XIV

XIVOn his return from the wars, the Emperor wanted to know why his son Philip was not there to welcome him.The Archbishop—the royal Governor—said that the child had refused to leave his solitude and the books which were the only things he loved.The Emperor asked where he was to be found at the moment. The Governor did not know exactly, but said they had better go and look for him somewhere where it was dark. This they did.When they had looked through a good number of rooms they came at last to a kind of closet, unpaved and lit only bya skylight. There they found a stake stuck into the ground, and a dear little monkey bound to the stake by a cord round the waist. (Now this monkey had been sent from the Indies as a present to His Highness to amuse him with its youthful gambols).... Round the bottom of the stake were some smoking sticks still glowing, and the closet was filled with a foul smell as of burning hair.Philip and the MonkeyPhilip and the MonkeyThe poor animal had suffered so much pain while being burnt to death that its little body no longer looked the body of a living animal, but seemed rather like the fragment of some root, all wrinkled and distorted. And its mouth, still open with the death-cry, was filled with froth mixed with blood; and the face was wet with tears.“Who has done this?” said the Emperor.The Governor did not dare to answer, and the two men stood there silent, sad, and angry.All at once, in the silence, there was heard a sound of feeble coughing that came from a corner in the shadow behind them. His Majesty turned and beheld Philip, his son, dressed all in black, sucking an orange.“Don Philip,” he said, “come and greet your father.”The child did not move, but gazed at his father with timid eyes that showed no spark of love.“Is it you,” asked the Emperor, “who have burnt alive in the fire this little animal?”The child bowed his head.But the Emperor: “If you have been cruel enough to do such a deed, at least be brave enough to own up to it.”The child made no answer.His Majesty seized the orange from the child’s hands, threw it to the ground, and was about to beat his son, who was shaking with terror, when the Archbishop restrained him, whispering in his ear:“The day will surely come when His Highness shall prove a mighty burner of heretics.” The Emperor smiled,and the two of them went away, leaving Philip alone with the monkey.But others there were, not monkeys, that were destined to meet their death in the flames....XVNovember was come, the month of hail-storms, when sufferers from cold in the head abandon themselves freely to their concerts of coughing and spitting. This also is the month when the turnip-fields are filled with gangs of youths that there disport themselves and steal whatever they can, to the mighty wrath of the peasants, who try in vain to catch them, chasing after them with sticks and pitchforks.Well, on an evening when Ulenspiegel was returning home from one of these raids, he heard close by, in a corner of the hedgerow, a sound as of groaning. He leant down, and beheld a dog lying stretched out on the stones.“Hallo!” he cried. “Poor little beast! What are you doing out here so late at night?”He patted the dog, and found that its back was all wet, as though some one had been trying to drown it. He took it in his arms to warm it, and when he had reached home he said:“I have brought back a wounded animal. What shall we do with it?”“Dress its wounds,” said Claes.Ulenspiegel laid the dog on the table; whereupon he and Claes and Soetkin saw that it was a little red-haired Luxemburg terrier, and that it was wounded in the back. Soetkin sponged the wounds, and anointed them with ointment, and bound them up with linen bandages. Then Ulenspiegel took the dog and put it in his bed; but Soetkin desired to have it in her own, saying she was afraid that Ulenspiegel would hurt the little red-haired thing. For in those days Ulenspiegel was wont to toss about in his sleep all night like a young devil in a stoup of holy water. Ulenspiegel, however,had his way, and he took such care of the dog that in the space of six days it was walking about like any other dog, and giving itself great airs.And the village schoolmaster christened him Titus Bibulus Schnouffius: Titus after a certain good Emperor of the Romans who was fond of befriending lost dogs; Bibulus because the dog loved beer with all the passion of a confirmed drunkard; and Schnouffius because he would always run about sniffing and putting his nose into every rat-hole and mole-hole he could find.XVIThe young prince of Spain was now fifteen years old, and his custom was to wander about the rooms and passages and stairways of the castle. But chiefly was he to be found prowling around the women’s quarters, trying to pick a quarrel with one of the pages, who themselves were wont to lurk on the look out, like cats, in the corridors; while others, again, out in the courtyard, would stand singing some tender ballad, nose in air. When the young prince heard one singing thus, he would show himself at one of the windows, and the heart of that poor page would be stricken with fear as he saw that white face there, instead of the gentle eyes of his beloved.Now among the Ladies of the Court there was a gentle dame from Dudzeel near by Damme in Flanders. Fair-fleshed she was, like fine ripe fruit, and marvellously beautiful, for she had green eyes and reddish hair all wavy and gleaming gold. And of a gay humour was she, and of an ardent complexion, nor did she make any effort to conceal her taste for that fortunate lord to whom for the time being she was pleased to grant the freedom of the fair estate of her love. Such a one there was even now, handsome and proud, and she loved him well. Every day, at a certain hour, she went to find him—a thing which Philip was not long in finding out.So, one day, sitting himself down on a bench that stood against a window, he lay in wait for her, and there she saw him as she passed by, with her bright eyes and her mouth half open, all meet for love and fresh from her bath, with the gear of her dress of yellow brocade swinging about her as she stepped along. Without rising from his seat, Philip accosted her.“Madame,” says he, “could you not spare a moment?”Restive as some eager mare, stayed in her course towards the gallant stallion that is neighing for her in the field, the lady made answer:“All here must needs obey the royal will of your Highness.”“Then sit you down by my side,” said the Prince. And gazing at her lewdly, harshly, cunningly, he spake again:“I would have you recite to me thePater Nosterin Flemish. They taught it me once, but I no longer remember it.”The poor lady did as she was bid; and then the Prince commanded her to say it all over again, but more slowly. And so on, and so on, until she had recited it ten times over. After that he began to speak flatteringly to her, praising her beautiful hair, her fresh complexion, and her bright eyes. But he dared not to say a word concerning her lovely shoulders or her rounded throat, or of aught else beside.When at last she was beginning to hope that she might be able to get away, and was already scanning anxiously the courtyard where her lord was awaiting her, the Prince demanded of her if she could rightly tell him what were the several virtues of woman? She answered nothing, fearing that she might say something to displease him. He then answered for her, setting the matter forth in this wise:“The virtues of woman are these: chastity, regard for her own honour, and a modest manner of life.” And he counselled her, therefore, that she should dress decently and should always be careful to hide those things which weremeet to be hidden. The lady nodded assent, saying that for His Hyperborean Highness she would certainly take care to cover herself with ten bear-skins rather than with a single length of muslin.Having put him to shame by this answer, she made off gladly.But in Philip’s heart the fire of youth was alight—not the fiery glow that dares the souls of the brave to lofty deeds, but a dark fire from hell itself, the fire of Satan. And it flamed in his grey eyes like the beam of a winter’s moon shining down upon a charnel-house. And it burned within him cruelly....XVIINow this beautiful, gay-hearted lady left Valladolid one day for her Château 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:“IfI 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 château, 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.XVIIIWhen Ulenspiegel returned from Dudzeel and came to the entrance of the town, he saw Nele standing there leaning with her back against the toll-gate. She was picking the stones out of a bunch of black grapes, which she munched one by one, and found therefrom, doubtless, much delight and refreshment; nevertheless, she did not allow anything of her enjoyment to appear on her countenance. On the contrary,she seemed annoyed at something, tearing at the grapes angrily. She looked, indeed, so sad and sorrowful, so sweetly unhappy, that Ulenspiegel felt overcome with that pity which is almost love, and coming up to her from behind, he printed a kiss on the nape of the girl’s neck. But all the return she gave him was a great box on the ear.“Now I shall not be able to see properly any more,” he said.She burst into tears.“O Nele,” says he, “are you going to set up fountains at the entrance of all the villages?”“Be off with you,” says she.“But I can’t go away and leave you crying like this, my little pet.”“I am not your little pet,” says Nele; “neither am I crying.”“No, you are not crying, but there is certainly some water coming out of your eyes.”“Will you go away?” She turned on him.“No,” he answered.All the time she was holding her pinafore in her small trembling hand, tearing at the stuff in little spasms of rage, and wetting it with her tears.“Nele,” said Ulenspiegel, “when is it going to be fine again?”And he smiled at her very lovingly.“Why do you ask me that?” she said.“Because when it is fine there is an end of weeping,” answered Ulenspiegel.“Go back to your beautiful lady of the brocaded gown,” she said. “Your jokes are good enough forher....”Then Ulenspiegel sang:When I see my love cryingMy heart is torn.When she smiles ’tis honey,Pearls when she weeps.Either way I love her.And I’ll draw a draught of wine,Good wine from Louvain,And I’ll draw a draught of wine,When Nele smiles again.“You villainous man!” she cried, “making fun of me again!”“Nele,” said Ulenspiegel, “it is true that I am a man. But I am not a villain. For our family is of noble origin, a family of aldermen, and it carries on its shieldthree pint pots argent on a ground bruinbier. But, Nele, tell me now, is it a fact that in Flanders when a man sows a kiss he always reaps a box on the ear?”“I refuse to speak to you,” said Nele.“Then why open your mouth to tell me so?”“I am angry,” she said.Ulenspiegel slapped her on the back very lightly with his hand, saying:“Kiss a naughty girl and she will cuff you; cuff her, she will cry. Come then, sweet, cry upon my shoulder since I have cuffed you!”Nele turned round. He opened his arms, and she threw herself into them.“You won’t go away any more down there, will you Tyl?” she asked him.But he did not answer, busy as he was in pressing with his the hand that trembled so pitifully, and in drying with his lips the hot tears that fell from the eyes of Nele, like heavy drops of rain in a storm.XIXThese were the days when the noble city of Ghent refused to pay the tax which her son, the Emperor Charles, was demanding of her. The fact was it was impossible to pay, foralready the city was drained of money by the act of Charles himself. But it seemed that the city was guilty of a great crime, and Charles resolved to go himself and exact punishment. For to be whipped by her own son is above all things painful to a mother.Now, although he was his enemy, Francis Long-Nose was pleased to offer the Emperor a free passage through the land of France. Charles accepted the offer, and instead of being held as a prisoner, he was fêted and feasted in right royal fashion. For this is ever a sovereign bond of union between kings: each to aid the other against their own peoples.Charles stayed a long time at Valenciennes, and still gave no sign of his wrath, so that Mother Ghent began to lay aside her fears, believing that the Emperor her son was going to forgive her, seeing that she had acted within her rights.But at length Charles arrived under the walls of the city with 4000 horse, together with the Duke of Alba and the Prince of Orange. The poorer townsfolk and the small business men wished to prevent this filial entry into their city, and would have called to arms 80,000 men of the city and of the country round. But the merchants, thehoogh-poorters, opposed this suggestion, being afraid of the predominance of the people. Thus Ghent could easily have cut her son to pieces, him and his 4000 horse. But it seemed she loved him too dearly, and even the small tradesmen themselves were fast regaining their trust in him.Charles also loved the city, but only for the sake of his coffers that were stored with her money, and which he hoped to store up fuller yet.Having made himself master of the place, he established military posts everywhere, and ordered that they should patrol the city night and day. Then, in great state, he pronounced his sentence.The chief merchants of the city with cords round their necks were to appear before him as he sat on his throne, andto make a formal apology. Ghent itself was declared guilty of the most costly crimes—of disloyalty, disregard of treaties, disobedience, sedition, conspiracy, and high treason. The Emperor declared that all and every privilege—rights, customs, freedoms, and usages—all were to be abolished and annulled; and he stipulated for the future too, as though he were God himself, that none of his successors on coming to the throne should ever observe any one of these usages again, except only that which was called the Caroline Concession, as granted by him to the city.The Abbey of St. Bavon he razed to the ground, and in place he erected a fortress whence he could pierce with bullets and at his ease his mother’s very heart. Like a good son that is in a hurry for his inheritance, he confiscated all the riches of Ghent, its revenues, its houses, its artillery and munitions of war. Finding it still too well guarded, he destroyed also the Red Tower, the Tower of theTrou de Crapaud, theBraampoort, theSteenpoort, theWaalpoort, theKetelpoort, and many another of its gates, all carved as they were and sculptured like jewels in stone.And afterwards, when strangers came to Ghent, they would ask of one another:“Can this indeed be Ghent whose marvels were on the lips of all—this city so desolated and brought low?”And the people of Ghent would make answer:“Charles the Emperor has been to the city. He has ravished her sacred zone.”And so saying they would be filled with anger and with shame. And from the ruins of the city gates did the Emperor take away the bricks wherewith to build his castle.For it was his will that Ghent should be utterly impoverished, that thereby he might make it impossible for her ever to oppose his proud designs, either by her labour or her industry or wealth; therefore he condemned her to pay that share of the tax of 400,000 caroluses which she hadpreviously refused him, and in addition 150,000 caroluses down, and 6000 more every year in perpetuity. Moreover, in earlier days the city had lent him money upon which he should have paid interest at the rate of 150 pounds gross annually. But he made himself remit by force the notes of credit, and by paying off his debt in this way he actually enriched himself.Many and many a time had Ghent cherished him and succoured him, but now he struck her on the breast as it were with a dagger, looking for blood, since it seemed he had not there found milk enough.Last shame of all, he cast his eye upon the bell that is calledRoelandt; and the man who had sounded the alarm thereon, bidding all the citizens to defend the rights of their city, him he had bound and hung to the clapper of the bell. And he had no pity uponRoelandt, the very tongue of his mother, the tongue whereby she spake to all the land of Flanders,Roelandtthe proud bell that sings of herself this song:When I ring there is a fireWhen I peal there is a stormIn the land of Flanders.And thinking that his mother had too loud a voice he carried away her bell. And the people of the country round would say that Ghent was dead, now that her son had wrenched away her tongue with his pincers of iron.XXIn those days, which were days of spring, fresh and clear, when all the earth is in love, Soetkin was chatting by the open window, and Claes humming a tune, while Ulenspiegel was dressing up the dog Bibulus Schnouffius in a judge’s bonnet. The dog plied his paws as though desirous of passing judgment upon some one, though in reality itwas simply his way of trying to get rid of his ungainly head-gear.All at once, Ulenspiegel shut the window and ran back into the room. Then he jumped upon the chairs and the table, reaching up towards the ceiling with his hands. Soetkin and Claes soon discovered the cause of this mad behaviour, for there was a tiny little bird, chirruping with fear, and cowering against a beam in the recess of the ceiling, and Ulenspiegel was trying to catch it. He had almost succeeded when Claes spoke out briskly and asked him:“Why are you jumping about like this?”