I
The monk that Lamme captured, perceiving that the Beggars did not
desire to have him dead, but paying ransom, began to lift up his nose
on board the ship:
"See," quoth he, marching and wagging his head furiously, "see in what
a gulf of vile, black, and foul abominations I have fallen in setting
foot on this wooden tub. Were I not here, I whom the Lord anointed...."
"With dog's grease?" asked the Beggars.
"Dogs yourselves," replied the monk, continuing his discourse, "aye,
mangy dogs, strays, defiled, starveling, that have fled out of the rich
pathway of our Mother the Holy Roman Church to enter upon the parched
highway of your tattered Reformed Church. Aye! if I were not here in
your wooden shoe, your tub, long since would the Lord have swallowed
it up in the deepest gulfs of the sea, with you, your accursed arms,
your devils' cannon, your singing captain, your blasphemous crescents,
aye! down to the very deeps of the unfathomable bottom of Satan's
kingdom, where ye will not burn, nay, but where ye shall freeze, shall
shiver, shall die of cold throughout all long eternity. Yea! the God
of heaven will thus quench the fire of your impious hate against our
sweet Mother the Holy Roman Church, against messieurs the saints,
messeigneurs the bishops and the blessed edicts that were so mildly
and so ripely devised. Aye! and I should see you from the peak of
paradise, purple as beetroots or white as turnips so cold ye should
be. 'T sy! 't sy! 't sy! So, so, so, so be it."
The sailors, soldiers, and cabin boys jeered at him, and shot dried
peas at him through peashooters. And he covered his face with his
hands against this artillery.
II
The duke of blood having quitted the country, Messires de Medina-Coeli
and De Requesens governed it with less cruelty. Then the States
General ruled them in the name of the king.
Meanwhile, the folk of Zealand and of Holland, most lucky by reason
of the sea and their dykes, which are natural ramparts and fortresses
to them, opened free temples to the God of free men; and the murderous
Papists might sing their hymns beside them; and Monseigneur the Silent
of Orange refrained from founding a royal dynasty of stadtholders.
The Belgian country was ravaged by the Walloons who were dissatisfied
by the peace of Ghent, which, men said, was to quench all hatreds. And
these Walloons, Pater-noster knechter, wearing upon their necks big
black rosaries, of which there were found two thousand at Spienne in
Hainaut, stealing oxen and horses by twelve hundred, two thousand at
a time, choosing out the best, carrying off women and girls by field
and by marsh; eating and never paying, these Walloons used to burn
within their farmsteads the armed peasants that tried to prevent the
fruit of their hard toil from being carried away.
And the common folk would say to one another: "Don Juan is soon to
come with his Spaniards, and his Great Highness will come with his
Frenchmen, not Huguenots but Papists: and the Silent, desiring to
rule in peace over Holland, Zealand, Gueldre, Utrecht, Overyssel,
cedes in a secret treaty the lands of Belgium, for Monsieur d'Anjou
to make himself a king therein."
Some of the commonalty were still confident. "The States," said they,
"have twenty thousand well-armed men, with plenty of cannon and good
cavalry. They will repel all foreign soldiery."
But the thoughtful ones said: "The States have twenty thousand men
on paper, but not in the field; they lack cavalry and let their
horses be stolen within a league of their camps by the Pater-noster
knechten. They have no artillery, for while needing it at home,
they decided to send one hundred cannon with powder and shot to Don
Sebastian of Portugal; and no man knoweth whither has gone the two
million crowns we have paid on four occasions by way of taxes and
contributions; the citizens of Ghent and Brussels are arming, Ghent
for the Reformation, and Brussels even as Ghent; at Brussels the women
play the tambourine while their men toil at the ramparts. And Ghent
the Bold is sending to Brussels the Gay powder and cannon, the which
she lacketh for her defence against the Malcontents and the Spaniards."
And man by man in the towns and the flat country, in 't plat landt,
sees that trust cannot be placed either in the lords or in many
another. "And we citizens and common folk are sore at heart for that
giving our money and ready to give our blood, we see that nothing goes
forward for the good of the country of our sires. And the Belgian land
is cowed and angered, having no trusty chiefs to give it the chance
of battle and to give it victory, through great effort of arms all
ready against the foes of liberty."
And the thoughtful folk said among themselves:
"In the Peace of Ghent, the lords of Holland and of Belgium swore
the abolishment of hate, mutual help between the Belgian Estates and
the Estates of the Netherlands; declared the edicts null and void,
the confiscations cancelled, peace between the two religions; promised
to raze each and every column, trophy, inscription, and effigy set up
by the Duke of Alba to our dishonour. But in the hearts of the chiefs
the hatreds are still afoot; the nobles and the clergy foment division
between the States of the Union; they receive money to pay soldiers,
they keep it for their own gluttony; fifteen thousand law suits for
the recovery of confiscated property are suspended; the Lutherans and
Romans unite against the Calvinists; lawful heirs cannot succeed in
driving the despoilers from out their inheritance; the duke's statue
is on the ground, but the image of the Inquisition is enshrined within
their hearts."
And the poor commonalty and the woeful burgesses waited ever for the
valiant and trusty chief that would lead them to battle for freedom.
And they said among themselves: "Where are the illustrious signatories
to the Compromise, all united, so they said, for the good of the
country? Why did these two-faced men make such a 'holy alliance,'
if they were to break it at once? Why meet together with so much
commotion, rouse the king's wrath, to dissolve like cowards and
traitors after? Five hundred as they were, great lords and low lords
banded like brothers, they saved us from the fury of Spain; but they
sacrificed the welfare of the land of Belgium to their own profit,
even as did d'Egmont and de Hoorn.
"Alas!" said they, "see Don Juan come now, handsome and ambitious,
the enemy of Philip, but more the enemy of his country. He is coming
for the Pope and for himself. Nobles and clergy are traitors."
And they began a semblance of war. Upon the walls along the main
streets and the little streets of Ghent and Brussels, nay even upon the
masts of the Beggars' ships, were then to be seen posted up the names
of traitors, army chiefs, and commanders of fortresses: the names
of the Count of Liederkerke, who did not defend his castle against
Don Juan; of the provost of Liége, who would have sold the city to
Don Juan; of Messieurs d'Aerschot, de Mansfeldt, de Berlaymont, de
Rassenghien; the name, of the Council of State, of Georges de Lalaing,
governor of Frisia, that of the army leader the seigneur de Rossignol,
an emissary of Don Juan, the go-between for murder between Philip and
Jaureguy, the clumsy assassin of the Prince of Orange; the name of the
Archbishop of Cambrai, who would have given the Spaniards entry into
the town; the names of the Jesuits of Antwerp, offering three casks
of gold to the States--that was two million florins--not to demolish
the castle and to hold it for Don Juan; of the Bishop of Liége; of
Roman preachers defaming and abusing the patriots; of the Bishop of
Utrecht, whom the citizens sent elsewhere to pasture on the grass of
treachery; the orders of begging friars, which intrigued and plotted
at Ghent in favour of Don Juan. The folk of Bois-le-Duc nailed on the
pillory the name of Peter the Carmelite, who helped by their bishop
and his clergy, undertook to hand over the town to Don Juan.
At Douai they did not indeed hang the rector of the university in
effigy, a man no less Spaniardized; but upon the ships of the Beggars
were seen on the breast of mannikins hanging by their necks the
names of monks, abbots, and prelates, of eighteen hundred rich women
and girls of the nunnery of Malines who with their money sustained,
gilded, and beplumed the country's butchers.
And on these mannikins, the pillories of traitors, were to be read
the names of the Marquis d'Harrault, the commander of the fortress
of Philippeville, wasting and squandering munitions of war and food
uselessly in order to give up the place to the enemy under pretence of
a lack of provisions; the name of Belver, who surrendered Lembourg,
when the town might have held out another eight months; that of the
President of the Council of Flanders; of the magistrate of Bruges,
of the magistrate of Malines, holding their towns for Don Juan,
of the members of the Exchequer Council of Guelderland, closed by
reason of treachery; of those of the Council of Brabant, of the
Chancellery of the Duchy; of the Privy Council and the Council of
Finance; of the Grand Bailiff and the Burgomaster of Menin; and of
the ill neighbours of Artois, who gave passage without let to two
thousand Frenchmen bent upon pillage.
