Part 10

‘Being extremely anxious for your success—, I am writing to give you a piece of important advice. My stepfather has offered my hand to the finest musician; but his _real_ purpose is to give it to the one who will play loudest and longest, and most effectually drown the efforts of the rest. Therefore, I beg you, if you love me, to play stoutly against all others, and, whatever anyone may say or do, neither stay nor stop till you have silenced them all.’

“Then,” continued the Goblin, “the noise will be so frightful that the illustrious Baron, who is irritable, will drive the whole party out of the house, and meanwhile you can escape in the turmoil. If you will come to my hut I will take you to a palace I have, deep in the wood, where you can hide till his wrath is over.”

Laurine was charmed with his wisdom, and having given him a lock of her hair as a keepsake, dismissed him with many words of gratitude, promising to do exactly as he had said.

Now, it happened that there lived at some little distance off a young man of good parentage who had fallen madly in love with Laurine. He was brave and handsome, but he was so poor that he had never come forward as a suitor, believing that the Baron would not so much as receive him. When he heard of the proclamation he tore his hair.

“What a chance I’ve missed!” he cried. “If I could play even a shepherd’s pipe I would go. But I cannot so much as do that.”

“You have got ten days to learn in,” said a friend of his, who was practical.

So he bought a pipe and began to take lessons from the man who kept the sheep, and one day when he was practising Laurine’s letter was brought to him. He was simply overjoyed.

“I may be a poor musician!” he exclaimed, “but I have the strongest arm for miles round, and now it will stand me in good stead!”

And with that he rushed off to the nearest town and bought a big drum, the biggest that could be got for money; and, going into a solitary field, he laid about it daily, for practice, with such effect that people for miles round were deafened.

When the great day came, Laurine sat in state beside her stepfather and all the musicians were ranged in a row a little way in front of them. There were fiddles and flutes, trumpets and harps, dulcimers and guitars and the big drum in the middle.

When the Baron had taken his seat, he made a sign to a man who had a large golden harp to begin. But no sooner was the first chord struck than the whole assembly burst into sound with a stupendous crash. The fiddlers sawed their fiddles as though they would cut them to pieces, the trumpeters blew and brayed, the flutes shrieked, the harps and dulcimers twanged, and the young man with the drum fell upon it as though it had been his enemy. The Baron leaped up and roared for silence, but his voice might have been the cooing of a distant dove for all the good it did. The noise grew more and more terrible, and at the first convenient opportunity Laurine put her hands over her ears and rushed from the hall.

Away she ran through the courtyard. It was empty, because everybody had gone to see what the awful disturbance could mean, and the castle gates were open. She flew out like an arrow, taking the shortest way to the wood and rushing along with her hair streaming behind her, and at last she came to the hut where the Goblin lived; she never stopped till she got safely into it.

“Did I not give you sound advice?” said he as she sat down, breathless.

“Oh, excellent,” she replied, panting. “By this time I am sure my stepfather has driven the whole lot out of doors.”

“And now I must hide you away,” said the Fiddling Goblin, stepping out of the door and searching the country up and down with his rolling eye.

As soon as she had recovered her breath they plunged into the wood. Dusk was beginning to fall, for the musical competition had taken place late in the evening. At last they came to a place where there was nothing but horse-chestnut trees in full bloom. The Goblin struck his heel upon the ground, and, to Laurine’s astonishment, the white flowers of the chestnuts on either side became suddenly lit up, looking like so many blazing candles on so many Christmas trees.

The avenue of light stretched away before them, narrowing to the distance, and when they had walked to the end of it, they found themselves in front of a magnificent mansion with a high steep roof covered with golden weathercocks. “This is my house,” observed the Goblin, “and here you will be a welcome guest for as long as you like. No one can find the path to it unless I light up the horse-chestnut candles to show the way, so you will be perfectly safe from your stepfather.”

When the door was opened Laurine found herself in a beautiful hall. There were golden staircases, woven curtains, groves of myrtle-trees in pots; and servants came from every corner of the place to wait upon her. The Fiddling Goblin told her to use everything as though it were her own, and then left her, promising to return upon the morrow.

We must now return to the Baron’s castle, and hear what happened after Laurine’s flight.

