A Legend of the Rhine

by William Makepeace Thackeray

hat, flung carelessly and fearlessly on one side of his open smiling

  countenance; and his lovely hair, curling in ten thousand yellow ringlets, fell

  over his shoulder like golden epaulettes, and down his back as far as the

  waist-buttons of his coat. I warrant me, many a lovely Colnerinn looked after

  the handsome Childe with anxiety, and dreamed that night of Cupid under the

  guise of "a bonny boy in green."

  So accoutred, the youth's next thought was, that he must supply himself with a

  bow. This he speedily purchased at the most fashionable bowyer's, and of the

  best material and make. It was of ivory, trimmed with pink ribbon, and the cord

  of silk. An elegant quiver, beautifully painted and embroidered, was slung

  across his back, with a dozen of the finest arrows, tipped with steel of

  Damascus, formed of the branches of the famous Upas-tree of Java, and feathered

  with the wings of the ortolan. These purchases being completed (together with

  that of a knapsack, dressing-case, change, our young adventurer asked where was

  the hostel at which the archers were wont to assemble? and being informed that

  it was at the sign of the "Golden Stag," hied him to that house of

  entertainment, where, by calling for quantities of liquor and beer, he speedily

  made the acquaintance and acquired the good will of a company of his future

  comrades, who happened to be sitting in the coffee-room.

  After they had eaten and drunken for all, Otto said, addressing them, "When go

  ye forth, gentles? I am a stranger here, bound as you to the archery meeting of

  Duke Adolf. An ye will admit a youth into your company 'twill gladden me upon my

  lonely way?"

  The archers replied, "You seem so young and jolly, and you spend your gold so

  very like a gentleman, that we'll receive you in our band with pleasure. Be

  ready, for we start at half-past two!" At that hour accordingly the whole joyous

  company prepared to move, and Otto not a little increased his popularity among

  them by stepping out and having a conference with the landlord, which caused the

  latter to come into the room where the archers were assembled previous to

  departure, and to say, "Gentlemen, the bill is settled!"�words never ungrateful

  to an archer yet: no, marry, nor to a man of any other calling that I wot of.

  They marched joyously for several leagues, singing and joking, and telling of a

  thousand feats of love and chase and war. While thus engaged, some one remarked

  to Otto, that he was not dressed in the regular uniform, having no feathers in

  his hat.

  "I dare say I will find a feather," said the lad, smiling.

  Then another gibed because his bow was new.

  "See that you can use your old one as well, Master Wolfgang," said the

  undisturbed youth. His answers, his bearing, his generosity, his beauty, and his

  wit, inspired all his new toxophilite friends with interest and curiosity, and

  they longed to see whether his skill with the bow corresponded with their secret

  sympathies for him.

  An occasion for manifesting this skill did not fail to present itself soon�as

  indeed it seldom does to such a hero of romance as young Otto was. Fate seems to

  watch over such: events occur to them just in the nick of time; they rescue

  virgins just as ogres are on the point of devouring them; they manage to be

  present at court and interesting ceremonies, and to see the most interesting

  people at the most interesting moment; directly an adventure is necessary for

  them, that adventure occurs: and I, for my part, have often wondered with

  delight (and never could penetrate the mystery of the subject) at the way in

  which that humblest of romance heroes, Signor Clown, when he wants anything in

  the Pantomime, straightway finds it to his hand. How is it that,�suppose he

  wishes to dress himself up like a woman for instance, that minute a coalheaver

  walks in with a shovel-hat that answers for a bonnet; at the very next instant a

  butcher's lad passing with a string of sausages and a bundle of bladders

  unconsciously helps Master Clown to a necklace and a tournure, and so on through

  the whole toilet? Depend upon it there is something we do not wot of in that

  mysterious overcoming of circumstances by great individuals: that apt and

  wondrous conjuncture of THE HOUR AND THE MAN; and so, for my part, when I heard

  the above remark of one of the archers, that Otto had never a feather in his

  bonnet, I felt sure that a heron would spring up in the next sentence to supply

  him with an aigrette.

