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 are 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 herself, was sitting, he kneeled down before
her, and received the velvet cap; which, blushing as scarlet as the
cap itself, the Princess Helen placed on his golden ringlets. Once more
their eyes met--their hearts thrilled. They had never spoken, but they
knew they loved each other for ever.
“Wilt thou take service with the Rowski of Donnerblitz?” said that
individual to the youth. “Thou shalt be captain of my archers in place
of yon blundering nincompoop, whom thou hast overcome.”
“Yon blundering nincompoop is a skilful and gallant archer,” replied
Otto, haughtily; “and I will NOT take service with the Rowski of
Donnerblitz.”
“Wilt thou enter the household of the Prince of Cleves?” said the father
of Helen, laughing, and not a little amused at the haughtiness of the
humble archer.
“I would die for the Duke of Cleves and HIS FAMILY,” said Otto, bowing
low. He laid a particular and a tender emphasis on the word family.
Helen knew what he meant. SHE was the family. In fact her mother was no
more, and her papa had no other offspring.
“What is thy name, good fellow,” said the Prince, “that my steward may
enroll thee?”
“Sir,” said Otto, again blushing, “I am OTTO THE ARCHER.”