"Alas!" said the city folk among themselves, "here is the Duke of Anjou
with a footing in our country: he would fain be king among us; did ye
behold him entering into Mons, a little man, with fat hips, big nose,
a yellow phiz, a fleering mouth? 'Tis a great prince, loving loves
out of the common; he is called, that he may have in his name woman's
grace and man's force, Monseigneur monsieur Sa Grande Altesse d'Anjou."
Ulenspiegel was pensive. And he sang:
"Blue are the skies, the clear bright skies;
Cover the banners all in crêpe,
With crêpe the handle of the sword;
Hide every gem;
Turn the mirrors over;
I sing the song of Death,
The traitors' song.
"They have set foot upon the belly
And on the bosom of the proud lands
Of Brabant, Flanders, Hainault,
Antwerp, Artois, Luxembourg.
Nobles and clergy are traitors;
The bait of reward allures them.
I sing the traitors' song.
"When the foe sacks everywhere,
When the Spaniard enters Antwerp,
Abbés, prelates, and army chiefs
Go through the streets of the town,
Clad in silk, bedecked with gold,
Their faces shining with good wine,
Displaying thus their infamy.
"And through them, the Inquisition
Will wake again in high triumph,
And new Titelmans
Will arrest the deaf and dumb
For heresy.
I sing the traitors' song.
"Signatories to the Compromise.
Coward signatories,
Be your names all accursed!
Where are ye in the hour of war?
Ye march like corbies
In the Spaniards' train.
Beat upon the drum of woe.
"Land of Belgium, future years
Will condemn thee for that thou,
All in arms, didst let thyself be pillaged.
Future, hasten not;
See the traitors labouring:
There are twenty, a thousand,
Filling every post,
The great give them to the little.
"They have plotted and agreed
That they might fetter all defence,
With discord and sloth,
Their treacherous devices.
Cover the mirrors with crêpe
And the hilts of the swords.
'Tis the traitors' song.
"They declare rebels
All Spaniards and malcontents;
Forbid to help them
With bread or shelter,
With lead or powder.
If any are taken to be hanged,
To be hanged,
They release them at once.
"'Up!' say the men of Brussels,
'Up!' say the men of Ghent
And the Belgian commons,
Poor men, they mean to crush you
Between the king
And the Pope who launches
The crusade against Flanders.
"They come, the hirelings,
At the smell of blood;
Bands of dogs,
Of serpents and hyænas.
They hunger, they are athirst.
Poor land of our sires,
Ripe for ruin and death.
"'Tis not Don Juan
That makes ready the task
For Farnèse, the Pope's minion.
But those thou didst load
With gold and distinctions,
Who confessed thy women
Thy girls and thy children!
"They have flung thee to ground
And the Spaniard holds
The knife at thy throat;
They jeer at thee,
Feasting at Brussels
The coming of Orange.
"When on the canal were seen
So many fireworks
Exploding their joy,
So many triumphing boats,
Paintings, tapestries,
They were playing, O Belgium,
The old tale of Joseph
Sold by his brothers."
III
Seeing that he was allowed to say what he pleased, the monk lifted
up his nose on board the ship; and the sailors and soldiers, to make
him the more ready and eager to preach, slandered Madame the Virgin,
Messieurs the Saints, and the pious practices of the Holy Roman Church.
Then, becoming enraged, he vomited out a flood of abuse against them.
"Aye!" he cried, "aye, here am I then in the den of the Beggars! Yea,
these are indeed those accursed devourers of the land! Yea. And
they say that the Inquisitor, that holy man, has burned too many of
them! Nay: there is still some of the filthy vermin left. Aye, on
these goodly and gallant ships of our Lord the King, once so clean
and well scoured, now can be seen the vermin of the Beggars, aye,
the stinking vermin. Aye, they are vermin, foul, stinking, infamous
vermin, the singing captain, the cook with his belly filled with
impiety, and all of them with their blasphemous crescents. When the
king will have his ships scoured with the suds of artillery, it will
need more than a hundred thousand florins' worth of powder and cannon
shot to clear away this filthy, beastly stinking infection. Aye,
ye were all born in Madame Lucifer's alcove, condemned to dwell
with Satanas between walls of vermin, under curtains of vermin, on
mattresses of vermin. Yea, and there it was that in their infamous
loves they begat and conceived the Beggars. Aye, and I spit upon you."
At this word the Beggars said to him:
"Why do we keep here this idle rascal, who is good for nothing but
to spew up insults? Let us hang him rather."
And they set about doing it.
The monk, seeing the rope ready, the ladder propped against the mast,
and that they were about to bind his hands, said woefully:
"Have pity upon me, Messieurs the Beggars, it is the demon of anger
that speaks in my heart and not your humble captive, a poor monk that
hath but one only neck in this world: gracious lords, have mercy:
shut my mouth if ye will with a choke-pear; 'tis a bitter fruit,
but hang me not."
But they, without giving heed, and despite his furious struggles,
were dragging him towards the ladder. He cried then so shrill and
loud that Lamme said to Ulenspiegel, who was with him and tending
him in the cook's galley:
"My son! my son! they have stolen a pig from the stable, and they
are making off. Oh, the robbers! if I could but rise!"
Ulenspiegel went up and saw nothing but the monk. And he, catching
sight of Ulenspiegel, fell upon his knees, with his hands outstretched
to him.
"Messire Captain," said he, "captain of the valiant Beggars,
redoubtable on land and on sea, your soldiers are fain to hang me
because I have transgressed with my tongue: 'tis an unjust punishment,
Messire Captain, for so must all advocates, procurators, preachers,
and women, be given a hempen collar, and the world would be unpeopled;
Messire, save me from the rope. I shall pray for you; you will never
be damned: grant me pardon. The devil of prating carried me away and
made me speak without ceasing: 'tis a mighty misfortune. My poor bile
soured then and made me say a thousand things I never think. Grace,
Messire Captain, and you, Messieurs, intercede for me."
Suddenly Lamme appeared on the deck in his shirt and said:
"Captain and friends, 'twas not the pig but the monk that was
squealing; I am overjoyed. Ulenspiegel, my son, I have conceived a
high design with regard to His Paternity; give him his life, but leave
him not at liberty, else will he do some ill trick upon the ship:
rather have a cage built for him on the deck, a strait cage well
opened and airy, where he can do no more than sit down and sleep;
such a one as they make for capons; let me feed him, and let him be
hanged if he does not eat as much as I will."
"Let him be hanged if he will not eat," said Ulenspiegel and the
Beggars.
"What dost thou mean to do with me, big man?" said the monk.
"Thou shalt see," replied Lamme.
And Ulenspiegel did as Lamme wished, and the monk was put in a cage,
and all could contemplate him at their leisure.
Lamme had gone down into his galley; Ulenspiegel followed and heard
him disputing with Nele:
"I will not lie down," he was saying, "no, I will not lie down to
have others groping and fumbling with my sauces; no, I will not stay
in my bed, like a calf!"
"Do not be angry, Lamme," said Nele, "or your wound will reopen and
you will die."
"Well," said he, "I will die: I am tired of living without my wife. Is
it not enough for me to have lost her, without your trying furthermore
to prevent me, me the master cook of this place, from myself keeping
watch over the soup? Know ye not that there is a health inherent in
the steam of sauces and fricassees? They even nourish my spirit and
armour me against misfortunes."
"Lamme," said Nele, "thou must needs hearken to our counsel and let
thyself be healed by us."
"I am fain to let myself be healed," said Lamme: "but rather than
another should enter here, some ignorant good-for-naught, a frowsy,
ulcerous, blear-eyed, dropping nosed fellow, and come to king it as
master cook in my place, and paddle with his filthy fingers in my
sauces, I would rather kill him with my wooden ladle, which would be
iron for that task."