“To catch the bird,” answered Ulenspiegel, “and put him in a cage, and feed him with seeds, and make him sing for me.”Meantime the bird, crying in an agony of terror, flew back into the room, striking its head against the window-pane. Still Ulenspiegel went on trying to catch it, but suddenly the hand of Claes came down heavily upon his shoulder.“Catch the bird if you can,” said he, “put it in a cage, make it sing for your pleasure; but I also will put you in a cage that is fastened with strong bars of iron, and I will make you sing too. Then you, who like nothing better than to run about, will be able to do so no more; and you will be kept standing in the shade when you are chilly, and in the sun when you are hot. And, one Sunday, we shall all go out and forget to give you your food, and we shall not return again till Thursday, and then maybe we shall find our Tyl all stiff and starved to death.”Soetkin was crying at this picture, but Ulenspiegel started forward.“What are you going to do?” asked Claes.“Open the window for the bird to fly out,” he answered.And in fact the bird, which was a goldfinch, flew straight out through the window, and with a cry of joy mounted up into the air like an arrow, and then alighted upon a neighbouringapple-tree, smoothing its wings with its beak, ruffling its plumage. And all kinds of abuse did it sing in its bird language, all directed against Ulenspiegel.Then Claes said:“O son of mine, take care that you never take away its liberty from either man or beast, for liberty is the greatest good in the world. Let every one be free, free to go out into the sun when it is cold, and into the shade when it is hot. And let God give judgment on His Sacred Majesty, he who, not content with denying freedom of belief to the people of Flanders, has now put all the noble city of Ghent into a cage of slavery.”XXINow Philip was married to Marie of Portugal, and with her he acquired her lands for the crown of Spain; and together they had a son, Don Carlos, he who was afterwards called “the mad” and “the cruel.” And Philip had no love for his wife.The Queen was lying-in. She kept her bed, and by her side were the maids of honour, the Duchess of Alba among them.Oftentimes did Philip leave his wife to go and see the burning of heretics. And all the gentlemen and ladies of the Court did likewise. And thus also did the Duchess of Alba and the other noble ladies whose duty it was to watch by the Queen in her childbed.Now at that time the ecclesiastical judges had seized a certain sculptor of Flanders, a good Roman Catholic, on the following charge: He had been commissioned, it seems, by a certain monk to carve a wooden statue of Our Lady for a certain sum, and on the monk refusing to pay the price which had been agreed between them, the sculptor had slashed at the face of the image with his chisel, saying that he would rather destroy his work than let it go at the price of a piece of dirt.He was straightway denounced by the monk as an iconoclast, tortured most piteously and condemned to be burntalive. During the torture they had scalded the soles of his feet, so that he cried out as he passed along from the prison to the stake: “Cut my feet off! For God’s sake cut my feet off!”And Philip, hearing these cries from afar, was glad, though smiled he never a smile.Queen Marie’s dames of honour all left her, wishing to be present at the burning, and the last of all to desert her was the said Duchess of Alba, who, hearing the cries of the sculptor, could not forbear to witness the spectacle.So, in the presence of King Philip and of his lords, princes, counts, equerries, and ladies, the sculptor was bound to the stake by a long chain. And all round the stake was a circle of flaming bundles of straw and fiery torches, the idea being that if he wished, the sculptor could be roasted very gently by keeping close to the stake in the centre of the circle, thus avoiding the full rigour of the fire.And right curiously did they watch him, naked or almost naked as he was, and trying to stiffen his resolution against the heat of the fire.Meanwhile Queen Marie was stricken with a great thirst, lying there alone on her bed of childbirth. And seeing the half of a melon on a plate, she dragged herself out of bed, and took hold of the melon and ate it all. But thereafter the cold substance of the melon made her to sweat and to shiver, and she lay upon the floor unable to move.“Alas!” she cried, “would that there were some one to carry me back into bed that I might get warm again!”Then it was that she heard the cry of the poor sculptor:“Cut off my feet! Cut off my feet!”“Ah!” said the Queen, “is that some dog or other baying at my death?”It was at this very moment that the sculptor, seeing around him none but the faces of Spaniards, his enemies, bethought him of Flanders, the land of valorous men, and he crossed hisarms on his breast, and dragging the long chain behind him, walked straight towards the outer circle of the straw and the flaming torches. And standing upright there, still with his arms crossed:“This,” cried he, “this is how the men of Flanders can die in the face of the tyrants of Spain. Cut offtheirfeet—not mine—that they may be able no more to run into the way of crime. Flanders for ever! Flanders for ever!”And the ladies clapped their hands, crying him mercy for the sake of his proud look.And he died.And Queen Marie shook all over her body, and she cried out, her teeth chattering together with the chill of approaching death. And her arms and legs grew stiff, and she said:“Put me back into my bed that I may be warmed.”So she died.And thus it was, according to the prophecy of Katheline the good sorceress, that Philip the King sowed everywhere he went the seeds of death, and blood, and tears.XXIIBut Ulenspiegel and Nele loved each other, and their love was true.It was now the end of April. All the trees were in bloom, and every plant was swollen with sap, for May was near, the month of the peacock, flowered like a bouquet, the month that sends the nightingales singing aloud in the trees of all the earth.Oftentimes would Nele and Ulenspiegel wander together along the roads. Nele would lean on the arm of Ulenspiegel, and hang round him with her two hands. Ulenspiegel loved this little game, and often did he pass his arm about Nele’s waist, to hold her the better, as he said. And she was happy, but spake not a word.Softly along the roads blew the wind, wafting the scent from the fields; the sea boomed in the distance, rocking lazily in the sun; Ulenspiegel seemed like some youthful devil, all pride; and Nele like a little saint from Paradise, half shy of her happiness.She leant her head against Ulenspiegel’s shoulder, and her hand was in his, and as they passed along he kissed her forehead, and her cheek, and her sweet lips. But still she spake no word.Nele and UlenspiegelNele and UlenspiegelAfter some hours they grew hot and thirsty, and they drank milk at the house of a peasant; and yet they were not refreshed. Then they sat them down on the grass by the side of the ditch, and Nele seemed pale and pensive, and Ulenspiegel looked at her, afraid that something was amiss.“You are unhappy?” said she.“Yes,” he admitted.“But why?” she asked him.“I know not,” said he. “But these apple-trees and cherry-trees all in flower, this air so warm that one would say it was charged with lightning, these daisies that open their blushing petals to the fields, and oh, the hawthorn, there, close by us in the hedge, all white.... Will no one tell me why it is that I feel troubled, and always ready to die or to go to sleep? And my heart beats so strangely when I hear the birds awaken in the trees, and when I see the swallows coming home! Then I am fain to go away beyond the sun and beyond the moon. And sometimes I am cold, and then again I am hot. Ah, Nele! would that I were no longer a creature of this low world! Verily I would give my life a thousand times to her that would love me!”Yet Nele spake not at all, but smiling at her ease sat looking at Ulenspiegel.XXIIIOne Day of All Souls, Ulenspiegel went forth from Notre Dame with certain other vagabonds of his own age. Amongthem was Lamme Goedzak, who seemed strayed among them like a lamb in the midst of a herd of wolves. Lamme treated them with drinks all round, for his mother, as her custom was on Sundays and feast days, had given him threepatards.So he went with his companions to the tavernIn dem Rooden Schildt—at the sign of the Red Shield. Jan van Liebeke kept the house, and he served them withdobbel knollaertfrom Courtrai.They began to be warmed with the drink, and the talk turned on the subject of prayer, and Ulenspiegel declared quite openly that, for his part, he thought that Masses for the dead did nobody any good, except the priests who said them.Now in that company there was a Judas, who went and denounced Ulenspiegel for a heretic. And in spite of the tears of Soetkin, and the entreaties of Claes, Ulenspiegel was seized and taken prisoner. He remained shut up in a cellar for the space of a month and three days without seeing a soul. The jailor himself consumed three-quarters of the ration that was given him for food.During all this time the authorities were informing themselves as to Ulenspiegel’s reputation—whether it was good or whether it was bad. They found that there was not much to be said against him except that he was a lively sort of customer, always railing against his neighbours. But they could not find that he had ever spoken evil of Our Lord God, or of Madame the Virgin, nor yet of the Saints. On this account the sentence passed on him was a light one, for he might easily have been condemned to have his face branded with a hot iron and to be flogged till the blood flowed. But in consideration of his youth, the judges merely sentenced him to walk in his shirt behind the priests barefoot and hatless, and holding a candle in his hand. And this he was to do on the Feast of the Ascension, in the first procession that left the church.So it was done, and when the procession was on the pointof turning back, Ulenspiegel was made to stop beneath the porch of Notre Dame, and there cry out aloud:“Thanks be to our Lord Jesus! Thanks be to the reverend priests! Sweet are their prayers unto the souls in purgatory; nay, they are filled with every virtue of refreshment! For eachAveis even as a bucket of water poured upon the backs of those who are being punished, and everyPateris a tubful!”And the people heard him with great devotion, and not without a smile.On Whit-Sunday the same proceeding had to be gone through, and Ulenspiegel followed again in the procession with nothing on but his shirt, and with his head bare, and no shoes on his feet, and holding a candle in his hand. On returning to the church he stood up in the porch, holding the candle most reverently in his hand, and then in a high, clear voice (yet not without sundry waggish grimaces) spake as follows:“If the prayers of all good Christians are very comforting to the souls in purgatory, how much more so must be those of the Dean of Notre Dame, a holy man and perfect in the performance of every virtue. Verily, his prayers assuage the flames of fire in such wise that they are transformed all of a sudden into ice. But yet be sure that not an atom of it goes to refresh the devils that are in hell.”And again the people hearkened to what he said with great devotion. But some of them smiled, and the Dean smiled too, in his grim ecclesiastical way.After that, Ulenspiegel was condemned to banishment from the land of Flanders for the space of three years, on condition that he went to Rome on pilgrimage and brought back with him the papal absolution. For this sentence Claes had to pay three florins: but he gave an extra florin to his son, and bought him a pilgrim’s habit.Ulenspiegel was heart-broken when he came to say good-byeto Claes and Soetkin on the day of his departure. He embraced them both, and his mother was all in tears; but she accompanied him far on his way, and Claes went too, and many of the townsmen and townswomen.When they were home again Claes said to his wife:“Good wife, it is very hard that such a boy should be condemned to this cruel punishment and all for a few silly words.”“Why, you are crying, my man!” said Soetkin. “Truly, you love him more than you like to show. Yes, you are sobbing now with a man’s sobs, sobs that are like unto the tears of a lion.”But he answered her not.As for Nele, she had gone to hide herself in the barn, so that none might see that she also wept for Ulenspiegel. But she followed afar after Soetkin and Claes and the other townsfolk: and when she saw her lover disappearing in the distance, she ran after him and threw herself on his neck.“In Italy you will meet many beautiful ladies,” she said.“I do not know about their being beautiful,” he replied, “but fresh like thee—no. For they are all parched with the sun.”They walked a long way side by side, and Ulenspiegel seemed thoughtful, muttering from time to time:“I’ll make ’em pay—I’ll make ’em pay for their Masses for the dead!”“What Masses are those you speak of?” Nele inquired. “And who is to pay for them?”Ulenspiegel answered:“All the deans,curés, clerks, beadles and the rest, both superior and inferior, who feed us with their trash. See now, if I had happened to be a strong working man they would have robbed me of the value of three years’ labour by making me thus to go on this pilgrimage. But as things are, it is the poor Claes who pays. Ah, but they shall give me back mythree years a hundredfold, and with their own money I myself will sing for them their Masses for the dead!”“Alas, Tyl!” said Nele, “be prudent, or they will have you burnt alive.”“I am fireproof,” answered Ulenspiegel.And they parted from one another, she all in tears, he heart-broken and angry.XXIVOnce in the open country, Ulenspiegel shook himself like a dog, or like a bird that has regained its liberty, and his heart was cheered by the trees and fields and the bright sunshine.When he had walked on thus for three days he came to the outskirts of Brussels, and to the wealthy township of Uccle. And there, passing in front of the inn with the sign of the Trumpet, his attention was drawn to a most heavenly odour of fricassee. A little urchin who stood by was also sniffing the delightful perfume of the sauce, and Ulenspiegel asked him in whose honour it was that there rose to heaven such odour of festal incense. The boy made answer that the Guild of the Jolly Face was to meet at the inn that evening after vespers, to celebrate the deliverance of the town by the women and girls of olden time.Now in the distance Ulenspiegel saw a high pole with a popinjay on the top of it, and the pole was set in the ground, and round it were a company of women armed with bows and arrows. He asked the boy if women were become archers nowadays?The boy, still sniffing greedily the savour of the sauces, replied that in the days of the Good Duke the very bows that were now being used by those women had been the means of killing over a hundred brigands.Ulenspiegel desired to know further concerning this matter, but the boy said that he could tell no more, so hungrywas he, unless forsooth Ulenspiegel would give him apatardwith which he might buy food and drink. This Ulenspiegel did, for he felt sorry for him.No sooner had the boy received thepatardthan he rushed into the tavern like a fox to the hen-house, and presently reappeared in triumph with half a sausage and a large loaf of bread.And now Ulenspiegel was suddenly aware of a sweet sound of viols and tabors, and soon he saw a number of women dancing together, and among them a woman of great beauty with a chain of gold hanging round her neck.The boy, who had by this time assuaged his hunger and was grinning with delight, informed Ulenspiegel that the beautiful woman was the Queen of Archery, that her name was Mietje, and that she was wife to Messire Renonckel, alderman of the parish. Then he asked Ulenspiegel to give him sixliardsfor a drink. Ulenspiegel gave him the money, and when he had thus eaten and drunk his fill the urchin sat himself down in the sun and fell to picking his teeth with his nails.When the women archers noticed Ulenspiegel standing there in his pilgrim’s habit, they came and began to dance round him in a ring, crying:“Hail pilgrim, hail! Do you come from far away, you handsome pilgrim boy?”Ulenspiegel, thinking sadly of Nele, thus made answer:“I come from Flanders, a lovely land and filled with lovesome girls.”