CHAPTER IV.
The sorrowful troop no sooner arrived at the castle, than they were metby Hippolita and Matilda, whom Isabella had sent one of the domesticsbefore to advertise of their approach. The ladies causing Frederic to beconveyed into the nearest chamber, retired, while the surgeons examinedhis wounds. Matilda blushed at seeing Theodore and Isabella together;but endeavoured to conceal it by embracing the latter, and condoling withher on her father’s mischance. The surgeons soon came to acquaintHippolita that none of the Marquis’s wounds were dangerous; and that hewas desirous of seeing his daughter and the Princesses.
Theodore, under pretence of expressing his joy at being freed from hisapprehensions of the combat being fatal to Frederic, could not resist theimpulse of following Matilda. Her eyes were so often cast down onmeeting his, that Isabella, who regarded Theodore as attentively as hegazed on Matilda, soon divined who the object was that he had told her inthe cave engaged his affections. While this mute scene passed, Hippolitademanded of Frederic the cause of his having taken that mysterious coursefor reclaiming his daughter; and threw in various apologies to excuse herLord for the match contracted between their children.
Frederic, however incensed against Manfred, was not insensible to thecourtesy and benevolence of Hippolita: but he was still more struck withthe lovely form of Matilda. Wishing to detain them by his bedside, heinformed Hippolita of his story. He told her that, while prisoner to theinfidels, he had dreamed that his daughter, of whom he had learned nonews since his captivity, was detained in a castle, where she was indanger of the most dreadful misfortunes: and that if he obtained hisliberty, and repaired to a wood near Joppa, he would learn more. Alarmedat this dream, and incapable of obeying the direction given by it, hischains became more grievous than ever. But while his thoughts wereoccupied on the means of obtaining his liberty, he received the agreeablenews that the confederate Princes who were warring in Palestine had paidhis ransom. He instantly set out for the wood that had been marked inhis dream.
For three days he and his attendants had wandered in the forest withoutseeing 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. Applyingrich 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 amgoing to my eternal rest—yet I die with the satisfaction of performingthe will of heaven. When first I repaired to this solitude, after seeingmy country become a prey to unbelievers—it is alas! above fifty yearssince 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, buton my death-bed. This is that tremendous hour, and ye are no doubt thechosen warriors to whom I was ordered to reveal my trust. As soon as yehave done the last offices to this wretched corse, dig under the seventhtree on the left hand of this poor cave, and your pains will—Oh! goodheaven receive my soul!” With those words the devout man breathed hislast.
“By break of day,” continued Frederic, “when we had committed the holyrelics to earth, we dug according to direction. But what was ourastonishment when about the depth of six feet we discovered an enormoussabre—the very weapon yonder in the court. On the blade, which was thenpartly out of the scabbard, though since closed by our efforts inremoving it, were written the following lines—no; excuse me, Madam,”added the Marquis, turning to Hippolita; “if I forbear to repeat them: Irespect your sex and rank, and would not be guilty of offending your earwith sounds injurious to aught that is dear to you.”
He paused. Hippolita trembled. She did not doubt but Frederic wasdestined by heaven to accomplish the fate that seemed to threaten herhouse. Looking with anxious fondness at Matilda, a silent tear stoledown her cheek: but recollecting herself, she said—
“Proceed, my Lord; heaven does nothing in vain; mortals must receive itsdivine behests with lowliness and submission. It is our part todeprecate its wrath, or bow to its decrees. Repeat the sentence, myLord; we listen resigned.”
Frederic was grieved that he had proceeded so far. The dignity andpatient firmness of Hippolita penetrated him with respect, and the tendersilent affection with which the Princess and her daughter regarded eachother, melted him almost to tears. Yet apprehensive that his forbearanceto obey would be more alarming, he repeated in a faltering and low voicethe 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 affectsthese 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 fortunehas favoured you once—”
“My honoured Lord,” said Isabella, who resented Theodore’s warmth, whichshe perceived was dictated by his sentiments for Matilda, “discompose notyourself for the glosing of a peasant’s son: he forgets the reverence heowes you; but he is not accustomed—”
Hippolita, concerned at the heat that had arisen, checked Theodore forhis boldness, but with an air acknowledging his zeal; and changing theconversation, demanded of Frederic where he had left her Lord? As theMarquis was going to reply, they heard a noise without, and rising toinquire the cause, Manfred, Jerome, and part of the troop, who had met animperfect rumour of what had happened, entered the chamber. Manfredadvanced hastily towards Frederic’s bed to condole with him on hismisfortune, and to learn the circumstances of the combat, when startingin 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? Isthis 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? canit be my brain’s delirium?”
“This! my Lord,” said Hippolita; “this is Theodore, the youth who hasbeen so unfortunate.”
“Theodore!” said Manfred mournfully, and striking his forehead; “Theodoreor a phantom, he has unhinged the soul of Manfred. But how comes hehere? 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 notdoubtful—. But how did he escape from durance in which I left him? Wasit Isabella, or this hypocritical old Friar, that procured hisenlargement?”
“And would a parent be criminal, my Lord,” said Theodore, “if hemeditated the deliverance of his child?”
Jerome, amazed to hear himself in a manner accused by his son, andwithout foundation, knew not what to think. He could not comprehend howTheodore had escaped, how he came to be armed, and to encounter Frederic.Still he would not venture to ask any questions that might tend toinflame Manfred’s wrath against his son. Jerome’s silence convincedManfred that he had contrived Theodore’s release.
“And is it thus, thou ungrateful old man,” said the Prince, addressinghimself to the Friar, “that thou repayest mine and Hippolita’s bounties?And not content with traversing my heart’s nearest wishes, thou armestthy bastard, and bringest him into my own castle to insult me!”
“My Lord,” said Theodore, “you wrong my father: neither he nor I arecapable of harbouring a thought against your peace. Is it insolence thusto surrender myself to your Highness’s pleasure?” added he, laying hissword respectfully at Manfred’s feet. “Behold my bosom; strike, my Lord,if you suspect that a disloyal thought is lodged
there. There is not asentiment engraven on my heart that does not venerate you and yours.”
The grace and fervour with which Theodore uttered these words interestedevery person present in his favour. Even Manfred was touched—yet stillpossessed with his resemblance to Alfonso, his admiration was dashed withsecret horror.
