CHAPTER I.
Manfred, Prince of Otranto, had one son and one daughter: the latter, amost beautiful virgin, aged eighteen, was called Matilda. Conrad, theson, was three years younger, a homely youth, sickly, and of no promisingdisposition; yet he was the darling of his father, who never showed anysymptoms of affection to Matilda. Manfred had contracted a marriage forhis son with the Marquis of Vicenza’s daughter, Isabella; and she hadalready been delivered by her guardians into the hands of Manfred, thathe might celebrate the wedding as soon as Conrad’s infirm state of healthwould permit.
Manfred’s impatience for this ceremonial was remarked by his family andneighbours. The former, indeed, apprehending the severity of theirPrince’s disposition, did not dare to utter their surmises on thisprecipitation. Hippolita, his wife, an amiable lady, did sometimesventure to represent the danger of marrying their only son so early,considering his great youth, and greater infirmities; but she neverreceived any other answer than reflections on her own sterility, who hadgiven him but one heir. His tenants and subjects were less cautious intheir discourses. They attributed this hasty wedding to the Prince’sdread of seeing accomplished an ancient prophecy, which was said to havepronounced that the castle and lordship of Otranto “should pass from thepresent family, whenever the real owner should be grown too large toinhabit it.” It was difficult to make any sense of this prophecy; andstill less easy to conceive what it had to do with the marriage inquestion. Yet these mysteries, or contradictions, did not make thepopulace adhere the less to their opinion.
Young Conrad’s birthday was fixed for his espousals. The company wasassembled in the chapel of the Castle, and everything ready for beginningthe divine office, when Conrad himself was missing. Manfred, impatientof the least delay, and who had not observed his son retire, despatchedone of his attendants to summon the young Prince. The servant, who hadnot stayed long enough to have crossed the court to Conrad’s apartment,came running back breathless, in a frantic manner, his eyes staring, andfoaming at the mouth. He said nothing, but pointed to the court.
The company were struck with terror and amazement. The PrincessHippolita, without knowing what was the matter, but anxious for her son,swooned away. Manfred, less apprehensive than enraged at theprocrastination of the nuptials, and at the folly of his domestic, askedimperiously what was the matter? The fellow made no answer, butcontinued pointing towards the courtyard; and at last, after repeatedquestions put to him, cried out, “Oh! the helmet! the helmet!”
In the meantime, some of the company had run into the court, from whencewas heard a confused noise of shrieks, horror, and surprise. Manfred,who began to be alarmed at not seeing his son, went himself to getinformation of what occasioned this strange confusion. Matilda remainedendeavouring to assist her mother, and Isabella stayed for the samepurpose, and to avoid showing any impatience for the bridegroom, forwhom, in truth, she had conceived little affection.
The first thing that struck Manfred’s eyes was a group of his servantsendeavouring to raise something that appeared to him a mountain of sableplumes. 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! thehelmet! the helmet!”
Shocked with these lamentable sounds, and dreading he knew not what, headvanced hastily,—but what a sight for a father’s eyes!—he beheld hischild dashed to pieces, and almost buried under an enormous helmet, anhundred times more large than any casque ever made for human being, andshaded with a proportionable quantity of black feathers.
The horror of the spectacle, the ignorance of all around how thismisfortune had happened, and above all, the tremendous phenomenon beforehim, took away the Prince’s speech. Yet his silence lasted longer thaneven grief could occasion. He fixed his eyes on what he wished in vainto believe a vision; and seemed less attentive to his loss, than buriedin meditation on the stupendous object that had occasioned it. Hetouched, he examined the fatal casque; nor could even the bleedingmangled remains of the young Prince divert the eyes of Manfred from theportent before him.
All who had known his partial fondness for young Conrad, were as muchsurprised at their Prince’s insensibility, as thunderstruck themselves atthe miracle of the helmet. They conveyed the disfigured corpse into thehall, without receiving the least direction from Manfred. As little washe attentive to the ladies who remained in the chapel. On the contrary,without mentioning the unhappy princesses, his wife and daughter, thefirst sounds that dropped from Manfred’s lips were, “Take care of theLady Isabella.”
