River Legends; Or, Father Thames and Father Rhine
up a small hand looking-glass to see how her maid was getting on. In
so doing she made a forward movement, which, as Martha happened at that
instant to have the hair tight in hand, had the {056}natural effect
of making the lady feel as if her maid had suddenly given her hair a
violent and unpleasant pull. Without for a moment considering that
it was entirely her own fault, the Baroness directly flew into a most
furious passion. She stormed and raved against the woman until she was
almost black in the face, and then, to finish matters off, struck her
with either hand a violent box on the ears on each side of her head,
and hustled her out of the room as if she was more than half inclined to
kick her down-stairs then and there.
Once outside the door, Martha Scweinvolt became perfectly livid with
rage. She turned round on the top of the stairs, faced the Baroness’s
room, and shook her fist {057}vehemently towards it, vowing by her
eleven-o’clock bread and cheese and beer (the most solemn oath known
among domestic servants of the feminine gender) that she would have
her revenge. Nor was Martha a person by any means likely to forget
or neglect such a vow. Day and night she brooded over the matter, and
ground her teeth savagely together as she remembered the indignity
to which she had been subjected. And the more she brooded, the more
determined did she become to seek vengeance from some quarter whence it
could be surely and safely obtained. By herself she knew she could do
but little; and as she was by no means popular among the other servants
of the household, she could place but little reliance on any assistance
from them. How to proceed, therefore, she had great doubts, but to
proceed in some manner she was quite determined.
Now unfortunately for me, Brother Thames, as you may perhaps be aware, a
part of my stream has always been more or less under the influence of
a class of river demons from which you in England are happily free.
I believe a milder kind of demon exists in Scotland under the name of
water kelpie, and possibly there may be something of the sort here and
there even in your favoured English rivers, but you have nothing to
match the demons of the Rhine. It is not a theme upon which I love to
dwell. No respectable river desires to have anything to do with such
creatures, and I frankly confess that at times they have brought my
waters into great disrepute.
Well (or rather not at all “well,” according to my view of the case), it
happened that the Rhine near the castle of the Baron von Bandelboots was
terribly infested {058}by these noxious spirits, only too ready at all
times to do any mischief in their power to any human being, or to assist
one mortal in gratifying his or her malice against another. To these
demons did Martha Scweinvolt determine to appeal, and made up her mind
to risk, if necessary, body and soul in order to obtain vengeance upon
her hated mistress.
Very often I am able to prevent the wicked plans and machinations of
these spirits, and I never fail to do so if I can manage it. If things
had gone rightly, I should have stopped the affair of which I am about
to tell you, and nipped it in the bud if possible, either by overflowing
my banks suddenly and drowning the wretch Martha, or by some other means
which my knowledge of the world would have enabled me to provide. But
it most unfortunately happened that the nymphs and trolls and friendly
elves of the river and forests near had given me an entertainment that
very evening, at which they played me several very curious tricks.
The jovial rascals insisted on my drinking my Steinbergh in large pint
measures, so that I got rather more than my usual allowance; then they
fastened a huge white beard upon my chin, pulled my whiskers, combed
my hair, whispered soft things in my ear, climbed on my knees, and
altogether kept me so well amused, that I never went out at all that
evening to patrol the river banks, according to my usual habit, and was
therefore entirely ignorant of all that occurred, until I was told it
some time after by a member of the Rhine Conservancy Board, who had it
from good authority.
It. seems that Martha Scweinvolt, having gone out late {059}that
evening, wandered down to the river, and there prayed vehemently to
the demons for aid. Such prayers are hardly necessary to procure the
assistance of bad spirits, when their object is to do mischief to
somebody else.
A demon, therefore, who happened to be near the spot, forthwith
presented himself to the waiting-maid, and that so suddenly that she
fainted away immediately. Demons, however, being very skilful in the
ways of women, know perfectly well that the best way to ensure their
speedy recovery in such cases is to take no notice whatever of their
proceeding. The evil spirit, therefore, followed this sensible plan,
and waited patiently until Martha “came to,” when he politely inquired
{060}what her wishes might be and what service he could render.
The woman unfolded her grievance, and used several bad expressions
with regard to her mistress, which caused her companion to grin with
sympathetic pleasure. He then inquired what revenge she desired to take;
to which Martha replied that she should like to have the power given her
of inflicting severe personal chastisement upon the Baroness. But the
demon scouted the idea. The pride of birth and rank work too much good
to the objects which are dear to evil spirits to make them partial to
any plan for the degradation of either one or the other, and such a
degradation would have been inflicted had the well-born Baroness been
subjected to personal chastisement at the hands of her menial. Besides
this, the power of the demon was but limited, and this would have been
possibly beyond it.
Martha suggested several other things, but at length she broke out in
joyful tones, as if an unusually bright idea had suddenly struck her:
“I know!” she cried; “let’s do something to the child, the young Baron
Hubert. Strangle him, or lame him for life, or make him humpbacked; that
will wring her old heart-strings!”
