The Castle of Otranto Page 6

  CHAPTER III.

  Manfred’s heart misgave him when he beheld the plumage on the miraculouscasque shaken in concert with the sounding of the brazen trumpet.

  “Father!” said he to Jerome, whom he now ceased to treat as Count ofFalconara, “what mean these portents? If I have offended—” the plumeswere shaken with greater violence than before.

  “Unhappy Prince that I am,” cried Manfred. “Holy Father! will you notassist me with your prayers?”

  “My Lord,” replied Jerome, “heaven is no doubt displeased with yourmockery of its servants. Submit yourself to the church; and cease topersecute her ministers. Dismiss this innocent youth; and learn torespect the holy character I wear. Heaven will not be trifled with: yousee—” the trumpet sounded again.

  “I acknowledge I have been too hasty,” said Manfred. “Father, do you goto the wicket, and demand who is at the gate.”

  “Do you grant me the life of Theodore?” replied the Friar.

  “I do,” said Manfred; “but inquire who is without!”

  Jerome, falling on the neck of his son, discharged a flood of tears, thatspoke the fulness of his soul.

  “You promised to go to the gate,” said Manfred.

  “I thought,” replied the Friar, “your Highness would excuse my thankingyou first in this tribute of my heart.”

  “Go, dearest Sir,” said Theodore; “obey the Prince. I do not deservethat you should delay his satisfaction for me.”

  Jerome, inquiring who was without, was answered, “A Herald.”

  “From whom?” said he.

  “From the Knight of the Gigantic Sabre,” said the Herald; “and I mustspeak with the usurper of Otranto.”

  Jerome returned to the Prince, and did not fail to repeat the message inthe very words it had been uttered. The first sounds struck Manfred withterror; but when he heard himself styled usurper, his rage rekindled, andall his courage revived.

  “Usurper!—insolent villain!” cried he; “who dares to question my title?Retire, Father; this is no business for Monks: I will meet thispresumptuous man myself. Go to your convent and prepare the Princess’sreturn. Your son shall be a hostage for your fidelity: his life dependson your obedience.”

  “Good heaven! my Lord,” cried Jerome, “your Highness did but this instantfreely pardon my child—have you so soon forgot the interposition ofheaven?”

  “Heaven,” replied Manfred, “does not send Heralds to question the titleof a lawful Prince. I doubt whether it even notifies its will throughFriars—but that is your affair, not mine. At present you know mypleasure; and it is not a saucy Herald that shall save your son, if youdo not return with the Princess.”

  It was in vain for the holy man to reply. Manfred commanded him to beconducted to the postern-gate, and shut out from the castle. And heordered some of his attendants to carry Theodore to the top of the blacktower, and guard him strictly; scarce permitting the father and son toexchange a hasty embrace at parting. He then withdrew to the hall, andseating himself in princely state, ordered the Herald to be admitted tohis presence.

  “Well! thou insolent!” said the Prince, “what wouldst thou with me?”

  “I come,” replied he, “to thee, Manfred, usurper of the principality ofOtranto, from the renowned and invincible Knight, the Knight of theGigantic Sabre: in the name of his Lord, Frederic, Marquis of Vicenza, hedemands the Lady Isabella, daughter of that Prince, whom thou hast baselyand traitorously got into thy power, by bribing her false guardiansduring his absence; and he requires thee to resign the principality ofOtranto, which thou hast usurped from the said Lord Frederic, the nearestof blood to the last rightful Lord, Alfonso the Good. If thou dost notinstantly comply with these just demands, he defies thee to single combatto the last extremity.” And so saying the Herald cast down his warder.

  “And where is this braggart who sends thee?” said Manfred.

  “At the distance of a league,” said the Herald: “he comes to make goodhis Lord’s claim against thee, as he is a true knight, and thou anusurper and ravisher.”

  Injurious as this challenge was, Manfred reflected that it was not hisinterest to provoke the Marquis. He knew how well founded the claim ofFrederic was; nor was this the first time he had heard of it. Frederic’sancestors had assumed the style of Princes of Otranto, from the death ofAlfonso the Good without issue; but Manfred, his father, and grandfather,had been too powerful for the house of Vicenza to dispossess them.Frederic, a martial and amorous young Prince, had married a beautifulyoung lady, of whom he was enamoured, and who had died in childbed ofIsabella. Her death affected him so much that he had taken the cross andgone to the Holy Land, where he was wounded in an engagement against theinfidels, made prisoner, and reported to be dead. When the news reachedManfred’s ears, he bribed the guardians of the Lady Isabella to deliverher up to him as a bride for his son Conrad, by which alliance he hadproposed to unite the claims of the two houses. This motive, on Conrad’sdeath, had co-operated to make him so suddenly resolve on espousing herhimself; and the same reflection determined him now to endeavour atobtaining the consent of Frederic to this marriage. A like policyinspired him with the thought of inviting Frederic’s champion into thecastle, lest he should be informed of Isabella’s flight, which hestrictly enjoined his domestics not to disclose to any of the Knight’sretinue.