"All the same," said Ulenspiegel, "thou must have an assistant;
thou art sick...."
"An assistant for me," said Lamme, "for me, an assistant! Art thou then
stuffed with naught but ingratitude, as a sausage is full of minced
meat? An assistant, my son, and 'tis thou that dost say so to me, thy
friend, who have nourished thee so long time and so succulently! Now
will my wound reopen. False friend, who then would dress thy food
like me? What would ye do, ye two, if I were not there to give thee,
chief-captain, and thee, Nele, some dainty stew or other?"
"We will work ourselves in the galley," said Ulenspiegel.
"Cooking," said Lamme: "thou art good to eat of it, to smell it, to
sniff it up, but to perform it, no: poor friend and chief-captain,
saving your respect, I could make thee eat leather wallets cut up
into ribbons, and thou wouldst take it for toughish tripe: leave me,
my son, to be still the master cook of here, else I shall dry up,
like a lathstick."
"Remain master cook then," said Ulenspiegel; "if thou dost not heal,
I will shut up the galley and we shall eat naught save biscuits."
"Ah! my son," said Lamme, weeping for joy, "thou art good and kind
as Notre Dame herself."
IV
And in any case he appeared to be healing.
Every Saturday the Beggars saw him measuring the monk's waist girth
with a long leather thong.
The first Saturday he said:
"Four feet."
And measuring himself, he said:
"Four feet and a half."
And he seemed melancholy.
But, speaking of the monk, on the eighth Saturday he was full of joy
and said:
"Four feet and three quarters."
And the monk, angry, when he took his measure, would say to him:
"What do you want with me, big man?"
But Lamme would put out his tongue at him without a word.
And seven times a day, the sailors and soldiers saw him come with a
new dish, saying to the monk:
"Here be rich beans in Flemish butter: didst thou eat the like in
thy monastery? Thou hast a goodly phiz; there is no starving on this
ship. Dost thou not feel cushions of fat coming on thy back? Before
long thou wilt have no need of a mattress to lie on."
At the monk's second meal:
"Here," he would say, "there are koeke-bakken after the Brussels
fashion; the French folk call them crêpes, for they wear crapes on
their kerchiefs for a sign of mourning: these are not black, but
fair of hue and golden browned in the oven: seest thou the butter
streaming off them? So shall it be with thy belly."
"I have no hunger," the monk would say.
"Thou must needs eat," was Lamme's answer. "Dost thou deem that
these are pancakes of buckwheat? 'tis pure wheat, my father, father
in grease, fine flour of the wheat, my father with the four chins:
already I see the fifth one coming, and my heart rejoices. Eat."
"Leave me in peace, big man," said the monk.
Lamme, becoming wrathful, would reply:
"I am the lord and disposer of thy life: dost thou prefer the rope
to a good bowl of pea soup with sippets, such as I am about to fetch
thee presently?"
And coming with the bowl:
"Pea soup," quoth Lamme, "loves to be eaten in company: and therefore
I have just added thereto knoedels of Germany, goodly dumplings of
Corinth flour, cast all alive into boiling water: they are heavy,
but make plenteous fat. Eat all thou canst; the more thou dost eat
the greater my joy: do not feign disgust; breathe not so hard as
if thou hadst over much: eat. Is it not better to eat than to be
hanged? Let's see thy thigh! it thickens also; two feet seven inches
round about. Where is the ham that measureth as much?"
An hour after he came back to the monk:
"Come," said he, "here are nine pigeons: they have been slaughtered for
thee, these innocent beasts that wont to fly unfearing above the ships:
disdain them not; I have put into their bellies a ball of butter,
breadcrumbs, grated nutmeg, cloves pounded in a brass mortar shining
like thy skin: Master Sun rejoices to be able to admire himself in
a face as bright as thine, by reason of the grease, the good grease
I have made for thee."
At the fifth meal he would fetch him a waterzoey.
"What thinkest thou," quoth he, "of this hodgepodge of fish? The sea
carries thee and feedeth thee: she could do no more for the King's
Majesty. Aye, aye, I can see the fifth chin visibly a-coming a little
more on the left side than on the right side: we must fatten up this
side that is neglected, for God saith to us: 'Be just to each.' Where
would justice be, if not in an equitable distributing of grease? I will
bring thee for thy sixth repast mussels, those oysters of the poor,
such as they never served thee in thy convent: ignorant folk boil
them and eat them so; but that is but the prologue to the fricassee;
they must next be stripped of their shells, and their gentle bodies
put in a pan, then stewed delicately with celery, nutmeg, and cloves,
and bind the sauce with beer and flour, and serve them with buttered
toast. I have done them in this fashion for thee. Why do children
owe so great a gratitude to their fathers and mothers? Because they
have given them shelter and love, but beyond all things, food: thou
oughtest then to love me as thy father and thy mother, and even as
to them thou owest me the gratitude of thy stomach: roll not against
me then such savage eyes.
"Presently I shall bring thee a soup of beer and flour, well sweetened
with cinnamon a-plenty. Knowest thou for why? That thy fat may
become translucent and shiver upon thy skin: such it is seen when
thou movest. Now here is the curfew ringing: sleep in peace, taking
no thought for the morrow, certain to find thy succulent repasts once
more, and thy friend Lamme to give them thee without fail."
"Begone and leave me to pray to God," said the monk.
"Pray," said Lamme, "pray with the cheerful music of snoring: beer
and sleep will make grease for thee, goodly grease. For my part,
I am glad of it."
And Lamme went off to put himself in bed.
And the sailors and soldiers would say to him:
"Why, then, do you feed so richly this monk that wishes thee no good?"
"Let me alone," said Lamme, "I am accomplishing a mighty work."
V
December was come, the month of long dark nights. Ulenspiegel sang:
"Monseigneur Sa Grande Altesse
Takes off his mask,
Eager to reign over the Belgian land.
The Estates Spaniardized
But not Angevined
Deal with the taxes.
Beat upon the drum
Of Anjou's thwarting.
"They have within their power
Domains, excise, and funds,
Making of magistrates
And offices as well.
He hateth the Reformed
Monsieur Sa Grande Altesse,
An atheist in France
Oh! Anjou's thwarting.
"For he would fain be king
By the sword and by force,
King absolute in all.
This Monseigneur, this Grande Altesse;
Fain would he foully seize
Many fair towns, yea, Antwerp, too;
Signorkes and pagaders rise early,
Oh! Anjou's thwarting!
"'Tis not upon thee, France,
That this folk rushes, mad with rage;
These deadly weaponed blows
Fall not upon thy noble body;
And they are not thy offspring
Whose corpses in great heaps
Choke the Kip-Dorp Gate.
Oh! the thwarting of Anjou!
"No, these are no sons of thine
The people fling from the ramparts.
'Tis the High Highness of Anjou,
The passive libertine Anjou,
Living, France, on thy very blood,
And eager to drink ours;
But 'twixt the cup and lip....
Oh! the thwarting of Anjou.
"Monsieur Sa Grande Altesse.
In a defenceless town
Cried, 'Kill! kill! Long live the Mass!'
With his handsome minions,
With eyes wherein gleams
The shameful fire, impudent, restless,
Lust without love.
Oh! the thwarting of Anjou!
"'Tis they that are smitten, not thee, poor folk,
On whom they weigh with tax,
Salt tax, poll tax, deflowering,
Contemning thee, making thee give
Thy corn, thy horses, thy wains,
Thou that art a father to them.
Oh! the thwarting of Anjou!
"Thou that art a mother to them,
Suckling the misbehaviour
Of these parricides that sully
Thy name abroad, France, that dost feast
On the savours of their glory
When they add by savage feast.
Oh! the thwarting of Anjou!
"A floret to thy soldier crown,
A province to thy territory.
Give the stupid cock 'Lust and battle'
Thy foot on the neck.
People of France, people of men,
The foot that treads them down!
And all the peoples will love thee
For the thwarting of Anjou."