  And such indeed was the fact: rising out of a morass by which the archers were

  passing, a gallant heron, arching his neck, swelling his crest, placing his legs

  behind him, and his beak and red eyes against the wind, rose slowly, and offered

  the fairest mark in the world.

  "Shoot, Otto," said one of the archers. "You would not shoot just now at a crow

  because it was a foul bird, nor at a hawk because it was a noble bird; bring us

  down yon heron: it flies slowly."

  But Otto was busy that moment tying his shoestring, and Rudolf, the third best

  of the archers, shot at the bird and missed it.

  "Shoot, Otto," said Wolfgang, a youth who had taken a liking to the young

  archer: "the bird is getting further and further."

  But Otto was busy that moment whittling a willow-twig he had just cut. Max, the

  second best archer, shot and missed.

  "Then," said Wolfgang, "I must try myself: a plague on you, young springald, you

  have lost a noble chance!"

  Wolfgang prepared himself with all his care, and shot at the bird. "It is out of

  distance," said he, "and a murrain on the bird!"

  Otto, who by this time had done whittling his willow-stick (having carved a

  capital caricature of Wolfgang upon it), flung the twig down and said

  carelessly, "Out of distance! Pshaw! We have two minutes yet," and fell to

  asking riddles and cutting jokes; to the which none of the archers listened, as

  they were all engaged, their noses in air, watching the retreating bird.

  "Where shall I hit him?" said Otto.

  "Go to," said Rudolf, "thou canst see no limb of him: he is no bigger than a

  flea."

  "Here goes for his right eye!" said Otto; and stepping forward in the English

  manner (which his godfather having learnt in Palestine, had taught him), he

  brought his bowstring to his ear, took a good aim, allowing for the wind and

  calculating the parabola to a nicety. Whiz! his arrow went off.

  He took up the willow-twig again and began carving a head of Rudolf at the other

  end, chatting and laughing, and singing a ballad the while.

  The archers, after standing a long time looking skywards with their noses in the

  air, at last brought them down from the perpendicular to the horizontal

  position, and said, "Pooh, this lad is a humbug! The arrow's lost; let's go!"

  "HEADS!" cried Otto, laughing. A speck was seen rapidly descending from the

  heavens; it grew to be as big as a crown-piece, then as a partridge, then as a

  tea-kettle, and flop! down fell a magnificent heron to the ground, flooring poor

  Max in its fall.

  "Take the arrow out of his eye, Wolfgang," said Otto, without l
ooking at the

  bird: "wipe it and put it back into my quiver."

  The arrow indeed was there, having penetrated right through the pupil.

  "Are you in league with Der Freischutz?" said Rudolf, quite amazed.

  Otto laughingly whistled the "Huntsman's Chorus," and said, "No, my friend. It

  was a lucky shot: only a lucky shot. I was taught shooting, look you, in the

  fashion of merry England, where the archers are archers indeed."

  And so he cut off the heron's wing for a plume for his hat; and the archers

  walked on, much amazed, and saying, "What a wonderful country that merry England

  must be!"

  Far from feeling any envy at their comrade's success, the jolly archers

  recognized his superiority with pleasure; and Wolfgang and Rudolf especially

  held out their hands to the younker, and besought the honor of his friendship.

  They continued their walk all day, and when night fell made choice of a good

  hostel you may be sure, where over beer, punch, champagne, and every luxury,

  they drank to the health of the Duke of Cleves, and indeed each other's healths

  all round. Next day they resumed their march, and continued it without

  interruption, except to take in a supply of victuals here and there (and it was

  found on these occasions that Otto, young as he was, could eat four times as

  much as the oldest archer present, and drink to correspond); and these continued

  refreshments having given them more than ordinary strength, they determined on

  making rather a long march of it, and did not halt till after nightfall at the

  gates of the little town of Windeck.

  What was to be done? the town-gates were shut. "Is there no hostel, no castle

  where we can sleep?" asked Otto of the sentinel at the gate. "I am so hungry

  that in lack of better food I think I could eat my grandmamma."

  The sentinel laughed at this hyperbolical expression of hunger, and said, "You

  had best go sleep at the Castle of Windeck yonder;" adding with a peculiarly

  knowing look, "Nobody will disturb you there."

