Part 7

That night nothing could be done; the swans brooded quietly on the lake, and their brother flitted mournfully round {087}the castle, uttering his melancholy cries, and hovering close to the windows of the home that should have been his. But early next morning the three swans rose from the water and took their flight towards the great mountains. Upwards and upwards they flew, pausing not for one moment’s rest, until they had crossed the river, passed over the large forest beyond, and reached the steep rocks and crags amid which the Harper had his home. There was snow on the heights, and the poor birds felt the chill strike through their warm plumage to their tender breasts as they flew higher and higher. Suddenly they came to a small grove of trees which grew on a platform of flat land, which was curiously placed just beneath one of the highest crags. At the extremity of this was a cave hollowed out in the rock, and in this cave dwelt the worthy Harper, only coming forth to the world below when specially summoned for some purpose beneficial to weak and suffering humanity.

Alighting at the mouth of the cave, the three sisters began to sing their sweetest song, which not unnaturally brought the owner of the cave out to see what was the matter. This his knowledge of magic soon enabled him to ascertain, and it is hardly necessary that I should give you the details of the interview. Suffice it to say that when they parted the worthy old gentleman nodded his head and winked his eyes knowingly at the young ladies, as much as to assure them that it would be “all right,” and that the three swans flew back to the lake exceedingly well satisfied with the result of their expedition.

Meanwhile, Martha Scweinvolt had very nearly brought {088}her plans to maturity. The peasantry had become thoroughly discontented, and were prepared to take action against the family whom they had been taught to regard as their oppressors. Martha’s desire was that they should surprise the castle by a sudden assault, she on her part undertaking that one of the gates should be unfastened when they arrived, and only stipulating that, if success attended their attempt, the Baroness should be delivered up to her mercy. The chief difficulty was in the means of transit, for the castle, being upon an island, could not easily be attacked except the latter were first reached by its assailants.

At one side the island was very near the mainland, from which a strip of land jutted out into the lake, and a large wooden bridge connected the two. This was the ordinary means of approach; and as a strong gate was placed at the island end of the bridge, over which a sentinel always watched, it was not very easy for any considerable body of men to cross over without their coming being made known to the inhabitants of the castle. Martha, however, was equal to the occasion. She managed to make friends with the sentinel on the night for which the attack was planned, and having induced him to abandon his post for a time, gave him a cup of tea so well drugged that he was quite unable to return there. The effect upon this man, I may here mention, was a melancholy one. From thenceforth he eschewed tea for ever, and took to drinking ale and spirits for the rest of his life, which should be a warning to all persons to take care what they put into their tea, and by whom they allow themselves to be tempted to partake of that usually refreshing beverage.

Having {089}thus obtained possession of the key, Martha stole out and unlocked the bridge-gate, and returned to the castle delighted with her success. Once on the little island, the invaders of the castle would have little difficulty. The drawbridge was left down, the doors generally left open, and such was the security of the Baron in those peaceful days, that no precautions, further than guarding the bridge-gate, were ever taken against surprise. Besides the servants, there were not above five-and-twenty men-at-arms in the castle; and as several hundred peasants were likely to attack, there could be little doubt of the result, provided always that the surprise was as complete as Martha intended.

The night was clear and moonlight when the attacking party drew near. They were a strange-looking body of men, rudely and poorly clad, and armed with weapons of a varied and curious character. Some had clubs, some stakes sharpened at the points, some knives, daggers, and oddly fashioned swords, whilst not a few had only spades or prongs, and some appeared unprovided with any weapons save those which nature had given them. They crossed the bridge without opposition, found to their delight that the gate was open, passed quietly through it, and got safely upon the island. They advanced to the drawbridge, crossed it, and had nothing to do but to enter the doors beyond, and find themselves inside the castle.

The family had passed a somewhat unpleasant day. The Baron had taken deeply to heart the loss of his daughters, of whom he had become more than usually fond since his supposed son had shown himself of such a disagreeable character. The latter had been that day more {090}mischievous and troublesome than ever: as the Baroness had a headache, he had amused himself with making as much noise as he possibly could, and had, moreover, indulged his passion for practical jokes by putting live toads into the maid-servants’ beds, and turning the ink-bottle into the Baron’s after-dinner decanter of port wine. The household not having been rendered more comfortable or harmonious by these innocent pastimes of the pretended Hubert, were about to retire to rest, when the sudden arrival of the insurgent peasants gave them something else to think of.