VI
In May, when the peasant women of Flanders by night throw backwards
slowly over their heads three black beans to keep them from sickness
and death, Lamme's wound opened again: he had a high fever and asked
to be laid on the deck of the ship, over against the monk's cage.
Ulenspiegel was very willing; but for fear lest his friend might fall
into the sea in a fever fit, he had him strongly fastened down upon
his bed.
In his interludes of reason, Lamme incessantly enjoined on them not
to forget the monk: and he thrust out his tongue at him.
And the monk said:
"Thou dost insult me, big man."
"Nay," replied Lamme, "I am fattening thee."
The wind blew soft, the sun shone warm; Lamme in his fever was securely
tied on his bed, so that in his witless spasms of leaping he might
not jump over the side of the ship; and deeming himself still in his
galley, he said:
"This fire is bright to-day. Soon it will rain ortolans. Wife, spread
snares in our orchard. Thou art lovely thus, with thy sleeves rolled
up to the elbow. Thy arm is white, I would fain bite it, bite with
my lips that are teeth of live velvet. Whose is this lovely flesh,
whose those lovely breasts showing beneath thy white jacket of
fine linen? Mine, my sweet treasure. Who will make the fricassee of
cock's comb and chickens' rumps? Not too much nutmeg, it brings on
fever. White sauce, thyme, and laurel: where are the yolks of eggs?"
Then making a sign for Ulenspiegel to bring his ear close to his mouth,
he said to him in a low voice:
"Presently it will rain venison; I shall keep thee four ortolans more
than the others. Thou art the captain; betray me not."
Then hearing the sea beat softly on the ship's side:
"The soup is boiling, my son; the soup is boiling, but how slow is
this fire to heat up!"
As soon as he recovered his wits, he said, speaking of the monk:
"Where is he? doth he grow in grease?"
Seeing him then, he put out his tongue at him and said:
"The great work is being accomplished; I am content."
One day he asked to have the great scales set up on the deck, and
to be set in it, he on one pan, the monk on the other: scarcely
was the monk in place than Lamme soared like an arrow in the air,
and rejoicing, he said, looking at him:
"He weighs it down! he weighs it down! I am a weightless spirit beside
him: I will fly in the air like a bird. I have my idea: take him
away that I may come down; now put on the weights. Put him back. What
does he weigh? Three hundred and fourteen pounds. And I? Two hundred
and twenty."
VII
The night of the day after this, when the dawn was rising gray,
Ulenspiegel was awakened by Lamme crying:
"Ulenspiegel! Ulenspiegel! help, rescue, keep her from going away. Cut
the cords! cut the cords!"
Ulenspiegel came up on the deck and said:
"Why dost thou call out? I see naught."
"'Tis she," replied Lamme, "she, my wife, there, in that skiff rounding
that flyboat; aye, that flyboat whence there came the sound of singing
and the viol strings."
Nele had come up on deck.
"Cut the cords, my dear," said Lamme. "Seest thou not that my wound is
cured, her soft hand hath healed it; she, aye, she. Dost thou see her
standing up in the skiff? Dost thou hear? she is singing still. Come,
my beloved, come; flee not from thy poor Lamme, who was so lonely in
the world without thee."
Nele took his hand, touched his face.
"He hath the fever still," she said.
"Cut the cords," said Lamme; "give me a skiff! I am alive, I am happy,
I am healed!"
Ulenspiegel cut the cords: Lamme, leaping from his bed in breeches
of white linen, without a doublet, set to work himself to lower away
the skiff.
"See him," said Nele to Ulenspiegel: "his hands tremble with impatience
as they work."
The skiff ready, Ulenspiegel, Nele, and Lamme went down into it
with an oarsman, and set off towards the flyboat anchored far off in
the harbour.
"See the goodly flyboat," said Lamme, helping the oarsman.
On the fresh morning sky, coloured like crystal gilded by the rays
of the young sun, the flyboat showed up her hull and her elegant masts.
While Lamme rowed:
"Tell us now how didst find her again," asked Ulenspiegel.
Lamme replied, speaking in jerks:
"I was sleeping, already much better. All at once a dull noise. A
piece of wood struck the ship. A skiff. A sailor hurries up at the
noise: 'Who goes there?' A soft voice, her voice, my son, her voice,
her sweet voice: 'Friends.' Then a deeper voice: 'Long live the
Beggar: the commander of the flyboat Johannah to speak with Lamme
Goedzak.' The sailor drops the ladder. The moon was shining. I see a
man's shape coming up on to the deck: strong hips, round knees, wide
pelvis; I say to myself: 'a pretended man': I feel as it might be
a rose opening and touching my cheek: her mouth, my son, and I hear
her saying to me, she--dost thou follow?--herself, covering me with
kisses and with tears: 'twas liquid perfumed fire falling on my body:
'I know I am sinning; but I love thee, my husband! I have sworn before
God: I am breaking my oath, my man, my poor man! I have come often
without daring to come nigh thee; the sailor at last allowed me:
I dressed thy wound, thou knewest me not; but I have healed thee;
be not wroth, my man! I have followed thee, but I am afraid; he is
upon this ship, let me go; if he saw me he would curse me and I should
burn in the everlasting fire!' She kissed me again, weeping and happy,
and went away in spite of me, despite my tears: thou hadst bound me
hand and foot, my son, but now...."
And saying this he bent mightily to his oars: 'twas like the taut
string of a bow that launches the arrow forthright.
As they approached the flyboat, Lamme said:
"There she is, upon the deck, playing the viol, my darling wife with
her hair of golden brown, with the brown eyes, the cheeks still fresh
and young, the bare round arms, the white hands. Leap onward, skiff,
over the sea!"
The captain of the flyboat, seeing the skiff coming up and Lamme
rowing like a demon, had a ladder dropped from the deck. When Lamme
was by it, he leapt from the skiff on to the ladder at the risk of
tumbling into the sea, thrusting the skiff three fathoms behind him
and more; and climbing like a cat up to the deck, ran to his wife,
who swooning with joy, kissed and embraced him, saying:
"Lamme! come not to take me: I have sworn to God, but I love
thee. Ah! dear husband!"
Nele cried out:
"It is Calleken Huybrechts, the pretty Calleken."
"'Tis I," said she, "but alas! the hour of noon has gone by for
my beauty."
And she seemed wretched.
"What hast thou done?" said Lamme: "what became of thee? Why didst
thou leave me? Why wilt thou leave me now?"
"Listen," said she, "and be not wroth; I will tell thee: knowing
that all monks are men of God I confided in one of them: his name
was Broer Cornelis Adriaensen."
Hearing which Lamme:
"What!" said he, "that wicked hypocrite who had a sewer mouth, full
of filth and dirt, and spoke of naught but spilling the blood of the
Reformed; what! that praiser of the Inquisition and the edicts! Ah,
it was a blackguardly good-for-naught rascal!"
Calleken said:
"Do not insult the man of God."
"The man of God!" said Lamme, "I know him; 'twas a man of filth
and foulness. Wretched fate! my beautiful Calleken fallen into the
hands of this lascivious monk! Come not near me, I will kill thee:
and I that loved her so much! my poor deceived heart that was all
her own! What dost thou come hither for? Why didst thou tend me? thou
shouldst have left me to die. Begone, thou; I would see thee no more,
begone, or I fling thee in the sea. My knife!..."
She, embracing him:
"Lamme," said she, "my husband, weep not: I am not what thou deemest:
I have not belonged to this monk."
"Thou liest," said Lamme, weeping and grinding his teeth both at the
same time. "Ah! I was never jealous, and now I am. Sad passion, anger,
and love, the need to slay and embrace. Begone, thou! no, stay! I
was so good to her! Murder is master in me. My knife! Oh! this burns,
devours, gnaws; thou laughest at me....
She embraced him weeping, gentle and submissive.
"Aye," said he, "I am a fool in my anger: aye, thou didst guard
my honour, that honour a man is mad enough to hang on a woman's
skirts. So it was for that thou wast wont to pick out thy sweetest
smiles to ask me leave to go to the sermon with thy she-friends."
