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.
Walpole-as-Marshal states his case for the manuscript's legitimacy and notability. One of his points is this: the story is appropriately structured in terms of the rules of drama (5 acts) and there is nothing extraneous or superfluous. The language is not gaudy or bombastic, there are no useless scenes or characters, and description is kept to a minimum. This is certainly true, though amusingly enough this does not result in a completely naturalistic text. The excesses of emotion and sentiment stand in for the similes and digressions; the supernatural elements stand in for the bombast.
...but what a sight for a father’s eyes!—he beheld his child dashed to pieces, and almost buried under an enormous helmet, a hundred times more large than any casque ever made for human being, and shaded with a proportionable quantity of black feathers.
There are a plethora of ways for Walpole to kill off Conrad, the young heir to Otranto, but this way is perfect for what Walpole wants to accomplish in the novel. First of all, Conrad is killed by a helmet from the statue of Alfonso. That statue represents the true ruler of Otranto, and when it kills Conrad it demonstrates that the times are about to change. Second, it is huge, and, as Edmund Burke notes in his theory of the sublime, the gigantic is "very compatible with the sublime." It is hard to fathom how such a large and heavy object killed Conrad, and combined with the decorative black feathers that suggest a raven or other ominous bird, Walpole's dark theming and its concomitant terror are apparent.
Fortifying herself with these reflections, and believing by what she could observe that she was near the mouth of the subterraneous cavern, she approached the door that had been opened; but a sudden gust of wind that met her at the door extinguished her lamp, and left her in total darkness.
This scene is utterly exemplary of the Gothic: the beautiful young damsel in distress making her way through the dark, subterranean passageway in order to escape her tormentor, afraid but determined until the "gust of wind" blows out her light. This gust of wind is a classic deus ex machina, Walpole showing his hand in order to heighten the intensity of the moment. As Edmund Burke, the theorist of the sublime, wrote, "night increases our terror more perhaps than any thing else." Isabella's fear is palpable, even though it was a very pat narrative move on Walpole's part to have her light go out.
This presence of mind, joined to the frankness of the youth, staggered Manfred. He even felt a disposition towards pardoning one who had been guilty of no crime. Manfred was not one of those savage tyrants who wanton in cruelty unprovoked. The circumstances of his fortune had given an asperity to his temper, which was naturally humane; and his virtues were always ready to operate, when his passions did not obscure his reason.
None of the characters in The Castle of Otranto are particularly multi-faceted or well-drawn, but Walpole does imbue his main character with a few interesting characteristics. Even though Manfred is a classic villain—prideful, arrogant, shortsighted, bilious, lusty, and power-hungry—he also has several moments of self-awareness. Here he realizes that there is much to admire about Theodore and that it is impossible the young man had anything to do with the murder of Conrad. However, these thoughts and others like them are always repressed as soon as possible so he can continue down his path toward destruction. Walpole seems to be suggesting that certain things like fate, destiny, and divine will are insurmountable: Manfred has been on this path since his grandfather usurped the principality, and he cannot deviate from it.
“Grant me patience!” said Manfred; “these blockheads distract me. Out of my sight, Diego! and thou, Jaquez, tell me in one word, art thou sober? art thou raving? thou wast wont to have some sense: has the other sot frightened himself and thee too? Speak; what is it he fancies he has seen?”
This scene is one of the most blatantly comedic in the text. Diego and Jaquez are two bumbling fools, talking over each other as they try to explain what they saw. Manfred is clearly annoyed by them, and the reader can identity strongly with that sentiment. It takes nearly two pages for them to articulate that they saw the giant, and by that time their account seems even less believable. Walpole weaves comedic elements into his text intentionally. These "domestics" have a very naturalistic reaction to what they saw, but their plausibility seems almost stretched when it's placed within the novel. They are distracting, and they make us aware of how we want to be satisfied by the narrative but may not ultimately be satisfied. They "do seem to play a practical joke on the reader, frustrating their desire to arrive at the hidden knowledge regarding the 'important catastrophe'," as critic Ahmet Suner writes. They also deflate the sublimity and nobility of the aristocrats they come into contact with, allowing readers to probe the dynamics of power, the right to rule, etc.
