Experiments on the Heir 163
[Illustration]
Introduction.
“‘A Fairy tale, by William Churne of Staffordshire!’ And who may he be?
I am sure I never heard of _him_ before.”
“Say you so, gentle Reader? Well, perhaps, after all, there is nothing
very extraordinary in the fact that a man who was born some two hundred
and fifty years ago should be forgotten. Well I wot that William Churne
is not the only one who is in that predicament. And yet my name has had
a better chance of being remembered than that of many of my
cotemporaries, who, in their day, were more illustrious than ever I was;
for it has been wedded, look you, to immortal verse. Doctor Corbet,
Bishop of Norwich,—‘the wittie Bishop,’ as King James the First was wont
to call him—conferred on me the title of Registrar-General to the
Fairies. Have you never read his ‘Fairies’ Farewell’? They say, indeed,
that his poems, like many better things, are little read now-a-days; but
you will find it among the ballads collected by a congenial spirit (a
prelate likewise), Bishop Percy of Dromore. His ‘Reliques of Ancient
Poetry,’ you are surely conversant withal? But stay, I see you have
forgotten the passage, which my vanity, perhaps, has preserved in my
memory for so many years. Thus, then, Richard Corbet speaks of me in
connection with those merry elves, whom he supposes to have taken their
final farewell of that land, which, since their presence was withdrawn,
has deserved the name of merry England no longer:—
‘Now, they have left our quarters;
A registrar they have,
Who can preserve their charters;
A man both wise and grave.
An hundred of their merry pranks
By one that I could name,
Are kept in store; con twenty thanks
To William for the same.
‘_To William Churne, of Staffordshire_,
Give laud and praises due,
Who, every meale, can mend your cheare
With tales both old and true;
To William all give audience,
And pray ye for his noddle,
For all the Fairies’ evidence
Were lost if it were addle.’
There, gentle reader, that was the way in which the Bishop-Poet spake of
me. I warrant you, my cheeks tingle still as I repeat the lines.”
“Indeed? cheeks that blushed for the first time two centuries and a half
ago, must, I should think, have nearly blushed their last by this time.
I cannot read your riddle. You would not have us believe, would you,
that a man who was born in the sixteenth century, was story-telling in
the nineteenth? I fear you must be story-telling in more senses than
one, or else that the event so much deprecated by the Bishop of Norwich,
hath befallen you, and that the ‘noddle’ is ‘_addle_.’”
“Ah, gentle reader, is it even so? Can you think of no other solution of
the difficulty? I fear me that you have a larger share of the unbelief
of this dull, plodding, unimaginative, money-getting, money-loving
nineteenth century, than of the humour, and simplicity, and romance of
the seventeenth.”
“Come then, I _will_ hazard a solution. What if the fairies, whose
official you have admitted yourself to be, carried you off some
moonlight night, two hundred years ago, and hid you for that space in
their secret chambers, amid the recesses of the grassy hills?”
“Hush! hush! kind reader; speak not so loudly. You know not who may be
listening. However, I do not say but that it may be even as you suppose.
Perhaps, while time and change have worked their will on others, I have
been exempted from their influence.”
“How? What? Can such things be? Dear Sir, how much I should like to make
your acquaintance. Two hundred and fifty years old! Why, your face must
be a wilderness of wrinkles! And your dress, how strange and antiquated
must be its cut! Are you not greatly incommoded, as you walk the
streets, by the curiosity of the populace?”
“Nay, my friend, if that which I have hinted be the case, it is more
than probable that I have the secret of fern-seed, and walk invisible.”
“What changes you must find among us! What advances have been made since
you went to Fairy-land!”
“Changes, indeed! and advances, too, for that matter! but whether on the
right road is another question. However, of this I can assure you,
gentle reader, that I would I were back again in Fairy-land. I see
nothing here to tempt me to linger among you.”
“Then why do you linger?”
“I only wait to see if it be a hopeless task to speak to the youth of
the rising generation, as I spake to their forefathers. I would fain
learn whether it be possible to excite their sympathies in behalf of
anything but _themselves_; whether they have yet patience to glean the
lessons of wisdom, which lurk beneath the surface of legendary tales,
and the chronicles of the wild and supernatural; whether their hearts
can be moved to noble and chivalrous feelings, and to shake off the
hard, cold, calculating, worldly, selfish temper of the times, by being
brought into more immediate contact with the ideal, the imaginary, and
the romantic, than has been the fashion of late years.”
“In plain English, then, good Master Churne, you desire to ascertain
whether a race that has been glutted with Peter Parley and Penny
Magazines, and such like stores of (so called) useful knowledge, will
condescend to read a Fable and its moral, or to interest themselves with
the grotesque nonsense, the palpable, fantastic absurdities, the utter
impossibilities of a Tale of Enchantment?”
“Such is my object.”
“Well, we have lived to see a tunnel under the Thames, and they are
talking of a canal across the isthmus of Darien. But your scheme is a
wild one.”
“I do not think so.”
“And suppose you can find readers, is it your object to retail those
‘hundred merry pranks’ of Fairy-land, of which Bishop Corbet tells us
that you are the depositary?”
“I shall be better able to answer your question, gentle reader, when I
know how far your patience has carried you through the ensuing pages.
Till then farewell.”
[Illustration]
CHAPTER I.
The Heir and many Friends.
“This little one shall make it holy day.”
_Shakespeare._
“Unheard and unespied,
Through keyholes we do glide;
Over tables, stools, and shelves;
We trip with our fairy elves.”
_Poole’s English Parnassus._
[Illustration]
CHAPTER I.
Never were such rejoicings heard of before as those which took place
at the Court of King Katzekopf when it was announced that Queen
Ninnilinda had got a little boy. It was what everybody had been
wishing for, hoping for, expecting, year after year, but no little boy
came; and so, at length, folks began to despair, and to settle it in
their own minds that, whenever King Katzekopf died, the crown would go
to his second cousin nine times removed, one of the Katzekopfs of
Katzenellenbogen-Katzevervankotsdarsprakenluftschlosser, whom nobody
knew or cared about.
So when Queen Ninnilinda had an heir, the nation almost went beside
itself with joy. The church bells rang till they cracked; the guns of
the citadel were fired till they grew so hot that they went off of
themselves; oxen were roasted whole in the great square (my dear reader,
never attempt to roast an ox _whole_, either on your own birthday, or on
that of anybody else; the thing is an impossibility, half the meat is
sure to be raw, and the other half burnt, and so good beef is spoiled);
the two chief conduits of the city no longer poured forth water, but one
spouted out cowslip-wine, and the other raspberry-vinegar; the lake in
front of the palace was filled with small beer (this, however, was a
failure, as it killed the fish, and folks said that the beer tasted
muddy); an air-balloon hovered over the principal streets, and showered
down carraway comfits and burnt almonds; Punch was exhibited all day for
nothing; the prisons were all thrown open, and everybody paid the debts
of everybody else.
Such being the state of things out of doors, you will readily believe
that within the palace, the joy was of the most exuberant kind.
Everything was in confusion; people ran up-stairs and down-stairs,
jostling against one another, and always forgetting whither they were
going, and for what they had been sent. Some were laughing, and some
were crying, but the greater part were all talking at once, each making
his own remarks, and nobody listening to his neighbour. The lords of the
bed-chamber were laying wagers upon the likelihood of a new creation of
peers; the maids of honour were discussing the probable colour of the
infant prince’s eyes; the pages were speculating upon an increase of
salary; nay, the very scullions were counting on a brevet for the
kitchen.
But if all his court were thus in such a frenzy of pleasurable emotion,
what must have been the condition of King Katzekopf himself? It must be
confessed, that, in the main, his Majesty was one of those easy,
indolent, careless sort of folks, who are content to let things take
their own course, and who can very seldom be roused to make an exertion
of any kind. But the birth of an heir had thrown even him into a state
of excitement. Happily, he was a king, and so he had it in his power to
give vent to his emotions in the manner which was most agreeable to him,
for if such unwonted exhilaration had been pent up too long, there is no
saying what the consequences might not have been. Fortunately, however,
there was a safety-valve, through which he was enabled to let off the
steaming overflow of his spirits.
So first he sent for the Yeoman of the Mouth, and bespoke a roast goose,
with plenty of sage and onions, for his dinner; then he summoned the
Master of the Robes, and ordered himself four new suits of clothes; then
the head Confectioner was commanded to prepare materials for the
manufacture of the largest christening-cake that the world had ever
seen; and, lastly, he called together his Privy Council, and having
created the new born infant Commander in Chief, and Lord High Admiral,
Inspector General of everything and everybody, and settled on him the
Crown revenues accruing from the sale of shrimps and periwinkles, his
Majesty in a fervour of patriotism and paternal pride, rang the bell,
and desired that the nurse, Mrs. Yellowlily, should bring the heir
apparent into the Council-chamber.
Accordingly, in a few moments, the folding doors were thrown open, and
nurse Yellowlily appeared with her precious charge swathed in a mantle
of sky-blue taffety and silver, supported by two of the royal rockers.
“No indeed!” said the Lord Chancellor, dropping his mace and the great
seal, and clasping his hands, as he fixed his eyes on the ceiling,
“never was such a lovely infant seen!”
“Wait a moment, my Lord,” said nurse Yellowlily, “and you shall have a
peep at his Royal Highness:”—for as yet the Chancellor had not beheld
him.
With that she gently turned back the mantle, and the Privy Councillors
crowded round her. “There, my Lord,” she exclaimed, “you can now see his
blessed little nose.”
Everybody was delighted: it was the most exquisite nose ever beheld. The
King was so gratified, that he instantly created the nurse a Baroness in
her own right; upon which she curtsied three times, walked backwards
till she trod upon the Lord Chamberlain’s gouty foot, and then retired
with the rockers, who, as they proceeded down the corridor, chanted the
softest of lullabies.
The Privy Councillors listened till the last faint echoes of the melody
had died away, when King Katzekopf thus addressed them.
“My Lords,” said he, “I have called you together on the present
auspicious occasion, for the purpose of making you acquainted with
certain measures which I am about to take with reference to the Prince,
my son. And first, my Lord Chamberlain, I have to announce to you my
intention of giving a most magnificent fête on the occasion of his Royal
Highness’s christening. You will be pleased to send out cards of
invitation according to this list, which I believe contains the name of
every person of reputation in the kingdom.”
Here his Majesty handed a book to the Lord Chamberlain, which that
functionary received with reverence, and proceeded to inspect with great
attention. Having turned over five or six pages, the Chamberlain
suddenly nodded his head as if a thought had struck him. This was so
uncommon an event that the Lord Steward of the Household immediately
inquired in a whisper what it was that had attracted his attention. The
Chamberlain pointed to the list of names, and said in an under tone,
“Look through the A’s, my Lord, and see if there is not a very important
name omitted.”
