gave a jerk with his legs right and left, shook off his toad-skin,
and appeared in the shape of a young man of singularly prepossessing
appearance. His form was tall and manly, his beautifully shaped head
was covered with dark hair, and the remarkably sweet expression of his
countenance was enhanced by the extraordinary beauty and brightness of
his eyes. Looking about him right and left, and waving his hand in a
careless manner, he addressed the people as follows: “My friends,” he
said, “you will excuse me for making the remark that you are a set of
very particular {050}fools. In order to convince you that I have a right
to say this, I will tell you with plain brevity who and what _I_ am. I
was born, never mind when or where, into this world, and being found in
all respects much too good for it, the Fates decided that I should
wait for a certain number of centuries before I again came into it as a
mortal, and should meanwhile pass my time as a powerful fairy. As such
I have lived in Toadland for some time past, and have especially watched
over the education of my friend Smith. That is all I shall tell you
about myself, except that my power has aided you to achieve your
freedom, and will now prevent you from suffering a crime to be
perpetrated which would disgrace you for ever. But I have something more
to tell you about the person called Smith. He is one for whom I cherish
a particular regard, and you ought to do the same. For has he not
delivered you from your ancient enemy? But he has done more. The very
crime of which he is accused, if crime it be, has been done in _your_
service. He has fulfilled the old proverb, which it was necessary to do
before the Boar’s power could be destroyed. This proverb declared that
the blood of the ‘slayer and the slain’ must be blended together before
the Boar’s reign should cease. Do you ask how this has been done? I will
read you the riddle. The father of the Priestess Bertha was none other
than an old Druid who sacrificed (most improperly) the male parent of my
friend Smith. He had no right to a daughter at all, but of this I will
say nothing except that the holy maiden has possession of the very
spectacles which he always wore on sacrificing days, and which he
bestowed upon her at his death, conveying {051}to her at the same time
the information respecting her birth which I have just given you. Thus,
then, the blood of the slayer and slain have been blended together by
the marriage of the daughter of the former with the son of the latter.
The Boar has consequently been got rid of, and unless you are the most
ungrateful set of varlets that ever breathed, you will tell the Druids
to go home and mind their own business, will celebrate the nuptials of
the happy couple by a jolly good dinner, and break up at the close of
the evening with ‘three cheers for Smith!’”
This speech of the fairy Toddlekins was received with rapturous applause
by every one present, especially the closing allusion to a “jolly good
dinner,” which in every age has had a decided attraction for Englishmen.
The Druids, who were wise in their generation, at once determined not to
risk the loss of their influence by further opposition to that which was
evidently the popular will, and was moreover supported by the powers of
Fairyland. So, determined to make the best of it without further delay,
they pretended to have been entirely convinced by the speech they
had just heard, and not only joined in the cheers which greeted its
conclusion, but volunteered to stand the dinner into the bargain! They
proceeded to do still more; within an incredibly short space of time
they fetched Bertha (who had previously stood no inconsiderable chance
of being sacrificed too), and presented her and Smith together before
the fairy youth for his approving benediction. This, as you may easily
suppose, was freely and kindly given.
I hardly think I need tell you any more. Smith still declined {052}to
reign over the people, and, considering the experience he had had of
their fickle nature, I don’t think he was far wrong. Nor do I deem
him to have erred in his determination to leave that particular
neighbourhood, being under the belief that when holy men have once
intended to sacrifice a fellow, they are never very safe customers for
him afterwards. So the happy couple very soon departed from Windsor,
and I know very little more about them except that their family is not
extinct at the present day, and is by no means likely to become so. I
believe they lived very happily, and I never heard of any unpleasantness
between them. Still I confess that, if I had been Smith, I should have
been afraid to marry a woman who could change a boar into a hedgehog,
lest at any time she should take it into her head to exercise her powers
upon her husband in a manner which might have been inconvenient, to say
the least of it.
I am scarcely in a position to tell you whether the fairy Toddlekins has
ever left Toadland again and come once more upon earth as a mortal.
