friar. +</p> + +<p> +“I do,” said Manfred; “but inquire who is without!” +</p> + +<p> +Jerome, falling on the neck of his son, discharged a flood of tears, that spoke +the fulness of his soul. +</p> + +<p> +“You promised to go to the gate,” said Manfred. +</p> + +<p> +“I thought,” replied the Friar, “your Highness would excuse +my thanking you first in this tribute of my heart.” +</p> + +<p> +“Go, dearest Sir,” said Theodore; “obey the Prince. I do not +deserve that you should delay his satisfaction for me.” +</p> + +<p> +Jerome, inquiring who was without, was answered, “A Herald.” +</p> + +<p> +“From whom?” said he. +</p> + +<p> +“From the Knight of the Gigantic Sabre,” said the Herald; +“and I must speak with the usurper of Otranto.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Well! thou insolent!” said the Prince, “what wouldst thou +with me?” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“And where is this braggart who sends thee?” said Manfred. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +The Herald made three obeisances and retired. +</p> + +<p> +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— +</p> + +<p> +“Alas! brother, is it then true that we have lost our excellent Princess +Hippolita?” +</p> + +<p> +The holy man started, and cried, “What meanest thou, brother? I come this +instant from the castle, and left her in perfect health.” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“Good brother, thou dreamest,” said Jerome. “I tell thee I +come from the castle, and left the Princess well. Where is the Lady +Isabella?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“I know not,” said the Friar; “she wept much, and said she +would retire to her chamber.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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— +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +The principal Knight sighed and crossed himself, and was rising from the board. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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:— +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +The Knight nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“Receive her,” continued Manfred; “well, you are authorised +to receive her, but, gentle Knight, may I ask if you have full powers?” +</p> + +<p> +The Knight nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“’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.” +</p> + +<p> +The Knights discovered signs of surprise. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Sirs, fate has disposed of my son. Isabella is at liberty.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you then restore her?” cried the chief Knight, breaking +silence. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +The Knight made signs of ignorance, and seemed curious to have Manfred proceed. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +They shook their heads. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +The Knights gazed on each other, wondering where this would end. +</p> + +<p> +Manfred continued— +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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— +</p> + +<p> +“Thou traitor Prince! Isabella shall be found.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Alas! thou mistakest,” said Matilda, sighing: “I am +Manfred’s daughter, but no dangers await me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Amazement!” said Theodore; “but last night I blessed myself +for yielding thee the service thy gracious compassion so charitably returns me +now.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I run no risk,” said Matilda, “but by thy delay. Depart; it +cannot be known that I have assisted thy flight.” +</p> + +<p> +“Swear by the saints above,” said Theodore, “that thou canst +not be suspected; else here I vow to await whatever can befall me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! thou art too generous,” said Matilda; “but rest assured +that no suspicion can alight on me.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Forbear!” said the Princess; “this must not be.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Forbear, and be gone,” said Matilda. “How would Isabella +approve of seeing thee at my feet?” +</p> + +<p> +“Who is Isabella?” said the young man with surprise. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, me! I fear,” said the Princess, “I am serving a +deceitful one. Hast thou forgot thy curiosity this morning?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“What!” said Theodore, “was it another, and not thy lovely +self that I assisted to find the subterraneous passage?” +</p> + +<p> +“It was,” said Matilda; “but ask no more; I tremble to see +thee still abide here; fly to the sanctuary.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Rash youth!” said Matilda; “thou wouldst not dare to lift +thy presumptuous arm against the Prince of Otranto?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +A deep and hollow groan, which seemed to come from above, startled the Princess +and Theodore. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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— +</p> + +<p> +“Sure, I have heard that voice before!” +</p> + +<p> +“Not to my knowledge,” replied Theodore; “unless, as I +conjecture, thou art the Lady Isabella.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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—” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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— +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“And who art thou, who darest to cross my way?” said the Knight, +haughtily. +</p> + +<p> +“One who does not dare more than he will perform,” said Theodore. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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— +</p> + +<p> +“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—” +</p> + +<p> +“He is dying!” said one of the attendants; “has nobody a +crucifix about them? Andrea, do thou pray over him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Fetch some water,” said Theodore, “and pour it down his +throat, while I hasten to the Princess.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +The stranger, opening his eyes, and beholding a woman, said, “Art +thou—pray tell me truly—art thou Isabella of Vicenza?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am,” said she: “good heaven restore thee!” +</p> + +<p> +“Then thou—then thou”—said the Knight, struggling for +utterance—“seest—thy father. Give me one—” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“’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—” +</p> + +<p> +“Sir,” said Theodore, “do not exhaust yourself; suffer us to +convey you to the castle.” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER IV.</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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— +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“Where’er a casque that suits this sword is found,<br /> +With perils is thy daughter compass’d round;<br /> +<i>Alfonso’s</i> blood alone can save the maid,<br /> +And quiet a long restless Prince’s shade.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Your words are rude, young man,” said the Marquis; “and +though fortune has favoured you once—” +</p> + +<p> +“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—” +</p> + +<p> +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— +</p> + +<p> +“Ha! what art thou? thou dreadful spectre! is my hour come?” +</p> + +<p> +“My dearest, gracious Lord,” cried Hippolita, clasping him in her +arms, “what is it you see! Why do you fix your eye-balls thus?” +</p> + +<p> +“What!” cried Manfred breathless; “dost thou see nothing, +Hippolita? Is this ghastly phantom sent to me alone—to me, who did +not—” +</p> + +<p> +“For mercy’s sweetest self, my Lord,” said Hippolita, +“resume your soul, command your reason. There is none here, but us, your +friends.” +</p> + +<p> +“What, is not that Alfonso?” cried Manfred. “Dost thou not +see him? can it be my brain’s delirium?” +</p> + +<p> +“This! my Lord,” said Hippolita; “this is Theodore, the youth +who has been so unfortunate.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“I believe he went in search of Isabella,” said Hippolita. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“And would a parent be criminal, my Lord,” said Theodore, “if +he meditated the deliverance of his child?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“My Lord,” said Jerome eagerly. +</p> + +<p> +“Peace! impostor!” said Manfred; “I will not have him +prompted.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is most true,” said Jerome; “I am that wretched +father.” +</p> + +<p> +“Again I enjoin thee silence,” said Manfred: “proceed.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +He ceased. A murmur of approbation gently arose from the audience. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +This bitter taunt galled the soul of Manfred. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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— +</p> + +<p> +“Martelli brought word to the convent that your mother was dead.” +</p> + +<p> +“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—” +</p> + +<p> +“And what made you faint?” said Isabella, indifferent to the rest. +Matilda blushed and stammered— +</p> + +<p> +“My father—he was sitting in judgment on a criminal—” +</p> + +<p> +“What criminal?” said Isabella eagerly. +</p> + +<p> +“A young man,” said Matilda; “I believe—I think it was that young man that—” +</p> + +<p> +“What, Theodore?” said Isabella. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“What mean you?” said Matilda. +</p> + +<p> +“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? +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +During this contest of amity, Hippolita entered her daughter’s chamber. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +The princesses were all attention and anxiety. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Me to Lord Frederic!” cried Matilda; “good heavens! my +gracious mother—and have you named it to my father?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have,” said Hippolita; “he listened benignly to my +proposal, and is gone to break it to the Marquis.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! wretched princess!” cried Isabella; “what hast thou +done! what ruin has thy inadvertent goodness been preparing for thyself, for +me, and for Matilda!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ruin from me to you and to my child!” said Hippolita “what +can this mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“Alas!” said Isabella, “the purity of your own heart prevents +your seeing the depravity of others. Manfred, your lord, that impious +man—” +</p> + +<p> +“Hold,” said Hippolita; “you must not in my presence, young +lady, mention Manfred with disrespect: he is my lord and husband, +and—” +</p> + +<p> +“Will not long be so,” said Isabella, “if his wicked purposes +can be carried into execution.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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—” +</p> + +<p> +“To divorce me!” “To divorce my mother!” cried +Hippolita and Matilda at once. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Isabella; “and to complete his crime, he +meditates—I cannot speak it!” +</p> + +<p> +“What can surpass what thou hast already uttered?” said Matilda. +</p> + +<p> +Hippolita was silent. Grief choked her speech; and the recollection of +Manfred’s late ambiguous discourses confirmed what she heard. +</p> + +<p> +“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!—” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“But you are my mother too,” said Matilda fervently; “and you +are virtuous, you are guiltless!—Oh! must not I, must not I +complain?” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“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—” +</p> + +<p> +“Stop, I adjure thee,” cried Hippolita: “remember thou dost +not depend on thyself; thou hast a father.” +</p> + +<p> +“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”— +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! she is the mother of both!” cried Matilda: “can we, can +we, Isabella, adore her too much?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“What art thou going to utter?” said Isabella trembling. +“Recollect thyself, Matilda.” +</p> + +<p> +“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—” +</p> + +<p> +“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—” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“Isabella,” said Hippolita, “thou art conscious to this +unhappy secret, whatever it is. Speak!” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“Thou art too cruel,” said Isabella to Hippolita: “canst thou +behold this anguish of a virtuous mind, and not commiserate it?” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“I will go to the convent,” said Hippolita, “and order new +masses to be said for a deliverance from these calamities.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do not deceive me,” said Matilda. “I will not marry Frederic +until thou commandest it. Alas! what will become of me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why that exclamation?” said Hippolita. “I have promised thee +to return—” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“No more,” said Hippolita; “thou must not relapse, +Matilda.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Young man,” said Jerome, when he saw him, “this tardiness +does not please me. Have a father’s commands already so little +weight?” +</p> + +<p> +Theodore made awkward excuses, and attributed his delay to having overslept +himself. +</p> + +<p> +“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—” +</p> + +<p> +“Guilty passion!” cried Theodore: “Can guilt dwell with +innocent beauty and virtuous modesty?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Will heaven visit the innocent for the crimes of the guilty?” said +Theodore. “The fair Matilda has virtues enough—” +</p> + +<p> +“To undo thee:” interrupted Jerome. “Hast thou so soon +forgotten that twice the savage Manfred has pronounced thy sentence?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?—” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“Every heart will bless her,” cried Theodore with rapture. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“May heaven grant thy every wish, most excellent Princess!” said +Theodore retiring. Jerome frowned. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Madam,” said Manfred, “what business drew you hither? why +did you not await my return from the Marquis?” +</p> + +<p> +“I came to implore a blessing on your councils,” replied Hippolita. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Thou art no lawful Prince,” said Jerome; “thou art no +Prince—go, discuss thy claim with Frederic; and when that is +done—” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Behold!” said the Friar; “mark this miraculous indication +that the blood of Alfonso will never mix with that of Manfred!” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CHAPTER V.</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lord bless me! understand your Highness? no, not I. I told her a few +vulnerary herbs and repose—” +</p> + +<p> +“I am not talking,” replied the Prince, impatiently, “about +her father; I know he will do well.” +</p> + +<p> +“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—” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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—” +</p> + +<p> +“It shall not, it shall not,” cried Manfred. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, but swear, your Highness.” +</p> + +<p> +“By my halidame, if it should ever be known that I said it—” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Stay,” cried Manfred; “thou hast not satisfied my question. +Hast thou ever carried any message, any letter?” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes,—No—thou torturest me,” said Manfred. +“Where did they meet? when?” +</p> + +<p> +“Who! my Lady Matilda?” said Bianca. +</p> + +<p> +“No, no, not Matilda: Isabella; when did Isabella first become acquainted +with this Theodore!” +</p> + +<p> +“Virgin Mary!” said Bianca, “how should I know?” +</p> + +<p> +“Thou dost know,” said Manfred; “and I must know; I +will—” +</p> + +<p> +“Lord! your Highness is not jealous of young Theodore!” said +Bianca. +</p> + +<p> +“Jealous! no, no. Why should I be jealous? perhaps I mean to unite +them—If I were sure Isabella would have no repugnance.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Manfred, after some general conversation, desired Frederic to dismiss the two +Knights, his companions, having to talk with him on urgent affairs. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! my Lord, my Lord!” cried she; “we are all undone! it is +come again! it is come again!” +</p> + +<p> +“What is come again?” cried Manfred amazed. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“What has terrified thee thus, young woman?” said the Marquis. +“Thou art safe here; be not alarmed.