Hop-Frog Rewritten (yes that's my lame title)
The king loved to joke, joke about everything and anything. My crippled legs and short stature were perfect objects of his ridicule. Because of this, he had taken me and my darling lover Trippetta from the fair from whence we came. He said we were to come to his castle, to entertain and amuse. Trippetta took to the palace instantly, loving the grandeur of the castle. I however despised it with an unrivaled passion. The king’s ministers joked, calling me Hop-Frog because of the way I moved. They never, once, even thought of inquiring about my true name. I was on the verge of depression, though I never thought of vengeance until the day when the king did something completely unforgivable.
I have never been fond of wine. It makes me forget myself, my purpose, my being. The king called me to his chamber, for he needed my help in deciding on a costume for his upcoming masked ball. The king knew my dislike of the drink, and he thought it would be funny to watch my drunken madness. Worse still, Trippetta was summoned as well.
“‘Come here, Hop-Frog,’” he said beguilingly, “‘swallow this bumper to the health of your absent friends… and then let us have the benefit of your invention. We want characters – characters, man – something novel – out of the way. We are wearied with this everlasting sameness. Come drink! The wine will brighten your wits.’”
As I sipped, things turned into a blur. My senses were befuddled by the accursed drink. They wanted me to come up with something….. Characters! Something novel! The king forced more wine upon me. I just stared at it, knowing that I would become very ill upon drinking this next glass. Trippetta stared at me, horrified that I would give in to such a demand from such a terrible king. She stood in front of me, giving her protection.
It came before I could do anything to stop it. The speechless king slapped Trippetta across her beautiful rosy cheek and threw the vile, blood-red wine in her face. Suddenly my tiny body filled to the brim with raging anger. I could not control it. My teeth began to grate, back and forth, back and forth. Everyone in the room seemed uneasy from the seemingly source less noise. I gave a malicious smile, but hid it quickly as the king rounded on me.
“‘What – what – what are you making that noise for?’” he stipulated, his obese face purple and blotchy. I tried to look innocent, look like I was jittery because of the strange noise too.
“‘I – I? How can it have been me?’” I gesticulated in a surprisingly calm voice.
“‘The sound appeared from without,’” one of the ministers said, attempting to soothe the king. “‘I fancy it was that parrot at the window, whetting his bill upon his cage wires.’”
“‘True,’” replied the king, slightly reassured by the comment, “‘But on the honor of a knight, I could have sworn that it was the gritting of the vagabond’s teeth.’”
I laughed with a slightly maniacal air, and Trippetta looked at me strangely. I gulped down the remainder of the wine offered to me, no longer caring about the madness it would thrust upon me. In fact, I welcomed it gladly, for it aided me in my new plan. “‘I cannot tell what was the association of idea,’” I stated, “‘but just after your majesty had struck the girl and thrown the wine in her face – just after your majesty had done this, and while the parrot was making that odd noise outside the window, there came into my mind a capital diversion – one of my own country frolics – often enacted among us, at our masquerades: but here it will be new altogether. Unfortunately, however, it requires a company of eight persons, and –’”
“‘Here we are!’” he roared with obvious delight. I sniggered privately as he gave into this temptation. “‘Eight to a fraction – I and my seven ministers. Come! What is the diversion?’”
I had him now – there was no doubt in my mind. He would pay – pay for his every injustice. “‘We call it,’” I replied, scarcely hiding my laughter, “‘the Eight Chained Ourang-Outangs, and it really is excellent sport if well enacted.’”
Excellent sport? Ha! His gullible mind gave into my lies – lapped them up like the wine he had so forced upon me. The king had taken the bait – it would work! It would work! And he would be –
“Darling, darling, are you alright? You frightened me, your eyes – your eyes were filled with madness. Look at me dear, tell me the madness is gone, show me, please,” beseeched my beloved Trippetta, dragging me out of my insane reverie.
“I am fine dear; I am more than in fact. I have a plan, a wonderful plan. The king will pay for what he has done to you this night.”
I dictated my ideas to her, cautiously gazing at her beautiful features. I promised that no one would be harmed – not even those who were the target of my vengeance. Trippetta understood – she agreed to aid me with the king’s imminent downfall.
The king and his ministers were called before me, mere hours before the masquerade. Their grotesque, obese bodies were dressed in tightly fitting underclothing. Then I saturated them in tar, thick and black as the night. I covered them, not in feathers as some suggested, but something else – flax. The tawny brown fiber looked enough like Ourang-Outang fur to convince the crowd that the king and his ministers really were brutes. They were almost ready – almost. For the finishing touch I wrapped a chain – a tarnished silver chain – around the waists of the fat tyrants. My plan was proceeding as intended.
As they arrived at the ball, they ran through the crowds, causing a riotous scare. I followed carefully behind them, waiting for Trippetta, waiting for the key to my success. And there was the chain – dangling, dangling from where the chandelier was usually placed. I was sent into a mad frenzy – my senses were clouded as if I was intoxicated. They got closer, closer to the chain. And yes! They were there! I grabbed the hook at the end of the chain and looped it onto the only other chain in the room – the one I had tied so carefully around the false Ourang-Outangs’ bulging waists.
Ha! Ha! They jerked speedily up to the ceiling, looks of immediate surprise upon their visages. I shouted shrilly in the excitement, “‘Leave them to me!... Leave them to me! I fancy I know them. If only I can get a good look at them, I can soon tell who they are.’”
I scrambled up the wall and sprang upon the king’s very head, and he looked up with utter shock and disgust. I looked straight down at him, not even aware of the torch which had appeared in my hand. Where did I find it? Ah well – back to the plan. I was screaming again – whose words were ejected from my mouth? Ah well – on with the plan. What was I to do next? My teeth gnashed together in an uncontrolled agitation, the sweetness of revenge clouding my brains. They ground together – back and forth, back and forth. I tried to think, but could not. What was I to do now? I knew there was a plan, but what was it? I looked down at the torch grasped in my hand, and then at the king. The king and all of his horrible injustice…
I flung it – I flung the torch, illuminating the ugly face one last time before all was eaten by fire. I clung there for a moment, swaying on the chain, delirious. Then heat, blazing heat reached my small and crippled body. I awoke from my madness and scampered up the fetter, looking everywhere for Trippetta. I found her and we ran – on and on we ran. I could not bear to look at her, for anger and disbelief blazed in every crevice of her soul. I had not followed the plan. I had murdered the king. Yet still, I had achieved my goal, though possibly in a more brutal fashion than I could have imagined. This time, the joke was on the king.
