A Legend of the Rhine

by William Makepeace Thackeray

where the wild wind walks alone; away through the plashing quagmires, where the

  will-o'-the-wisp slunk frightened among the reeds; away through light and

  darkness, storm and sunshine; away by tower and town, high-road and hamlet. Once

  a turnpike-man would have detained him; but, ha! ha! he charged the pike, and

  cleared it at a bound. Once the Cologne Diligence stopped the way: he charged

  the Diligence, he knocked off the cap of the conductor on the roof, and yet

  galloped wildly, madly, furiously, irresistibly on! Brave horse! gallant steed!

  snorting child of Araby! On went the horse, over mountains, rivers, turnpikes,

  apple-women; and never stopped until he reached a livery-stable in Cologne where

  his master was accustomed to put him up.

  CHAPTER VI. THE CONFESSION.

  But we have forgotten, meanwhile, that prostrate individual. Having examined the

  wounds in his side, legs, head, and throat, the old hermit (a skilful leech)

  knelt down by the side of the vanquished one and said, "Sir Knight, it is my

  painful duty to state to you that you are in an exceedingly dangerous condition,

  and will not probably survive."

  "Say you so, Sir Priest? then 'tis time I make my confession. Hearken you,

  Priest, and you, Sir Knight, whoever you be."

  Sir Ludwig (who, much affected by the scene, had been tying his horse up to a

  tree), lifted his visor and said, "Gottfried of Godesberg! I am the friend of

  thy kinsman, Margrave Karl, whose happiness thou hast ruined; I am the friend of

  his chaste and virtuous lady, whose fair fame thou hast belied; I am the

  godfather of young Count Otto, whose heritage thou wouldst have appropriated.

  Therefore I met thee in deadly fight, and overcame thee, and have wellnigh

  finished thee. Speak on."

  "I have done all this," said the dying man, "and here, in my last hour, repent

  me. The Lady Theodora is a spotless lady; the youthful Otto the true son of his

  father�Sir Hildebrandt is not his father, but his UNCLE."

  "Gracious Buffo!" "Celestial Bugo!" here said the hermit and the Knight of

  Hombourg simultaneously, clasping their hands.

  "Yes, his uncle; but with the BAR-SINISTER in his scutcheon. Hence he could

  never be acknowledged by the family; hence, too, the Lady Theodora's spotless

  purity (though the young people had been brought up together) could never be

  brought to own the relationship."

  "May I repeat your confession?" asked the hermit.

  "With the greatest pleasure in life: carry my confession to the Margrave, and

  pray him give me pardon. Were there�a notary-public present," slowly gasped the

  knight, the film of dissolution glazing over his eyes, "I would

  ask�you�two�gentlemen to witness it. I would gladly�sign the deposition�that is,

  if I could wr-wr-wr-wr- ite!" A faint shuddering smile�a quiver, a gasp, a

  gurgle�the blood gushed from his mouth in black volumes . . . .

  "He will never sin more," said the hermit, solemnly.

  "May heaven assoilzie him!" said Sir Ludwig. "Hermit, he was a gallant knight.

  He died with harness on his back and with truth on his lips: Ludwig of Hombourg

  would ask no other death. . . . ."

  An hour afterwards the principal servants at the Castle of Godesberg were rather

  surprised to see the noble Lord Louis trot into the court-yard of the castle,

  with a companion on the crupper of his saddle. 'Twas the venerable hermit of

  Rolandseck, who, for the sake of greater celerity, had adopted this undignified

  conveyance, and whose appearance and little dumpy legs might well create

  hilarity among the "pampered menials" who are always found lounging about the

  houses of the great. He skipped off the saddle with considerable lightness

  however; and Sir Ludwig, taking the reverend man by the arm and frowning the

  jeering servitors into awe, bade one of them lead him to the presence of his

  Highness the Margrave.

  "What has chanced?" said the inquisitive servitor. "The riderless horse of Sir

  Gottfried was seen to gallop by the outer wall anon. The Margrave's Grace has

  never quitted your lordship's chamber, and sits as one distraught."

  "Hold thy prate, knave, and lead us on!" And so saying, the Knight and his

  Reverence moved into the well-known apartment, where, according to the

  servitor's description, the wretched Margrave sat like a stone.

