Part 5

This was an unpleasant and curious exclamation, and put Mother Grutchen in a terrible flurry. She owned that she thought the young Baron looked rather queer, but remarked that babies varied considerably from time to time; and, moreover, that as she had scarcely had him out of her sight since the day he was born, he could not by any possibility be anything else than the young Baron. Still the Baroness held to her opinion, and even some of these might occasionally be troublesome. She determined faithfully to do her duty by the child nevertheless, and to make no more complaints to her mistress. The latter was not slow, however, to find out that something was amiss with the infant. The very next morning, when it was brought to her, she looked at it with a strange and startled expression, and declared that it was not her child.

Upon this the Baron was appealed to at once. He, poor man, was terribly annoyed at being asked the question. Proud as he had been from the first of his infant son, he was one of those who held the theory that all babies are, up to a certain age, very much alike, and was positively quite incapable of pronouncing upon the identity of his own child. He put on his large gold-rimmed spectacles, stared vacantly down upon the infant, and said several things which had nothing whatever to do with the question.

This put the Baroness in a passion, which by no means mended matters at all, and there seemed every probability of a general row. But Martha Scweinvolt, who had been hovering about the door, waiting to be summoned, now found an excuse for entering the room, and so strongly expressed her decided belief and conviction that the child was the right child, and none other, that the good nurse felt her own opinion coming more strongly to the same conclusion. The Baron, for very peace and quietness, agreed with the two servants; and the Baroness, finding them all against her, had a regular good scold all round, and said no more about it.

Thus it came to pass, Brother Thames, that the child Hubert was carried off by the water-demon, and a wretched little changeling put in his place and accepted as the young heir. It was not long before his evil propensities began to develop themselves. He could scarcely walk alone before he was in mischief, and, indeed, long before this time he knocked over his mother’s morning cup of tea whenever he could manage to do so in {066}his early visits to her bed, and scratched the Baron’s face, as he lay asleep, with a tiny fist which seemed hardly capable of hurting so much as it did.

He grew fast for a short time, and then remained as if he would never grow any bigger. But his appetite was more like that of a full-grown man, nor was he particular where or what he ate. At breakfast he would finish off a huge bowl of porridge, and make his old nurse tilt over the bowl so that he might lick off the last drop from the edge. He would clutch at everything on the dining-room table if brought in during meals, and roar and cry loudly if the things he wanted were not immediately given to him.

As he grew older, his conduct by no means improved. Not only was he abominably rude to his supposed father and mother, but he took every opportunity of endeavouring to make them fall out. He would, with an utter disregard of truth, but with a wonderful air of innocence, tell the Baroness how he had heard the Baron say she had a bad temper, and was a disagreeable woman; whilst he would tell the Baron, as an affair of everyday occurrence, that his wife spoke of him as a lazy sot, who was no companion whatever to her, and spent his life in eating, drinking, and smoking.

These little things were scarcely calculated to improve the happiness of the worthy couple, but this was by no means the only channel through which the little wretch poured discomfort upon the household. He set everybody by the ears whenever he could, and showed an utter heartlessness of character, coupled with a reckless depravity of disposition, which was perfectly horrible. He roared with laughter on being told of any misfortune having {067}happened to another person, and scowled sulkily when any one fell in with a piece of good luck. Crushing flies on the windows was one of his earliest amusements, and when this had become monotonous, he used to torture any animal he could get hold of with a cruelty beyond belief.

He would stick pins in his pony’s neck to {068}make it dance, as he said, and indulge in screams of laughter at its suffering. He snipped off his dog’s ears with a sharp pair of scissors, put the house-cat into the copper full of boiling water until its yells brought the cook to save it, and loved better than anything to get hold of some of the skewers out of the kitchen, in order to impale upon them any unfortunate mouse which he could find in the traps.

If any visitor came to the castle, he was fortunate indeed if he escaped unhurt. The little wretch began upon him as soon as he entered the house, creeping slyly behind him in order to cut off the buttons of his coat, give him a cruel pinch when least expected, and even sometimes went the length of running a pin into his leg. And when the unhappy gentleman rose to depart, if he did not find his coat-tails tied fast to the chair, ten to one but he was tripped up, as he ran down the stairs, by a thin but strong string, tied ankle-high by the young Baron about half-way down, nearly sure to produce a most awkward fall, the annoyance of which was increased by the triumphant and insulting chuckle of the little villain, who, perched on the highest step, or peeping through the banisters above, would watch with eager delight to witness the effects of his wicked trick.

