A Legend of the Rhine

by William Makepeace Thackeray

"Dear youth," said she, "be but mine, and you may have them all the year round!"

  The unhappy boy was too far gone to suspect anything, otherwise this

  extraordinary speech would have told him that he was in suspicious company. A

  person who can offer oysters all the year round can live to no good purpose.

  "Shall I sing you a song, dear archer?" said the lady.

  "Sweet love!" said he, now much excited, "strike up, and I will join the

  chorus."

  She took down her mandolin, and commenced a ditty. 'Twas a sweet and wild one.

  It told how a lady of high lineage cast her eyes on a peasant page; it told how

  nought could her love assuage, her suitor's wealth and her father's rage: it

  told how the youth did his foes engage; and at length they went off in the

  Gretna stage, the high-born dame and the peasant page. Wolfgang beat time,

  waggled his head, sung wofully out of tune as the song proceeded; and if he had

  not been too intoxicated with love and other excitement, he would have remarked

  how the pictures on the wall, as the lady sung, began to waggle their heads too,

  and nod and grin to the music. The song ended. "I am the lady of high lineage:

  Archer, will you be the peasant page?"

  "I'll follow you to the devil!" said Wolfgang.

  "Come," replied the lady, glaring wildly on him, "come to the chapel; we'll be

  married this minute!"

  She held out her hand�Wolfgang took it. It was cold, damp,� deadly cold; and on

  they went to the chapel.

  As they passed out, the two pictures over the wall, of a gentleman and lady,

  tripped lightly out of their frames, skipped noiselessly down to the ground, and

  making the retreating couple a profound curtsy and bow, took the places which

  they had left at the table.

  Meanwhile the young couple passed on towards the chapel, threading innumerable

  passages, and passing through chambers of great extent. As they came along, all

  the portraits on the wall stepped out of their frames to follow them. One

  ancestor, of whom there was only a bust, frowned in the greatest rage, because,

  having no legs, his pedestal would not move; and several sticking-plaster

  profiles of the former Lords of Windeck looked quite black at being, for similar

  reasons, compelled to keep their places. However, there was a goodly procession

  formed behind Wolfgang and his bride; and by the time they reached the church,

  they had near a hundred followers.

  The church was splendidly illuminated; the old banners of the old knights

  glittered as they do at Drury Lane. The organ set up of itself to play the

  "Bridesmaid's Chorus." The choir-chairs were filled with people in black.

  "Come, love," said the pale lady.

  "I don't see the parson," exclaimed Wolfgang, spite of himself rather alarmed.

  "Oh, the parson! that's the easiest thing in the world! I say, bishop!" said the

  lady, stooping down.

  Stooping down�and to what? Why, upon my word and honor, to a great brass plate

  on the floor, over which they were passing, and on which was engraven the figure

  of a bishop�and a very ugly bishop, too�with crosier and mitre, and lifted

  finger, on which sparkled the episcopal ring. "Do, my dear lord, come and marry

  us," said the lady, with a levity which shocked the feelings of her bridegroom.

  The bishop got up; and directly he rose, a dean, who was sleeping under a large

  slate near him, came bowing and cringing up to him; while a canon of the

  cathedral (whose name was Schidnischmidt) began grinning and making fun at the

  pair. The ceremony was begun, and . . . .

  As the clock struck twelve, young Otto bounded up, and remarked the absence of

  his companion Wolfgang. The idea he had had, that his friend disappeared in

  company with a white-robed female, struck him more and more. "I will follow

  them," said he; and, calling to the next on the watch (old Snozo, who was right

  unwilling to forego his sleep), he rushed away by the door through which he had

  seen Wolfgang and his temptress take their way.

  That he did not find them was not his fault. The castle was vast, the chamber

  dark. There were a thousand doors, and what wonder that, after he had once lost

  sight of them, the intrepid Childe should not be able to follow in their steps?

  As might be expected, he took the wrong door, and wandered for at least three

  hours about the dark enormous solitary castle, calling out Wolfgang's name to

  the careless and indifferent echoes, knocking his young shins against the ruins

  scattered in the darkness, but still with a spirit entirely undaunted, and a

  firm resolution to aid his absent comrade. Brave Otto! thy exertions were

  rewarded at last!

