“Father!”—cried the latter, and desperation almost deprived him of speech. He withdrew quickly, but in a few moments was equipped for the chase with his father-in-law, and followed the Commissary to the forest.”
The old Forester sought to conceal his uneasiness, but strove in vain to bear an untroubled mien. Kate was also restless, and wandered to and fro at home. She enquired of her father “whether it were not possible to omit the Trial-shot?” “Would that it were!”—said he, and embraced her in silence.
At last the minister arrived, wishing peace to all; he reminded the bride of her wreath. Mother Anne had procured it, but in the midst of their bustle, had mislaid the box. A child was immediately despatched to a shop, to bring another wreath for the bride. “Bring the prettiest”—cried mother Anne to the child; but the latter, in its innocence, asked for the most glittering, and the shop-mistress, in construing its meaning, gave it a virgin’s funeral-wreath of myrtle and of rosemary entwined with silver. Both mother and bride saw the hidden meaning of the mischance; each shuddered, and embracing each other, sought to forget their terror in smiling at the child’s mistake. The box was again sent back; it opened easily, the contents had been exchanged, and the bridal-wreath was bound on Kate’s fair tresses.
CHAPTER THE SIXTEENTH AND LAST.
The hunting party returned. The Commissary was extravagant in Wilhelm’s praise. “It seems to me absurd”—said this umpire—“to desire a further trial after so many proofs of skill. Nevertheless, to honour an old law, we must for once do that which is unnecessary; therefore, the quicker done the better. On yonder pillar sits a dove, shoot it.”
“For God’s sake!”—cried Kate, hastening thither—“Wilhelm, do not shoot. Ah, I dreamt last night that I was a white dove, and that they put a ring about my neck; you entered, and my mother was covered with blood.”
Wilhelm drew back his gun already pointed, but the Commissary smiled. “Ha, ha!”—said he—“so frightened, this will not do for a hunter-maiden: take heart, take heart, little bride! or is the dove mayhap your pet?”
“No”—answered she—“I only feel so sad.”
“Now then”—cried the Commissary—“courage, Sir Forester, and fire!”
He fired, and at the same moment, uttering a loud shriek, Kate fell to the earth.
“Extraordinary girl”—cried the Chief, and raised Kate up, but a stream of blood poured over her face: her brow was shattered, and a rifle bullet lay in the wound.
“What is’t?”—exclaimed Wilhelm, as a loud cry arose behind him. Looking back he saw Kate bleeding in the pallor of death. Beside her stood he of the wooden leg, who, with hellish laughter, grinned out—“Sixty achieve, three deceive!”
Wilhelm drew his hanger from its sheath, and struck at the Accursed One. “Deceiver!”—shrieked he, madly—“is’t thus thou mockest me?” More he could not utter, but sank senseless to the ground beside his bleeding bride.
In vain sought the good Pastor and the Commissary to comfort the aged pair. Mother Anne had scarcely on the breast of the virgin’s corse laid the prophetic funeral wreath, ere she poured out her last last tears in ineffectual grief. The lonely father followed soon their path. And in a madhouse, closed the days of Wilhelm!
From this interesting tale, Kind has built up his admirably dramatic plot, embodying all the main incidents provided here. According to him, however, the traffic with the Power of Evil is entered into by one Caspar, comrade and disappointed rival of Max (the Wilhelm of the tale). This Caspar entraps his fellow hunter into the forest at night, but thinks that the mere presence of the latter at such an unhallowed ceremony will place him and his bride within the power of the Fiend. Caspar, under this impression, cast the bullets himself. Max uses the last (the Devil’s bullet) at the Trial-shot, but Agáthe his bride is protected from ill by a wreath of sacred roses, given her by an aged Hermit: the Evil One directs the bullet fired by Max to the heart of Caspar, who formally had entered into a compact with him; Caspar expires in agonies of body and soul. The repentant Max confesses his weakness and his guilt; his Prince would banish him, but after passing a year of atonement ordained by the Hermit, he is united to his beloved Agáthe, and the custom of the Trial-shot, which had induced so much of evil, is abolished.
The direct meaning of the word Freischütz, Free-shot, will be found explained at page 10 of the original edition of Apel’s tale. He describes it as a shot fired with aid of magic and devilry, which, whether it be truly aimed or no, must always hit its mark. Gipsies under the Roman Emperors, and also under Sigismund King of Hungary, in the year 1423, were granted “Free charters for shooting.” Whether the word “Free-corps,”—that is, one of free will, or free of constraint,—had its origin exactly thence, remains unknown. Single soldiers became from this intituled “Free-hunters” (“Frei-Jäger”); and in many places brigands and mountain robbers were called “Free-shooters” (“Frei-Schützen”). Regarding the point in an historical light we may remark, that Charles the Seventh, as early as the year 1448, organized a body of “Franc Archers” (“Free Archers”); but Louis the Ninth, who for a time deprived them of their freedom, restored it, and in 1481 gave the name to the Swiss Guard in his pay. The magic power of the “free-shot” was well known in the year 1429, when the Maid of Orleans first appeared; and Shakspeare, in the first part of his “Henry IV.,” does not stint his allusions to the various magic arts and wondrous shots achieved by hell’s assistance, attributed to the very Joan herself. Klingemann, in his “Art and Nature,”[1] asserts that—“Formerly there were a set of these wild fellows, Free-shooters (in the sense of the Opera), in Zurich. They stepped forward during the fifteenth century, and freed themselves from regular service-ship along with the citizens, and as “free-shooters” became even bolder than the hardy mountaineers themselves. At last they were disbanded, in 1764.
Furthermore, in exemplification of these credences, we can refer our readers to the “Versuch einer Geschichte der Hexenprocesse,” by Joh: Mor: Schwager,[2] vol. i.; also to the tract by Eberhard Gockelius “von dem Beschwören und Verzaubern,” p. 75; to the “Bedenken von der Zauberei;” and to Balrassor’s “Ehre von Krain” (i. 676).
The next point of interest which we come upon in the Legend is that of the “Wild chase:” the origin of this may be likewise traced back to the writers of antiquity; for M: T: Cicero tells us that “the goddess Fauna was wont to rush over and through the neighbouring meadows and woodland with mysterious uproar, accompanied by a mighty clatter of arms, spreading mischief and danger around.”[3] The tales of wonder, monsters and apparitions pertaining to woods and forests, during the Middle Ages are well known; we can principally call to mind St: Hubert, the holy Genoveva, the Emperor Maximilian, “Friedrich des Weisen” and the “Dame am Brunnen,”[4] the Horn of Oldenburg, and the testimony of many Hermits who asserted that they had been nourished and fed by ravens and forest animals. Coming down to subsequent years we can call to mind the Wild Host and its
