the castle into the direst confusion. No one could imagine where they
had gone to, and all kinds of surmises were afloat. The Baron smoked
twice as many pipes as usual; the Baroness flew into a more violent
passion than had been the case for a month before; poor old nurse
Grutchen wept bitterly; Martha Scweinvolt seemed to have more vinegar
than ever in her countenance; and the false heir ran about teasing and
worrying everybody twice as much as usual, and was apparently in the
highest possible spirits at the loss of his sisters. Every hole and
corner of the castle was searched, the river was dragged, the crier
was sent through the straggling hamlets of the neighbourhood, special
{084}messengers were despatched in every direction, but it is needless
to say that no success attended any of these proceedings.
[Illustration: 097].
And the stately swans swam all the time around the ancient walls of
their ancestral home, and floated upon the waters of the lake they knew
so well, thankful for the peace and rest which they at last enjoyed,
and caressing each other with the tender love of creatures who knew
that upon their mutual love and sympathy depended the whole comfort and
happiness of their lives. Nor indeed were they long left in ignorance of
the truth as to their unhappy brother. Scarcely had they been two days
upon the old lake, before the transformed child came flying up from the
river to take his mournful look at the home from which he had been so
cruelly ravished. As he flew low over the waters he passed close to the
three lovely swans, and they, casting their eyes upon him as they
sat mournfully watching, recognised their brother at once through the
hideous disguise {085}he wore, and called him to them with loud cries of
joy.
The bat-boy paused in his flight, hovered for a moment near to the noble
birds, and then, as he heard them speak, the whole of his sad story came
back to him, the memories of his first few months upon earth as a mortal
child were stirred in his bosom, and he knew clearly and fully his true
nature and origin, and the cruel wrongs he had endured at the hands of
the treacherous waiting-maid and her wicked ally the river-demon. As
soon as he had fully realised the truth, the boy tenderly embraced
his swan-sisters, and the four wept together over the sorrows of their
family. Being well aware, however, that weeping would be of very little
service unless followed by active measures, they discontinued that
amusing pastime after a while, and consulted together as to the best
course to be pursued.
Although comparatively happy in their new shape, the sisters readily
confessed that they should infinitely prefer to resume their human
bodies, provided that they could be assured of being able to live
quietly and comfortably, and of being no longer troubled with the malice
of the devilet heir. The youthful Hubert had of course no affection
whatever for the form to which he had been condemned, and therefore the
object of the four was clear enough, namely, to return to their natural
shapes as soon as possible under more favourable conditions than those
in which they had left them. The question was as to the wisest and best
means of securing this desirable object, and here the magic knowledge
generally possessed by swans came to their assistance.
They {086}knew full well that their brother could never become his
former self until the devilet who now possessed his shape and claimed
rights which were his should be compelled to abandon both. They knew,
moreover, that to bring this about would be a work requiring caution,
since the river-demon was powerful and cunning enough to counteract all
their efforts unless they could contrive to outwit him. It was, however,
revealed to the sisters that there was one way in which this might
be done, and by which the retransformation of their brother might be
effected, and the false heir be obliged to return to him that sent him.
There lived far up in the great mountains, which could be seen in the
distance from the castle windows, a being endowed with wondrous powers.
He was commonly known by the name of the Harper, and a strange fellow
he certainly was. No one quite knew whether he was merely mortal or
something more. All that was certain was, that he lived the life of a
hermit, was by no means particular in his dress or remarkably clean
in his appearance, and wore a flat hat with ivy and oak leaves
woven together on the crown. His harp was of the rudest and simplest
character, but it had such extraordinary virtue that if he played it,
accompanying himself while he sang or chanted to its tune, everybody and
everything seemed obliged to yield to its magic powers. The sisters
of Bandelboots knew full well that if this individual’s aid could be
secured things would be pretty sure to go right, and therefore made up
their minds to seek it without delay.
That night nothing could be done; the swans brooded quietly on the lake,
and their brother flitted mournfully round {087}the castle, uttering
his melancholy cries, and hovering close to the windows of the home that
should have been his. But early next morning the three swans rose from
the water and took their flight towards the great mountains. Upwards
and upwards they flew, pausing not for one moment’s rest, until they had
crossed the river, passed over the large forest beyond, and reached the
steep rocks and crags amid which the Harper had his home. There was snow
on the heights, and the poor birds felt the chill strike through their
warm plumage to their tender breasts as they flew higher and higher.
