THE CASTLE OF OTRANTO

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 thou 
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 off-spring," 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
Back to the CONTENTS page

____________________________________________________________________
Back to Gothic Library
Sign Guestbook
My Home Grave
E-mail:Gothic_Library(at)geocities.com

---

Gothic Library hosted by geocities Get your own free 11 MB