“Rise,” said he; “thy life is not my present purpose. But tell me thyhistory, 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 hadbeen taken by corsairs from the coast of Sicily. She died of grief inless than a twelvemonth;” the tears gushed from Jerome’s eyes, on whosecountenance a thousand anxious passions stood expressed. “Before shedied,” continued Theodore, “she bound a writing about my arm under mygarments, 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 aChristian vessel, which overpowered the pirate; and discovering myself tothe captain, he generously put me on shore in Sicily; but alas! insteadof finding a father, I learned that his estate, which was situated on thecoast, had, during his absence, been laid waste by the Rover who hadcarried my mother and me into captivity: that his castle had been burntto 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 mancould inform me. Destitute and friendless, hopeless almost of attainingthe transport of a parent’s embrace, I took the first opportunity ofsetting sail for Naples, from whence, within these six days, I wanderedinto this province, still supporting myself by the labour of my hands;nor until yester-morn did I believe that heaven had reserved any lot forme but peace of mind and contented poverty. This, my Lord, is Theodore’sstory. I am blessed beyond my hope in finding a father; I am unfortunatebeyond 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 hesuppresses. Though he is modest, I must be generous; he is one of thebravest youths on Christian ground. He is warm too; and from the shortknowledge I have of him, I will pledge myself for his veracity: if whathe 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 thoudidst offend me: yet the noble blood which flows in thy veins, may wellbe allowed to boil out, when it has so recently traced itself to itssource. 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 aspectre.”
This bitter taunt galled the soul of Manfred.
“If beings from another world,” replied he haughtily, “have power toimpress my mind with awe, it is more than living man can do; nor could astripling’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 bythe hand, she took leave of Frederic, and led the company forth.
The Prince, not sorry to quit a conversation which recalled to mind thediscovery he had made of his most secret sensations, suffered himself tobe conducted to his own apartment, after permitting Theodore, thoughunder engagement to return to the castle on the morrow (a condition theyoung 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 thatnight. They separated each to her chamber, with more expressions ofceremony and fewer of affection than had passed between them since theirchildhood.
If they parted with small cordiality, they did but meet with greaterimpatience, as soon as the sun was risen. Their minds were in asituation that excluded sleep, and each recollected a thousand questionswhich she wished she had put to the other overnight. Matilda reflectedthat Isabella had been twice delivered by Theodore in very criticalsituations, which she could not believe accidental. His eyes, it wastrue, had been fixed on her in Frederic’s chamber; but that might havebeen to disguise his passion for Isabella from the fathers of both. Itwere better to clear this up. She wished to know the truth, lest sheshould wrong her friend by entertaining a passion for Isabella’s lover.Thus jealousy prompted, and at the same time borrowed an excuse fromfriendship 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; itwas true—yet, perhaps, Matilda might not correspond to his passion; shehad ever appeared insensible to love: all her thoughts were set onheaven.
“Why did I dissuade her?” said Isabella to herself; “I am punished for mygenerosity; but when did they meet? where? It cannot be; I have deceivedmyself; perhaps last night was the first time they ever beheld eachother; it must be some other object that has prepossessed hisaffections—if it is, I am not so unhappy as I thought; if it is not myfriend Matilda—how! Can I stoop to wish for the affection of a man, whorudely and unnecessarily acquainted me with his indifference? and that atthe very moment in which common courtesy demanded at least expressions ofcivility. I will go to my dear Matilda, who will confirm me in thisbecoming 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 herthat I no longer oppose her inclination for the cloister.”
In this frame of mind, and determined to open her heart entirely toMatilda, she went to that Princess’s chamber, whom she found alreadydressed, and leaning pensively on her arm. This attitude, socorrespondent 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 theirsensations with address. After some unmeaning questions and replies,Matilda demanded of Isabella the cause of her flight? The latter, whohad almost forgotten Manfred’s passion, so entirely was she occupied byher own, concluding that Matilda referred to her last escape from theconvent, 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 mistaketo me: on seeing me faint, she cried out, ‘The Princess is dead!’ andMartelli, 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 hadoffended my father, but as he has been of service to you, I am glad myLord has pardoned him.”
“Served me!” replied Isabella; “do you term it serving me, to wound myfather, and almost occasion his death? Though it is but since yesterdaythat I am blessed with knowing a parent, I hope Matilda does not think Iam such a stranger to filial tenderness as not to resent the boldness ofthat audacious youth, and that it is impossible for me ever to feel anyaffection for one who dared to lift his arm against the author of mybeing. No, Matilda, my heart abhors him; and if you still retain thefriendship for me that you have vowed from your infancy, you will detesta 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 doesnot doubt her Matilda’s friendship: I never beheld that youth untilyesterday; he is almost a stranger to me: but as the surgeons havepronounced your father out of danger, you ought not to harbouruncharitable resentment against one, who I am persuaded did not know theMarquis was related to you.”
“You plead his cause very pathetically,” said Isabella, “considering heis so much a stranger to you! I am mistaken, or he returns yourcharity.”
“What mean you?” said Matilda.
“Nothing,” said Isabella, repenting that she had given Matilda a hint ofTheodore’s inclination for her. Then changing the discourse, she askedMatilda what occasioned Manfred to take Theodore for a spectre?
“Bless me,” said Matilda, “did not you observe his extreme resemblance tothe portrait of Alfonso in the gallery? I took notice of it to Biancaeven before I saw him in armour; but with the helmet on, he is the veryimage of that picture.”
“I do not much observe pictures,” said Isabella: “much less have Iexamined 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 hasowned to me that he is in love; it cannot be with you, for yesterday wasthe first time you ever met—was it not?”
“Certainly,” replied Matilda; “but why does my dearest Isabella concludefrom anything I have said, that”—she paused—then continuing: “he saw youfirst, and I am far from having the vanity to think that my littleportion 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 akind expression, “it is you that Theodore admires; I saw it; I ampersuaded of it; nor shall a thought of my own happiness suffer me tointerfere with yours.”
This frankness drew tears from the gentle Matilda; and jealousy that fora moment had raised a coolness between these amiable maidens soon gaveway to the natural sincerity and candour of their souls. Each confessedto the other the impression that Theodore had made on her; and thisconfidence was followed by a struggle of generosity, each insisting onyielding her claim to her friend. At length the dignity of Isabella’svirtue reminding her of the preference which Theodore had almost declaredfor her rival, made her determine to conquer her passion, and cede thebeloved 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 tohear.”
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’shands into those of the Marquis Frederic, I have been perhaps inspiredwith the thought of averting our total destruction by the union of ourrival 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 graciousmother—and have you named it to my father?”
