The author of this delightful novel, by the fertility of his genius,
has almost exhausted the rhetoric of admiration, and even the
vocabulary of criticism. But we still hail his appearance with
heartfelt interest, if not with the enthusiasm and rapture with which
we were wont to speak of his earlier productions. The _incognito_ of
their authorship is removed, but with it none of their genuine fame;
and, like few works of the same class, their popularity bids fair to
outlive hundreds of matter-of-fact works, whose realities might have
been expected to ensure them a more durable character. It would be
idle, at this time of day, to go over the ground upon which the
_Waverley Novels_ will take their stand among our national literature:
they are not merely pictures of fact and fancy blended by a masterly
hand, but beyond this merit, they abound with so much knowledge of the
human heart and the mastery of its passions, as to render them
interesting to every reader beyond _Robinson Crusoe;_ and above all,
the free, conversational style in which this knowledge is imparted, is
one of their greatest attractions. The author does not account for
effects by any tedious appeal to our judgment, but he strikes at once
at our feelings and common sense, and we become, as it were,
identified with the dictates and impulses of his heroes. This merit
belongs to _book-effect_, as _situations_ belong to stage-effect; the
endings of his chapters are like good _exits_--we are sure to be
curious as to the following page or scene.
But we are trifling, like a subordinate who stays behind to say a
silly thing in a farce. Having overrun Scotland, England, France,
Palestine, and Germany, Sir Walter, in the work before us, introduces
us to some of the most stirring times of Swiss story. Upon this simple
intimation, the reader will anticipate all the fascinations of
picturesque scenery and eloquent description--so characteristic of
every volume of the _Waverley Novels_, and in this expectation, he
will not be disappointed. The latter charms are constant in nothing
but perpetual change; and the sublimities of Switzerland will excite
admiration and awe, when the labours of man have crumbled to ruin, and
all his proud glories passed away in the dream of time.
The novel opens in the year 1474, when Helvetia, after her heroic
struggles for independence, began to be recognised by the neighbouring
countries as a free state. At this date, its inhabitants "retained, in
a great measure, the wisdom, moderation, and simplicity of their
ancient manners; so much so, that those who were entrusted with the
command of the troops of the Republic in battle, were wont to resume
the shepherd's staff, when they laid down the truncheon, and, like the
Roman Dictators, to retire to complete equality with their fellow
citizens, from the eminence to which their talents, and the call of
their country had raised them."
The first chapter introduces us to two travellers and their guide, who
lose their way in the mountainous passes of the Alps, from Lucerne to
Bâle. The travellers are Englishmen, give themselves out as merchants,
and assume the name of Philipson, the Christian name of the younger,
who is the hero of the novel, being Arthur. They are overtaken by a
storm, and fall into perils, a scene of which we have already given at
page 313, of the MIRROR. They are at length rescued, by a party of
Swiss from the neighbourhood of the old castle of Geierstein, or Rock
of the Vulture. This party turns out to consist of Arnold Biederman,
the Landamman, or Chief Magistrate of the Canton of Unterwalden, and
his sons, who reside upon a farm among the mountains. Along with them
comes another, who is mainly instrumental in saving the life of
Arthur, and this is _Anne of Geierstein_, the Landamman's niece, a
mountain maiden, but of noble birth, the daughter of one of the best
families in Switzerland, and combining all the delicacy of a woman
with all the heroic spirit of a man. Her portrait will be found at
page 344, of the MIRROR.
The travellers spend some days at the Landamman's house. Arthur
becomes intimately acquainted with the sons of Arnold Biederman, joins
with them in their athletic sports, and gains no small reputation for
his activity and skill. A cousin of these young men is also
introduced, by name, Rudolph, of Donnerhugel, a youth of ambitious
temperament, and withal a passionate admirer of Anne of Geierstein.
Arthur and he, of course, are not disposed to regard each other with
much complacency, and at the commencement of their acquaintance a
challenge is exchanged between them; the combat is extremely well
described:
The sun was just about to kiss the top of the most
gigantic of that race of Titans, though the long shadows still lay on
the rough grass, which crisped under the young man's feet with a
strong intimation of frost. But Arthur looked not round on the
landscape however lovely, which lay waiting one flash from the orb of
day to start into brilliant existence. He drew the belt of his trusty
sword which he was in the act of fastening when he left the house, and
ere he had secured the buckle, he was many paces on his way towards
the place where he was to use it.