The domestics, without observing the singularity of this direction, wereguided by their affection to their mistress, to consider it as peculiarlyaddressed to her situation, and flew to her assistance. They conveyedher to her chamber more dead than alive, and indifferent to all thestrange 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 whoreturned that tenderness with equal duty and affection, was scarce lessassiduous about the Princess; at the same time endeavouring to partakeand lessen the weight of sorrow which she saw Matilda strove to suppress,for whom she had conceived the warmest sympathy of friendship. Yet herown situation could not help finding its place in her thoughts. She feltno concern for the death of young Conrad, except commiseration; and shewas not sorry to be delivered from a marriage which had promised herlittle felicity, either from her destined bridegroom, or from the severetemper of Manfred, who, though he had distinguished her by greatindulgence, had imprinted her mind with terror, from his causeless rigourto such amiable princesses as Hippolita and Matilda.
While the ladies were conveying the wretched mother to her bed, Manfredremained in the court, gazing on the ominous casque, and regardless ofthe crowd which the strangeness of the event had now assembled aroundhim. The few words he articulated, tended solely to inquiries, whetherany man knew from whence it could have come? Nobody could give him theleast information. However, as it seemed to be the sole object of hiscuriosity, it soon became so to the rest of the spectators, whoseconjectures were as absurd and improbable, as the catastrophe itself wasunprecedented. In the midst of their senseless guesses, a young peasant,whom rumour had drawn thither from a neighbouring village, observed thatthe miraculous helmet was exactly like that on the figure in black marbleof Alfonso the Good, one of their former princes, in the church of St.Nicholas.
“Villain! What sayest thou?” cried Manfred, starting from his trance ina tempest of rage, and seizing the young man by the collar; “how darestthou utter such treason? Thy life shall pay for it.”
The spectators, who as little comprehended the cause of the Prince’s furyas all the rest they had seen, were at a loss to unravel this newcircumstance. The young peasant himself was still more astonished, notconceiving how he had offended the Prince. Yet recollecting himself,with a mixture of grace and humility, he disengaged himself fromManfred’s grip, and then with an obeisance, which discovered morejealousy of innocence than dismay, he asked, with respect, of what he wasguilty? Manfred, more enraged at the vigour, however decently exerted,with which the young man had shaken off his hold, than appeased by hissubmission, ordered his attendants to seize him, and, if he had not beenwithheld by his friends whom he had invited to the nuptials, would havepoignarded the peasant in their arms.
During this altercation, some of the vulgar spectators had run to thegreat church, which stood near the castle, and came back open-mouthed,declaring that the helmet was missing from Alfonso’s statue. Manfred, atthis news, grew perfectly frantic; and, as if he sought a subject onwhich to vent the tempest within him, he rushed again on the youngpeasant, crying—
“Villain! Monster! Sorcerer! ’tis thou hast done this! ’tis thou hastslain my son!”
r /> The mob, who wanted some object within the scope of their capacities, onwhom they might discharge their bewildered reasoning, caught the wordsfrom the mouth of their lord, and re-echoed—
“Ay, ay; ’tis he, ’tis he: he has stolen the helmet from good Alfonso’stomb, and dashed out the brains of our young Prince with it,” neverreflecting how enormous the disproportion was between the marble helmetthat had been in the church, and that of steel before their eyes; nor howimpossible it was for a youth seemingly not twenty, to wield a piece ofarmour of so prodigious a weight.
The folly of these ejaculations brought Manfred to himself: yet whetherprovoked at the peasant having observed the resemblance between the twohelmets, and thereby led to the farther discovery of the absence of thatin the church, or wishing to bury any such rumour under so impertinent asupposition, he gravely pronounced that the young man was certainly anecromancer, and that till the Church could take cognisance of theaffair, he would have the Magician, whom they had thus detected, keptprisoner under the helmet itself, which he ordered his attendants toraise, and place the young man under it; declaring he should be keptthere without food, with which his own infernal art might furnish him.