  “Herald,” said Manfred, as soon as he had digested these reflections,“return to thy master, and tell him, ere we liquidate our differences bythe sword, Manfred would hold some converse with him. Bid him welcome tomy castle, where by my faith, as I am a true Knight, he shall havecourteous reception, and full security for himself and followers. If wecannot adjust our quarrel by amicable means, I swear he shall depart insafety, and shall have full satisfaction according to the laws of arms:So help me God and His holy Trinity!”

  The Herald made three obeisances and retired.

  During this interview Jerome’s mind was agitated by a thousand contrarypassions. He trembled for the life of his son, and his first thought wasto persuade Isabella to return to the castle. Yet he was scarce lessalarmed at the thought of her union with Manfred. He dreaded Hippolita’sunbounded submission to the will of her Lord; and though he did not doubtbut he could alarm her piety not to consent to a divorce, if he could getaccess to her; yet should Manfred discover that the obstruction came fromhim, it might be equally fatal to Theodore. He was impatient to knowwhence came the Herald, who with so little management had questioned thetitle of Manfred: yet he did not dare absent himself from the convent,lest Isabella should leave it, and her flight be imputed to him. Hereturned disconsolately to the monastery, uncertain on what conduct toresolve. A Monk, who met him in the porch and observed his melancholyair, said—

  “Alas! brother, is it then true that we have lost our excellent PrincessHippolita?”

  The holy man started, and cried, “What meanest thou, brother? I comethis instant from the castle, and left her in perfect health.”

  “Martelli,” replied the other Friar, “passed by the convent but a quarterof an hour ago on his way from the castle, and reported that her Highnesswas dead. All our brethren are gone to the chapel to pray for her happytransit to a better life, and willed me to wait thy arrival. They knowthy holy attachment to that good Lady, and are anxious for the afflictionit will cause in thee—indeed we have all reason to weep; she was a motherto our house. But this life is but a pilgrimage; we must not murmur—weshall all follow her! May our end be like hers!”

  “Good brother, thou dreamest,” said Jerome. “I tell thee I come from thecastle, and left the Princess well. Where is the Lady Isabella?”

  “Poor Gentlewoman!” replied the Friar; “I told her the sad news, andoffered her spiritual comfort. I reminded her of the transitorycondition of mortality, and advised her to take the veil: I quoted theexample of the holy Princess Sanchia of Arragon.”

  “Thy zeal was laudable,” said Jerome, impatiently; “but at present it wasun
necessary: Hippolita is well—at least I trust in the Lord she is; Iheard nothing to the contrary—yet, methinks, the Prince’searnestness—Well, brother, but where is the Lady Isabella?”

  “I know not,” said the Friar; “she wept much, and said she would retireto her chamber.”

  Jerome left his comrade abruptly, and hastened to the Princess, but shewas not in her chamber. He inquired of the domestics of the convent, butcould learn no news of her. He searched in vain throughout the monasteryand the church, and despatched messengers round the neighbourhood, to getintelligence if she had been seen; but to no purpose. Nothing couldequal the good man’s perplexity. He judged that Isabella, suspectingManfred of having precipitated his wife’s death, had taken the alarm, andwithdrawn herself to some more secret place of concealment. This newflight would probably carry the Prince’s fury to the height. The reportof Hippolita’s death, though it seemed almost incredible, increased hisconsternation; and though Isabella’s escape bespoke her aversion ofManfred for a husband, Jerome could feel no comfort from it, while itendangered the life of his son. He determined to return to the castle,and made several of his brethren accompany him to attest his innocence toManfred, and, if necessary, join their intercession with his forTheodore.