“I have,” said Hippolita; “he listened benignly to my proposal, and isgone to break it to the Marquis.”
“Ah! wretched princess!” cried Isabella; “what hast thou done! what ruinhas thy inadvertent goodness been preparing for thyself, for me, and forMatilda!”
“Ruin from me to you and to my child!” said Hippolita “what can thismean?”
“Alas!” said Isabella, “the purity of your own heart prevents your seeingthe depravity of others. Manfred, your lord, that impious man—”
“Hold,” said Hippolita; “you must not in my presence, young lady, mentionManfred with disrespect: he is my lord and husband, and—”
“Will not long be so,” said Isabella, “if his wicked purposes can becarried into execution.”
“This language amazes me,” said Hippolita. “Your feeling, Isabella, iswarm; but until this hour I never knew it betray you into intemperance.What deed of Manfred authorises you to treat him as a murderer, anassassin?”
“Thou virtuous, and too credulous Princess!” replied Isabella; “it is notthy 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 atonce.
“Yes,” said Isabella; “and to complete his crime, he meditates—I cannotspeak it!”
“What can surpass what thou hast already uttered?” said Matilda.
Hippolita was silent. Grief choked her speech; and the recollection ofManfred’s late ambiguous discourses confirmed what she heard.
“Excellent, dear lady! madam! mother!” cried Isabella, flinging herselfat Hippolita’s feet in a transport of passion; “trust me, believe me, Iwill die a thousand deaths sooner than consent to injure you, than yieldto 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, thisstroke is too heavy for thee! weep not, my child; and not a murmur, Icharge thee. Remember, he is thy father still!”
“But you are my mother too,” said Matilda fervently; “and you arevirtuous, you are guiltless!—Oh! must not I, must not I complain?”
“You must not,” said Hippolita—“come, all will yet be well. Manfred, inthe agony for the loss of thy brother, knew not what he said; perhapsIsabella misunderstood him; his heart is good—and, my child, thou knowestnot all! There is a destiny hangs over us; the hand of Providence isstretched out; oh! could I but save thee from the wreck! Yes,” continuedshe 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 ofme. I will withdraw into the neighbouring monastery, and waste theremainder 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 isexecrable; 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 onthyself; thou hast a father.”
“My father is too pious, too noble,” interrupted Isabella, “to command animpious deed. But should he command it; can a father enjoin a cursedact? 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 abhorhim: divine and human laws forbid—and my friend, my dearest Matilda!would I wound her tender soul by injuring her adored mother? my ownmother—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 tendernessoverpowers me—but I must not give way to it. It is not ours to makeelection for ourselves: heaven, our fathers, and our husbands must decidefor us. Have patience until you hear what Manfred and Frederic havedetermined. If the Marquis accepts Matilda’s hand, I know she willreadily obey. Heaven may interpose and prevent the rest. What means mychild?” continued she, seeing Matilda fall at her feet with a flood ofspeechless tears—“But no; answer me not, my daughter: I must not hear aword 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 allthis tenderness, this world of goodness, and conceal a thought from thebest of mothers?”
“What art thou going to utter?” said Isabella trembling. “Recollectthyself, Matilda.”
“No, Isabella,” said the Princess, “I should not deserve thisincomparable parent, if the inmost recesses of my soul harboured athought without her permission—nay, I h
ave offended her; I have suffereda 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 newcalamities has fate in store for us! Thou, a passion? Thou, in thishour of destruction—”
“Oh! I see all my guilt!” said Matilda. “I abhor myself, if I cost mymother a pang. She is the dearest thing I have on earth—Oh! I willnever, 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 shewill not permit me even to speak my own guilt? oh! wretched, wretchedMatilda!”
“Thou art too cruel,” said Isabella to Hippolita: “canst thou behold thisanguish of a virtuous mind, and not commiserate it?”
“Not pity my child!” said Hippolita, catching Matilda in her arms—“Oh! Iknow she is good, she is all virtue, all tenderness, and duty. I doforgive thee, my excellent, my only hope!”
The princesses then revealed to Hippolita their mutual inclination forTheodore, and the purpose of Isabella to resign him to Matilda.Hippolita blamed their imprudence, and showed them the improbability thateither 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 sorecent a date, and that Theodore had had but little cause to suspect itin either. She strictly enjoined them to avoid all correspondence withhim. This Matilda fervently promised: but Isabella, who flatteredherself 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 besaid for a deliverance from these calamities.”
“Oh! my mother,” said Matilda, “you mean to quit us: you mean to takesanctuary, and to give my father an opportunity of pursuing his fatalintention. Alas! on my knees I supplicate you to forbear; will you leaveme a prey to Frederic? I will follow you to the convent.”
“Be at peace, my child,” said Hippolita: “I will return instantly. Iwill never abandon thee, until I know it is the will of heaven, and forthy benefit.”
“Do not deceive me,” said Matilda. “I will not marry Frederic until thoucommandest it. Alas! what will become of me?”
“Why that exclamation?” said Hippolita. “I have promised thee toreturn—”
“Ah! my mother,” replied Matilda, “stay and save me from myself. A frownfrom thee can do more than all my father’s severity. I have given awaymy 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 attendthee to the altar, and shut myself from the world for ever.”
“Thy fate depends on thy father,” said Hippolita; “I have ill-bestowed mytenderness, if it has taught thee to revere aught beyond him. Adieu! mychild: I go to pray for thee.”
Hippolita’s real purpose was to demand of Jerome, whether in conscienceshe might not consent to the divorce. She had oft urged Manfred toresign the principality, which the delicacy of her conscience rendered anhourly burthen to her. These scruples concurred to make the separationfrom her husband appear less dreadful to her than it would have seemed inany other situation.
Jerome, at quitting the castle overnight, had questioned Theodoreseverely why he had accused him to Manfred of being privy to his escape.Theodore owned it had been with design to prevent Manfred’s suspicionfrom alighting on Matilda; and added, the holiness of Jerome’s life andcharacter secured him from the tyrant’s wrath. Jerome was heartilygrieved to discover his son’s inclination for that princess; and leavinghim to his rest, promised in the morning to acquaint him with importantreasons for conquering his passion.
Theodore, like Isabella, was too recently acquainted with parentalauthority to submit to its decisions against the impulse of his heart.He had little curiosity to learn the Friar’s reasons, and lessdisposition to obey them. The lovely Matilda had made strongerimpressions on him than filial affection. All night he pleased himselfwith 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 notplease me. Have a father’s commands already so little weight?”