“What crime have you committed?” asked the women, stopping in their dance.“I dare not confess it, so great it was,” said he.They asked him the reason why it was needful for him to journey thus with a pilgrim’s staff and wallet, and those scalloped oysters that are the sign of the pilgrim.“The reason is,” he replied, not quite truthfully, “that I said that Masses for the dead are advantageous to the priests.”“True, they bring many a soundingdenierto the priests,” they answered; “but are they not also of advantage to the souls in purgatory!”“I have never been there,” answered Ulenspiegel.“Will you come dine with us?” said the prettiest of the archers.“Willingly would I dine with you,” said he, “and dineoffyou into the bargain! You and all your companions in turn, for you are morsels fit for a king, more delicate to swallow than any ortolan or thrush or snipe!”“Nay,” they answered, “but we are not for sale.”“Then perhaps you willgive?” he asked them.“Yea, verily,” they laughed, “a good box on the ear to such as are too bold. And if needs were we would beat you now like a bundle of corn!”“Thank you,” he said, “I will go without the beating.”“Well then,” they said, “come in to dinner.”So he followed them into the inn yard, glad for their fresh young faces. And thereafter he saw the Brethren of the Jolly Face themselves, who were now entering the yard with great ceremony, and by their own jolly appearance living up most conspicuously to the name of their Guild.They scrutinized Ulenspiegel with some curiosity, till one of the women informed them who he was—a pilgrim they had picked up on the road, and whom, being a good red-face like unto their husbands and their sweethearts, they had invited to share in the entertainment. The men were agreeable to this proposal, and one of them addressed himself to Ulenspiegel:“Pilgrim on pilgrimage, what say you now to continuing your pilgrimage across some sauce and fricassee?”“I shall have need of my seven-league boots,” answered Ulenspiegel.Now as he was following them into the festal hall, he noticed twelve blind men coming along the Paris road. And as they passed they were lamenting most piteouslytheir hunger and thirst. But Ulenspiegel said to himself that they should dine that night like kings, and all at the expense of the Dean of Uccle himself, and in memory of the Masses for the dead.He accosted them, saying:“Here are nine florins for you. Come in to dinner. Do you not smell the good smell of fricassee?”“Ah!” they cried, “for the last half-league, and without hope!”“Now you can eat your fill,” said Ulenspiegel, “for you have nine florins.”But he had not really given them anything.“The Lord bless you,” they said. For being blind, each man believed his neighbour had been given the money. And shown the way by Ulenspiegel, they all sat down at a small table while the Brethren of the Jolly Face took their seats at a long one, together with their wives and their daughters.Then, with the complete assurance that comes from the possession of nine florins:“Mine host,” cried the blind men insolently, “give us now to eat and to drink of your best.”The landlord, who had heard tell of the nine florins and thought that they were safe in the blind men’s purse, asked them what they would like for their dinner.Then they all began to talk at once at the top of their voices:“Bacon and peas, hotchpotch of beef and veal, chicken and lamb! And where are the sausages—were they made for the dogs, pray? And who is he that has smelt out the black and white puddings in the passage without collaring them for us? I used to be able to see them, alas, in the days when my poor eyes were bright as candles! And where is the butteredkoekebakkenof Anderlecht? Sizzling in the frying-pan, juicy and crackling, enough to make a fish thirsty for drink! Ho there! But who will bring me eggs and ham, orham and eggs, twin friends of my palate? And where are you, youchoesels, that float in a heavenly mess of meats and kidneys, coxcombs, sweetbreads, ox-tails, lamb’s feet, with many onions, pepper, cloves, nutmegs, all in a stew, and three pints at least of best white wine for sauce? And who will bring you to me divine, chitterlings, you that are so good that one does not utter a word while you are being swallowed! And they come straight from Luyleckerland, a land bursting with fatness and filled with happy lazy folk, whose passion for good things to eat is never assuaged! And where are you, dried leaves of autumns past? Now quick there! Bring me a leg of mutton with broad beans. And for me, some pig’s ears grilled with bread-crumbs. And for me, a chaplet of ortolans. Verily the snipe shall figure thePaters, and a fat capon theCredo.”Mine host answered quietly:“I will bring you an omelette made with sixty eggs. And as sign-posts to guide your spoons, I will plant fifty black puddings in the midst, all smoking on a veritable mountain of good cheer; and from the top of all somedobbel petermanshall flow down like a river on every side.”At this the mouths of the poor blind men began to water indeed, and they said:“Then serve us, pray, and that right quickly with the mountain, the sign-posts, and the river!”And the Brethren of the Jolly Face, who were now all seated at table with their wives, remarked to Ulenspiegel that this should be called the Day of the Invisible Feast; for that the blind men could not see what they were eating, and thus, poor things, were deprived of half their pleasure.At last it came—the omelette all garnished with cress and parsley, carried by mine host himself and four of his cooks—and the blind men desired to fall to incontinently, and at once began to set their paws upon it. But mine host was determined to serve each of them fairly, and, however difficultit might be, to make sure that each trencher had its just portion.The women archers were filled with pity to see the blind men gobbling and sighing with joy at what was set before them. For in truth they were half starved, and they swallowed down the puddings as though they had been oysters. And thedobbel petermanflowed into their stomachs asifit had been a cataract falling down from some lofty mountain.When at length they had cleared their trenchers, they demanded yet further supplies ofkoekebakken, ortolans, and fricassees. Mine host, however, only provided a great platter of beef and veal and mutton bones, all swimming in a most goodly sauce. But he did not divide it properly. So that when they had well dipped their bread in the sauce, and eke their hands right up to the elbows, yet drew not out anything but bones of cutlet of veal or mutton, each man fell straightway to imagining that his neighbour had got hold of all the meat, and they began to fight among themselves, hitting out most furiously one against another with the bones.The Brethren of the Jolly Face laughed heartily at this, but being charitably disposed, each put a portion of his own dinner into the blind men’s platter. So now if one of the blind went searching for a new bone with which to carry on the fight, he would put his hand belike upon a thrush or chicken or a lark or two; and all the time the women, holding their heads well backwards, kept pouring into the mouths of the blind long draughts of Brussels wine, and when they reached out with their hands to feel, as blind men will, whence came these rivulets of ambrosia, they would catch oftentimes at a woman’s skirt, and try to hold it fast. But quickly the skirt would make its escape.Thus they laughed and drank, ate and sang, enjoying themselves hugely. Some of them, when they found that women were present, ran through the hall all maddened with amorous desire. But the malicious girls kept out oftheir way, hiding behind the Brethren of the Jolly Face. And one of them would say: “Come, kiss me!” And when the blind victim tried to do so he would find himself kissing not a girl at all but the bearded face of a man, who would reward him with a cuff on the cheek as like as not.And the Brethren of the Jolly Face began to sing, and the blind men sang also, and the merry women smiled with fond delight to see their pleasure. But when the juicy hours were past, it was the turn of the innkeeper, who came forward, saying:“Now you have eaten your fill, my friends, and drunk your fill. You owe me seven florins.”The Feast of the Blind MenThe Feast of the Blind MenBut each of the blind men swore that he had no purse, and asserted that it was one of the others who carried it. Thereat arose a further dispute, and they began to hit out at one another with feet and hands and heads; but they mostly missed their mark, striking out at random, while the Brethren of the Jolly Face, entering into the fun, took care to keep them apart, so that their blows rained down upon the empty air—all save one, which happened unfortunately to strike the face of the innkeeper, who straightway fell into a rage and ransacked all their pockets. But he found there nothing but an old scapular, sevenliards, three breeches-buttons, and a few rosaries.At last he threatened to throw the whole lot of them into the pig-trough, and leave them there with nothing but bread and water to eat till they paid what they owed.“Let me go surety for them,” said Ulenspiegel.“Certainly,” answered the innkeeper, “if some one will also go surety for you.”This the Brethren of the Jolly Face at once offered to do, but Ulenspiegel refused them.“No,” he said, “the Dean of Uccle shall be my surety. I will go and find him.”To be sure it was those Masses for the dead that he wasthinking of. And when he had found the Dean he told him a story of how the innkeeper of the Trumpet Inn was possessed by the Devil, and how he could talk of nothing but “pigs” and “blind men”—something or other about pigs eating the blind, and the blind eating the pigs under various infamous forms of roast meats and fricassees. While these attacks were on, the innkeeper, so Ulenspiegel affirmed, would break up all the furniture in the inn; and he begged the Dean to come and deliver the poor man from the wicked devil that possessed him.The Dean promised to do so, but he said he could not come at the moment (for he was busy with the accounts of the Chapter, trying to make something out of them for himself). Seeing that the Dean was growing impatient, Ulenspiegel said that he would return and bring with him the innkeeper’s wife in order that the Dean might speak to her himself.“Very well,” said the Dean.So Ulenspiegel came again to the innkeeper and said to him:“I have just seen the Dean, and he is willing to go surety for the blind men. Do you keep watch over them, and let your wife come with me, and the Dean will repeat to her what I have just told you.”“Go, wife,” said the innkeeper.So the innkeeper’s wife went with Ulenspiegel to the Dean, who was still at his accounts and busy with the same problem. When, therefore, he saw Ulenspiegel and the woman, he made an impatient gesture that they should withdraw, saying at the same time:“It is all right. I will come to the help of your husband in a day or two.”And Ulenspiegel went back to the inn and said to himself:“Seven florins shall he pay; seven florins. And that shall be the first of my Masses for the dead!”And Ulenspiegel departed from that place, and the blind men likewise.

XIVOn his return from the wars, the Emperor wanted to know why his son Philip was not there to welcome him.The Archbishop—the royal Governor—said that the child had refused to leave his solitude and the books which were the only things he loved.The Emperor asked where he was to be found at the moment. The Governor did not know exactly, but said they had better go and look for him somewhere where it was dark. This they did.When they had looked through a good number of rooms they came at last to a kind of closet, unpaved and lit only bya skylight. There they found a stake stuck into the ground, and a dear little monkey bound to the stake by a cord round the waist. (Now this monkey had been sent from the Indies as a present to His Highness to amuse him with its youthful gambols).... Round the bottom of the stake were some smoking sticks still glowing, and the closet was filled with a foul smell as of burning hair.Philip and the MonkeyPhilip and the MonkeyThe poor animal had suffered so much pain while being burnt to death that its little body no longer looked the body of a living animal, but seemed rather like the fragment of some root, all wrinkled and distorted. And its mouth, still open with the death-cry, was filled with froth mixed with blood; and the face was wet with tears.“Who has done this?” said the Emperor.The Governor did not dare to answer, and the two men stood there silent, sad, and angry.All at once, in the silence, there was heard a sound of feeble coughing that came from a corner in the shadow behind them. His Majesty turned and beheld Philip, his son, dressed all in black, sucking an orange.“Don Philip,” he said, “come and greet your father.”The child did not move, but gazed at his father with timid eyes that showed no spark of love.“Is it you,” asked the Emperor, “who have burnt alive in the fire this little animal?”The child bowed his head.But the Emperor: “If you have been cruel enough to do such a deed, at least be brave enough to own up to it.”The child made no answer.His Majesty seized the orange from the child’s hands, threw it to the ground, and was about to beat his son, who was shaking with terror, when the Archbishop restrained him, whispering in his ear:“The day will surely come when His Highness shall prove a mighty burner of heretics.” The Emperor smiled,and the two of them went away, leaving Philip alone with the monkey.But others there were, not monkeys, that were destined to meet their death in the flames....XVNovember was come, the month of hail-storms, when sufferers from cold in the head abandon themselves freely to their concerts of coughing and spitting. This also is the month when the turnip-fields are filled with gangs of youths that there disport themselves and steal whatever they can, to the mighty wrath of the peasants, who try in vain to catch them, chasing after them with sticks and pitchforks.Well, on an evening when Ulenspiegel was returning home from one of these raids, he heard close by, in a corner of the hedgerow, a sound as of groaning. He leant down, and beheld a dog lying stretched out on the stones.“Hallo!” he cried. “Poor little beast! What are you doing out here so late at night?”He patted the dog, and found that its back was all wet, as though some one had been trying to drown it. He took it in his arms to warm it, and when he had reached home he said:“I have brought back a wounded animal. What shall we do with it?”“Dress its wounds,” said Claes.Ulenspiegel laid the dog on the table; whereupon he and Claes and Soetkin saw that it was a little red-haired Luxemburg terrier, and that it was wounded in the back. Soetkin sponged the wounds, and anointed them with ointment, and bound them up with linen bandages. Then Ulenspiegel took the dog and put it in his bed; but Soetkin desired to have it in her own, saying she was afraid that Ulenspiegel would hurt the little red-haired thing. For in those days Ulenspiegel was wont to toss about in his sleep all night like a young devil in a stoup of holy water. Ulenspiegel, however,had his way, and he took such care of the dog that in the space of six days it was walking about like any other dog, and giving itself great airs.And the village schoolmaster christened him Titus Bibulus Schnouffius: Titus after a certain good Emperor of the Romans who was fond of befriending lost dogs; Bibulus because the dog loved beer with all the passion of a confirmed drunkard; and Schnouffius because he would always run about sniffing and putting his nose into every rat-hole and mole-hole he could find.XVIThe young prince of Spain was now fifteen years old, and his custom was to wander about the rooms and passages and stairways of the castle. But chiefly was he to be found prowling around the women’s quarters, trying to pick a quarrel with one of the pages, who themselves were wont to lurk on the look out, like cats, in the corridors; while others, again, out in the courtyard, would stand singing some tender ballad, nose in air. When the young prince heard one singing thus, he would show himself at one of the windows, and the heart of that poor page would be stricken with fear as he saw that white face there, instead of the gentle eyes of his beloved.Now among the Ladies of the Court there was a gentle dame from Dudzeel near by Damme in Flanders. Fair-fleshed she was, like fine ripe fruit, and marvellously beautiful, for she had green eyes and reddish hair all wavy and gleaming gold. And of a gay humour was she, and of an ardent complexion, nor did she make any effort to conceal her taste for that fortunate lord to whom for the time being she was pleased to grant the freedom of the fair estate of her love. Such a one there was even now, handsome and proud, and she loved him well. Every day, at a certain hour, she went to find him—a thing which Philip was not long in finding out.So, one day, sitting himself down on a bench that stood against a window, he lay in wait for her, and there she saw him as she passed by, with her bright eyes and her mouth half open, all meet for love and fresh from her bath, with the gear of her dress of yellow brocade swinging about her as she stepped along. Without rising from his seat, Philip accosted her.