  The Prince, in the meantime, had passed into the court, and ordered thegates of the castle to be flung open for the reception of the strangerKnight and his train. In a few minutes the cavalcade arrived. Firstcame two harbingers with wands. Next a herald, followed by two pages andtwo trumpets. Then a hundred foot-guards. These were attended by asmany horse. After them fifty footmen, clothed in scarlet and black, thecolours of the Knight. Then a led horse. Two heralds on each side of agentleman on horseback bearing a banner with the arms of Vicenza andOtranto quarterly—a circumstance that much offended Manfred—but hestifled his resentment. Two more pages. The Knight’s confessor tellinghis beads. Fifty more footmen clad as before. Two Knights habited incomplete armour, their beavers down, comrades to the principal Knight.The squires of the two Knights, carrying their shields and devices. TheKnight’s own squire. A hundred gentlemen bearing an enormous sword, andseeming to faint under the weight of it. The Knight himself on achestnut steed, in complete armour, his lance in the rest, his faceentirely concealed by his vizor, which was surmounted by a large plume ofscarlet and black feathers. Fifty foot-guards with drums and trumpetsclosed the procession, which wheeled off to the right and left to makeroom for the principal Knight.

  As soon as he approached the gate he stopped; and the herald advancing,read again the words of the challenge. Manfred’s eyes were fixed on thegigantic sword, and he scarce seemed to attend to the cartel: but hisattention was soon diverted by a tempest of wind that rose behind him.He turned and beheld the Plumes of the enchanted helmet agitated in thesame extraordinary manner as before. It required intrepidity likeManfred’s not to sink under a concurrence of circumstances that seemed toannounce his fate. Yet scorning in the presence of strangers to betraythe courage he had always manifested, he said boldly—

  “Sir Knight, whoever thou art, I bid thee welcome. If thou art of mortalmould, thy valour shall meet its equal: and if thou art a true Knight,thou wilt scorn to employ sorcery to carry thy point. Be these omensfrom heaven or hell, Manfred trusts to the righteousness of his cause andto the aid of St. Nicholas, who has ever protected his house. Alight,Sir Knight, and repose thyself. To-morrow thou shalt have a fair field,and heaven befriend the juster side!”

  The Knight made no reply, but dismounting, was conducted by Manfred tothe great hall of the castle. As they traversed the court, the Knightstopped to gaze on the miraculous casque; and kneeling down, seemed topray inwardly for some minutes. Rising, he made a sign to the Prince tolead on. As soon as they entered the hall, Manfred proposed to thestranger to disarm, but the Knight shook his head in token of refusal.

  “Sir Knight,” said Manfred, “this is not courteous, but by my good faithI will not cross thee, nor shalt thou have cause to complain of thePrince of Otranto. No treachery is designed on my part; I hope none isintended on thine; here take my gage” (giving him his ring): “yourfriends and you shall enjoy the laws of hospitality. Rest here untilrefreshments are brought. I will but give orders for the accommodationof your train, and return to you.” The three Knights bowed as acceptinghis courtesy. Manfred directed the stranger’s retinue to be conducted toan adjacent hospital, founded by the Princess Hippolita for the receptionof pilgrims. As they made the circuit of the court to return towards thegate, the gigantic sword burst from the supporters, and falling to theground opposite to the helmet, remained immovable. Manfred, almosthardened to preternatural appearances, surmounted the shock of this newprodigy; and returning to the hall, where by this time the feast wasready, he invited his silent guests to take their places. Manfred,however ill his heart was at ease, endeavoured to inspire the companywith mirth. He put several questions to them, but was answered only bysigns. They raised their vizors but sufficiently to feed themselves, andthat sparingly.

  “Sirs” said the Prince, “ye are the first guests I ever treated withinthese walls who scorned to hold any intercourse with me: nor has it oftbeen customary, I ween, for princes to hazard their state and dignityagainst strangers and mutes. You say you come in the name of Frederic ofVicenza; I have ever heard that he was a gallant and courteous Knight;nor would he, I am bold to say, think it beneath him to mix in socialconverse with a Prince that is his equal, and not unknown by deeds inarms. Still ye are silent—well! be it as it may—by the laws ofhospitality and chivalry ye are masters under this roof: ye shall do yourpleasure. But come, give me a goblet of wine; ye will not refuse topledge me to the healths of your fair mistresses.”

  The principal Knight sighed and crossed himself, and was rising from theboard.

  “Sir Knight,” said Manfred, “what I said was but in sport. I shallconstrain you in nothing: use your good liking. Since mirth is not yourmood, let us be sad. Business may hit your fancies better. Let uswithdraw, and hear if what I have to unfold may be better relished thanthe vain efforts I have made for your pastime.”

