Part 4

At {049}these words a thrill of horror ran through the crowd, who had been taught to believe a Druidess to be a species of being superior to the ordinary feelings of mortals, and one to whom marriage should have been an entire impossibility. They dared offer no further opposition to the Druids, and were about to suffer their gallant defender and deliverer to be dragged away to a cruel death without further effort to save him. But all was not over yet. Smith had allies of whom his cowardly followers and his bigoted persecutors were alike ignorant. With a mighty effort he shook off the priests who held him, and in a stentorian voice shouted aloud the words of magic token, “Help, oh, my Toddlekins!” Scarce were the words out of his mouth when a toad of extraordinary size hopped from the forest into the open space, and looked around with eyes that sparkled with angry indignation. At the sight of him the Druids felt their hearts fail; their arms dropped by their sides, their weapons fell from their hands, and they lacked alike the will and the power to harm their intended victim.

Meanwhile the toad who had been adjured under the name of Toddlekins gave a jerk with his legs right and left, shook off his toad-skin, and appeared in the shape of a young man of singularly prepossessing appearance. His form was tall and manly, his beautifully shaped head was covered with dark hair, and the remarkably sweet expression of his countenance was enhanced by the extraordinary beauty and brightness of his eyes. Looking about him right and left, and waving his hand in a careless manner, he addressed the people as follows: “My friends,” he said, “you will excuse me for making the remark that you are a set of very particular {050}fools. In order to convince you that I have a right to say this, I will tell you with plain brevity who and what _I_ am. I was born, never mind when or where, into this world, and being found in all respects much too good for it, the Fates decided that I should wait for a certain number of centuries before I again came into it as a mortal, and should meanwhile pass my time as a powerful fairy. As such I have lived in Toadland for some time past, and have especially watched over the education of my friend Smith. That is all I shall tell you about myself, except that my power has aided you to achieve your freedom, and will now prevent you from suffering a crime to be perpetrated which would disgrace you for ever. But I have something more to tell you about the person called Smith. He is one for whom I cherish a particular regard, and you ought to do the same. For has he not delivered you from your ancient enemy? But he has done more. The very crime of which he is accused, if crime it be, has been done in _your_ service. He has fulfilled the old proverb, which it was necessary to do before the Boar’s power could be destroyed. This proverb declared that the blood of the ‘slayer and the slain’ must be blended together before the Boar’s reign should cease. Do you ask how this has been done? I will read you the riddle. The father of the Priestess Bertha was none other than an old Druid who sacrificed (most improperly) the male parent of my friend Smith. He had no right to a daughter at all, but of this I will say nothing except that the holy maiden has possession of the very spectacles which he always wore on sacrificing days, and which he bestowed upon her at his death, conveying {051}to her at the same time the information respecting her birth which I have just given you. Thus, then, the blood of the slayer and slain have been blended together by the marriage of the daughter of the former with the son of the latter. The Boar has consequently been got rid of, and unless you are the most ungrateful set of varlets that ever breathed, you will tell the Druids to go home and mind their own business, will celebrate the nuptials of the happy couple by a jolly good dinner, and break up at the close of the evening with ‘three cheers for Smith!’”

This speech of the fairy Toddlekins was received with rapturous applause by every one present, especially the closing allusion to a “jolly good dinner,” which in every age has had a decided attraction for Englishmen. The Druids, who were wise in their generation, at once determined not to risk the loss of their influence by further opposition to that which was evidently the popular will, and was moreover supported by the powers of Fairyland. So, determined to make the best of it without further delay, they pretended to have been entirely convinced by the speech they had just heard, and not only joined in the cheers which greeted its conclusion, but volunteered to stand the dinner into the bargain! They proceeded to do still more; within an incredibly short space of time they fetched Bertha (who had previously stood no inconsiderable chance of being sacrificed too), and presented her and Smith together before the fairy youth for his approving benediction. This, as you may easily suppose, was freely and kindly given.

I hardly think I need tell you any more. Smith still declined {052}to reign over the people, and, considering the experience he had had of their fickle nature, I don’t think he was far wrong. Nor do I deem him to have erred in his determination to leave that particular neighbourhood, being under the belief that when holy men have once intended to sacrifice a fellow, they are never very safe customers for him afterwards. So the happy couple very soon departed from Windsor, and I know very little more about them except that their family is not extinct at the present day, and is by no means likely to become so. I believe they lived very happily, and I never heard of any unpleasantness between them. Still I confess that, if I had been Smith, I should have been afraid to marry a woman who could change a boar into a hedgehog, lest at any time she should take it into her head to exercise her powers upon her husband in a manner which might have been inconvenient, to say the least of it.