"Let me speak," said the woman, embracing him. "May I die on the
instant if I deceive thee!"
"Die, then," said Lamme, "for thou art going to lie."
"Listen to me," said she.
"Speak or speak not," said he, "'tis all one to me."
"Broer Adriaensen," she said, "passed for a good preacher; I went to
hear him: he set the ecclesiastic and celibate estate above all others
as being more proper to win paradise for the faithful. His eloquence
was great and fiery: several wives of good repute, of whom I was one,
and in especial a goodly number of widow women and girls, had their
minds troubled by it. The estate of celibacy being so perfect, he
enjoined upon us to dwell therein: we swore thenceforward no longer
to be spouses...."
"Save to him, no doubt," said Lamme, weeping.
"Be silent," said she, angry.
"Go to," said he, "finish: thou hast fetched me a bitter blow;
I shall never be whole of it."
"Yea," said she, "my man, when I shall be always with thee."
And she would fain have embraced and kissed him, but he repulsed her.
"The widows," said she, "swore between his hands never to marry again."
And Lamme listened to her, lost in his jealous musing.
Calleken, shamefaced, went on:
"He desired," she said, "to have no penitents save young and beauteous
wives or maids: the others he sent back to their own curés. He
established an order of devotees, making us all swear to have no other
confessors but himself only: I swore it; my companions, more initiate
than I, asked me if I was fain to be instructed in the Holy Discipline
and the Holy Penance: I wished it. There was at Bruges, at the Stone
Cutters' Quay, by the convent of the Franciscan friars, a house dwelt
in by a woman called Calle de Najage, who gave girls instruction
and lodging, for a gold carolus by the month: Broer Cornelis could
enter her house without being seen to leave his cloister. It was to
this house I went, into a little chamber where he was alone: there
he ordered me to tell him all my natural and carnal inclinations: at
first I dared not; but in the end I gave way, wept, and told him all."
"Alas!" wept Lamme, "and this swine monk thus received thy sweet
confession."
"He still told me, and this is true, my husband, that above earthly
modesty is a celestial modesty, through which we make unto God
the sacrifice of our earthly shames, and that thus we avow to our
confessors all our secret desires, and are then worthy to receive
the Holy Discipline and the Holy Penance.
"In the end he made me strip naked before him, to receive upon my body,
which had sinned, the too-light chastisement of my faults. One day
he made me unclothe myself; I fainted when I must let my body linen
fall: he revived me with salts and flasks.--''Tis well for this time,
daughter,' said he, 'come back in two days' time and bring a rod.' That
went on for long without ever ... I swear it before God and all his
saints ... my man ... understand me ... look at me ... see if I lie:
I remained pure and faithful ... I loved thee."
"Poor sweet body," said Lamme, "O stain upon thy marriage robe!"
"Lamme," said she, "he spoke in the name of God and of our Holy
Mother Church; was I not to listen to him? I loved thee always,
but I had sworn to the Virgin, by dreadful oaths, to deny myself to
thee: yet I was weak, weak to thee. Dost thou recall the hostelry
of Bruges? I was at the house of Calle de Najage thou didst pass by
upon thine ass with Ulenspiegel. I followed thee; I had a goodly sum
of money; I spent nothing ever for myself. I saw thee an hungered:
my heart pulled towards thee, I had pity and love."
"Where is he now?" asked Ulenspiegel.
Calleken replied:
"After an inquiry ordered by the magistrate and an investigation
of evil men, Broer Andriaensen must needs leave Bruges, and took
refuge in Antwerp. They told me on the flyboat that my man had made
him prisoner."
"What!" said Lamme, "this monk I am fattening is...."
"He," answered Calleken, hiding her face.
"A hatchet! a hatchet!" said Lamme, "let me kill him, let me auction
his fat, the lascivious he-goat! Quick, let us back to the ship. The
skiff! where is the skiff?"
Nele said to him:
"'Tis a foul cruelty to kill or to wound a prisoner."
"Thou lookest on me with a cruel eye; wouldst thou prevent me?" said
he.
"Aye," said she.
"Well, then," said Lamme, "I will do him no hurt: let me only fetch
him out from his cage. The skiff! where is the skiff?"
They climbed down into it speedily; Lamme made haste to row, weeping
the while.
"Thou art sad, husband?" said Calleken to him.
"Nay," said he, "I am glad: doubtless thou wilt never leave me again?"
"Never!" said she.
"Thou wast pure and faithful, thou sayest; but, sweet, my darling,
beloved Calleken, I lived but to find thee, and lo, now, thanks to this
monk, there will be poison in all our happiness, poison of jealousy
... as soon as I am sad or but only tired, I shall see thee naked,
submitting thy lovely body to that infamous flagellation. The spring
time of our loves was mine, but the summer was for him; the autumn
will be gray, soon will come the winter to bury my faithful love."
"Thou art weeping?" said she.
"Aye," quoth he, "what is past can never come again."
Then Nele said:
"If Calleken was faithful, she ought to leave thee alone for thy
ill words."
"He knoweth not how I love him," said Calleken.
"Dost thou say true?" cried Lamme; "come, darling; come, my wife;
there is no longer gray autumn nor winter that diggeth graves."
And he seemed cheerful, and they came to the ship.
Ulenspiegel gave Lamme the keys of the cage, and he opened it; he
tried to pull the monk out on the deck by the ear, but he could not;
he tried to fetch him out sideways, he could not do that, either.
"We must break all; the capon is fattened," said he.
The monk then came forth, rolling about big daunted eyes, holding
his paunch with both hands, and fell down on his seat because of a
great wave that passed beneath the ship.
And Lamme, speaking to the monk:
"Wilt thou still say, 'big man'? Thou art bigger than I. Who made
thee seven meals a day? I. Whence cometh it, bawler, that now thou
art quieter, milder towards the poor Beggars?"
And continuing further:
"If thou dost stay another year encaged, thou wilt not be able to
come out again: thy cheeks quiver like pork jelly when thou dost move:
thou criest no longer already; soon thou wilt not be able to breathe."
"Hold thy peace, big man," said the monk.
"Big man," said Lamme, becoming furious; "I am Lamme Goedzak, thou art
Broer Dikzak, Vetzak, Leugenzak, Slokkenzak, Wulpszak, the friar big
sack, grease sack, lying sack, cram sack, lust sack: thou hast four
fingers deep of fat under thy skin, thy eyes can be seen no longer:
Ulenspiegel and I would both lodge comfortably within the cathedral
of thy belly! Thou didst call me big man; wilt thou have a mirror
to study thy Bellyness? 'Tis I that fed thee, thou monument of flesh
and bone. I have sworn that thou wouldst spit grease, sweat grease,
and leave behind thee spots of grease like a candle melting in the
sun. They say that apoplexy cometh with the seventh chin; thou hast
five and a half by now."
Then to the Beggars:
"Look at this lecher! 'tis Broer Cornelis Adriaensen Rascalsen,
of Bruges: there he preached the new modesty. His grease is his
punishment; his grease is my work. Hear now, all ye sailors and
soldiers: I am about to leave you, to leave thee, thee, Ulenspiegel,
to leave thee, too, thee, little Nele, to go to Flushing where I have
property, to live there with my poor wife that I have found again. Of
yore ye took an oath to grant me all that I might ask of you...."
"On the word of the Beggars," said they.
"Then," said Lamme, "look on this lecher, this Broer Adriaensen
Rascalsen of Bruges; I swore to make him die of fatness like a hog;
construct a wider cage, force him to take twelve meals a day instead of
seven; give him a rich and sugared diet: he is like an ox already; see
that he be like an elephant, and ye will soon see him fill the cage."
"We shall fatten him," said they.
"And now," went on Lamme, speaking to the monk, "I bid thee also adieu,
rascal, thee whom I cause to be fed monkishly instead of having thee
hanged: grow in grease and in apoplexy."
Then taking his wife Calleken in his arms:
"Look, growl or bellow, I take her from thee; thou shalt whip her
never more."