“Madame,” says he, “could you not spare a moment?”Restive as some eager mare, stayed in her course towards the gallant stallion that is neighing for her in the field, the lady made answer:“All here must needs obey the royal will of your Highness.”“Then sit you down by my side,” said the Prince. And gazing at her lewdly, harshly, cunningly, he spake again:“I would have you recite to me thePater Nosterin Flemish. They taught it me once, but I no longer remember it.”The poor lady did as she was bid; and then the Prince commanded her to say it all over again, but more slowly. And so on, and so on, until she had recited it ten times over. After that he began to speak flatteringly to her, praising her beautiful hair, her fresh complexion, and her bright eyes. But he dared not to say a word concerning her lovely shoulders or her rounded throat, or of aught else beside.When at last she was beginning to hope that she might be able to get away, and was already scanning anxiously the courtyard where her lord was awaiting her, the Prince demanded of her if she could rightly tell him what were the several virtues of woman? She answered nothing, fearing that she might say something to displease him. He then answered for her, setting the matter forth in this wise:“The virtues of woman are these: chastity, regard for her own honour, and a modest manner of life.” And he counselled her, therefore, that she should dress decently and should always be careful to hide those things which weremeet to be hidden. The lady nodded assent, saying that for His Hyperborean Highness she would certainly take care to cover herself with ten bear-skins rather than with a single length of muslin.Having put him to shame by this answer, she made off gladly.But in Philip’s heart the fire of youth was alight—not the fiery glow that dares the souls of the brave to lofty deeds, but a dark fire from hell itself, the fire of Satan. And it flamed in his grey eyes like the beam of a winter’s moon shining down upon a charnel-house. And it burned within him cruelly....XVIINow this beautiful, gay-hearted lady left Valladolid one day for her Château 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:“IfI 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 château, 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.XVIIIWhen Ulenspiegel returned from Dudzeel and came to the entrance of the town, he saw Nele standing there leaning with her back against the toll-gate. She was picking the stones out of a bunch of black grapes, which she munched one by one, and found therefrom, doubtless, much delight and refreshment; nevertheless, she did not allow anything of her enjoyment to appear on her countenance. On the contrary,she seemed annoyed at something, tearing at the grapes angrily. She looked, indeed, so sad and sorrowful, so sweetly unhappy, that Ulenspiegel felt overcome with that pity which is almost love, and coming up to her from behind, he printed a kiss on the nape of the girl’s neck. But all the return she gave him was a great box on the ear.“Now I shall not be able to see properly any more,” he said.She burst into tears.“O Nele,” says he, “are you going to set up fountains at the entrance of all the villages?”“Be off with you,” says she.“But I can’t go away and leave you crying like this, my little pet.”“I am not your little pet,” says Nele; “neither am I crying.”“No, you are not crying, but there is certainly some water coming out of your eyes.”“Will you go away?” She turned on him.“No,” he answered.All the time she was holding her pinafore in her small trembling hand, tearing at the stuff in little spasms of rage, and wetting it with her tears.“Nele,” said Ulenspiegel, “when is it going to be fine again?”And he smiled at her very lovingly.“Why do you ask me that?” she said.“Because when it is fine there is an end of weeping,” answered Ulenspiegel.“Go back to your beautiful lady of the brocaded gown,” she said. “Your jokes are good enough forher....”Then Ulenspiegel sang:When I see my love cryingMy heart is torn.When she smiles ’tis honey,Pearls when she weeps.Either way I love her.And I’ll draw a draught of wine,Good wine from Louvain,And I’ll draw a draught of wine,When Nele smiles again.“You villainous man!” she cried, “making fun of me again!”“Nele,” said Ulenspiegel, “it is true that I am a man. But I am not a villain. For our family is of noble origin, a family of aldermen, and it carries on its shieldthree pint pots argent on a ground bruinbier. But, Nele, tell me now, is it a fact that in Flanders when a man sows a kiss he always reaps a box on the ear?”“I refuse to speak to you,” said Nele.“Then why open your mouth to tell me so?”“I am angry,” she said.Ulenspiegel slapped her on the back very lightly with his hand, saying:“Kiss a naughty girl and she will cuff you; cuff her, she will cry. Come then, sweet, cry upon my shoulder since I have cuffed you!”Nele turned round. He opened his arms, and she threw herself into them.“You won’t go away any more down there, will you Tyl?” she asked him.But he did not answer, busy as he was in pressing with his the hand that trembled so pitifully, and in drying with his lips the hot tears that fell from the eyes of Nele, like heavy drops of rain in a storm.XIXThese were the days when the noble city of Ghent refused to pay the tax which her son, the Emperor Charles, was demanding of her. The fact was it was impossible to pay, foralready the city was drained of money by the act of Charles himself. But it seemed that the city was guilty of a great crime, and Charles resolved to go himself and exact punishment. For to be whipped by her own son is above all things painful to a mother.Now, although he was his enemy, Francis Long-Nose was pleased to offer the Emperor a free passage through the land of France. Charles accepted the offer, and instead of being held as a prisoner, he was fêted and feasted in right royal fashion. For this is ever a sovereign bond of union between kings: each to aid the other against their own peoples.Charles stayed a long time at Valenciennes, and still gave no sign of his wrath, so that Mother Ghent began to lay aside her fears, believing that the Emperor her son was going to forgive her, seeing that she had acted within her rights.But at length Charles arrived under the walls of the city with 4000 horse, together with the Duke of Alba and the Prince of Orange. The poorer townsfolk and the small business men wished to prevent this filial entry into their city, and would have called to arms 80,000 men of the city and of the country round. But the merchants, thehoogh-poorters, opposed this suggestion, being afraid of the predominance of the people. Thus Ghent could easily have cut her son to pieces, him and his 4000 horse. But it seemed she loved him too dearly, and even the small tradesmen themselves were fast regaining their trust in him.Charles also loved the city, but only for the sake of his coffers that were stored with her money, and which he hoped to store up fuller yet.Having made himself master of the place, he established military posts everywhere, and ordered that they should patrol the city night and day. Then, in great state, he pronounced his sentence.The chief merchants of the city with cords round their necks were to appear before him as he sat on his throne, andto make a formal apology. Ghent itself was declared guilty of the most costly crimes—of disloyalty, disregard of treaties, disobedience, sedition, conspiracy, and high treason. The Emperor declared that all and every privilege—rights, customs, freedoms, and usages—all were to be abolished and annulled; and he stipulated for the future too, as though he were God himself, that none of his successors on coming to the throne should ever observe any one of these usages again, except only that which was called the Caroline Concession, as granted by him to the city.The Abbey of St. Bavon he razed to the ground, and in place he erected a fortress whence he could pierce with bullets and at his ease his mother’s very heart. Like a good son that is in a hurry for his inheritance, he confiscated all the riches of Ghent, its revenues, its houses, its artillery and munitions of war. Finding it still too well guarded, he destroyed also the Red Tower, the Tower of theTrou de Crapaud, theBraampoort, theSteenpoort, theWaalpoort, theKetelpoort, and many another of its gates, all carved as they were and sculptured like jewels in stone.And afterwards, when strangers came to Ghent, they would ask of one another:“Can this indeed be Ghent whose marvels were on the lips of all—this city so desolated and brought low?”And the people of Ghent would make answer:“Charles the Emperor has been to the city. He has ravished her sacred zone.”And so saying they would be filled with anger and with shame. And from the ruins of the city gates did the Emperor take away the bricks wherewith to build his castle.For it was his will that Ghent should be utterly impoverished, that thereby he might make it impossible for her ever to oppose his proud designs, either by her labour or her industry or wealth; therefore he condemned her to pay that share of the tax of 400,000 caroluses which she hadpreviously refused him, and in addition 150,000 caroluses down, and 6000 more every year in perpetuity. Moreover, in earlier days the city had lent him money upon which he should have paid interest at the rate of 150 pounds gross annually. But he made himself remit by force the notes of credit, and by paying off his debt in this way he actually enriched himself.Many and many a time had Ghent cherished him and succoured him, but now he struck her on the breast as it were with a dagger, looking for blood, since it seemed he had not there found milk enough.Last shame of all, he cast his eye upon the bell that is calledRoelandt; and the man who had sounded the alarm thereon, bidding all the citizens to defend the rights of their city, him he had bound and hung to the clapper of the bell. And he had no pity uponRoelandt, the very tongue of his mother, the tongue whereby she spake to all the land of Flanders,Roelandtthe proud bell that sings of herself this song:When I ring there is a fireWhen I peal there is a stormIn the land of Flanders.And thinking that his mother had too loud a voice he carried away her bell. And the people of the country round would say that Ghent was dead, now that her son had wrenched away her tongue with his pincers of iron.XXIn those days, which were days of spring, fresh and clear, when all the earth is in love, Soetkin was chatting by the open window, and Claes humming a tune, while Ulenspiegel was dressing up the dog Bibulus Schnouffius in a judge’s bonnet. The dog plied his paws as though desirous of passing judgment upon some one, though in reality itwas simply his way of trying to get rid of his ungainly head-gear.All at once, Ulenspiegel shut the window and ran back into the room. Then he jumped upon the chairs and the table, reaching up towards the ceiling with his hands. Soetkin and Claes soon discovered the cause of this mad behaviour, for there was a tiny little bird, chirruping with fear, and cowering against a beam in the recess of the ceiling, and Ulenspiegel was trying to catch it. He had almost succeeded when Claes spoke out briskly and asked him:“Why are you jumping about like this?”“To catch the bird,” answered Ulenspiegel, “and put him in a cage, and feed him with seeds, and make him sing for me.”Meantime the bird, crying in an agony of terror, flew back into the room, striking its head against the window-pane. Still Ulenspiegel went on trying to catch it, but suddenly the hand of Claes came down heavily upon his shoulder.“Catch the bird if you can,” said he, “put it in a cage, make it sing for your pleasure; but I also will put you in a cage that is fastened with strong bars of iron, and I will make you sing too. Then you, who like nothing better than to run about, will be able to do so no more; and you will be kept standing in the shade when you are chilly, and in the sun when you are hot. And, one Sunday, we shall all go out and forget to give you your food, and we shall not return again till Thursday, and then maybe we shall find our Tyl all stiff and starved to death.”Soetkin was crying at this picture, but Ulenspiegel started forward.“What are you going to do?” asked Claes.“Open the window for the bird to fly out,” he answered.And in fact the bird, which was a goldfinch, flew straight out through the window, and with a cry of joy mounted up into the air like an arrow, and then alighted upon a neighbouringapple-tree, smoothing its wings with its beak, ruffling its plumage. And all kinds of abuse did it sing in its bird language, all directed against Ulenspiegel.Then Claes said:“O son of mine, take care that you never take away its liberty from either man or beast, for liberty is the greatest good in the world. Let every one be free, free to go out into the sun when it is cold, and into the shade when it is hot. And let God give judgment on His Sacred Majesty, he who, not content with denying freedom of belief to the people of Flanders, has now put all the noble city of Ghent into a cage of slavery.”XXINow Philip was married to Marie of Portugal, and with her he acquired her lands for the crown of Spain; and together they had a son, Don Carlos, he who was afterwards called “the mad” and “the cruel.” And Philip had no love for his wife.The Queen was lying-in. She kept her bed, and by her side were the maids of honour, the Duchess of Alba among them.Oftentimes did Philip leave his wife to go and see the burning of heretics. And all the gentlemen and ladies of the Court did likewise. And thus also did the Duchess of Alba and the other noble ladies whose duty it was to watch by the Queen in her childbed.Now at that time the ecclesiastical judges had seized a certain sculptor of Flanders, a good Roman Catholic, on the following charge: He had been commissioned, it seems, by a certain monk to carve a wooden statue of Our Lady for a certain sum, and on the monk refusing to pay the price which had been agreed between them, the sculptor had slashed at the face of the image with his chisel, saying that he would rather destroy his work than let it go at the price of a piece of dirt.He was straightway denounced by the monk as an iconoclast, tortured most piteously and condemned to be burntalive. During the torture they had scalded the soles of his feet, so that he cried out as he passed along from the prison to the stake: “Cut my feet off! For God’s sake cut my feet off!”And Philip, hearing these cries from afar, was glad, though smiled he never a smile.Queen Marie’s dames of honour all left her, wishing to be present at the burning, and the last of all to desert her was the said Duchess of Alba, who, hearing the cries of the sculptor, could not forbear to witness the spectacle.So, in the presence of King Philip and of his lords, princes, counts, equerries, and ladies, the sculptor was bound to the stake by a long chain. And all round the stake was a circle of flaming bundles of straw and fiery torches, the idea being that if he wished, the sculptor could be roasted very gently by keeping close to the stake in the centre of the circle, thus avoiding the full rigour of the fire.And right curiously did they watch him, naked or almost naked as he was, and trying to stiffen his resolution against the heat of the fire.Meanwhile Queen Marie was stricken with a great thirst, lying there alone on her bed of childbirth. And seeing the half of a melon on a plate, she dragged herself out of bed, and took hold of the melon and ate it all. But thereafter the cold substance of the melon made her to sweat and to shiver, and she lay upon the floor unable to move.