Having hastily traversed the fields and groves which separated the
Landamman's residence from the old castle of Geierstein, he entered
the court-yard from the side where the castle overlooked the land; and
nearly in the same instant his almost gigantic antagonist, who looked
yet more tall and burly by the pale morning light than he had seemed
the preceding evening, appeared ascending from the precarious bridge
beside the torrent, having reached Geierstein by a different route
from that pursued by the Englishman.
The young champion of Berne had hanging along his back one of those
huge two-handed swords, the blade of which measured five feet, and
which were wielded with both hands. These were almost universally used
by the Swiss; for, besides the impression which such weapons were
calculated to make upon the array of the German men-at-arms, whose
armour was impenetrable to lighter swords, they were also well
calculated to defend mountain passes, where the great bodily strength
and agility of those who bore them, enabled the combatants, in spite
of their weight and length, to use them with much address and effect.
One of these gigantic swords hung around Rudolf Donnerhugel's neck,
the point rattling against his heel, and the handle extending itself
over his left shoulder considerably above his head. He carried another
in his hand.
"Thou art punctual," he called out to Arthur Philipson, in a voice
which was distinctly heard above the roar of the waterfall, which it
seemed to rival in sullen force. "But I judged thou wouldst come
without a two-handed sword. There is my kinsman Ernest's," he said,
throwing on the ground the weapon which he carried, with the hilt
towards the young Englishman. "Look, stranger, that thou disgrace it
not, for my kinsman will never forgive me if thou dost. Or thou mayst
have mine if thou likest it better."
The Englishman looked at the weapon, with some surprise, to the use of
which he was totally unaccustomed.
"The challenger," he said, "in all countries where honour is known,
accepts the arms of the challenged."
"He who fights on a Swiss mountain, fights with a Swiss brand,"
answered Rudolf. "Think you our hands are made to handle penknives?"
"Nor are ours made to wield scythes," said Arthur; and muttered
betwixt his teeth, as he looked at the sword, which the Swiss
continued to offer him--"_Usum non habeo_, I have not proved the
weapon."
"Do you repent the bargain you have made?" said the Swiss; "if so, cry
craven, and return in safety. Speak plainly, instead of prattling
Latin like a clerk or a shaven monk."
"No, proud man," replied the Englishman, "I ask thee no forbearance. I
thought but of a combat between a shepherd and a giant, in which God
gave the victory to him who had worse odds of weapons than falls to my
lot to-day. I will fight as I stand; my own good sword shall serve my
need now, as it has done before."
"Content!--But blame not me who offered thee equality of weapons,"
said the mountaineer. "And now hear me. This is a fight for life or
death--yon waterfall sounds the alarum for our conflict.--Yes, old
bellower," he continued, looking back, "it is long since thou hast
heard the noise of battle;--and look at it ere we begin, stranger, for
if you fall, I will commit your body to its waters."
"And if thou fallest, proud Swiss," answered Arthur, "as well I trust
thy presumption leads to destruction, I will have thee buried in the
church at Einsiedlen, where the priests shall sing masses for thy
soul--thy two-handed sword shall be displayed above the grave, and a
scroll shall tell the passenger, Here lies a bear's cub of Berne,
slain by Arthur the Englishman."
"The stone is not in Switzerland, rocky as it is," said Rudolf,
scornfully, "that shall bear that inscription. Prepare thyself for
battle."
The Englishman cast a calm and deliberate glance around the scene of
action--a courtyard, partly open, partly encumbered with ruins, in
less and larger masses.
Thinking thus, and imprinting on his mind as much as the time would
permit, every circumstance of the locality around him which promised
advantage in the combat, and taking his station in the middle of the
courtyard where the ground was entirely clear, he flung his cloak from
him, and drew his sword.