As soon as they were well inside the doors, the attacking party kept silence no longer, but, with loud shouts, began their work of plunder. The defenders of the castle were really so completely surprised, that resistance was almost impossible. The trembling servants hid themselves wherever they could—the groom of the chamber shutting himself up securely in the housemaid’s closet, the housekeeper flying instantly to the butler’s pantry, and the latter functionary betaking himself immediately to the beer-cellar, from which he was with difficulty dragged when the affair was over, but was never the same man afterwards. The men-at-arms, I am sorry to say, did but little better. Utterly bewildered at the whole business, they made no attempt at resistance until it was too late, and within a very short time the castle was in the hands of the invaders.

As soon as the Baron heard the first outcry he rang the bell loudly, and, as nobody answered, presently repeated the performance, with a precisely similar result. He had been just about to retire to rest, but finding that the {091}uproar increased, and that something serious had certainly happened, he desisted from the act of pulling off his boots, seized his sword, and rushed down into the large state-room, where he was presently joined by some eight or ten of the men-at-arms and two or three of the household servants. As soon as he found that the castle had been attacked, and was actually in possession of an enemy, the Baron gnashed his teeth with rage at having been thus caught unprepared; but, being a man of courage, despite his natural laziness, determined to sell his life dearly at the least. He and his few retainers had just time to barricade the door at one end of the room, and place the large library-table and some other articles of furniture in such a position as to give them a better chance of self-defence if attacked by numbers, when the doors at the other end of the room were thrown violently open, and a crowd of peasants rushed in, yelling and bawling in loud and discordant tones as they advanced towards the master of the castle. It was at this moment that the old blood of the Bandelboots showed itself to advantage. The Baron displayed no signs of fear, but, drawing himself up to his full height (which, being barely four feet six inches, was of itself not imposing), and violently stamping his foot upon the floor, he thus addressed the intruders:—

“How now, varlets! Whence and for what object come ye here? How do ye dare, ye scum of the earth, to enter your Baron’s castle and beard a Bandelboots in his lair?”

Then stepped there forth a tattered, ragged, famished-looking man, well known in those parts by the name of Crazy Timothy; his eyes were wild and staring, his dress {092}torn, and his whole appearance seemed amply to justify his nickname.

“We want our rights!” he cried in a loud voice. “What is a Bandelboots to us more than anybody else? We are starving, whilst you and your vile Baroness revel in plenty. Give us our rights—these are the days when the poor are as good as the rich! No more starvation for the poor peasant! Give us our rights!”

And thereupon the whole crew took up the chorus. “Our rights! our rights!—give us our rights!” and made as though they would advance upon the old Baron. The latter quailed not for a moment, but, curling his lips scornfully, thus made reply:—

“Rights? But what are they? Is it your rights to enter a peaceful dwelling and rob its owner? If these are your rights, why are they yours more than the rights of all the rest of the world? What better title have you to your homes than I to mine? And if you may enter and rob my castle, what protection has any one of you for his own cottage, which some one may say it is his right to enter and destroy? Poor churls! ye are deceived, and will but bring ruin upon yourselves. Retire before it is too late, and ye shall yet be pardoned!” Whatever might have been the Baron’s intention in uttering {093}these words, I am sorry to say that they had no conciliatory effect upon those to whom they were addressed. Shouting aloud and brandishing their weapons, they were about to advance upon the venerable nobleman, when, from a side door, some new personages suddenly appeared upon the scene. Pushed along in a chair upon wheels, to which she was securely bound, came the Baroness, in the custody of several peasants, who were under the more immediate guidance and control of Martha Scweinvolt. The latter, with a face beaming with delight, followed triumphantly behind, whilst the false heir, weeping and howling piteously, trotted by the side of the chair, driven forward by the peasants who ushered the Baroness into the room.