  Manfred then conducting the three Knights into an inner chamber, shut thedoor, and inviting them to be seated, began thus, addressing himself tothe chief personage:—

  “You come, Sir Knight, as I understand, in the name of the Marquis ofVicenza, to re-demand the Lady Isabella, his daughter, who has beencontracted in the face of Holy Church to my son, by the consent of herlegal guardians; and to require me to resign my dominions to your Lord,who gives himself for the nearest of blood to Prince Alfonso, whose soulGod rest! I shall speak to the latter article of your demands first.You must know, your Lord knows, that I enjoy the principality of Otrantofrom my father, Don Manuel, as he received it from his father, DonRicardo. Alfonso, their predecessor, dying childless in the Holy Land,bequeathed his estates to my grandfather, Don Ricardo, in considerationof his faithful services.” The stranger shook his head.

  “Sir Knight,” said Manfred, warmly, “Ricardo was a valiant and uprightman; he was a pious man; witness his munificent foundation of theadjoining church and two convents. He was peculiarly patronised by St.Nicholas—my grandfather was incapable—I say, Sir, Don Ricardo wasincapable—excuse me, your interruption has disordered me. I venerate thememory of my grandfather. Well, Sirs, he held this estate; he held it byhis good sword and by the favour of St. Nicholas—so did my father; andso, Sirs, will I, come what come will. But Frederic, your Lord, isnearest in blood. I have consented to put my title to the issue of thesword. Does that imply a vicious title? I might have asked, where isFrederic your Lord? Report speaks him dead in captivity. You say, youractions say, he lives—I question it not—I might, Sirs, I might—but I donot. Other Princes would bid Frederic take his inheritance by force, ifhe can: they would not stake their dignity on a single combat: they wouldnot submit it to the decision of unknown mutes!—pardon me, gentlemen, Iam too warm: but suppose yourselves in
my situation: as ye are stoutKnights, would it not move your choler to have your own and the honour ofyour ancestors called in question?”

  “But to the point. Ye require me to deliver up the Lady Isabella. Sirs,I must ask if ye are authorised to receive her?”

  The Knight nodded.

  “Receive her,” continued Manfred; “well, you are authorised to receiveher, but, gentle Knight, may I ask if you have full powers?”

  The Knight nodded.

  “’Tis well,” said Manfred; “then hear what I have to offer. Ye see,gentlemen, before you, the most unhappy of men!” (he began to weep);“afford me your compassion; I am entitled to it, indeed I am. Know, Ihave lost my only hope, my joy, the support of my house—Conrad diedyester morning.”

  The Knights discovered signs of surprise.

  “Yes, Sirs, fate has disposed of my son. Isabella is at liberty.”

  “Do you then restore her?” cried the chief Knight, breaking silence.

  “Afford me your patience,” said Manfred. “I rejoice to find, by thistestimony of your goodwill, that this matter may be adjusted withoutblood. It is no interest of mine dictates what little I have farther tosay. Ye behold in me a man disgusted with the world: the loss of my sonhas weaned me from earthly cares. Power and greatness have no longer anycharms in my eyes. I wished to transmit the sceptre I had received frommy ancestors with honour to my son—but that is over! Life itself is soindifferent to me, that I accepted your defiance with joy. A good Knightcannot go to the grave with more satisfaction than when falling in hisvocation: whatever is the will of heaven, I submit; for alas! Sirs, I ama man of many sorrows. Manfred is no object of envy, but no doubt youare acquainted with my story.”

  The Knight made signs of ignorance, and seemed curious to have Manfredproceed.

  “Is it possible, Sirs,” continued the Prince, “that my story should be asecret to you? Have you heard nothing relating to me and the PrincessHippolita?”

  They shook their heads.

  “No! Thus, then, Sirs, it is. You think me ambitious: ambition, alas!is composed of more rugged materials. If I were ambitious, I should notfor so many years have been a prey to all the hell of conscientiousscruples. But I weary your patience: I will be brief. Know, then, thatI have long been troubled in mind on my union with the PrincessHippolita. Oh! Sirs, if ye were acquainted with that excellent woman! ifye knew that I adore her like a mistress, and cherish her as a friend—butman was not born for perfect happiness! She shares my scruples, and withher consent I have brought this matter before the church, for we arerelated within the forbidden degrees. I expect every hour the definitivesentence that must separate us for ever—I am sure you feel for me—I seeyou do—pardon these tears!”

  The Knights gazed on each other, wondering where this would end.