Theodore made awkward excuses, and attributed his delay to havingoverslept himself.
“And on whom were thy dreams employed?” said the Friar sternly. His sonblushed. “Come, come,” resumed the Friar, “inconsiderate youth, thismust not be; eradicate this guilty passion from thy breast—”
“Guilty passion!” cried Theodore: “Can guilt dwell with innocent beautyand virtuous modesty?”
“It is sinful,” replied the Friar, “to cherish those whom heaven hasdoomed to destruction. A tyrant’s race must be swept from the earth tothe third and fourth generation.”
“Will heaven visit the innocent for the crimes of the guilty?” saidTheodore. “The fair Matilda has virtues enough—”
“To undo thee:” interrupted Jerome. “Hast thou so soon forgotten thattwice the savage Manfred has pronounced thy sentence?”
“Nor have I forgotten, sir,” said Theodore, “that the charity of hisdaughter delivered me from his power. I can forget injuries, but neverbenefits.”
“The injuries thou hast received from Manfred’s race,” said the Friar,“are beyond what thou canst conceive. Reply not, but view this holyimage! Beneath this marble monument rest the ashes of the good Alfonso;a prince adorned with every virtue: the father of his people! the delightof mankind! Kneel, headstrong boy, and list, while a father unfolds atale of horror that will expel every sentiment from thy soul, butsensations of sacred vengeance—Alfonso! much injured prince! let thyunsatisfied shade sit awful on the troubled air, while these tremblinglips—Ha! who comes there?—”
“The most wretched of women!” said Hippolita, entering the choir. “GoodFather, art thou at leisure?—but why this kneeling youth? what means thehorror 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, withsome confusion, “to put an end to the woes of this deplorable province.Join with us, Lady! thy spotless soul may obtain an exemption from thejudgments which the portents of these days but too speakingly denounceagainst 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 blessingfor my Lord and my harmless children.—One alas! is taken from me! wouldheaven 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, contendnot 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 onlycomfort? must Matilda perish too?—ah! Father, I came—but dismiss thyson. No ear but thine must hear what I have to utter.”
“May heaven grant thy every wish, most excellent Princess!” said Theodoreretiring. Jerome frowned.
Hippolita then acquainted the Friar with the proposal she had suggestedto Manfred, his approbation of it, and the tender of Matilda that he wasgone to make to Frederic. Jerome could not conceal his dislike of thenotion, which he covered under pretence of the improbability thatFrederic, the nearest of blood to Alfonso, and who was come to claim hissuccession, would yield to an alliance with the usurper of his right.But nothing could equal the perplexity of the Friar, when Hippolitaconfessed her readiness not to oppose the separation, and demanded hisopinion on the legality of her acquiescence. The Friar caught eagerly ather
request of his advice, and without explaining his aversion to theproposed marriage of Manfred and Isabella, he painted to Hippolita in themost alarming colours the sinfulness of her consent, denounced judgmentsagainst her if she complied, and enjoined her in the severest terms totreat any such proposition with every mark of indignation and refusal.
Manfred, in the meantime, had broken his purpose to Frederic, andproposed the double marriage. That weak Prince, who had been struck withthe charms of Matilda, listened but too eagerly to the offer. He forgothis enmity to Manfred, whom he saw but little hope of dispossessing byforce; and flattering himself that no issue might succeed from the unionof his daughter with the tyrant, he looked upon his own succession to theprincipality as facilitated by wedding Matilda. He made faint oppositionto the proposal; affecting, for form only, not to acquiesce unlessHippolita should consent to the divorce. Manfred took that upon himself.
Transported with his success, and impatient to see himself in a situationto expect sons, he hastened to his wife’s apartment, determined to extorther compliance. He learned with indignation that she was absent at theconvent. His guilt suggested to him that she had probably been informedby Isabella of his purpose. He doubted whether her retirement to theconvent did not import an intention of remaining there, until she couldraise obstacles to their divorce; and the suspicions he had alreadyentertained of Jerome, made him apprehend that the Friar would not onlytraverse his views, but might have inspired Hippolita with the resolutionof talking sanctuary. Impatient to unravel this clue, and to defeat itssuccess, Manfred hastened to the convent, and arrived there as the Friarwas earnestly exhorting the Princess never to yield to the divorce.
“Madam,” said Manfred, “what business drew you hither? why did you notawait 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 ofall men living is that hoary traitor the only one whom you delight toconfer with?”
“Profane Prince!” said Jerome; “is it at the altar that thou choosest toinsult the servants of the altar?—but, Manfred, thy impious schemes areknown. Heaven and this virtuous lady know them—nay, frown not, Prince.The Church despises thy menaces. Her thunders will be heard above thywrath. Dare to proceed in thy cursed purpose of a divorce, until hersentence be known, and here I lance her anathema at thy head.”
“Audacious rebel!” said Manfred, endeavouring to conceal the awe withwhich the Friar’s words inspired him. “Dost thou presume to threaten thylawful Prince?”
“Thou art no lawful Prince,” said Jerome; “thou art no Prince—go, discussthy claim with Frederic; and when that is done—”
“It is done,” replied Manfred; “Frederic accepts Matilda’s hand, and iscontent to waive his claim, unless I have no male issue”—as he spokethose 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 bloodof 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 nowill but that of my Lord and the Church. To that revered tribunal let usappeal. It does not depend on us to burst the bonds that unite us. Ifthe Church shall approve the dissolution of our marriage, be it so—I havebut few years, and those of sorrow, to pass. Where can they be worn awayso well as at the foot of this altar, in prayers for thine and Matilda’ssafety?”
“But thou shalt not remain here until then,” said Manfred. “Repair withme to the castle, and there I will advise on the proper measures for adivorce;—but this meddling Friar comes not thither; my hospitable roofshall never more harbour a traitor—and for thy Reverence’s offspring,”continued he, “I banish him from my dominions. He, I ween, is no sacredpersonage, nor under the protection of the Church. Whoever wedsIsabella, it shall not be Father Falconara’s started-up son.”
“They start up,” said the Friar, “who are suddenly beheld in the seat oflawful Princes; but they wither away like the grass, and their placeknows them no more.”
Manfred, casting a look of scorn at the Friar, led Hippolita forth; butat the door of the church whispered one of his attendants to remainconcealed about the convent, and bring him instant notice, if any onefrom the castle should repair thither.
CHAPTER V.