The poor Baroness presented a spectacle sad indeed to behold. She was in a towering rage, but at the same time perfectly helpless, and foamed at the mouth with fury as she strove in vain to get loose from the cords with which she was tied.

When these new arrivals had advanced into the room between the Baron and the peasants, there was a momentary pause, during which Martha stepped in front of the chair upon which the poor Baroness was fastened, and, pointing at her with outstretched arm and scornful gesture, addressed the peasants in these words:—

“Here she is, good people; here is the source of all your ills—the cause of all your woes! The poor fool of a Baron would do no harm but for this vile woman. See what a passion she is in now! This is her usual temper; and no wonder she is such a tyrant, and makes her husband the same!”

At {094}this point the Baroness broke in, having previously-vented her rage in sobs and incoherent shrieks. “Let me loose! let me loose!” she cried. “You riff-raff—you vagabonds—you traitors—let me loose directly! This wretched creature has deceived you all; she is a worthless, good-for-nothing hussy. Let me loose, or I vow you shall all be hanged!” And the Baroness shrieked for fury again, her temper being by no means improved by the false heir, who, despite all his fears for himself, seeing her securely tied, could not resist the temptation of giving her a fearful pinch in the fleshy part of the arm, for which a peasant instantly knocked him down.

Before Martha could speak again, the Baron, who was a good old chap in the main, roared out aloud: “By my grandfather’s monument!” cried he (an oath all the more terrible from the edifice in question being well known to be the largest and ugliest of its kind for miles around); “this is past all bearing! Knaves! will ye list to the falsehoods of this base harridan, who has eaten our salt for years, and now wags her evil tongue against a kind, though perhaps somewhat hasty, mistress? Never has the Baroness said a word against one of ye. My faults, whatever they be, are mine own, and for them I will answer. But what has the Baroness done? Who sends ye alms and food when sickness is amongst ye? Who helps your wives and children when trouble is in your homes? Who but the Baroness? And is this your gratitude?”

There was some truth in what the Baron now said, for his wife was by no means unkind to the poor, nor would they have readily turned against her but for the wiles {095}of Martha, assisted by the magical powers of the wehr-wolves. But Martha knew too well to let the Baron continue. She broke in upon his discourse with her shrill, sharp voice: “Hear the good man, my friends; he is right to stand up for his wife, no doubt, but he knows well that he is false to the truth. She is a wretch, a tyrant, a termagant! Yes, Madam the Baroness,” she continued, coming close in front of the chair, and approaching her face much nearer to that of the poor lady than the latter deemed at all pleasant—“yes, your reign is at an end—do you hear, you old fright? Your back hair shall be pulled out; though, as it is nearly all false, it will cause you but little pain. Your nose shall be wrung!—your ears shall be slit!—and you shall serve me—do you hear? Oh, you’re a pretty one to box a person’s ears. I’ll pay you out now for that, I’ll warrant me!” And as she spoke she lifted up her arm, about to give the Baroness a box on the ears with her full force. But in the very act she paused—stopped—and stood trembling and irresolute, as if suddenly arrested by some superior power.

At the same moment, and apparently by the same influence, the peasants one and all felt themselves restrained from moving forwards, the Baroness ceased to scream, and a dead silence fell upon the whole of the party, whilst, with a low and miserable moan, the false heir crept behind the coal-scuttle, and crouched himself down within as small a compass as possible. The whole of this marvellous effect had apparently been produced by a very trifling cause. The low, tinkling sound of a harp was heard, and those who looked round in the right direction saw, standing in the embrasure of one {096}of the windows which looked out upon the lake, an old man of by no means noble or prepossessing exterior, with a leaf-crowned hat upon his head, and a harp of very simple construction in his hands, from the strings of which he elicited the sound they had heard, to which he now added that of his own voice. And thus he sang, in a dull, monotonous tone, to the astonished audience:—

“Whoever murders, robs, and loots, Within these walls of Bandelboots, Must hear his doom and take his choice, Instructed by the Harper’s voice.

Ye men of form and manners rough, Old Bandelboots has woes enough, The which when ye have heard and known You’ll leave the worthy man alone.

To you and yours he’s done no harm, But, subject to a potent charm, Has suffered woes, by demon sent, Enough to make your hearts relent.

