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The time came, and I can assure you, Brother Thames, that in order to inspire confidence in the breasts of the maidens, I made my appearance as venerable as I could previous to my appearance before their astonished eyes.
Thesweet creatures stood in the water clinging fondly to each other, as they implored my assistance; and whilst I listened to their artless tale of woe, I leaned my head upon my hand, and pondered deeply over the best course to be taken in order to afford them that assistance which I at once determined to render.
I was not long in making up my mind, and in resolving that the demons should not be allowed to have things all their own way. However, as you know very well, the laws of magic must not be broken, and it would never have done for me to have rudely and suddenly exercised my superior power in order to set matters right in the castle of Bandelboots. All I could fairly do was to put mortals in the way of helping themselves, at the same time interfering, if need should arise, with just as much exercise of power as might be necessary. So, having spoken words of comfort to the three girls, I told them to go home and try and bear their misfortunes for three days more, and at the end of that time, if matters were no better, they might again pay me a visit.
There was, as you may suppose, no improvement in their condition during the appointed time. In fact, their supposed brother was, if possible, rather worse than ever. He cut off a great bit of Bertha’s back hair, stole up behind Elladine and boxed her ears violently, and finished up by giving Dora’s pet canary to the cat, which he afterwards hung, as he said, for the murder. It was no matter of surprise to me, then, when the three maidens again presented themselves before me, weeping bitterly over their many misfortunes and sorrows.
I no longer hesitated as to the course which I should pursue,but immediately changed the sisters into three magnificent swans, desiring them to frequent as much as possible the lake on which their father’s castle stood. This course, as you will readily perceive, had a double effect of a most useful character. For one thing, it of course showed the inhabitants of the castle that something was wrong, and aroused both the Baron and Baroness to exertions for the recovery of their lost daughters which would very likely result in their finding out from the powers of magic something, as the lawyers say, “very much to their advantage.” But above and beyond this was the circumstance that, as swans are gifted with the miraculous power of seeing through magical disguises, the young ladies would be perfectly certain to encounter and recognise their real brother in some of his flittings over the lake, and thus would eventually be brought about the consummation so devoutly to be desired.
You may well believe that the disappearance of the three girls plunged the castle into the direst confusion. No one could imagine where they had gone to, and all kinds of surmises were afloat. The Baron smoked twice as many pipes as usual; the Baroness flew into a more violent passion than had been the case for a month before; poor old nurse Grutchen wept bitterly; Martha Scweinvolt seemed to have more vinegar than ever in her countenance; and the false heir ran about teasing and worrying everybody twice as much as usual, and was apparently in the highest possible spirits at the loss of his sisters. Every hole and corner of the castle was searched, the river was dragged, the crier was sent through the straggling hamlets of the neighbourhood, specialmessengers were despatched in every direction, but it is needless to say that no success attended any of these proceedings.
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And the stately swans swam all the time around the ancient walls of their ancestral home, and floated upon the waters of the lake they knew so well, thankful for the peace and rest which they at last enjoyed, and caressing each other with the tender love of creatures who knew that upon their mutual love and sympathy depended the whole comfort and happiness of their lives. Nor indeed were they long left in ignorance of the truth as to their unhappy brother. Scarcely had they been two days upon the old lake, before the transformed child came flying up from the river to take his mournful look at the home from which he had been so cruelly ravished. As he flew low over the waters he passed close to the three lovely swans, and they, casting their eyes upon him as they sat mournfully watching, recognised their brother at once through the hideous disguisehe wore, and called him to them with loud cries of joy.
The bat-boy paused in his flight, hovered for a moment near to the noble birds, and then, as he heard them speak, the whole of his sad story came back to him, the memories of his first few months upon earth as a mortal child were stirred in his bosom, and he knew clearly and fully his true nature and origin, and the cruel wrongs he had endured at the hands of the treacherous waiting-maid and her wicked ally the river-demon. As soon as he had fully realised the truth, the boy tenderly embraced his swan-sisters, and the four wept together over the sorrows of their family. Being well aware, however, that weeping would be of very little service unless followed by active measures, they discontinued that amusing pastime after a while, and consulted together as to the best course to be pursued.