But the monk, falling in a fury and speaking to Calleken:
"Thou art going away then, carnal woman, to the bed of lust! Aye,
thou goest without pity for the poor martyr for the word of God, that
taught thee the holy, sweet, celestial discipline. Be accursed! May no
priest give thee absolution; may earth be burning underneath thy feet;
may sugar be salt to thee; may beef be as dead dog to thee; may thy
bread be ashes; may the sun be ice to thee, and the snow hell fire;
may thy child-bearing be accursed; may thy children be detestable;
may they have the bodies of apes, pigs' heads greater than their
bellies; mayst thou suffer, weep, moan in this world and in the other,
in the hell that awaits thee, the hell of sulphur and bitumen kindled
for females such as thou art. Thou didst refuse my fatherly love:
be thrice accursed by the Blessed Trinity, seven times accursed by
the candlesticks of the Ark; may confession be to thee damnation;
may the Host to thee be mortal poison, and may every paving stone in
the church rise up to crush thee and say to thee: 'This woman is the
fornicator, this woman is accursed, this woman is damned'."
And Lamme, rejoicing, jumping for joy, said:
"She was faithful; he said it, the monk: hurrah for Calleken!"
But she, weeping and trembling:
"Remove it," she said, "my man, remove this curse from over me. I
see hell! Remove the curse!"
"Take off the curse," said Lamme.
"I will not, big man," rejoined the monk.
And the woman remained all pale and swooning, and on her knees with
hands folded she besought Broer Adriaensen.
And Lamme said to the monk:
"Take off thy curse, else thou shalt hang, and if the rope breaks
because of thy weight, thou shalt be hanged again and again until
death ensues."
"Hanged and hanged again," said the Beggars.
"Then," said the monk to Calleken, "go, wanton, go with this big man;
go, I lift my curse from thee, but God and all the saints will have
their eyes upon thee; go with this big man, go."
And he held his peace, sweating and puffing.
Suddenly Lamme cried out:
"He puffs, he puffs! I see the sixth chin; at the seventh 'tis
apoplexy! And now," said he to the Beggars:
"I commend you to God, thou Ulenspiegel; to God, you all my good
friends, to God, thou Nele; to God the holy inspirer of liberty:
I can do no more for her cause."
Then having given all and taken from all the kiss of parting, he said
to his wife Calleken:
"Come, it is the hour for lawful loves."
While the boat was slipping over the water, carrying off Lamme and
his beloved, he in the stern, soldiers, sailors, and cabin boys all
called out, waving their caps: "Adieu, brother; adieu, Lamme; adieu,
brother, brother and friend."
And Nele said to Ulenspiegel, taking a tear from out the corner of
his eye with her dainty finger:
"Thou art sad, my beloved?"
"He was a good fellow," said he.
"Ah!" said she, "this war will never end; shall we be forced to live
forever in blood and in tears?"
"Let us seek out the Seven," said Ulenspiegel: "it draws nigh, the
hour of deliverance."
Following Lamme's behest, the Beggars fattened the monk in his
cage. When he was set at liberty, in consideration of ransom,
he weighed three hundred and seventeen pounds and five ounces,
Flemish weight.
And he died prior of his convent.
VIII
At this time the States General assembled at The Hague to pass
judgment upon Philip, King of Spain, Count of Flanders, of Holland,
etc., according to the charters and privileges consented to by him.
And the clerk of the court spake as follows:
"It is to all men of common knowledge that a prince of any land so
ever is established by God as sovereign and chief of his subjects that
he may defend them and preserve them from all wrong, oppression, and
violence, even as a shepherd is ordained for the defence and keeping of
his sheep. It is in like manner known that subjects are not created by
God for the use of the prince, to be obedient unto him in whatsoever
he commandeth, be it seemly or unseemly, just or unjust, nor to serve
in the manner of slaves. But the prince is a prince for his subjects,
without which he could not be, to govern them in accordance with right
and reason, to maintain and love them as a father doth his children,
as a shepherd doth his sheep, hazarding his life to defend them; if he
doth not so, he must needs be held for no prince but a tyrant. Philip
the king hath launched upon us, by calling up of soldiers, by bulls of
crusade and of excommunication, four armies of foreigners. What shall
be his punishment, by virtue of the laws and customs of the country?"
"Let him be deposed," replied the States.
"Philip hath played false to his oaths: he hath forgot the services
we rendered him, the victories we aided him to win. Seeing that we
were rich, he left us to be pillaged and put to ransom by the Council
of Spain."
"Let him be deposed as ungrateful and a robber," replied the States.
"Philip," the clerk went on, "placed in the most powerful cities
of these countries new bishops, endowing and presenting them with
the goods of the greatest abbeys; and by the help of these men he
introduced the Spanish Inquisition."
"Let him be deposed as a murderer, the squanderer of others' wealth,"
replied the States.
"The nobles of these countries, seeing this tyranny, presented in the
year 1566 a request wherein they entreated the sovereign to moderate
the rigour of his edicts and in especial those which concerned the
Inquisition: he consistently refused this."
"Let him be deposed as a tiger abandoned and obstinate in his cruelty,"
replied the States.
The clerk continued:
"Philip is strongly suspected of having, through the intermediary
of his Council of Spain, secretly inspired the image-breakings and
the sacking of churches, in order to be able, under the pretext
of suppressing crime and disorder, to send foreign armies to march
against us."
"Let him be deposed as an instrument of death," replied the States.
"At Antwerp Philip caused the inhabitants to be massacred, ruined
the Flemish merchants and the foreign merchants. He and his Council
of Spain gave a certain Rhoda, a notorious scoundrel, the right by
secret instructions to declare himself the head of the pillagers, to
harvest the booty, to employ his name, the name of Philip the king, to
counterfeit his seals and counterseals, and to comport himself at his
governor and his lieutenant. The royal letters, which were intercepted
and are in our hands, prove this to be the fact. All took place with
his consent and after deliberation in the Council of Spain. Read his
letters; therein he praises the feat of Antwerp, acknowledges that he
hath received a signal service, promises to reward it, enjoins Rhoda
and the other Spaniards to continue to walk in this path of glory."
"Let him be deposed as a robber, pillager, and murderer," replied
the States.
"We ask for nothing more than the maintenance of our privileges, a
sincere and assured peace, a moderate freedom, especially with regard
to religion which principally concerns God and man's own conscience:
we had nothing from Philip but deceitful treaties serving to sow
discord between the provinces, to subdue them one after another and
to treat them in the same way as the Indies, by pillage, confiscation,
executions, and the Inquisition."
"Let him be deposed as an assassin premeditating the murder of a
country," replied the States.
"He made the country bleed through the Duke of Alba and his catchpolls,
through Medina-Coeli, Requesens, the traitors of the Councils of State
and of the provinces; he enjoined a vigorous and bloody severity upon
Don Juan and Alexander Farnèse, Prince of Parma (as may be seen by his
intercepted letters); he set the ban of the empire upon Monseigneur
d'Orange, paid the hire of three assassins before paying a fourth;
erected castles and fortresses among us; had men burned alive, women
and girls buried alive; inherited their goods, strangled Montigny,
de Berghes, and other lords, despite his kingly word; killed his
son Carlos; poisoned the Prince of Ascoly, whom he made espouse
Doña Eufrasia, with child by himself, in order to enrich with his
estates the bastard that was to come; launched an edict against us
that declared us all traitors, that had forfeited our bodies and
our wealth, and committed the crime unheard of in a Christian land,
of confounding innocent and guilty."
"By all laws, rights, and privileges, let him be deposed," replied
the States.
And the king's seals were broken.
And the sun shown on land and sea, gilding the ripened ears, mellowing
the grape, casting pearls on every wave, the adornment of the bride
of the Netherlands, Liberty.
Then the Prince of Orange, being at Delft, was stricken down by
a fourth assassin, with three bullets in his breast. And he died,
following his motto: "Calm amid the wild waves."