It is not surprising that the young rascal was cordially detested throughout the whole household. Indeed, they had small cause to do anything else but detest him. There was no trouble he did not give the servants, and no trick which he did not play them. If he met the housemaids on the stairs or in the passages he invariably blew out their candles, or ran hastily against them, as if {069}by accident, so as if possible to make them drop any tray or jug they might be carrying. He rang the bell constantly for nothing, and pointed and laughed at the footman who came hurrying to answer it. He turned the lamp-oil into the soup just as the cook was about to send it up for the Baron’s dinner, put a quantity of vinegar into the beer which the butler had carefully drawn for the “hall” supper, and smeared the groom of the chamber’s chair in “the room” so thickly with bird-lime, that the respected individual in question had the greatest difficulty in ever getting out of it again. In short, he became the torment of the house, and everybody wished most devoutly that he had never been born.

The only consolation was that, somehow or other, he selected Martha Scweinvolt as his principal victim. That woman’s life became a burden to her. Her thimble was constantly missing, and, when put on hastily, was more than once full of tar or glue, cunningly placed therein by the malicious urchin. “Booby-traps” were constantly set for her, in the shape of heavy books or jugs of water skilfully balanced on the top of the door of the Baroness’s room, which was then left just ajar, and the bell hastily rung, so that, coming down-stairs and entering the apartment in a hurry, she was sure to get the benefit of the jug or books upon her devoted head. These tricks, however, were by no means his worst. The supposed young Baron, in his visits to the housekeeper’s room, never missed the chance of paying attention to Martha’s comfort after his own peculiar fashion. He put salt in her beer when her head was turned; slyly inserted needles in her bread, which more than {070}once proved nearly fatal to the woman; and upon one occasion doctored her tea with some drugs which he had abstracted from his mother’s medicine-chest, and which produced serious and most unpleasant results. Not content with these practical jokes, the urchin never spared the feelings of anybody, and Martha was oftentimes almost goaded to madness by his insulting remarks upon her personal appearance, disposition, and situation in life. As time went on, matters seemed to get rather worse than better, and the wretched woman experienced to her cost that revenge, sweet as it may be, cannot be purchased without a heavy sacrifice.

While these things were passing in the castle of Bandelboots, the question may not unnaturally be asked of me what had become of the real child, the unfortunate young Hubert, who had been carried away by the river-demon. It may easily be supposed that his was no pleasant fate. Fortunately for him, those who had taken him from his happy home had no power either to kill or injure him, neither could they alter the goodness of his natural disposition. The latter, however, rendered his condition somewhat more uncomfortable than would otherwise have been the case, for being forced to consort with witches, demons, imps, and other low and disreputable society, he was constantly brought into contact with many things and people most disagreeable and revolting to anything pure and good. He was obliged to attend the “bad language class” of the water-imps, where prizes were given for swearing and wicked conversation; the art of tormenting was taught him by an elderly demon, to whom the task was congenial; and general instruction in devilry was afforded him {071}by means of public lectures delivered by a spirit specially appointed for the purpose. Such, however, was his natural goodness, that he steadily refused to be perverted, maintaining a dignified silence amid the jesting and ribaldry of the imps around, and invariably declining to join in any of their misconduct.

All that the demons could do, under the circumstances, was to alter, without permanently injuring, the form with which he had entered the world. This they did by giving to his well-shaped body the appearance of a round and ill-made bulk, upon which they placed a bullet-head with a pair of short horns over the forehead, and ornamented it, moreover, with a long tail and a pair of bat’s wings. Thus being changed into a regular little devilet, it was marvellous that the boy should have continued to preserve the goodness and purity of his disposition. So it was, however; and as demons who live by tempting mortals to sin have a very large field over which to practise their skill, and cannot afford to devote to any one individual more than a fair share of their attention, they got tired after a while of trying it on with the young Baron, and ended by leaving him very much to himself. Then it was that the boy found amusement in flying about along the banks of the river.

By the mysterious laws of magic, he knew, and yet did not know, the misfortune which had befallen him, and the crime of which he had been made the victim. In other words, he knew that something was as it should not be, and that, somehow or other, he had been cruelly wronged, but of the exact nature of the wrong he was as yet ignorant. Still, some instinct led him to the lake in which was situated the island upon which stood his father’s {072}castle, and he loved better than anything else to fly by night round and round the old place, uttering from time to time mournful cries, which now and then found their way to the ears of some of the Baron’s household. Whenever the false heir heard these sounds, it was noticed that he, shivered terribly, and crept, groaning and growling; under the nearest sofa, or anywhere out of sight.