T’ expose the wickedness be mine (In spite of demons of the Rhine), And ye who list shall know ere long The truth and justice of my song.

There was an infant once, who smiled On those around like angel child; A child of soul and temper rare— Of Bandelboots the precious heir.

Where now that child is to be found, Who knows? I pause, and look around, And ask if this description suits The present heir of Bandelboots?

What is that wretched changeling worth? Come forth, vile elf, at once come forth!”

Here the stranger paused, and, to the wonder and surprise of all those who heard and saw, the supposed young heir crept moaning and whining from behind the coal-scuttle, and shambled across the room towards the window {097}at which the old harper was standing. As he did so, the strange bard continued his song,—

“Form of boy, with heart of ape, Resume at once thy former shape!”

As he spoke, a strange transformation came at once over the wretched imp. His boyish shape disappeared; a tail shot out where tails usually grow; the wings of a bat sprang upon his shoulders; his form became ugly and misshapen, and he stood before them all a regular devilet, and no mistake! At the very same instant the window behind the harper flew open as if by magic, and in flew a figure similar to that before them, from which, however, the wings and tail dropped, the evil shape disappeared, and a handsome, well-proportioned boy, with a remarkably sweet expression upon his countenance, stood before the astonished party.

In an instant a shriek of joy was heard from the corner in which some of the trembling servants were assembled, and old nurse Grutchen rushed forward and threw herself upon the boy’s neck with a burst of mingled sobs and laughter. “My pet! my darling! my child!” she cried. “It is you! I know it is you! Come to old Sophie then, my pearl of the world;” and again she shrieked with joy.

More {098}wonders followed before any of the audience had recovered from their astonishment at what had already occurred. With a yell and a howl the devilet flew towards the window, his passage through which was mightily assisted by a hearty kick from the old harper, and he was seen no more. Scarcely, however, had he left the scene when the rushing of wings was heard, and three magnificent swans sailed through the window and alighted in the room, exactly in front of the old harper, to whom they looked up with longing and affectionate glances. The worthy man at once struck his harp again, and sang as follows:—

“Old Bandelboots, as well ye wot, Had once three lovely daughters, For whom the place became too hot, Through imps from river waters.

Then the Rhine King (a wondrous thing, Which needs some explanation) His aid did to the maidens bring, Gave each Swan’s plumage, neck, and wing, And caused their transformation.

Now here the three together be (Performed their destined duties), And I decree they shall be free Once more. Arise, my beauties!”

As he ceased speaking the feathers fell off from the three swans, their beaks changed into beautiful noses, their forms became those of lovely young ladies, and Dora, Bertha, and Elladine once more stood in their proper shapes before their surprised and delighted parents.

Whilst this had been going on, the youthful Hubert, making one bound forward, sprang to his mother’s chair, and, seizing a dagger from the hand of a bewildered {099}peasant, set her free in an instant. Upon this the Baroness, overcome by mingled emotions of joy and wonder, wept upon her boy’s neck, and the old harper thus continued, addressing himself emphatically to the crowd of peasants before him:—

“Poor knaves! who quake and shake with fear, O’erwhelmed with terror and with shame, The powers of evil lured ye here: Theirs and not yours, the chiefest blame.

Hence! fly! be off! your injured lord For this day’s work will pardon give: For him I speak this kindly word:, To-day he knows his children live.

Begone, I say! and, as to wrongs, Yours are but small; the fiends beshrew ye. If e’er ye listen to false tongues Which lie about your masters to ye!

Be each contented with his lot— Both rich and poor this world containeth; But let this truth be ne’er forgot— O’er rich and poor ‘tis God that reigneth;

Nor is full happiness e’er given To mortal man this side of heaven.”

He spoke, and, as he concluded, the peasants, half frightened and half ashamed, began to steal away by twos and threes at a time, until none of them were left behind. The Baron, who had listened with the utmost attention to the words of the old harper, now stepped forward and tenderly embraced his daughters, after which he clasped his recovered boy to his heart, and vowed that upon that joyous day no one should be punished, and even the treacherous peasants who had invaded his castle should be freely forgiven.