Suddenly they came to a small grove of trees which grew on a platform
of flat land, which was curiously placed just beneath one of the highest
crags. At the extremity of this was a cave hollowed out in the rock,
and in this cave dwelt the worthy Harper, only coming forth to the world
below when specially summoned for some purpose beneficial to weak and
suffering humanity.
Alighting at the mouth of the cave, the three sisters began to sing
their sweetest song, which not unnaturally brought the owner of the
cave out to see what was the matter. This his knowledge of magic soon
enabled him to ascertain, and it is hardly necessary that I should
give you the details of the interview. Suffice it to say that when they
parted the worthy old gentleman nodded his head and winked his eyes
knowingly at the young ladies, as much as to assure them that it
would be “all right,” and that the three swans flew back to the lake
exceedingly well satisfied with the result of their expedition.
Meanwhile, Martha Scweinvolt had very nearly brought {088}her plans to
maturity. The peasantry had become thoroughly discontented, and were
prepared to take action against the family whom they had been taught
to regard as their oppressors. Martha’s desire was that they should
surprise the castle by a sudden assault, she on her part undertaking
that one of the gates should be unfastened when they arrived, and only
stipulating that, if success attended their attempt, the Baroness should
be delivered up to her mercy. The chief difficulty was in the means
of transit, for the castle, being upon an island, could not easily be
attacked except the latter were first reached by its assailants.
At one side the island was very near the mainland, from which a strip of
land jutted out into the lake, and a large wooden bridge connected the
two. This was the ordinary means of approach; and as a strong gate was
placed at the island end of the bridge, over which a sentinel always
watched, it was not very easy for any considerable body of men to cross
over without their coming being made known to the inhabitants of the
castle. Martha, however, was equal to the occasion. She managed to make
friends with the sentinel on the night for which the attack was planned,
and having induced him to abandon his post for a time, gave him a cup of
tea so well drugged that he was quite unable to return there. The
effect upon this man, I may here mention, was a melancholy one. From
thenceforth he eschewed tea for ever, and took to drinking ale and
spirits for the rest of his life, which should be a warning to all
persons to take care what they put into their tea, and by whom they
allow themselves to be tempted to partake of that usually refreshing
beverage.
Having {089}thus obtained possession of the key, Martha stole out and
unlocked the bridge-gate, and returned to the castle delighted with her
success. Once on the little island, the invaders of the castle would
have little difficulty. The drawbridge was left down, the doors
generally left open, and such was the security of the Baron in
those peaceful days, that no precautions, further than guarding the
bridge-gate, were ever taken against surprise. Besides the servants,
there were not above five-and-twenty men-at-arms in the castle; and as
several hundred peasants were likely to attack, there could be little
doubt of the result, provided always that the surprise was as complete
as Martha intended.
The night was clear and moonlight when the attacking party drew near.
They were a strange-looking body of men, rudely and poorly clad, and
armed with weapons of a varied and curious character. Some had clubs,
some stakes sharpened at the points, some knives, daggers, and oddly
fashioned swords, whilst not a few had only spades or prongs, and some
appeared unprovided with any weapons save those which nature had given
them. They crossed the bridge without opposition, found to their delight
that the gate was open, passed quietly through it, and got safely upon
the island. They advanced to the drawbridge, crossed it, and had nothing
to do but to enter the doors beyond, and find themselves inside the
castle.
The family had passed a somewhat unpleasant day. The Baron had taken
deeply to heart the loss of his daughters, of whom he had become more
than usually fond since his supposed son had shown himself of such
a disagreeable character. The latter had been that day more
{090}mischievous and troublesome than ever: as the Baroness had a
headache, he had amused himself with making as much noise as he possibly
could, and had, moreover, indulged his passion for practical jokes
by putting live toads into the maid-servants’ beds, and turning the
ink-bottle into the Baron’s after-dinner decanter of port wine. The
household not having been rendered more comfortable or harmonious by
these innocent pastimes of the pretended Hubert, were about to retire
to rest, when the sudden arrival of the insurgent peasants gave them
something else to think of.
