So, even in the sack, before it was closed over her head, with enemies seemingly all around, and death staring her in the face, Ophelia lifted up her head and looking towards the river, slowly pronounced these words.
"Marley-quarley-pachel-farley —
Mansto macken furlesparley, —
Mondo pondo sicho pinto,
Framsigalen hannotinto!"
Everybody was surprised at the words and behaviour of the unfortunate lady.
But what followed surprised them infinitely more. A curious whining, murmuring, incomprehensible sound came along the banks of the river, filling the hearts of those who heard it with a strange sense of fear, and a feeling that something wonderful was about to happen.
The river, too, instead of flowing on in its usual quiet and majestic manner, seemed perturbed in an extraordinary manner, and became as rough as the open ocean in a storm.
By common consent everyone who was present stood as if struck by one feeling of awe, which palsied and unfitted them for action. The men who were supporting the sacks in which the unhappy maidens stood, shivering with fear, remained rooted to their places, and mingled fear and wonder sat upon the faces of the people.
Then slowly arose from the rushes by the waterside the same grotesque figure which had once before held converse with Ophelia. The red cloak, the umbrella, the poke bonnet, the keen eye, were all there, and the old woman stood upon the bank within a very short distance of the sacks.
She looked round upon the people as if rather surprised at seeing them there, but appeared after a short time to have eyes only for Ophelia, upon whom she fixed her gaze attentively, and striking her umbrella upon the ground accosted her in the following words:
"What is it, Ophelia! and what do you fear
That you've called your affectionate godmother here?
Have matters gone wrong since you wanted me last?
I fear that they have, as my eyes round I cast —
You haven't got on the same dress that you wore
When you came down to see the old lady before —
And unless my old eyesight its certainty lacks
You seem hampered and bound in the coarsest of sacks,
And some other girls, too! in what sad plight you are;
My darling; has aught gone amiss with the jar?"
In a mournful voice Ophelia replied at once: —
"Dear godmother! my woes are great,
And miserable is my fate:
The jar is broken! and I am
Both 'out of luck' and 'out of' jam!
This cruel tyrant, whom I wed
(I would I'd been at Bath instead!)
His senses managed to recover,
And, now no more obedient lover,
Used language really quite past bearing
(He always was too prone to swearing),
Swore I no more his wealth should sponge on,
And clapt me in a dirty dungeon.
And then, his wrath no way abating,
My ladies – five of them – in waiting
He also sent there – scarce politely —
And tho' they've not behaved quite rightly,
They scarcely have in crime abounded
So much – as to be sacked – and drownded!
Tho' if my throne I once were back in
I should have given three a "sacking" —
But, godmother, see what I'm brought to!
That naughty king! – he didn't ought to!"
Ophelia sobbed aloud when she had concluded these words, which were uttered somewhat incoherently, as if the poor girl was quite overcome by her misfortune. But scarcely had she finished, when the old woman strode up to the sack without another word, and drawing a large pair of scissors from her belt, immediately cut it open in such a manner that the maiden was set free.
Up to this time King Famcram had remained quiet, as if sharing in the general fear and astonishment. No sooner, however, did he see that the old woman's purpose was to set free at least one of his prisoners, and that the chief offender, than fear gave way to wrath, and he leaped up from his armchair in a tremendous passion.
"Who is this?" he cried loudly, "who is this that interferes with the King's sentence? Seize her, guards! Vile hag, you shall soon receive your deserts."
But not a guard moved. Some power greater than that of Famcram seemed to restrain them, and the old woman quietly accomplished her task without taking the slightest notice of anybody but Ophelia.
When the latter was free, and standing by her side, she once more spoke in the same masculine voice as at first, and smiling upon the maiden, thus addressed her: —
"Tho' jars may be broken and jam may be spoiled,
The plans of your godmother never are foiled,
And power and good-will I must certainly lack
Ere my favourite god-child be drowned in a sack.
Yet if you desire it, my god-daughter sweet,
These ladies of thine shall their recompense meet —
And since they've behaved, dear, so badly to thee,
We'll give them a ducking – just say – shall it be!"