Every reflection which Manfred made on the Friar’s behaviour, conspiredto persuade him that Jerome was privy to an amour between Isabella andTheodore. But Jerome’s new presumption, so dissonant from his formermeekness, suggested still deeper apprehensions. The Prince evensuspected that the Friar depended on some secret support from Frederic,whose arrival, coinciding with the novel appearance of Theodore, seemedto bespeak a correspondence. Still more was he troubled with theresemblance of Theodore to Alfonso’s portrait. The latter he knew hadunquestionably died without issue. Frederic had consented to bestowIsabella on him. These contradictions agitated his mind with numberlesspangs.
He saw but two methods of extricating himself from his difficulties. Theone was to resign his dominions to the Marquis—pride, ambition, and hisreliance on ancient prophecies, which had pointed out a possibility ofhis preserving them to his posterity, combated that thought. The otherwas to press his marriage with Isabella. After long ruminating on theseanxious thoughts, as he marched silently with Hippolita to the castle, heat last discoursed with that Princess on the subject of his disquiet, andused every insinuating and plausible argument to extract her consent to,even her promise of promoting the divorce. Hippolita needed littlepersuasions to bend her to his pleasure. She endeavoured to win him overto the measure of resigning his dominions; but finding her exhortationsfruitless, she assured him, that as far as her conscience would allow,she would raise no opposition to a separation, though without betterfounded scruples than what he yet alleged, she would not engage to beactive in demanding it.
This compliance, though inadequate, was sufficient to raise Manfred’shopes. He trusted that his power and wealth would easily advance hissuit at the court of Rome, whither he resolved to engage Frederic to takea journey on purpose. That Prince had discovered so much passion forMatilda, that Manfred hoped to obtain all he wished by holding out orwithdrawing his daughter’s charms, according as the Marquis should appearmore or less disposed to co-operate in his views. Even the absence ofFrederic would be a material point gained, until he could take furthermeasures for his security.
Dismissing Hippolita to her apartment, he repaired to that of theMarquis; but crossing the great hall through which he was to pass he metBianca. The damsel he knew was in the confidence of both the youngladies. It immediately occurred to him to sift her on the subject ofIsabella and Theodore. Calling her aside into the recess of the orielwindow 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’saffections.
“I! my Lord! no my Lord—yes my Lord—poor Lady! she is wonderfully alarmedabout her father’s wounds; but I tell her he will do well; don’t yourHighness 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 thereany young man—ha!—you understand me.”
“Lord bless me! understand your Highness? no, not I. I told her a fewvulnerary herbs and repose—”
“I am not talking,” replied the Prince, impatiently, “about her father; Iknow he will do well.”
“Bless me, I rejoice to hear your Highness say so; for though I thoughtit not right to let my young Lady despond, methought his greatness had awan look, and a something—I remember when young Ferdinand was wounded bythe Venetian—”
“Thou answerest from the point,” interrupted Manfred; “but here, takethis jewel, perhaps that may fix thy a
ttention—nay, no reverences; myfavour shall not stop here—come, tell me truly; how stands Isabella’sheart?”
“Well! your Highness has such a way!” said Bianca, “to be sure—but canyour 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 muchaffectioned my young Lord your son; yet he was a sweet youth as oneshould see; I am sure, if I had been a Princess—but bless me! I mustattend my Lady Matilda; she will marvel what is become of me.”
“Stay,” cried Manfred; “thou hast not satisfied my question. Hast thouever carried any message, any letter?”
“I! good gracious!” cried Bianca; “I carry a letter? I would not to be aQueen. I hope your Highness thinks, though I am poor, I am honest. Didyour Highness never hear what Count Marsigli offered me, when he came awooing to my Lady Matilda?”
“I have not leisure,” said Manfred, “to listen to thy tale. I do notquestion 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 thatI know any thing of the matter. Theodore, to be sure, is a proper youngman, and, as my Lady Matilda says, the very image of good Alfonso. Hasnot 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 acquaintedwith 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 unitethem—If I were sure Isabella would have no repugnance.”
“Repugnance! no, I’ll warrant her,” said Bianca; “he is as comely a youthas ever trod on Christian ground. We are all in love with him; there isnot a soul in the castle but would be rejoiced to have him for ourPrince—I mean, when it shall please heaven to call your Highness toitself.”
“Indeed!” said Manfred, “has it gone so far! oh! this cursed Friar!—but Imust not lose time—go, Bianca, attend Isabella; but I charge thee, not aword 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 ofthe winding staircase: I am going to visit the Marquis, and will talkfurther with thee at my return.”
Manfred, after some general conversation, desired Frederic to dismiss thetwo 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 Marquison the subject of Matilda; and finding him disposed to his wish, he letdrop hints on the difficulties that would attend the celebration of theirmarriage, unless—At that instant Bianca burst into the room with awildness 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 mysenses,” cried Bianca. “I will not sleep in the castle to-night. Whereshall I go? my things may come after me to-morrow—would I had beencontent to wed Francesco! this comes of ambition!”
“What has terrified thee thus, young woman?” said the Marquis. “Thou artsafe here; be not alarmed.”
“Oh! your Greatness is wonderfully good,” said Bianca, “but I darenot—no, pray let me go—I had rather leave everything behind me, than stayanother hour under this roof.”
“Go to, thou hast lost thy senses,” said Manfred. “Interrupt us not; wewere communing on important matters—My Lord, this wench is subject tofits—Come with me, Bianca.”
“Oh! the Saints! No,” said Bianca, “for certain it comes to warn yourHighness; why should it appear to me else? I say my prayers morning andevening—oh! if your Highness had believed Diego! ’Tis the same hand thathe saw the foot to in the gallery-chamber—Father Jerome has often told usthe prophecy would be out one of these days—‘Bianca,’ said he, ‘mark mywords—’”
“Thou ravest,” said Manfred, in a rage; “be gone, and keep thesefooleries to frighten thy companions.”
“What! my Lord,” cried Bianca, “do you think I have seen nothing? go tothe 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 sillywench, who has heard stories of apparitions until she believes them?”
“This is more than fancy,” said the Marquis; “her terror is too naturaland too strongly impressed to be the work of imagination. Tell us, fairmaiden, what it is has moved thee thus?”
“Yes, my Lord, thank your Greatness,” said Bianca; “I believe I look verypale; I shall be better when I have recovered myself—I was going to myLady Isabella’s chamber, by his Highness’s order—”
“We do not want the circumstances,” interrupted Manfred. “Since hisHighness will have it so, proceed; but be brief.”