As soon as they were well inside the doors, the attacking party kept
silence no longer, but, with loud shouts, began their work of plunder.
The defenders of the castle were really so completely surprised, that
resistance was almost impossible. The trembling servants hid themselves
wherever they could--the groom of the chamber shutting himself up
securely in the housemaid’s closet, the housekeeper flying instantly
to the butler’s pantry, and the latter functionary betaking himself
immediately to the beer-cellar, from which he was with difficulty
dragged when the affair was over, but was never the same man afterwards.
The men-at-arms, I am sorry to say, did but little better. Utterly
bewildered at the whole business, they made no attempt at resistance
until it was too late, and within a very short time the castle was in
the hands of the invaders.
As soon as the Baron heard the first outcry he rang the bell loudly,
and, as nobody answered, presently repeated the performance, with a
precisely similar result. He had been just about to retire to rest, but
finding that the {091}uproar increased, and that something serious had
certainly happened, he desisted from the act of pulling off his boots,
seized his sword, and rushed down into the large state-room, where he
was presently joined by some eight or ten of the men-at-arms and two or
three of the household servants. As soon as he found that the castle
had been attacked, and was actually in possession of an enemy, the Baron
gnashed his teeth with rage at having been thus caught unprepared; but,
being a man of courage, despite his natural laziness, determined to sell
his life dearly at the least. He and his few retainers had just time
to barricade the door at one end of the room, and place the large
library-table and some other articles of furniture in such a position
as to give them a better chance of self-defence if attacked by numbers,
when the doors at the other end of the room were thrown violently open,
and a crowd of peasants rushed in, yelling and bawling in loud and
discordant tones as they advanced towards the master of the castle. It
was at this moment that the old blood of the Bandelboots showed itself
to advantage. The Baron displayed no signs of fear, but, drawing himself
up to his full height (which, being barely four feet six inches, was of
itself not imposing), and violently stamping his foot upon the floor, he
thus addressed the intruders:--
“How now, varlets! Whence and for what object come ye here? How do ye
dare, ye scum of the earth, to enter your Baron’s castle and beard a
Bandelboots in his lair?”
Then stepped there forth a tattered, ragged, famished-looking man, well
known in those parts by the name of Crazy Timothy; his eyes were wild
and staring, his dress {092}torn, and his whole appearance seemed amply
to justify his nickname.
[Illustration: 105]
“We want our rights!” he cried in a loud voice. “What is a Bandelboots
to us more than anybody else? We are starving, whilst you and your vile
Baroness revel in plenty. Give us our rights--these are the days when
the poor are as good as the rich! No more starvation for the poor
peasant! Give us our rights!”
And thereupon the whole crew took up the chorus. “Our rights! our
rights!--give us our rights!” and made as though they would advance upon
the old Baron. The latter quailed not for a moment, but, curling his
lips scornfully, thus made reply:--
“Rights? But what are they? Is it your rights to enter a peaceful
dwelling and rob its owner? If these are your rights, why are they
_yours_ more than the rights of all the rest of the world? What better
title have you to your homes than I to mine? And if you may enter and
rob my castle, what protection has any one of you for his own cottage,
which some one may say it is _his_ right to enter and destroy? Poor
churls! ye are deceived, and will but bring ruin upon yourselves. Retire
before it is too late, and ye shall yet be pardoned!” Whatever might
have been the Baron’s intention in uttering {093}these words, I am sorry
to say that they had no conciliatory effect upon those to whom they were
addressed. Shouting aloud and brandishing their weapons, they were about
to advance upon the venerable nobleman, when, from a side door, some
new personages suddenly appeared upon the scene. Pushed along in a chair
upon wheels, to which she was securely bound, came the Baroness, in the
custody of several peasants, who were under the more immediate guidance
and control of Martha Scweinvolt. The latter, with a face beaming with
delight, followed triumphantly behind, whilst the false heir, weeping
and howling piteously, trotted by the side of the chair, driven forward
by the peasants who ushered the Baroness into the room.