It was in vain for the youth to represent against this preposteroussentence: in vain did Manfred’s friends endeavour to divert him from thissavage and ill-grounded resolution. The generality were charmed withtheir lord’s decision, which, to their apprehensions, carried greatappearance of justice, as the Magician was to be punished by the veryinstrument with which he had offended: nor were they struck with theleast compunction at the probability of the youth being starved, for theyfirmly believed that, by his diabolic skill, he could easily supplyhimself with nutriment.
Manfred thus saw his commands even cheerfully obeyed; and appointing aguard with strict orders to prevent any food being conveyed to theprisoner, he dismissed his friends and attendants, and retired to his ownchamber, after locking the gates of the castle, in which he suffered nonebut his domestics to remain.
In the meantime, the care and zeal of the young Ladies had brought thePrincess Hippolita to herself, who amidst the transports of her ownsorrow frequently demanded news of her lord, would have dismissed herattendants to watch over him, and at last enjoined Matilda to leave her,and visit and comfort her father. Matilda, who wanted no affectionateduty to Manfred, though she trembled at his austerity, obeyed the ordersof Hippolita, whom she tenderly recommended to Isabella; and inquiring ofthe domestics for her father, was informed that he was retired to hischamber, 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; yetsolicitude for him, backed by the commands of her mother, encouraged herto venture disobeying the orders he had given; a fault she had never beenguilty of before.
The gentle timidity of her nature made her pause for some minutes at hisdoor. She heard him traverse his chamber backwards, and forwards withdisordered steps; a mood which increased her apprehensions. She was,however, just going to beg admittance, when Manfred suddenly opened thedoor; and as it was now twilight, concurring with the disorder of hismind, 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 adaughter;” and flinging back abruptly, clapped the door against theterrified Matilda.
She was too well acquainted with her father’s impetuosity to venture asecond intrusion. When she had a little recovered the shock of so bittera reception, she wiped away her tears to prevent the additional stab thatthe knowledge of it would give to Hippolita, who questioned her in themost anxious terms on the health of Manfred, and how he bore his loss.Matilda assured her he was well, and supported his misfortune with manlyfortitude.
“But will he not let me see him?” said Hippolita mournfully; “will he notpermit me to blend my tears with his, and shed a mother’s sorrows in thebosom of her Lord? Or do you deceive me, Matilda? I know how Manfreddoted on his son: is not the stroke too heavy for him? has he not sunkunder it? You do not answer me—alas! I dread the worst!—Raise me, mymaidens; I will, I will see my Lord. Bear me to him instantly: he isdearer to me even than my children.”
Matilda made signs to Isabella to prevent Hippolita’s rising; and boththose lovely young women were using their gentle violence to stop andcalm the Princess, when a servant, on the part of Manfred, arrived andtold Isabella that his Lord demanded to speak with her.
“With me!” cried Isabella.
“Go,” said Hippolita, relieved by a message from her Lord: “Manfredcannot support the sight of his own family. He thinks you lessdisordered 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 addto his.”
As it was now evening the servant who conducted Isabella bore a torchbefore her. When they came to Manfred, who was walking impatiently aboutthe gallery, he started, and said hastily—
“Take away that light, and begone.”
Then shutting the door impetuously, he flung himself upon a bench againstthe wall, and bade Isabella sit by him. She obeyed trembling.
“I sent for you, Lady,” said he—and then stopped under great appearanceof confusion.
“My Lord!”
“Yes, I sent for you on a matter of great moment,” resumed he. “Dry yourtears, young Lady—you have lost your bridegroom. Yes, cruel fate! and Ihave lost the hopes of my race! But Conrad was not worthy of yourbeauty.”
“How, my Lord!” said Isabella; “sure you do not suspect me of not feelingthe concern I ought: my duty and affection would have always—”
“Think no more of him,” interrupted Manfred; “he was a sickly, punychild, and Heaven has perhaps taken him away, that I might not trust thehonours of my house on so frail a foundation. The line of Manfred callsfor numerous supports. My foolish fondness for that boy blinded the eyesof my prudence—but it is better as it is. I hope, in a few years, tohave reason to rejoice at the death of Conrad.”