“Lord! your Highness thwarts one so!” replied Bianca; “I fear my hair—Iam sure I never in my life—well! as I was telling your Greatness, I wasgoing by his Highness’s order to my Lady Isabella’s chamber; she lies inthe watchet-coloured chamber, on the right hand, one pair of stairs: sowhen I came to the great stairs—I was looking on his Highness’s presenthere—”
“Grant me patience!” said Manfred, “will this wench never come to thepoint? what imports it to the Marquis, that I gave thee a bauble for thyfaithful attendance on my daughter? we want to know what thou sawest.”
“I was going to tell your Highness,” said Bianca, “if you would permitme. So as I was rubbing the ring—I am sure I had not gone up threesteps, but I heard the rattling of armour; for all the world such aclatter as Diego says he heard when the Giant turned him about in thegallery-chamber.”
“What Giant is this, my Lord?” said the Marquis; “is your castle hauntedby giants and goblins?”
“Lord! what, has not your Greatness heard the story of the Giant in thegallery-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 dismissthis silly wench, my Lord! we have more important affairs to discuss.”
“By your favour,” said Frederic, “these are no trifles. The enormoussabre I was directed to in the wood, yon casque, its fellow—are thesevisions of this poor maiden’s brain?”
“So Jaquez thinks, may it please your Greatness,” said Bianca. “He saysthis 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 ina cold sweat. I looked up, and, if your Greatness will believe me, I sawupon the uppermost banister of the great stairs a hand in armour as bigas big. I thought I should have swooned. I never stopped until I camehither—would I were well out of this castle. My Lady Matilda told me butyester-morning that her Highness Hippolita knows something.”
“Thou art an insolent!” cried Manfred. “Lord Marquis, it much misgivesme that this scene is concerted to affront me. Are my own domesticssuborned to spread tales injurious to my honour? Pursue your claim bymanly daring; or let us bury our feuds, as was proposed, by theintermarriage of our children. But trust me, it ill becomes a Prince ofyour bearing to practise on mercenary wenches.”
“I scorn your imputation,
” said Frederic. “Until this hour I never seteyes on this damsel: I have given her no jewel. My Lord, my Lord, yourconscience, your guilt accuses you, and would throw the suspicion on me;but keep your daughter, and think no more of Isabella. The judgmentsalready fallen on your house forbid me matching into it.”
Manfred, alarmed at the resolute tone in which Frederic delivered thesewords, endeavoured to pacify him. Dismissing Bianca, he made suchsubmissions to the Marquis, and threw in such artful encomiums onMatilda, that Frederic was once more staggered. However, as his passionwas of so recent a date, it could not at once surmount the scruples hehad conceived. He had gathered enough from Bianca’s discourse topersuade him that heaven declared itself against Manfred. The proposedmarriages too removed his claim to a distance; and the principality ofOtranto was a stronger temptation than the contingent reversion of itwith Matilda. Still he would not absolutely recede from his engagements;but purposing to gain time, he demanded of Manfred if it was true in factthat Hippolita consented to the divorce. The Prince, transported to findno other obstacle, and depending on his influence over his wife, assuredthe Marquis it was so, and that he might satisfy himself of the truthfrom her own mouth.
As they were thus discoursing, word was brought that the banquet wasprepared. Manfred conducted Frederic to the great hall, where they werereceived by Hippolita and the young Princesses. Manfred placed theMarquis next to Matilda, and seated himself between his wife andIsabella. Hippolita comported herself with an easy gravity; but theyoung ladies were silent and melancholy. Manfred, who was determined topursue his point with the Marquis in the remainder of the evening, pushedon the feast until it waxed late; affecting unrestrained gaiety, andplying Frederic with repeated goblets of wine. The latter, more upon hisguard than Manfred wished, declined his frequent challenges, on pretenceof his late loss of blood; while the Prince, to raise his own disorderedspirits, and to counterfeit unconcern, indulged himself in plentifuldraughts, though not to the intoxication of his senses.
The evening being far advanced, the banquet concluded. Manfred wouldhave withdrawn with Frederic; but the latter pleading weakness and wantof repose, retired to his chamber, gallantly telling the Prince that hisdaughter 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 enjoythe freshness of the evening on the ramparts of the castle.
Soon as the company were dispersed their several ways, Frederic, quittinghis chamber, inquired if Hippolita was alone, and was told by one of herattendants, who had not noticed her going forth, that at that hour shegenerally withdrew to her oratory, where he probably would find her. TheMarquis, 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 enteredit with a resolution to encourage her acquiescence to the divorce, havingperceived that Manfred was resolved to make the possession of Isabella anunalterable condition, before he would grant Matilda to his wishes.
The Marquis was not surprised at the silence that reigned in thePrincess’s apartment. Concluding her, as he had been advertised, in heroratory, he passed on. The door was ajar; the evening gloomy andovercast. Pushing open the door gently, he saw a person kneeling beforethe altar. As he approached nearer, it seemed not a woman, but one in along woollen weed, whose back was towards him. The person seemedabsorbed 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 toexcuse his uncivil interruption, said,
“Reverend Father, I sought the Lady Hippolita.”
“Hippolita!” replied a hollow voice; “camest thou to this castle to seekHippolita?” and then the figure, turning slowly round, discovered toFrederic the fleshless jaws and empty sockets of a skeleton, wrapt in ahermit’s cowl.
“Angels of grace protect me!” cried Frederic, recoiling.
“Deserve their protection!” said the Spectre. Frederic, falling on hisknees, adjured the phantom to take pity on him.
“Dost thou not remember me?” said the apparition. “Remember the wood ofJoppa!”
“Art thou that holy hermit?” cried Frederic, trembling. “Can I do aughtfor thy eternal peace?”
“Wast thou delivered from bondage,” said the spectre, “to pursue carnaldelights? Hast thou forgotten the buried sabre, and the behest of Heavenengraven on it?”
“I have not, I have not,” said Frederic; “but say, blest spirit, what isthy 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 remainedmotionless. Then falling prostrate on his face before the altar, hebesought the intercession of every saint for pardon. A flood of tearssucceeded to this transport; and the image of the beauteous Matildarushing in spite of him on his thoughts, he lay on the ground in aconflict of penitence and passion. Ere he could recover from this agonyof his spirits, the Princess Hippolita with a taper in her hand enteredthe oratory alone. Seeing a man without motion on the floor, she gave ashriek, concluding him dead. Her fright brought Frederic to himself.Rising suddenly, his face bedewed with tears, he would have rushed fromher presence; but Hippolita stopping him, conjured him in the mostplaintive accents to explain the cause of his disorder, and by whatstrange chance she had found him there in that posture.