The poor Baroness presented a spectacle sad indeed to behold. She was in
a towering rage, but at the same time perfectly helpless, and foamed at
the mouth with fury as she strove in vain to get loose from the cords
with which she was tied.
When these new arrivals had advanced into the room between the Baron and
the peasants, there was a momentary pause, during which Martha stepped
in front of the chair upon which the poor Baroness was fastened, and,
pointing at her with outstretched arm and scornful gesture, addressed
the peasants in these words:--
“Here she is, good people; here is the source of all your ills--the
cause of all your woes! The poor fool of a Baron would do no harm but
for this vile woman. See what a passion she is in now! This is her usual
temper; and no wonder she is such a tyrant, and makes her husband the
same!”
At {094}this point the Baroness broke in, having previously-vented her
rage in sobs and incoherent shrieks. “Let me loose! let me loose!”
she cried. “You riff-raff--you vagabonds--you traitors--let me loose
directly! This wretched creature has deceived you all; she is a
worthless, good-for-nothing hussy. Let me loose, or I vow you shall all
be hanged!” And the Baroness shrieked for fury again, her temper being
by no means improved by the false heir, who, despite all his fears for
himself, seeing her securely tied, could not resist the temptation of
giving her a fearful pinch in the fleshy part of the arm, for which a
peasant instantly knocked him down.
Before Martha could speak again, the Baron, who was a good old chap in
the main, roared out aloud: “By my grandfather’s monument!” cried he (an
oath all the more terrible from the edifice in question being well known
to be the largest and ugliest of its kind for miles around); “this is
past all bearing! Knaves! will ye list to the falsehoods of this base
harridan, who has eaten our salt for years, and now wags her evil tongue
against a kind, though perhaps somewhat hasty, mistress? Never has the
Baroness said a word against one of ye. _My_ faults, whatever they be,
are mine own, and for them _I_ will answer. But what has the Baroness
done? Who sends ye alms and food when sickness is amongst ye? Who helps
your wives and children when trouble is in your homes? Who but the
Baroness? And is _this_ your gratitude?”
There was some truth in what the Baron now said, for his wife was by no
means unkind to the poor, nor would they have readily turned against her
but for the wiles {095}of Martha, assisted by the magical powers of the
wehr-wolves. But Martha knew too well to let the Baron continue. She
broke in upon his discourse with her shrill, sharp voice: “Hear the good
man, my friends; he is right to stand up for his wife, no doubt, but he
knows well that he is false to the truth. She is a wretch, a tyrant,
a termagant! Yes, Madam the Baroness,” she continued, coming close in
front of the chair, and approaching her face much nearer to that of the
poor lady than the latter deemed at all pleasant--“yes, your reign is at
an end--do you hear, you old fright? Your back hair shall be pulled out;
though, as it is nearly all false, it will cause you but little pain.
Your nose shall be wrung!--your ears shall be slit!--and you shall serve
_me_--do you hear? Oh, _you’re_ a pretty one to box a person’s ears.
I’ll pay you out _now_ for _that_, I’ll warrant me!” And as she spoke
she lifted up her arm, about to give the Baroness a box on the ears
with her full force. But in the very act she paused--stopped--and stood
trembling and irresolute, as if suddenly arrested by some superior
power.
At the same moment, and apparently by the same influence, the peasants
one and all felt themselves restrained from moving forwards, the
Baroness ceased to scream, and a dead silence fell upon the whole of
the party, whilst, with a low and miserable moan, the false heir crept
behind the coal-scuttle, and crouched himself down within as small a
compass as possible. The whole of this marvellous effect had apparently
been produced by a very trifling cause. The low, tinkling sound of a
harp was heard, and those who looked round in the right direction saw,
standing in the embrasure of one {096}of the windows which looked
out upon the lake, an old man of by no means noble or prepossessing
exterior, with a leaf-crowned hat upon his head, and a harp of very
simple construction in his hands, from the strings of which he elicited
the sound they had heard, to which he now added that of his own
voice. And thus he sang, in a dull, monotonous tone, to the astonished
audience:--
“Whoever murders, robs, and loots,
Within these walls of Bandelboots,
Must hear his doom and take his choice,
Instructed by the Harper’s voice.
