The Castle of Otranto | Page 3

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 month. 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 courtyard; 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,
an 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