At this moment King Katzekopf’s attention was attracted by the
whispering, and he graciously exclaimed, “Well, my Lords, what’s the
matter?”
“I apprehend,” said the Chamberlain with becoming diffidence, “that your
Majesty has caused these names to be written in alphabetical order.”
“Certainly, my Lord,” replied the King.
“I speak with all possible deference,” rejoined the Chamberlain, “but I
presume that your Majesty did not intend that the Lady Abracadabra
should be excluded from the invitations.”
“Humph,” said the King, “I never thought about her.”
“But she is your Majesty’s consort’s great aunt,” observed the
Chamberlain.
“And a very powerful Fairy,” suggested the Steward of the Household.
“And, if I may say it without offence, rather capricious in her temper
at times; at least she turned an acquaintance of mine into a tadpole,”
remarked the Groom of the Stole.
“And your Majesty,” said the Keeper of the Records, interposing, “cannot
have forgotten the very untoward event which took place in your
Majesty’s family, some centuries ago, when all the misfortunes that
occurred to your Majesty’s ancestress, the Sleeping Beauty, arose from
her Fairy relative not being invited to the christening.”
King Katzekopf would have rather preferred the Lady Abracadabra’s room
to her company, for he was very much afraid of the Fairies, but then, on
the other hand, the bare thought of having the Hope of his House turned
into a tadpole, or put to sleep in a castle in a wood for a hundred and
fifty years, was most alarming. His Majesty grew red and pale
alternately, shifted from one side of his throne to the other, and was
evidently in a state of great anxiety.
“But how is the Lady Abracadabra to be found?” said he at length. “Who
can tell where to look for her? One moment she may be a thousand miles
off, and the next she may bob up through a crack in the floor, as if she
had passed the night in the cellar.”
“He! he! he!” cried a shrill tiny voice in the distance, as though the
owner of the said voice was greatly amused at something it had just
heard.
“How the mice are squeaking behind the arras to-day!” exclaimed the
King. “My Lord Chamberlain, you must send for a cat, and when she has
caught the mice, we will set her to catch the Lady Abracadabra. Ha! ha!
ha!” continued his Majesty, laughing at his own wit.
But the Keeper of the Records, who, from his study of the archives of
the kingdom, knew better than most people what a dangerous thing it is
to speak disrespectfully of the Fairies, and who was supposed to have
acquired a smattering of the black art himself, immediately endeavoured
to repress King Katzekopf’s laughter, by saying,—“So please you, my
Liege, I apprehend that there would be little difficulty in sending an
invitation to the Lady Abracadabra. If one of the Government messengers
will bury it under a fairy-hill, next Wednesday morning, any time before
noon, turning his face to the East, and calling her by her name three
times....”
At this point the Keeper of the Records stopped short, for all of a
sudden, a very strange sound was heard at the keyhole of the
Council-chamber door, a scratching, rustling, noise, followed by a
violent blast, such as might issue from the nozzle of a blacksmith’s
bellows.
The President of the Council looked up to see what was the matter, but
was immediately struck on the nose by a pellet of closely squeezed
paper, which was immediately followed by another, and another, as the
blowing at the keyhole was repeated. At length, when another blast had
produced a shrill whistle, which showed that the aperture was clear, a
little object, about the size of a hornet, darted through it, and
increasing instantaneously in dimensions, presented the appearance of an
old woman, some three feet high, by the time it had reached the floor.
Whether the Lady Abracadabra (for of course it was she) had been a
beauty in the days of her youth, some eight or nine hundred years
before, there is, at present, no means of ascertaining; but certainly,
when she stood upon the floor of the Council-chamber, her appearance was
anything but prepossessing. Perhaps, gentle reader, you have been in the
habit of supposing that all the Fairies are dainty, little, airy beings,
with butterfly wings, and vests of green and gold, who hide themselves
in a blue-bell, and lose themselves among the petals of a peony. And
such, no doubt, are the elves that live among the green hills, and who
love to dance by moonlight, in the glades of the forest, or beside the
pleasant water-courses. But there are others who mingle more with the
human race, and adopt their habits, and hence, it may be, they become
more subject to the changes which affect mortals. Perhaps this was the
cause why the Lady Abracadabra’s face had become so brown, and shrunken,
and covered with deep-set wrinkles; or perhaps it was the having had her
own way so much; or those long journeys in which she travelled at the
rate of a thousand miles a minute, might have spoiled her complexion; or
perhaps, having arrived at (what even among the Fairies is allowed to
be) _a certain age_, she could not help looking like an old woman. But
be this as it may, she did look very old, and the effect of her short
black velvet jacket, and yellow satin petticoat, did not mend matters.
She wore on her head a tall, steeple-crowned hat, of the same material
as her jacket; had high-heeled shoes with diamond buckles, and bore in
her hand a pliant rod of ebony, with a small star of living light at
each end of it.
It was evident that she was very angry, for she scowled at the Privy
Councillors, stamped vehemently on the floor, and every muscle of her
face quivered with passion, as she addressed the King.
“So, nephew! you are determined to keep _me_ out of your palace at any
rate, I see. Let who will come to court, I am to be excluded. There is
always greater difficulty in getting into your house than anybody’s
else.”
King Katzekopf stammered forth an apology, assured his kinswoman that he
was delighted to see her, that he had just been speaking of sending her
an invitation, and that he had given general orders that she should be
admitted at all times.
“No such thing!” cried the little lady angrily. “You use me abominably.
You know I always make it a rule to come through the keyhole, and there
it is that you always try to stop me. Either I find a plate of metal
over the opening, or else the key is left in the lock, and so my ruff
gets crumpled to pieces. But the insult you have exposed me to to-day is
intolerable: blocking up the passage with scraps of dirty paper,
squeezed together by fingers of some greasy yeoman of the guard.—Oh it’s
atrocious!” And the Lady Abracadabra shook her quilted petticoat as if
she never should be clean again.
The King looked at his Ministers, and the Ministers looked at the King;
but neither seemed to know how to excuse themselves. At length, the
President of the Council, trembling exceedingly (for he expected to be
changed into a tadpole, or some such reptile), ventured to assure the
Lady, that he was the person in fault; for that, finding that the
door-keeper had got into the habit of applying his ear to the keyhole of
the Council-chamber, and fearing lest state-secrets should thus get wind
prematurely, he had himself obstructed the passage in the manner already
described.
“The varlet! the knave!” exclaimed the Fairy, as she heard of the
door-keeper’s delinquency, “I’ve a great mind to hang him up by his ears
to the vane of the church steeple. Go look for him, my Lord, and tell
him from me, that if ever he puts his ear to a keyhole again, I’ll blow
mushroom spawn into his brains, and cause his ears to vegetate, instead
of to listen.”
Fairies, as all the world knows, are hasty and capricious; but it is
only a very few who are spiteful and malignant. And to this class the
Lady Abracadabra had never belonged. If she was angry one moment, she
was pacified the next, and she much more frequently used her
supernatural powers in acts of kindness, than to gratify her freaks of
mischief.
It was so on the present occasion. After the little ebullition just
recorded, she speedily recovered her equanimity. Her eyes no longer
sparkled with passion, and so agreeable an expression came over her
countenance, that nobody thought about her wrinkles, or the
unbecomingness of her yellow petticoat.
“I was taking an airing on Mount Caucasus a quarter of an hour ago,”
said she, “when one of our people told me of your good fortune; so here
I came wind-speed to congratulate you, and to see if I could not find
some lucky gifts for my great-great-nephew.”
King Katzekopf thanked her for her condescension, and immediately
proposed to escort her to the royal nursery.
“Ha! ha! ha!” cried the Lady Abracadabra, almost choking with laughter
at the absurdity of the suggestion. “You don’t suppose I came to talk to
you before I had seen the baby, do you? Why, I’ve been sitting by his
cradle these ten minutes!”
“You have?” exclaimed the King in astonishment.
“Aye, marry,” said the lady, “and have pulled the chair from under the
Baroness Yellowlily, and, he! he! he! have given her such a bump. She
was going to feed the child with pap that would have scalded it; but it
will be cool enough, I warrant me, now, before she has done rubbing her
bruised elbows. Well, nephew, and so you’re going to have a grand
christening, are you? Who are to be sponsors besides myself?”
It had never entered into King Katzekopf’s imagination to ask the Lady
Abracadabra to be godmother to the young prince. And now she had taken
it as a matter of course, and it would never do to affront her! Was
there ever such a distress? And what would Queen Ninnilinda say, and
what would the Arch-duchess of Klopsteinhesseschloffengrozen say, when,
after a direct invitation, she found an old Fairy was to be substituted
in her place?
The King was so nervous and frightened that he did not know what to
answer. He could only stammer out something about final arrangements
being as yet undetermined.
“Well, but, at any rate, I suppose you have settled the child’s name,”
continued the Lady Abracadabra, approaching the Council-table. “Hoity
toity! what is this?” she added, snatching up one of his Majesty’s
memoranda: “Conrad-Adalbert-Willibald-Lewis-Hildebrand-Victor-
Sigismund-Belvidere-Narcissus-Adonis Katzekopf? I never heard such a
string of silly, conceited names in my life. I shan’t allow it, I can
tell you that,” and she stamped on the floor till her diamond buckles
glanced like lightning. “If _I_ am to have anything to do with the
child, I shall give him what name I think proper. Stay; I’ve watched him
for ten minutes, and can read his whole character, and a more wilful
little brat I never saw. You shall call him Eigenwillig. There! that’s
to be his name; Eigenwillig, and nothing else!”[1]
Footnote 1:
It is mentioned in the Chronicle of Carivaldus of Cologne, from which
this veracious tale has been extracted, that the word “Eigenwillig,”
in the ancient Teutonic tongue, bears the meaning of Self-willed; a
statement which is the more credible, since it has a corresponding
signification in the modern language of Germany.
And then, not waiting for a reply, the Lady Abracadabra gathered her
yellow satin habiliments round her, threw out her arms, brought them
together above her head, sprung from the floor, shrunk up to nothing in
a moment, and darted through the keyhole of the Council-chamber door.
CHAPTER II.
The Hunting of the Heir.
“You parents all that children have,
And you that have got none,
If you would keep them safe abroad,
Pray keep them safe at home.”
_Nursery Rhyme._
[Illustration]
CHAPTER II
And Eigenwillig he was called. There was no help for it. Even Queen
Ninnilinda soon saw that. She flew into a violent passion, indeed, and
called her husband an old goose, and told him that if he had as much
sense in his whole body as a mite has in the tip of its tail, he would
have contrived to have got rid of the Lady Abracadabra without
affronting her.
“Shall I send her an excuse, my dear?” asked King Katzekopf meekly.
