“But no marksman,” interrupted the forester. “The situation which I hold here has been possessed by my family for more than two hundred years, and has always descended down in a straight line from father to son. If, instead of this girl, Anne, you had brought me a boy, all would have been well; and the wench, if she had been in existence, might have chosen for her bridegroom him whom she loved best; now the thing is impossible. My son-in-law must also be my successor, and must therefore be a marksman. I shall have, in the first place, some trouble to obtain the trial for him; and in the second, if he should not succeed, truly, I shall have thrown my girl away: so a clever huntsman she shall have. But observe, if you do not like him, I do not exactly insist upon Robert: find another active clever fellow for the girl, I will resign my situation to him, and we shall pass the rest of our lives free from anxiety and happily with our children. But hush!—not another word!—I beseech you let me hear no more of the steward’s clerk.”
Mother Anne was silenced; she would fain have said a few more words in favour of poor William, but the forester, who was too well acquainted with the power of female persuasion, gave her no further opportunity; he took down his gun, whistled his dog, and strode away to the forest. The next moment, the fair curled head of Catherine, her face radiant with smiles, was popped in at the door—“Is all right, dear mother?” said she. “Alas! no, my child; do not rejoice too soon;” replied the sorrowing Anne. “Your father speaks kindly, but he has determined to give you to nobody but a huntsman; and I know he will not change his mind.” Catherine wept, and declared she would sooner die than wed any other than her own William. Her mother wept, fretted, and scolded by turns; till at length it was finally determined to make another grand attack upon the tough heart of old Bertram; and in the midst of a deliberation respecting the manner in which this was to be effected, the rejected lover entered the apartment.
When William had heard the cause of the forester’s objection,—“Is that all, my Catherine,” said he, pressing the weeping girl to his bosom; “then keep up your spirits, dearest, for I will myself become a forester. I am not unacquainted with woodcraft, for I was, when a boy, placed under the care of my uncle, the chief forester Finsterbuch, in order to learn it, and only at the earnest request of my uncle the steward, I exchanged the shooting-pouch for the writing-desk. Of what use,” continued the lover, “would his situation and fine house be to me, if I cannot carry my Catherine there as the mistress of it? If you are not more ambitious than your mother, dearest, and William the gamekeeper will be as dear to you as William the steward, I will become a woodsman directly; for the merry life of a forester is more delightful to me than the constrained habits of the town.”
“O dear, dear William,” said Catherine,—all the dark clouds of sorrow sweeping rapidly over her countenance, and leaving only a few drops of glittering sunny rain, sparkling in her sweet blue eyes,—“O beloved William! if you will indeed do this, all may be well: hasten to the forest, seek my father, and speak to him ere he have time to pass his word to Robert.” “Away,” replied William, “to the forest; I will seek him out, and offer my services as gamekeeper: fear nothing, Catherine; give me a gun, and now for the huntsman’s salute.”
What success he had in his undertaking was soon visible to the anxious eye of Catherine, on her father’s return with him from the forest. “A clever lad, that William,” said the old man; “who would have expected such a shot in a townsman? I’ll speak to the steward myself to-morrow; it would be a thousand pities such a marksman should not stick to the noble huntsman craft. Ha! ha! he will become a second Kuno. But do you know who Kuno was?” demanded he of William.
The latter replied in the negative.
“Look you there now!” ejaculated Bertram; “I thought I had told you long since. He was my ancestor, the first who possessed this situation. He was originally a poor horseboy in the train of the knight of Wippach; but he was clever, obliging, grew a favourite, and attended his master every where, to tournaments and hunting parties. Once his knight accompanied the duke on a grand hunting match, at which all the nobles attended. The hounds chased a huge stag towards them, upon whose back, to their great astonishment, sat tied a human being, shrieking aloud in a most frightful manner. There existed at that period, among the feudal lords, an inhuman custom of tying unhappy wretches who incurred their displeasure (perhaps by slight transgressions against the hunting laws) upon stags, and then driving them into the forest to perish miserably by hunger, or at least to be torn to pieces by the brambles. The duke was excessively enraged at this sight, and offered immense rewards to any one who would shoot the stag; but clogged his benefactions with death to the marksman, should his erring bullet touch the victim, whose life he was desirous to preserve, in order to ascertain the nature of his offence. Startled by the conditions, not one of the train attempted the rescue of the poor wretch, till Kuno, pitying his fate, stepped forward and boldly offered his services. The duke having accepted them he took his rifle, loaded it in God’s name, and earnestly recommending the ball to all the saints and angels in heaven, fired steadily into the bush in which he believed the stag had taken refuge. His aim was true; the animal instantly sprung out, plunged to the earth, and expired; but the poor culprit escaped unhurt, except that his hands and face were miserably torn by the briers. The duke kept his word well, and gave to Kuno and his descendants for ever this situation of forester. But envy naturally follows merit, and my good ancestor was not long in making the discovery. There were many of the duke’s people who had an eye to this situation, either for themselves or some cousin or dear friend, and these persuaded their masters that Kuno’s wonderful success was entirely owing to sorcery; upon which, though they could not turn him out of his post, they obtained an order that every one of his descendants should undergo a trial of his skill before he could be accepted; but which, however, the chief forester of the district, before whom the essay is made, can render as easy or difficult as he pleases. I was obliged to shoot a ring out of the beak of a wooden bird, which was swung backwards and forwards; but I did not fail, any more than my forefathers; and he who intends to succeed me, and wed my Catherine, must be at least as good a marksman.”
William, who had listened very attentively, was delighted with this piece of family history; he seized the old man’s hand, and joyously promised to become, under his direction, the very first of marksmen; such as even grandfather Kuno himself should have no cause to blush for.
Scarcely had fourteen happy days passed over his head, ere William was settled as gamekeeper in the forester’s house; and Bertram, who became fonder of him every day, gave his formal consent to his engagement with Catherine. It was, however, agreed that their betrothment should be kept secret until the day of the marksman’s trial, when the forester expected to give a greater degree of splendour to his family festival by the presence of the duke’s commissary. The bridegroom swam in an ocean of delight, and so entirely forgot himself and the whole world in the sweet opening heaven of love, that Bertram frequently insisted, that he had not been able to hit a single mark since he had aimed so successfully at Catherine.
And so it really was. From the day of his happy betrothment, William had encountered nothing but disasters while shooting. At one time his gun missed fire; at another, when he aimed at a deer, he lodged the contents of his rifle in the trunk of a tree: when he came home, and emptied his shooting-pouch, instead of partridges, rooks and crows, and in lieu of hares, dead cats. The forester at length grew seriously angry, and reproved him harshly for his carelessness: even Catherine began to tremble for the success of the master-shot.