And upon one occasion, when the cry sounded louder and clearer than usual, and there came a noise as if a wing--had flapped against window of the state-room in which the family were assembled that evening, he howled miserably, the ground, and almost went into convulsions with alarm.

This behaviour on the part of his supposed son struck the Baron as strange, and was, indeed, the cause of some coldness between him and his wife. For, being a man somewhat proud of the chivalry and courage of his high ancestry, this display of cowardice on the part of his {073}probable heir and successor greatly irritated the old gentleman, and he boldly declared that he was sure it all came from the mother’s side. Such an accusation naturally put the Baroness into one of her passions, in the course of which she went so far as to pull off her husband’s wig and slap his cheeks. This indignity was one to which the Baron could scarcely be expected to submit, and having soundly shaken his respected consort, he left the room in high dudgeon, and took his meals alone for the next three days, which annoyed the Baroness more than anything else, as it left her only her daughters and servants to scold, which had become rather insipid. After a while this conduct of the child was set down to constitutional timidity, and the Baron only smiled contemptuously when it was repeated.

So time wore on, and it really seemed as if there was no reason why the truth should ever be discovered, or the success of Martha Scweinvolt’s wicked scheme be otherwise than complete. It was not, however, wholly satisfactory to the waiting-maid herself, for, independently of the unpleasant behaviour of the false heir towards her, she had not even the satisfaction of seeing her mistress suffer as she had hoped. So it is that people who consult demons, or, what is nearly as bad, follow the dictates of their own evil passions, are generally deceived in the result, and find that the good to themselves which they expected to obtain pretty certainly ends in disappointment.

Although the Baroness had at first declared that the child brought to her by Sophie Grutchen on that eventful morning was not her own, she had become reconciled to the state of things in a marvellously short {074}time, fancied that, after all, she must have been under some delusion, and in a very few days took kindly to the infant. As he grew up, her fondness for him increased, and, in spite of what has been so often said and written about the unfailing instinct of a mother, she firmly believed him to be her own son. Instead, therefore, of her heart-strings being wrung, as Martha had charitably hoped would have been the case, she was by no means unhappy. True it is, she suffered somewhat from the urchin’s behaviour, but, when it did not happen to affect her own personal comfort, she took his part against the complaints of others, stood up for him when the Baron found fault, and scarcely ever endeavoured to check him in his mischievous and tormenting ways.

Thus did Martha find that she had brought a plague upon herself without really securing her revenge, and that the only person who had been punished was the innocent child against whom she had borne no grudge. This was by no means a pleasant reflection, and in some natures would have produced a repentance for the evil done, and a sincere desire to undo it if possible. I regret to be obliged to state that this was by no means the case with Martha. On the contrary, her desire for revenge was unappeased, and the more she discovered that she had failed, the more she resolved that she would, somehow or other, ultimately succeed. With this view, therefore, she once more sought the river side, and summoned to her aid her former friend the water-demon.

As there was nothing attractive in her appearance, or delightful in her society, the demon, who knew moreover {075}that his hold upon her was sufficiently secure to make it a matter of indifference to him whether she committed any more crimes or not, did not come until she had adjured him by many entreaties and employed all the incantations of which she was the mistress. When at last he appeared, he treated her with contemptuous coldness, and derided her complaints that she had not enjoyed her promised revenge. In fact he told her, in so many words, that he had fulfilled his part of the bargain, and that she had no business to trouble him any more.

Most people would have taken this for a final answer, but Martha was not disposed to be put off after such a fashion. She told the demon that she was quite ready to own that he had done what he had promised, although the result had not been so satisfactory as she had been led to expect. She had, however, another plan, in which she required his assistance, and put it plainly to him, as a well-bred devil, whether he could refuse a lady under the peculiar circumstances of the case. Besides, she said, there would be crime committed by other persons, and possibly misery to many, if her plan could be carried out, and these should be powerful inducements to any right-minded demon, who understood the interests of his class, to render his willing and active assistance.

