Dwaraka/Training_Dataset_of_Project_Gutebberg_Gothic_Fiction

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rest prevented Manfred from laying violent hands on himself.

Matilda, resigning herself patiently to her fate, acknowledged with looks
of grateful love the zeal of Theodore. Yet oft as her faintness would
permit her speech its way, she begged the assistants to comfort her
father. Jerome, by this time, had learnt the fatal news, and reached the
church. His looks seemed to reproach Theodore, but turning to Manfred,
he said,

“Now, tyrant! behold the completion of woe fulfilled on thy impious and
devoted head! The blood of Alfonso cried to heaven for vengeance; and
heaven has permitted its altar to be polluted by assassination, that thou
mightest shed thy own blood at the foot of that Prince’s sepulchre!”

“Cruel man!” cried Matilda, “to aggravate the woes of a parent; may
heaven bless my father, and forgive him as I do! My Lord, my gracious
Sire, dost thou forgive thy child? Indeed, I came not hither to meet
Theodore. I found him praying at this tomb, whither my mother sent me to
intercede for thee, for her—dearest father, bless your child, and say you
forgive her.”

“Forgive thee! Murderous monster!” cried Manfred, “can assassins
forgive? I took thee for Isabella; but heaven directed my bloody hand to
the heart of my child. Oh, Matilda!—I cannot utter it—canst thou forgive
the blindness of my rage?”

“I can, I do; and may heaven confirm it!” said Matilda; “but while I have
life 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 am
faint! 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 be
borne into the convent; but her instances were so pressing to be carried
to the castle, that placing her on a litter, they conveyed her thither as
she requested. Theodore, supporting her head with his arm, and hanging
over her in an agony of despairing love, still endeavoured to inspire her
with hopes of life. Jerome, on the other side, comforted her with
discourses of heaven, and holding a crucifix before her, which she bathed
with innocent tears, prepared her for her passage to immortality.
Manfred, plunged in the deepest affliction, followed the litter in
despair.

Ere they reached the castle, Hippolita, informed of the dreadful
catastrophe, had flown to meet her murdered child; but when she saw the
afflicted procession, the mightiness of her grief deprived her of her
senses, and she fell lifeless to the earth in a swoon. Isabella and
Frederic, who attended her, were overwhelmed in almost equal sorrow.
Matilda alone seemed insensible to her own situation: every thought was
lost 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 then
clasped them to her heart. Manfred could not support this act of
pathetic piety. He dashed himself on the ground, and cursed the day he
was born. Isabella, apprehensive that these struggles of passion were
more than Matilda could support, took upon herself to order Manfred to be
borne to his apartment, while she caused Matilda to be conveyed to the
nearest chamber. Hippolita, scarce more alive than her daughter, was
regardless of everything but her; but when the tender Isabella’s care
would have likewise removed her, while the surgeons examined Matilda’s
wound, 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 again
without speaking. Her sinking pulse and the damp coldness of her hand
soon dispelled all hopes of recovery. Theodore followed the surgeons
into the outer chamber, and heard them pronounce the fatal sentence with
a transport equal to frenzy.

“Since she cannot live mine,” cried he, “at least she shall be mine in
death! Father! Jerome! will you not join our hands?” cried he to the
Friar, who, with the Marquis, had accompanied the surgeons.

“What means thy distracted rashness?” said Jerome. “Is this an hour for
marriage?”

“It is, it is,” cried Theodore. “Alas! there is no other!”

“Young man, thou art too unadvised,” said Frederic. “Dost thou think we
are to listen to thy fond transports in this hour of fate? What
pretensions hast thou to the Princess?”

“Those of a Prince,” said Theodore; “of the sovereign of Otranto. This
reverend man, my father, has informed me who I am.”

“Thou ravest,” said the Marquis. “There is no Prince of Otranto but
myself, now Manfred, by murder, by sacrilegious murder, has forfeited all
pretensions.”

“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, but
fate presses onward to its work. What his hot-headed passion has
revealed, my tongue confirms. Know, Prince, that when Alfonso set sail
for the Holy Land—”

“Is this a season for explanations?” cried Theodore. “Father, come and
unite me to the Princess; she shall be mine! In every other thing I will
dutifully obey you. My life! my adored Matilda!” continued Theodore,

rest prevented Manfred from laying violent hands on himself.