“Send her a fiddlestick!” cried the Queen indignantly, at the same time
kicking over her footstool, and upsetting a basin of caudle, scalding
hot, into her husband’s lap.—“How can you make such a ridiculous
proposition? What but mischief can come of offending her? Will she not
vent her spite on me, or the Arch-duchess? Or may not she make the poor
dear baby a victim? May she not dart through the keyhole, and carry him
off to Fairy-land, and substitute in his place some frightful, wide
mouthed, squinting, red haired changeling, as much like your Majesty,
and as little like me, as possible? Oh it is too vexatious, and
ridiculous, and shocking, and foolish!”
And then Ninnilinda burst out a crying. But her Majesty’s tears and
rages were so frequent that they had lost their effect. Nobody thought
much about them; and besides, King Katzekopf was trying to take out the
stains of the caudle, which had sadly damaged the appearance of the
pea-green brocade that covered his knees.
So when her Majesty was tired of crying, she ceased: and, in the course
of the afternoon, wrote a note to her “dearest Lady Abracadabra,”
expressing the intensity of her satisfaction at the fact that her sweet
baby had secured the protection of such an amiable and powerful
patroness.
Then she sent for the Baroness Yellowlily, and told her that, as she had
reason to fear that a malicious old Fairy was disposed to do the child a
mischief, and, perhaps, carry him off altogether, she must immediately
anoint him all over with an unguent, made of three black spiders, the
gall of a brindled cat, the fat of a white hen, and the blood of a
screech owl; and that his cradle must be watched night and day until
after the christening. It was lucky for Queen Ninnilinda that the Lady
Abracadabra wished nothing but well to the little prince, and knew
nothing of these proceedings.
It is not necessary to fatigue the reader with the details of the fête,
which was given a few weeks after the events which have just been
recorded. There were firing of cannon, and ringing of bells, and beating
of drums, and blowing of trumpets. And there were long processions of
high officers of state, and nobles, and foreign ambassadors, dressed in
gorgeous robes, and glittering with gold and jewels. And there was the
arrival of the Fairy sponsor, in a coach made of a single pearl, and
drawn by a matchless pair of white cockatrices from the mountains of
Samarcand; and there was the flight of birds of Paradise that
accompanied her, each bearing round its neck a chain of gold and
diamonds, from which depended a casket, containing some costly offering
for the Hope of the House of Katzekopf. And there was the Lady
Abracadabra herself, no longer stamping the floor with anger, and
wearing that frightful, unbecoming, ill-tempered dress of yellow and
black, but arrayed in the most delicate fabrics of the fairy-loom, and
bearing upon her shoulders a mantle of gossamer, spangled all over with
dew-drops, sparkling with the colours of a hundred rainbows. No look of
age or ill-nature had she. The refulgence of her veil had obliterated
her wrinkles, and as she passed along the gallery of the palace, side by
side with the Arch-duchess of Klopsteinhesseschloffengrozen, even Queen
Ninnilinda herself was forced to confess that she looked very amiable,
that her manners were exceedingly good, and that, on the whole, she was
a captivating person,—when she chose it.
When the child was to be named, the Queen gave a supplicatory glance at
her kinswoman, and gently whispered in an appealing tone, “Have you
_really_ any objection to the charming name originally proposed?
Conrad-Adalbert-Willibald....”
But the Lady Abracadabra cut the catalogue short, with saying the word
“Eigenwillig” in so decided a tone, that the prince was named
Eigenwillig directly, and there was an end of the matter.
And then followed the royal banquet, and then a ball, and then the town
was illuminated, and at midnight the fête terminated with a most
magnificent display of fireworks.
Just, however, before the amusements of the evening were concluded, the
old Fairy called her niece and the King into the royal closet, and thus
addressed them: “Kinsmen mine,” said she, “I have shown you this day
that I bear a most hearty good-will both to you and yours; and therefore
if ye be wise,—which I think ye are not—you will listen to what I now
say to you. You have got a fair son: for that you must thank Providence;
and your son has got the fairest gifts that were to be found in all
Fairy-land: for them you must thank me. But if, in spite of these gifts,
your son turns out a wilful, disagreeable, selfish monkey, for that you
will have to thank yourselves. Queen Ninnilinda, if ever I saw a mother
that was likely to spoil a child, you are that person. King Katzekopf,
if ever I saw a father who was likely to let his son lead him by the
nose, you are that man. But attend to what I say,” continued the Fairy,
with a look of great severity, “I don’t intend to have my godchild a
selfish little brat, who shall be a bad man, and a bad king, and a bad
son, whom everybody shall dislike, and whose faults shall be all
attributed to his having a Fairy godmother. No: I have named the child
according to his natural temper. I have called him Eigenwillig, because
his disposition is to be self-willed. And of this it is fit that you
should be reminded continually, even by his name, in order that you may
discipline his mind, and make him the reverse of what he is now called.
Poor child! he has everything around him to make him selfish. Let it be
the object of your life, to make him unselfish. This is my injunction,
and remember I have both the will and the power to enforce it. I am his
godmother, and I am a Fairy besides, so I have a right to insist. And
mark my words, I shall do _my_ duty by the prince, let who will neglect
theirs. I shall watch over him night and day, and shall be among you
when least you expect me. If you manage him properly, you may expect my
help; if you show yourselves unfit for the charge, I shall take the
reins of discipline into my own hands; and if you then resist me ... but
I will not allow myself to imagine that such infatuation and insanity
were possible. Sweet niece, I must take my leave. May I trouble your
Majesty to open the window. Kiss my godchild for me. Good night.”
As the Lady Abracadabra took her leave, there was a rustling of wings in
the air, the chariot of pearl, with its attendant cockatrices, appeared
on a level with the window: the Fairy sprung into her seat, and,
preceded by a cloud of lantern flies, each insect sparkling with a
different coloured flame, blue, or crimson, or violet, or green, and
followed by myriads of elves, each crowned with asteroids of lambent
light, she wended on her way to Fairy-land, her track through the sky
being marked by a long train of sparks, whose dazzling brilliancy waxed
fainter and fainter as she receded from earth, till it mingled with, and
became lost in the pallid hues of the Milky Way.
It is needless to say that Queen Ninnilinda did not relish the parting
admonitions of her Fairy kinswoman. First, she (being a Queen) did not
like to submit to dictation; next, she persuaded herself that she had a
full right to do as she pleased, and to spoil her own child as much as
she liked; lastly, being rather timid, she felt very uncomfortable at
the notion of being watched by a Fairy, and still more so at the
possibility of incurring that Fairy’s vengeance. So, as usual, she
vented all her anger on her husband, and then went to bed and sobbed
herself to sleep. King Katzekopf was not easily disturbed; and the
chronicles of the kingdom assure us that he slept as well as usual on
the night after the fête; but upon awaking next morning he felt the
necessity of something being done, and therefore called together once
more his trusty councillors, who, after much grave discussion,
determined that the best method of securing the further favour of the
Lady Abracadabra would be, by immediately appointing proper instructors
for the royal infant.
Accordingly, a commission was issued to inquire who would be the proper
persons to undertake so responsible an office, and after a year and a
half of diligent investigation, it was decided that the three cleverest
women in the kingdom should be charged with the prince’s education until
such time as he should exchange his petticoats for jacket and trousers.
So the Lady Brigida was appointed to teach him how to feed himself, and
to instruct him in _Belles Lettres_, and the —ologies: the Lady Rigida
was to make him an adept in prudence and etiquette: while the Lady
Frigida was directed to enlighten his mind on the science of political
economy, and to teach him the art of governing the country.
But alas! nobody thought of appointing a preceptress, who should
instruct him in the art of governing _himself_.
Meanwhile, Queen Ninnilinda, finding that her husband had become highly
popular in consequence of the pains he was taking to have his heir
properly educated, determined that she would do something which should
set her own character in a favourable light as a wise and discreet
mother. She, therefore, after much careful consideration, drew up the
following rules for the nursery, which were immediately printed in an
Extraordinary Gazette, and which were received with so much applause,
that almost all the ladies in the kingdom adopted them immediately in
their own families, and have, in fact, been guided by them ever since,
even though they have not followed Queen Ninnilinda’s plan of having
them framed and glazed.
RULES FOR THE NURSERY.
1. The Prince Eigenwillig is never to be contradicted; for
contradiction is depressing to the spirits.
2. His Royal Highness is to have everything he cries for; else he
will grow peevish and discontented.
3. He is to be allowed to eat and drink when, what, and as much he
pleases; hunger being a call of nature, and whatever nature
dictates is natural.
4. His Royal Highness is to be dissuaded from speaking to any one
below the rank of Baron; as it is highly desirable that he should
acquire a proper pride.
5. It is to be impressed upon the Prince’s mind continually that
he is an object of the first consequence, and that his first duty
is to take good care of himself.
Such being the plan laid down for Prince Eigenwillig’s education, it is
not to be wondered at that, by the time he was two years old, he had a
very fair notion of the drift of his mother’s rules, and that they found
great favour in his eyes; insomuch that at three, when the Ladies
Brigida, Frigida, and Rigida commenced the task of tuition, he contrived
to inspire them with the notion that their office, for the present, at
least, was likely to be a sinecure. He even resisted the efforts which
the Lady Brigida made to induce him to feed himself with a fork and a
spoon, and adhered upon principle to the use of his fingers, lest, by
yielding the point, he should seem to allow himself to be contradicted.
At four years old the precocity of his talents had greatly developed
themselves. He had mingled mustard with the Lady Frigida’s chocolate; he
had pulled the chair from under his father, just as the King was about
to sit down, whereby his Majesty got a tumble, and the Prince got his
ears boxed; he had killed nurse Yellowlily’s cockatoo by endeavouring to
ascertain whether it was as fond of stewed mushrooms as he was himself,
and he had even gone the length of singing in her presence, and of
course in allusion to her bereavement,
“Dame what made your ducks to die?
Ducks to die? ducks to die? ducks to die?
Eating o’ polly-wigs! Eating o’ polly-wigs.”
But if the truth must be told, the prince had acquired by this time many
worse habits than that of mischief. And these had their origin in his
being permitted to have his own way in everything. For, indeed, it might
be said, that this spoilt child was the person who ruled the entire
kingdom. The prince ruled his nurse, and his three instructresses; they
ruled the Queen; the Queen ruled the King; the King ruled his Ministers;
and the Ministers ruled the country.
O Lady Abracadabra, Lady Abracadabra, how could you allow things to come
to such a pass? You must have known right well that Queen Ninnilinda was
very silly; and that King Katzekopf was one of those folks who are too
indolent to exert themselves about anything which is likely to be
troublesome or unpleasant; and you must have been quite sure that the
nurses and governesses were all going the wrong way to work; you must
have foreseen that at the end of four years of mismanagement the poor
child would be a torment to himself and to everybody else. Why did you
not interfere?