Words cannot paint the astonishment of Isabella. At first sheapprehended that grief had disordered Manfred’s understanding. Her nextthought suggested that this strange discourse was designed to ensnareher: 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 haveaccompanied my hand. Conrad would have engrossed all my care; andwherever fate shall dispose of me, I shall always cherish his memory, andregard your Highness and the virtuous Hippolita as my parents.”
“Curse on Hippolita!” cried Manfred. “Forget her from this moment, as Ido. In short, Lady, you have missed a husband undeserving of yourcharms: 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 tovalue your beauties, and who may expect a numerous offspring.”
“Alas, my Lord!” said Isabella, “my mind is too sadly engrossed by therecent catastrophe in your family to think of another marriage. If evermy father returns, and it shall be his pleasure, I shall obey, as I didwhen I consented to give my hand to your son: but until his return,permit me to remain under your hospitable roof, and employ the melancholyhours in assuaging yours, Hippolita’s, and the fair Matilda’saffliction.”
“I desired you once before,” said Manfred angrily, “not to name thatwoman: from this hour she must be a stranger to you, as she must be tome. In short, Isabella, since I cannot give you my son, I offer youmyself.”
“Heavens!” cried Isabella, waking from her delusion, “what do I hear?You! my Lord! You! My father-in-law! the father of Conrad! the husbandof 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 herunfruitfulness. My fate depends on having sons, and this night I trustwill give a new date to my hopes.”
At those words he seized the cold hand of Isabella, who was half deadwith fright and horror. She shrieked, and started from him, Manfred roseto pursue her, when the moon, which was now up, and gleamed in at theopposite casement, presented to his sight the plumes of the fatal helmet,which rose to the height of the windows, waving backwards and forwards ina tempestuous manner, and accompanied with a hollow and rustling sound.Isabella, who gathered courage from her situation, and who dreadednothing so much as Manfred’s pursuit of his declaration, cried—
“Look, my Lord! see, Heaven itself declares against your impiousintentions!”
“Heaven nor Hell shall impede my designs,” said Manfred, advancing againto seize the Princess.
At that instant the portrait of his grandfather, which hung over thebench where they had been sitting, uttered a deep sigh, and heaved itsbreast.
Isabella, whose back was turned to the picture, saw not the motion, norknew whence the sound came, but started, and said—
“Hark, my Lord! What sound was that?” and at the same time made towardsthe door.
Manfred, distracted between the flight of Isabella, who had now reachedthe stairs, and yet unable to keep his eyes from the picture, which beganto move, had, however, advanced some steps after her, still lookingbackwards on the portrait, when he saw it quit its panel, and descend onthe floor with a grave and melancholy air.
“Do I dream?” cried Manfred, returning; “or are the devils themselves inleague against me? Speak, internal spectre! Or, if thou art mygrandsire, why dost thou too conspire against thy wretched descendant,who too dearly pays for—” Ere he could finish the sentence, the visionsighed 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 ata little distance, full of anxiety and horror, but resolved. As he wouldhave entered the chamber, the door was clapped to with violence by aninvisible hand. The Prince, collecting courage from this delay, wouldhave forcibly burst open the door with his foot, but found that itresisted his utmost efforts.
“Since Hell will not satisfy my curiosity,” said Manfred, “I will use thehuman means in my power for preserving my race; Isabella shall not escapeme.”
The lady, whose resolution had given way to terror the moment she hadquitted Manfred, continued her flight to the bottom of the principalstaircase. There she stopped, not knowing whither to direct her steps,nor how to escape from the impetuosity of the Prince. The gates of thecastle, she knew, were locked, and guards placed in the court. Shouldshe, as her heart prompted her, go and prepare Hippolita for the crueldestiny that awaited her, she did not doubt but Manfred would seek herthere, and that his violence would incite him to double the injury hemeditated, without leaving room for them to avoid the impetuosity of hispassions. Delay might give him time to reflect on the horrid measures hehad conceived, or produce some circumstance in her favour, if shecould—for that night, at least—avoid his odious purpose. Yet whereconceal herself? How avoid the pursuit he would infallibly makethroughout the castle?