“Ah, virtuous Princess!” said the Marquis, penetrated with grief, andstopped.
“For the love of Heaven, my Lord,” said Hippolita, “disclose the cause ofthis transport! What mean these doleful sounds, this alarmingexclamation on my name? What woes has heaven still in store for thewretched Hippolita? Yet silent! By every pitying angel, I adjure thee,noble Prince,” continued she, falling at his feet, “to disclose thepurport of what lies at thy heart. I see thou feelest for me; thoufeelest the sharp pangs that thou inflictest—speak, for pity! Does aughtthou 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 andlove had come to seek him, and to propose to waste some hours of thenight in music and revelling. Frederic, offended at an invitation sodissonant from the mood of his soul, pushed him rudely aside, andentering his chamber, flung the door intemperately against Manfred, andbolted it inwards. The haughty Prince, enraged at this unaccountablebehaviour, withdrew in a frame of mind capable of the most fatalexcesses. As he crossed the court, he was met by the domestic whom hehad planted at the convent as a spy on Jerome and Theodore. This man,almost breathless with the haste he had made, informed his Lord thatTheodore, and some lady from the castle were, at that instant, in privateconference at the tomb of Alfonso in St. Nicholas’s church. He haddogged Theodore thither, but the gloominess of the night had preventedhis discovering who the woman was.
Manfred, whose spirits were inflamed, and whom Isabella had driven fromher on his urging his passion with too little reserve, did not doubt butthe inquietude she had expressed had been occasioned by her impatience tomeet Theodore. Provoked by this conjecture, and enraged at her father,he hastened secretly to the great church. Gliding softly between theaisles, and guided by an imperfect gleam of moonshine that shone faintlythrough the illuminated windows, he stole towards the tomb of Alfonso, towhich 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, andplunging it over her shoulder into the bosom of the person that spoke.
“Ah,
me, I am slain!” cried Matilda, sinking. “Good heaven, receive mysoul!”
“Savage, inhuman monster, what hast thou done!” cried Theodore, rushingon 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 inhis locks, and endeavoured to recover his dagger from Theodore todespatch himself. Theodore, scarce less distracted, and only masteringthe transports of his grief to assist Matilda, had now by his cries drawnsome of the monks to his aid. While part of them endeavoured, in concertwith the afflicted Theodore, to stop the blood of the dying Princess, therest prevented Manfred from laying violent hands on himself.
Matilda, resigning herself patiently to her fate, acknowledged with looksof grateful love the zeal of Theodore. Yet oft as her faintness wouldpermit her speech its way, she begged the assistants to comfort herfather. Jerome, by this time, had learnt the fatal news, and reached thechurch. His looks seemed to reproach Theodore, but turning to Manfred,he said,
“Now, tyrant! behold the completion of woe fulfilled on thy impious anddevoted head! The blood of Alfonso cried to heaven for vengeance; andheaven has permitted its altar to be polluted by assassination, that thoumightest shed thy own blood at the foot of that Prince’s sepulchre!”
“Cruel man!” cried Matilda, “to aggravate the woes of a parent; mayheaven bless my father, and forgive him as I do! My Lord, my graciousSire, dost thou forgive thy child? Indeed, I came not hither to meetTheodore. I found him praying at this tomb, whither my mother sent me tointercede for thee, for her—dearest father, bless your child, and say youforgive her.”
“Forgive thee! Murderous monster!” cried Manfred, “can assassinsforgive? I took thee for Isabella; but heaven directed my bloody hand tothe heart of my child. Oh, Matilda!—I cannot utter it—canst thou forgivethe blindness of my rage?”
“I can, I do; and may heaven confirm it!” said Matilda; “but while I havelife 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 amfaint! 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 beborne into the convent; but her instances were so pressing to be carriedto the castle, that placing her on a litter, they conveyed her thither asshe requested. Theodore, supporting her head with his arm, and hangingover her in an agony of despairing love, still endeavoured to inspire herwith hopes of life. Jerome, on the other side, comforted her withdiscourses of heaven, and holding a crucifix before her, which she bathedwith innocent tears, prepared her for her passage to immortality.Manfred, plunged in the deepest affliction, followed the litter indespair.
Ere they reached the castle, Hippolita, informed of the dreadfulcatastrophe, had flown to meet her murdered child; but when she saw theafflicted procession, the mightiness of her grief deprived her of hersenses, and she fell lifeless to the earth in a swoon. Isabella andFrederic, who attended her, were overwhelmed in almost equal sorrow.Matilda alone seemed insensible to her own situation: every thought waslost 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 thenclasped them to her heart. Manfred could not support this act ofpathetic piety. He dashed himself on the ground, and cursed the day hewas born. Isabella, apprehensive that these struggles of passion weremore than Matilda could support, took upon herself to order Manfred to beborne to his apartment, while she caused Matilda to be conveyed to thenearest chamber. Hippolita, scarce more alive than her daughter, wasregardless of everything but her; but when the tender Isabella’s carewould have likewise removed her, while the surgeons examined Matilda’swound, 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 againwithout speaking. Her sinking pulse and the damp coldness of her handsoon dispelled all hopes of recovery. Theodore followed the surgeonsinto the outer chamber, and heard them pronounce the fatal sentence witha transport equal to frenzy.
“Since she cannot live mine,” cried he, “at least she shall be mine indeath! Father! Jerome! will you not join our hands?” cried he to theFriar, who, with the Marquis, had accompanied the surgeons.
“What means thy distracted rashness?” said Jerome. “Is this an hour formarriage?”
“It is, it is,” cried Theodore. “Alas! there is no other!”
“Young man, thou art too unadvised,” said Frederic. “Dost thou think weare to listen to thy fond transports in this hour of fate? Whatpretensions hast thou to the Princess?”
“Those of a Prince,” said Theodore; “of the sovereign of Otranto. Thisreverend man, my father, has informed me who I am.”
“Thou ravest,” said the Marquis. “There is no Prince of Otranto butmyself, now Manfred, by murder, by sacrilegious murder, has forfeited allpretensions.”