I am scarcely in a position to tell you whether the fairy Toddlekins has ever left Toadland again and come once more upon earth as a mortal. I might make a guess, Brother Rhine, if I chose, even at _this_, but perhaps I had better be silent. Many a pleasant youthful face, worthy of Fairyland, frequents my waters at times, and the old college of Eton has sent me such over and over again. But if I should single out any particular face and form, and declare to the astonished world that therein I recognised the noble fairy Toddlekins of the Druid times, I don’t suppose anybody would believe me; and even you, Brother Rhine, might think it possible that I was mistaken. So now I have finished my legend, and as I see that you {053}have not neglected your flagon of wine meanwhile, I hope that you have derived therefrom sufficient inspiration to be able to give me a tale of your own fair country which shall eclipse in interest the account which I have ventured to give you of the Great Boar of Windsor!

As soon as Father Thames had thus concluded his story, his companion clapped his hands in an approving manner. “That,” he remarked, “is a capital legend, and ends, as a legend should, in a comfortable manner. I have many curious tales of my own river, but none, I think, more curious than the one you have related. However, as it is now my turn, I will do my best, and, with your good leave, will tell you the famous story of ‘Martha’s Vengeance.’”

Father Thames having gravely bowed approval, the monarch of the Rhine thus proceeded:--

MARTHA’S VENGEANCE

The Baroness Von Bandelboots was a woman of an awful temper. Her husband trembled before her, her servants hardly felt that their souls were their own when she spoke, the vassals of the Bandelboots estates shivered in their shoes when they met her, and the neighbours all kept out of her way as much as possible. And yet there was no reason why this lady should have been so violent and have made herself and others so miserable! You would have thought she had everything to content her. The husband, good easy man, let her do just as she liked, and cared nothing for her indulgence {054}of all her whims and fancies, so long as he was secure of his favourite pipe and his comfortable armchair after dinner.

She had several daughters of various ages who had never caused her a moment’s uneasiness, and after some years of anxious expectation a son had been bom who would in due course of time succeed to the honours of the family, and who meanwhile was, naturally enough, the legitimate object of her maternal devotion. Moreover, the Baroness lacked not riches. Not only were the estates of the Baron large and productive around his castle on the Rhine, but he had other distant property which brought him in no inconsiderable revenue, and he readily gave to his beloved wife control over wealth sufficient to have contented the most extravagant of females. Besides this, she had a house which was really charming, built upon an island in the middle of a lake, only a short distance from my beloved river, and furnished with everything that good taste could support and a full purse supply. Nor was she without neighbours, even in a country wherein neighbours are generally scarce. Several other castles stood within driving distance of the Bandelboots domain, and the Baroness could with very little exertion procure for herself society, if society she desired.

Nevertheless the good dame’s temper was a curse to herself and everybody she came near, and she seemed to delight in scolding for scolding’s sake. This unfortunate propensity had been productive of much discomfort and inconvenience to the Baron’s household, even before the particular events which I am about to relate. Several old and valuable servants had left, either having been {055}dismissed by the Baroness in moments of passion, or having found themselves unable to stay consistently with their self-respect, after having been subjected to the strong language which she frequently used upon such occasions, which was, I am sorry to say, more than once followed by personal violence.

One servant she had indeed retained for several years, and this was her own maid, Martha Scweinvolt. This woman was one of a singularly unprepossessing appearance, and of a certain age. Her nose was long and somewhat like a hook, her forehead receded in a strange angle immediately above her eyebrows, her ears were remarkably large and low down on her head, her chin protruded, her neck was of unnatural length, her hands and feet larger than those of ordinary women, and her figure tall, lank, and ungainly. To such a person did the Baroness entrust the care of her wardrobe and the adorning of her noble self; and although she frequently indulged her with a good scolding, the maid received it all with stolid indifference, perhaps because, as her vinegar aspect seemed to denote, she herself could be cross upon occasions, and thought it not unreasonable that her mistress should be the same.

One day it chanced, indeed, that the kettle, so to speak, boiled over. Martha Scweinvolt had been engaged upon her mistress’s back hair, and the latter, seated in “demi-toilette” upon a low stool, had been reading a novel. Suddenly she took it into her head to drop the book and take up a small hand looking-glass to see how her maid was getting on. In so doing she made a forward movement, which, as Martha happened at that instant to have the hair tight in hand, had the {056}natural effect of making the lady feel as if her maid had suddenly given her hair a violent and unpleasant pull. Without for a moment considering that it was entirely her own fault, the Baroness directly flew into a most furious passion. She stormed and raved against the woman until she was almost black in the face, and then, to finish matters off, struck her with either hand a violent box on the ears on each side of her head, and hustled her out of the room as if she was more than half inclined to kick her down-stairs then and there.

