60 Gothic Classics. Эдгар Аллан По

there.”

      “Mother of God!” said the friar, “is it possible my lord can refuse a father the life of his only, his long-lost child? Trample me, my lord, scorn, afflict me, accept my life for his, but spare my son!”

      “Thou canst feel, then,” said Manfred, “what it is to lose an only son! A little hour ago thou didst preach up resignation to me: my house, if fate so pleased, must perish—but the Count of Falconara——”

      “Alas! my lord,” said Jerome, “I confess I have offended; but aggravate not an old man’s sufferings. I boast not of my family, nor think of such vanities; it is nature that pleads for this boy; it is the memory of the dear woman that bore him—is she, Theodore, is she dead?”

      “Her soul has long been with the blessed,” said Theodore.

      “Oh! how?” cried Jerome; “tell me—no—she is happy! Thou art all my care now. Most dread lord! will you—will you grant me my poor boy’s life?”

      “Return to thy convent,” answered Manfred; “conduct the princess hither; obey me in what else thou knowest, and I promise thee the life of thy son.”

      “Oh, my lord!” said Jerome, “is my honesty the price I must pay for this dear youth’s safety?”

      “For me!” cried Theodore; “let me die a thousand deaths, rather than stain thy conscience. What is it the tyrant would exact of thee? Is the princess still safe from his power? Protect her, thou venerable old man, and let all the weight of his wrath fall on me.”

      Jerome endeavoured to check the impetuosity of the youth; and ere Manfred could reply, the trampling of horses was heard, and a brazen trumpet, which hung without the gate of the castle, was suddenly sounded. At the same instant the sable plumes on the enchanted helmet, which still remained at the other end of the court, were tempestuously agitated, and nodded thrice, as if bowed by some invisible wearer.

      Chapter III

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      Manfred’s heart misgave him when he beheld the plumage on the miraculous casque shaken in concert with the sounding of the brazen trumpet. “Father,” said he to Jerome, whom he now ceased to treat as Count of Falconara, “what mean these portents? If I have offended”—the plumes were shaken with greater violence than before. “Unhappy prince that I am!” cried Manfred. “Holy father, will you not assist me with your prayers?”

      “My lord,” replied Jerome, “Heaven is no doubt displeased with your mockery of its servants. Submit yourself to the Church, and cease to persecute her ministers. Dismiss this innocent youth, and learn to respect the holy character I wear: Heaven will not be trifled with. You see”—the trumpet sounded again.

      “I acknowledge I have been too hasty,” said Manfred. “Father, do you go to 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, that spoke the fullness of his soul.

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

      “I thought,” replied the friar, “your highness would excuse my thanking you first in this tribute of my heart.”

      “Go, dearest sir,” said Theodore, “obey the prince; I do not deserve that 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 must speak with the usurper of Otranto.”

      Jerome returned to the prince, and did not fail to repeat the message in the very words it had been uttered. The first sounds struck Manfred with terror; but when he heard himself styled usurper, his rage rekindled, and all 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 this presumptuous man myself. Go to your convent, and prepare the princess’s return; your son shall be a hostage for your fidelity: his life depends on your obedience.”

      “Good Heaven! my lord,” cried Jerome, “your highness did but this instant freely pardon my child. Have you so soon forgot the interposition of Heaven?”

      “Heaven,” replied Manfred, “does not send heralds to question the title of a lawful prince. I doubt whether it even notifies its will through friars; but that is your affair, not mine. At present you know my pleasure; and it is not a saucy herald that shall save your son, if you do not return with the princess.”

      It was in vain for the holy man to reply. Manfred commanded him to be conducted to the postern gate, and shut out from the castle; and he ordered some of his attendants to carry Theodore to the top of the Black Tower, and guard him strictly, scarce permitting the father and son to exchange a hasty embrace at parting. He then withdrew to the hall, and seating himself in princely state, ordered the herald to be admitted to his presence.

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

      “I come,” replied he, “to thee, Manfred, usurper of the principality of Otranto, from the renowned and invincible knight, the Knight of the Gigantic Sabre: in the name of his lord, Frederic Marquis of Vicenza, he demands the Lady Isabella, daughter of that prince, whom thou hast basely and traitorously got into thy power, by bribing her false guardians during his absence; and he requires thee to resign the principality of Otranto, which thou hast usurped from the said Lord Frederic, the nearest of blood to the last rightful lord, Alfonso the Good. If thou dost not instantly comply with these just demands, he defies thee to single combat to 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 good his lord’s claim against thee, as he is a true knight, and thou an usurper and ravisher.”

      Injurious as this challenge was, Manfred reflected that it was not his interest to provoke the marquis. He knew how well founded the claim of Frederic was, nor was this the first time he had heard of it. Frederic’s ancestors had assumed the style of Princes of Otranto, from the death of Alfonso 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, amorous young prince, had married a beautiful young lady, of whom he was enamoured, and who had died in childbed of Isabella. Her death affected him so much, that he had taken the cross and gone to the Holy Land, where he was wounded in an engagement against the infidels, made prisoner, and reported to be dead. When the news reached Manfred’s ears, he bribed the guardians of the Lady Isabella to deliver her up to him as a bride for his son Conrad, by which alliance he had proposed to unite the claims of the two houses. This motive, on Conrad’s death, had co-operated to make him so suddenly resolve on espousing her himself; and the same reflection determined him now to endeavour at obtaining the consent of Frederic to this marriage. A like policy inspired him with the thought of inviting Frederic’s champion into his castle, lest he should be informed of Isabella’s flight, which he strictly enjoined his domestics not to disclose to any of the knight’s retinue.

      “Herald,” said Manfred, as soon as he had digested these reflections, “return to thy master, and tell him, ere we liquidate our differences by the sword, Manfred would hold some converse with him. Bid him welcome to my castle, where, by my faith, as I am a true knight, he shall have courteous reception, and full security for himself and followers. If we cannot adjust our quarrel by amicable means, I swear he shall depart in safety, and shall have full