Ophelia, who now began to feel sure that she was safe, was too much rejoiced thereat to wish harm to anyone else, and in a few well chosen words she begged her godmother not to be severe on the poor creatures, who, she was certain, would never do it again.
She also told her of the better behaviour of the two daughters of Binks, upon which the old lady cut their sacks open immediately, but could hardly be restrained from punishing the others, especially Paraphernalia, who cried like a great baby from sheer fright and begged Ophelia to forgive her. The godmother then took from her finger a ring which she held before Ophelia and addressed her in these words.
"I give thee, my daughter, this emerald ring
(Its colour, you see, is a wonderful green),
And tho' you may lose your detestable king
You still shall be owned as the Pigmy-land queen.
Reign long and be happy – through many bright days,
May all your past troubles your happiness prove,
And would you be safe – hear what godmother says,
Be kind to your people, and govern by love!"
As she said these words the old woman placed the ring upon Ophelia's finger, and smiled upon her in an affectionate manner.
At this moment Famcram's rage grew beyond all bounds. He literally foamed at the mouth with fury – both at the scene which was being enacted before his eyes, and the unwillingness or impotence of his guards to help him. He yelled out to them again at the top of his voice, whilst his red hair seemed to blaze with fury as he whirled his sceptre round his head.
"Seize the vile witch, I say!" he shouted. "Who dares to talk of any one reigning here while Famcram lives? Seize her and burn her! Varlets! Will none of ye stand by your king?"
With these words the king jumped from the dais on which he had been sitting, and rushed forward himself, calling loudly to his guards to come on.
But his cries were to no purpose – every man stood rooted to the ground, and not a hand was lifted to help the tyrant. Then the smile left the face of the old woman, and she turned from Ophelia to face the king. He paused, as she raised her hand and pointed at him with her umbrella, while she spoke again in the same voice as before. And these were her words: —
"Thou slayer of women, disgrace to thy line,
The vengeance is near – be thy punishment mine —
You wished my dear god-child in river to drown.
No, no, tyrant Famcram, this time you're 'done brown!'"
She had no time for more, for, overcoming his fear or whatever had hitherto restrained him, the little tyrant rushed upon her.
The old woman now adopted a most curious course. Dropping her umbrella upon the ground, she made no more ado, but seized Famcram the moment he was within reach, wrenched his sceptre from him, and shook him severely.
He struggled, bit, kicked and yelled, but it was all in vain. That fearful grasp was upon him, against which twenty times his strength had been of no avail.
The fight, if such indeed it could be called, was soon over. The wretched creature writhed in the hands of his enemy, who shook him to her heart's content, and then, raising him with apparent ease by the scruff of the neck, calmly placed him in the sack from which she had just liberated her goddaughter.
In spite of his continued struggles, she swiftly tied the mouth of the sack in a knot, which she managed to make; and then, without a word more, good, bad, or indifferent, descended the bank, threw in the sack, and sat down upon it.
To the surprise of the people, instead of sinking, the sack floated away into the midst of the river, which boiled and surged around it, so that every now and then it went down, and then came up again in sight of the crowd – the old woman keeping her seat upon it all the time, and smiling grimly as she bobbed up and down in a manner which would have made many respectable old ladies of my acquaintance feel remarkably unwell. No such effect, however, was produced upon the old woman, and she apparently enjoyed the whole thing very much.
When they first left the bank, stifled screams were heard issuing from the sack, but these soon died away, and it was plain enough that the wretched Famcram must have been very speedily drowned.
In a little while the old woman and the sack had floated out of sight, and the people began to recover somewhat from their amazement. Then occurred another marvellous thing.
The river suddenly rose in several places, in the form of a waterspout, and came dashing over the crowd. But the extraordinary part of it was that whilst it drenched and half drowned the black executioners and all Famcram's particular friends, Ophelia and those who were on her side were not touched by it. The courtiers and guards of Famcram turned and fled. Then, after a short pause, the three late ministers, Binks, Chinks, and Pigspud came forward together and knelt at Ophelia's feet. Binks was the spokesman of the party.