Although comparatively happy in their new shape, the sisters readily confessed that they should infinitely prefer to resume their human bodies, provided that they could be assured of being able to live quietly and comfortably, and of being no longer troubled with the malice of the devilet heir. The youthful Hubert had of course no affection whatever for the form to which he had been condemned, and therefore the object of the four was clear enough, namely, to return to their natural shapes as soon as possible under more favourable conditions than those in which they had left them. The question was as to the wisest and best means of securing this desirable object, and here the magic knowledge generally possessed by swans came to their assistance.
Theyknew full well that their brother could never become his former self until the devilet who now possessed his shape and claimed rights which were his should be compelled to abandon both. They knew, moreover, that to bring this about would be a work requiring caution, since the river-demon was powerful and cunning enough to counteract all their efforts unless they could contrive to outwit him. It was, however, revealed to the sisters that there was one way in which this might be done, and by which the retransformation of their brother might be effected, and the false heir be obliged to return to him that sent him.
There lived far up in the great mountains, which could be seen in the distance from the castle windows, a being endowed with wondrous powers. He was commonly known by the name of the Harper, and a strange fellow he certainly was. No one quite knew whether he was merely mortal or something more. All that was certain was, that he lived the life of a hermit, was by no means particular in his dress or remarkably clean in his appearance, and wore a flat hat with ivy and oak leaves woven together on the crown. His harp was of the rudest and simplest character, but it had such extraordinary virtue that if he played it, accompanying himself while he sang or chanted to its tune, everybody and everything seemed obliged to yield to its magic powers. The sisters of Bandelboots knew full well that if this individual’s aid could be secured things would be pretty sure to go right, and therefore made up their minds to seek it without delay.
That night nothing could be done; the swans brooded quietly on the lake, and their brother flitted mournfully roundthe 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 broughther 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.
Havingthus 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 moremischievous 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 theuproar 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 dresstorn, and his whole appearance seemed amply to justify his nickname.
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“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 theyyoursmore 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 ishisright 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 utteringthese 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!”
Atthis 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.Myfaults, whatever they be, are mine own, and for themIwill 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 isthisyour 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 wilesof 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 serveme—do you hear? Oh,you’rea pretty one to box a person’s ears. I’ll pay you outnowforthat, 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 oneof 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 knownYou’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 longThe truth and justice of my song.There was an infant once, who smiledOn 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 suitsThe 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 windowat 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.
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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. “Itisyou! I know it is you! Come to old Sophie then, my pearl of the world;” and again she shrieked with joy.
Morewonders 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 freeOnce 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 bewilderedpeasant, 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 lordFor 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 tonguesWhich 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 givenTo 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.
The Baroness fell weeping on her husband’s heart, loudly bewailed her own infirmity of temper, and vowed that she would never fly into a passion again. At this theBaron, whilst her face was hidden upon his shoulder, slowly elevated his right hand, placed his forefinger horizontally against the side of his nose, and winked knowingly at his daughters.
Presently the Baroness raised her head, and, in tones of some feeling, asked what had become of that wretched Martha, gnashing her teeth as she spoke with an air that inspired considerable doubts as to her being’ able to keep her new resolution. This, however, was not put to the test as far as Martha was concerned. As soon as she perceived that things were going wrong, but that the harper was not alluding toherin his verse, that worthy person slipped quietly from the room and the castle, and sought refuge in the wood where her wehr-wolves usually met her. The animals were there as at other times, but their reception of her was not the same. No sooner was she within the wood than the expression of their countenances grew strange and fierce, so that the woman trembled all over. In another instant they seized upon her and dragged her, one on each side, near to where the wood touched the banks of the river. Wildly she shrieked for aid, and in another moment the form of the River-demon appeared upon the bank. This time, however, he had no cheering counsel to give. With a wild and derisive laugh he pointed jeeringly at the unhappy woman, whom the wehr-wolves held fast, while they growled-fearfully and savagely all the while.