His enemies said of him that to thwart King Philip, and not hoping
to rule over the Southern Low Countries, which were Catholic, he had
offered them by a secret treaty to Monseigneur Monsieur Sa Grande
Altesse of Anjou. But Anjou was not born to beget the babe Belgium
upon Liberty, who loveth not perverse amours.
And Ulenspiegel left the fleet with Nele.
And the fatherland Belgium groaned beneath the yoke, fast bound
by traitors.
IX
They were then in the month of the ripened grain; the air was heavy,
the wind was warm: the reapers, both men and women, could gather in
at their ease in the fields, under the free sky, upon a free soil,
the corn they had sown.
Frisia, Drenthe, Overyssel, Guelderland, North Brabant, North and South
Holland, Walcheren, North and South Beveland; Duiveland and Schouwen
that make up Zealand; all the shores of the North Sea from Knokke to
Helder; the islands of Texel, Vieland, Ameland, Schiermonk-Oog, were,
from the western Scheldt to the eastern Ems, about to be freed from the
Spanish yoke; Maurice, the son of the Silent, was continuing the war.
Ulenspiegel and Nele, having their youth, their strength, and their
beauty, for the love and the spirit of Flanders grow never old, were
living snugly in the tower of Neere, waiting till, after many hard
trials, they could come and breathe the air of freedom upon Belgium
the fatherland.
Ulenspiegel had asked to be appointed commandant and warden of the
tower, saying that having an eagle's eyes and a hare's ears, he could
see if the Spaniard would not attempt to show himself once more in
the delivered countries, and that in that case he would sound wacharm,
which is the alarm in the speech of Flanders.
The magistrate did as Ulenspiegel wished: because of his good service
he was given a florin a day, two quarts of beer, beans, cheese,
biscuit, and three pounds of beef every week.
Thus Ulenspiegel and Nele lived very well by themselves two: seeing
from afar, with rejoicing, the free isles of Zealand: near at hand,
woods, castles, fortresses, and the armed ships of the Beggars guarding
the coasts.
At night they often climbed up on the tower, and there, sitting on the
platform, they talked of hard battles and goodly loves past and to
come. Thence they beheld the sea, which in this time of heat surged
and broke upon the shore in luminous waves, casting them upon the
islands like phantoms of fire. And Nele was affrighted to see the
jack o'lanterns in the polders, for, said she, they are the souls
of the poor dead. And all these places had been battle-fields. The
will o' the wisps swept out from the polders, ran along the dykes,
then came back into the polders as though they had no mind to abandon
the bodies whence they had issued.
One night Nele said to Ulenspiegel:
"See how thick they are in Duiveland and how high they fly: 'tis by the
isle of birds I see the most. Wilt thou come thither, Thyl? We shall
take the balsam that discloseth things hid from the eyes of mortals."
Ulenspiegel answered her:
"If it is the same balsam that wafted me to that great sabbath,
I trow in it no more than a hollow dream."
"Thou must not," said Nele, "deny the potency of charms. Come,
Ulenspiegel."
"I shall come."
The next day he asked the magistrate that a clear-sighted and trusty
soldier should take his place, to guard the tower and keep watch over
the country.
And with Nele he went his way to the isle of birds.
Going across fields and dykes, they beheld little green lush islets,
between which ran the sea water; and upon the slopes of green sward
that came down to the very dunes an immense concourse of plovers, of
sea mews and sea swallows, that stayed motionless and made the islets
all white with their bodies; overhead circled and flew thousands
of the same. The ground was full of nests: Ulenspiegel, stooping
to pick up an egg upon the way, saw a sea mew come flitting to him,
uttering a cry. At his appeal there came more than a hundred others,
crying with grief and fear, hovering above Ulenspiegel and over the
neighbour nests, but they did not venture to come close to him.
"Ulenspiegel," said Nele, "these birds beg grace for their eggs."
Then falling a-tremble, she said:
"I am afeared; there is the sun setting; the sky is white, the stars
awaken; 'tis the spirits' hour. See these red exhalations, gliding
along the earth; Thyl, my beloved, what monster of hell is thus opening
his fiery mouth in the mist? See from the side of Philip's land, where
the butcher king twice for his cruel ambition slaughtered so many poor
men, see the dancing will-o'-the-wisps: 'tis the night when the souls
of poor folk slain in battle quit the cold limbo of purgatory to come
and be warmed again in the soft air of the earth: 'tis the hour when
thou mayst ask aught of Christ, who is the God of good magicians."
"The ashes beat upon my heart," said Ulenspiegel. "If Christ could
show me these Seven whose ashes cast to the wind were to make Flanders
and the whole world happy!"
"Man of little faith," said Nele, "thou wilt see them by virtue of
the balsam."
"Perchance," said Ulenspiegel, pointing to Sirius with a finger,
"if some spirit descends from the cold star."
At his movement a will-o'-the-wisp flitting about him perched on his
finger, and the more he sought to be rid of it, the tighter it clung.
Nele trying to set Ulenspiegel free, she, too, had her will-o'-the-wisp
on the tip of her hand.
Ulenspiegel, striking at his, said:
"Answer! art thou the spirit of a Beggar or of a Spaniard? If thou be
the soul of a Beggar, depart into paradise; if the soul of a Spaniard,
return into hell whence thou comest."
Nele said to him:
"Do not insult souls, were they even the souls of butchers."
And making the will-o'-the-wisp dance on her finger tip:
"Wisp," said she, "dear wisp, what tidings dost thou bring us from
the country of souls? What are they employed in over there? Do they
eat and drink, since they have no mouths? for thou hast none, darling
wisp! or do they indeed take human shape only in the blessed paradise?"
"Canst thou," said Ulenspiegel, "waste time in this fashion conversing
with this wretched flame that hath neither ears to hear thee with
nor mouth to answer thee withal?"
But without heeding him:
"Wisp," said Nele, "reply by dancing, for I will ask thee three times:
once in the name of God, once in the name of Madame the Virgin,
and once in the name of the elemental spirits that are messengers
'twixt God and man."
And she did so, and the wisp danced three times.
Then Nele said to Ulenspiegel:
"Take off thy clothes; I shall do the same: here is the silver box
in which is the balsam of vision."
"'Tis all one to me," said Ulenspiegel.
Then being unclad and anointed with the balsam of vision, they lay
down beside each other naked on the grass.
The sea mews were plaining; the thunder was growling dull in the
cloud where the lightning gleamed; the moon scarce displayed between
two clouds the golden horns of her crescent; the will-o'-the-wisps on
Ulenspiegel and Nele betook themselves off to dance with the others
in the meadow.
Suddenly Ulenspiegel and Nele were caught up in the mighty hand
of a giant who threw them into the air like children's balloons,
caught them again, rolled them one upon the other and kneaded them
between his hands, threw them into the water pools between the hills
and pulled them out again full of seaweed. Then carrying them thus
through space, he sang with a voice that woke all the sea mews
underneath with affright:
"That vermin, crawling, biting,
With squinting glances tries
To read the sacred writing
We hide from all men's eyes.
"Read, flea, the secret rare;
Read, louse, the sacred term
That heaven, earth and air
With seven nails hold firm."
And in very deed, Ulenspiegel and Nele saw upon the sward, in the
air and in the sky, seven tablets of shining brass fastened thereto
by seven flaming nails.
Upon the tablets there was written:
Amid the dung May saps arise;
If Seven's ill, yet Seven's well;
The diamond came from coal, they tell;
From foolish teachers, pupils wise--
If Seven's ill, yet Seven's well.
And the giant walked on followed by all the will-o'-the-wisps, which
said, chirping and singing like grasshoppers:
"Look well at him, 'tis their Grand Master.
The Pope of popes and Lord of lords,
Can change great Cæsar to a pastor:
Look well at him, he's made of boards."
Suddenly his features changed; he seemed thinner, sadder, taller. In
one hand he held a sceptre and a sword in the other. And his name
was Pride.
And casting Nele and Ulenspiegel down upon the ground he said:
"I am God."