I might make a guess, Brother Rhine, if I chose, even at _this_, but
perhaps I had better be silent. Many a pleasant youthful face, worthy of
Fairyland, frequents my waters at times, and the old college of Eton
has sent me such over and over again. But if I should single out any
particular face and form, and declare to the astonished world that
therein I recognised the noble fairy Toddlekins of the Druid times, I
don’t suppose anybody would believe me; and even you, Brother Rhine,
might think it possible that I was mistaken. So now I have finished my
legend, and as I see that you {053}have not neglected your flagon
of wine meanwhile, I hope that you have derived therefrom sufficient
inspiration to be able to give me a tale of your own fair country which
shall eclipse in interest the account which I have ventured to give you
of the Great Boar of Windsor!
As soon as Father Thames had thus concluded his story, his companion
clapped his hands in an approving manner. “That,” he remarked, “is a
capital legend, and ends, as a legend should, in a comfortable manner. I
have many curious tales of my own river, but none, I think, more curious
than the one you have related. However, as it is now my turn, I will do
my best, and, with your good leave, will tell you the famous story of
‘Martha’s Vengeance.’”
Father Thames having gravely bowed approval, the monarch of the Rhine
thus proceeded:--
MARTHA’S VENGEANCE
The Baroness Von Bandelboots was a woman of an awful temper. Her husband
trembled before her, her servants hardly felt that their souls were
their own when she spoke, the vassals of the Bandelboots estates
shivered in their shoes when they met her, and the neighbours all kept
out of her way as much as possible. And yet there was no reason why this
lady should have been so violent and have made herself and others so
miserable! You would have thought she had everything to content her. The
husband, good easy man, let her do just as she liked, and cared nothing
for her indulgence {054}of all her whims and fancies, so long as he was
secure of his favourite pipe and his comfortable armchair after dinner.
She had several daughters of various ages who had never caused her a
moment’s uneasiness, and after some years of anxious expectation a son
had been bom who would in due course of time succeed to the honours
of the family, and who meanwhile was, naturally enough, the legitimate
object of her maternal devotion. Moreover, the Baroness lacked not
riches. Not only were the estates of the Baron large and productive
around his castle on the Rhine, but he had other distant property which
brought him in no inconsiderable revenue, and he readily gave to his
beloved wife control over wealth sufficient to have contented the most
extravagant of females. Besides this, she had a house which was really
charming, built upon an island in the middle of a lake, only a short
distance from my beloved river, and furnished with everything that
good taste could support and a full purse supply. Nor was she without
neighbours, even in a country wherein neighbours are generally scarce.
Several other castles stood within driving distance of the Bandelboots
domain, and the Baroness could with very little exertion procure for
herself society, if society she desired.
Nevertheless the good dame’s temper was a curse to herself and everybody
she came near, and she seemed to delight in scolding for scolding’s
sake. This unfortunate propensity had been productive of much discomfort
and inconvenience to the Baron’s household, even before the particular
events which I am about to relate. Several old and valuable servants had
left, either having been {055}dismissed by the Baroness in moments of
passion, or having found themselves unable to stay consistently with
their self-respect, after having been subjected to the strong language
which she frequently used upon such occasions, which was, I am sorry to
say, more than once followed by personal violence.
One servant she had indeed retained for several years, and this was
her own maid, Martha Scweinvolt. This woman was one of a singularly
unprepossessing appearance, and of a certain age. Her nose was long
and somewhat like a hook, her forehead receded in a strange angle
immediately above her eyebrows, her ears were remarkably large and low
down on her head, her chin protruded, her neck was of unnatural length,
her hands and feet larger than those of ordinary women, and her figure
tall, lank, and ungainly. To such a person did the Baroness entrust the
care of her wardrobe and the adorning of her noble self; and although
she frequently indulged her with a good scolding, the maid received it
all with stolid indifference, perhaps because, as her vinegar aspect
seemed to denote, she herself could be cross upon occasions, and thought
it not unreasonable that her mistress should be the same.
One day it chanced, indeed, that the kettle, so to speak, boiled over.
Martha Scweinvolt had been engaged upon her mistress’s back hair, and
the latter, seated in “demi-toilette” upon a low stool, had been reading
a novel. Suddenly she took it into her head to drop the book and take
up a small hand looking-glass to see how her maid was getting on. In
so doing she made a forward movement, which, as Martha happened at that
instant to have the hair tight in hand, had the {056}natural effect
of making the lady feel as if her maid had suddenly given her hair a
violent and unpleasant pull. Without for a moment considering that
it was entirely her own fault, the Baroness directly flew into a most
furious passion. She stormed and raved against the woman until she was
almost black in the face, and then, to finish matters off, struck her
with either hand a violent box on the ears on each side of her head,
and hustled her out of the room as if she was more than half inclined to
kick her down-stairs then and there.