“Ha, Martha!” he cried, “hast thou come to the end of thy revenge at last? They who seek demon-help must have demon-punishment, and thine hour is come to-day. Know this, poor wretch! that those who yield to their passions cherish within them that which will oneday tear and destroy them as the wehr-wolves are about to do to thee, and those who wish for a happy end must control and govern themselves on the journey!” Then, with a fiendish leer and grin, he nodded his head to the wehr-wolves, and in another moment the wretched Martha was tom limb from limb, and perished miserably. Folks say that her spirit still haunts that wood, and that on dark and stormy nights her shrieks may be heard, accompanied by the growling of the wehr-wolves and the laugh of the exulting demon. But you and I, Brother Thames, know well how foolish mortals are with their tales of horror, and how ready they are to mistake a creaking tree for a shriek and a moonbeam for a spirit.
I have nothing more to say except that when the Baron and Baroness turned round to bless the old harper for his kindly aid, they saw nothing where he had been standing save the light of the sweet, pale moon shining in through the window. The harper had gone without waiting to be thanked, and they saw him no more. From thenceforth no spirits troubled the Bandelboots family, save when the Baron took an extra glass of brandy, which occasionally flew to his toe. The Baroness decidedly improved in temper, profiting by the example of her son, who grew up to be one of the most sweet-tempered and agreeable young noblemen that ever lived upon the banks of my river. Of the three girls, I can only say that as they made excellent daughters and capital sisters, they succeeded equally well when they entered upon the cares and joys of matrimony, and no women, married or single, were more often toasted in good Steinburgh than the three famous beauties,the swan-like daughters of the Baron von Bandelboots.
Father Rhine here ceased, and as soon as he had done so Father Thames struck a tremendous blow upon the table and vowed that the story he had just heard was one of the best that had ever been told. “I wish, however,” said he, “that you could have told us a little more upon one or two points, Brother Rhine. It would be satisfactory to know that the rascally little scamp of a devilet was well punished when he got home; but I suppose you know not whether such was the case or what became of him afterwards?”
“No,” Brother Thames, gravely replied the monarch of the Rhine, “I know not; and in fact I have always kept as much as possible aloof from the demons of my river, only showing them that ordinary civility which is rendered necessary by my position. I have little doubt, however, that the imp had misery enough in his future existence. No one who habitually annoys and injures others can ever have any real happiness himself, and, whether imp or mortal, unkindness and malice always recoil upon those who practise the one and are influenced by the other.”
“Certainly,” remarked Father Thames, “your words are true. But what became of the Baroness? Did she outlive the Baron, and was he cured of his laziness as well as she of her bad temper?”
“Brother,” said his companion in an expostulating tone, “you really ask more than I can recollect. There are very many castles in the vicinity of my river, and to remember the details of the family history of all their inhabitantsis more than even I, as a river monarch, can venture to ‘undertake. I may, however, safely say that the Baroness died before the Baron, for I happen to be able to recall the circumstances of her death. She was inordinately fond of dried cherries, and would insist upon swallowing the stones. For some time this had no effect, but at last she was taken ill and died of a disease so mysterious that they determined to have her body opened, when no less than two hundred and forty-six cherry-stones were found inside her.”
“You don’t say so!” exclaimed Father Thames in great surprise. “But now tell me what happened to the Baron.”
“I must positively decline,” answered the other. “A legend is a legend, and I have told you mine. It is now your turn, and I hope you will lose no time, for I expect the Rhone, the Danube, and the Seine upon a matter of business to-morrow, and shall be late for my appointment if we waste our time in unnecessary talking.”
“All right, brother,” shouted Father Thames, and, clearing his throat, began without further delay the story of—
The Baron Simon de Guerre-à-mort (whose name, considerably transformed by his Saxon neighbours, was familiarly rendered as “Old Grammar”) was an individual who, not to belie the said name, was of a somewhat warlike disposition. His ancestors had come over to these peaceful shores with “Billy the Norman, that very great war-man,” as the old song calls him, and verygreat war-men hadtheybeen also from the time of their first arrival. They warred against the Saxons as long as the latter showed fight; then they warred with their brother barons; then they went to the crusades; afterwards they joined Simon de Montfort in his gallant struggle for English liberties; they had a turn at the Welsh at one time, and took their share in the Scotch wars at another; in short, wherever and whenever opportunity for fighting offered itself, the Guerre-à-mort family or its representative eagerly seized it and rushed into the thickest of the battle as cheerfully as a duck into water. Nor was the Baron Simon one whit behind his ancestors in this respect. On the contrary, he was as ready for war as any of them, and fully maintained the character and traditions of his house.