  Manfred continued—

  “The death of my son betiding while my soul was under this anxiety, Ithought of nothing but resigning my dominions, and retiring for ever fromthe sight of mankind. My only difficulty was to fix on a successor, whowould be tender of my people, and to dispose of the Lady Isabella, who isdear to me as my own blood. I was willing to restore the line ofAlfonso, even in his most distant kindred. And though, pardon me, I amsatisfied it was his will that Ricardo’s lineage should take place of hisown relations; yet where was I to search for those relations? I knew ofnone but Frederic, your Lord; he was a captive to the infidels, or dead;and were he living, and at home, would he quit the flourishing State ofVicenza for the inconsiderable principality of Otranto? If he would not,could I bear the thought of seeing a hard, unfeeling, Viceroy set over mypoor faithful people? for, Sirs, I love my people, and thank heaven ambeloved by them. But ye will ask whither tends this long discourse?Briefly, then, thus, Sirs. Heaven in your arrival seems to point out aremedy for these difficulties and my misfortunes. The Lady Isabella isat liberty; I shall soon be so. I would submit to anything for the goodof my people. Were it not the best, the only way to extinguish the feudsbetween our families, if I was to take the Lady Isabella to wife? Youstart. But though Hippolita’s virtues will ever be dear to me, a Princemust not consider himself; he is born for his people.” A servant at thatinstant entering the chamber apprised Manfred that Jerome and several ofhis brethren demanded immediate access to him.

  The Prince, provoked at this interruption, and fearing that the Friarwould discover to the strangers that Isabella had taken sanctuary, wasgoing to forbid Jerome’s entrance. But recollecting that he wascertainly arrived to notify the Princess’s return, Manfred began toexcuse himself to the Knights for leaving them for a few moments, but wasprevented by the arrival of the Friars. Manfred angrily reprimanded themfor their intrusion, and would have forced them back from the chamber;but Jerome was too much agitated to be repulsed. He declared aloud theflight of Isabella, with protestations of his own innocence.

  Manfred, distracted at the news, and not less at its coming to theknowledge of the strangers, uttered nothing but incoherent sentences, nowupbraiding the Friar, now apologising to the Knights, earnest to knowwhat was become of Isabella, yet equally afraid of their knowing;impatient to pursue her, yet dreading to have them join in the pursuit.He offered to despatch messengers in quest of her, but the chief Knight,no longer keeping silence, reproached Manfred in bitter terms for hisdark and ambiguous dealing, and demanded the cause of Isabella’s firstabsence from the castle. Manfred, casting a stern look at Jerome,implying a command of silence, pretended that on Conrad’s death he hadplaced her in sanctuary until he could determine how to dispose of her.Jerome, who trembled for his son’s life, did not dare contradict thisfalsehood, but one of his brethren, not under the same anxiety, declaredfrankly that she had fled to their church in the preceding night. ThePrince in vain endeavoured to stop this discovery, which overwhelmed himwith shame and confusion. The principal stranger, amazed at thecontradictions he heard, and more than half persuaded that Manfred hadsecreted the Princess, notwithstanding the concern he expressed at herflight, rushing to the door, said—

  “Thou traitor Prince! Isabella shall be found.”

  Manfred endeavoured to hold him, but the other Knights assisting theircomrade, he broke from the Prince, and hastened into the court, demandinghis attendants. Manfred, finding it vain to divert him from the pursuit,offered to accompany him and summoning his attendants, and taking Jeromeand some of the Friars to guide them, they issued from the castle;Manfred privately giving orders to have the Knight’s company secured,while to the knight he affected to despatch a messenger to require theirassistance.

  The company had no sooner quitted the castle than Matilda, who feltherself deeply interested for the young peasant, since she had seen himcondemned to death in the hall, and whose thoughts had been taken up withconcerting measures to save him, was informed by some of the femaleattendants that Manfred had despatched all his men various ways inpursuit of Isabella. He had in his hurry given this order in generalterms, not meaning to extend it to the guard he had set upon Theodore,but forgetting it. The domestics, officious to obey so peremptory aPrince, and urged by their own curiosity and love of novelty to join inany precipitate chase, had to a man left the castle. Matilda disengagedherself from her women, stole up to the black tower, and unbolting thedoor, presented herself to the astonished Theodore.

  “Young man,” said she, “though filial duty and womanly modesty condemnthe step I am taking, yet holy charity, surmounting all other ties,justifies this act. Fly; the doors of thy prison are open: my father andhis domestics are absent; but they may soon return. Be gone in safety;and may the angels of heaven direct thy course!”

  “Thou art surely one of those angels!” said the enraptured Theodore:“none but a blessed saint could speak, could act—could look—like thee.May I not know the name of my divine protectress? Methought thou namedstthy father. Is it possible? Can Manfred’s blood feel holy pity! LovelyLady, thou answerest not. But how art thou here thyself? Why dost thouneglect thy own
safety, and waste a thought on a wretch like Theodore?Let us fly together: the life thou bestowest shall be dedicated to thydefence.”

  “Alas! thou mistakest,” said Matilda, signing: “I am Manfred’s daughter,but no dangers await me.”

