MANFRED, Prince of Otranto, had one son and one daughter: the latter,
a most beautiful virgin, aged eighteen, was called Matilda. Conrad,
the son, was three years younger, a homely youth, sickly, and of no
promising disposition; yet he was the darling of his father, who never
showed any symptoms of affection to Matilda. Manfred had contracted a
marriage for his son with the Marquis of Vicenza's daughter, Isabella;
and she had already been delivered by her guardians into the hands of
Manfred, that he might celebrate the wedding as soon as Conrad's
infirm state of health would permit.
Manfred's impatience for this ceremonial was remarked by his family
and neighbours. The former, indeed, apprehending the severity of
their Prince's disposition, did not dare to utter their surmises on
this precipitation. Hippolita, his wife, an amiable lady, did
sometimes venture to represent the danger of marrying their only son
so early, considering his great youth, and greater infirmities; but
she never received any other answer than reflections on her own
sterility, who had given him but one heir. His tenants and subjects
were less cautious in their discourses. They attributed this hasty
wedding to the Prince's dread of seeing accomplished an ancient
prophecy, which was said to have pronounced that the castle and
lordship of Otranto "should pass from the present family, whenever the
real owner should be grown too large to inhabit it." It was difficult
to make any sense of this prophecy; and still less easy to conceive
what it had to do with the marriage in question. Yet these mysteries,
or contradictions, did not make the populace adhere the less to their
opinion.
Young Conrad's birthday was fixed for his espousals. The company was
assembled in the chapel of the Castle, and everything ready for
beginning the divine office, when Conrad himself was missing.
Manfred, impatient of the least delay, and who had not observed his
son retire, despatched one of his attendants to summon the young
Prince. The servant, who had not stayed long enough to have crossed
the court to Conrad's apartment, came running back breathless, in a
frantic manner, his eyes staring, and foaming at the mouth. He said
nothing, but pointed to the court.
The company were struck with terror and amazement. The Princess
Hippolita, without knowing what was the matter, but anxious for her
son, swooned away. Manfred, less apprehensive than enraged at the
procrastination of the nuptials, and at the folly of his domestic,
asked imperiously, what was the matter? The fellow made no answer, but
continued pointing towards the court-yard; and at last, after repeated
questions put to him, cried out, "Oh! the helmet! the helmet!"
In the meantime, some of the company had run into the court, from
whence was heard a confused noise of shrieks, horror, and surprise.
Manfred, who began to be alarmed at not seeing his son, went himself
to get information of what occasioned this strange confusion. Matilda
remained, endeavouring to assist her mother, and Isabella stayed for
the same purpose, and to avoid showing any impatience for the
bridegroom, for whom, in truth, she had conceived little affection.
The first thing that struck Manfred's eyes was a group of his servants
endeavouring to raise something that appeared to him a mountain of
sable plumes. He gazed without believing his sight.
"What are ye doing?" cried Manfred, wrathfully; "where is my son?"
A volley of voices replied, "Oh! my Lord! the Prince! the Prince! the
helmet! the helmet!"
Shocked with these lamentable sounds, and dreading he knew not what,
he advanced hastily, -- but what a sight for a father's eyes! -- he
beheld his child dashed to pieces, and almost buried under an enormous
helmet, a hundred times more large than any casque ever made for
human being, and shaded with a proportionable quantity of black
feathers.
The horror of the spectacle, the ignorance of all around how this
misfortune had happened, and above all, the tremendous phenomenon
before him, took away the Prince's speech. Yet his silence lasted
longer than even grief could occasion. He fixed his eyes on what he
wished in vain to believe a vision; and seemed less attentive to his
loss, than buried in meditation on the stupendous object that had
occasioned it. He touched, he examined, the fatal casque; nor could
even the bleeding mangled remains of the young Prince divert the eyes
of Manfred from the portent before him.
All who had known his partial fondness for young Conrad, were as much
surprised at their Prince's insensibility, as thunderstruck themselves
at the miracle of the helmet. They conveyed the disfigured corpse
into the hall, without receiving the least direction from Manfred. As
little was he attentive to the ladies who remained in the chapel. On
the contrary, without mentioning the unhappy princesses, his wife and
daughter, the first sounds that dropped from Manfred's lips were,
"Take care of the Lady Isabella."
The domestics, without observing the singularity of this direction,
were guided by their affection to their mistress, to consider it as
peculiarly addressed to her situation, and flew to her assistance.
They conveyed her to her chamber, more dead than alive, and indifferent
to all the strange circumstances she heard, except the death of her
son.
Matilda, who doted on her mother, smothered her own grief and
amazement, and thought of nothing but assisting and comforting her
afflicted parent. Isabella, who had been treated by Hippolita like a
daughter, and who returned that tenderness with equal duty and
affection, was scarce less assiduous about the Princess; at the same
time endeavouring to partake and lessen the weight of sorrow which she
saw Matilda strove to suppress, for whom she had conceived the warmest
sympathy of friendship. Yet her own situation could not help finding
its place in her thoughts. She felt no concern for the death of young
Conrad, except commiseration; and she was not sorry to be delivered
from a marriage which had promised her little felicity, either from
her destined bridegroom, or from the severe temper of Manfred, who,
though he had distinguished her by great indulgence, had imprinted her
mind with terror, from his causeless rigour to such amiable princesses
as Hippolita and Matilda.
While the ladies were conveying the wretched mother to her bed,
Manfred remained in the court, gazing on the ominous casque, and
regardless of the crowd which the strangeness of the event had now
assembled around him. The few words he articulated, tended solely to
inquiries, whether any man knew from whence it could have come?
Nobody could give him the least information. However, as it seemed to
be the sole object of his curiosity, it soon became so to the rest of
the spectators, whose conjectures were as absurd and improbable, as
the catastrophe itself was unprecedented. In the midst of their
senseless guesses, a young peasant, whom rumour had drawn thither from
a neighbouring village, observed that the miraculous helmet was
exactly like that on the figure in black marble of Alfonso the Good,
one of their former princes, in the church of St. Nicholas.
"Villain! What sayest thou?" cried Manfred, starting from his trance
in a tempest of rage, and seizing the young man by the collar; "how
darest thou utter such treason? Thy life shall pay for it."
The spectators, who as little comprehended the cause of the Prince's
fury as all the rest they had seen, were at a loss to unravel this new
circumstance. The young peasant himself was still more astonished,
not conceiving how he had offended the Prince. Yet recollecting
himself, with a mixture of grace and humility, he disengaged himself
from Manfred's grip, and then with an obeisance, which discovered more
jealousy of innocence than dismay, he asked, with respect, of what he
was guilty? Manfred, more enraged at the vigour, however decently
exerted, with which the young man had shaken off his hold, than
appeased by his submission, ordered his attendants to seize him, and,
if he had not been withheld by his friends whom he had invited to the
nuptials, would have poignarded the peasant in their arms.