  For he lighted at length upon the very apartment where Wolfgang had partaken of

  supper, and where the old couple who had been in the picture-frames, and turned

  out to be the lady's father and mother, were now sitting at the table.

  "Well, Bertha has got a husband at last," said the lady.

  "After waiting four hundred and fifty-three years for one, it was quite time,"

  said the gentleman. (He was dressed in powder and a pigtail, quite in the old

  fashion.)

  "The husband is no great things," continued the lady, taking snuff. "A low

  fellow, my dear; a butcher's son, I believe. Did you see how the wretch ate at

  supper? To think my daughter should have to marry an archer!"

  "There are archers and archers," said the old man. "Some archers are snobs, as

  your ladyship states; some, on the contrary, are gentlemen by birth, at least,

  though not by breeding. Witness young Otto, the Landgrave of Godesberg's son,

  who is listening at the door like a lackey, and whom I intend to run through

  the�"

  "Law, Baron!" said the lady.

  "I will, though," replied the Baron, drawing an immense sword, and glaring round

  at Otto: but though at the sight of that sword and that scowl a less valorous

  youth would have taken to his heels, the undaunted Childe advanced at once into

  the apartment. He wore round his neck a relic of St. Buffo (the tip of the

  saint's ear, which had been cut off at Constantinople). "Fiends! I command you

  to retreat!" said he, holding up this sacred charm, which his mamma had fastened

  on him; and at the sight of it, with an unearthly yell the ghosts of the Baron

  and the Baroness sprung back into their picture-frames, as clowns go through a

  clock in a pantomime.

  He rushed through the open door by which the unlucky Wolfgang had passed with

  his demoniacal bride, and went on and on through the vast gloomy chambers

  lighted by the ghastly moonshine: the noise of the organ in the chapel, the

  lights in the kaleidoscopic windows, directed him towards that edifice. He

  rushed to the door: 'twas barred! He knocked: the beadles were deaf. He applied

  his inestimable relic to the lock, and�whiz! crash! clang! bang! whang!�the gate

  flew open! the organ went off in a fugue�the lights quivered over the tapers,

  and then went off towards the ceiling�the ghosts assembled rushed away with a

  skurry and a scream�the bride howled, and vanished�the fat bishop waddled back

  under his brass plate�the dean flounced down into his family vault�and th
e canon

  Schidnischmidt, who was making a joke, as usual, on the bishop, was obliged to

  stop at the very point of his epigram, and to disappear into the void whence he

  came.

  Otto fell fainting at the porch, while Wolfgang tumbled lifeless down at the

  altar-steps; and in this situation the archers, when they arrived, found the two

  youths. They were resuscitated, as we scarce need say; but when, in incoherent

  accents, they came to tell their wondrous tale, some sceptics among the archers

  said�"Pooh! they were intoxicated!" while others, nodding their older heads,

  exclaimed�"THEY HAVE SEEN THE LADY OF WINDECK!" and recalled the stories of many

  other young men, who, inveigled by her devilish arts, had not been so lucky as

  Wolfgang, and had disappeared�for ever!

  This adventure bound Wolfgang heart and soul to his gallant preserver; and the

  archers�it being now morning, and the cocks crowing lustily round about�pursued

  their way without further delay to the castle of the noble patron of

  toxophilites, the gallant Duke of Cleves.

  CHAPTER X. THE BATTLE OF THE BOWMEN.

  Although there lay an immense number of castles and abbeys between Windeck and

  Cleves, for every one of which the guide-books have a legend and a ghost, who

  might, with the commonest stretch of ingenuity, be made to waylay our

  adventurers on the road; yet, as the journey would be thus almost interminable,

  let us cut it short by saying that the travellers reached Cleves without any

  further accident, and found the place thronged with visitors for the meeting

  next day.