  “Amazement!” said Theodore; “but last night I blessed myself for yieldingthee the service thy gracious compassion so charitably returns me now.”

  “Still thou art in an error,” said the Princess; “but this is no time forexplanation. Fly, virtuous youth, while it is in my power to save thee:should my father return, thou and I both should indeed have cause totremble.”

  “How!” said Theodore; “thinkest thou, charming maid, that I will acceptof life at the hazard of aught calamitous to thee? Better I endured athousand deaths.”

  “I run no risk,” said Matilda, “but by thy delay. Depart; it cannot beknown that I have assisted thy flight.”

  “Swear by the saints above,” said Theodore, “that thou canst not besuspected; else here I vow to await whatever can befall me.”

  “Oh! thou art too generous,” said Matilda; “but rest assured that nosuspicion can alight on me.”

  “Give me thy beauteous hand in token that thou dost not deceive me,” saidTheodore; “and let me bathe it with the warm tears of gratitude.”

  “Forbear!” said the Princess; “this must not be.”

  “Alas!” said Theodore, “I have never known but calamity until thishour—perhaps shall never know other fortune again: suffer the chasteraptures of holy gratitude: ’tis my soul would print its effusions on thyhand.”

  “Forbear, and be gone,” said Matilda. “How would Isabella approve ofseeing thee at my feet?”

  “Who is Isabella?” said the young man with surprise.

  “Ah, me! I fear,” said the Princess, “I am serving a deceitful one.Hast thou forgot thy curiosity this morning?”

  “Thy looks, thy actions, all thy beauteous self seem an emanation ofdivinity,” said Theodore; “but thy words are dark and mysterious. Speak,Lady; speak to thy servant’s comprehension.”

  “Thou understandest but too well!” said Matilda; “but once more I commandthee to be gone: thy blood, which I may preserve, will be on my head, ifI waste the time in vain discourse.”

  “I go, Lady,” said Theodore, “because it is thy will, and because I wouldnot bring the grey hairs of my father with sorrow to the grave. Say but,adored Lady, that I have thy gentle pity.”

  “Stay,” said Matilda; “I will conduct thee to the subterraneous vault bywhich Isabella escaped; it will lead thee to the church of St. Nicholas,where thou mayst take sanctuary.”

  “What!” said Theodore, “was it another, and not thy lovely self that Iassisted to find the subterraneous passage?”

  “It was,” said Matilda; “but ask no more; I tremble to see thee stillabide here; fly to the sanctuary.”

  “To sanctuary,” said Theodore; “no, Princess; sanctuaries are forhelpless damsels, or for criminals. Theodore’s soul is free from guilt,nor will wear the appearance of it. Give me a sword, Lady, and thyfather shall learn that Theodore scorns an ignominious flight.”

  “Rash youth!” said Matilda; “thou wouldst not dare to lift thypresumptuous arm against the Prince of Otranto?”

  “Not against thy father; indeed, I dare not,” said Theodore. “Excuse me,Lady; I had forgotten. But could I gaze on thee, and remember thou artsprung from the tyrant Manfred! But he is thy father, and from thismoment my injuries are buried in oblivion.”

  A deep and hollow groan, which seemed to come from above, startled thePrincess and Theodore.

  “Good heaven! we are overheard!” said the Princess. They listened; butperceiving no further noise, they both concluded it the effect of pent-upvapours. And the Princess, preceding Theodore softly, carried him to herfather’s armoury, where, equipping him with a complete suit, he wasconducted by Matilda to the postern-gate.

  “Avoid the town,” said the Princess, “and all the western side of thecastle. ’Tis there the search must be making by Manfred and thestrangers; but hie thee to the opposite quarter. Yonder behind thatforest to the east is a chain of rocks, hollowed into a labyrinth ofcaverns that reach to the sea coast. There thou mayst lie concealed,till thou canst make signs to some vessel to put on shore, and take theeoff. Go! heaven be thy guide!—and sometimes in thy prayersremember—Matilda!”

  Theodore flung himself at her feet, and seizing her lily hand, which withstruggles she suffered him to kiss, he vowed on the earliest opportunityto get himself knighted, and fervently entreated her permission to swearhimself eternally her knight. Ere the Princess could reply, a clap ofthunder was suddenly heard that shook the battlements. Theodore,regardless of the tempest, would have urged his suit: but the Princess,dismayed, retreated hastily into the castle, and commanded the youth tobe gone with an air that would not be disobeyed. He sighed, and retired,but with eyes fixed on the gate, until Matilda, closing it, put an end toan interview, in which the hearts of both had drunk so deeply of apassion, which both now tasted for the first time.