As these thoughts passed rapidly through her mind, she recollected asubterraneous passage which led from the vaults of the castle to thechurch of St. Nicholas. Could she reach the altar before she wasovertaken, she knew even Manfred’s violence would not dare to profane thesacredness of the place; and she determined, if no other means ofdeliverance offered, to shut herself up for ever among the holy virginswhose convent was contiguous to the cathedral. In this resolution, sheseized a lamp that burned at the foot of the staircase, and hurriedtowards the secret passage.
The lower part of the castle was hollowed into several intricatecloisters; and it was not easy for one under so much anxiety to find thedoor that opened into the cavern. An awful silence reigned throughoutthose subterraneous regions, except now and then some blasts of wind thatshook the doors she had passed, and which, grating on the rusty hinges,were re-echoed through that long labyrinth of darkness. Every murmurstruck her with new terror; yet more she dreaded to hear the wrathfulvoice of Manfred urging his domestics to pursue her.
She trod as softly as impatience would give her leave, yet frequentlystopped and listened to hear if she was followed. In one of thosemoments she thought she heard a sigh. She shuddered, and recoiled a fewpaces. In a moment she thought she heard the step of some person. Herblood curdled; she concluded it was Manfred. Every suggestion thathorror could inspire rushed into her mind. She condemned her rashflight, which had thus exposed her to his rage in a place where her crieswere not likely to draw anybody to her assistance. Yet the sound seemednot to come from behind. If Manfred knew where she was, he must havefollowed her. She was still in one of the cloisters, and the steps shehad heard were too distinct to proceed from the way she had come.Cheered with this reflection, and hoping to find a friend in whoever wasnot the Prince, she was going to advance, when a door that stood ajar, atsome distance to the left, was opened gently: but ere her lamp, which sheheld up, could discover who opened it, the person retreated precipitatelyon seeing the light.
Isabella, whom every incident was sufficient to dismay, hesitated whethershe should proceed. Her dread of Manfred soon outweighed every otherterror. The very circumstance of the person avoiding her gave her a sortof courage. It could only be, she thought, some domestic belonging tothe castle. Her gentleness had never raised her an enemy, and consciousinnocence made her hope that, unless sent by the Prince’s order to seekher, his servants would rather assist than prevent her flight.Fortifying herself with these reflections, and believing by what shecould observe that she was near the mouth of the subterraneous cavern,she approached the door that had been opened; but a sudden gust of windthat met her at the door extinguished her lamp, and left her in totaldarkness.
Words cannot paint the horror of the Princess’s situation. Alone in sodismal a place, her mind imprinted with all the terrible events of theday, hopeless of escaping, expecting every moment the arrival of Manfred,and far from tranquil on knowing she was within reach of somebody, sheknew not whom, who for some cause seemed concealed thereabouts; all thesethoughts crowded on her distracted mind, and she was ready to sink underher apprehensions. She addressed herself to every saint in heaven, andinwardly implored their assistance. For a considerable time she remainedin an agony of despair.
At last, as softly as was possible, she felt for the door, and havingfound it, entered trembling into the vault from whence she had heard thesigh and steps. It gave her a kind of momentary joy to perceive animperfect 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 orbuilding, she could not distinguish which, that appeared to have beencrushed inwards. She advanced eagerly towards this chasm, when shediscerned a human form standing close against the wall.
She shrieked, believing it the ghost of her betrothed Conrad. Thefigure, 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 thestranger, and recollecting that this must be the person who had openedthe door, recovered her spirits enough to reply—
“Sir, whoever you are, take pity on a wretched Princess, standing on thebrink of destruction. Assist me to escape from this fatal castle, or ina few moments I may be made miserable for ever.”
“Alas!” said the stranger, “what can I do to assist you? I will die inyour defence; but I am unacquainted with the castle, and want—”
“Oh!” said Isabella, hastily interrupting him; “help me but to find atrap-door that must be hereabout, and it is the greatest service you cando me, for I have not a mi
nute to lose.”
Saying a these words, she felt about on the pavement, and directed thestranger to search likewise, for a smooth piece of brass enclosed in oneof the stones.