Then close by him, riding on a goat, there appeared a ruddy girl,
with bared bosom, her robe open, and a lively sparkling eye: her
name was Lust; came then an old Jewess picking up the shells of
sea mews' eggs: she had Avarice to name; and a greedy, gluttonous
monk, devouring chitterlings, stuffing sausages, and champing his
jaws continually like the sow upon which he was mounted: this was
Gluttony; next came Idleness dragging her legs, pallid and puffy,
with dulled eyes, and Anger driving her before her with strokes of
a goad. Idleness, woebegone, was bemoaning herself, and all in tears
fell down upon her knees; then came lean Envy, with a viper's head and
pike's teeth, biting Idleness because she was too much at her ease,
Anger because she was too vivacious, Gluttony because he was too well
stuffed, Lust because she was too red, Avarice for the eggshells,
Pride because he had a purple robe and a crown. And all around danced
the will-o'-the-wisps.
And speaking with the voices of men, of women, of girls and plaintive
children, they said, moaning and groaning:
"Pride, father of ambition, Anger, spring of cruelty, ye slew us on
the battle-field, in prisons and with torments, to keep your sceptres
and your crowns! Envy, thou didst destroy in the bud many high and
useful ideas; we are the souls of persecuted inventors: Avarice,
thou didst coin into gold the blood of the poor common folk; we
are the souls of thy victims; Lust, thou mate and sister of murder,
that didst give birth to Nero, to Messalina, to Philip King of Spain,
thou dost buy virtue and pay for corruption; we are the souls of the
dead: Idleness and Gluttony, ye befoul the world, ye must be swept
from out of it; we are the souls of the dead."
And a voice was heard saying:
"Amid the dung May saps arise;
If Seven's ill, yet Seven's well;
For foolish teachers, pupils wise;
To win the coal and ashes, too,
What is the wandering louse to do?"
And the will-o'-the-wisps said:
"The fire, 'tis we, vengeance for the bygone tears, the woes of the
people; vengeance for the lords that hunted human game upon their
lands; vengeance for the fruitless battles, the blood spilt in prisons,
men burned and women and girls buried alive; vengeance for the fettered
and bleeding past. The fire, 'tis we: we are the souls of the dead."
At these words the Seven were changed to wooden statues, while keeping
every point of their former shape.
And a voice said:
"Ulenspiegel, burn the wood."
And Ulenspiegel turning towards the will-o'-the-wisps:
"Ye that are fire," said he, "perform your office."
And the will-o'-the-wisps in a crowd surrounded the Seven, which
burned and were reduced to ashes.
And a river of blood ran down.
And from out the ashes rose up seven other shapes; the first said:
"Pride was I named; I am called Noble Spirit." The others spake in the
same fashion, and Ulenspiegel and Nele saw from Avarice come forth
Economy; from Anger, Vivacity; from Gluttony, Appetite; from Envy,
Emulation; and from Idleness, the Reverie of poets and sages. And Lust
upon her goat was transformed to a beautiful woman whose name was Love.
And the will-o'-the-wisps danced about them in a happy round.
Then Ulenspiegel and Nele heard a thousand voices of concealed men
and women, sonorous and laughing voices that sang with a sound as
of castanets:
"When over land and sea shall reign
In form transfigured all these seven,
Men, boldly raise your heads to heaven;
The Golden Age has come again."
And Ulenspiegel said: "The spirits mock us."
And a mighty hand seized Nele by the arm and hurled her into space.
And the spirits chanted:
"When the north
Shall kiss the west,
Ruin shall end:
The girdle seek."
"Alas!" said Ulenspiegel: "north, west, and girdle. Ye speak obscurely,
ye Spirits."
And they sang, laughing:
"North, 'tis the Netherland:
Belgium is the west;
Girdle is alliance
Girdle is friendship."
"Ye are nowise fools, Messieurs the Spirits," said Ulenspiegel.
And they sang once more, grinning:
"The girdle, poor man
Between Netherlands and Belgium
Will be good friendship
And fair alliance.
"Met raedt
En daedt;
Met doodt
En bloodt.
"Alliance of counsel
And of deeds,
Of death
And blood
"If need were,
Were there no Scheldt,
Poor man, no Scheldt."
"Alas!" said Ulenspiegel, "such then is our life of anguish: men's
tears and the laughter of destiny."
"Alliance of counsel
And of death,
Were there no Scheldt."
replied the spirits, grinning.
And a mighty hand seized Ulenspiegel and hurled him into space.
X
Nele, as she fell, rubbed her eyes and saw naught save the sun rising
amid gilded mists, the tips of the blades of grass all golden also
and the sunrays yellowing the plumage of the sea mews that slept,
but soon awakened.
Then Nele looked on herself, perceived that she was naked, and clothed
herself in haste; then she beheld Ulenspiegel naked also and covered
him over; thinking him asleep, she shook him, but he moved no more than
a man dead; she was taken with terror. "Have I," she said to herself,
"have I slain my beloved with this balsam of vision? I will die,
too! Ah! Thyl, awaken! He is marble cold."
Ulenspiegel did not awake. Two nights and a day passed by, and Nele,
fevered with anguish, watched by Ulenspiegel her beloved.
It was the beginning of the second day, and Nele heard the sound of
a bell, and saw approaching a peasant carrying a shovel: behind him,
wax taper in hand, walked a burgomaster and two aldermen, the curé
of Stavenisse, and a beadle holding a sunshade over him.
They were going, they said, to administer the holy sacrament of extreme
unction to the valiant Jacobsen who was a Beggar by constraint and
fear, but who, now the danger was past, returned into the bosom of
the Holy Roman Church to die.
Presently they found themselves face to face with Nele weeping,
and perceived the body of Ulenspiegel stretched out upon the turf,
covered with his clothes. Nele went upon her knees.
"Daughter," said the burgomaster, "what makest thou by this dead man?"
Not daring to lift her eyes she replied:
"I pray for my friend here fallen as though smitten by lightning:
I am all alone now and I am fain to die, too."
The curé then puffing with pleasure:
"Ulenspiegel the Beggar is dead," he said, "God be praised! Peasant,
make haste and dig a grave; strip off his clothes before he be buried."
"Nay," said Nele, standing straight up, "they are not to be taken
from him, he would be cold in the earth."
"Dig the grave," said the curé to the peasant who carried the shovel.
"I consent," said Nele, all in tears; "there are no worms in sand that
is full of chalk, and he will remain whole and goodly, my beloved."
And all distraught, she bent over Ulenspiegel's body, and kissed him
with tears and sobbing.
The burgomaster, the aldermen, and the peasant were filled with pity,
but the curé ceased not to repeat, rejoicing: "The great Beggar is
dead, God be praised!"
Then the peasant digged the grave and placed Ulenspiegel therein and
covered him with sand.
And the curé said the prayers for the dead above the grave: all kneeled
down around it; suddenly there was a great upheaving under the soil
and Ulenspiegel, sneezing and shaking the sand out of his hair,
seized the curé by the throat:
"Inquisitor!" said he, "thou dost thrust me into the earth alive in
my sleep. Where is Nele? hast thou buried her, too? Who art thou?"
The curé cried out:
"The great Beggar returneth into this world. Lord God! receive
my soul!"
And he took to flight like a stag before the hounds.
Nele came to Ulenspiegel.
"Kiss me, my darling," said he.
Then he looked round him again; the two peasants had fled like the
curé, and had flung down shovel and chair and sunshade to run the
better; the burgomaster and the aldermen, holding their ears with
fright, were whimpering on the turf.
Ulenspiegel went up to them, and shaking them:
"Can any bury," said he, "Ulenspiegel the spirit and Nele the heart
of Mother Flanders? She, too, may sleep, but not die. No! Come, Nele."
And he went forth with her, singing his sixth song, but no man knoweth
where he sang the last one of all.
THE END
THE LYRICS IN THIS VERSION OF ULENSPIEGEL HAVE BEEN SPECIALLY
TRANSLATED BY MR. JOHN HERON LEPPER