[Illustration: 069]
Once outside the door, Martha Scweinvolt became perfectly livid with
rage. She turned round on the top of the stairs, faced the Baroness’s
room, and shook her fist {057}vehemently towards it, vowing by her
eleven-o’clock bread and cheese and beer (the most solemn oath known
among domestic servants of the feminine gender) that she would have
her revenge. Nor was Martha a person by any means likely to forget
or neglect such a vow. Day and night she brooded over the matter, and
ground her teeth savagely together as she remembered the indignity
to which she had been subjected. And the more she brooded, the more
determined did she become to seek vengeance from some quarter whence it
could be surely and safely obtained. By herself she knew she could do
but little; and as she was by no means popular among the other servants
of the household, she could place but little reliance on any assistance
from them. How to proceed, therefore, she had great doubts, but to
proceed in some manner she was quite determined.
Now unfortunately for me, Brother Thames, as you may perhaps be aware, a
part of my stream has always been more or less under the influence of
a class of river demons from which you in England are happily free.
I believe a milder kind of demon exists in Scotland under the name of
water kelpie, and possibly there may be something of the sort here and
there even in your favoured English rivers, but you have nothing to
match the demons of the Rhine. It is not a theme upon which I love to
dwell. No respectable river desires to have anything to do with such
creatures, and I frankly confess that at times they have brought my
waters into great disrepute.
Well (or rather not at all “well,” according to my view of the case), it
happened that the Rhine near the castle of the Baron von Bandelboots was
terribly infested {058}by these noxious spirits, only too ready at all
times to do any mischief in their power to any human being, or to assist
one mortal in gratifying his or her malice against another. To these
demons did Martha Scweinvolt determine to appeal, and made up her mind
to risk, if necessary, body and soul in order to obtain vengeance upon
her hated mistress.
Very often I am able to prevent the wicked plans and machinations of
these spirits, and I never fail to do so if I can manage it. If things
had gone rightly, I should have stopped the affair of which I am about
to tell you, and nipped it in the bud if possible, either by overflowing
my banks suddenly and drowning the wretch Martha, or by some other means
which my knowledge of the world would have enabled me to provide. But
it most unfortunately happened that the nymphs and trolls and friendly
elves of the river and forests near had given me an entertainment that
very evening, at which they played me several very curious tricks.
The jovial rascals insisted on my drinking my Steinbergh in large pint
measures, so that I got rather more than my usual allowance; then they
fastened a huge white beard upon my chin, pulled my whiskers, combed
my hair, whispered soft things in my ear, climbed on my knees, and
altogether kept me so well amused, that I never went out at all that
evening to patrol the river banks, according to my usual habit, and was
therefore entirely ignorant of all that occurred, until I was told it
some time after by a member of the Rhine Conservancy Board, who had it
from good authority.
It. seems that Martha Scweinvolt, having gone out late {059}that
evening, wandered down to the river, and there prayed vehemently to
the demons for aid. Such prayers are hardly necessary to procure the
assistance of bad spirits, when their object is to do mischief to
somebody else.
[Illustration: 072]
A demon, therefore, who happened to be near the spot, forthwith
presented himself to the waiting-maid, and that so suddenly that she
fainted away immediately. Demons, however, being very skilful in the
ways of women, know perfectly well that the best way to ensure their
speedy recovery in such cases is to take no notice whatever of their
proceeding. The evil spirit, therefore, followed this sensible plan,
and waited patiently until Martha “came to,” when he politely inquired
{060}what her wishes might be and what service he could render.
The woman unfolded her grievance, and used several bad expressions
with regard to her mistress, which caused her companion to grin with
sympathetic pleasure. He then inquired what revenge she desired to take;
to which Martha replied that she should like to have the power given her
of inflicting severe personal chastisement upon the Baroness. But the
demon scouted the idea. The pride of birth and rank work too much good
to the objects which are dear to evil spirits to make them partial to
any plan for the degradation of either one or the other, and such a
degradation would have been inflicted had the well-born Baroness been
subjected to personal chastisement at the hands of her menial. Besides
this, the power of the demon was but limited, and this would have been
possibly beyond it.