Once outside the door, Martha Scweinvolt became perfectly livid with rage. She turned round on the top of the stairs, faced the Baroness’s room, and shook her fist {057}vehemently towards it, vowing by her eleven-o’clock bread and cheese and beer (the most solemn oath known among domestic servants of the feminine gender) that she would have her revenge. Nor was Martha a person by any means likely to forget or neglect such a vow. Day and night she brooded over the matter, and ground her teeth savagely together as she remembered the indignity to which she had been subjected. And the more she brooded, the more determined did she become to seek vengeance from some quarter whence it could be surely and safely obtained. By herself she knew she could do but little; and as she was by no means popular among the other servants of the household, she could place but little reliance on any assistance from them. How to proceed, therefore, she had great doubts, but to proceed in some manner she was quite determined.

Now unfortunately for me, Brother Thames, as you may perhaps be aware, a part of my stream has always been more or less under the influence of a class of river demons from which you in England are happily free. I believe a milder kind of demon exists in Scotland under the name of water kelpie, and possibly there may be something of the sort here and there even in your favoured English rivers, but you have nothing to match the demons of the Rhine. It is not a theme upon which I love to dwell. No respectable river desires to have anything to do with such creatures, and I frankly confess that at times they have brought my waters into great disrepute.

Well (or rather not at all “well,” according to my view of the case), it happened that the Rhine near the castle of the Baron von Bandelboots was terribly infested {058}by these noxious spirits, only too ready at all times to do any mischief in their power to any human being, or to assist one mortal in gratifying his or her malice against another. To these demons did Martha Scweinvolt determine to appeal, and made up her mind to risk, if necessary, body and soul in order to obtain vengeance upon her hated mistress.

Very often I am able to prevent the wicked plans and machinations of these spirits, and I never fail to do so if I can manage it. If things had gone rightly, I should have stopped the affair of which I am about to tell you, and nipped it in the bud if possible, either by overflowing my banks suddenly and drowning the wretch Martha, or by some other means which my knowledge of the world would have enabled me to provide. But it most unfortunately happened that the nymphs and trolls and friendly elves of the river and forests near had given me an entertainment that very evening, at which they played me several very curious tricks. The jovial rascals insisted on my drinking my Steinbergh in large pint measures, so that I got rather more than my usual allowance; then they fastened a huge white beard upon my chin, pulled my whiskers, combed my hair, whispered soft things in my ear, climbed on my knees, and altogether kept me so well amused, that I never went out at all that evening to patrol the river banks, according to my usual habit, and was therefore entirely ignorant of all that occurred, until I was told it some time after by a member of the Rhine Conservancy Board, who had it from good authority.

It. seems that Martha Scweinvolt, having gone out late {059}that evening, wandered down to the river, and there prayed vehemently to the demons for aid. Such prayers are hardly necessary to procure the assistance of bad spirits, when their object is to do mischief to somebody else.

A demon, therefore, who happened to be near the spot, forthwith presented himself to the waiting-maid, and that so suddenly that she fainted away immediately. Demons, however, being very skilful in the ways of women, know perfectly well that the best way to ensure their speedy recovery in such cases is to take no notice whatever of their proceeding. The evil spirit, therefore, followed this sensible plan, and waited patiently until Martha “came to,” when he politely inquired {060}what her wishes might be and what service he could render.

The woman unfolded her grievance, and used several bad expressions with regard to her mistress, which caused her companion to grin with sympathetic pleasure. He then inquired what revenge she desired to take; to which Martha replied that she should like to have the power given her of inflicting severe personal chastisement upon the Baroness. But the demon scouted the idea. The pride of birth and rank work too much good to the objects which are dear to evil spirits to make them partial to any plan for the degradation of either one or the other, and such a degradation would have been inflicted had the well-born Baroness been subjected to personal chastisement at the hands of her menial. Besides this, the power of the demon was but limited, and this would have been possibly beyond it.

Martha suggested several other things, but at length she broke out in joyful tones, as if an unusually bright idea had suddenly struck her: “I know!” she cried; “let’s do something to the child, the young Baron Hubert. Strangle him, or lame him for life, or make him humpbacked; that will wring her old heart-strings!”