  At that moment the moon broke out from a cloud, and showed on a hill hard by a

  castle indeed�but the skeleton of a castle. The roof was gone, the windows were

  dismantled, the towers were tumbling, and the cold moonlight pierced it through

  and through. One end of the building was, however, still covered in, and stood

  looking still more frowning, vast, and gloomy, even than the other part of the

  edifice.

  "There is a lodging, certainly," said Otto to the sentinel, who pointed towards

  the castle with his bartizan; "but tell me, good fellow, what are we to do for a

  supper?"

  "Oh, the castellan of Windeck will entertain you," said the man-at- arms with a

  grin, and marched up the embrasure; the while the archers, taking counsel among

  themselves, debated whether or not they should take up their quarters in the

  gloomy and deserted edifice.

  "We shall get nothing but an owl for supper there," said young Otto. "Marry,

  lads, let us storm the town; we are thirty gallant fellows, and I have heard the

  garrison is not more than three hundred." But the rest of the party thought such

  a way of getting supper was not a very cheap one, and, grovelling knaves,

  preferred rather to sleep ignobly and without victuals, than dare the assault

  with Otto, and die, or conquer something comfortable.

  One and all then made their way towards the castle. They entered its vast and

  silent halls, frightening the owls and bats that fled before them with hideous

  hootings and flappings of wings, and passing by a multiplicity of mouldy stairs,

  dank reeking roofs, and rickety corridors, at last came to an apartment which,

  dismal and dismantled as it was, appeared to be in rather better condition than

  the neighboring chambers, and they therefore selected it as their place of rest

  for the night. They then tossed up which should mount guard. The first two hours

  of watch fell to Otto, who was to be succeeded by his young though humble friend

  Wolfgang; and, accordingly, the Childe of Godesberg, drawing his dirk, began to

  pace upon his weary round; while his comrades, by various gradations of snoring,

  told how profoundly they slept, spite of their lack of supper.

  'Tis needless to say what were the thoughts of the noble Childe as he performed

  his two hours' watch; what gushing memories poured into his full soul; what

  "sweet and bitter" recollections of home inspired his throbbing heart; and what

  manly aspirations after fame buoyed him up. "Youth is ever confident," says the

  bard. Happy, happy season! The moonlit hours passed by on silver wings, the

  twinkling stars looked friendly down upon him. Confiding in their youthful

  sentinel, sound slept the valorous toxophilites, as up and down, and there and

  back again, marched on the noble Childe. At length his repeater told him, much

  to his satisfaction, that it was half-past eleven, the hour when his watch was

  to cease; and so, giving a playful kick to the slumbering Wolfgang, that

  good-humored fellow sprung up from his lair, and, drawing his sword, proceeded

  to relieve Otto.

  The latter laid him down for warmth's sake on the very spot which his comrade

  had left, and for some time could not sleep. Realities and visions then began to

  mingle in his mind, till he scarce knew which was which. He dozed for a minute;

  then he woke with a start; then he went off again; then woke up again. In one of

  these half- sleeping moments he thought he saw a figure, as of a woman in white,

  gliding into the room, and beckoning Wolfgang from it. He looked again. Wolfgang

  was gone. At that moment twelve o'clock clanged from the town, and Otto started

  up.

  CHAPTER IX. THE LADY OF WINDECK.

  As the bell with iron tongue called midnight, Wolfgang the Archer, pacing on his

  watch, beheld before him a pale female figure. He did not know whence she came:

