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 water) 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 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, &c.), 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 looking 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.