Now this beautiful, gay-hearted lady left Valladolid one day for her
Chateau of Dudzeel in Flanders.
Passing through Damme, with her fat attendant behind her, she noticed
a lad of about fifteen years of age sitting against the wall of a
cottage blowing a pair of bagpipes. In front of him was a dog with
red hair howling dismally, because, as it seemed, he did not at
all appreciate the music which his master was making. The sun shone
brightly, and at the lad's side there stood a pretty young girl in
fits of laughter at the pitiful howling of the dog.
This then was the sight that met the eye of the beautiful lady and
her fat attendant as they passed in front of the cottage: none else
but Ulenspiegel blowing his pipes, and Nele in fits of laughter,
and Titus Bibulus Schnouffius howling with all his might.
"You naughty boy," said the dame to Ulenspiegel, "will you never stop
making this poor red-hair howl like this?"
But Ulenspiegel, staring back at her, blew his pipes more valiantly
than ever, and Bibulus Schnouffius howled the more dismally, and Nele
laughed all the louder.
The lady's attendant grew angry, and pointed at Ulenspiegel, saying:
"If I beat this wretched little imp of a man with the scabbard of my
sword he would give over his insolent row."
Ulenspiegel looked the attendant in the face and called him
"Jan Papzak" because of his fat belly, and went on blowing his
bagpipes. The attendant came up to him, and threatened him with his
fist. But Bibulus Schnouffius went for him straightway and bit him
in the leg, and the man fell down, crying for mercy:
"Help, help!"
The dame only smiled, and said to Ulenspiegel:
"Tell me, my player of bagpipes, is the road still the same that
leads from Damme to Dudzeel?"
But Ulenspiegel went on playing, and only nodded his head and stared.
"Why do you look at me so fixedly?" she asked him.
But he, still continuing to play, opened his eyes all the wider as
though transported by an ecstasy of admiration.
"Are you not ashamed," she said, "young as you are, to stare at
ladies so?"
Ulenspiegel blushed faintly, but went on blowing his pipes, and
staring more than ever.
"I have already asked you once," the lady insisted, "whether the road
is still the same that leads from Damme to Dudzeel."
"It is green no longer since you deprived it of the honour of carrying
you," Ulenspiegel answered.
"Will you show me the way?" said the lady.
But Ulenspiegel still remained sitting where he was, and still went
on staring at her. And she, seeing him so roguish, and knowing it
all for the gamesomeness of youth, forgave him willingly.
He got up at last, and began to walk back into the cottage.
"Whither are you going?" she asked him.
"To put on my best clothes," he replied.
"Very well," she said.
Then the lady sat herself down on the bench, close to the doorstep,
and tried to talk to Nele. But Nele would not answer her, for she
was jealous.
It was not long before Ulenspiegel returned, well washed and clothed
in fustian. He looked fine in his Sunday clothes, the little man.
"Are you really going off with this fine lady?" Nele asked him.
"I shall soon be back," he told her.
"Let me go instead of you," said Nele.
"No," he said, "the roads are muddy."
"Why, little girl," said the lady, who was annoyed and jealous now
in her turn, "why do you try to hinder him from coming with me?"
Nele did not answer, but great tears gushed from her eyes, and she
gazed at the fine lady in sadness and in anger.
Then the four of them started off, the dame seated like a queen
upon her ambling palfrey, the attendant with his belly that shook
with every step, Ulenspiegel holding the lady's horse by the bridle,
and Bibulus Schnouffius walking at his side, tail proudly in air.
Thus went they on horseback and on foot for some long while. But
Ulenspiegel was not at his ease; dumb as a fish he sniffed the fine
scent of benjamin that floated from the lady, and saw out of the
corner of his eye all her beautiful gear, rare jewels and trinkets,
and the sweet expression of her face, her bright eyes, and bare neck,
and her hair that shone in the sunlight like a hood of gold.
"Why are you so quiet, my little man?" she asked him.
He answered nothing.
"Do you keep your tongue so deep in your boots that you could not
take a message for me?"
"What is it?" said Ulenspiegel.
"I would have you leave me here," said the dame, "and go to Koolkercke,
from whence this wind is blowing. There you will find a gentleman
dressed in black and red motley. Tell him that he must not expect
me to-day, but let him come to-morrow evening to my chateau, by the
postern gate, at ten o' the clock."
"I will not go," said Ulenspiegel.
"Why not?" asked the lady.
"I will not go, not I," Ulenspiegel said again.
"What can it be," the lady asked him, "what can it be that inspires
you with this unyielding will, you angry little cock?"
"I will not go," Ulenspiegel persisted.
"But if I gave you a florin?"
"No," said he.
"A ducat?"
"No."
"A carolus!"
"No," Ulenspiegel repeated, "although"--and this was added with
a sigh--"I should rather see it in my mother's purse than a
mussel-shell!"
The dame laughed, then suddenly cried out in a loud voice:
"My bag! I have lost my little bag! Beautiful it was and rare, made
of silk, and sown with fine pearls! It was hanging from my belt when
we were at Damme!"
Ulenspiegel did not budge, but her attendant came up to his lady.
"Madame," said he, "whatever else you do, be careful not to send
this young robber to look for it, for so you will certainly never
see it again."
"Who will go then?" asked the lady.
"I will," he answered, "old as I am."
And away he went.
Midday had struck. It was very hot. The silence was
profound. Ulenspiegel said not a word, but taking off his new doublet
he laid it on the grass in the shade of a lime-tree, so that the dame
might sit down thereon without fear of the damp. He stood close by,
heaving a sigh.
She looked up at him, and felt compassion on that shy little figure,
and she inquired of him if he was not tired standing there upright
on his young legs. He did not answer, but slid gently down at her
side. She was desirous of resting him, and she drew his head on to her
bare neck, and there it lay so willingly that she would have thought
it the sin of cruelty itself had she bade him find some other pillow.
After a while the attendant came back, saying that he had not been
able to find the bag.
"I have found it myself," replied the lady, "for when I dismounted
from my horse, there it was hanging half open on the stirrup. And
now"--this to Ulenspiegel--"show us the way to Dudzeel, please,
and tell me your name."
"My patron saint," he replied, "is Monsieur Saint Thylbert, a name
which means fleet of foot towards that which is good; my second name
is Claes, and my surname Ulenspiegel. But now, if you would deign to
look at yourself in my mirror, you would see that in all the land of
Flanders there is not one flower so dazzling in its beauty as is the
scented grace of you."
The lady blushed with pleasure, and was not angry with Ulenspiegel.
But Soetkin and Nele sat at home, weeping together, through all this
long absence.