This is a hard question to answer; but perhaps the Lady Abracadabra’s
object was to convince both parties of this fact by actual experience,
as being aware that in such experience lay the best hope of a remedy.
A torment, however, the child was; there could be no mistake about that.
Though he had everything he asked for, nothing seemed to satisfy him; if
he was pleased one moment, he was peevish the next: he grew daily more
and more fractious, and ill-humoured, and proud, and greedy, and
self-willed, and obstinate. It is very shocking to think of so young a
child having even the seeds of such evil tempers; but how could it be
otherwise, when he was taught to think only of himself, and when he was
allowed to have his own way in all things? Unhappy child! yet happy in
this, that he was likely to find out for himself that, in spite of
having all he wished for, he was unhappy! Unhappy parents! yet happy in
this, that, if so disposed, they might learn wisdom, from the obvious
failure of their foolish system of weak indulgence!
Prince Eigenwillig had nearly completed his fifth year, when, one day
that the Lady Rigida was endeavouring to explain to his Royal Highness
her cleverest theory on the subject of the Hyscos, or Shepherd Kings
(he, meanwhile, being intently absorbed in a game of bilboquet), a Lord
of the Bedchamber entered the apartment, and announced that the Queen
desired the Prince’s presence in her boudoir.
“Ha!” exclaimed the little boy, with a start of pleasure and surprise,
as he entered the apartment, “what a beautiful creature you’ve got in
that cage. Whose is it? I should like to have it.”
“Well, my sweet pet,” replied his mother, “so you shall, if you wish for
it.”
“Of course I do,” said the Prince; “what a sleek gray coat! what
strange, orange-coloured eyes! what curious rings of black and white fur
on its tail! What is it?”
“It is a ring-tailed macauco, love,” answered the Queen, “your papa has
just made me a present of it. I don’t know how much money he gave for
it.”
“Well, mamma, it’s mine now; that’s one comfort,” observed the Prince.
“Let it out,” continued he, addressing the Lord of the Bedchamber.
“I am afraid, sir,” replied Baron Puffendorf, “that it might do
mischief. I believe it isn’t tamed yet.”
“Oh, we’ll tame it, then,” replied the Prince; “call Lady Rigida; she’ll
tame it directly, I’m sure. Lady Rigida, here’s a monkey wants taming;
talk to it about the shepherd kings, will you?”
The Lady Rigida drew up with offended dignity.
“Ha! ha! my good Rigida,” said the Queen, laughing, “you mustn’t be
angry with these sallies of wit. What a clever child it is!”
“Is nobody going to open the door of the cage?” asked the boy
impatiently. “I want to see the creature loose.”
“Oh, my sweet child, leave it where it is. You’ll frighten me to death,
if you let it out,” cried the Queen in alarm.
The Prince immediately threw himself down on the floor, and began to
roar.
“Don’t cry, there’s a love,” said his wise mother, soothingly, “and the
Baron shall see if he can’t hold it while you look at it. Wrap your
handkerchief round your hand, Baron; it won’t bite, I’m sure.”
The Baron did as he was bid, and, in considerable trepidation, opened
the door of the cage, and made an effort to seize the macauco. The
animal immediately darted at his hand, bit it with all its strength, and
dashed out of the cage in an instant. “Sess! sess! sess!” cried Prince
Eigenwillig, springing up from the floor, and clapping his hands. “Now
for a chase! Sess! macauco! Hie at them! Good monkey! Bite Rigida! Bite
Puffendorf!”
Away ran the instructress, away ran the Lord of the Bedchamber, and
after them pursued the macauco round and round the room, now biting at
the Baron’s heels, and now at the Lady Rigida’s; while the Queen ran
screaming out of the apartment, and the author of all the mischief stood
in the midst, laughing with all his might. In another moment, the agile
monkey had scrambled up the Lady Rigida’s back, and, having half
strangled her in its attempts to tear off her head-dress, took a flying
leap to the top of a cabinet, whence, having dashed down a most precious
vase of rose-coloured chrystal, it proceeded to tear the cap to tatters.
But Prince Eigenwillig was too highly delighted with the more active
freaks of the animal, and too much pleased at the opportunity of
terrifying and tormenting the Lady Rigida, to allow it to remain long at
the top of the cabinet. So snatching up a book which lay on a table
beside him, he threw it at the macauco for the purpose of dislodging it.
And therein he succeeded, but at a cost which by no means entered into
his calculations, for the animal, irritated by the blow, now turned on
the naughty boy, and springing on his shoulders, laid hold of one of his
ears with his teeth.
It was now the Prince’s turn to scream, and the more he screamed and
struggled, the more the macauco bit him, and the child would soon have
fainted with fright and pain; but, just at the critical moment, when he
had fallen to the ground, the sound of many voices was heard outside the
door, which was immediately flung open, and, together with a number of
members of the household, in rushed a great black mastiff, which
immediately flew at the monkey, who, thereupon, quitted its hold of the
Prince’s ear, and retreated to its cage.
The whole palace was by this time in confusion; messengers were rushing
in all directions for surgeons and physicians; and even King Katzekopf,
who had now grown so fat, that he never left his arm-chair when he could
help it, ran up-stairs, three steps at a time, to know what was the
matter.
“Ah!” exclaimed the Lord Chamberlain, as soon as he had recovered
sufficient presence of mind to shake his head. “Ah,” quoth he.
“Yea, forsooth!” replied the Chancellor, with the air of one who _could_
say a great deal if he chose.
The Arch-Treasurer of the Empire, who never spoke at all, if he could
help it, and who never allowed his countenance to indulge itself in any
particular expression, shrugged his shoulders slightly, but with what
particular intention no one ventured to imagine.
The old ladies of the household (including his grace the Keeper of the
Records) were, however, by no means so prudent or taciturn.
“I knew how it would be!” cried one.
“I always guessed as much,” rejoined another.
“I anticipated it from the first,” ejaculated the third.
“This comes of Fairy-godmothers,” groaned forth he of the Records.
“No doubt, it is some malicious prank of hers!” said Nurse Yellowlily,
with a shudder.
“I shouldn’t be surprised if henceforth the poor child were possessed,”
added the first speaker.
“Or squinting and blear-eyed,” continued the second.
“Or if his ears mortified, and turned into pigs’ feet!” sobbed out the
third.
“Oh, too true! too true!” exclaimed the Queen. “I see it all. Unhappy
mother that I am! All the poor child’s misfortunes, past, present, and
to come, are owing to my peevish, spiteful, malicious, capricious, old,
ugly witch of an aunt, Lady Abracadabra! Oh, that I had been turned into
a tadpole, and the Grand Duchess of Klopsteinhesseschloffengrozen had
been the only sponsor!”
It was a long while before anything like tranquillity was restored; but
when the King and the Queen had been assured by the medical attendants
that the Prince’s wound was by no means serious, and the child himself
had ceased screaming, and the macauco had been hanged, the black mastiff
began to attract attention.
“Whose dog is it?” asked one.
“Where did it come from?” said another.
But nobody could answer the question. At this moment the King called the
hound to him, for the purpose of patting it. The mastiff approached, and
laid its heavy fore-paws on the royal knee, and looked very wisely at
the King; and then his Majesty looked as wisely as ever he could (how
could he do less?) at the dog. But what was the King’s amazement, when,
all of a sudden, he perceived the tan portion of the glossy hide
changing into a yellow satin petticoat, and the black part into a black
velvet jacket; the canine features resolving themselves into a human
countenance; the fore-paws becoming hands, and hind-paws a woman’s feet,
enveloped in high-heeled shoes fastened with diamond buckles?
It was even so. The Lady Abracadabra stood before him, not, however, as
when he last beheld her, all smiles and affability, but stern, grave,
and angry. Her eyes gleamed like coals of fire, her wrinkles were deeper
than ever, and gave her face a most harsh and severe expression,—nay,
her black jacket had acquired a most ominous sort of intensity, and the
yellow petticoat seemed shot with a lurid flame-colour.
“So!” said she, “you have not only disobeyed all my injunctions,
neglected my advice, and thwarted all my benevolent intentions, but now,
when you are reaping the fruit of your misconduct, you have audacity
enough to charge me with being the cause of it!”
King Katzekopf declared that he had never suspected her ladyship of
anything but good will towards the prince; and had never attributed to
her agency the mishaps of a spoilt boy.
“Spoilt boy!” she exclaimed with indignation, “and how comes he to be
spoilt? Yes,” she continued with increasing vehemence, “who has spoilt
him? What is it that makes everybody dislike him? What makes him a
plague and a torment to himself and everybody else? Why is he impatient,
and greedy, and wilful, and ill-tempered, and selfish? Is it not because
Queen Ninnilinda encourages him in all these vices, and because King
Katzekopf, though he knows that everything is going wrong, is too lazy
and indolent to interfere and set them right? You are neither of you fit
to be trusted with your own child. You are doing all you can to make him
wicked and miserable, a bad man, and a bad king.”
“I’m sure there’s not a child in the kingdom that has such pains taken
with him,” replied the Queen angrily. “He has instructors in all the
different branches of useful knowledge, and if he is a little
mischievous, or self-willed at times, are not all children so?”
“Niece, niece,” replied the Fairy, “you speak like a fool. What good is
there in knowledge, unless a right use be made of it? And how is he
likely to make a right use of it, if he be mischievous and self-willed?
And how can you expect him to be otherwise than mischievous and
self-willed, if you encourage, instead of checking, his propensities
that way?”
“I’m sure I cannot check his propensities,” retorted Ninnilinda in a
huff.
“I never thought you could,” said Lady Abracadabra quietly, “for you
have not yet learned to control your own temper.”
The Queen coloured and bit her lip.
“I wish, kinswoman,” said the King in a conciliating tone, “since you
thought the Prince was being so ill brought up, that you would have told
us so a little sooner?”
“And where would have been the good of that? You know very well that you
would not have listened to me. Nay, I don’t believe that you will listen
to me now. No, no, when I promised to befriend your child, I ought to
have taken the matter into my own hands at once, and carried him off to
Fairy-land, and superintended his education there.”
When the Queen heard these words, she trembled from head to foot, and
threw herself on her knees before her aunt, exclaiming—“Nay, Lady
Abracadabra, anything but that! anything but that! I know your power,
but oh! as you are powerful, be merciful likewise, and do not take my
child from me!”
The Fairy saw that Queen Ninnilinda was now in a disposition to submit
to any conditions which might be imposed upon her, and therefore she
answered her kindly:
“I do not want to separate you from your child, if only you will do your
duty by him.”
“I will do anything you desire, aunt!”
“Teach him not to be selfish, then!” replied the Lady Abracadabra. “If
you really are in earnest, I will give you one more trial; _but remember
it is the last_.”