Martha suggested several other things, but at length she broke out in
joyful tones, as if an unusually bright idea had suddenly struck her:
“I know!” she cried; “let’s do something to the child, the young Baron
Hubert. Strangle him, or lame him for life, or make him humpbacked; that
will wring her old heart-strings!”
On hearing these words, the demon, who was a decent fellow at bottom,
though withal up to any mischief of a reasonable kind, positively
shuddered at the bitterness of the waiting-maid’s speech, accompanied as
it was with a look of fiendish exultation which would have done credit
to the worst of devils.
“Stop a bit, miss, stop a bit,” said he. “Fair and softly wins the race;
you go too fast, and want too much, all at once. You must know that we
demons cannot do everything {061}just how and when, we please, as you
seem to imagine. Not a bit of it! Fortunately for mortals who have
enemies (and who has not?) our power is limited; and even suppose you
had the child with you at this moment, I could not do what you require.”
“Then,” exclaimed Martha angrily, “what in the name of goodness _can_
you do?”
At these words the demon shuddered visibly. “Don’t use such language,
young lady,” said he, “if you want _my_ help, but listen attentively to
what I am about to say.”
Much flattered at being called a young lady, and probably all the more
so from her knowledge that to neither the substantive nor the adjective
had she any right whatever, Martha bent her head forward eagerly, to
hear what the water-demon had to suggest.
“If you like,” said he, “I can change the child.”
“Change the child!” cried the disappointed woman; “why, what would be
the good of _that?_”
“All the good in the world,” replied her counsellor, “if you really wish
to plague the mother. In the first place, the child I shall put in the
place of the young Baron will not be nearly so pretty as the real child,
and this will gall the mother’s heart not a little, unless baronesses
are unlike other women. Then this false child will have a very much
worse disposition. He will be cunning, ill-natured, greedy, mischievous,
and a plague to the whole household.”
“The deuce he will!” cried Martha hurriedly. “But he won’t plague _me_,
will he?”
“Better language by a good deal, my dear,” rejoined the demon, smiling
good-humouredly at the exclamation {062}of his companion; “but as to
the inquiry you make, I can hardly reply. Should the little changeling,
however, prove any annoyance even to yourself, I am sure you would
willingly submit thereto in consideration of the glorious revenge which
you will wreak upon the wretched mother. Why, your poor ears must even
now be tingling from the effects of those shameful slaps, and, if I were
in your place, it would be long enough before I forgot them!”
“Don’t be afraid, Mr. Demon,” answered the maid, gnashing her teeth
fiercely as she spoke. “I am not one to forget or forgive either, and,
after all, a child can’t really annoy me much. I’ll risk it, anyhow, so
that my brute of a mistress is made to suffer.”
“That’s right, my brave girl,” merrily replied her friend, smiling with
as pleasant a look as he knew how to put on. “That shows the true spirit
of a German lady. Never fear, you shall have your revenge, and that
speedily.” Thereupon he commenced a series of questions as to the habits
of the household and the rooms which were occupied by the youthful
Baron, and having ascertained all the particulars which he required,
bade Martha Scweinvolt return home, and rest assured that her desire
should be accomplished upon the innocent baby, and his mother made to
rue bitterly the hour when she first laid hands upon her waiting-maid.
Martha departed, having, I suppose, in the first instance given some
such pledge to the demon as these creatures are in the habit of exacting
from those who seek their good offices, which usually consists of a
simple arrangement regarding their future which they have no power
whatever to make, and which may hereafter {063}be set aside on an appeal
to the proper tribunal.
Meanwhile, the Baroness von Bandelboots had not the slightest suspicion
of the calamity which was hanging over herself and her family. She ate,
drank, slept, and scolded after her usual fashion, and did not alter her
behaviour one whit after the adventure with her waiting-maid, which had
so painfully affected the latter.
The young Baron Hubert was but a few months old, and his nurse, Sophie
Grutchen, had the sole charge of his precious person. His nursery was,
as luck would have it, on the side of the castle facing the river; but I
apprehend that to demons and creatures of that description the situation
of the apartment would have made but little difference, and indeed there
was the lake to cross in any case.
Late one evening the demon set out to fulfil his promise. He swam the
lake, climbed the wall of the castle, entered the room in which the
young Baron slept by the window, and, during the scarcely more than
momentary absence of the nurse, abstracted the baby from his cot,
deposited therein an elfin child of the same size, and departed with the
real baby by the same way he had come.
