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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 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 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 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 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 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 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.