“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, butfate presses onward to its work. What his hot-headed passion hasrevealed, my tongue confirms. Know, Prince, that when Alfonso set sailfor the Holy Land—”
“Is this a season for explanations?” cried Theodore. “Father, come andunite me to the Princess; she shall be mine! In every other thing I willdutifully obey you. My life! my adored Matilda!” continued Theodore,rushing back into the inner chamber, “will you not be mine? Will you notbless your—”
Isabella made signs to him to be silent, apprehending the Princess wasnear her end.
“What, is she dead?” cried Theodore; “is it possible!”
The violence of his exclamations brought Matilda to herself. Lifting upher eyes, she looked round for her mother.
“Life of my soul, I am here!” cried Hippolita; “think not I will quitthee!”
“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 Iam faint!”
“Oh! my child! my child!” said Hippolita in a flood of tears, “can I notwithhold 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 Theodoremore—perhaps that has drawn down this calamity—but it was notintentional—can you pardon me?”
“Oh! wound not my agonising soul!” said Hippolita; “thou never couldstoffend me—Alas! she faints! help! help!”
“I would say something more,” said Matilda, struggling, “but it cannotbe—Isabella—Theodore—for my sake—Oh!—” she expired.
Isabella and her women tore Hippolita from the corse; but Theodorethreatened destruction to all who attempted to remove him from it. Heprinted a thousand kisses on her clay-cold hands, and uttered everyexpression that despairing love could dictate.
Isabella, in the meantime, was accompanying the afflicted Hippolita toher apartment; but, in the middle of the court, they were met by Manfred,who, distracted with his own thoughts, and anxious once more to beholdhis daughter, was advancing to the chamber where she lay. As the moonwas now at its height, he read in the countenances of this unhappycompany the event he dreaded.
“What! is she dead?” cried he in wild confusion. A clap of thunder atthat instant shook the castle to its foundations; the earth rocked, andthe clank of more than mortal armour was heard behind. Frederic andJerome thought the last day was at hand. The latter, forcing Theodorealong with them, rushed into the court. The moment Theodore appeared,the walls of the castle behind Manfred were thrown down with a mightyforce,
and the form of Alfonso, dilated to an immense magnitude, appearedin the centre of the ruins.
“Behold in Theodore the true heir of Alfonso!” said the vision: Andhaving pronounced those words, accompanied by a clap of thunder, itascended solemnly towards heaven, where the clouds parting asunder, theform of St. Nicholas was seen, and receiving Alfonso’s shade, they weresoon wrapt from mortal eyes in a blaze of glory.
The beholders fell prostrate on their faces, acknowledging the divinewill. The first that broke silence was Hippolita.
“My Lord,” said she to the desponding Manfred, “behold the vanity ofhuman greatness! Conrad is gone! Matilda is no more! In Theodore weview the true Prince of Otranto. By what miracle he is so I knownot—suffice it to us, our doom is pronounced! shall we not, can we butdedicate the few deplorable hours we have to live, in deprecating thefurther wrath of heaven? heaven ejects us—whither can we fly, but to yonholy cells that yet offer us a retreat.”
“Thou guiltless but unhappy woman! unhappy by my crimes!” repliedManfred, “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 onmyself! To heap shame on my own head is all the satisfaction I have leftto offer to offended heaven. My story has drawn down these judgments:Let my confession atone—but, ah! what can atone for usurpation and amurdered child? a child murdered in a consecrated place? List, sirs, andmay this bloody record be a warning to future tyrants!”
“Alfonso, ye all know, died in the Holy Land—ye would interrupt me; yewould say he came not fairly to his end—it is most true—why else thisbitter cup which Manfred must drink to the dregs. Ricardo, mygrandfather, was his chamberlain—I would draw a veil over my ancestor’scrimes—but it is in vain! Alfonso died by poison. A fictitious willdeclared Ricardo his heir. His crimes pursued him—yet he lost no Conrad,no Matilda! I pay the price of usurpation for all! A storm overtookhim. Haunted by his guilt he vowed to St. Nicholas to found a church andtwo convents, if he lived to reach Otranto. The sacrifice was accepted:the saint appeared to him in a dream, and promised that Ricardo’sposterity should reign in Otranto until the rightful owner should begrown too large to inhabit the castle, and as long as issue male fromRicardo’s loins should remain to enjoy it—alas! alas! nor male norfemale, except myself, remains of all his wretched race! I have done—thewoes of these three days speak the rest. How this young man can beAlfonso’s heir I know not—yet I do not doubt it. His are thesedominions; I resign them—yet I knew not Alfonso had an heir—I questionnot 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 setsail 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 musthave heard, was separated from him.”
“It is most true,” said Manfred; “and the title you give me is more thanan outcast can claim—well! be it so—proceed.”
Jerome blushed, and continued. “For three months Lord Alfonso waswind-bound in Sicily. There he became enamoured of a fair virgin namedVictoria. He was too pious to tempt her to forbidden pleasures. Theywere married. Yet deeming this amour incongruous with the holy vow ofarms by which he was bound, he determined to conceal their nuptials untilhis return from the Crusade, when he purposed to seek and acknowledge herfor his lawful wife. He left her pregnant. During his absence she wasdelivered of a daughter. But scarce had she felt a mother’s pangs ereshe heard the fatal rumour of her Lord’s death, and the succession ofRicardo. What could a friendless, helpless woman do? Would hertestimony avail?—yet, my lord, I have an authentic writing—”
“It needs not,” said Manfred; “the horrors of these days, the vision wehave but now seen, all corroborate thy evidence beyond a thousandparchments. Matilda’s death and my expulsion—”
“Be composed, my Lord,” said Hippolita; “this holy man did not mean torecall your griefs.” Jerome proceeded.
“I shall not dwell on what is needless. The daughter of which Victoriawas delivered, was at her maturity bestowed in marriage on me. Victoriadied; and the secret remained locked in my breast. Theodore’s narrativehas told the rest.”
The Friar ceased. The disconsolate company retired to the remaining partof the castle. In the morning Manfred signed his abdication of theprincipality, with the approbation of Hippolita, and each took on themthe habit of religion in the neighbouring convents. Frederic offered hisdaughter to the new Prince, which Hippolita’s tenderness for Isabellaconcurred to promote. But Theodore’s grief was too fresh to admit thethought of another love; and it was not until after frequent discourseswith Isabella of his dear Matilda, that he was persuaded he could know nohappiness but in the society of one with whom he could for ever indulgethe melancholy that had taken possession of his soul.
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net Share this book with friends