In the days of which I write it was very much the fashion for great families to indulge in the luxury of hereditary foes, and a feud of long standing between this and that ancient house was such a customary thing that a nobleman who lived peaceably with all his neighbours was regarded as a slow kind of fellow, whose acquaintance was hardly worth having. There were generally wars of greater or less magnitude going on either within England herself or with some foreign enemy, which, one would have imagined, might have furnished sufficient employment to the fighting nobility of the day. This, however, was by no means the case; and though private feuds were sometimes left in abeyance for a time, when something more attractive in the way of battle and bloodshed happened to offer, yet they were never allowed to slumber toolong, and were invariably revived as soon as more peaceful times permitted their proprietors to indulge their private feelings and natural love of quarrelling.
The hereditary enemy of Simon de Guerre-à-mort was the house of St. Aunay, which, like his own, had been first known in England after the Battle of Hastings had flooded the country with Norman nobility, and which was at the moment of which we speak represented by Count Horace as the head of its race. It is difficult to say why or wherefore these two families should have been at variance, since there was no apparent reason for such a state of things. Their castles were upon opposite sides of my dear old river, at no great distance, though neither of them within sight of it. Their lands stretched down to my waters, which formed a reasonable and proper boundary, and there was consequently none of that intermingling of field with field or farm with farm which has in all ages proved a fertile source of unpleasantness between neighbouring landed proprietors. Moreover, the two noblemen had never brushed against each other or differed materially upon any public matters. In fact there was no probability of their doing so; for Baron Simon was at this time the wrong side of sixty by several years, whilst Count Horace had not lived half the years which constitute that respectable age. No: it was a good, respectable old family feud, and I verily believe that it was more from family feeling than for any other reason that it was still cherished by both houses.
It was, according to my firm belief, entirely in consequence of their private differences that, when the warsof the Roses broke out, the two Norman noblemen took different sides, the Count of St. Aunay standing forward boldly for the House of York, whilst the Lord of Guerre-à-mort was Lancastrian to the backbone. As the latter was a leader of great repute, and could muster around his standard no inconsiderable number of retainers, he might probably have rendered great service to the cause he had espoused if he had acted with those well-known men who led its armies and managed its councils. But the Baron greatly preferred going his own way and fighting for his own hand and as soon as the country was well into the war, and everybody was harassing and worrying everybody else as much as they could, he determined that by far the best thing he could do to aid Henry of Lancaster was to cross the river and demolish the Castle of St. Aunay. Accordingly, he collected his forces, summoned his vassals and friends from all quarters and prepared for the expedition.
I remember, as well as if it were but yesterday, when the Baron’s army was halted along my banks preparatory to their crossing the river early on the following morning. The old chieftain himself, mounted on his powerful black charger, from whose eyes and nostrils the fire of war seemed to stream forth as he impatiently pawed the ground, rode out upon a hill above his troops, and gazed upon the scene before him. The moon was rising behind the distant hills, the evening was calm and still; but the heavens were cloudy, and strange lights from time to time darted across the sky, as if presaging the days of war and bloodshed which were about to come upon unhappy England. The old Baron wascompletely armed, and his long, straggling beard fell down upon his horse’s mane before him as he sat erect in his saddle. I saw him elevate his mighty sword and shield, raising each arm on high as he looked with flashing eye and threatening gesture upon the country upon the other side of the river, and then and there he vowed a solemn vow that before he recrossed the Thames the Castle of St. Aunay should be sacked, his pride lowered, and his banner trailed in the dust. On high he shook his weapon as he took the oath, and full well I knew that the proud Norman would not fail to keep it, unless his foeman (who was probably taking an oath of a similar character about the same time) should have strength or cunning enough to prevent its accomplishment.