  Ludwig took one of the kind broken-hearted man's hands, the hermit seized the

  other, and began (but on account of his great age, with a prolixity which we

  shall not endeavor to imitate) to narrate the events which we have already

  described. Let the dear reader fancy, while his Reverence speaks, the glazed

  eyes of the Margrave gradually lighting up with attention; the flush of joy

  which mantles in his countenance�the start�the throb�the almost delirious

  outburst of hysteric exultation with which, when the whole truth was made known,

  he clasped the two messengers of glad tidings to his breast, with an energy that

  almost choked the aged recluse! "Ride, ride this instant to the Margravine�say I

  have wronged her, that it is all right, that she may come back�that I forgive

  her�that I apologize if you will"�and a secretary forthwith despatched a note to

  that effect, which was carried off by a fleet messenger.

  "Now write to the Superior of the monastery at Cologne, and bid him send me back

  my boy, my darling, my Otto�my Otto of roses!" said the fond father, making the

  first play upon words he had ever attempted in his life. But what will not

  paternal love effect? The secretary (smiling at the joke) wrote another letter,

  and another fleet messenger was despatched on another horse.

  "And now," said Sir Ludwig, playfully, "let us to lunch. Holy hermit, are you

  for a snack?"

  The hermit could not say nay on an occasion so festive, and the three gentles

  seated themselves to a plenteous repast; for which the remains of the feast of

  yesterday offered, it need not be said, ample means.

  "They will be home by dinner-time," said the exulting father. "Ludwig! reverend

  hermit! we will carry on till then." And the cup passed gayly round, and the

  laugh and jest circulated, while the three happy friends sat confidentially

  awaiting the return of the Margravine and her son.

  But alas! said we not rightly at the commencement of a former chapter, that

  betwixt the lip and the raised wine-cup there is often many a spill? that our

  hopes are high, and often, too often, vain? About three hours after the

  departure of the first messenger, he returned, and with an exceedingly long face

  knelt down and presented to the Margrave a billet to the following effect:�

  "CONVENT OF NONNENWERTH, Friday Afternoon.

  "SIR�I have submitted too long to your ill-usage, and am disposed to bear it no

  more. I will no longer be made the butt of your ribald satire, and the object of

  your coarse abuse. Last week you threatened me with your cane! On Tuesday last

  you threw a wine- decanter at me, which hit the butler, it is true, but the

  intention was evident. This morning, in the presence of all the servants, you

  called me by the most vile, abominable name, which heaven forbid I should

  repeat! You dismi
ssed me from your house under a false accusation. You sent me

  to this odious convent to be immured for life. Be it so! I will not come back,

  because, forsooth; you relent. Anything is better than a residence with a

  wicked, coarse, violent, intoxicated, brutal monster like yourself. I remain

  here for ever and blush to be obliged to sign myself

  "THEODORA VON GODESBERG.

  "P.S.�I hope you do not intend to keep all my best gowns, jewels, and

  wearing-apparel; and make no doubt you dismissed me from your house in order to

  make way for some vile hussy, whose eyes I would like to tear out. T. V. G."

  CHAPTER VII. THE SENTENCE.

  This singular document, illustrative of the passions of women at all times, and

  particularly of the manners of the early ages, struck dismay into the heart of

  the Margrave.

  "Are her ladyship's insinuations correct?" asked the hermit, in a severe tone.

  "To correct a wife with a cane is a venial, I may say a justifiable practice;

  but to fling a bottle at her is ruin both to the liquor and to her."

  "But she sent a carving-knife at me first," said the heartbroken husband. "O

  jealousy, cursed jealousy, why, why did I ever listen to thy green and yellow

  tongue?"

  "They quarrelled; but they loved each other sincerely," whispered Sir Ludwig to

  the hermit: who began to deliver forthwith a lecture upon family discord and

  marital authority, which would have sent his two hearers to sleep, but for the

  arrival of the second messenger, whom the Margrave had despatched to Cologne for

  his son. This herald wore a still longer face than that of his comrade who

  preceded him.

  "Where is my darling?" roared the agonized parent. "Have ye brought him with

  ye?"

  "N�no," said the man, hesitating.