“Alas!” she cried, “would that there were some one to carry me back into bed that I might get warm again!”Then it was that she heard the cry of the poor sculptor:“Cut off my feet! Cut off my feet!”“Ah!” said the Queen, “is that some dog or other baying at my death?”It was at this very moment that the sculptor, seeing around him none but the faces of Spaniards, his enemies, bethought him of Flanders, the land of valorous men, and he crossed hisarms on his breast, and dragging the long chain behind him, walked straight towards the outer circle of the straw and the flaming torches. And standing upright there, still with his arms crossed:“This,” cried he, “this is how the men of Flanders can die in the face of the tyrants of Spain. Cut offtheirfeet—not mine—that they may be able no more to run into the way of crime. Flanders for ever! Flanders for ever!”And the ladies clapped their hands, crying him mercy for the sake of his proud look.And he died.And Queen Marie shook all over her body, and she cried out, her teeth chattering together with the chill of approaching death. And her arms and legs grew stiff, and she said:“Put me back into my bed that I may be warmed.”So she died.And thus it was, according to the prophecy of Katheline the good sorceress, that Philip the King sowed everywhere he went the seeds of death, and blood, and tears.XXIIBut Ulenspiegel and Nele loved each other, and their love was true.It was now the end of April. All the trees were in bloom, and every plant was swollen with sap, for May was near, the month of the peacock, flowered like a bouquet, the month that sends the nightingales singing aloud in the trees of all the earth.Oftentimes would Nele and Ulenspiegel wander together along the roads. Nele would lean on the arm of Ulenspiegel, and hang round him with her two hands. Ulenspiegel loved this little game, and often did he pass his arm about Nele’s waist, to hold her the better, as he said. And she was happy, but spake not a word.Softly along the roads blew the wind, wafting the scent from the fields; the sea boomed in the distance, rocking lazily in the sun; Ulenspiegel seemed like some youthful devil, all pride; and Nele like a little saint from Paradise, half shy of her happiness.She leant her head against Ulenspiegel’s shoulder, and her hand was in his, and as they passed along he kissed her forehead, and her cheek, and her sweet lips. But still she spake no word.Nele and UlenspiegelNele and UlenspiegelAfter some hours they grew hot and thirsty, and they drank milk at the house of a peasant; and yet they were not refreshed. Then they sat them down on the grass by the side of the ditch, and Nele seemed pale and pensive, and Ulenspiegel looked at her, afraid that something was amiss.“You are unhappy?” said she.“Yes,” he admitted.“But why?” she asked him.“I know not,” said he. “But these apple-trees and cherry-trees all in flower, this air so warm that one would say it was charged with lightning, these daisies that open their blushing petals to the fields, and oh, the hawthorn, there, close by us in the hedge, all white.... Will no one tell me why it is that I feel troubled, and always ready to die or to go to sleep? And my heart beats so strangely when I hear the birds awaken in the trees, and when I see the swallows coming home! Then I am fain to go away beyond the sun and beyond the moon. And sometimes I am cold, and then again I am hot. Ah, Nele! would that I were no longer a creature of this low world! Verily I would give my life a thousand times to her that would love me!”Yet Nele spake not at all, but smiling at her ease sat looking at Ulenspiegel.XXIIIOne Day of All Souls, Ulenspiegel went forth from Notre Dame with certain other vagabonds of his own age. Amongthem was Lamme Goedzak, who seemed strayed among them like a lamb in the midst of a herd of wolves. Lamme treated them with drinks all round, for his mother, as her custom was on Sundays and feast days, had given him threepatards.So he went with his companions to the tavernIn dem Rooden Schildt—at the sign of the Red Shield. Jan van Liebeke kept the house, and he served them withdobbel knollaertfrom Courtrai.They began to be warmed with the drink, and the talk turned on the subject of prayer, and Ulenspiegel declared quite openly that, for his part, he thought that Masses for the dead did nobody any good, except the priests who said them.Now in that company there was a Judas, who went and denounced Ulenspiegel for a heretic. And in spite of the tears of Soetkin, and the entreaties of Claes, Ulenspiegel was seized and taken prisoner. He remained shut up in a cellar for the space of a month and three days without seeing a soul. The jailor himself consumed three-quarters of the ration that was given him for food.During all this time the authorities were informing themselves as to Ulenspiegel’s reputation—whether it was good or whether it was bad. They found that there was not much to be said against him except that he was a lively sort of customer, always railing against his neighbours. But they could not find that he had ever spoken evil of Our Lord God, or of Madame the Virgin, nor yet of the Saints. On this account the sentence passed on him was a light one, for he might easily have been condemned to have his face branded with a hot iron and to be flogged till the blood flowed. But in consideration of his youth, the judges merely sentenced him to walk in his shirt behind the priests barefoot and hatless, and holding a candle in his hand. And this he was to do on the Feast of the Ascension, in the first procession that left the church.So it was done, and when the procession was on the pointof turning back, Ulenspiegel was made to stop beneath the porch of Notre Dame, and there cry out aloud:“Thanks be to our Lord Jesus! Thanks be to the reverend priests! Sweet are their prayers unto the souls in purgatory; nay, they are filled with every virtue of refreshment! For eachAveis even as a bucket of water poured upon the backs of those who are being punished, and everyPateris a tubful!”And the people heard him with great devotion, and not without a smile.On Whit-Sunday the same proceeding had to be gone through, and Ulenspiegel followed again in the procession with nothing on but his shirt, and with his head bare, and no shoes on his feet, and holding a candle in his hand. On returning to the church he stood up in the porch, holding the candle most reverently in his hand, and then in a high, clear voice (yet not without sundry waggish grimaces) spake as follows:“If the prayers of all good Christians are very comforting to the souls in purgatory, how much more so must be those of the Dean of Notre Dame, a holy man and perfect in the performance of every virtue. Verily, his prayers assuage the flames of fire in such wise that they are transformed all of a sudden into ice. But yet be sure that not an atom of it goes to refresh the devils that are in hell.”And again the people hearkened to what he said with great devotion. But some of them smiled, and the Dean smiled too, in his grim ecclesiastical way.After that, Ulenspiegel was condemned to banishment from the land of Flanders for the space of three years, on condition that he went to Rome on pilgrimage and brought back with him the papal absolution. For this sentence Claes had to pay three florins: but he gave an extra florin to his son, and bought him a pilgrim’s habit.Ulenspiegel was heart-broken when he came to say good-byeto Claes and Soetkin on the day of his departure. He embraced them both, and his mother was all in tears; but she accompanied him far on his way, and Claes went too, and many of the townsmen and townswomen.When they were home again Claes said to his wife:“Good wife, it is very hard that such a boy should be condemned to this cruel punishment and all for a few silly words.”“Why, you are crying, my man!” said Soetkin. “Truly, you love him more than you like to show. Yes, you are sobbing now with a man’s sobs, sobs that are like unto the tears of a lion.”But he answered her not.As for Nele, she had gone to hide herself in the barn, so that none might see that she also wept for Ulenspiegel. But she followed afar after Soetkin and Claes and the other townsfolk: and when she saw her lover disappearing in the distance, she ran after him and threw herself on his neck.“In Italy you will meet many beautiful ladies,” she said.“I do not know about their being beautiful,” he replied, “but fresh like thee—no. For they are all parched with the sun.”They walked a long way side by side, and Ulenspiegel seemed thoughtful, muttering from time to time:“I’ll make ’em pay—I’ll make ’em pay for their Masses for the dead!”“What Masses are those you speak of?” Nele inquired. “And who is to pay for them?”Ulenspiegel answered:“All the deans,curés, clerks, beadles and the rest, both superior and inferior, who feed us with their trash. See now, if I had happened to be a strong working man they would have robbed me of the value of three years’ labour by making me thus to go on this pilgrimage. But as things are, it is the poor Claes who pays. Ah, but they shall give me back mythree years a hundredfold, and with their own money I myself will sing for them their Masses for the dead!”“Alas, Tyl!” said Nele, “be prudent, or they will have you burnt alive.”“I am fireproof,” answered Ulenspiegel.And they parted from one another, she all in tears, he heart-broken and angry.XXIVOnce in the open country, Ulenspiegel shook himself like a dog, or like a bird that has regained its liberty, and his heart was cheered by the trees and fields and the bright sunshine.When he had walked on thus for three days he came to the outskirts of Brussels, and to the wealthy township of Uccle. And there, passing in front of the inn with the sign of the Trumpet, his attention was drawn to a most heavenly odour of fricassee. A little urchin who stood by was also sniffing the delightful perfume of the sauce, and Ulenspiegel asked him in whose honour it was that there rose to heaven such odour of festal incense. The boy made answer that the Guild of the Jolly Face was to meet at the inn that evening after vespers, to celebrate the deliverance of the town by the women and girls of olden time.Now in the distance Ulenspiegel saw a high pole with a popinjay on the top of it, and the pole was set in the ground, and round it were a company of women armed with bows and arrows. He asked the boy if women were become archers nowadays?The boy, still sniffing greedily the savour of the sauces, replied that in the days of the Good Duke the very bows that were now being used by those women had been the means of killing over a hundred brigands.Ulenspiegel desired to know further concerning this matter, but the boy said that he could tell no more, so hungrywas he, unless forsooth Ulenspiegel would give him apatardwith which he might buy food and drink. This Ulenspiegel did, for he felt sorry for him.No sooner had the boy received thepatardthan he rushed into the tavern like a fox to the hen-house, and presently reappeared in triumph with half a sausage and a large loaf of bread.And now Ulenspiegel was suddenly aware of a sweet sound of viols and tabors, and soon he saw a number of women dancing together, and among them a woman of great beauty with a chain of gold hanging round her neck.The boy, who had by this time assuaged his hunger and was grinning with delight, informed Ulenspiegel that the beautiful woman was the Queen of Archery, that her name was Mietje, and that she was wife to Messire Renonckel, alderman of the parish. Then he asked Ulenspiegel to give him sixliardsfor a drink. Ulenspiegel gave him the money, and when he had thus eaten and drunk his fill the urchin sat himself down in the sun and fell to picking his teeth with his nails.When the women archers noticed Ulenspiegel standing there in his pilgrim’s habit, they came and began to dance round him in a ring, crying:“Hail pilgrim, hail! Do you come from far away, you handsome pilgrim boy?”Ulenspiegel, thinking sadly of Nele, thus made answer:“I come from Flanders, a lovely land and filled with lovesome girls.”“What crime have you committed?” asked the women, stopping in their dance.“I dare not confess it, so great it was,” said he.They asked him the reason why it was needful for him to journey thus with a pilgrim’s staff and wallet, and those scalloped oysters that are the sign of the pilgrim.“The reason is,” he replied, not quite truthfully, “that I said that Masses for the dead are advantageous to the priests.”“True, they bring many a soundingdenierto the priests,” they answered; “but are they not also of advantage to the souls in purgatory!”“I have never been there,” answered Ulenspiegel.“Will you come dine with us?” said the prettiest of the archers.“Willingly would I dine with you,” said he, “and dineoffyou into the bargain! You and all your companions in turn, for you are morsels fit for a king, more delicate to swallow than any ortolan or thrush or snipe!”“Nay,” they answered, “but we are not for sale.”“Then perhaps you willgive?” he asked them.“Yea, verily,” they laughed, “a good box on the ear to such as are too bold. And if needs were we would beat you now like a bundle of corn!”“Thank you,” he said, “I will go without the beating.”“Well then,” they said, “come in to dinner.”So he followed them into the inn yard, glad for their fresh young faces. And thereafter he saw the Brethren of the Jolly Face themselves, who were now entering the yard with great ceremony, and by their own jolly appearance living up most conspicuously to the name of their Guild.They scrutinized Ulenspiegel with some curiosity, till one of the women informed them who he was—a pilgrim they had picked up on the road, and whom, being a good red-face like unto their husbands and their sweethearts, they had invited to share in the entertainment. The men were agreeable to this proposal, and one of them addressed himself to Ulenspiegel:“Pilgrim on pilgrimage, what say you now to continuing your pilgrimage across some sauce and fricassee?”“I shall have need of my seven-league boots,” answered Ulenspiegel.Now as he was following them into the festal hall, he noticed twelve blind men coming along the Paris road. And as they passed they were lamenting most piteouslytheir hunger and thirst. But Ulenspiegel said to himself that they should dine that night like kings, and all at the expense of the Dean of Uccle himself, and in memory of the Masses for the dead.He accosted them, saying:“Here are nine florins for you. Come in to dinner. Do you not smell the good smell of fricassee?”“Ah!” they cried, “for the last half-league, and without hope!”“Now you can eat your fill,” said Ulenspiegel, “for you have nine florins.”But he had not really given them anything.