Rudolf had at first believed that his foreign antagonist was an
effeminate youth, who would be swept from before him at the first
flourish of his tremendous weapon. But the firm and watchful attitude
assumed by the young man, reminded the Swiss of the deficiency of his
own unwieldy implement, and made him determine to avoid any
precipitation which might give advantage to an enemy who seemed both
daring and vigilant. He unsheathed his huge sword, by drawing it over
the left shoulder, an operation which required some little time, and
might have offered formidable advantage to his antagonist, had
Arthur's sense of honour permitted him to begin the attack ere it was
completed. The Englishman remained firm, however, until the Swiss,
displaying his bright brand to the morning sun, made three or four
flourishes as if to prove its weight, and the facility with which he
wielded it--then stood firm within sword-stroke of his adversary,
grasping his weapon with both hands, and advancing it a little before
his body, with the blade pointed straight upwards. The Englishman, on
the contrary, carried his sword in one hand, holding it across his
face in a horizontal position, so as to be at once ready to strike,
thrust, or parry.
"Strike, Englishman!" said the Switzer, after they had confronted each
other in this manner for about a minute.
"The longest sword should strike first," said Arthur; and the words
had not left his mouth when the Swiss sword rose, and descended with a
rapidity which, the weight and size of the weapon considered, appeared
portentous. No parry, however dexterously interposed, could have
baffled the ruinous descent of that dreadful weapon, by which the
champion of Berne had hoped at once to begin the battle and end it.
But young Philipson had not over-estimated the justice of his own eye,
or the activity of his limbs. Ere the blade descended, a sudden spring
to one side carried him from beneath its heavy sway, and before the
Swiss could again raise his sword aloft, he received a wound, though a
slight one, upon the left arm. Irritated at the failure and at the
wound, the Switzer heaved up his sword once more, and availing himself
of a strength corresponding to his size, he discharged towards his
adversary a succession of blows, downright, athwart, horizontal, and
from left to right, with such surprising strength and velocity, that
it required all the address of the young Englishman, by parrying,
shifting, eluding, or retreating, to evade a storm, of which every
individual blow seemed sufficient to cleave a solid rock. The
Englishman was compelled to give ground, now backwards, now swerving
to the one side or the other, now availing himself of the fragments of
the ruins, but watching all the while, with the utmost composure, the
moment when the strength of his enraged enemy might become somewhat
exhausted, or when by some improvident or furious blow he might again
lay himself open to a close attack. The latter of these advantages had
nearly occurred, for in the middle of his headlong charge, the Switzer
stumbled over a large stone concealed among the long grass, and ere he
could recover himself, received a severe blow across the head from his
antagonist. It lighted upon his bonnet, the lining of which enclosed a
small steel cap, so that he escaped unwounded, and springing up,
renewed the battle with unabated fury, though it seemed to the young
Englishman with breath somewhat short, and blows dealt with more
caution.
They were still contending with equal fortune, when a stern voice,
rising over the clash of swords, as well as the roar of waters, called
out in a commanding tone, "On your lives, forbear!"
The two combatants sunk the points of their swords, not very sorry
perhaps for the interruption of a strife which must otherwise have had
a deadly termination. They looked round, and the Landamman stood
before them, with anger frowning on his broad and expressive forehead.
[The Landamman was indebted for his knowledge of the rencontre taking
place, to the watchful care of Anne of Geierstein.
The scene is now speedily changed. The Swiss Cantons, provoked by some
encroachments on their liberties made by Charles the Bold, of
Burgundy, and one of his ministers, Archibald Von Hagenbach, to whom
the duke had intrusted the government of the frontier town of La
Ferette, determine on sending a deputation to the court of Charles,
either to obtain reparation for the injuries received, or to declare
war in the name of the Helvetian Cantons. This deputation consists of
Arnold Biederman, Rudolf Donnerhugel, and three others. As the two
Englishmen are also on their way to the court of Charles, they agree
to travel with the deputation; and as Count Geierstein, Anne's father
and Arnold's brother, who has attached himself to the Duke of
Burgundy, is anxious for his daughter's return to the paternal roof,
she also proceeds along with the rest, together with a female
attendant. An escort of 20 or 30 young Swiss volunteers complete the
cavalcade.