“That,” said she, “is the lock, which opens with a spring, of which Iknow 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 willfall a victim to his resentment.”
“I value not my life,” said the stranger, “and it will be some comfort tolose 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 acranny of the ruin above, shone directly on the lock they sought.
“Oh! transport!” said Isabella; “here is the trap-door!” and, taking outthe key, she touched the spring, which, starting aside, discovered aniron ring. “Lift up the door,” said the Princess.
The stranger obeyed, and beneath appeared some stone steps descendinginto a vault totally dark.
“We must go down here,” said Isabella. “Follow me; dark and dismal as itis, we cannot miss our way; it leads directly to the church of St.Nicholas. But, perhaps,” added the Princess modestly, “you have noreason 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 towhom I am so much obliged.”
“I will never quit you,” said the stranger eagerly, “until I have placedyou in safety—nor think me, Princess, more generous than I am; though youare my principal care—”
The stranger was interrupted by a sudden noise of voices that seemedapproaching, and they soon distinguished these words—
“Talk not to me of necromancers; I tell you she must be in the castle; Iwill 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 strangerhastened 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 havingobserved Isabella’s method of touching the spring; nor had he manymoments to make an essay. The noise of the falling door had been heardby Manfred, who, directed by the sound, hastened thither, attended by hisservants with torches.
“It must be Isabella,” cried Manfred, before he entered the vault. “Sheis escaping by the subterraneous passage, but she cannot have got far.”
What was the astonishment of the Prince when, instead of Isabella, thelight of the torches discovered to him the young peasant whom he thoughtconfined under the fatal helmet!
“Traitor!” said Manfred; “how camest thou here? I thought thee indurance above in the court.”
“I am no traitor,” replied the young man boldly, “nor am I answerable foryour thoughts.”
“Presumptuous villain!” cried Manfred; “dost thou provoke my wrath? Tellme, 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 theministers of a tyrant’s wrath, to thee they are faithful, and but toowilling to execute the orders which you unjustly imposed upon them.”
“Art thou so hardy as to dare my vengeance?” said the Prince; “buttortures shall force the truth from thee. Tell me; I will know thyaccomplices.”
“There was my accomplice!” said the youth, smiling, and pointing to theroof.
Manfred ordered the torches to be held up, and perceived that one of thecheeks of the enchanted casque had forced its way through the pavement ofthe court, as his servants had let it fall over the peasant, and hadbroken through into the vault, leaving a gap, through which the peasanthad 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 thecloister?”
“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 thefirst time I ever entered it, and this vault the only part of it withinwhich I ever was.”
“But I tell thee,” said Manfred (wishing to find out if the youth haddiscovered the trap-door), “it was this way I heard the noise. Myservants heard it too.”
“My Lord,” interrupted one of them officiously, “to be sure it was thetrap-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 whatnoise 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 wouldI 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 Itell you a lie.”
Manfred, growing impatient at the steady valour and indifference of theyouth, cried—
“Well, then, thou man of truth, answer! Was it the fall of the trap-doorthat I heard?”
“It was,” said the youth.
“It was!” said the Prince; “and how didst thou come to know there was atrap-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 thoudiscover the secret of opening it?”
“Providence, that delivered me from the helmet, was able to direct me tothe spring of a lock,” said he.
“Providence should have gone a little farther, and have placed thee outof the reach of my resentment,” said Manfred. “When Providence hadtaught thee to open the lock, it abandoned thee for a fool, who did notknow how to make use of its favours. Why didst thou not pursue the pathpointed out for thy escape? Why didst thou shut the trap-door beforethou hadst descended the steps?”
“I might ask you, my Lord,” said the peasant, “how I, totallyunacquainted with your castle, was to know that those steps led to anyoutlet? but I scorn to evade your questions. Wherever those steps leadto, perhaps I should have explored the way—I could not be in a worsesituation than I was. But the truth is, I let the trap-door fall: yourimmediate arrival followed. I had given the alarm—what imported it to mewhether I was seized a minute sooner or a minute later?”
“Thou art a resolute villain for thy years,” said Manfred; “yet onreflection I suspect thou dost but trifle with me. Thou hast not yettold me how thou didst open the lock.”