  "I will flog the knave soundly when he comes," cried the father, vainly

  endeavoring, under an appearance of sternness, to hide his inward emotion and

  tenderness.

  "Please, your Highness," said the messenger, making a desperate effort, "Count

  Otto is not at the convent."

  "Know ye, knave, where he is?"

  The swain solemnly said, "I do. He is THERE." He pointed as he spake to the

  broad Rhine, that was seen from the casement, lighted up by the magnificent hues

  of sunset.

  "THERE! How mean ye THERE?" gasped the Margrave, wrought to a pitch of nervous

  fury.

  "Alas! my good lord, when he was in the boat which was to conduct him to the

  convent, he�he jumped suddenly from it, and is dr�dr�owned."

  "Carry that knave out and hang him!" said the Margrave, with a calmness more

  dreadful than any outburst of rage. "Let every man of the boat's crew be blown

  from the mouth of the cannon on the tower�except the coxswain, and let him be�"

  What was to be done with the coxswain, no one knows; for at that moment, and

  overcome by his emotion, the Margrave sank down lifeless on the floor.

  CHAPTER VIII. THE CHILDE OF GODESBERG.

  It must be clear to the dullest intellect (if amongst our readers we dare

  venture to presume that a dull intellect should be found) that the cause of the

  Margrave's fainting-fit, described in the last chapter, was a groundless

  apprehension on the part of that too solicitous and credulous nobleman regarding

  the fate of his beloved child. No, young Otto was NOT drowned. Was ever hero of

  romantic story done to death so early in the tale? Young Otto was NOT drowned.

  Had such been the case, the Lord Margrave would infallibly have died at the

  close of the last chapter; and a few gloomy sentences at its close would have

  denoted how the lovely Lady Theodora became insane in the convent, and how Sir

  Ludwig determined, upon the demise of the old hermit (consequent upon the shock

  of hearing the news), to retire to the vacant hermitage, and assume the robe,

  the beard, the mortifications of the late venerable and solitary ecclesiastic.

  Otto was NOT drowned, and all those personages of our history are consequently

  alive and well.

  The boat containing the amazed young Count�for he knew not the cause of his

  father's anger, and hence rebelled against the unjust sentence which the

  Margrave had uttered�had not rowed many miles, when the gallant boy rallied from

  his temporary surprise and despondency, and determined not to be a slave in any

  convent of any order: determined to make a desperate effort for escape. At a

  moment when the men were pulling hard against the tide, and Kuno, the coxswain,

  was looking carefully to steer the barge between some dangerous rocks and

  quicksands which are frequently met with in the majestic though dangerous river,

  Otto gave a sudden spring from the boat, and with one single flounce was in the

  boiling, frothing, swirling eddy of the stream.

  Fancy the agony of the crew at the disappearance of their young lord! All loved

  him; all would have given their lives for him; but as they did not know how to

  swim, of course they declined to make any useless plunges in search of him, and

  stood on their oars in mute wonder and grief. ONCE, his fair head and golden

  ringlets were seen to arise from the water; TWICE, puffing and panting, it

  appeared for an instant again; THRICE, it rose but for one single moment: it was

  the last chance, and it sunk, sunk, sunk. Knowing the reception they would meet

  with from their liege lord, the men naturally did not go home to Godesberg, but

  putting in at the first creek on the opposite bank, fled into the Duke of

  Nassau's territory; where, as they have little to do with our tale, we will

  leave them.

  But they little knew how expert a swimmer was young Otto. He had disappeared, it

  is true; but why? because he HAD DIVED. He calculated that his conductors would

  consider him drowned, and the desire of liberty lending him wings, (or we had

  rather say FINS, in this instance,) the gallant boy swam on beneath the water,

  never lifting his head for a single moment between Godesberg and Cologne� the

  distance being twenty-five or thirty miles.

  Escaping from observation, he landed on the Deutz side of the river, repaired to

  a comfortable and quiet hostel there, saying he had had an accident from a boat,

  and thus accounting for the moisture of his habiliments, and while these were

  drying before a fire in his chamber, went snugly to bed, where he mused, not

  without amaze, on the strange events of the day. "This morning," thought he, "a

  noble, and heir to a princely estate�this evening an outcast, with but a few

  bank-notes which my mamma luckily gave me on my birthday. What a strange entry

  into life is this for a young man of my family! Well, I have courage and

  resolution: my first attempt in life has been a gallant and successful one;

  other dangers will be conquered by similar bravery." And recommending himself,

  his unhappy mother, and his mistaken father to the care of their patron saint,

  Saint Buffo, the gallant-hearted boy fell presently into such a sleep as only

  the young, the healthy, the innocent, and the extremely fatigued can enjoy.