  Theodore went pensively to the convent, to acquaint his father with hisdeliverance. There he learned the absence of Jerome, and the pursuitthat was making after the Lady Isabella, with some particulars of whosestory he now first became acquainted. The generous gallantry of hisnature prompted him to wish to assist her; but the Monks could lend himno lights to guess at the route she had taken. He was not tempted towander far in search of her, for the idea of Matilda had imprinted itselfso strongly on his heart, that he could not bear to absent himself atmuch distance from her abode. The tenderness Jerome had expressed forhim concurred to confirm this reluctance; and he even persuaded himselfthat filial affection was the chief cause of his hovering between thecastle and monastery.

  Until Jerome should return at night, Theodore at length determined torepair to the forest that Matilda had pointed out to him. Arrivingthere, he sought the gloomiest shades, as best suited to the pleasingmelancholy that reigned in his mind. In this mood he roved insensibly tothe caves which had formerly served as a retreat to hermits, and were nowreported round the country to be haunted by evil spirits. He recollectedto have heard this tradition; and being of a brave and adventurousdisposition, he willingly indulged his curiosity in exploring the secretrecesses of this labyrinth. He had not penetrated far before he thoughthe heard the steps of some person who seemed to retreat before him.

  Theodore, though firmly grounded in all our holy faith enjoins to bebelieved, had no apprehension that good men were abandoned without causeto the malice of the powers of darkness. He thought the place morelikely to be infested by robbers than by those infernal agents who arereported to molest and bewilder travellers. He had long burned withimpatience to approve his valour. Drawing his sabre, he marched sedatelyonwards, still directing his steps as the imperfect rustling sound beforehim led the way. The armour he wore was a like indication to the personwho avoided him. Theodore, now convinced that he was not mistaken,redoubled his pace, and evidently gained on the person that fled, whosehaste increasing, Theodore came up just as a woman fell breathless beforehim. He hasted to raise her, but her terror was so great that heapprehended she would faint in his arms. He used every gentle word todispel her alarms, and assured her that far from injuring, he woulddefend her at the peril of his life. The Lady recovering her spiritsfrom his courteous demeanour, and gazing on her protector, said—

  “Sure, I have heard that voice before!”

  “Not to my knowledge,” replied Theodore; “unless, as I conjecture, thouart the Lady Isabella.”

  “Merciful heaven!” cried she. “Thou art not sent in quest of me, artthou?” And saying those words, she threw herself at his feet, andbesought him not to deliver her up to Manfred.

  “To Manfred!” cried Theodore—“no, Lady; I have once already deliveredthee from his tyranny, and it shall fare hard with me now, but I willplace thee out of the reach of his daring.”

  �
�Is it possible,” said she, “that thou shouldst be the generous unknownwhom I met last night in the vault of the castle? Sure thou art not amortal, but my guardian angel. On my knees, let me thank—”

  “Hold! gentle Princess,” said Theodore, “nor demean thyself before a poorand friendless young man. If heaven has selected me for thy deliverer,it will accomplish its work, and strengthen my arm in thy cause. Butcome, Lady, we are too near the mouth of the cavern; let us seek itsinmost recesses. I can have no tranquillity till I have placed theebeyond the reach of danger.”

  “Alas! what mean you, sir?” said she. “Though all your actions arenoble, though your sentiments speak the purity of your soul, is itfitting that I should accompany you alone into these perplexed retreats?Should we be found together, what would a censorious world think of myconduct?”

  “I respect your virtuous delicacy,” said Theodore; “nor do you harbour asuspicion that wounds my honour. I meant to conduct you into the mostprivate cavity of these rocks, and then at the hazard of my life to guardtheir entrance against every living thing. Besides, Lady,” continued he,drawing a deep sigh, “beauteous and all perfect as your form is, andthough my wishes are not guiltless of aspiring, know, my soul isdedicated to another; and although—” A sudden noise prevented Theodorefrom proceeding. They soon distinguished these sounds—

  “Isabella! what, ho! Isabella!” The trembling Princess relapsed into herformer agony of fear. Theodore endeavoured to encourage her, but invain. He assured her he would die rather than suffer her to return underManfred’s power; and begging her to remain concealed, he went forth toprevent the person in search of her from approaching.

  At the mouth of the cavern he found an armed Knight, discoursing with apeasant, who assured him he had seen a lady enter the passes of the rock.The Knight was preparing to seek her, when Theodore, placing himself inhis way, with his sword drawn, sternly forbad him at his peril toadvance.

  “And who art thou, who darest to cross my way?” said the Knight,haughtily.