“That I will show you, my Lord,” said the peasant; and, taking up afragment of stone that had fallen from above, he laid himself on thetrap-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 ofmind, joined to the frankness of the youth, staggered Manfred. He evenfelt a disposition towards pardoning one who had been guilty of no crime.Manfred was not one of those savage tyrants who wanton in crueltyunprovoked. The circumstances of his fortune had given an asperity tohis temper, which was naturally humane; and his virtues were always readyto operate, when his passions did not obscure his reason.
While the Prince was in this suspense, a confused noise of voices echoedthrough the distant vaults. As the sound approached, he distinguishedthe clamours of some of his domestics, whom he had dispersed through thecastle 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 thePrincess?”
The first that arrived, replied, “Oh, my Lord! I am glad we have foundyou.”
“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 greaterconsternation.
“Speak one of you at a time,” said Manfred; “I ask you, where is thePrincess?”
“We do not know,” said they both together; “but we are frightened out ofour 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 Highnesswould 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 poorfellow, “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 theyoung Lady; but being comprehensive that we might meet the ghost of myyoung Lord, your Highness’s son, God rest his soul, as he has notreceived Christian burial—”
“Sot!” cried Manfred in a rage; “is it only a ghost, then, that thou hastseen?”
“Oh! worse! worse! my Lord,” cried Diego: “I had rather have seen tenwhole ghosts.”
“Grant me patience!” said Manfred; “these blockheads distract me. Out ofmy 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 sotfrightened himself and thee too? Speak; what is it he fancies he hasseen?”
“Why, my Lord,” replied Jaquez, trembling, “I was going to tell yourHighness, that since the calamitous misfortune of my young Lord, God resthis precious soul! not one of us your Highness’s faithful servants—indeedwe are, my Lord, though poor men—I say, not one of us has dared to set afoot about the castle, but two together: so Diego and I, thinking that myyoung 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 madeher escape, because you were afraid of goblins!—Why, thou knave! she leftme 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! Ido not believe he will ever recover it.”
“Recover what?” said Manfred; “am I never to learn what it is hasterrified these rascals?—but I lose my time; follow me, slave; I will seeif she is in the gallery.”
“For Heaven’s sake, my dear, good Lord,” cried Jaquez, “do not go to thegallery. Satan himself I believe is in the chamber next to the gallery.”
Manfred, who hitherto had treated the terror of his servants as an idlepanic, was struck at this new circumstance. He recollected theapparition of the portrait, and the sudden closing of the door at the endof 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 wentfirst, for he said he had more courage than I. So when we came into thegallery we found nobody. We looked under every bench and stool; andstill we found nobody.”
“Were all the pictures in their places?” said Manfred.
“Yes, my Lord,” answered Jaquez; “but we did not think of looking behindthem.”
“Well, well!” said Manfred; “proceed.”
“When we came to the door of the great chamber,” continued Jaquez, “wefound it shut.”
“And could not you open it?” said Manfred.
“Oh! yes, my Lord; would to Heaven we had not!” replied he—“nay, it wasnot 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 thegreat 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 adjurethee by the souls of my ancestors, what was it thou sawest? what was itthou heardest?”
“It was Diego saw it, my Lord, it was not I,” replied Jaquez; “I onlyheard 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, andthey are as large as the helmet below in the court.’ As he said thesewords, my Lord, we heard a violent motion and the rattling of armour, asif the giant was rising, for Diego has told me since that he believes thegiant was lying down, for the foot and leg were stretched at length onthe floor. Before we could get to the end of the gallery, we heard thedoor of the great chamber clap behind us, but we did not dare turn backto see if the giant was following us—yet, now I think on it, we must haveheard him if he had pursued us—but for Heaven’s sake, good my Lord, sendfor the chaplain, and have the castle exorcised, for, for certain, it isenchanted.”
“Ay, pray do, my Lord,” cried all the servants at once, “or we must leaveyour Highness’s service.”
“Peace, dotards!” said Manfred, “and follow me; I will know what all thismeans.”