  but there suddenly she stood close to him. Her blue, clear, glassy eyes were

  fixed upon him. Her form was of faultless beauty; her face pale as the marble of

  the fairy statue, ere yet the sculptor's love had given it life. A smile played

  upon her features, but it was no warmer than the reflection of a moonbeam on a

  lake; and yet it was wondrous beautiful. A fascination stole over the senses of

  young Wolfgang. He stared at the lovely apparition with fixed eyes and distended

  jaws. She looked at him with ineffable archness. She lifted one beautifully

  rounded alabaster arm, and made a sign as if to beckon him towards her. Did

  Wolfgang�the young and lusty Wolfgang�follow? Ask the iron whether it follows

  the magnet?�ask the pointer whether it pursues the partridge through the

  stubble?�ask the youth whether the lollipop-shop does not attract him? Wolfgang

  DID follow. An antique door opened, as if by magic. There was no light, and yet

  they saw quite plain; they passed through the innumerable ancient chambers, and

  yet they did not wake any of the owls and bats roosting there. We know not

  through how many apartments the young couple passed; but at last they came to

  one where a feast was prepared: and on an antique table, covered with massive

  silver, covers were laid for
two. The lady took her place at one end of the

  table, and with her sweetest nod beckoned Wolfgang to the other seat. He took

  it. The table was small, and their knees met. He felt as cold in his legs as if

  he were kneeling against an ice-well.

  "Gallant archer," said she, "you must be hungry after your day's march. What

  supper will you have? Shall it be a delicate lobster- salad? or a dish of

  elegant tripe and onions? or a slice of boar's- head and truffles? or a Welsh

  rabbit a la cave au cidre? or a beefsteak and shallot? or a couple of rognons a

  la brochette? Speak, brave bowyer: you have but to order."

  As there was nothing on the table but a covered silver dish, Wolfgang thought

  that the lady who proposed such a multiplicity of delicacies to him was only

  laughing at him; so he determined to try her with something extremely rare.

  "Fair princess," he said, "I should like very much a pork-chop and some mashed

  potatoes."

  She lifted the cover: there was such a pork-chop as Simpson never served, with a

  dish of mashed potatoes that would have formed at least six portions in our

  degenerate days in Rupert Street.

  When he had helped himself to these delicacies, the lady put the cover on the

  dish again, and watched him eating with interest. He was for some time too much

  occupied with his own food to remark that his companion did not eat a morsel;

  but big as it was, his chop was soon gone; the shining silver of his plate was

  scraped quite clean with his knife, and, heaving a great sigh, he confessed a

  humble desire for something to drink.

  "Call for what you like, sweet sir," said the lady, lifting up a silver filigree

  bottle, with an india-rubber cork, ornamented with gold.

  "Then," said Master Wolfgang�for the fellow's tastes were, in sooth, very

  humble�"I call for half-and-half." According to his wish, a pint of that

  delicious beverage was poured from the bottle, foaming, into his beaker.

  Having emptied this at a draught, and declared that on his conscience it was the

  best tap he ever knew in his life, the young man felt his appetite renewed; and

  it is impossible to say how many different dishes he called for. Only

  enchantment, he was afterwards heard to declare (though none of his friends

  believed him), could have given him the appetite he possessed on that

  extraordinary night. He called for another pork-chop and potatoes, then for

  pickled salmon; then he thought he would try a devilled turkey-wing. "I adore

  the devil," said he.

  "So do I," said the pale lady, with unwonted animation; and the dish was served

  straightway. It was succeeded by black-puddings, tripe, toasted cheese, and�what

  was most remarkable�every one of the dishes which he desired came from under the

  same silver cover: which circumstance, when he had partaken of about fourteen

  different articles, he began to find rather mysterious.

  "Oh," said the pale lady, with a smile, "the mystery is easily accounted for:

  the servants hear you, and the kitchen is BELOW." But this did not account for

  the manner in which more half-and- half, bitter ale, punch (both gin and rum),

  and even oil and vinegar, which he took with cucumber to his salmon, came out of

  the self-same bottle from which the lady had first poured out his pint of

  half-and-half.

  "There are more things in heaven and earth, Voracio," said his arch entertainer,

  when he put this question to her, "than are dreamt of in your philosophy:" and,

  sooth to say, the archer was by this time in such a state, that he did not find

  anything wonderful more.

  "Are you happy, dear youth?" said the lady, as, after his collation, he sank

  back in his chair.

  "Oh, miss, ain't I?" was his interrogative and yet affirmative reply.

  "Should you like such a supper every night, Wolfgang?" continued the pale one.

  "Why, no," said he; "no, not exactly; not EVERY night: SOME nights I should like

  oysters."