On hearing these words, the demon, who was a decent fellow at bottom,
though withal up to any mischief of a reasonable kind, positively
shuddered at the bitterness of the waiting-maid’s speech, accompanied as
it was with a look of fiendish exultation which would have done credit
to the worst of devils.
“Stop a bit, miss, stop a bit,” said he. “Fair and softly wins the race;
you go too fast, and want too much, all at once. You must know that we
demons cannot do everything {061}just how and when, we please, as you
seem to imagine. Not a bit of it! Fortunately for mortals who have
enemies (and who has not?) our power is limited; and even suppose you
had the child with you at this moment, I could not do what you require.”
“Then,” exclaimed Martha angrily, “what in the name of goodness _can_
you do?”
At these words the demon shuddered visibly. “Don’t use such language,
young lady,” said he, “if you want _my_ help, but listen attentively to
what I am about to say.”
Much flattered at being called a young lady, and probably all the more
so from her knowledge that to neither the substantive nor the adjective
had she any right whatever, Martha bent her head forward eagerly, to
hear what the water-demon had to suggest.
“If you like,” said he, “I can change the child.”
“Change the child!” cried the disappointed woman; “why, what would be
the good of _that?_”
“All the good in the world,” replied her counsellor, “if you really wish
to plague the mother. In the first place, the child I shall put in the
place of the young Baron will not be nearly so pretty as the real child,
and this will gall the mother’s heart not a little, unless baronesses
are unlike other women. Then this false child will have a very much
worse disposition. He will be cunning, ill-natured, greedy, mischievous,
and a plague to the whole household.”
“The deuce he will!” cried Martha hurriedly. “But he won’t plague _me_,
will he?”
“Better language by a good deal, my dear,” rejoined the demon, smiling
good-humouredly at the exclamation {062}of his companion; “but as to
the inquiry you make, I can hardly reply. Should the little changeling,
however, prove any annoyance even to yourself, I am sure you would
willingly submit thereto in consideration of the glorious revenge which
you will wreak upon the wretched mother. Why, your poor ears must even
now be tingling from the effects of those shameful slaps, and, if I were
in your place, it would be long enough before I forgot them!”
“Don’t be afraid, Mr. Demon,” answered the maid, gnashing her teeth
fiercely as she spoke. “I am not one to forget or forgive either, and,
after all, a child can’t really annoy me much. I’ll risk it, anyhow, so
that my brute of a mistress is made to suffer.”
“That’s right, my brave girl,” merrily replied her friend, smiling with
as pleasant a look as he knew how to put on. “That shows the true spirit
of a German lady. Never fear, you shall have your revenge, and that
speedily.” Thereupon he commenced a series of questions as to the habits
of the household and the rooms which were occupied by the youthful
Baron, and having ascertained all the particulars which he required,
bade Martha Scweinvolt return home, and rest assured that her desire
should be accomplished upon the innocent baby, and his mother made to
rue bitterly the hour when she first laid hands upon her waiting-maid.
Martha departed, having, I suppose, in the first instance given some
such pledge to the demon as these creatures are in the habit of exacting
from those who seek their good offices, which usually consists of a
simple arrangement regarding their future which they have no power
whatever to make, and which may hereafter {063}be set aside on an appeal
to the proper tribunal.
Meanwhile, the Baroness von Bandelboots had not the slightest suspicion
of the calamity which was hanging over herself and her family. She ate,
drank, slept, and scolded after her usual fashion, and did not alter her
behaviour one whit after the adventure with her waiting-maid, which had
so painfully affected the latter.
The young Baron Hubert was but a few months old, and his nurse, Sophie
Grutchen, had the sole charge of his precious person. His nursery was,
as luck would have it, on the side of the castle facing the river; but I
apprehend that to demons and creatures of that description the situation
of the apartment would have made but little difference, and indeed there
was the lake to cross in any case.
Late one evening the demon set out to fulfil his promise. He swam the
lake, climbed the wall of the castle, entered the room in which the
young Baron slept by the window, and, during the scarcely more than
momentary absence of the nurse, abstracted the baby from his cot,
deposited therein an elfin child of the same size, and departed with the
real baby by the same way he had come.
Now, the little Baron had, from his first entrance into the world, been
distinguished by his remarkably docile and tractable nature. He rarely
cried, never fretted, and was, in consequence, a general pet, so far as
such a term can be applied to an infant of such tender age. Within an
hour or two, however, after the occurrence which I have just related,
Mother Grutchen began to find {064}her charge less quiet and more
troublesome than had previously been the case. She forthwith reported
the fact to the Baroness, who, however, took her to task sharply for the
same, saying that it was all fancy, and that the dear child was a little
angel. This the poor nurse by no means wished to deny, but it entered
her head that there were different kinds of angels, and that vowed