Ye men of form and manners rough,
Old Bandelboots has woes enough,
The which when ye have heard and known
You’ll leave the worthy man alone.
To you and yours he’s done no harm,
But, subject to a potent charm,
Has suffered woes, by demon sent,
Enough to make your hearts relent.
T’ expose the wickedness be mine
(In spite of demons of the Rhine),
And ye who list shall know ere long
The truth and justice of my song.
There was an infant once, who smiled
On those around like angel child;
A child of soul and temper rare--
Of Bandelboots the precious heir.
Where now that child is to be found,
Who knows? I pause, and look around,
And ask if this description suits
The present heir of Bandelboots?
What is that wretched changeling worth?
Come forth, vile elf, at once come forth!”
Here the stranger paused, and, to the wonder and surprise of all those
who heard and saw, the supposed young heir crept moaning and whining
from behind the coal-scuttle, and shambled across the room towards the
window {097}at which the old harper was standing. As he did so, the
strange bard continued his song,--
“Form of boy, with heart of ape,
Resume at once thy former shape!”
As he spoke, a strange transformation came at once over the wretched
imp. His boyish shape disappeared; a tail shot out where tails usually
grow; the wings of a bat sprang upon his shoulders; his form became ugly
and misshapen, and he stood before them all a regular devilet, and no
mistake! At the very same instant the window behind the harper flew open
as if by magic, and in flew a figure similar to that before them, from
which, however, the wings and tail dropped, the evil shape disappeared,
and a handsome, well-proportioned boy, with a remarkably sweet
expression upon his countenance, stood before the astonished party.
[Illustration: 110]
In an instant a shriek of joy was heard from the corner in which some
of the trembling servants were assembled, and old nurse Grutchen rushed
forward and threw herself upon the boy’s neck with a burst of mingled
sobs and laughter. “My pet! my darling! my child!” she cried. “It _is_
you! I know it is you! Come to old Sophie then, my pearl of the world;”
and again she shrieked with joy.
More {098}wonders followed before any of the audience had recovered from
their astonishment at what had already occurred. With a yell and a
howl the devilet flew towards the window, his passage through which was
mightily assisted by a hearty kick from the old harper, and he was seen
no more. Scarcely, however, had he left the scene when the rushing of
wings was heard, and three magnificent swans sailed through the window
and alighted in the room, exactly in front of the old harper, to whom
they looked up with longing and affectionate glances. The worthy man at
once struck his harp again, and sang as follows:--
“Old Bandelboots, as well ye wot,
Had once three lovely daughters,
For whom the place became too hot,
Through imps from river waters.
Then the Rhine King (a wondrous thing,
Which needs some explanation)
His aid did to the maidens bring,
Gave each Swan’s plumage, neck, and wing,
And caused their transformation.
Now here the three together be
(Performed their destined duties),
And I decree they shall be free
Once more. Arise, my beauties!”
As he ceased speaking the feathers fell off from the three swans, their
beaks changed into beautiful noses, their forms became those of lovely
young ladies, and Dora, Bertha, and Elladine once more stood in their
proper shapes before their surprised and delighted parents.
Whilst this had been going on, the youthful Hubert, making one bound
forward, sprang to his mother’s chair, and, seizing a dagger from the
hand of a bewildered {099}peasant, set her free in an instant. Upon this
the Baroness, overcome by mingled emotions of joy and wonder, wept upon
her boy’s neck, and the old harper thus continued, addressing himself
emphatically to the crowd of peasants before him:--
“Poor knaves! who quake and shake with fear,
O’erwhelmed with terror and with shame,
The powers of evil lured ye here:
Theirs and not yours, the chiefest blame.
Hence! fly! be off! your injured lord
For this day’s work will pardon give:
For him I speak this kindly word:,
To-day he knows his children live.
Begone, I say! and, as to wrongs,
Yours are but small; the fiends beshrew ye.
If e’er ye listen to false tongues
Which lie about your masters to ye!
Be each contented with his lot--
Both rich and poor this world containeth;
But let this truth be ne’er forgot--
O’er rich and poor ‘tis God that reigneth;
Nor is full happiness e’er given
To mortal man this side of heaven.”