The Queen grew more frightened than ever, for she felt as if she were a
fly in a spider’s web; that the Lady Abracadabra was spreading toils for
her, and that the little Eigenwillig was already as good as lost to her.
“But how can I teach him not to be selfish?” she asked at length.
“By making him consider others as much as himself; by teaching him to
bear contradiction, and to yield up his own wishes and inclinations; and
by letting him associate with his equals.”
“You forget he is a prince, Lady,” replied the Queen proudly.
“No, I do not,” answered the Fairy. “A prince may have his equals in
age, I suppose, if not in rank.”
“Ah! Lady Abracadabra!” cried King Katzekopf. “I believe you have hit
the right nail on the head. I’ve often wished the boy could have had
somebody to play with,—somebody who would set him a good example, and
would not flatter him, as these courtiers do.”
“Suppose I could find such a companion for him,” said the Fairy, “would
you befriend him, and treat him as you do your own child?”
“Gladly will I,” answered the King. The Queen could not bring herself to
say that she would do it gladly, but she submitted with as good a grace
as she could.
“Well then,” said the Lady Abracadabra, “upon those terms I will give
you a fresh trial. I know a fair, gentle boy, whose temper and
disposition the Prince will do well to imitate. His father, foolish man!
is anxious to get him a place at court,—little knowing what he desires
for him. Methinks it would be well that he should see the experiment
tried. It may be of benefit to both parties. So I shall set about it at
once.”
And thereupon the Lady Abracadabra gradually faded away, or at any rate
seemed to do so, till she wholly disappeared.
CHAPTER III.
Another Heir Started.
“More swift than lightning can I flye
About this aery welkin soone,
And in a minute’s space descrye
Each thing that’s done below the moone.”
_Ben Jonson._
[Illustration]
CHAPTER III.
Many and many a mile from King Katzekopf’s Court,—in a valley among
those Giant Mountains, which separated his territories from the
neighbouring kingdoms, stood the Castle of Taubennest, in which, at the
date of our tale, dwelt Count Rudolf and his family.
And a happy family they were, all except the Count, who was a
discontented man. He had spent his youth in cities, and so the country
had no charms for him. He was ambitious, and a time-server. He was never
so happy as among great people, and he longed to meddle with the
intrigues of state, and to be talked of as among the eminent men of the
kingdom.
He was a very poor man when the Castle and its broad lands were
bequeathed him by a distant relation, and so he was glad enough to take
possession of them, even though he found the bequest coupled with the
condition that he should live on his domains continually.
Now if, on acquiring this property, the Count had set himself in earnest
to the discharge of the duties for which the possession of that property
rendered him responsible,—if he had turned his talents to bettering the
condition of his vassals, improving his estates, and benefiting his
neighbourhood generally, he would not only have spent his days happily,
but would, in all probability, have arrived at the object of his
desires, and acquired an illustrious name. But instead of this, he spent
his years in murmurs and repinings; now railing at the blindness of
Fortune, who had condemned one of his genius for rising in the world to
a sphere of inactivity, now complaining that he was imprisoned for life
amid the mountains. What a sad thing it is, when people neglect their
present duties, for no wiser reason than because they choose to imagine
that if their duties were of some different kind, they could discharge
them better! Our trial in life consists in our being required to do our
best in _whatever_ circumstances we are placed. If we were to choose
those circumstances for ourselves, there would be an end of the trial,
and the main object for which life is given us would be lost.
Happily for her children and dependents, the character of the Countess
Ermengarde was a complete contrast to that of her husband. She was one
of those people who seem only to find happiness in doing good to those
around them. Had her destiny placed her in the midst of a court, she
would have added to its dignity and honour by the lustre of her example.
But that example was not lost because her days were spent in comparative
seclusion. The Castle of Taubennest was at a great distance from the
metropolis, but it did not rear its head in a solitary desert. And the
Countess, as she stood on the stone platform, which opened out of her
withdrawing room, and led to the garden below, and gazed at the wide and
fertile valley which lay stretched before her, could count hamlet after
hamlet, the inhabitants of which were tenants to her husband, and over
whom, therefore, she felt that it was in her power to exercise an
influence for good. But the Countess Ermengarde had yet dearer ties, to
whom she well knew that all her care and tenderness were due. There were
her two little girls, Ediltrudis and Veronica, and her son, a boy of
seven years old, the gentle, yet noble-spirited Witikind. In educating
these her treasures, disciplining their youthful minds, and training
them for the duties and trials of active life, the greater part of her
time was spent, and so fully absorbed was she in this labour of love,
that never an hour hung heavy on her hands, and not days only, but
months and years seemed to glide on without her having a wish or a
thought beyond her children, and the vassals of her husband’s house.
“What a happy family should we be!” exclaimed the Count, as, in spite of
himself, he stood enjoying the evening breeze, and watching his lovely
children in their play, “What a happy family we should be, my
Ermengarde, if we were not condemned to wear out our existence in this
dull wilderness!”
“I would you were in any place that could bring you a greater measure of
enjoyment than you find here, my dearest Rudolf,” replied the Countess,
soothingly, “and yet, methinks, our lot might have been cast in a less
fair scene than this. What if the setting sun, instead of throwing its
rosy lustre on yonder mountain peaks, and illumining with its declining
rays those verdant meadows, through which our glassy river flows, and
the fields yellow with the ripening corn, and the purple vineyards, and
the deep umbrageous forest, were to light up for us no more joyous scene
than a desert of interminable sand? What if, instead of looking forth,
and seeing nothing so far as eye can reach which does not call you
master, we were landless, houseless wanderers, without bread to eat, or
a roof to cover us, should we not have less to be thankful for, than is
the case now?”
“Doubtless,” answered the Count; but he made the reply impatiently, and
as if his wife were putting the matter before him in an unfair point of
view. Without being the least aware of it, he was unthankful for all the
blessings which he actually possessed, because a single ingredient which
he supposed necessary to fill up his cup of happiness was wanting. So
long as he had not _that_, all else went for nothing. “Doubtless,” said
the Count; “but, say what you will, this place will never be any better
than a wilderness in my eyes. Is it possible to conceive a more
monotonous life than I pass? nothing to interest one, not a soul within
twenty miles that one cares to speak to!”
The Countess smiled. “Nay, nay, Rudolf,” she cried gaily, “you shall not
persuade me that the children and I do not make very agreeable society!”
“The children! there again! what a distressing subject is that! Poor
things, they will not have common justice done them! They have not a
chance of getting on in the world.”
“For my part,” replied the Countess, “I don’t see what is the necessity
for their ‘getting on in the world.’ They will do very well as they
are.”
“How can you talk such nonsense as that, Ermengarde?” exclaimed the
Count in a tone of pique. “Why, what is to become of the girls, when
they grow up to womanhood?”
“Oh,” answered the Countess, “we need scarcely make that a cause of
anxiety at present. Years must elapse before they will be women, and
when they are grown up, I don’t know why they may not become the wives
of honest men, or why they may not find happiness in a single life, if
they prefer it.”
“Really, Ermengarde, you sometimes provoke one past all patience. ‘Wives
of honest men,’ forsooth! I believe you would be satisfied if you could
see them making cheese on the next farm, or wedded to the huntsman, or
the woodreve. You forget,” added he proudly, “that their birth entitles
them to some splendid connexion, and less than a splendid connexion
shall never satisfy me.”
“Why, what is it that you covet for them?”
“That they should see something of courts and cities, instead of being
immured in this mountain-dungeon; that they should take that place in
the world to which their rank entitles them, and that they should be
followed by a host of admirers, and that their cotemporaries should have
cause to envy their good fortune. Yes,” continued he, warming with his
subject, and falling unconsciously into one of those day-dreams in which
he was continually indulging, “I should like to waken and find myself at
the court, with Ediltrudis at my side, the admired of all beholders,
princes and peers struggling to obtain the honour of her hand, while I,
with watchful eyes, would be ascertaining which of her many suitors it
would be most prudent to encourage, and which to reject. Can you
conceive anything more interesting, more delightful to a parent’s
feelings?”
“Yes, indeed, my Lord,” replied the Lady Ermengarde, “to me it would
afford more satisfaction, if I were permitted to see my child growing up
to maturity, unspotted by the world, and saved from exposure to its
poisonous breath, and from the temptation to yield to its evil
influences. I would rather see her innocent and happy here, than the
star and favourite of a court.”
Had Count Rudolf listened to this speech it would have probably made him
very angry, but he was too much occupied with his castles in the air to
attend to it.
“And then my pretty little Veronica,” he continued, “your career shall
be no less brilliant than your sister’s. Come hither,” said he, calling
the child, “and tell us what destiny you would choose. Would you not
like to be a Maid of Honour to the Queen, and to be glittering with
silks and jewels, and to live in a royal palace, and to spend your time
in all manner of pleasures?”
The little girl seemed puzzled, and did not answer immediately. After a
pause she said, “Must I leave Taubennest, if I were to be Maid of Honour
to the Queen?”
“Yes, my child, that must you, for where the King lives is many a mile
from Taubennest.”
“Nay, then, dear father, I would rather be where I am. I should like to
see the royal palace, and all the things you mention, but I should
prefer to _live_ here. Ah! we never could be so happy as we are here,
could we, Witikind? We never could find such pretty walks as we have
here among the hills, nor play such merry games in a palace, as now we
do in the meadows by the river side. And besides, I dare say I should
not be allowed to take my kid with me, nor my birds, nor perhaps,” added
the child in a tone of dismay,—her eyes brimming with tears as the
thought occurred to her—“perhaps you, and Ediltrudis, and nurse, and
papa, and mamma might not be with me. Oh, no, no; I would rather stay
where I am; would not you, Witikind?”
“Why, what folly!” exclaimed Count Rudolf, interposing. “Even you,
Veronica, must be old enough to know that a boy cannot pass through life
beside his nurse’s apron-string. Witikind must see the world, and learn
to be bold and manly.”
“Can I not be bold and manly, father, unless I see the world?” asked the
boy rather timidly.
“No, to be sure not!” answered the Count.
“Well then of course I must go,” replied Witikind with a sigh. “But I
never can be so happy elsewhere as I am here.”
“Pooh! you are but a child;” rejoined his father, “you don’t know what
real happiness is.”
“Did you find real happiness, father, in living among courts and
cities?”
“Certainly, I did,” said the Count; and then, after some hesitation he
added, “At least I should have found it, if I had not been a poor man,
as I was in those days. Ah! what would I have given for such advantages
as you have, my boy?”
“Is it possible that there can be so much pleasure to be found away from
home and friends?” asked Witikind, still somewhat doubtfully, and
looking up with anxiety at the expression of sadness which seemed to
spread itself over his mother’s face.