“If they are spirits in pain, we may ease their sufferings by questioning them."
In this quote Matilda demonstrates her thoughtfulness and equanimity because, rather than becoming frightened or hysterical, she suggests talking to the spirit to see if she might be of assistance to it. This is a direct allusion to Hamlet, the Shakespearean play that most influenced Walpole. In Act I of Hamlet, Horatio speaks to the ghost of King Hamlet, saying "If there be any good thing to be done / That may to thee do ease and grace to me, / Speak to me."
In this mood he roved insensibly to the caves which had formerly served as a retreat to hermits, and were now reported round the country to be haunted by evil spirits.
Since the time of Plato, caves have figured heavily in literature and philosophy. Caves tend to symbolize: the path to enlightenment or self-discovery; a place of dreams and visions; the unconscious; and a connection to the underworld. Walpole utilizes these associations in Otranto when he has Theodore roam the woods and come across the mysterious caves. He was no doubt influenced by Shakespeare's cave in Cymbeline, tales of Merlin and his cave in Arthurian legend, the Cyclops' cave in The Odyssey, and the biblical tale of David and the cave at Adullum. When Theodore comes to these caves he meets Isabella and thus comes closer to his eventual fate as ruler of Otranto. Similarly, when Frederic was exploring the woods earlier he met the hermit, a representative of the divine, in the cell/cave; he received a powerful sword, and was enlightened as to his next course of action.
...as he spoke those words three drops of blood fell from the nose of Alfonso’s statue.
This is one of the most memorable supernatural moments in the text due to its subtlety and strangeness. In fact, Walpole did not devise this scene entirely from his own imagination. It refers to the serious nosebleeds of James II that precluded his ability to respond to the threat of invasion by William of Orange in 1688. This ended up redirecting the royal bloodline, and, as critic Nick Groom writes, "it is a reminder therefore of the historical destiny of the Whigs and the constitutional settlement of Protestantism in England." As a Whig and a Protestant, Walpole knew what he was alluding to with this unnerving scene.
Matilda, resigning herself patiently to her fate, acknowledged with looks of grateful love the zeal of Theodore.
Matilda is a classic Gothic literary character: the damsel in distress. She is young, lovely, and excessively pious and virtuous. She swoons over the portrait of Alfonso and believes her destiny connected to his; she wants to be in love and married to a noble and handsome man. She has a conscience and a heightened moral compass and is always aware of how she acts and is perceived. Here, after she has been accidentally stabbed to death by the father who never loved her, she "patiently resigns" herself to her fate. She has no harsh words or regrets, no anger or despair. In fact, she manages to console the men in her life—she tells Theodore that she loves him, and she tells her father that she forgives him—before expiring. Traditional gender roles are thus as much a hallmark of the genre as ghosts and prophecies are.
Frederic offered his daughter to the new Prince, which Hippolita’s tenderness for Isabella concurred to promote. But Theodore’s grief was too fresh to admit the thought of another love; and it was not until after frequent discourses with Isabella of his dear Matilda, that he was persuaded he could know no happiness but in the society of one with whom he could for ever indulge the melancholy that had taken possession of his soul.
The end of the novel is both fitting and disconcerting. Theodore, the rightful heir of Otranto, has the principality. He marries Isabella, thereby ending any further conflict with Frederic's house. Manfred has seen the error of his ways and willingly resigns so he can spend the rest of his days atoning for his wrongs. However, Matilda's death is shocking and horrible, as is Theodore's relatively easy replacement of her with Isabella. There is the sense that, as a putative historical chronicle, much is left ambiguous. This "past" is still remote and foreign. The sins of the various claimants to Otranto may linger on; it is difficult to imagine a utopian future in a castle besieged by incestuous desire, violence, repression, and more.