The remainder of the first, and the whole of the second volume, is
occupied with an exceedingly interesting and varied account of the
different adventures of the deputation, or its individual members, in
their progress. Among these are an account of a night-watch in an old
castle in the neighbourhood of Bâle, including the mysterious
moonlight appearance of Anne of Geierstein to Arthur, and
Donnerhugel's wild and wonderful narrative of the supernatural
circumstances supposed to be connected with her family; the last of
which will be found at page 324, of the MIRROR.
At the opening of the second volume, the two Englishmen leave the
deputation for La Ferette, where, on their arrival, we are made
acquainted with the ferocious governor, Archibald Von Hagenbach,
Kilian, his fac-totum, and Steinernherz, his executioner, who has
already cut off the heads of eight men, each at a single blow, and is
to receive a patent of nobility, as soon as he has performed the same
office for the ninth. The English travellers fall into the hands of
these notable persons, and are saved from death, after a succession of
the narrowest escapes, owing to a general rising of the town, and the
death of the cruel governor. In these dangers, both father and son are
saved by the apparently supernatural interference of Anne.
The elder Philipson proceeds on his journey, and at an inn in Alsace,
meets with the following extraordinary adventure, the whole of which
is wrought up with great effect:]
He had been in bed about an hour, and sleep had not yet approached his
couch, when he felt that the pallet on which he lay was sinking below
him, and that he was in the act of descending along with it he knew
not whither. The sound of ropes and pullies was also indistinctly
heard, though every caution had been taken to make them run smooth;
and the traveller, by feeling around him, became sensible that he and
the bed on which he lay had been spread upon a large trapdoor, which
was capable of being let down into the vaults, or apartments beneath.
Philipson felt fear in circumstances so well qualified to produce it;
for how could he hope a safe termination to an adventure which had
begun so strangely? But his apprehensions were those of a brave,
ready-witted man, who, even in the extremity of danger, which appeared
to surround him, preserved his presence of mind. His descent seemed to
be cautiously managed, and he held himself in readiness to start to
his feet and defend himself, as soon as he should be once more upon
firm ground. Although somewhat advanced in years, he was a man of
great personal vigour and activity, and unless taken at advantage,
which no doubt was at present much to be apprehended, he was likely to
make a formidable defence. His plan of resistance, however, had been
anticipated. He no sooner reached the bottom of the vault, down to
which he was lowered, than two men, who had been waiting there till
the operation was completed, laid hands on him from either side, and
forcibly preventing him from starting up as he intended, cast a rope
over his arms, and effectually made him a prisoner. He was obliged,
therefore, to remain passive and unresisting, and await the
termination of this formidable adventure. Secured as he was, he could
only turn his head from one side to the other; and it was with joy
that he at length saw lights twinkle, but they appeared at a great
distance from him.
From the irregular manner in which these scattered lights advanced,
sometimes keeping a straight line, sometimes mixing and crossing each
other, it might be inferred that the subterranean vault in which they
appeared was of very considerable extent. Their number also increased;
and as they collected more together, Philipson could perceive that the
lights proceeded from many torches, borne by men muffled in black
cloaks, like mourners at a funeral, or the Black Friars of St.
Francis's Order, wearing their cowls drawn over their heads, so as to
conceal their features. They appeared anxiously engaged in measuring
off a portion of the apartment; and, while occupied in that
employment, they sung, in the ancient German language, rhymes more
rude than Philipson could well understand, but which may be imitated
thus:--
Measurers of good and evil,
Bring the square, the line, the level,--
Rear the altar, dig the trench,
Blood both stone and ditch shall drench.
Cubits six, from end to end,
Must the fatal bench extend,--
Cubits six, from side to side,
Judge and culprit must divide.
On the east the Court assembles,
On the west the Accused trembles--
Answer, brethren, all and one,
Is the ritual rightly done?
A deep chorus seemed to reply to the question. Many voices joined in
it, as well of persons already in the subterranean vault, as of others
who as yet remained without in various galleries and passages which
communicated with it, and whom Philipson now presumed to be very
numerous. The answer chanted run as follows:--
On life and soul, on blood and bone,
One for all, and all for one,
We warrant this is rightly done.