“The Lord bless you,” they said. For being blind, each man believed his neighbour had been given the money. And shown the way by Ulenspiegel, they all sat down at a small table while the Brethren of the Jolly Face took their seats at a long one, together with their wives and their daughters.Then, with the complete assurance that comes from the possession of nine florins:“Mine host,” cried the blind men insolently, “give us now to eat and to drink of your best.”The landlord, who had heard tell of the nine florins and thought that they were safe in the blind men’s purse, asked them what they would like for their dinner.Then they all began to talk at once at the top of their voices:“Bacon and peas, hotchpotch of beef and veal, chicken and lamb! And where are the sausages—were they made for the dogs, pray? And who is he that has smelt out the black and white puddings in the passage without collaring them for us? I used to be able to see them, alas, in the days when my poor eyes were bright as candles! And where is the butteredkoekebakkenof Anderlecht? Sizzling in the frying-pan, juicy and crackling, enough to make a fish thirsty for drink! Ho there! But who will bring me eggs and ham, orham and eggs, twin friends of my palate? And where are you, youchoesels, that float in a heavenly mess of meats and kidneys, coxcombs, sweetbreads, ox-tails, lamb’s feet, with many onions, pepper, cloves, nutmegs, all in a stew, and three pints at least of best white wine for sauce? And who will bring you to me divine, chitterlings, you that are so good that one does not utter a word while you are being swallowed! And they come straight from Luyleckerland, a land bursting with fatness and filled with happy lazy folk, whose passion for good things to eat is never assuaged! And where are you, dried leaves of autumns past? Now quick there! Bring me a leg of mutton with broad beans. And for me, some pig’s ears grilled with bread-crumbs. And for me, a chaplet of ortolans. Verily the snipe shall figure thePaters, and a fat capon theCredo.”Mine host answered quietly:“I will bring you an omelette made with sixty eggs. And as sign-posts to guide your spoons, I will plant fifty black puddings in the midst, all smoking on a veritable mountain of good cheer; and from the top of all somedobbel petermanshall flow down like a river on every side.”At this the mouths of the poor blind men began to water indeed, and they said:“Then serve us, pray, and that right quickly with the mountain, the sign-posts, and the river!”And the Brethren of the Jolly Face, who were now all seated at table with their wives, remarked to Ulenspiegel that this should be called the Day of the Invisible Feast; for that the blind men could not see what they were eating, and thus, poor things, were deprived of half their pleasure.At last it came—the omelette all garnished with cress and parsley, carried by mine host himself and four of his cooks—and the blind men desired to fall to incontinently, and at once began to set their paws upon it. But mine host was determined to serve each of them fairly, and, however difficultit might be, to make sure that each trencher had its just portion.The women archers were filled with pity to see the blind men gobbling and sighing with joy at what was set before them. For in truth they were half starved, and they swallowed down the puddings as though they had been oysters. And thedobbel petermanflowed into their stomachs asifit had been a cataract falling down from some lofty mountain.When at length they had cleared their trenchers, they demanded yet further supplies ofkoekebakken, ortolans, and fricassees. Mine host, however, only provided a great platter of beef and veal and mutton bones, all swimming in a most goodly sauce. But he did not divide it properly. So that when they had well dipped their bread in the sauce, and eke their hands right up to the elbows, yet drew not out anything but bones of cutlet of veal or mutton, each man fell straightway to imagining that his neighbour had got hold of all the meat, and they began to fight among themselves, hitting out most furiously one against another with the bones.The Brethren of the Jolly Face laughed heartily at this, but being charitably disposed, each put a portion of his own dinner into the blind men’s platter. So now if one of the blind went searching for a new bone with which to carry on the fight, he would put his hand belike upon a thrush or chicken or a lark or two; and all the time the women, holding their heads well backwards, kept pouring into the mouths of the blind long draughts of Brussels wine, and when they reached out with their hands to feel, as blind men will, whence came these rivulets of ambrosia, they would catch oftentimes at a woman’s skirt, and try to hold it fast. But quickly the skirt would make its escape.Thus they laughed and drank, ate and sang, enjoying themselves hugely. Some of them, when they found that women were present, ran through the hall all maddened with amorous desire. But the malicious girls kept out oftheir way, hiding behind the Brethren of the Jolly Face. And one of them would say: “Come, kiss me!” And when the blind victim tried to do so he would find himself kissing not a girl at all but the bearded face of a man, who would reward him with a cuff on the cheek as like as not.And the Brethren of the Jolly Face began to sing, and the blind men sang also, and the merry women smiled with fond delight to see their pleasure. But when the juicy hours were past, it was the turn of the innkeeper, who came forward, saying:“Now you have eaten your fill, my friends, and drunk your fill. You owe me seven florins.”The Feast of the Blind MenThe Feast of the Blind MenBut each of the blind men swore that he had no purse, and asserted that it was one of the others who carried it. Thereat arose a further dispute, and they began to hit out at one another with feet and hands and heads; but they mostly missed their mark, striking out at random, while the Brethren of the Jolly Face, entering into the fun, took care to keep them apart, so that their blows rained down upon the empty air—all save one, which happened unfortunately to strike the face of the innkeeper, who straightway fell into a rage and ransacked all their pockets. But he found there nothing but an old scapular, sevenliards, three breeches-buttons, and a few rosaries.At last he threatened to throw the whole lot of them into the pig-trough, and leave them there with nothing but bread and water to eat till they paid what they owed.“Let me go surety for them,” said Ulenspiegel.“Certainly,” answered the innkeeper, “if some one will also go surety for you.”This the Brethren of the Jolly Face at once offered to do, but Ulenspiegel refused them.“No,” he said, “the Dean of Uccle shall be my surety. I will go and find him.”To be sure it was those Masses for the dead that he wasthinking of. And when he had found the Dean he told him a story of how the innkeeper of the Trumpet Inn was possessed by the Devil, and how he could talk of nothing but “pigs” and “blind men”—something or other about pigs eating the blind, and the blind eating the pigs under various infamous forms of roast meats and fricassees. While these attacks were on, the innkeeper, so Ulenspiegel affirmed, would break up all the furniture in the inn; and he begged the Dean to come and deliver the poor man from the wicked devil that possessed him.The Dean promised to do so, but he said he could not come at the moment (for he was busy with the accounts of the Chapter, trying to make something out of them for himself). Seeing that the Dean was growing impatient, Ulenspiegel said that he would return and bring with him the innkeeper’s wife in order that the Dean might speak to her himself.“Very well,” said the Dean.So Ulenspiegel came again to the innkeeper and said to him:“I have just seen the Dean, and he is willing to go surety for the blind men. Do you keep watch over them, and let your wife come with me, and the Dean will repeat to her what I have just told you.”“Go, wife,” said the innkeeper.So the innkeeper’s wife went with Ulenspiegel to the Dean, who was still at his accounts and busy with the same problem. When, therefore, he saw Ulenspiegel and the woman, he made an impatient gesture that they should withdraw, saying at the same time:“It is all right. I will come to the help of your husband in a day or two.”And Ulenspiegel went back to the inn and said to himself:“Seven florins shall he pay; seven florins. And that shall be the first of my Masses for the dead!”And Ulenspiegel departed from that place, and the blind men likewise.

XIVOn his return from the wars, the Emperor wanted to know why his son Philip was not there to welcome him.The Archbishop—the royal Governor—said that the child had refused to leave his solitude and the books which were the only things he loved.The Emperor asked where he was to be found at the moment. The Governor did not know exactly, but said they had better go and look for him somewhere where it was dark. This they did.When they had looked through a good number of rooms they came at last to a kind of closet, unpaved and lit only bya skylight. There they found a stake stuck into the ground, and a dear little monkey bound to the stake by a cord round the waist. (Now this monkey had been sent from the Indies as a present to His Highness to amuse him with its youthful gambols).... Round the bottom of the stake were some smoking sticks still glowing, and the closet was filled with a foul smell as of burning hair.Philip and the MonkeyPhilip and the MonkeyThe poor animal had suffered so much pain while being burnt to death that its little body no longer looked the body of a living animal, but seemed rather like the fragment of some root, all wrinkled and distorted. And its mouth, still open with the death-cry, was filled with froth mixed with blood; and the face was wet with tears.“Who has done this?” said the Emperor.The Governor did not dare to answer, and the two men stood there silent, sad, and angry.All at once, in the silence, there was heard a sound of feeble coughing that came from a corner in the shadow behind them. His Majesty turned and beheld Philip, his son, dressed all in black, sucking an orange.“Don Philip,” he said, “come and greet your father.”The child did not move, but gazed at his father with timid eyes that showed no spark of love.“Is it you,” asked the Emperor, “who have burnt alive in the fire this little animal?”The child bowed his head.But the Emperor: “If you have been cruel enough to do such a deed, at least be brave enough to own up to it.”The child made no answer.His Majesty seized the orange from the child’s hands, threw it to the ground, and was about to beat his son, who was shaking with terror, when the Archbishop restrained him, whispering in his ear:“The day will surely come when His Highness shall prove a mighty burner of heretics.” The Emperor smiled,and the two of them went away, leaving Philip alone with the monkey.But others there were, not monkeys, that were destined to meet their death in the flames....XVNovember was come, the month of hail-storms, when sufferers from cold in the head abandon themselves freely to their concerts of coughing and spitting. This also is the month when the turnip-fields are filled with gangs of youths that there disport themselves and steal whatever they can, to the mighty wrath of the peasants, who try in vain to catch them, chasing after them with sticks and pitchforks.Well, on an evening when Ulenspiegel was returning home from one of these raids, he heard close by, in a corner of the hedgerow, a sound as of groaning. He leant down, and beheld a dog lying stretched out on the stones.“Hallo!” he cried. “Poor little beast! What are you doing out here so late at night?”He patted the dog, and found that its back was all wet, as though some one had been trying to drown it. He took it in his arms to warm it, and when he had reached home he said:“I have brought back a wounded animal. What shall we do with it?”“Dress its wounds,” said Claes.Ulenspiegel laid the dog on the table; whereupon he and Claes and Soetkin saw that it was a little red-haired Luxemburg terrier, and that it was wounded in the back. Soetkin sponged the wounds, and anointed them with ointment, and bound them up with linen bandages. Then Ulenspiegel took the dog and put it in his bed; but Soetkin desired to have it in her own, saying she was afraid that Ulenspiegel would hurt the little red-haired thing. For in those days Ulenspiegel was wont to toss about in his sleep all night like a young devil in a stoup of holy water. Ulenspiegel, however,had his way, and he took such care of the dog that in the space of six days it was walking about like any other dog, and giving itself great airs.And the village schoolmaster christened him Titus Bibulus Schnouffius: Titus after a certain good Emperor of the Romans who was fond of befriending lost dogs; Bibulus because the dog loved beer with all the passion of a confirmed drunkard; and Schnouffius because he would always run about sniffing and putting his nose into every rat-hole and mole-hole he could find.XVIThe young prince of Spain was now fifteen years old, and his custom was to wander about the rooms and passages and stairways of the castle. But chiefly was he to be found prowling around the women’s quarters, trying to pick a quarrel with one of the pages, who themselves were wont to lurk on the look out, like cats, in the corridors; while others, again, out in the courtyard, would stand singing some tender ballad, nose in air. When the young prince heard one singing thus, he would show himself at one of the windows, and the heart of that poor page would be stricken with fear as he saw that white face there, instead of the gentle eyes of his beloved.Now among the Ladies of the Court there was a gentle dame from Dudzeel near by Damme in Flanders. Fair-fleshed she was, like fine ripe fruit, and marvellously beautiful, for she had green eyes and reddish hair all wavy and gleaming gold. And of a gay humour was she, and of an ardent complexion, nor did she make any effort to conceal her taste for that fortunate lord to whom for the time being she was pleased to grant the freedom of the fair estate of her love. Such a one there was even now, handsome and proud, and she loved him well. Every day, at a certain hour, she went to find him—a thing which Philip was not long in finding out.So, one day, sitting himself down on a bench that stood against a window, he lay in wait for her, and there she saw him as she passed by, with her bright eyes and her mouth half open, all meet for love and fresh from her bath, with the gear of her dress of yellow brocade swinging about her as she stepped along. Without rising from his seat, Philip accosted her.“Madame,” says he, “could you not spare a moment?”Restive as some eager mare, stayed in her course towards the gallant stallion that is neighing for her in the field, the lady made answer:“All here must needs obey the royal will of your Highness.”“Then sit you down by my side,” said the Prince. And gazing at her lewdly, harshly, cunningly, he spake again:“I would have you recite to me thePater Nosterin Flemish. They taught it me once, but I no longer remember it.”The poor lady did as she was bid; and then the Prince commanded her to say it all over again, but more slowly. And so on, and so on, until she had recited it ten times over. After that he began to speak flatteringly to her, praising her beautiful hair, her fresh complexion, and her bright eyes. But he dared not to say a word concerning her lovely shoulders or her rounded throat, or of aught else beside.When at last she was beginning to hope that she might be able to get away, and was already scanning anxiously the courtyard where her lord was awaiting her, the Prince demanded of her if she could rightly tell him what were the several virtues of woman? She answered nothing, fearing that she might say something to displease him. He then answered for her, setting the matter forth in this wise:“The virtues of woman are these: chastity, regard for her own honour, and a modest manner of life.” And he counselled her, therefore, that she should dress decently and should always be careful to hide those things which weremeet to be hidden. The lady nodded assent, saying that for His Hyperborean Highness she would certainly take care to cover herself with ten bear-skins rather than with a single length of muslin.Having put him to shame by this answer, she made off gladly.But in Philip’s heart the fire of youth was alight—not the fiery glow that dares the souls of the brave to lofty deeds, but a dark fire from hell itself, the fire of Satan. And it flamed in his grey eyes like the beam of a winter’s moon shining down upon a charnel-house. And it burned within him cruelly....XVIINow this beautiful, gay-hearted lady left Valladolid one day for her Château 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:“IfI 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 château, 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.XVIIIWhen Ulenspiegel returned from Dudzeel and came to the entrance of the town, he saw Nele standing there leaning with her back against the toll-gate. She was picking the stones out of a bunch of black grapes, which she munched one by one, and found therefrom, doubtless, much delight and refreshment; nevertheless, she did not allow anything of her enjoyment to appear on her countenance. On the contrary,she seemed annoyed at something, tearing at the grapes angrily. She looked, indeed, so sad and sorrowful, so sweetly unhappy, that Ulenspiegel felt overcome with that pity which is almost love, and coming up to her from behind, he printed a kiss on the nape of the girl’s neck. But all the return she gave him was a great box on the ear.“Now I shall not be able to see properly any more,” he said.She burst into tears.“O Nele,” says he, “are you going to set up fountains at the entrance of all the villages?”“Be off with you,” says she.“But I can’t go away and leave you crying like this, my little pet.”“I am not your little pet,” says Nele; “neither am I crying.”“No, you are not crying, but there is certainly some water coming out of your eyes.”“Will you go away?” She turned on him.“No,” he answered.All the time she was holding her pinafore in her small trembling hand, tearing at the stuff in little spasms of rage, and wetting it with her tears.“Nele,” said Ulenspiegel, “when is it going to be fine again?”And he smiled at her very lovingly.“Why do you ask me that?” she said.“Because when it is fine there is an end of weeping,” answered Ulenspiegel.“Go back to your beautiful lady of the brocaded gown,” she said. “Your jokes are good enough forher....”Then Ulenspiegel sang:When I see my love cryingMy heart is torn.When she smiles ’tis honey,Pearls when she weeps.Either way I love her.And I’ll draw a draught of wine,Good wine from Louvain,And I’ll draw a draught of wine,When Nele smiles again.