  And here it would be easy to describe the company which arrived, and make

  display of antiquarian lore. Now we would represent a cavalcade of knights

  arriving, with their pages carrying their shining helms of gold, and the stout

  esquires, bearers of lance and banner. Anon would arrive a fat abbot on his

  ambling pad, surrounded by the white-robed companions of his convent. Here

  should come the gleemen and jonglers, the minstrels, the mountebanks, the

  party-colored gipsies, the dark-eyed, nut-brown Zigeunerinnen; then a troop of

  peasants chanting Rhine-songs, and leading in their ox-drawn carts the

  peach-cheeked girls from the vine-lands. Next we would depict the litters

  blazoned with armorial bearings, from between the broidered curtains of which

  peeped out the swan-like necks and the haughty faces of the blond ladies of the

  castles. But for these descriptions we have not space; and the reader is

  referred to the account of the tournament in the ingenious novel of "Ivanhoe,"

  where the above phenomena are described at length. Suffice it to say, that Otto

  and his companions arrived at the town of Cleves, and, hastening to a hostel,

  reposed themselves after the day's march, and prepared them for the encounter of

  the morrow.

  That morrow came: and as the sports were to begin early, Otto and his comrades

  hastened to the field, armed with their best bows and arrows, you may be sure,

  and eager to distinguish themselves; as were the multitude of other archers

  assembled. They were from all neighboring countries�crowds of English, as you

  may fancy, armed with Murray's guide-books, troops of chattering Frenchmen,

  Frankfort Jews with roulette-tables, and Tyrolese, with gloves and trinkets�all

  hied towards the field where the butts were set up, and the archery practice was

  to be held. The Childe and his brother archers were, it need not be said, early

  on the ground.

  But what words of mine can describe the young gentleman's emotion when, preceded

  by a band of trumpets, bagpipes, ophicleides, and other wind instruments, the

  Prince of Cleves appeared with the Princess Helen, his daughter? And ah! what

  expressions of my humble pen can do justice to the beauty of that young lady?

  Fancy every charm which decorates the person, every virtue which ornaments the

  mind, every accomplishment which renders charming mind and charming person

  doubly charming, and then you will have but a faint and feeble idea of the

  beauties of her Highness the Princess Helen. Fancy a complexion such as they say

  (I know not with what justice) Rowland's Kalydor imparts to the users of that

  cosmetic; fancy teeth to which orient pearls are like Wallsend coals; eyes,

  which were so blue, tender, and bright, that while they run you through with

  their lustre, they healed you with their kindness; a neck and waist, so

  ravishingly slender and graceful, that the least that is said about them the

  better; a foot which fell upon the flowers no heavier than a dew-drop�and this

  charming person set off by the most elegant toilet that ever milliner devised!

  The lovely Helen's hair (which was as black as the finest varnish for boots) was

  so long, that it was borne on a cushion several yards behind her by the maidens

  of her train; and a hat, set off with moss-roses, sunflowers, bugles,

  birds-of-paradise, gold lace, and pink ribbon, gave her a distingue air, which

  would have set the editor of the Morning Post mad with love.

  It had exactly the same effect upon the noble Childe of Godesberg, as leaning on

  his ivory bow, with his legs crossed, he stood and gazed on her, as Cupid gazed

  on Psyche. Their eyes met: it was all over with both of them. A blush came at

  one and the same minute budding to the cheek of either. A simultaneous throb

  beat in those young hearts! They loved each other for ever from that instant.

  Otto still stood, cross-legged, enraptured, leaning on his ivory bow; but Helen,

  calling to a maiden for her pocket-handkerchief, blew her beautiful Grecian nose

  in order to hide her agitation. Bless ye, bless ye, pretty ones! I am old now;

  but not so old but that I kindle at the tale of love. Theresa MacWhirter too has

  lived and loved. Heigho!

  Who is yon chief that stands behind the truck whereon are seated the Princess

  and the stout old lord, her father? Who is he whose hair is of the carroty hue?

  whose eyes, across a snubby bunch of a nose, are perpetually scowling at each

  other; who has a hump-back and a hideous mouth, surrounded with bristles, and

  crammed full of jutting yellow odious teeth. Although he wears a sky-blue

  doublet laced with silver, it only serves to render his vulgar punchy figure

  doubly ridiculous; although his nether garment is of salmon- colored velvet, it

  only draws the more attention to his legs, which are disgustingly crooked and

  bandy. A rose-colored hat, with towering pea-green ostrich-plumes, looks absurd

  on his bull-head; and though it is time of peace, the wretch is armed with a

  multiplicity of daggers, knives, yataghans, dirks, sabres, and scimitars, which

  testify his truculent and bloody disposition. 'Tis the terrible Rowski de

  Donnerblitz, Margrave of Eulenschreckenstein. Report says he is a suitor for the

  hand of the lovely Helen. He addresses various speeches of gallantry to her, and

  grins hideously as he thrusts his disgusting head over her lily shoulder. But

  she turns away from him! turns and shudders�ay, as she would at a black dose!