Now, the little Baron had, from his first entrance into the world, been
distinguished by his remarkably docile and tractable nature. He rarely
cried, never fretted, and was, in consequence, a general pet, so far as
such a term can be applied to an infant of such tender age. Within an
hour or two, however, after the occurrence which I have just related,
Mother Grutchen began to find {064}her charge less quiet and more
troublesome than had previously been the case. She forthwith reported
the fact to the Baroness, who, however, took her to task sharply for the
same, saying that it was all fancy, and that the dear child was a little
angel. This the poor nurse by no means wished to deny, but it entered
her head that there were different kinds of angels, and that vowed
{065}and declared that this was not the right child.
[Illustration: 077]
This was an unpleasant and curious exclamation, and put Mother Grutchen
in a terrible flurry. She owned that she thought the young Baron looked
rather queer, but remarked that babies varied considerably from time to
time; and, moreover, that as she had scarcely had him out of her sight
since the day he was born, he could not by any possibility be anything
else than the young Baron. Still the Baroness held to her opinion, and
even some of these might occasionally be troublesome. She determined
faithfully to do her duty by the child nevertheless, and to make no more
complaints to her mistress. The latter was not slow, however, to find
out that something was amiss with the infant. The very next morning,
when it was brought to her, she looked at it with a strange and startled
expression, and declared that it was not her child.
Upon this the Baron was appealed to at once. He, poor man, was terribly
annoyed at being asked the question. Proud as he had been from the first
of his infant son, he was one of those who held the theory that all
babies are, up to a certain age, very much alike, and was positively
quite incapable of pronouncing upon the identity of his own child. He
put on his large gold-rimmed spectacles, stared vacantly down upon the
infant, and said several things which had nothing whatever to do with
the question.
This put the Baroness in a passion, which by no means mended matters
at all, and there seemed every probability of a general row. But
Martha Scweinvolt, who had been hovering about the door, waiting to be
summoned, now found an excuse for entering the room, and so strongly
expressed her decided belief and conviction that the child was the right
child, and none other, that the good nurse felt her own opinion coming
more strongly to the same conclusion. The Baron, for very peace and
quietness, agreed with the two servants; and the Baroness, finding them
all against her, had a regular good scold all round, and said no more
about it.
Thus it came to pass, Brother Thames, that the child Hubert was carried
off by the water-demon, and a wretched little changeling put in his
place and accepted as the young heir. It was not long before his evil
propensities began to develop themselves. He could scarcely walk alone
before he was in mischief, and, indeed, long before this time he knocked
over his mother’s morning cup of tea whenever he could manage to do so
in {066}his early visits to her bed, and scratched the Baron’s face, as
he lay asleep, with a tiny fist which seemed hardly capable of hurting
so much as it did.
He grew fast for a short time, and then remained as if he would never
grow any bigger. But his appetite was more like that of a full-grown
man, nor was he particular where or what he ate. At breakfast he would
finish off a huge bowl of porridge, and make his old nurse tilt over
the bowl so that he might lick off the last drop from the edge. He
would clutch at everything on the dining-room table if brought in
during meals, and roar and cry loudly if the things he wanted were not
immediately given to him.
As he grew older, his conduct by no means improved. Not only was he
abominably rude to his supposed father and mother, but he took every
opportunity of endeavouring to make them fall out. He would, with an
utter disregard of truth, but with a wonderful air of innocence, tell
the Baroness how he had heard the Baron say she had a bad temper, and
was a disagreeable woman; whilst he would tell the Baron, as an affair
of everyday occurrence, that his wife spoke of him as a lazy sot,
who was no companion whatever to her, and spent his life in eating,
drinking, and smoking.
These little things were scarcely calculated to improve the happiness
of the worthy couple, but this was by no means the only channel through
which the little wretch poured discomfort upon the household. He
set everybody by the ears whenever he could, and showed an utter
heartlessness of character, coupled with a reckless depravity of
disposition, which was perfectly horrible. He roared with laughter on
being told of any misfortune having {067}happened to another person, and
scowled sulkily when any one fell in with a piece of good luck. Crushing
flies on the windows was one of his earliest amusements, and when this
had become monotonous, he used to torture any animal he could get hold
of with a cruelty beyond belief.
[Illustration: 080]