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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—’” +</p> + +<p> +“Thou ravest,” said Manfred, in a rage; “be gone, and keep +these fooleries to frighten thy companions.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Saw what? tell us, fair maid, what thou hast seen,” said Frederic. +</p> + +<p> +“Can your Highness listen,” said Manfred, “to the delirium of +a silly wench, who has heard stories of apparitions until she believes +them?” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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—” +</p> + +<p> +“We do not want the circumstances,” interrupted Manfred. +“Since his Highness will have it so, proceed; but be brief.” +</p> + +<p> +“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—” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“What Giant is this, my Lord?” said the Marquis; “is your +castle haunted by giants and goblins?” +</p> + +<p> +“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—” +</p> + +<p> +“This trifling is intolerable,” interrupted Manfred. “Let us +dismiss this silly wench, my Lord! we have more important affairs to +discuss.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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, +</p> + +<p> +“Reverend Father, I sought the Lady Hippolita.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Angels of grace protect me!” cried Frederic, recoiling. +</p> + +<p> +“Deserve their protection!” said the Spectre. Frederic, falling on +his knees, adjured the phantom to take pity on him. +</p> + +<p> +“Dost thou not remember me?” said the apparition. “Remember +the wood of Joppa!” +</p> + +<p> +“Art thou that holy hermit?” cried Frederic, trembling. “Can +I do aught for thy eternal peace?” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have not, I have not,” said Frederic; “but say, blest +spirit, what is thy errand to me? What remains to be done?” +</p> + +<p> +“To forget Matilda!” said the apparition; and vanished. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, virtuous Princess!” said the Marquis, penetrated with grief, +and stopped. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot speak,” cried Frederic, bursting from her. “Oh, +Matilda!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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— +</p> + +<p> +“Does it, alas! depend on me? Manfred will never permit our union.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, me, I am slain!” cried Matilda, sinking. “Good heaven, +receive my soul!” +</p> + +<p> +“Savage, inhuman monster, what hast thou done!” cried Theodore, +rushing on him, and wrenching his dagger from him. +</p> + +<p> +“Stop, stop thy impious hand!” cried Matilda; “it is my +father!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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, +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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, +</p> + +<p> +“Remove me! never, never! I lived but in her, and will expire with +her.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“What means thy distracted rashness?” said Jerome. “Is this +an hour for marriage?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is, it is,” cried Theodore. “Alas! there is no +other!” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Those of a Prince,” said Theodore; “of the sovereign of +Otranto. This reverend man, my father, has informed me who I am.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thou ravest,” said the Marquis. “There is no Prince of +Otranto but myself, now Manfred, by murder, by sacrilegious murder, has +forfeited all pretensions.” +</p> + +<p> +“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—” +</p> + +<p> +“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—” +</p> + +<p> +Isabella made signs to him to be silent, apprehending the Princess was near her +end. +</p> + +<p> +“What, is she dead?” cried Theodore; “is it possible!” +</p> + +<p> +The violence of his exclamations brought Matilda to herself. Lifting up her +eyes, she looked round for her mother. +</p> + +<p> +“Life of my soul, I am here!” cried Hippolita; “think not I +will quit thee!” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! my child! my child!” said Hippolita in a flood of tears, +“can I not withhold thee a moment?” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! wound not my agonising soul!” said Hippolita; “thou +never couldst offend me—Alas! she faints! help! help!” +</p> + +<p> +“I would say something more,” said Matilda, struggling, “but +it cannot be—Isabella—Theodore—for my +sake—Oh!—” she expired. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +The beholders fell prostrate on their faces, acknowledging the divine will. The +first that broke silence was Hippolita. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is most true,” said Manfred; “and the title you give me +is more than an outcast can claim—well! be it so—proceed.” +</p> + +<p> +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—” +</p> + +<p> +“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—” +</p> + +<p> +“Be composed, my Lord,” said Hippolita; “this holy man did +not mean to recall your griefs.” Jerome proceeded. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div style='display:block;margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CASTLE OF OTRANTO ***</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0;'>This file should be named 696-h.htm or 696-h.zip</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0;'>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in https://www.gutenberg.org/6/9/696/</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +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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