“You villainous man!” she cried, “making fun of me again!”“Nele,” said Ulenspiegel, “it is true that I am a man. But I am not a villain. For our family is of noble origin, a family of aldermen, and it carries on its shieldthree pint pots argent on a ground bruinbier. But, Nele, tell me now, is it a fact that in Flanders when a man sows a kiss he always reaps a box on the ear?”“I refuse to speak to you,” said Nele.“Then why open your mouth to tell me so?”“I am angry,” she said.Ulenspiegel slapped her on the back very lightly with his hand, saying:“Kiss a naughty girl and she will cuff you; cuff her, she will cry. Come then, sweet, cry upon my shoulder since I have cuffed you!”Nele turned round. He opened his arms, and she threw herself into them.“You won’t go away any more down there, will you Tyl?” she asked him.But he did not answer, busy as he was in pressing with his the hand that trembled so pitifully, and in drying with his lips the hot tears that fell from the eyes of Nele, like heavy drops of rain in a storm.XIXThese were the days when the noble city of Ghent refused to pay the tax which her son, the Emperor Charles, was demanding of her. The fact was it was impossible to pay, foralready the city was drained of money by the act of Charles himself. But it seemed that the city was guilty of a great crime, and Charles resolved to go himself and exact punishment. For to be whipped by her own son is above all things painful to a mother.Now, although he was his enemy, Francis Long-Nose was pleased to offer the Emperor a free passage through the land of France. Charles accepted the offer, and instead of being held as a prisoner, he was fêted and feasted in right royal fashion. For this is ever a sovereign bond of union between kings: each to aid the other against their own peoples.Charles stayed a long time at Valenciennes, and still gave no sign of his wrath, so that Mother Ghent began to lay aside her fears, believing that the Emperor her son was going to forgive her, seeing that she had acted within her rights.But at length Charles arrived under the walls of the city with 4000 horse, together with the Duke of Alba and the Prince of Orange. The poorer townsfolk and the small business men wished to prevent this filial entry into their city, and would have called to arms 80,000 men of the city and of the country round. But the merchants, thehoogh-poorters, opposed this suggestion, being afraid of the predominance of the people. Thus Ghent could easily have cut her son to pieces, him and his 4000 horse. But it seemed she loved him too dearly, and even the small tradesmen themselves were fast regaining their trust in him.Charles also loved the city, but only for the sake of his coffers that were stored with her money, and which he hoped to store up fuller yet.Having made himself master of the place, he established military posts everywhere, and ordered that they should patrol the city night and day. Then, in great state, he pronounced his sentence.The chief merchants of the city with cords round their necks were to appear before him as he sat on his throne, andto make a formal apology. Ghent itself was declared guilty of the most costly crimes—of disloyalty, disregard of treaties, disobedience, sedition, conspiracy, and high treason. The Emperor declared that all and every privilege—rights, customs, freedoms, and usages—all were to be abolished and annulled; and he stipulated for the future too, as though he were God himself, that none of his successors on coming to the throne should ever observe any one of these usages again, except only that which was called the Caroline Concession, as granted by him to the city.The Abbey of St. Bavon he razed to the ground, and in place he erected a fortress whence he could pierce with bullets and at his ease his mother’s very heart. Like a good son that is in a hurry for his inheritance, he confiscated all the riches of Ghent, its revenues, its houses, its artillery and munitions of war. Finding it still too well guarded, he destroyed also the Red Tower, the Tower of theTrou de Crapaud, theBraampoort, theSteenpoort, theWaalpoort, theKetelpoort, and many another of its gates, all carved as they were and sculptured like jewels in stone.And afterwards, when strangers came to Ghent, they would ask of one another:“Can this indeed be Ghent whose marvels were on the lips of all—this city so desolated and brought low?”And the people of Ghent would make answer:“Charles the Emperor has been to the city. He has ravished her sacred zone.”And so saying they would be filled with anger and with shame. And from the ruins of the city gates did the Emperor take away the bricks wherewith to build his castle.For it was his will that Ghent should be utterly impoverished, that thereby he might make it impossible for her ever to oppose his proud designs, either by her labour or her industry or wealth; therefore he condemned her to pay that share of the tax of 400,000 caroluses which she hadpreviously refused him, and in addition 150,000 caroluses down, and 6000 more every year in perpetuity. Moreover, in earlier days the city had lent him money upon which he should have paid interest at the rate of 150 pounds gross annually. But he made himself remit by force the notes of credit, and by paying off his debt in this way he actually enriched himself.Many and many a time had Ghent cherished him and succoured him, but now he struck her on the breast as it were with a dagger, looking for blood, since it seemed he had not there found milk enough.Last shame of all, he cast his eye upon the bell that is calledRoelandt; and the man who had sounded the alarm thereon, bidding all the citizens to defend the rights of their city, him he had bound and hung to the clapper of the bell. And he had no pity uponRoelandt, the very tongue of his mother, the tongue whereby she spake to all the land of Flanders,Roelandtthe proud bell that sings of herself this song:When I ring there is a fireWhen I peal there is a stormIn the land of Flanders.And thinking that his mother had too loud a voice he carried away her bell. And the people of the country round would say that Ghent was dead, now that her son had wrenched away her tongue with his pincers of iron.XXIn those days, which were days of spring, fresh and clear, when all the earth is in love, Soetkin was chatting by the open window, and Claes humming a tune, while Ulenspiegel was dressing up the dog Bibulus Schnouffius in a judge’s bonnet. The dog plied his paws as though desirous of passing judgment upon some one, though in reality itwas simply his way of trying to get rid of his ungainly head-gear.All at once, Ulenspiegel shut the window and ran back into the room. Then he jumped upon the chairs and the table, reaching up towards the ceiling with his hands. Soetkin and Claes soon discovered the cause of this mad behaviour, for there was a tiny little bird, chirruping with fear, and cowering against a beam in the recess of the ceiling, and Ulenspiegel was trying to catch it. He had almost succeeded when Claes spoke out briskly and asked him:“Why are you jumping about like this?”“To catch the bird,” answered Ulenspiegel, “and put him in a cage, and feed him with seeds, and make him sing for me.”Meantime the bird, crying in an agony of terror, flew back into the room, striking its head against the window-pane. Still Ulenspiegel went on trying to catch it, but suddenly the hand of Claes came down heavily upon his shoulder.“Catch the bird if you can,” said he, “put it in a cage, make it sing for your pleasure; but I also will put you in a cage that is fastened with strong bars of iron, and I will make you sing too. Then you, who like nothing better than to run about, will be able to do so no more; and you will be kept standing in the shade when you are chilly, and in the sun when you are hot. And, one Sunday, we shall all go out and forget to give you your food, and we shall not return again till Thursday, and then maybe we shall find our Tyl all stiff and starved to death.”Soetkin was crying at this picture, but Ulenspiegel started forward.“What are you going to do?” asked Claes.“Open the window for the bird to fly out,” he answered.And in fact the bird, which was a goldfinch, flew straight out through the window, and with a cry of joy mounted up into the air like an arrow, and then alighted upon a neighbouringapple-tree, smoothing its wings with its beak, ruffling its plumage. And all kinds of abuse did it sing in its bird language, all directed against Ulenspiegel.Then Claes said:“O son of mine, take care that you never take away its liberty from either man or beast, for liberty is the greatest good in the world. Let every one be free, free to go out into the sun when it is cold, and into the shade when it is hot. And let God give judgment on His Sacred Majesty, he who, not content with denying freedom of belief to the people of Flanders, has now put all the noble city of Ghent into a cage of slavery.”XXINow Philip was married to Marie of Portugal, and with her he acquired her lands for the crown of Spain; and together they had a son, Don Carlos, he who was afterwards called “the mad” and “the cruel.” And Philip had no love for his wife.The Queen was lying-in. She kept her bed, and by her side were the maids of honour, the Duchess of Alba among them.Oftentimes did Philip leave his wife to go and see the burning of heretics. And all the gentlemen and ladies of the Court did likewise. And thus also did the Duchess of Alba and the other noble ladies whose duty it was to watch by the Queen in her childbed.Now at that time the ecclesiastical judges had seized a certain sculptor of Flanders, a good Roman Catholic, on the following charge: He had been commissioned, it seems, by a certain monk to carve a wooden statue of Our Lady for a certain sum, and on the monk refusing to pay the price which had been agreed between them, the sculptor had slashed at the face of the image with his chisel, saying that he would rather destroy his work than let it go at the price of a piece of dirt.He was straightway denounced by the monk as an iconoclast, tortured most piteously and condemned to be burntalive. During the torture they had scalded the soles of his feet, so that he cried out as he passed along from the prison to the stake: “Cut my feet off! For God’s sake cut my feet off!”And Philip, hearing these cries from afar, was glad, though smiled he never a smile.Queen Marie’s dames of honour all left her, wishing to be present at the burning, and the last of all to desert her was the said Duchess of Alba, who, hearing the cries of the sculptor, could not forbear to witness the spectacle.So, in the presence of King Philip and of his lords, princes, counts, equerries, and ladies, the sculptor was bound to the stake by a long chain. And all round the stake was a circle of flaming bundles of straw and fiery torches, the idea being that if he wished, the sculptor could be roasted very gently by keeping close to the stake in the centre of the circle, thus avoiding the full rigour of the fire.And right curiously did they watch him, naked or almost naked as he was, and trying to stiffen his resolution against the heat of the fire.Meanwhile Queen Marie was stricken with a great thirst, lying there alone on her bed of childbirth. And seeing the half of a melon on a plate, she dragged herself out of bed, and took hold of the melon and ate it all. But thereafter the cold substance of the melon made her to sweat and to shiver, and she lay upon the floor unable to move.“Alas!” she cried, “would that there were some one to carry me back into bed that I might get warm again!”Then it was that she heard the cry of the poor sculptor:“Cut off my feet! Cut off my feet!”“Ah!” said the Queen, “is that some dog or other baying at my death?”It was at this very moment that the sculptor, seeing around him none but the faces of Spaniards, his enemies, bethought him of Flanders, the land of valorous men, and he crossed hisarms on his breast, and dragging the long chain behind him, walked straight towards the outer circle of the straw and the flaming torches. And standing upright there, still with his arms crossed:“This,” cried he, “this is how the men of Flanders can die in the face of the tyrants of Spain. Cut offtheirfeet—not mine—that they may be able no more to run into the way of crime. Flanders for ever! Flanders for ever!”And the ladies clapped their hands, crying him mercy for the sake of his proud look.And he died.And Queen Marie shook all over her body, and she cried out, her teeth chattering together with the chill of approaching death. And her arms and legs grew stiff, and she said:“Put me back into my bed that I may be warmed.”So she died.And thus it was, according to the prophecy of Katheline the good sorceress, that Philip the King sowed everywhere he went the seeds of death, and blood, and tears.XXIIBut Ulenspiegel and Nele loved each other, and their love was true.It was now the end of April. All the trees were in bloom, and every plant was swollen with sap, for May was near, the month of the peacock, flowered like a bouquet, the month that sends the nightingales singing aloud in the trees of all the earth.Oftentimes would Nele and Ulenspiegel wander together along the roads. Nele would lean on the arm of Ulenspiegel, and hang round him with her two hands. Ulenspiegel loved this little game, and often did he pass his arm about Nele’s waist, to hold her the better, as he said. And she was happy, but spake not a word.Softly along the roads blew the wind, wafting the scent from the fields; the sea boomed in the distance, rocking lazily in the sun; Ulenspiegel seemed like some youthful devil, all pride; and Nele like a little saint from Paradise, half shy of her happiness.She leant her head against Ulenspiegel’s shoulder, and her hand was in his, and as they passed along he kissed her forehead, and her cheek, and her sweet lips. But still she spake no word.Nele and UlenspiegelNele and UlenspiegelAfter some hours they grew hot and thirsty, and they drank milk at the house of a peasant; and yet they were not refreshed. Then they sat them down on the grass by the side of the ditch, and Nele seemed pale and pensive, and Ulenspiegel looked at her, afraid that something was amiss.“You are unhappy?” said she.“Yes,” he admitted.“But why?” she asked him.