But to this strong Crow were born children of a quite other kind.
For they were all, strangely enough, men of the quill and writing-desk,
caring nothing for the fine arts of war, and despising all arms.
These great clerks lost a good half of their heritage. For each year
some stronger neighbour would rob them of a piece of it.
And they begot puny and miserable children, with pale faces, who passed
their time, as clerks are wont, lurking in corners, sitting huddled
on stools, and whining chants and litanies in a melancholy fashion.
Thus came to an end the good men of the line.
Siewert Halewyn, who was the wretch of whom I am to tell you this
tale, was as ugly, puny, woebegone, and sour-faced as the others,
or even worse than they.
And like them he was always lurking and hiding in corners, and
shirking company, hated the sound of laughter, sweated ill-humour, and,
moreover, was never seen to lift his head skywards like an honest man,
but was all the while looking down at his boots, wept without reason,
grumbled without cause, and never had any satisfaction in anything. For
the rest he was a coward and cruel, delighting during his childhood
in teasing, frightening and hurting puppies and kittens, sparrows,
thrushes, finches, nightingales, and all small beasts.
And even when he was older, he hardly dared to attack so large a thing
as a wolf, though he were armed with his great sword. But as soon as
the beast was brought down he would rain blows on it with high valour.
So he went on until he was old enough to marry.
IV. How Sir Halewyn wished to take himself a wife, and what the ladies
and gentlewomen said to it.
Then, since he was the oldest of the family, he was sent off to the
court of the Count, there to find himself a wife. But every one laughed
at him, on account of his marvellous ugliness, more particularly the
ladies and gentlewomen, who made fun of him among themselves, saying:
"Look at this fine knight! What is he doing here? He has come to marry
us, I suppose.--Who would have him, for four castles, as many manors,
ten thousand peasants and half the gold in the province? None.--And
that is a pity, for between them they would get fine children, if
they were to be like their father!--Ho, what fine hair he has, the
devil must have limned it with an old nail; what a fine nose, 'tis
like a withered plum, and what fair blue eyes, so marvellously ringed
round with red.--See, he is going to cry! That will be pretty music."
And Sir Halewyn, hearing the ladies talk after this fashion, could
not find a word to answer them with, for between anger, shame, and
sorrow his tongue was fast stuck to the roof of his mouth.
Nevertheless he would take a lance at every tournament, and every
time would be shamefully overcome, and the ladies, seeing him fall,
would applaud loudly, crying out: "Worship to the ill-favoured one! The
old crow has lost his beak." Thus they compared him, for his shame,
with Dirk, the old stock of the Halewyns, who had been so mighty
in his day. And, acclaimed in this fashion every time he jousted,
Sir Halewyn would go back from the field in sorrow to his pavilion.
V. How it came about that Sir Halewyn, after a certain tournament,
called upon the devil for aid.
At the third tournament wherein he was beaten there were on the field
his father, mother, brother, and sister.
And his father said:
"Well, look at my fine son, Siewert the soft, Siewert the overthrown,
Siewert the faint-heart, coming back from jousting with his tail
between his legs, like a dog thrashed with a great stick."
And his mother said:
"I suppose for certain that My Lord the Count has put a gold chain
round thy neck, and acclaimed thee publicly, for having so valiantly
in this jousting jousted on thy back, as in the old days my lord of
Beaufort was wont to make thee do. Holy God! that was a fine tumble."
And his sister said:
"Welcome, my fair brother, what news do you bring? Thou wert the
victor for certain, as I see from thy triumphant mien. But where is
the wreath of the ladies?"
And his brother said:
"Where is your lordly bearing, My Lord Siewert Halewyn the
elder, descendant of the Crow with the great beak? For such a Crow
vanquishes without much trouble eagles, goshawks, shrikes, gerfalcons,
sparrow-hawks. Are you not thirsty, my brother, with the thirst of
a baron, of a victor, I will not say of a villein? We have here some
fine frog's wine, which will cool the fires of victory in your belly."
"Ha," answered the Sire, grinding his teeth, "if God gave me strength,
I would make thee sing a different song Sir Brother."
And saying this, he pulled out his sword to do so, but the younger,
parrying his thrust, cried out:
"Bravo, uncrowlike Crow! Bravo, capon! Raise up our house, I beg of
thee, Siewert the victorious!"
"Ha," said the Sire, "and why does this chatterer not go and joust as
well as I? But he would not dare, being that kind of coward who looks
on at others, folding his arms and making fun of those who strive."
Then he dismounted from his horse, went off and hid himself in his
chamber, cried out to the four walls in a rage, prayed to the devil
to give him strength and beauty, and promised him, on the oath of a
knight, that he would give him his soul in exchange.
So he called on him all through the night, crying out, weeping,
bewailing his lot, minded at times even to kill himself. But the
devil did not come, being busy elsewhere.