At this point the Keeper of the Records stopped short, for all of a sudden, a very strange sound was heard at the keyhole of the Council-chamber door, a scratching, rustling, noise, followed by a violent blast, such as might issue from the nozzle of a blacksmith’s bellows.
The President of the Council looked up to see what was the matter, but was immediately struck on the nose by a pellet of closely squeezed paper, which was immediately followed by another, and another, as the blowing at the keyhole was repeated. At length, when another blast had produced a shrill whistle, which showed that the aperture was clear, a little object, about the size of a hornet, darted through it, and increasing instantaneously in dimensions, presented the appearance of an old woman, some three feet high, by the time it had reached the floor.
Whether the Lady Abracadabra (for of course it was she) had been a beauty in the days of her youth, some eight or nine hundred years before, there is, at present, no means of ascertaining; but certainly, when she stood upon the floor of the Council-chamber, her appearance was anything but prepossessing. Perhaps, gentle reader, you have been in the habit of supposing that all the Fairies are dainty, little, airy beings, with butterfly wings, and vests of green and gold, who hide themselves in a blue-bell, and lose themselves among the petals of a peony. And such, no doubt, are the elves that live among the green hills, and who love to dance by moonlight, in the glades of the forest, or beside the pleasant water-courses. But there are others who mingle more with the human race, and adopt their habits, and hence, it may be, they become more subject to the changes which affect mortals. Perhaps this was the cause why the Lady Abracadabra’s face had become so brown, and shrunken, and covered with deep-set wrinkles; or perhaps it was the having had her own way so much; or those long journeys in which she travelled at the rate of a thousand miles a minute, might have spoiled her complexion; or perhaps, having arrived at (what even among the Fairies is allowed to be) a certain age, she could not help looking like an old woman. But be this as it may, she did look very old, and the effect of her short black velvet jacket, and yellow satin petticoat, did not mend matters. She wore on her head a tall, steeple-crowned hat, of the same material as her jacket; had high-heeled shoes with diamond buckles, and bore in her hand a pliant rod of ebony, with a small star of living light at each end of it.
It was evident that she was very angry, for she scowled at the Privy Councillors, stamped vehemently on the floor, and every muscle of her face quivered with passion, as she addressed the King.
“So, nephew! you are determined to keep me out of your palace at any rate, I see. Let who will come to court, I am to be excluded. There is always greater difficulty in getting into your house than anybody’s else.”
King Katzekopf stammered forth an apology, assured his kinswoman that he was delighted to see her, that he had just been speaking of sending her an invitation, and that he had given general orders that she should be admitted at all times.
“No such thing!” cried the little lady angrily. “You use me abominably. You know I always make it a rule to come through the keyhole, and there it is that you always try to stop me. Either I find a plate of metal over the opening, or else the key is left in the lock, and so my ruff gets crumpled to pieces. But the insult you have exposed me to to-day is intolerable: blocking up the passage with scraps of dirty paper, squeezed together by fingers of some greasy yeoman of the guard.—Oh it’s atrocious!” And the Lady Abracadabra shook her quilted petticoat as if she never should be clean again.
The King looked at his Ministers, and the Ministers looked at the King; but neither seemed to know how to excuse themselves. At length, the President of the Council, trembling exceedingly (for he expected to be changed into a tadpole, or some such reptile), ventured to assure the Lady, that he was the person in fault; for that, finding that the door-keeper had got into the habit of applying his ear to the keyhole of the Council-chamber, and fearing lest state-secrets should thus get wind prematurely, he had himself obstructed the passage in the manner already described.
“The varlet! the knave!” exclaimed the Fairy, as she heard of the door-keeper’s delinquency, “I’ve a great mind to hang him up by his ears to the vane of the church steeple. Go look for him, my Lord, and tell him from me, that if ever he puts his ear to a keyhole again, I’ll blow mushroom spawn into his brains, and cause his ears to vegetate, instead of to listen.”
Fairies, as all the world knows, are hasty and capricious; but it is only a very few who are spiteful and malignant. And to this class the Lady Abracadabra had never belonged. If she was angry one moment, she was pacified the next, and she much more frequently used her supernatural powers in acts of kindness, than to gratify her freaks of mischief.