The Castle of Otranto

by Horace Walpole
PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION.

THE following work was found in the library of an ancient Catholic
family in the north of England. It was printed at Naples, in the

black letter, in the year 1529. How much sooner it was written does
not appear. The principal incidents are such as were believed in the

darkest ages of Christianity; but the language and conduct have
nothing that savours of barbarism. The style is the purest Italian.

If the story was written near the time when it is supposed to have
happened, it must have been between 1095, the era of the first

Crusade, and 1243, the date of the last, or not long afterwards.
There is no other circumstance in the work that can lead us to guess

at the period in which the scene is laid: the names of the actors are
evidently fictitious, and probably disguised on purpose: yet the

Spanish names of the domestics seem to indicate that this work was not
composed until the establishment of the Arragonian Kings in Naples had

made Spanish appellations familiar in that country. The beauty of the
diction, and the zeal of the author (moderated, however, by singular

judgment) concur to make me think that the date of the composition was
little antecedent to that of the impression. Letters were then in

their most flourishing state in Italy, and contributed to dispel the
empire of superstition, at that time so forcibly attacked by the

reformers. It is not unlikely that an artful priest might endeavour
to turn their own arms on the innovators, and might avail himself of

his abilities as an author to confirm the populace in their ancient
errors and superstitions. If this was his view, he has certainly

acted with signal address. Such a work as the following would enslave
a hundred vulgar minds beyond half the books of controversy that have

been written from the days of Luther to the present hour.
This solution of the author's motives is, however, offered as a mere

conjecture. Whatever his views were, or whatever effects the
execution of them might have, his work can only be laid before the

public at present as a matter of entertainment. Even as such, some
apology for it is necessary. Miracles, visions, necromancy, dreams,

and other preternatural events, are exploded now even from romances.
That was not the case when our author wrote; much less when the story

itself is supposed to have happened. Belief in every kind of prodigy
was so established in those dark ages, that an author would not be

faithful to the manners of the times, who should omit all mention of
them. He is not bound to believe them himself, but he must represent

his actors as believing them.
If this air of the miraculous is excused, the reader will find nothing

else unworthy of his perusal. Allow the possibility of the facts, and
all the actors comport themselves as persons would do in their

situation. There is no bombast, no similes, flowers, digressions, or
unnecessary descriptions. Everything tends directly to the

catastrophe. Never is the reader's attention relaxed. The rules of
the drama are almost observed throughout the conduct of the piece.

The characters are well drawn, and still better maintained. Terror,
the author's principal engine, prevents the story from ever

languishing; and it is so often contrasted by pity, that the mind is
kept up in a constantvicissitude of interesting passions.

Some persons may perhaps think the characters of the domestics too
little serious for the general cast of the story; but besides their

opposition to the principal personages, the art of the author is very
observable in his conduct of the subalterns. They discover many

passages essential to the story, which could not be well brought to
light but by their NAIVETE and simplicity. In particular, the

womanish terror and foibles of Bianca, in the last chapter, conduce
essentially towards advancing the catastrophe.

It is natural for a translator to be prejudiced in favour of his
adopted work. More partial" target="_blank" title="a.公平的，无私的">impartial readers may not be so much struck with

the beauties of this piece as I was. Yet I am not blind to my
author's defects. I could wish he had grounded his plan on a more

useful moral than this: that "the sins of fathers are visited on
their children to the third and fourth generation." I doubt whether,

in his time, any more than at present, ambition curbed its appetite of
dominion from the dread of so remote a punishment. And yet this moral

is weakened by that less direct insinuation, that even such anathema
may be diverted by devotion to St. Nicholas. Here the interest of the

Monk plainly gets the better of the judgment of the author. However,
with all its faults, I have no doubt but the English reader will be

pleased with a sight of this performance. The piety that reigns
throughout, the lessons of virtue that are inculcated, and the rigid

purity of the sentiments, exempt this work from the censure to which
romances are but too liable. Should it meet with the success I hope

for, I may be encouraged to reprint the original Italian, though it
will tend to depreciate my own labour. Our language falls far short

of the charms of the Italian, both for variety and harmony. The
latter is peculiarly excellent for simple narrative. It is difficult

in English to relate without falling too low or rising too high; a
fault obviously occasioned by the little care taken to speak pure

language in common conversation. Every Italian or Frenchman of any
rank piques himself on speaking his own tongue correctly and with

choice. I cannot flatter myself with having done justice to my author
in this respect: his style is as elegant as his conduct of the

passions is masterly. It is a pity that he did not apply his talents
to what they were evidently proper for - the theatre.

I will detain the reader no longer, but to make one short remark.
Though the machinery is invention, and the names of the actors

imaginary, I cannot but believe that the groundwork of the story is
founded on truth. The scene is undoubtedly laid in some real castle.

The author seems frequently, without design, to describe particular
parts. "The chamber," says he, "on the right hand;" "the door on the

left hand;" "the distance from the chapel to Conrad's apartment:"
these and other passages are strong presumptions that the author had

some certain building in his eye. Curious persons, who have leisure
to employ in such researches, may possibly discover in the Italian

writers the foundation on which our author has built. If a
catastrophe, at all resembling that which he describes, is believed to

have given rise to this work, it will contribute to interest the
reader, and will make the "Castle of Otranto a still more moving

story.
SONNET TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE LADY MARY COKE.

THE gentle maid, whose hapless tale
These melancholy pages speak;

Say, gracious lady, shall she fail
To draw the tear adown thy cheek?

No; never was thy pitying breast
Insensible to human woes;

Tender, tho' firm, it melts distrest
For weaknesses it never knows.

Oh! guard the marvels I relate
Of fell ambition scourg'd by fate,

From reason's peevish blame.
Blest with thy smile, my dauntless sail

I dare expand to Fancy's gale,
For sure thy smiles are Fame.

H. W.
CHAPTER I.

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 seeingaccomplished 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