"Madam," he said, "after what has just happened, we cannot doubt that a higher power than ours has designated you as our queen. I am sure that I speak in the name of all that is great, good and powerful in Pigmyland, when I ask you to reign over us in the place of him who has proved himself so unworthy to do so."
Ophelia replied at once: – "Rise, sir," she said, "and you too, dear father, for it is not meet that you should kneel before your child. There might, doubtless, have been found worthier sovereigns for our country, but since Fate has thus decreed it, I accept the position which is offered."
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, loud shouts of joy broke forth from the surrounding people. At a sign from Ophelia, the other damsels were all set free, and they now came and stood humbly before her, expressing in meek and lowly tones their deep contrition for the offences they had committed against her.
Paraphernalia was especially vehement in her expressions of regret, vowing that she had always entertained the greatest affection for Ophelia, and that if some demon had not possessed her, she should never have acted as she had done. Her sisters made various protestations of the same sort, whilst Euphemia and Araminta stood with blushing cheeks and downcast eyes awaiting the queen's decision.
Ophelia did not keep them long in suspense. She told the two daughters of the Prime Minister that she freely forgave them all that had occurred, being satisfied that it was not from them or their hostility that it arose. Moreover, they had been the playmates of her childhood, and she should wish still to retain them about her person. She told the daughters of the Lord Chamberlain, however, that she must take a different course with them.
At these words Asphalia, Bettina, and Paraphernalia burst into a dreadful howl, and the latter threw herself at the feet of Ophelia and endeavoured to kiss them. But the queen bade her arise, and told her that she and her sisters need not fear that the commencement of her reign would be sullied by the infliction of any severe punishment upon those who had been her companions in misfortune.
Upon this Paraphernalia turned joyous again, and began vociferously to express her thanks, but was again stopped by the royal lady.
"I cannot have about my court," she said, "persons who have behaved as you have done, nor indeed can I retain you in my service. I wish that I could have done so for your father's sake, but he must himself acknowledge that it is impossible. Out of respect to him I will only condemn Asphalia and Bettina to be confined to the limits of the city walls for a year, and during that time they will be forbidden to attend my court. As for Paraphernalia, she must be banished from Pigmyland altogether, until I shall have proofs – which I much doubt my ever receiving – of her entire reformation of character."
At this decision the unhappy Paraphernalia raised a shrill scream and fell fainting upon the ground, but was speedily carried off by the attendants. Her sisters, who felt that they had deserved, and fully expected, to share her fate, returned thanks to Ophelia for her great clemency, and vowed to lead such lives as should convince her of their undying loyalty and sincere devotion to her throne and person.
These professions the queen received with a gracious inclination of the head, and expressed her hope that they might prove to be founded on a true desire on the part of the damsels to repent of the past and do better for the future. She then turned to her father and requested that he, Binks, and Chinks would again resume their former offices, and render her their best assistance in carrying on the government of the country.
To this the three statesmen readily assented, having, in fact, desired nothing better. Ophelia in the first place directed them to prepare a proclamation, announcing her accession to the throne, and her determination to govern upon constitutional principles, which, being a high sounding phrase, and one which nobody exactly understood, naturally gave great satisfaction.
One or two discontented people did indeed whisper that as the constitution of Pigmyland had always been a pure despotism, Ophelia only meant to say that she should rule as other Pigmy kings and queens had ruled before her. These murmurs, however, were soon silenced, and this the more effectually when the queen issued the next day a second proclamation, in which she gave free pardon to all those who had supported Famcram in his late acts of tyranny, provided they would at once acknowledge her as their sovereign and obey her authority.
Some people indeed objected to this proclamation, on the ground that those who had obeyed Famcram, whether he had been right or wrong, were only acting in accordance with the country's laws in carrying out the orders of their lawful sovereign (which he undoubtedly was), and required no pardon at all.
But these people, again, were held to be mere cavillers and idle talkers, and so general was Ophelia's popularity that whatever she might have chosen to make the subject of a proclamation would have been hailed with delight by her loving and loyal subjects.