On hearing these words, the demon, who was a decent fellow at bottom, though withal up to any mischief of a reasonable kind, positively shuddered at the bitterness of the waiting-maid’s speech, accompanied as it was with a look of fiendish exultation which would have done credit to the worst of devils.

“Stop a bit, miss, stop a bit,” said he. “Fair and softly wins the race; you go too fast, and want too much, all at once. You must know that we demons cannot do everything {061}just how and when, we please, as you seem to imagine. Not a bit of it! Fortunately for mortals who have enemies (and who has not?) our power is limited; and even suppose you had the child with you at this moment, I could not do what you require.”

“Then,” exclaimed Martha angrily, “what in the name of goodness _can_ you do?”

At these words the demon shuddered visibly. “Don’t use such language, young lady,” said he, “if you want _my_ help, but listen attentively to what I am about to say.”

Much flattered at being called a young lady, and probably all the more so from her knowledge that to neither the substantive nor the adjective had she any right whatever, Martha bent her head forward eagerly, to hear what the water-demon had to suggest.

“If you like,” said he, “I can change the child.”

“Change the child!” cried the disappointed woman; “why, what would be the good of _that?_”

“All the good in the world,” replied her counsellor, “if you really wish to plague the mother. In the first place, the child I shall put in the place of the young Baron will not be nearly so pretty as the real child, and this will gall the mother’s heart not a little, unless baronesses are unlike other women. Then this false child will have a very much worse disposition. He will be cunning, ill-natured, greedy, mischievous, and a plague to the whole household.”

“The deuce he will!” cried Martha hurriedly. “But he won’t plague _me_, will he?”

“Better language by a good deal, my dear,” rejoined the demon, smiling good-humouredly at the exclamation {062}of his companion; “but as to the inquiry you make, I can hardly reply. Should the little changeling, however, prove any annoyance even to yourself, I am sure you would willingly submit thereto in consideration of the glorious revenge which you will wreak upon the wretched mother. Why, your poor ears must even now be tingling from the effects of those shameful slaps, and, if I were in your place, it would be long enough before I forgot them!”

“Don’t be afraid, Mr. Demon,” answered the maid, gnashing her teeth fiercely as she spoke. “I am not one to forget or forgive either, and, after all, a child can’t really annoy me much. I’ll risk it, anyhow, so that my brute of a mistress is made to suffer.”

“That’s right, my brave girl,” merrily replied her friend, smiling with as pleasant a look as he knew how to put on. “That shows the true spirit of a German lady. Never fear, you shall have your revenge, and that speedily.” Thereupon he commenced a series of questions as to the habits of the household and the rooms which were occupied by the youthful Baron, and having ascertained all the particulars which he required, bade Martha Scweinvolt return home, and rest assured that her desire should be accomplished upon the innocent baby, and his mother made to rue bitterly the hour when she first laid hands upon her waiting-maid.

Martha departed, having, I suppose, in the first instance given some such pledge to the demon as these creatures are in the habit of exacting from those who seek their good offices, which usually consists of a simple arrangement regarding their future which they have no power whatever to make, and which may hereafter {063}be set aside on an appeal to the proper tribunal.

Meanwhile, the Baroness von Bandelboots had not the slightest suspicion of the calamity which was hanging over herself and her family. She ate, drank, slept, and scolded after her usual fashion, and did not alter her behaviour one whit after the adventure with her waiting-maid, which had so painfully affected the latter.

The young Baron Hubert was but a few months old, and his nurse, Sophie Grutchen, had the sole charge of his precious person. His nursery was, as luck would have it, on the side of the castle facing the river; but I apprehend that to demons and creatures of that description the situation of the apartment would have made but little difference, and indeed there was the lake to cross in any case.

Late one evening the demon set out to fulfil his promise. He swam the lake, climbed the wall of the castle, entered the room in which the young Baron slept by the window, and, during the scarcely more than momentary absence of the nurse, abstracted the baby from his cot, deposited therein an elfin child of the same size, and departed with the real baby by the same way he had come.

Now, the little Baron had, from his first entrance into the world, been distinguished by his remarkably docile and tractable nature. He rarely cried, never fretted, and was, in consequence, a general pet, so far as such a term can be applied to an infant of such tender age. Within an hour or two, however, after the occurrence which I have just related, Mother Grutchen began to find {064}her charge less quiet and more troublesome than had previously been the case. She forthwith reported the fact to the Baroness, who, however, took her to task sharply for the same, saying that it was all fancy, and that the dear child was a little angel. This the poor nurse by no means wished to deny, but it entered her head that there were different kinds of angels, and that vowed {065}and declared that this was not the right child.