The noise went on without intermission: the more the Baron raved, the more furiously the musicians played. It seemed as though the howling deep and all the thunder of the firmament were let loose together. The air was alive with vibration and everyone rushed about in terror, as though he were crazy. As the pandemonium grew the young man with the big drum began to be depressed, for the sound of his drum was getting swallowed up in the shrill blare of the trumpets. But he set his teeth and went on harder and harder, and at last he struck it with such violence that it broke in two and the drumstick went right through at one end and came out at the other.

There was no use in going on any more; he was vanquished, and all hope of winning the beautiful Laurine was gone. In despair he threw the remaining drumstick to the farther end of the hall and strode out of the castle to avoid his sad thoughts and the terrific noise that still raged. Once clear of the place, he sat down on a stone, and, burying his head in his hands, thought of all he had lost. He determined to leave the country and seek his fortune far away from the scene of his disappointment; so when he got up, he walked straight forward, without caring where he went, and soon found himself on the edge of a wood. It was growing dark, and he wandered on, meaning to take the first shelter that offered itself for the night.

A little way on was a thatched hut, and when he saw that the door was open and the place empty, he went in. He scarcely troubled to look about, he was so weary, and soon he threw himself down full-length on the hearth and fell asleep.

It was about midnight when he awoke with a start and saw the Fiddling Goblin sitting on a chair by the fire, preparing to tune his violin. He arose at once, and began to apologize to him for his presence.

“Don’t mention it,” said the Goblin, “and pray sit down again. I will play you a tune upon the fiddle.”

“Oh, anything but that!” cried the young man, leaping up in horror. “I have heard so much noise to-day that the very sight of any musical instrument is death to me!”

“Then you are one of the suitors who came to play before the Baron for the hand of the beautiful Laurine!” exclaimed the Goblin.

“I am indeed,” replied he, “and why I am not dead I don’t know.” And then he told him the whole story. They talked almost till daybreak.

Now, as the Goblin listened he began to like the young man, and as he saw how brave and handsome he looked, he had a mind to help him; for he thought the best thing that could happen to Laurine would be to get such a fine fellow for a husband.

“Don’t despair,” said he, at the end of the history. “I think I can do you a good turn, for I must tell you that Laurine is at my big house not far from here at this moment. Does she know you by sight?”

“I hardly think so,” replied the young man. “I have often watched her as she walks abroad, but I don’t think she has ever noticed me. There was such a crowd in the hall while the music went on, and such a turmoil, that, as I was behind the drum, it is likely she never saw me at all. And yet she wrote to me as if she had every wish I should succeed. I can’t understand it.”

The Goblin looked so sly that it was frightful to see him.

“Well,” he continued, “to-morrow I am going to my house, and she will be there. If you have a mind for it, I will take you with me, and you will then have the chance of making yourself agreeable.”

“You are too kind!” cried his companion; “but on what pretext can I intrude on her? She has probably repented of her letter.”

“As she does not know you by sight, I will say you are my nephew,” replied the Goblin; “so mind you call me ‘uncle.’ You can address me as Uncle Sackbut. We are a musical family, and all named after instruments. One of my brothers is called Shawm and the other Hautboy. What is your name?”

“Swayn,” said the young man.

“Very well, Nephew Swayn,” said the Goblin, “to-morrow we will set out.”

When they arrived at the Goblin’s house, Swayn was astonished at its magnificence; but he had no time to think of anything but Laurine, and to hope that, if she had ever seen him, she would not recognize him. He could not imagine why she had not so much as looked his way after writing such a condescending letter. But the Goblin bade him keep up heart, and in they went.

She was sitting among the myrtles when they approached, and the Goblin introduced his friend, being careful not to mention his name.

“This is my nephew,” said he, “my sister’s only son. He has come to pay me a visit, and as I have no room for him in my hut, I propose that we shall both keep you company here.”

Laurine received them in the most charming manner, and so much pleased was the Goblin that he spent all day in practising his fiddle, so that the young people should be left together. In this manner two whole weeks went by. They spent a delightful time, and Swayn grew more hopeful every day. They strolled in the gardens, they hunted in the woods, and it was evident that Laurine looked upon him with great favour.

One morning he and the Goblin were together on a terrace where there was a little green arbour.