She ascended the throne under the happiest auspices: the good-will of her people filled her heart with happiness and strengthened the stability of her throne, whilst her great talents secured for her kingdom the blessings of good government, her many virtues afforded a bright example to all her subjects, and her reign was throughout, that which it promised at the first to become, an era of unmixed happiness and prosperity to Pigmyland.
THE CRONES OF MERSHAM
Things are very dull now-a-days in the country districts of England.
The country gentlemen have got into the habit of going to London a great deal more than they used to do before railroads were made as extensively as has been the case of late years. The farmers, too, move about more than they did in the olden days, and act very differently in many respects from their forefathers.
Nor are the labourers quite the same; they ask more wages, touch their hats to master, squire, and parson less than they did, and discuss matters of politics and the government of the country, which formerly never entered their heads.
I dare say it is all right: it is a wise and good frame of mind to cherish, which teaches one that whatever is, is right, although it is sometimes very difficult to think so.
For instance, when my tooth takes to aching without any obvious cause, and certainly very much against my will, the fact of its doing so is well established, but the existing state of things in my face is not recognised by me – not for one single moment – as right because it is the existing state. And when I have overdrawn my account at my banker's, and the state of things is that he will not let me do so any more, the circumstance that it is so does not reconcile me to the fact in the very slightest degree.
Still, as regards the progress which this country has made, and the condition at which we have now arrived, I am ready to bow my head meekly, and allow that as a general maxim, the general results may be admitted by me to be "all right."
There are the railroads, and (though the carriages are not always comfortable, and the trains generally late) they afford such facilities for the gentryfolk to go to town, that we cannot wonder at their doing so. If it is not right that they should, surely railroads would never have been permitted, cutting up the beautiful country as they do, and sending their screaming engines along through the green fields and thriving plough-lands, where all before was peaceful and quiet.
Then if the farmers are changed, it is also all for the best without doubt. Changed they are, beyond all question. They are a different class of men from the old species of farmer who existed fifty years ago, and who seldom went further than his market town.
Our farmers, now-a-days, have all visited London again and again, and instead of the homely talk over a market dinner which used to take place in old days, they have got "Chambers of Agriculture," in which they evince a remarkable ability in discussing anything which Parliament proposes to do about agricultural matters, and talk nearly as wisely, I am told, as the members of the House of Commons itself!
Still, however, I stick to my text, and say that, being as it is, it must be all right.
Of course it is, and so also with regard to the labourers. When I was a boy they did not know half as much as they do now, but they worked well for all that.
I have lodged in two rooms in this farmhouse in which I write for twenty-seven years come next Michaelmas, and I have often heard farmer Barrett say that his best labourers were generally those who could neither read nor write.
Most of them can do both now, and people used to say that it was a sin and a shame that every labourer should not be able to read his Bible and write his name in it.
"All right," again say I, only unfortunately (as I sometimes venture to think) it is not their Bibles they read, so much as the penny papers, and these sometimes teach them different lessons from the Bible, I fancy. Then there is a lot of cheap – well, trash I was going to say, and I think I must, too – a lot of cheap trash which is sent about all over the country, or which they pick up here and there, and which teaches them lessons altogether mischievous.
Moreover, they have societies, which are curious sort of concerns, I am told, and through which they are taught actually to demand an increase of wages, and various other things which were never thought of in old times.
All these things have made the country districts of England very different places from what they used to be when I first knew them. That is now a long time ago, but I know a great deal that happened before I knew anything from my own eyesight and observation – I mean before I was born.
I am an old man now, and having enough money to live upon and be comfortable, I have all my lifetime indulged my inclination for living in the country.
I used to make it my principal endeavour to avoid railways. I hired lodgings in rustic villages, and lived quietly therein, studying the ways and habits of the people, and picking up old legends, which was always my chief delight. But wherever I went, a railroad was sure to be immediately afterwards projected through that particular district.