“Possible, Witikind? I would I had the opportunity of enabling you to
make the experiment this very moment! How I should like to see you a
Page of Honour to the King, It would make a man of you at once.”
Witikind thought it would be a very fine thing to be made a man of at
once, and his heart was more inclined to a change than it had yet been.
“And I suppose then, father, I should ride a horse instead of a pony,
and wear a sword, and be treated by every body as if I were a man.”
“Of course, you would,” replied the Count,—“at least, in a very short
time.”
“Then, father, I do think that I should like to go and live at
court.”—The Count kissed the boy and withdrew.
It is a very well known, but at the same time a most remarkable
circumstance in the natural history of Fairies, that they are not only
sure to be found in the most unexpected places, but they are certain to
arrive in the very nick of time, for the purpose of overhearing some
conversation which was never intended for their ears, but which they
never fail to turn to account in some manner for which the speakers are
wholly unprepared. It was so on the present occasion.
Our friend, the Lady Abracadabra, who had been paying a visit to some
old acquaintances among the Gnomes who inhabited the silver mines in the
mountains, in the immediate vicinity of Count Rudolf’s castle, had heard
from her subterranean hosts such an interesting account of the goodness
and benevolence of Countess Ermengarde, that she had resolved to
introduce herself to her. And as she had been led to believe that to be
poor, or afflicted, was a ready passport to that lady’s presence, she
assumed the garb and appearance of a lame beggar-woman, and in this
disguise entered the domain of Taubennest, and approached the castle. No
gate was closed against her, no insolent, pampered menial thrust her
from the door. The Countess had long since forbidden her servants to
turn away one who sought relief at her hands. “We have enough for all,”
she was wont to say, “and, therefore, if we give not according to our
ability, we may expect that the ability to give, will be taken away from
us. If we do not make a good use of our money; our money is like to make
itself wings, and fly elsewhere.”
Of course where so much was given, there must have been some unworthy
recipients of her bounty. And when this was urged upon her by some of
her less liberal friends, she made no attempt to deny the probability of
the assertion; “but,” said she, “I would rather bestow my alms on a
hundred unworthy recipients, than miss an opportunity of aiding one poor
creature who needed my bounty.”
And so the weary traveller, and the needy applicant, were under no fears
of being repulsed when they approached the portals of Taubennest, and
thus it happened that the Lady Abracadabra wandered forward unobserved,
or, if observed, unchecked, until she came close to the platform on
which the conversation which has been recorded, took place.
“And so you would like to see the court, would you, my pretty master?”
said she, as soon as little Witikind had expressed his wish on the
subject.
The boy started at the sudden inquiry, “What is it you want, good
mother?” he asked after a little hesitation.
“Nay,” replied the Fairy, “I have expressed no want. I desire to learn
what it is that _you_ want?”
“Oh! I want some good Fairy to carry me over hill and dale to the court
of King Katzekopf.”
“Are you quite sure of that?” asked the lame woman.
“Aye marry, am I,” replied the boy, laughing. “Will you show me the way
to Fairy-land?”
“May be I will, and may be I won’t,” answered the Fairy. “I must first
see what metal you are made of. Will you go with me to court?”
“I shouldn’t like your pace, mother,” said Witikind. “I should never get
there, if I kept by the side of your crutches.”
“Don’t be too sure of that,” rejoined the beggar. “There’s many a worse
hobbyhorse than my crutch. Can you ride, sir boy?”
“To be sure I can,” replied Witikind, “I were fit for little, if I could
not.”
“Then let me see how you can sit this nag of mine,” said the Fairy; and
seating herself sideways on one crutch, she waved the other; when, in an
instant, that on which she was seated became a living cockatrice, which
mounted up into the air with its burden, and, after three or four
circumvolutions, descended on the platform, to which allusion has been
made, and then stood still; while the Lady Abracadabra, no longer
disguised as a beggar-woman, but wearing her usual Fairy garb,
dismounted and approached the astonished Countess and her terrified
children.
“I ought to apologize for this intrusion,” said she, “but a Fairy, who
comes with purposes of kindness, can scarcely conceive herself to be
unwelcome. You do not know me, Countess, for I quarrelled with your
father before you were born; but your mother Frideswida and I were well
known to one another. I doubt not you have heard her speak of
Abracadabra of Hexenberg.”
The Countess intimated her assent.
“I recognize in you, Lady,” said the Fairy, “a transcript of her beauty
of feature, and if fame do not greatly misrepresent you, the beauty of
her mind has descended to you. I hear you spoken of as the blessing of
these valleys, and that your days are spent in feeding the hungry,
clothing the naked, and visiting the sick.”
“I live among my own people,” replied Ermengarde, “and they are a simple
race, who are satisfied with little, and whom small kindnesses gratify
largely.”
“You are modest,” rejoined the Lady Abracadabra, “but if, as I believe,
you have the means of doing good, and find pleasure in doing it, why
should you be dissatisfied with your abode?”
“I dissatisfied, Lady?” exclaimed the Countess, “I would gladly live and
die here.”
“Then, what was the meaning of what I heard no long time since?
Methought as I listened to your converse, your boy seemed to say that he
should like to go and live at court. You would hardly send him to face
such perils alone? That were as unnatural as wicked.”
The Countess knew not what to answer. The thought of separation from
Witikind had already filled her with sorrow and dismay, but she was
unwilling to excuse herself at the cost of inculpating her husband. She
therefore remained silent, but the tears gushed from her eyes in spite
of her.
“And how comes it that you, sir boy,” asked the Fairy, addressing
Witikind, “are so eager to leave your home? Can you not be happy here?”
“Yes, Lady, I am happy as the day is long; but my father assures us
often and often, that our best happiness here is grief and dulness,
compared with what we should find, if we went to the great City, and
lived in King Katzekopf’s court?”
“Is this true, Lady?” said the Fairy to Ermengarde. “But,” continued
she, “I see it is, and will spare you the pain of answering.” She paused
awhile, and then added, “Countess, I see a black spot on that child’s
fair brow, that, unless we find a remedy, will spread and spread till it
infects his whole nature. What his natural disposition may be I know
not, but I see his father has inoculated him with one of the most
dangerous of all maladies, a love of _self_. He is willing to seek for
pleasure, even though it cost him separation from you. He already thinks
of himself more than of you.”
“He is but a child, Lady,” said the mother apologetically.
“Aye, Countess Ermengarde, but the child is father to the man. Such as
you make him now, such will he be hereafter.”
“Perhaps, Lady, if you spoke to Rudolf, he might be induced to see the
matter as you do,” observed the wife.
“Nay, nay!” replied the Fairy, with an increase of sternness in her
manner, “I am not one to be trifled with. You _know_ even while you make
it, that your suggestion is a hopeless one. To reason with your precious
husband (of whom I know more than you think) is only to render him more
obstinate. I must devise some other plan. Ah!” she continued, after a
momentary pause, “I see my way clearly. The evil shall be made to work
its own remedy. Go, tell the Count, that an ancient Fairy, a friend of
your mother’s house, and who, on that account, desires to befriend you,
has become acquainted with his wishes as respects his son: tell him that
I have influence at Court, that King Katzekopf and the Queen are not
likely to turn a deaf ear to any request I make them, and that he may
hold himself in readiness to expect, ere long, a summons from his
Majesty. Countess Ermengarde, tell him this; but I charge you at your
peril, tell him no more than this. Meanwhile, keep up good heart, and
trust me to befriend your boy. I will teach him one lesson, that shall
be of more use to him than all his father’s.”
So saying, she smiled graciously on little Witikind, patted him on the
head, and springing on her cockatrice was soon out of sight.
CHAPTER IV.
A hashed Heir.
“Over hill, over dale,
Thorough bush, thorough briar,
Over park, over pale,
Thorough flood, thorough fire.”
_Shakespeare._
[Illustration]
CHAPTER IV.
The events recorded in the last chapter took place, as the judicious
reader will have anticipated, a short time previously to that visit of
the Lady Abracadabra to the Court of King Katzekopf, in which she
asserted her authority, and proposed the companionship of a boy of his
own age as likely to form a salutary check on the growing wilfulness and
selfishness of Prince Eigenwillig.
Accordingly, many days did not elapse before little Witikind was
transported from the Castle of Taubennest to the royal nursery.
It was a sad business, that leaving his home. Of the trials that lay
before him, he, poor child, could, of course, know nothing. He had never
lived anywhere but at home, and he could not as yet imagine that any
place could be very different from home; and he had good hope, from all
his father told him, that he would be happy as the day was long at the
court of King Katzekopf. But when it really came to bidding farewell:
when he saw his mother trying to smile and encourage him, yet was sure,
by her appearance, that she had been weeping all night long; when
Ediltrudis and Veronica, quite unable to bear up against this, their
first deep sorrow, clung to him, and sobbed as if their hearts were
breaking. Oh, how bitterly did Witikind lament the rash words he had
spoken! Oh, what would he have given to recall them, and to be allowed
to live on, as heretofore, with those who so dearly loved him, and whom
he so dearly loved! But it was now too late.
And so it is ever with us all. The blessings which we do not appreciate
are sooner or later withdrawn from us, and when, on their removal, we
feel their value, and would flee after them and secure them, we find
they are gone irrecoverably, and that we can never be again as we were
when we possessed them. For Witikind, we trust that many happy days may
be in store, that he will return to Taubennest better and wiser every
way than when he left it; that his mother will fold him in her arms once
more, and that his sisters will shed more tears of pleasure over him
than now of sorrow; but never, never will he be again as when first he
quitted home: a change will have taken place; he will be different
himself; those around him will be different; fresh hopes, and feelings,
and wishes will have come over them; their confidences will not be the
same confidences, their love will not be the same love that it was
before they knew the sorrows of separation.
Oh, reader, reader! if _you_ have a happy home, and loving parents, and
affectionate brothers and sisters, try and show yourself worthy of the
blessing while yet it is yours. You know not how soon you may be taken
from them, or they from you: strive, then, so to live with them, that,
when separation comes, you may have no cause to mourn for your behaviour
to them now!
* * * * *
Taubennest was a fine old castle in its way, but certainly not at all
comparable to King Katzekopf’s palace; and as for the city, it was a
thing altogether beyond Witikind’s conceptions. Such a labyrinth of
streets and houses! such crowds of people passing and repassing! such
strange, unaccustomed sights and sounds! the boy was in a state of utter
bewilderment!
And before he had recovered himself, he found he was passing through
marble halls, and corridors hung with silks and satins, and glittering
with gilding; and then he was brought into an apartment where King
Katzekopf was sitting on his throne, with a velvet nightcap on his head,
and his crown over his nightcap (for his Majesty was now growing so fat
and infirm, that when he was not eating or governing the country, he was
usually asleep); and then, when he had been patted on the head by a
real, live king, and had been told to be a good boy by Queen Ninnilinda,
who came into the room on purpose to look at him, he was committed to
the care of Lady Brigida, and immediately became an inmate of the royal
nursery.