“Swayn,” said the Goblin, “it is high time that you asked Laurine to marry you. I think so well of you that I mean to leave you this house when I die, though you are not my nephew at all; and while I live you can stay here with me, whether you have a wife or not.”

“Uncle Sackbut,” said Swayn, “I can hardly believe such good fortune! How little I thought when I threw away my drumstick and left the Baron’s castle what luck was in store for me!”

At this moment there was a movement in the arbour, and Laurine, who was in it and had heard every word they said, came rushing out.

“And so you are not the Goblin’s nephew at all?” she cried. “And you are one of those horrible musicians who came to play? I will go away at once!” she shrieked. “I will never see you again! I will not stay here another hour!”

Then she turned to the Goblin. “Good-bye,” she said. “Never, never will I forgive you for deceiving me!”

And, before they could stop her, she had rushed out of the garden into the wood.

They ran after her, they shouted, they called, they implored—nothing was of any use. She fled so swiftly that they could not even see which path she had taken. At last, after a long time, they gave up the search. They felt very much crestfallen.

“We shall never see her again, I fear,” said the Goblin; “she has gone back to the Baron’s castle, and the best thing we can do is to try and think of something else. We have made a terrible mess of it.”

“As for me,” said Swayn, “it is not so easy to think of something else as you fancy. I shall go off and try to better my fortunes elsewhere. What I am to do I don’t know. It is a sad thing that I am a gentleman, for I have learnt no trade, and now, though I have every will to work, there is nothing I can do.”

“I have a good mind to come with you,” remarked the Goblin. “I can always return here if I get tired of it, and we can pass for uncle and nephew still. I’ll take my fiddle, and we will make our living by it. You can play the drum.”

“They won’t go well together,” said Swayn moodily.

“What of that?” cried the Goblin. “Very few people have any ear for music. You’ll see—they’ll be delighted, and pay us well.”

So next day the two comrades set out together. The Goblin locked up his house, put his fiddle in a bag, and when Swayn had procured a new drum, they left the wood by its farther edge and made for the boundary of the kingdom, which was not far off.

At the first village they came to they determined to try their luck, so, having found the village green, the Fiddling Goblin mounted the steps of the market-cross, and struck up with his bow, while Swayn, at a little distance, kept time with the drum. Soon figures began to appear at every door, and women left their houses and men their work; children came capering up, and everybody’s feet could be seen tapping the ground. When the Goblin at the market-cross saw that, he stood on tiptoe, and looking round with a shout, burst into the fastest country dance he could think of. In one moment the whole crowd was stamping, chasséing, and pirouetting to the music, seizing one another round the waist, and swaying like corn in the wind. On and on they played, till the Goblin had lost his hat and Swayn’s arm ached, and the people were whirling round in fours and sixes together instead of in couples. It was as if the whole world had gone mad. When at last the Goblin stopped and signed to his friend to go round and ask for money, it poured in so handsomely that they were able to go to the nearest inn and take the best lodgings to be got.

When they looked out next morning, there was a crowd under their windows.

“Come out! come out!” cried the people. “Come out and play!” Their feet were going already at the very recollection of the music.

So the friends set up again at the market-cross and played as they had done before; and from far and wide, people, hearing of their fame, came pouring into the village to dance. No work was done, and none of the children were sent to school, for their parents were too busy dancing to attend to the matter. Besides which, the schoolmaster had taken to his bed, having sprained his ankle in hopping and skipping.

“We must depart,” said the Goblin, “or everyone will go crazy.”

So they rose in the night and made off, while the world was snoring after its exertions. They went travelling on towards a great city, and at each village they made enough money to lodge well; but they were always obliged to leave secretly in the night, because the people would never consent to their departure.

When they got to the capital their fame had run before them, and even the very King and Queen were at the palace windows to see them arrive. By twelve o’clock next day the Lord Mayor and his family had made themselves so ridiculous by the way in which they had kicked their legs about that the King was displeased, and ordered the music and dancing to be stopped. He could not hear the music himself, because his business room was in the centre of the palace, and the walls were thick.

But when the decree went out, there rose such a howl of rage that the Court feared a rebellion. People were rushing about in bands, crying: “Down with the King! Down with the palace! Down with everybody! Hurray for the Fiddling Goblin! Three cheers for the Big Drum!”