The steam fiend seemed to have marked me out as an involuntary pioneer to herald his advance; and, move where I would, he and his myrmidons very shortly appeared in my wake.
This continued for five and twenty years – for I began my system of country-lodging when I was a tolerably young man – barely turned thirty. When I tell you, as I did just now, that I have been in my present abode for twenty-seven years, a little calculation will show you that I shall never again see my eighty-second birthday. You will therefore, I hope, excuse the garrulity of old age, and forgive me if I have somewhat wandered from the tale which in fact I have not yet begun, but which I have been leading up to all this time.
For you must know that the changes of which I have been speaking have had great effect upon other people besides gentry, farmers, and labourers. There are nothing like so many witches, wizards and curious creatures of that kind as there were, in country places, in the good old times.
I do not for one moment say that this is to be regretted. On the contrary, I say again, that being so, I have no doubt it is "all right."
But, right or wrong, it is undoubtedly true that the witches, warlocks and wise women have greatly diminished, if indeed they have not altogether vanished. I hope it will be understood that by "wise women" I do not allude to the ladies who give scientific lectures and talk about a variety of subjects upon which they evidently know much more than an old gentleman like I am could ever know, and, I must say, more than I should like to know about some things.
This is a different kind of wisdom altogether, and there are plenty of persons who possess it, or think they do, which serves their purpose quite as well. I mean "wise," in the sense of possessing an unusual and supernatural insight into things which are commonly hidden from mortal knowledge.
Of these people there are few, if any, left in the present day; or if there are such, they do not come to the front as they once did. There are, indeed, many persons in the world now, who actually disbelieve in witches and all creatures of that sort, and who not only disbelieve in their existence now, but who stoutly maintain that they never did exist.
I don't know how they get over the Witch of Endor, or the various other allusions to witches in the Bible, but I suppose they do somehow or other.
People are much too clever for me, nowadays, and get over any difficulty that comes in their way – or fancy that they do so, and trouble themselves no more about it. I have even heard people disbelieve in fairies, but that of course is sheer nonsense; and no one who wanders – as I have often done, at all seasons and at all hours – through the glorious English woodlands, can doubt the existence of the dear little elves.
Doubt their existence! I should as soon think of doubting my own! How do the fairy-rings come, I should like to know? Whence comes the name of "the Fairy Well" – not uncommon by any means? Oh, no! I do not believe that anybody disbelieves that fairies exist, though I know that there is a dreadful amount of unbelief in the world regarding warlocks and witches.
I am glad to say that good Farmer Barrett was never one of the unbelievers. He was near upon seventy when I first came to lodge under his roof, so that if he had lived till now he would have been ninety-seven. As he didn't, however, it is no use making the remark. He died some twelve years ago, when about eighty-five; cut off, as one may say, in the prime of life.
Ah, me! how our friends, young and old, fall around us, like grass. My godson, Jack Barrett, here remarks, with less of reverence than I could have wished, in speaking of his grandfather, that a man taken away at eighty-five would be better compared to hay than grass. Well, well, Jack is young; barely forty, and boys must have their jokes, as we all know.
I was going to say that good Farmer Barrett's death affected me very much. He was a very great comfort to me, was Farmer Barrett. It was not only that we agreed upon most points, and thought alike in a manner most satisfactory to both of us. That was a great comfort, living as we did under the same roof, and sitting together, either in his kitchen or my parlour, almost every evening, to enjoy a quiet gossip. But there were other comforts too, and the chief one – that which I may fairly consider the principal advantage which I reaped from the society of Farmer Barrett – was derived from his extraordinary knowledge of the legends and traditions of his native county concerning witches and wizards.
Many and many an evening have we sat talking upon such matters, till I have really felt quite nervous about going to bed. Not that I am a nervous man: not by any means; but I own that more than once, after discussing witches and their cats to a late hour, I have felt a curious sensation when the house cat came rubbing herself against my shins, and have looked with a species of creepy feeling over my left shoulder as I went upstairs to bed, almost thinking I should see something "uncanny" close behind me.