The Prince was quite charmed to have such a companion: he dismounted
from his rocking-horse in a moment, and running up to Witikind asked
whether he was the little boy (Witikind was the biggest of the two) who
was to come and live with him.
And when Lady Brigida answered in the affirmative, he immediately threw
his arms round Witikind’s neck and kissed him.
“I shall love you so much, and we shall be so happy together,” said he.
“I know we shall, for you look so good-natured.”
Witikind could say but little in reply, for he was quite unused to being
with strangers, especially royal ones, and his thoughts were already
reverting to his mother, and Ediltrudis, and Veronica, and the happy
home at Taubennest; but he was grateful to the Prince for his kindness,
and anxious by all the means in his power to show that he was so. He was
a very gentle, amiable, good humoured boy, ever ready to oblige, and not
easily put out of temper, and though in some respects his being an only
son had been to his disadvantage, he was not spoilt like the little
Prince, and had even made some progress in habits of self-control.
For several days, therefore, the two boys lived very happily together,
and the nurses and governesses began to congratulate themselves on the
improvements which had taken place in their prospects; and that,
whereas, they scarce knew what it was to have five minutes in the course
of the day free from vexation of some kind connected with their royal
charge, the little Eigenwillig seemed all at once transformed into an
amiable child.
And so he was, as long as he continued without any temptation to be
overbearing and disagreeable. His attendants, whom heretofore he had
tormented so diligently, were now left in peace, because, for the time,
he found more immediate amusement in Witikind than in the art of
tormenting. His companion was, as it were, a new toy: so long as
Witikind was new to him, things were pretty sure to go smoothly. The
trial only began when the novelty ceased.
And there was a good deal in Witikind’s gentle temper, and in the
feelings natural to his position, which tended to avert, for some time,
the explosion which, sooner or later, was inevitable.
At first, the Prince treated him as if he were his equal in rank,
offered him his toys to play with, and even went so far as to say that
he would allow Witikind to ride on his pony,—_when he had done with it
himself_. By-and-bye, however, when he saw that his attendants paid more
respect to him than to the son of Count Rudolf, he thought it would be
better to assume a patronizing air, which he did very much to his own
satisfaction. A few more days elapsed, and then, instead of patronizing,
he was domineering.
All this, however, Witikind submitted to as a matter of course. He had
been already taught to give up his own wishes and inclinations
cheerfully; and his father had inculcated upon him twenty times that he
never was to allow himself to think of anything save how he could best
please the heir-apparent. He felt it was his business to yield his own
inclinations to the Prince’s, and he invariably did yield them amiably,
and as, consequently, the little Eigenwillig continued to have his own
way, there could be no open rupture. It is impossible to have a quarrel,
when there is nobody to quarrel with.
However, it cannot be said that at the end of a week Witikind thought
his royal companion so full of good nature as he had expected, and at
the end of a fortnight Witikind had begun to compare the ways of
Ediltrudis and Veronica, with those of the Prince, and certainly the
result of the comparison was not in his royal highness’s favour. On the
other hand, the Prince had made the discovery that with his nurse and
instructresses, the gentle-tempered son of Countess Ermengarde was
rapidly becoming a much greater favourite than he was himself.
This made him very jealous; and his jealousy became insupportable when
Witikind was held out as a model for his imitation. “What a sweet little
boy is Count Rudolf’s son;” nurse Yellowlily would exclaim. “He always
does what he is bid the moment he is spoken to: _so unlike some
people_!”
“Yes;” the lady Brigida would add, “and so quick at his lessons; never
stupid, never idle, never impatient. Such a contrast, you know!”
“Every body loves little Witikind,” rejoined the nurse again, “he is so
civil-spoken, and gives so little trouble, and isn’t proud, nor
quarrelsome, nor selfish, nor finds pleasure in teasing and plaguing
people.”
Thus these silly women took the surest means to prevent the prince from
benefiting by the example of his companion.
Under such circumstances Witikind grew more and more unhappy every day.
Let him do what he would, the Prince was always disposed to quarrel with
him: and the more he gave up his own will to the Prince’s, the more he
strove to oblige him, the more the Prince seemed to dislike him for it,
for a contrast was sure to be drawn by the attendants between Witikind’s
good nature, and the unamiable disposition of his companion.
At length Witikind gave up the attempt to please, and would go and hide
himself in some corner where nobody was likely to find him, or would sit
moping on a bench in the palace gardens, thinking of Ediltrudis and
Veronica, and contrasting their affection with the Prince’s ill nature.
Now it so happened, that the seat to which Witikind was so fond of
betaking himself was one which King Katzekopf could see out of his
window as he sat in his arm chair. Witikind did not know this, or he
would never have chosen it. He was thinking of watching the gold fish in
the fountain, not of King Katzekopf, when he first made it his favourite
haunt.
“I wonder why that boy sits on yonder bench all day,” observed the King,
one fine afternoon. “I wonder why I never see him playing with
Eigenwillig.” But nobody made any answer in reply to his Majesty’s
observation, and so the matter passed from his thoughts. But when
another day, and another, and another, and another, had elapsed, and
Witikind was still seen on his favourite bench, the King’s curiosity was
quite roused, and he sent for the boy. Witikind was very much frightened
when he heard that the King wanted him; but he could not help hoping
that, since the Prince disliked him so much, he was going to be sent
home again.
“Why are you not at play with Eigenwillig?” asked the King, so soon as
Witikind was ushered into the room.
“The Prince, Sire, prefers playing alone,” replied Witikind.
“But don’t you know that you came here on purpose to be his playfellow?”
“Yes, Sire.”
“Why won’t the Prince play with you?”
“I suppose it is, Sire, because he does not like me,” answered the boy.
“Have you quarrelled with him?”
“No, Sire.”
“I am afraid, Witikind, you are not happy here,” said the King kindly.
“It is my wish that you should be so. I gave orders that you should be
as kindly treated as if you were at home.”
“Your Majesty is very good to me,” replied Witikind, and he meant to
have gone on to thank the King for all the favours that had been shown
him; but his heart was very full, and that one word “_home_,” which the
King had used, made it overflow. Taubennest and all its dear ones, rose
before his eyes, and he began to sob violently. The King saw there was
something at which he had not yet arrived; but he thought it more
prudent to seek an explanation elsewhere; so, with a few kind words, he
dismissed the boy, telling him that he would speak to him again in a day
or two.
By-and-bye, Witikind fell in with the Prince. “So!” exclaimed the
latter, as soon as he saw him, “you have been complaining of me to the
King, have you? You little, mean, spiteful creature!”
“No, Prince, I haven’t. The King asked me why you would not play with
me, and I told him I supposed the reason was because you did not like
me.”
“Well, I don’t like you. I hated you before, and I hate you now worse
than ever.”
“Why should you hate me, Prince?”
“Because I do,” answered the heir of the Katzekopfs.
“But why will you hate me? I am sure I don’t hate you, Prince; I would
be very glad to love you, if you would only let me.”
“But I won’t, won’t, _won’t_” shouted the Prince, clenching his fist,
and striking the table with it. “I won’t let you love me. I won’t have
anything to say to such a mean, sneaking creature.”
“Why do you call me mean and sneaking?” asked Witikind, the colour
mounting in his cheeks.
“Because you are so,” replied the other. “Are you not always trying to
show off before Nurse Yellowlily, and the governesses, in order that
they may praise you, and blame me?”
“No, Prince; I would much rather they should never praise me. I would
much rather they would never say a word, unless they could praise us
both. Oh, Prince, you would be so much happier, if you would try and not
be so—so—so self-willed. Indeed, indeed, you would!”
“How dare you call me self-willed? And what business is it of yours if I
am ever so self-willed? I wish I had never seen your face. You have done
nothing but make mischief ever since you came here.”
“I never made mischief,” replied Witikind indignantly, “and it is very
unjust of you to say such a thing. You would not have dared to say it to
one who was your equal. But it is no use talking with you. If I am what
you charge me with being, I am no fit companion for you; if I am not,
you are no fit companion for me. So at no rate will I stay here any
longer.” And he immediately proceeded towards the door.
“Oh, you won’t, won’t you?” cried his enraged companion; “then take this
with you!” And, suiting his actions to his words, the Prince seized a
heavy silver inkstand, which stood upon the table, and threw it at
Witikind. Had it reached him, it might have hurt him very seriously; but
Eigenwillig was in too great a passion to take a deliberate aim, and the
consequence was, that the missile, instead of hitting Witikind, struck
the centre of a large looking-glass, which it broke to shivers.
The crash of the falling fragments was heard by Queen Ninnilinda, and
she immediately entered the apartment, to see what was the matter. The
first object which met her eyes was Witikind, who ran against her in his
hurry to escape from the Prince.
“Ah,” said she, laying hold of him, “you need not attempt to run away. I
knew I should find you out sooner or later, and now I have caught you.
How dared you to break that looking-glass, and spill the ink all over
the carpet, you little, good-for-nothing varlet?”
“Please your Majesty, I did not break it.”
“Not break it!” exclaimed the Queen, who was much too angry to observe
that her own son was likewise in the room. “Not break it? Are you not
ashamed to utter such falsehoods?” And with that the Queen struck the
little boy two or three sharp blows.
“Oh, Mamma, Mamma,” cried Prince Eigenwillig, rushing forward, and
seizing her uplifted arm, “it was not his doing; it was mine. I don’t
like him, and I wish he had never come here; but he didn’t break the
looking-glass. I broke it; do not beat him; he doesn’t deserve it. I did
the mischief. He put me in such a rage with what he said, that I took up
the inkstand and threw it at him; but it struck the glass instead of
him.”
The Prince was a spoilt child, and full of faults; but here was an
evidence that there were redeeming points in his character. Nothing
could have been better than the manner in which he came forward to take
the blame on his own shoulders. There was still something to work upon;
and had his mother been anything but what she was, the incident might
have been turned as much to his advantage as to her own. But her
weakness and vanity were excessive. She saw she had been too hasty; but
was unwilling to confess herself in the wrong; so she availed herself of
an expression of her son, and continued to pour out her wrath on the
unfortunate Witikind.
“How dared you offend the Prince?” she cried. “How could you presume to
misbehave yourself in such a manner, as to put him in a rage, as he says
you did? And what is the meaning of all these malicious tales you have
been carrying to the King?”
“I have carried no tales to the King, Madam,” replied Witikind.
“Yes, you have,” retorted the Queen, “you have been making him believe
that the Prince is cruel to you. And like a little artful, hypocritical
wretch, you have been even setting his own attendants against him.”
Witikind was so bewildered with all these charges that he was quite
silent.