The end of it was that the soldiers were called out, and Swayn and the Goblin were thrown into prison. The Lord Mayor, whose antics had done so much harm, took charge of the drum and the fiddle and locked them up in the town-hall, and peace reigned once more.

And now we must hear something of what happened to Laurine when she ran away from the Goblin’s house in such a hurry.

She found it very difficult to get free of the wood, but she did so at last, and, by good fortune, came out on the side nearest to her stepfather’s castle. But when she arrived there the first thing she saw was the Baron himself looking out of a high window. At the sight of her he began to shout with fury and to beat the window-sill with his cane, just as he had beaten the bed-clothes.

“Off!” he roared, “hussy that you are! I have done with you. I have found out all about you. Not content with being the plague of my life, you encouraged all these knaves to break my head with their detestable noise, and I have been at death’s door ever since. Off you go, or I will let loose the dogs! You will soon see what a mistake you have made in refusing all these husbands, for you will have to get your own living as best you can.”

And he drew in his head, banging the window till the iron bars rattled.

Laurine turned to go, trembling, for she could hear the dogs which were kept to chase away beggars howling inside the gates. She dared not even beg a piece of bread from the servants, and she knew she could never find her way back to the Goblin’s house.

She turned sadly away and wandered on till sundown, when a charitable peasant-woman in a village shared her supper with her, and allowed her to rest in a barn when night came on. But Laurine could not sleep for thinking how she was to save herself from starving and what she could do to earn enough to keep herself alive. If she were to offer to work as a servant, people would laugh at her white hands and delicate ways.

The next day, before she departed, she thanked the woman, and said: “Now I will do something to amuse you and your children, for it is all the payment I can make.”

And so saying, she began to dance.

Never had anybody seen anything like her dancing; the village people thought she must be a fairy and were almost afraid to go near her. She gathered up her hair in both hands, whirling it round and round her like a scarf; her feet seemed scarcely to touch the ground. It was wonderful. Everyone came to look on.

It so chanced that there passed by a fine chariot, in which sat a red-faced, crooked old lady, very grandly dressed; and when the dame beheld the crowd, she let down her window and shouted to her coachman to stop, that she might see the dancing. At the end of the performance she threw Laurine a purse.

“Here, girl!” she cried, “that is for you if you will come with me. I am going to give a great feast to-morrow night, and want some new entertainment for my guests. Get in quickly, if you have a mind to come, for I can’t waste any more time here. The whole of the nobility are coming to the party, and I have a great deal to arrange.”

Laurine picked up the purse, thankful for such luck, and they drove away to the nearest city.

As soon as they got there, Laurine, who was determined to do her best, took some gold pieces from the purse and went out to see the merchants’ wares. She bought the most beautiful dress that could be got for money, a girdle of jasmine, a long veil covered with spangles and a pair of golden shoes. Then she came back and practised all the steps she could think of, so as to be perfect in them by evening.

The feast was gorgeous. Several Kings came to it, and even one aged Emperor, who was so much startled by the thunder of applause that he was carried out for dead. The dancing was the talk of the city from end to end, and the only dreadful part of it was that the lady who had given the entertainment grew jealous because no one talked of her and her hospitality, while every tongue was wagging about the lovely dancer.

But Laurine cared very little; she knew that her fortune was made, and she determined to leave the place and travel about, dancing at the various towns through which she passed. When she had taken leave of the lady she set out.

Wherever she went, crowds came to see her dance and criers went before her to tell people what a treat was in store for them. Her stepfather, hearing news of her success, sent a messenger after her, commanding her to return, for he wished to share in her grandeur; but she only laughed, and pursued her way.

At last she drew near the capital city in which Swayn and the Goblin were imprisoned, and the whole place was in a shiver of excitement at her approach. When she got there a deputation waited on her, bringing all the town musicians with it, that she might chose the best among them to play for her dancing.

One after another, she refused them all. There was not one she considered good enough to be of any use; and she grew quite impatient, saying she would depart next day without dancing at all unless something very much better could be found.

“Madam,” said the Lord Mayor, “it is quite true we have nobody fit to accompany your ladyship, except a young man and a Goblin, who are, unfortunately, in prison; but if we could get the King to release them so that they could play for you, they could be put back into prison afterwards quite easily.”