“We! my Lord!” cried they with one voice; “we would not go up to thegallery for your Highness’s revenue.” The young peasant, who had stoodsilent, now spoke.
“Will your Highness,” said he, “permit me to try this adventure? My lifeis of consequence to nobody; I fear no bad angel, and have offended nogood one.”
“Your behaviour is above your seeming,” said Manfred, viewing him withsurprise and admiration—“hereafter I will reward your bravery—but now,”continued he with a sigh, “I am so circumstanced, that I dare trust noeyes but my own. However, I give you leave to accompany me.”
Manfred, when he first followed Isabella from the gallery, had gonedirectly to the apartment of his wife, concluding the Princess hadretired thither. Hippolita, who knew his step, rose with anxiousfondness to meet her Lord, whom she had not seen since the death of theirson. She would have flown in a transport mixed of joy and grief to hisbosom, 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 hadshocked her mother, “she has not been with us since your Highnesssummoned her to your apartment.”
“Tell me where she is,” said the Prince; “I do not want to know where shehas been.”
“My good Lord,” says Hippolita, “your daughter tells you the truth:Isabella left us by your command, and has not returned since;—but, mygood Lord, compose yourself: retire to your rest: this dismal day hasdisordered 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 herchamber: she is not accustomed to watch at this late hour. Gracious myLord,” continued she, “let me know what has disturbed you. Has Isabell
aoffended you?”
“Trouble me not with questions,” said Manfred, “but tell me where sheis.”
“Matilda shall call her,” said the Princess. “Sit down, my Lord, andresume your wonted fortitude.”
“What, art thou jealous of Isabella?” replied he, “that you wish to bepresent at our interview!”
“Good heavens! my Lord,” said Hippolita, “what is it your Highnessmeans?”
“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, leavingthe 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 afew of his servants whom he had obliged to accompany him. He ascendedthe staircase without stopping till he arrived at the gallery, at thedoor of which he met Hippolita and her chaplain. When Diego had beendismissed by Manfred, he had gone directly to the Princess’s apartmentwith the alarm of what he had seen. That excellent Lady, who no morethan Manfred doubted of the reality of the vision, yet affected to treatit as a delirium of the servant. Willing, however, to save her Lord fromany additional shock, and prepared by a series of griefs not to trembleat any accession to it, she determined to make herself the firstsacrifice, if fate had marked the present hour for their destruction.Dismissing the reluctant Matilda to her rest, who in vain sued for leaveto accompany her mother, and attended only by her chaplain, Hippolita hadvisited the gallery and great chamber; and now with more serenity of soulthan she had felt for many hours, she met her Lord, and assured him thatthe vision of the gigantic leg and foot was all a fable; and no doubt animpression made by fear, and the dark and dismal hour of the night, onthe minds of his servants. She and the chaplain had examined thechamber, and found everything in the usual order.
Manfred, though persuaded, like his wife, that the vision had been nowork of fancy, recovered a little from the tempest of mind into which somany strange events had thrown him. Ashamed, too, of his inhumantreatment of a Princess who returned every injury with new marks oftenderness and duty, he felt returning love forcing itself into his eyes;but not less ashamed of feeling remorse towards one against whom he wasinwardly meditating a yet more bitter outrage, he curbed the yearnings ofhis heart, and did not dare to lean even towards pity. The nexttransition of his soul was to exquisite villainy.
Presuming on the unshaken submission of Hippolita, he flattered himselfthat she would not only acquiesce with patience to a divorce, but wouldobey, if it was his pleasure, in endeavouring to persuade Isabella togive him her hand—but ere he could indulge his horrid hope, he reflectedthat Isabella was not to be found. Coming to himself, he gave ordersthat every avenue to the castle should be strictly guarded, and chargedhis domestics on pain of their lives to suffer nobody to pass out. Theyoung peasant, to whom he spoke favourably, he ordered to remain in asmall chamber on the stairs, in which there was a pallet-bed, and the keyof which he took away himself, telling the youth he would talk with himin the morning. Then dismissing his attendants, and bestowing a sullenkind of half-nod on Hippolita, he retired to his own chamber.