Matilda, resigning herself patiently to her fate, acknowledged with looks

of grateful love the zeal of Theodore. Yet oft as her faintness would

permit her speech its way, she begged the assistants to comfort her

father. Jerome, by this time, had learnt the fatal news, and reached the

church. His looks seemed to reproach Theodore, but turning to Manfred,

he said,

“Now, tyrant! behold the completion of woe fulfilled on thy impious and

devoted head! The blood of Alfonso cried to heaven for vengeance; and

heaven has permitted its altar to be polluted by assassination, that thou

mightest shed thy own blood at the foot of that Prince’s sepulchre!”

“Cruel man!” cried Matilda, “to aggravate the woes of a parent; may

heaven bless my father, and forgive him as I do! My Lord, my gracious

Sire, dost thou forgive thy child? Indeed, I came not hither to meet

Theodore. I found him praying at this tomb, whither my mother sent me to

intercede for thee, for her—dearest father, bless your child, and say you

forgive her.”

“Forgive thee! Murderous monster!” cried Manfred, “can assassins

forgive? I took thee for Isabella; but heaven directed my bloody hand to

the heart of my child. Oh, Matilda!—I cannot utter it—canst thou forgive

the blindness of my rage?”

“I can, I do; and may heaven confirm it!” said Matilda; “but while I have

life 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 am

faint! 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 be

borne into the convent; but her instances were so pressing to be carried

to the castle, that placing her on a litter, they conveyed her thither as

she requested. Theodore, supporting her head with his arm, and hanging

over her in an agony of despairing love, still endeavoured to inspire her

with hopes of life. Jerome, on the other side, comforted her with

discourses of heaven, and holding a crucifix before her, which she bathed

with innocent tears, prepared her for her passage to immortality.

Manfred, plunged in the deepest affliction, followed the litter in

despair.

Ere they reached the castle, Hippolita, informed of the dreadful

catastrophe, had flown to meet her murdered child; but when she saw the

afflicted procession, the mightiness of her grief deprived her of her

senses, and she fell lifeless to the earth in a swoon. Isabella and

Frederic, who attended her, were overwhelmed in almost equal sorrow.

Matilda alone seemed insensible to her own situation: every thought was

lost 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 then

clasped them to her heart. Manfred could not support this act of

pathetic piety. He dashed himself on the ground, and cursed the day he

was born. Isabella, apprehensive that these struggles of passion were

more than Matilda could support, took upon herself to order Manfred to be

borne to his apartment, while she caused Matilda to be conveyed to the

nearest chamber. Hippolita, scarce more alive than her daughter, was

regardless of everything but her; but when the tender Isabella’s care

would have likewise removed her, while the surgeons examined Matilda’s

wound, 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 again

without speaking. Her sinking pulse and the damp coldness of her hand

soon dispelled all hopes of recovery. Theodore followed the surgeons

into the outer chamber, and heard them pronounce the fatal sentence with

a transport equal to frenzy.

“Since she cannot live mine,” cried he, “at least she shall be mine in

death! Father! Jerome! will you not join our hands?” cried he to the

Friar, who, with the Marquis, had accompanied the surgeons.

“What means thy distracted rashness?” said Jerome. “Is this an hour for

marriage?”

“It is, it is,” cried Theodore. “Alas! there is no other!”

“Young man, thou art too unadvised,” said Frederic. “Dost thou think we

are to listen to thy fond transports in this hour of fate? What

pretensions hast thou to the Princess?”

“Those of a Prince,” said Theodore; “of the sovereign of Otranto. This

reverend man, my father, has informed me who I am.”

“Thou ravest,” said the Marquis. “There is no Prince of Otranto but

myself, now Manfred, by murder, by sacrilegious murder, has forfeited all

pretensions.”

“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, but

fate presses onward to its work. What his hot-headed passion has

revealed, my tongue confirms. Know, Prince, that when Alfonso set sail

for the Holy Land—”

“Is this a season for explanations?” cried Theodore. “Father, come and

unite me to the Princess; she shall be mine! In every other thing I will

dutifully obey you. My life! my adored Matilda!” continued Theodore,