If you have aught to say attend
me to my chamber; I do not use to let my wife be acquainted with the
secret affairs of my state; they are not within a woman’s province.”

“My Lord,” said the holy man, “I am no intruder into the secrets of
families. My office is to promote peace, to heal divisions, to preach
repentance, and teach mankind to curb their headstrong passions. I
forgive your Highness’s uncharitable apostrophe; I know my duty, and am
the minister of a mightier prince than Manfred. Hearken to him who
speaks through my organs.”

Manfred trembled with rage and shame. Hippolita’s countenance declared
her astonishment and impatience to know where this would end. Her
silence more strongly spoke her observance of Manfred. “The Lady Isabella,” resumed Jerome, “commends herself to both your
Highnesses; she thanks both for the kindness with which she has been
treated in your castle: she deplores the loss of your son, and her own
misfortune in not becoming the daughter of such wise and noble Princes,
whom she shall always respect as Parents; she prays for uninterrupted
union and felicity between you” [Manfred’s colour changed]: “but as it is
no longer possible for her to be allied to you, she entreats your consent
to remain in sanctuary, till she can learn news of her father, or, by the
certainty of his death, be at liberty, with the approbation of her
guardians, to dispose of herself in suitable marriage.”

“I shall give no such consent,” said the Prince, “but insist on her
return to the castle without delay: I am answerable for her person to her
guardians, and will not brook her being in any hands but my own.”

“Your Highness will recollect whether that can any longer be proper,”
replied the Friar. “I want no monitor,” said Manfred, colouring; “Isabella’s conduct leaves
room for strange suspicions—and that young villain, who was at least the
accomplice of her flight, if not the cause of it—”

“The cause!” interrupted Jerome; “was a _young_ man the cause?”

“This is not to be borne!” cried Manfred. “Am I to be bearded in my own
palace by an insolent Monk? Thou art privy, I guess, to their amours.”

“I would pray to heaven to clear up your uncharitable surmises,” said
Jerome, “if your Highness were not satisfied in your conscience how
unjustly you accuse me. I do pray to heaven to pardon that
uncharitableness: and I implore your Highness to leave the Princess at
peace in that holy place, where she is not liable to be disturbed by such
vain and worldly fantasies as discourses of love from any man.”

“Cant not to me,” said Manfred, “but return and bring the Princess to her
duty.”

“It is my duty to prevent her return hither,” said Jerome. “She is where
orphans and virgins are safest from the snares and wiles of this world;
and nothing but a parent’s authority shall take her thence.”

“I am her parent,” cried Manfred, “and demand her.”

“She wished to have you for her parent,” said the Friar; “but Heaven that
forbad that connection has for ever dissolved all ties betwixt you: and I
announce to your Highness—”

“Stop! audacious man,” said Manfred, “and dread my displeasure.”

“Holy Father,” said Hippolita, “it is your office to be no respecter of
persons: you must speak as your duty prescribes: but it is my duty to
hear nothing that it pleases not my Lord I should hear. Attend the
Prince to his chamber. I will retire to my oratory, and pray to the
blessed Virgin to inspire you with her holy counsels, and to restore the
heart of my gracious Lord to its wonted peace and gentleness.”

“Excellent woman!” said the Friar. “My Lord, I attend your pleasure.”

Manfred, accompanied by the Friar, passed to his own apartment, where
shutting the door, “I perceive, Father,” said he, “that Isabella has
acquainted you with my purpose. Now hear my resolve, and obey. Reasons
of state, most urgent reasons, my own and the safety of my people, demand
that I should have a son. It is in vain to expect an heir from
Hippolita. I have made choice of Isabella. You must bring her back; and
you must do more. I know the influence you have with Hippolita: her
conscience is in your hands. She is, I allow, a faultless woman: her
soul is set on heaven, and scorns the little grandeur of this world: you
can withdraw her from it entirely. Persuade her to consent to the
dissolution of our marriage, and to retire into a monastery—she shall
endow one if she will; and she shall have the means of being as liberal
to your order as she or you can wish. Thus you will divert the
calamities that are hanging over our heads, and have the merit of saving
the principality of Otranto from destruction. You are a prudent man, and
though the warmth of my temper betrayed me into some unbecoming
expressions, I honour your virtue, and wish to be indebted to you for the
repose of my life and the preservation of my family.”

“The will of heaven be done!” said the Friar. “I am but its worthless
instrument. It makes use of my tongue to tell thee, Prince, of thy
unwarrantable designs. The injuries of the virtuous Hippolita have
mounted to the throne of pity. By me thou art reprimanded for thy
adulterous intention of repudiating her: by me thou art warned not to
pursue the incestuous design on thy contracted daughter. Heaven that
delivered her from thy fury, when the judgments so recently fallen on thy
house ought to have inspired thee with other thoughts, will continue to
watch over her. Even I, a poor and despised Friar, am able to protect
her from thy violence—I, sinner as I am, and uncharitably reviled by your
Highness as an accomplice of I know not what amours, scorn the
allurements with which it has pleased thee to tempt mine honesty. I love
my order; I honour devout souls; I respect the piety of thy Princess—but
I will not betray the confidence she reposes in me, nor serve even the
cause of religion by foul and sinful compliances—but forsooth! the
welfare of the state depends on your Highness having a son! Heaven mocks
the short-sighted views of man. But yester-morn, whose house was so
great, so flourishing as Manfred’s?—where is young Conrad now?—My Lord, I
respect your tears—but I mean not to check them—let them flow, Prince! They will weigh more with heaven toward the welfare of thy subjects, than
a marriage, which, founded on lust or policy, could never prosper. The
sceptre, which passed from the race of Alfonso to thine, cannot be
preserved by a match which the church will never allow. If it is the
will of the Most High that Manfred’s name must perish, resign yourself,
my Lord, to its decrees; and thus deserve a crown that can never pass
away. Come, my Lord; I like this sorrow—let us return to the Princess:
she is not apprised of your cruel intentions; nor did I mean more than to
alarm you. You saw with what gentle patience, with what efforts of love,
she heard, she rejected hearing, the extent of your guilt.