  The fatigues of the day (and very few men but would be fatigued after swimming

  wellnigh thirty miles under w
ater) caused young Otto to sleep so profoundly,

  that he did not remark how, after Friday's sunset, as a natural consequence,

  Saturday's Phoebus illumined the world, ay, and sunk at his appointed hour. The

  serving-maidens of the hostel, peeping in, marked him sleeping, and blessing him

  for a pretty youth, tripped lightly from the chamber; the boots tried haply

  twice or thrice to call him (as boots will fain), but the lovely boy, giving

  another snore, turned on his side, and was quite unconscious of the

  interruption. In a word, the youth slept for six-and-thirty hours at an

  elongation; and the Sunday sun was shining and the bells of the hundred churches

  of Cologne were clinking and tolling in pious festivity, and the burghers and

  burgheresses of the town were trooping to vespers and morning service when Otto

  awoke.

  As he donned his clothes of the richest Genoa velvet, the astonished boy could

  not at first account for his difficulty in putting them on. "Marry," said he,

  "these breeches that my blessed mother" (tears filled his fine eyes as he

  thought of her)�"that my blessed mother had made long on purpose, are now ten

  inches too short for me. Whir-r-r! my coat cracks i' the back, as in vain I try

  to buckle it round me; and the sleeves reach no farther than my elbows! What is

  this mystery? Am I grown fat and tall in a single night? Ah! ah! ah! ah! I have

  it."

  The young and good-humored Childe laughed merrily. He bethought him of the

  reason of his mistake: his garments had shrunk from being five-and-twenty miles

  under water.

  But one remedy presented itself to his mind; and that we need not say was to

  purchase new ones. Inquiring the way to the most genteel ready-made-clothes'

  establishment in the city of Cologne, and finding it was kept in the Minoriten

  Strasse, by an ancestor of the celebrated Moses of London, the noble Childe hied

  him towards the emporium; but you may be sure did not neglect to perform his

  religious duties by the way. Entering the cathedral, he made straight for the

  shrine of Saint Buffo, and hiding himself behind a pillar there (fearing he

  might be recognized by the archbishop, or any of his father's numerous friends

  in Cologne), he proceeded with his devotions, as was the practice of the young

  nobles of the age.

  But though exceedingly intent upon the service, yet his eye could not refrain

  from wandering a LITTLE round about him, and he remarked with surprise that the

  whole church was filled with archers; and he remembered, too, that he had seen

  in the streets numerous other bands of men similarly attired in green. On asking

  at the cathedral porch the cause of this assemblage, one of the green ones said

  (in a jape), "Marry, youngster, YOU must be GREEN, not to know that we are all

  bound to the castle of his Grace Duke Adolf of Cleves, who gives an archery

  meeting once a year, and prizes for which we toxophilites muster strong."

  Otto, whose course hitherto had been undetermined, now immediately settled what

  to do. He straightway repaired to the ready-made emporium of Herr Moses, and

  bidding that gentleman furnish him with an archer's complete dress, Moses

  speedily selected a suit from his vast stock, which fitted the youth to a T, and

  we need not say was sold at an exceedingly moderate price. So attired (and

  bidding Herr Moses a cordial farewell), young Otto was a gorgeous, a noble, a

  soul-inspiring boy to gaze on. A coat and breeches of the most brilliant

  pea-green, ornamented with a profusion of brass buttons, and fitting him with

  exquisite tightness, showed off a figure unrivalled for slim symmetry. His feet

  were covered with peaked buskins of buff leather, and a belt round his slender

  waist, of the same material, held his knife, his tobacco-pipe and pouch, and his

  long shining dirk; which, though the adventurous youth had as yet only employed

  it to fashion wicket-bails, or to cut bread-and- cheese, he was now quite ready

  to use against the enemy. His personal attractions were enhanced by a neat white