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