  Otto stands gazing still, and leaning on his bow. "What is the prize?" asks one

  archer of another. There a
re two prizes�a velvet cap, embroidered by the hand of

  the Princess, and a chain of massive gold, of enormous value. Both lie on

  cushions before her.

  "I know which I shall choose, when I win the first prize," says a swarthy,

  savage, and bandy-legged archer, who bears the owl gules on a black shield, the

  cognizance of the Lord Rowski de Donnerblitz.

  "Which, fellow?" says Otto, turning fiercely upon him.

  "The chain, to be sure!" says the leering archer. "You do not suppose I am such

  a flat as to choose that velvet gimcrack there?" Otto laughed in scorn, and

  began to prepare his bow. The trumpets sounding proclaimed that the sports were

  about to commence.

  Is it necessary to describe them? No: that has already been done in the novel of

  "Ivanhoe" before mentioned. Fancy the archers clad in Lincoln green, all coming

  forward in turn, and firing at the targets. Some hit, some missed; those that

  missed were fain to retire amidst the jeers of the multitudinous spectators.

  Those that hit began new trials of skill; but it was easy to see, from the

  first, that the battle lay between Squintoff (the Rowski archer) and the young

  hero with the golden hair and the ivory bow. Squintoff's fame as a marksman was

  known throughout Europe; but who was his young competitor? Ah? there was ONE

  heart in the assembly that beat most anxiously to know. 'Twas Helen's.

  The crowning trial arrived. The bull's eye of the target, set up at

  three-quarters of a mile distance from the archers, was so small, that it

  required a very clever man indeed to see, much more to hit it; and as Squintoff

  was selecting his arrow for the final trial, the Rowski flung a purse of gold

  towards his archer, saying� "Squintoff, an ye win the prize, the purse is

  thine." "I may as well pocket it at once, your honor," said the bowman with a

  sneer at Otto. "This young chick, who has been lucky as yet, will hardly hit

  such a mark as that." And, taking his aim, Squintoff discharged his arrow right

  into the very middle of the bull's-eye.

  "Can you mend that, young springald?" said he, as a shout rent the air at his

  success, as Helen turned pale to think that the champion of her secret heart was

  likely to be overcome, and as Squintoff, pocketing the Rowski's money, turned to

  the noble boy of Godesberg.

  "Has anybody got a pea?" asked the lad. Everybody laughed at his droll request;

  and an old woman, who was selling porridge in the crowd, handed him the

  vegetable which he demanded. It was a dry and yellow pea. Otto, stepping up to

  the target, caused Squintoff to extract his arrow from the bull's-eye, and

  placed in the orifice made by the steel point of the shaft, the pea which he had

  received from the old woman. He then came back to his place. As he prepared to

  shoot, Helen was so overcome by emotion, that 'twas thought she would have

  fainted. Never, never had she seen a being so beautiful as the young hero now

  before her.

  He looked almost divine. He flung back his long clusters of hair from his bright

  eyes and tall forehead; the blush of health mantled on his cheek, from which the

  barber's weapon had never shorn the down. He took his bow, and one of his most

  elegant arrows, and poising himself lightly on his right leg, he flung himself

  forward, raising his left leg on a level with his ear. He looked like Apollo, as

  he stood balancing himself there. He discharged his dart from the thrumming

  bowstring: it clove the blue air�whiz!

  "HE HAS SPLIT THE PEA!" said the Princess, and fainted. The Rowski, with one

  eye, hurled an indignant look at the boy, while with the other he levelled (if

  aught so crooked can be said to level anything) a furious glance at his archer.

  The archer swore a sulky oath. "He is the better man!" said he. "I suppose,

  young chap, you take the gold chain?"

  "The gold chain?" said Otto. "Prefer a gold chain to a cap worked by that august

  hand? Never!" And advancing to the balcony where the Princess, who now came to