I never knew any man with such a collection of stories and legends as old Barrett. He had tales without end of the "Warlock of Coombe," the "Wizard of Bockhanger," and the "Witch of Brook Hollow." He could tell of the dark doings of the "Hag of Hothfield," and the fearful creature who so long inhabited the regions of Charing, and darkened the woods of Longbeach with her awesome shadow.
I do not believe that any witch or wizard ever existed in Kent whose story was not well known to Barrett. Of his own knowledge he could tell something. Once there happened a curious thing in his stables.
His two teams of horses, fed alike, housed equally well, and treated with precisely the same care, strangely varied in their appearance and condition. One team were always sleek and slim, "fat and well-liking," like Pharaoh's fat kine, and the admiration of all beholders. The other team were just the reverse. Nothing they took seemed to agree with them, they fell away, their bones started through their skins, and their appearance was a disgrace to the farm. This state of things greatly puzzled and annoyed the farmer and his men.
Barrett himself laid the blame upon the waggoner and his mate, and threatened to discharge both of them if things went on so, as he felt sure they petted one team of horses at the expense of the other. The men earnestly denied the charge, and were evidently much vexed at its having been made.
Things went on the same until at last the waggoner, who was a clever and withal a courageous man, determined to sit up all night and watch. He did so, being carefully hidden in the corner of the stable. The horses fed well, and lay down as usual. All was quiet until twelve o'clock struck. At that moment several little men, about a foot high, leaped down from the loft above the stables, and going to the favoured team, began to brush and comb them with great care and energy, rubbing them well all over and uttering no words to anybody as they did so, save to each other as they worked, as if to encourage themselves to greater exertions.
"I work – you work, I work – you work," they kept saying, and the coats of the horses rapidly became more smooth and glossy, until, when the little men had finished, they were perfect models of what horses should be.
They merely looked at the other team with funny faces, and then hastened up again to their loft. All this the waggoner duly told his master next morning, and, of course, with the natural incredulity of man, he at first refused to believe it.
But when, upon the man again and again assuring him of its truth, he determined to put the matter to the proof by hiding himself that same night, he saw precisely the same thing, and was of course convinced.
I forget how the story ended, but I know that, somehow or other, he managed to get some "wise" person in the neighbourhood to speak up for the poor, thin team, and prevent the little elves, or whatever they were, from "spiting" them any more.
Then the farmer had a tale which had been told him by a groom he had once in his service, who came from the hill above Charing. Up over the hill there was a reputed witch, Mrs. Dorland.
I questioned the groom about this woman myself, so I may as well give the story in his own words.
"She were a noted witch, she were," he said.
"How do you know?" I asked, not because I myself doubted for a moment, but because I wanted to glean all the particulars I possibly could.
"Bless ye, sir," replied the youth, "I knows all about it because o' my grandfather. She wouldn't never let him alone. I expect he'd affronted her, one time or other. I recollect when I was a-staying along with him once, and the door locked and all – he looked over the stairs and there, sure enough, was old Dame Dorland on the mat at the bottom, and her eyes! oh they glounded in her head, they did!"
"But how did she get in?" I asked.
"That's just what I want to know," answered the boy. "The door was shut and fast locked; but there she was, anyhow. Another time my grandfather had to drive some bullocks down to Ashford market, and he overtook Dame Dorland. She had a basket on her arm, and she asked my grandfather to carry it for her. He wouldn't. I expect he didn't know what bad game might be up. Well, do you think he could keep his bullocks in the road, after that? Not he: they was over the hedge, first one side and then another, and then they was for running back. He couldn't do nothing with them, so he turns back and offers to carry the old girl's basket. Then the bullocks was all right directly, and he hadn't no trouble in getting them along all the way to Ashford."
Since Farmer Barrett had lived all his life in a county where such people as Dame Dorland were to be found, there can hardly be much surprise felt at his entire and implicit belief in witchcraft.
But the most wonderful tale that he ever told me was that which not only concerned the county, but the very district in which he dwelt. It is a story to which I listened with intense interest when first I heard it, and my interest was never lessened by its repetition.