Part 6

Still, good advice I give to you: Be honest, loyal, just, and true; Drink not the wine that tastes of cork; Keep down the pigs by eating pork;

Love sausages (avoiding shams); And don’t forget to cure your hams. So, if your lives are good and pure, Your happiness shall be secure;

Windsor to high renown shall soar, And ne’er again be spoiled by boar. Meanwhile, ’tis time I play my part, And banish hence foul magic art!”

Then, slowly rising from her strange seat, and extending her arm high in the air above the miserable Boar, She began to mutter to herself in a low tone mystic words {043}of dark and wondrous import, which had all the more effect upon her hearers because nobody understood them. Presently she turned again to the listening army, and thus addressed the Boar, her countenance bearing a stern expression and her whole appearance being one of queenly dignity:--

“Foul beast! henceforth thy power is stayed, Thy former vassals shall be free; Thine art no more shall be displayed, But Windsor Forest boarless be!

Yet must thou not this forest leave, Or quit the place, alive or dead, Whence thou hast caused the land to grieve, And tears in oceans to be shed.

In altered form remaining here, Receive, vile tyrant, this thy ban: Be filled henceforth with timid fear, And tremble at the sight of man.

Henceforth on roots and insects feed; And yet, when nobler creatures die, Be thou suspected of the deed, A hated sight to keeper’s eye!”

She spoke; and as the words fell from her inspired lips, a wondrous and melancholy change came over the unhappy animal to whom they were addressed. His tusks fell off, his head diminished, his body grew smaller even while she was speaking, and, as she ceased, the once great Boar stood there in the presence of his enemies, neither more nor less than an unusually large hedgehog. Shouts of mingled joy and astonishment broke from the surrounding peasants as they perceived this highly satisfactory transformation taking place upon their dreaded foe. There he stood, trembling and shivering before them, furtively casting his eyes right and left as if in search of some hiding-place to which he {044}might betake himself at once. Then, after a moment or two, he curled himself up after the general manner of hedgehogs into a round, impenetrable ball, a proceeding which evoked shouts of laughter from those who had lately trembled at his very glance, but who now felt the most supreme contempt for their vanquished enemy. As they stood and gazed upon him, the transformed animal presently unrolled himself again, and scuttled away as fast as he could among the dry leaves, making, with a new but natural instinct, for a place of concealment beneath the roots of the enormous trees which grew around the spot. And in fact, so far as this history concerns the Great Boar of Windsor, Brother Rhine, I might as well bring it to a close at once, for little more was ever heard of him. The blow struck at Boardom throughout the kingdom by the destruction of his power was very great, and the race gradually died away and became extinct. Not so by any means the hedgehogs, who from that time forth mightily increased all over England, and who down to the present day love to make it their boast that they are lineally descended from the Great Boar of Windsor. So proud of ancient ancestry are even the brute beasts of creation, aping that arrant fool, man, in this as well as sundry other follies.

It is curious to observe how exactly the prophecy of the Druidess has been fulfilled with regard to these hedgehogs. They live, as we know, upon roots and insects, and it has been over and over again demonstrated by learned naturalists that their physical formation is such as to preclude the possibility of their being carnivorous animals. But tell a gamekeeper this, and he will laugh you {045}to scorn. The words of the Druidess have come true enough in this instance; and if a nest of eggs is found destroyed, or a young pheasant torn or slain, the hedgehog is declared to be the culprit, and his unhappy race is persecuted even unto death.

Tradition says, however, that death has never fallen upon the Great Boar himself, or that if his body has really perished, as one would suppose to have been the case long ago, his spirit still haunts the locality which his power and his crimes rendered so celebrated in those days of yore. Certain it is, that if you happen to know the site of the Boar’s lair, which of course I know, Brother Rhine, but which is hidden from the knowledge of all mortals save those favoured by Fairyland power, you may sometimes hear tidings of its former occupant. Wander forth on a clear moonlight night, hide yourself securely among the brushwood or behind the gigantic oaks which still exist, and you will see all that is left of the monster who was so long the scourge and terror of the place. A large hedgehog, bearing the weight of many years upon his back, will issue from beneath the roots of some of the old trees, followed by several smaller beings of the same species. Slowly and sadly he will creep, with feeble steps and decrepit gait, down the open space in front of the trees, and pass before you, uttering a low grunt of retrospective misery as he crawls over the altered scenes of his departed greatness. Move not; raise not a finger; keep entire silence; and as you gaze upon the unhappy wretch, let pity rather than scorn take possession of your heart; and when after his short walk he returns shaking with age and sorrow, and once more creeps into his humble hiding-place, {046}ponder over the shortness and instability of earthly power and wealth, and remember that you have beheld all that remains of that terrible being who was once so infamously notorious as the Great Boar of Windsor.

But although I told you that, so far as the Boar was concerned, my story might very well have ended here, you cannot have listened to me with the attention which you have deigned to bestow without wishing to know something more of the fortunes of the other personages of whom I have spoken. As soon as the hedgehog had retired, {047}and their apprehensions were once and for all removed, the worthy peasants broke out into what is nowadays called a “truly British cheer.” While they did this, the Priestess Bertha took the opportunity of retiring into the forest, so that when the good people had cheered enough, and were getting rather hoarse, they found that she had disappeared. The whole of their attention, therefore, was concentrated upon Smith, whom they surrounded with expressions of the warmest gratitude, and overwhelmed with thanks for the ability, courage, and discretion which he had evinced in the conduct of the whole affair. Had it been a few centuries later, they would doubtless have presented him with the freedom of their city, supposing them to have had one. As it was, they could do little but thank him, and declare themselves anxious that he should be their chief, or king, or anything else he pleased. Smith, however, stood moodily aside, leaning upon his spear, and declined to accept the offered dignity. The people were still crowding around him and urging him to complete the good work which he had just begun, by ruling over those whom he had freed from an intolerable yoke, when an event took place which entirely changed the character of the proceedings.

Suddenly there appeared among the trees and amid the people a number of Druids, clad in the vestments which they habitually wore, and brandishing the weapons with which they usually perpetrated the sacrifices which accompanied their most solemn rites. Without more ado they proceeded to seize upon Smith, and declared to the astonished people that the gods had intimated their will that he should be immediately sacrificed.

This {048}was by no means welcome news to those who heard it, nor could they readily understand why the Druids should desire the life of one who had hitherto shown the greatest reverence for them and their religion, and who had, moreover, just rendered a great public service.

Murmurs began to arise from the crowd, murmurs deep and angry, to the effect that jealousy of Smith’s influence was at the bottom of the movement, and that the Druids, who had never been able to get rid of the Boar until Smith had appeared on the scene, were ready to kill him out of the way as soon as ever he had accomplished the task which had been too much for themselves. Anxious to remove an impression which, if allowed to remain, might become the source of danger to their authority over the people, one of the chief Druids jumped upon the trunk of a fallen tree and begged leave to explain. This having been readily granted, the venerable man stated that the people ought to know by this time that reverend ecclesiastics never did anything wrong, and that mean or ignoble motives were never harboured in their holy hearts. “But,” he continued, “although Smith had certainly rendered considerable service to the people (and this the Druids would be the last to deny), he had nullified all his claims to their gratitude by the commission of an offence which struck a deep blow at the very root of that religion which was the sole basis of their social order, and their only hope alike for the present and the future. He had ventured to speak of love to the holy Druidess Bertha, and there was every reason to believe that they were privately married!”

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.