The Castle of Otranto by Horace Walpole (e textbook reader txt) 📕

reasons, and less disposition to obey them. The lovely Matilda had made stronger impressions on him than filial affection. All night he pleased himself with visions of love; and it was not till late after the morning-office, that he recollected the friar’s commands to attend him at Alfonso’s tomb.

“Young man,” said Jerome, when he saw him, “this tardiness does not please me. Have a father’s commands already so little weight?”

Theodore made awkward excuses, and attributed his delay to having overslept himself.

“And on whom were thy dreams employed?” said the friar sternly. His son blushed. “Come, come,” resumed the friar, “inconsiderate youth, this must not be; eradicate this guilty passion from thy breast⁠—”

“Guilty passion!” cried Theodore: “Can guilt dwell with innocent beauty and virtuous modesty?”

“It is sinful,” replied the friar, “to cherish those whom heaven has doomed to destruction. A tyrant’s race must be swept from the earth to the third and fourth generation.”

“Will heaven visit the innocent for the crimes of the guilty?” said Theodore. “The fair Matilda has virtues enough⁠—”

“To undo thee:” interrupted Jerome. “Hast thou so soon forgotten that twice the savage Manfred has pronounced thy sentence?”

“Nor have I forgotten, sir,” said Theodore, “that the charity of his daughter delivered me from his power. I can forget injuries, but never benefits.”

“The injuries thou hast received from Manfred’s race,” said the friar, “are beyond what thou canst conceive. Reply not, but view this holy image! Beneath this marble monument rest the ashes of the good Alfonso; a prince adorned with every virtue: the father of his people! the delight of mankind! Kneel, headstrong boy, and list, while a father unfolds a tale of horror that will expel every sentiment from thy soul, but sensations of sacred vengeance⁠—Alfonso! much injured prince! let thy unsatisfied shade sit awful on the troubled air, while these trembling lips⁠—Ha! who comes there?⁠—”

“The most wretched of women!” said Hippolita, entering the choir. “Good Father, art thou at leisure?⁠—but why this kneeling youth? what means the horror imprinted on each countenance? why at this venerable tomb⁠—alas! hast thou seen aught?”

“We were pouring forth our orisons to heaven,” replied the friar, with some confusion, “to put an end to the woes of this deplorable province. Join with us, Lady! thy spotless soul may obtain an exemption from the judgments which the portents of these days but too speakingly denounce against thy house.”

“I pray fervently to heaven to divert them,” said the pious Princess. “Thou knowest it has been the occupation of my life to wrest a blessing for my Lord and my harmless children.⁠—One alas! is taken from me! would heaven but hear me for my poor Matilda! Father! intercede for her!”

“Every heart will bless her,” cried Theodore with rapture.

“Be dumb, rash youth!” said Jerome. “And thou, fond Princess, contend not with the Powers above! the Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away: bless His holy name, and submit to his decrees.”

“I do most devoutly,” said Hippolita; “but will He not spare my only comfort? must Matilda perish too?⁠—ah! Father, I came⁠—but dismiss thy son. No ear but thine must hear what I have to utter.”

“May heaven grant thy every wish, most excellent Princess!” said Theodore retiring. Jerome frowned.

Hippolita then acquainted the friar with the proposal she had suggested to Manfred, his approbation of it, and the tender of Matilda that he was gone to make to Frederic. Jerome could not conceal his dislike of the notion, which he covered under pretence of the improbability that Frederic, the nearest of blood to Alfonso, and who was come to claim his succession, would yield to an alliance with the usurper of his right. But nothing could equal the perplexity of the friar, when Hippolita confessed her readiness not to oppose the separation, and demanded his opinion on the legality of her acquiescence. The friar caught eagerly at her request of his advice, and without explaining his aversion to the proposed marriage of Manfred and Isabella, he painted to Hippolita in the most alarming colours the sinfulness of her consent, denounced judgments against her if she complied, and enjoined her in the severest terms to treat any such proposition with every mark of indignation and refusal.

Manfred, in the meantime, had broken his purpose to Frederic, and proposed the double marriage. That weak Prince, who had been struck with the charms of Matilda, listened but too eagerly to the offer. He forgot his enmity to Manfred, whom he saw but little hope of dispossessing by force; and flattering himself that no issue might succeed from the union of his daughter with the tyrant, he looked upon his own succession to the principality as facilitated by wedding Matilda. He made faint opposition to the proposal; affecting, for form only, not to acquiesce unless Hippolita should consent to the divorce. Manfred took that upon himself.

Transported with his success, and impatient to see himself in a situation to expect sons, he hastened to his wife’s apartment, determined to extort her compliance. He learned with indignation that she was absent at the convent. His guilt suggested to him that she had probably been informed by Isabella of his purpose. He doubted whether her retirement to the convent did not import an intention of remaining there, until she could raise obstacles to their divorce; and the suspicions he had already entertained of Jerome, made him apprehend that the friar would not only traverse his views, but might have inspired Hippolita with the resolution of talking sanctuary. Impatient to unravel this clue, and to defeat its success, Manfred hastened to the convent, and arrived there as the friar was earnestly exhorting the Princess never to yield to the divorce.

“Madam,” said Manfred, “what business drew you hither? why did you not await my return from the Marquis?”

“I came to implore a blessing on your councils,” replied Hippolita.

“My councils do not need a friar’s intervention,” said Manfred; “and of all men living is that hoary traitor the only one whom you delight to confer with?”

“Profane Prince!” said Jerome;