“Yes,” continued the Queen, “no wonder you are struck dumb; now you are
found out, you have not a word to say for yourself.”
“Will you hear me, Madam, or believe me, when I do speak?” replied
Witikind, recovering his self-possession.
“Believe _you_? you little deceitful creature! No, that will I not.”
“Then, since your Majesty says that, when you know I have never deceived
you, I had rather say nothing, except that I hope you will confront me
with the King, and the Prince’s attendants.”
“Leave the room,” said Queen Ninnilinda, in still greater anger, “I am
not going to be argued with by you, I promise you.”
“Mamma,” said Prince Eigenwillig, as soon as Witikind had left the room,
“I don’t like him, but I don’t think he ever tells lies; and I don’t
think he ever tried to set Nurse Yellowlily against me, though she often
praised him, in order to plague me.”
Here again, the boy was getting upon a right path; but his foolish
mother, as soon as she perceived it, lost no time in turning him into a
wrong one.
“Ah, my sweetest boy,” said she, “it was no more than I expected from
your noble, generous nature, that you should try and find excuses for
this odious little brat. You don’t know the world as well as I do: if
you did, you would find it prudent to consider others less, and yourself
more. But I have my own opinion about this Witikind. Everything went on
well enough in the palace till he came, and now every thing goes wrong,
and I can trace his finger at the bottom of all the mischief. I always
misdoubted the intentions of that cross-grained old toad, my Fairy-aunt,
ever since she insisted on giving you your horrid name. I was sure her
professions of kindliness were a blind, and that she was meaning
mischief all the time. And I am quite satisfied now that this creature
which she brought here, is not Count Rudolf’s son. Count Rudolf is a
very respectable man and would not deceive us, but parents are
proverbially blind;” (Yes, indeed, Queen Ninnilinda!) “and I don’t doubt
that this Witikind is a changeling, some imp from Fairy-land, hundreds
of years old, perhaps, sly, and mischievous, and malicious, who is sent
to bring some terrible misfortune on us all.”
Poor Witikind! he little suspected the nature of this fresh accusation
against him; and while he was weeping in his chamber over the injustice
which he was suffering, and writhing under the indignity of being
charged with saying what was not true, he was being subjected to an
imputation, at once the most cruel, and (in his case) the most difficult
to disprove.
The idea once started, every body had something to say in confirmation
of it. All the courtiers discovered that, though they had never
mentioned it, they had, from the first, observed something very elvish
in his countenance. The Keeper of the Records had been struck with his
always being dressed in green and gold,—the fashionable colours in
Fairy-land. The Ladies Frigida, Rigida, and Brigida, detected something
supernatural in the precocious aptness with which he received their
lessons. The Baroness Yellowlily had occasionally found great
entanglement in the poor child’s sunny ringlets, when she combed them
after he had been at play: this was a strong presumption they were
elflocks. He was wont to talk with rapture of the happy home he had
left; this, in the opinion of the Lord Chamberlain, was proof positive
that he had come from Fairy-land, for what but Fairy-land could be
preferable to a palace? Finally, even good-natured King Katzekopf, when
he heard all these allegations, was fain to shake his head, and confess
that there was something suspicious in the case, and that the
circumstance which he had himself observed, namely, Witikind’s habit of
sitting moping for hours together, by the side of the fountain, was
certainly very unlike the habits of other boys.
What was to be done? If they sent him back to his reputed parents,
without the Lady Abracadabra’s permission, they might bring all kinds of
trouble upon themselves. If they kept him longer in the palace, there
was no calculating the amount of mischief which might be effected by
him. However, it was resolved, that of the two evils, this was the
least: and so it was determined, that things should go on as usual, and
that Witikind should be kept in ignorance of the nature of the
suspicions against him.
Whether all those who contributed to blacken this unlucky boy’s
character, were sincere in their belief of his elvish origin, may be
doubted. To seem so was to follow the fashion, and a ready method of
getting into Queen Ninnilinda’s good graces; and that was enough for
courtiers.
But, though Witikind knew not of what he was accused, he was not long
kept in ignorance of the fact, that he was out of favour with every
body. It seemed as if nobody, from the King on his throne, to the
scullion in the kitchen, could say a word of kindness to him. Some were
ruder than others, in proportion as they desired to pay court to her
Majesty; but all made it evident that they wished to have nothing to say
to him. A thousand petty mortifications were heaped upon him. He was
kept at his lessons for many more hours than heretofore, and his tasks
were made doubly difficult. He was allowed, as formerly, to take his
meals with the Prince, but those in attendance contrived to give him
whatever was likely to be most unpalatable. He was required to be with
the Prince during his play hours, but was not allowed to play with him,
but only to wait on him; to run after his ball, or to fetch his hoop out
of a ditch, or pick up his arrows which had fallen wide of the mark.
And yet nothing was said or done in such a manner that Witikind could
lay hold of it. He felt that every body was against him, though it was
their general manner, rather than any particular act, that gave him the
impression. It seemed to him, as if his feet had become entangled in a
net, and that some unseen hand was preventing his escape. And all this
while, Prince Eigenwillig was growing more and more unkind, sometimes
not speaking to him at all, and other times loading him with abuse and
reproaches. For weeks and weeks, this state of things continued, and
Witikind was nearly broken in spirit, and would have been quite so, had
he not been able to cheer himself, by the thought that sooner or later,
he would be sent home, and that the Fairy had promised to befriend him.
Yet still as time passed on, and he heard nothing from Taubennest, and
his father never came to Court to inquire after him, and the Lady
Abracadabra failed to appear, he grew more and more downcast. Sometimes
he thought of running away; but whither should he run, and how could he
find his way home? Sometimes he resolved to entreat the King to dismiss
him; but then he remembered the Fairy’s commands, that let what would
happen, he must not leave the Court, without her permission.
However, when things are at the worst, they usually begin to mend; and
just as Witikind began to despair, the crisis came which he feared would
never come.
In obedience to his mother,—for sometimes, when he had no temptation the
other way, even Eigenwillig could be obedient,—the Prince had carefully
abstained from letting fall any expression which should convey to
Witikind the knowledge that he was suspected of being an elf in
disguise; but at length it happened, as might have been expected, that
the boy forgot his secret.
It fell out, upon a summer’s evening, that the Prince and Witikind were
alone together in one of the apartments of the palace, which opened out
of the Queen’s sitting-room, and which had a door of communication with
the gardens.—The Prince was amusing himself with a game of battledore,
and Witikind stood near to pick up the shuttlecock for him as it
occasionally fell. But the Prince was expert with his battledore, and
would keep the shuttlecock bounding in the air for a long time together.
Consequently the services of Witikind were not often needed.
No wonder, therefore, that he crept towards the window to look at the
gay flower beds, and to watch the waters of his favourite fountain as
they rose sparkling in the air to a vast height, and then fell into
various fantastic basins, from which they issued into the grand
reservoir below; and no wonder, as he listened to the soothing plash of
the waters, and watched the clouds, painted with all the gorgeous hues
which the setting sun threw over them, that his thoughts reverted to
Taubennest, and that fatal evening when he had expressed a wish to quit
it. Surely the error had brought its recompense of punishment! If he had
done wrong, he had suffered for it, and had learned a lesson which would
last him his life. Oh bitter and sincere was his repentance! What would
he not now give to turn his back for ever on the hateful palace! What
would he not give to see the towers of Taubennest, and look from its
ramparts on the mountains, barren as they were; and the valley, and the
winding river! What would he not give, were it but for a few brief
minutes, to hear the sweet voices of his sisters, and to be clasped in
his mother’s arms!
The shuttlecock had fallen, but he heard it not, and remained
inattentive to his duties. How could it be otherwise! he was hundreds of
miles away.
“Why don’t you pick up the shuttlecock?” cried the Prince, in a sharp,
impatient tone.—Witikind started, and ran forward in a random way; but
he could not see it: tears were blinding his eyes.
“Not there, blockhead!” shouted the Prince “look behind the statue.”
There were two statues; Witikind went towards the wrong one.
“What a stupid _elf’s-brat_ you are!” cried the Hope of the Katzekopfs
to the child of Countess Ermengarde, when he brought back the
shuttlecock.
“What did you call me, Prince?” said Witikind with a look of surprise
and anger.
“I called you what you are,—what all the world knows you to be—an
elf’s-brat: the good-for-nothing, impish son of some malevolent old
Fairy, or some old hag of a witch!”
“How dare you call my mother evil names?” exclaimed Witikind, his eyes
sparkling with anger, and his whole frame quivering with emotion. His
patient endurance and gentleness seemed to have fled from him for ever;
his entire character appeared altered on the instant. Anything personal
he had long since proved that he could submit to, but the insult to his
mother called forth in a moment the long-sleeping energies of his
character. “How DARE you to abuse my mother?” he cried in a still louder
tone. “How dare you utter such a base, cowardly lie?”
The Prince, wholly unprepared for such an outbreak, was too much
terrified to answer. He saw that in Witikind’s gleaming eye which told
him, boy as he was, that Countess Ermengarde’s son was not to be trifled
with. The Hope of the Katzekopfs turned pale, quailed, and continued
retreating towards the corner of the room nearest to his mother’s
apartments.
“Unsay what you have said,” cried Witikind, following close upon him as
he retreated step by step. “Unsay what you have said, and beg my pardon
on your knees for this insult to my mother!”
Down sank the Prince on his knees in the corner of the room, while over
him stood Witikind, pale with anger, his arm outstretched, and his fist
clenched, repeating in tones hoarse from excitement, but waxing louder,
and louder every moment, “Unsay what you have said, unsay what you have
said!”
Such was the sight which presented itself to Queen Ninnilinda’s
wondering eyes, when she issued from her boudoir to ascertain the cause
of the noise which had alarmed her.
“Take him away! take him away!” cried the Prince, as soon as he saw his
mother. “Take him away, or he will kill me!”
“Help! help!” shrieked the Queen, “or the Prince will be bewitched by
this spiteful elf—this Fairy’s changeling.”
Her screams brought one of the yeomen of the guard into the room, who
instantly seized Witikind.
“Hold him fast!” exclaimed her Majesty. “Get ropes and tie him hand and
foot, and then flog him till he faints. He has been trying to bewitch my
son!”
But the Queen’s commands were not destined to be obeyed. Even when the
hubbub was at its height, a pause ensued, for the well-known whistle of
the Fairy at the keyhole, loud and shrill above all other sounds, was
heard. Forth from the aperture the Lady Abracadabra sprung, and with a
single bound darted into the midst of the group. Her expression was that
of the deepest indignation, and her robe seemed glowing with living
fire. Throwing her wand down upon the nearest table, she caught hold of
Witikind with one hand, and with the other sent the burly yeoman of the
guard reeling to the extremity of the apartment, from whence he rushed
forth in an agony of terror.