Her plan, then, was to stir up the neighbouring peasants and shepherds to revolt against the Baron. By constantly dinning into their ears stories of the lazy and useless life he led, and the abominable temper and tyranny of the Baroness, Martha had little doubt that a spirit of disaffection might be excited among these ignorant {076}people which she would eventually be able to turn to good account. If she could induce them to rise against the Baron, and suddenly attack the castle, she would take good care that the Baroness should not escape; and even if the movement was not successful, she would be able in the confusion to wreak her revenge, by dagger or poison, upon her hated mistress. Such an attempt, in any case, could not fail to be productive of much evil and discomfort to one side or the other, and must, therefore, be a scheme which should at once recommend itself to the individual whom she was addressing.

The demon listened with attention to Martha’s speech, and at its conclusion warmly complimented her upon the fertility of her brain, and expressed his candid opinion that she deserved to have been a demon herself. He owned that he felt bound, as a gentleman and a devil, to give her every assistance in his power, and asked her several questions as to the manner in which she thought he could be of most use in furthering her views. The waiting-maid replied that her only fear was as to her being able to persuade the people to take her advice and rise against the Baron. The old feudal principle still lurked in their breasts, and although they were certainly poor they were tolerably honest, and having been generally treated with kindness by the inhabitants of the castle, might possibly be weak enough to entertain towards them sentiments of affection and gratitude.

The demon, however, who knew better than Martha how little of either of these feelings exists in the heart of man, smiled a contemptuous smile at her ignorance of human nature, and told her that she need feel no uneasiness {077}upon the point. He added, however, that as she doubted her persuasive powers, he would give her such valuable aid as would materially improve her chances of success. He would forthwith speak to two highly respectable wehr-wolves of his acquaintance, who would be ready, for his sake, to accompany her whenever she went out among the peasants. By following her closely, these animals would add to the estimation in which the ignorant rustics would hold her, and although they would not speak when she was in the company of other mortals, they would give her many private hints which she would find immeasurably useful in persuading those with whom she would have to do.

Much gratified by this assurance, Martha wended her way homewards in better spirits than she had enjoyed for some time past, and was even able to smile contemptuously when she found that the young Baron had taken the opportunity of her absence to put a hedgehog in her bed, and empty a bottle of castor oil into her best Sunday boots. She lost no time in commencing operations, and almost every afternoon walked out into the country to spread disaffection among the people.

At first, it is true, she was rather frightened at the appearance of the wehr-wolves, whom the demon had been as good as his word in sending to meet her. They always waited for her at the corner of a neighbouring wood, and accompanied her to the cottages of the peasants. After a short time she began to hold small meetings of the latter, at which she held forth concerning the wrongs they suffered at the hands of the Baron: how shameful it was that _he_ should be so rich and _they_ so poor, and how one man was just as good as another.

She {078}always took care to wind up by attributing much of their particular miseries to the bad influence of the Baroness, whom she denounced as an upholder of everything bad, a cruel tyrant in her household, and altogether a monster of iniquity. As she lectured in this way, one of the wehr-wolves generally sat just behind her and the other at the other end of the room, and the presence of these animals made a vast impression upon the ignorant peasants. In this manner, little by little, the wicked Martha obtained considerable influence over the poor people, who became gradually more and more moody and discontented, until at last they really came to look upon the Baron as a hateful tyrant, and regarded the Baroness as a monster in human form.

While all these things were going on, you must not suppose, Brother Thames, that evil was allowed to enjoy an uninterrupted triumph in Rhineland. I am glad to be able to say that such has never been the case for long; and that although my stream has always been more or less troubled by demons, imps, devilets, and water-rats {079}(which are nearly as bad), it has never been without a redeeming element in the shape of good fairies, nymphs, and an occasional stray mermaid, come up from the sea for change of air and scenery. These creatures have, from time to time, performed many acts of kindness to mankind, and when the powers of evil have proved too strong for them for a time, they have now and then requested me to interfere.

In the present instance a strong deputation of nymphs waited upon me, and brought before me a particular part of the case which I am now about to enter upon. Among those persons who were most greatly plagued by the false heir, were his three supposed sisters, the elder children of the Baron and Baroness von Bandelboots. These young ladies were endowed with considerable personal attractions, and were girls of whom a brother might well have been proud. Dora, Bertha, and Elladine were the names of the three, and up to the time of the changing of the children they had lived lives as happy and contented as was compatible with the ever-varying temper of their worthy mother. They were quite young, indeed, when the event occurred which so destroyed the comfort of the Bandelboots household, and at the time at which I have now arrived in my narration were just budding into womanhood, three as fair flowers as you would wish to see. Their young devilet of a brother, or rather he who was supposed to be their brother, contrived to make their existence perfectly miserable; and as the Baroness invariably took his part against them, their lives at last became positively unendurable.