  “One who does not dare more than he will perform,” said Theodore.

  “I seek the Lady Isabella,” said the Knight, “and understand she hastaken refuge among these rocks. Impede me not, or thou wilt repenthaving provoked my resentment.”

  “Thy purpose is as odious as thy resentment is contemptible,” saidTheodore. “Return whence thou camest, or we shall soon know whoseresentment is most terrible.”

  The stranger, who was the principal Knight that had arrived from theMarquis of Vicenza, had galloped from Manfred as he was busied in gettinginformation of the Princess, and giving various orders to prevent herfalling into the power of the three Knights. Their chief had suspectedManfred of being privy to the Princess’s absconding, and this insult froma man, who he concluded was stationed by that Prince to secrete her,confirming his suspicions, he made no reply, but discharging a blow withhis sabre at Theodore, would soon have removed all obstruction, ifTheodore, who took him for one of Manfred’s captains, and who had nosooner given the provocation than prepared to support it, had notreceived the stroke on his shield. The valour that had so long beensmothered in his breast broke forth at once; he rushed impetuously on theKnight, whose pride and wrath were not less powerful incentives to hardydeeds. The combat was furious, but not long. Theodore wounded theKnight in three several places, and at last disarmed him as he fainted bythe loss of blood.

  The peasant, who had fled on the first onset, had given the alarm to someof Manfred’s domestics, who, by his orders, were dispersed through theforest in pursuit of Isabella. They came up as the Knight fell, whomthey soon discovered to be the noble stranger. Theodore, notwithstandinghis hatred to Manfred, could not behold the victory he had gained withoutemotions of pity and generosity. But he was more touched when he learnedthe quality of his adversary, and was informed that he was no retainer,but an enemy, of Manfred. He assisted the servants of the latter indisarming the Knight, and in endeavouring to stanch the blood that flowedfrom his wounds. The Knight recovering his speech, said, in a faint andfaltering voice—

  “Generous foe, we have both been in an error. I took thee for aninstrument of the tyrant; I perceive thou hast made the like mistake. Itis too late for excuses. I faint. If Isabella is at hand—call her—Ihave important secrets to—”

  “He is dying!” said one of the attendants; “has nobody a crucifix aboutthem? Andrea, do thou pray over him.”

  “Fetch some water,” said Theodore, “and pour it down his throat, while Ihasten to the Princess.”

  Saying this, he flew to Isabella, and in few words told her modestly thathe had been so unfortunate by mistake as to wound a gentleman from herfather’s court, who wished, ere he died, to impart something ofconsequence to her.

  The Princess, who had been transported at hearing the voice of Theodore,as he called to her to come forth, was astonished at what she heard.Suffering herself to be conducted by Theodore, the new proof of whosevalour recalled her dispersed spirits, she came where the bleeding Knightlay speechless on the ground. But her fears returned when she beheld thedomestics of Manfred. She would again have fled if Theodore had not madeher observe that they were unarmed, and had not threatened them withinstant death if they should dare to seize the Princess.

  The stranger, opening his eyes, and beholding a woman, said, “Artthou—pray tell me truly—art thou Isabella of Vicenza?”

  “I am,” said she: “good heaven restore thee!”

  “Then thou—then thou”—said the Knight, struggling forutterance—“seest—thy father. Give me one—”

  “Oh! amazement! horror! what do I hear! what do I see!” cried Isabella.“My father! You my father! How came you here, Sir? For heaven’s sake,speak! Oh! run for help, or he will expire!”

  “’Tis most true,” said the wounded Knight, exerting all his force; “I amFrederic thy father. Yes, I came to deliver thee. It will not be. Giveme a parting kiss, and take—”

  “Sir,” said Theodore, “do not exhaust yourself; suffer us to convey youto the castle.”

  “To the castle!” said Isabella. “Is there no help nearer than thecastle? Would you expose my father to the tyrant? If he goes thither, Idare not accompany him; and yet, can I leave him!”

  “My child,” said Frederic, “it matters not for me whither I am carried.A few minutes will place me beyond danger; but while I have eyes to doteon thee, forsake me not, dear Isabella! This brave Knight—I know not whohe is—will protect thy innocence. Sir, you will not abandon my child,will you?”

  Theodore, shedding tears over his victim, and vowing to guard thePrincess at the expense of his life, persuaded Frederic to suffer himselfto be conducted to the castle. They placed him on a horse belonging toone of the domestics, after binding up his wounds as well as they wereable. Theodore marched by his side; and the afflicted Isabella, whocould not bear to quit him, followed mournfully behind.