Burlesques William Makepeace Thackeray

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"Now, by St. Barbacue of Limoges," said Bertrand de Gourdon, "the butcher will never
strike down yonder lambling! Hold thy hand, Sir King, or, by St. Barbacue—"
Swift as thought the veteran archer raised his arblast to his shoulder, the whizzing bolt fled
from the ringing string, and the next moment crashed quivering into the corselet of
Plantagenet.
'Twas a luckless shot, Bertrand of Gourdon! Maddened by the pain of the wound, the brute
nature of Richard was aroused: his fiendish appetite for blood rose to madness, and
grinding his teeth, and with a curse too horrible to mention, the flashing axe of the royal
butcher fell down on the blond ringlets of the child, and the children of Chalus were no
more! . . .
I just throw this off by way of description, and to show what MIGHT be done if I chose to
indulge in this style of composition; but as in the battles which are described by the kindly
chronicler, of one of whose works this present masterpiece is professedly a continuation,
everything passes off agreeably—the people are slain, but without any unpleasant sensation
to the reader; nay, some of the most savage and blood-stained characters of history, such is
the indomitable good-humor of the great novelist, become amiable, jovial companions, for
whom one has a hearty sympathy—so, if you please, we will have this fighting business at
Chalus, and the garrison and honest Bertrand of Gourdon, disposed of; the former,
according to the usage of the good old times, having been hung up or murdered to a man,
and the latter killed in the manner described by the late Dr. Goldsmith in his History.
As for the Lion-hearted, we all very well know that the shaft of Bertrand de Gourdon put an
end to the royal hero—and that from that 29th of March he never robbed nor murdered any
more. And we have legends in recondite books of the manner of the King's death.
"You must die, my son," said the venerable Walter of Rouen, as Berengaria was carried
shrieking from the King's tent. "Repent, Sir King, and separate yourself from your
children!"
"It is ill jesting with a dying man," replied the King. "Children have I none, my good lord
bishop, to inherit after me."
"Richard of England," said the archbishop, turning up his fine eyes, "your vices are your
children. Ambition is your eldest child, Cruelty is your second child, Luxury is your third
child; and you have nourished them from your youth up. Separate yourself from these
sinful ones, and prepare your soul, for the hour of departure draweth nigh."
Violent, wicked, sinful, as he might have been, Richard of England met his death like a
Christian man. Peace be to the soul of the brave! When the news came to King Philip of