“I know not,” said he. “But these apple-trees and cherry-trees all in flower, this air so warm that one would say it was charged with lightning, these daisies that open their blushing petals to the fields, and oh, the hawthorn, there, close by us in the hedge, all white.... Will no one tell me why it is that I feel troubled, and always ready to die or to go to sleep? And my heart beats so strangely when I hear the birds awaken in the trees, and when I see the swallows coming home! Then I am fain to go away beyond the sun and beyond the moon. And sometimes I am cold, and then again I am hot. Ah, Nele! would that I were no longer a creature of this low world! Verily I would give my life a thousand times to her that would love me!”Yet Nele spake not at all, but smiling at her ease sat looking at Ulenspiegel.XXIIIOne Day of All Souls, Ulenspiegel went forth from Notre Dame with certain other vagabonds of his own age. Amongthem was Lamme Goedzak, who seemed strayed among them like a lamb in the midst of a herd of wolves. Lamme treated them with drinks all round, for his mother, as her custom was on Sundays and feast days, had given him threepatards.So he went with his companions to the tavernIn dem Rooden Schildt—at the sign of the Red Shield. Jan van Liebeke kept the house, and he served them withdobbel knollaertfrom Courtrai.They began to be warmed with the drink, and the talk turned on the subject of prayer, and Ulenspiegel declared quite openly that, for his part, he thought that Masses for the dead did nobody any good, except the priests who said them.Now in that company there was a Judas, who went and denounced Ulenspiegel for a heretic. And in spite of the tears of Soetkin, and the entreaties of Claes, Ulenspiegel was seized and taken prisoner. He remained shut up in a cellar for the space of a month and three days without seeing a soul. The jailor himself consumed three-quarters of the ration that was given him for food.During all this time the authorities were informing themselves as to Ulenspiegel’s reputation—whether it was good or whether it was bad. They found that there was not much to be said against him except that he was a lively sort of customer, always railing against his neighbours. But they could not find that he had ever spoken evil of Our Lord God, or of Madame the Virgin, nor yet of the Saints. On this account the sentence passed on him was a light one, for he might easily have been condemned to have his face branded with a hot iron and to be flogged till the blood flowed. But in consideration of his youth, the judges merely sentenced him to walk in his shirt behind the priests barefoot and hatless, and holding a candle in his hand. And this he was to do on the Feast of the Ascension, in the first procession that left the church.So it was done, and when the procession was on the pointof turning back, Ulenspiegel was made to stop beneath the porch of Notre Dame, and there cry out aloud:“Thanks be to our Lord Jesus! Thanks be to the reverend priests! Sweet are their prayers unto the souls in purgatory; nay, they are filled with every virtue of refreshment! For eachAveis even as a bucket of water poured upon the backs of those who are being punished, and everyPateris a tubful!”And the people heard him with great devotion, and not without a smile.On Whit-Sunday the same proceeding had to be gone through, and Ulenspiegel followed again in the procession with nothing on but his shirt, and with his head bare, and no shoes on his feet, and holding a candle in his hand. On returning to the church he stood up in the porch, holding the candle most reverently in his hand, and then in a high, clear voice (yet not without sundry waggish grimaces) spake as follows:“If the prayers of all good Christians are very comforting to the souls in purgatory, how much more so must be those of the Dean of Notre Dame, a holy man and perfect in the performance of every virtue. Verily, his prayers assuage the flames of fire in such wise that they are transformed all of a sudden into ice. But yet be sure that not an atom of it goes to refresh the devils that are in hell.”And again the people hearkened to what he said with great devotion. But some of them smiled, and the Dean smiled too, in his grim ecclesiastical way.After that, Ulenspiegel was condemned to banishment from the land of Flanders for the space of three years, on condition that he went to Rome on pilgrimage and brought back with him the papal absolution. For this sentence Claes had to pay three florins: but he gave an extra florin to his son, and bought him a pilgrim’s habit.Ulenspiegel was heart-broken when he came to say good-byeto Claes and Soetkin on the day of his departure. He embraced them both, and his mother was all in tears; but she accompanied him far on his way, and Claes went too, and many of the townsmen and townswomen.When they were home again Claes said to his wife:“Good wife, it is very hard that such a boy should be condemned to this cruel punishment and all for a few silly words.”“Why, you are crying, my man!” said Soetkin. “Truly, you love him more than you like to show. Yes, you are sobbing now with a man’s sobs, sobs that are like unto the tears of a lion.”But he answered her not.As for Nele, she had gone to hide herself in the barn, so that none might see that she also wept for Ulenspiegel. But she followed afar after Soetkin and Claes and the other townsfolk: and when she saw her lover disappearing in the distance, she ran after him and threw herself on his neck.“In Italy you will meet many beautiful ladies,” she said.“I do not know about their being beautiful,” he replied, “but fresh like thee—no. For they are all parched with the sun.”They walked a long way side by side, and Ulenspiegel seemed thoughtful, muttering from time to time:“I’ll make ’em pay—I’ll make ’em pay for their Masses for the dead!”“What Masses are those you speak of?” Nele inquired. “And who is to pay for them?”Ulenspiegel answered:“All the deans,curés, clerks, beadles and the rest, both superior and inferior, who feed us with their trash. See now, if I had happened to be a strong working man they would have robbed me of the value of three years’ labour by making me thus to go on this pilgrimage. But as things are, it is the poor Claes who pays. Ah, but they shall give me back mythree years a hundredfold, and with their own money I myself will sing for them their Masses for the dead!”“Alas, Tyl!” said Nele, “be prudent, or they will have you burnt alive.”“I am fireproof,” answered Ulenspiegel.And they parted from one another, she all in tears, he heart-broken and angry.XXIVOnce in the open country, Ulenspiegel shook himself like a dog, or like a bird that has regained its liberty, and his heart was cheered by the trees and fields and the bright sunshine.When he had walked on thus for three days he came to the outskirts of Brussels, and to the wealthy township of Uccle. And there, passing in front of the inn with the sign of the Trumpet, his attention was drawn to a most heavenly odour of fricassee. A little urchin who stood by was also sniffing the delightful perfume of the sauce, and Ulenspiegel asked him in whose honour it was that there rose to heaven such odour of festal incense. The boy made answer that the Guild of the Jolly Face was to meet at the inn that evening after vespers, to celebrate the deliverance of the town by the women and girls of olden time.Now in the distance Ulenspiegel saw a high pole with a popinjay on the top of it, and the pole was set in the ground, and round it were a company of women armed with bows and arrows. He asked the boy if women were become archers nowadays?The boy, still sniffing greedily the savour of the sauces, replied that in the days of the Good Duke the very bows that were now being used by those women had been the means of killing over a hundred brigands.Ulenspiegel desired to know further concerning this matter, but the boy said that he could tell no more, so hungrywas he, unless forsooth Ulenspiegel would give him apatardwith which he might buy food and drink. This Ulenspiegel did, for he felt sorry for him.No sooner had the boy received thepatardthan he rushed into the tavern like a fox to the hen-house, and presently reappeared in triumph with half a sausage and a large loaf of bread.And now Ulenspiegel was suddenly aware of a sweet sound of viols and tabors, and soon he saw a number of women dancing together, and among them a woman of great beauty with a chain of gold hanging round her neck.The boy, who had by this time assuaged his hunger and was grinning with delight, informed Ulenspiegel that the beautiful woman was the Queen of Archery, that her name was Mietje, and that she was wife to Messire Renonckel, alderman of the parish. Then he asked Ulenspiegel to give him sixliardsfor a drink. Ulenspiegel gave him the money, and when he had thus eaten and drunk his fill the urchin sat himself down in the sun and fell to picking his teeth with his nails.When the women archers noticed Ulenspiegel standing there in his pilgrim’s habit, they came and began to dance round him in a ring, crying:“Hail pilgrim, hail! Do you come from far away, you handsome pilgrim boy?”Ulenspiegel, thinking sadly of Nele, thus made answer:“I come from Flanders, a lovely land and filled with lovesome girls.”“What crime have you committed?” asked the women, stopping in their dance.“I dare not confess it, so great it was,” said he.They asked him the reason why it was needful for him to journey thus with a pilgrim’s staff and wallet, and those scalloped oysters that are the sign of the pilgrim.“The reason is,” he replied, not quite truthfully, “that I said that Masses for the dead are advantageous to the priests.”“True, they bring many a soundingdenierto the priests,” they answered; “but are they not also of advantage to the souls in purgatory!”“I have never been there,” answered Ulenspiegel.“Will you come dine with us?” said the prettiest of the archers.“Willingly would I dine with you,” said he, “and dineoffyou into the bargain! You and all your companions in turn, for you are morsels fit for a king, more delicate to swallow than any ortolan or thrush or snipe!”“Nay,” they answered, “but we are not for sale.”“Then perhaps you willgive?” he asked them.“Yea, verily,” they laughed, “a good box on the ear to such as are too bold. And if needs were we would beat you now like a bundle of corn!”“Thank you,” he said, “I will go without the beating.”“Well then,” they said, “come in to dinner.”So he followed them into the inn yard, glad for their fresh young faces. And thereafter he saw the Brethren of the Jolly Face themselves, who were now entering the yard with great ceremony, and by their own jolly appearance living up most conspicuously to the name of their Guild.They scrutinized Ulenspiegel with some curiosity, till one of the women informed them who he was—a pilgrim they had picked up on the road, and whom, being a good red-face like unto their husbands and their sweethearts, they had invited to share in the entertainment. The men were agreeable to this proposal, and one of them addressed himself to Ulenspiegel:“Pilgrim on pilgrimage, what say you now to continuing your pilgrimage across some sauce and fricassee?”“I shall have need of my seven-league boots,” answered Ulenspiegel.Now as he was following them into the festal hall, he noticed twelve blind men coming along the Paris road. And as they passed they were lamenting most piteouslytheir hunger and thirst. But Ulenspiegel said to himself that they should dine that night like kings, and all at the expense of the Dean of Uccle himself, and in memory of the Masses for the dead.He accosted them, saying:“Here are nine florins for you. Come in to dinner. Do you not smell the good smell of fricassee?”“Ah!” they cried, “for the last half-league, and without hope!”“Now you can eat your fill,” said Ulenspiegel, “for you have nine florins.”But he had not really given them anything.“The Lord bless you,” they said. For being blind, each man believed his neighbour had been given the money. And shown the way by Ulenspiegel, they all sat down at a small table while the Brethren of the Jolly Face took their seats at a long one, together with their wives and their daughters.Then, with the complete assurance that comes from the possession of nine florins:“Mine host,” cried the blind men insolently, “give us now to eat and to drink of your best.”The landlord, who had heard tell of the nine florins and thought that they were safe in the blind men’s purse, asked them what they would like for their dinner.Then they all began to talk at once at the top of their voices:“Bacon and peas, hotchpotch of beef and veal, chicken and lamb! And where are the sausages—were they made for the dogs, pray? And who is he that has smelt out the black and white puddings in the passage without collaring them for us? I used to be able to see them, alas, in the days when my poor eyes were bright as candles! And where is the butteredkoekebakkenof Anderlecht? Sizzling in the frying-pan, juicy and crackling, enough to make a fish thirsty for drink! Ho there! But who will bring me eggs and ham, orham and eggs, twin friends of my palate? And where are you, youchoesels, that float in a heavenly mess of meats and kidneys, coxcombs, sweetbreads, ox-tails, lamb’s feet, with many onions, pepper, cloves, nutmegs, all in a stew, and three pints at least of best white wine for sauce? And who will bring you to me divine, chitterlings, you that are so good that one does not utter a word while you are being swallowed! And they come straight from Luyleckerland, a land bursting with fatness and filled with happy lazy folk, whose passion for good things to eat is never assuaged! And where are you, dried leaves of autumns past? Now quick there! Bring me a leg of mutton with broad beans. And for me, some pig’s ears grilled with bread-crumbs. And for me, a chaplet of ortolans. Verily the snipe shall figure thePaters, and a fat capon theCredo.”Mine host answered quietly:“I will bring you an omelette made with sixty eggs. And as sign-posts to guide your spoons, I will plant fifty black puddings in the midst, all smoking on a veritable mountain of good cheer; and from the top of all somedobbel petermanshall flow down like a river on every side.”At this the mouths of the poor blind men began to water indeed, and they said:“Then serve us, pray, and that right quickly with the mountain, the sign-posts, and the river!”And the Brethren of the Jolly Face, who were now all seated at table with their wives, remarked to Ulenspiegel that this should be called the Day of the Invisible Feast; for that the blind men could not see what they were eating, and thus, poor things, were deprived of half their pleasure.At last it came—the omelette all garnished with cress and parsley, carried by mine host himself and four of his cooks—and the blind men desired to fall to incontinently, and at once began to set their paws upon it. But mine host was determined to serve each of them fairly, and, however difficultit might be, to make sure that each trencher had its just portion.The women archers were filled with pity to see the blind men gobbling and sighing with joy at what was set before them. For in truth they were half starved, and they swallowed down the puddings as though they had been oysters. And thedobbel petermanflowed into their stomachs asifit had been a cataract falling down from some lofty mountain.When at length they had cleared their trenchers, they demanded yet further supplies ofkoekebakken, ortolans, and fricassees. Mine host, however, only provided a great platter of beef and veal and mutton bones, all swimming in a most goodly sauce. But he did not divide it properly. So that when they had well dipped their bread in the sauce, and eke their hands right up to the elbows, yet drew not out anything but bones of cutlet of veal or mutton, each man fell straightway to imagining that his neighbour had got hold of all the meat, and they began to fight among themselves, hitting out most furiously one against another with the bones.The Brethren of the Jolly Face laughed heartily at this, but being charitably disposed, each put a portion of his own dinner into the blind men’s platter. So now if one of the blind went searching for a new bone with which to carry on the fight, he would put his hand belike upon a thrush or chicken or a lark or two; and all the time the women, holding their heads well backwards, kept pouring into the mouths of the blind long draughts of Brussels wine, and when they reached out with their hands to feel, as blind men will, whence came these rivulets of ambrosia, they would catch oftentimes at a woman’s skirt, and try to hold it fast. But quickly the skirt would make its escape.Thus they laughed and drank, ate and sang, enjoying themselves hugely. Some of them, when they found that women were present, ran through the hall all maddened with amorous desire. But the malicious girls kept out oftheir way, hiding behind the Brethren of the Jolly Face. And one of them would say: “Come, kiss me!” And when the blind victim tried to do so he would find himself kissing not a girl at all but the bearded face of a man, who would reward him with a cuff on the cheek as like as not.And the Brethren of the Jolly Face began to sing, and the blind men sang also, and the merry women smiled with fond delight to see their pleasure. But when the juicy hours were past, it was the turn of the innkeeper, who came forward, saying:“Now you have eaten your fill, my friends, and drunk your fill. You owe me seven florins.”The Feast of the Blind MenThe Feast of the Blind MenBut each of the blind men swore that he had no purse, and asserted that it was one of the others who carried it. Thereat arose a further dispute, and they began to hit out at one another with feet and hands and heads; but they mostly missed their mark, striking out at random, while the Brethren of the Jolly Face, entering into the fun, took care to keep them apart, so that their blows rained down upon the empty air—all save one, which happened unfortunately to strike the face of the innkeeper, who straightway fell into a rage and ransacked all their pockets. But he found there nothing but an old scapular, sevenliards, three breeches-buttons, and a few rosaries.At last he threatened to throw the whole lot of them into the pig-trough, and leave them there with nothing but bread and water to eat till they paid what they owed.“Let me go surety for them,” said Ulenspiegel.“Certainly,” answered the innkeeper, “if some one will also go surety for you.”This the Brethren of the Jolly Face at once offered to do, but Ulenspiegel refused them.“No,” he said, “the Dean of Uccle shall be my surety. I will go and find him.”To be sure it was those Masses for the dead that he wasthinking of. And when he had found the Dean he told him a story of how the innkeeper of the Trumpet Inn was possessed by the Devil, and how he could talk of nothing but “pigs” and “blind men”—something or other about pigs eating the blind, and the blind eating the pigs under various infamous forms of roast meats and fricassees. While these attacks were on, the innkeeper, so Ulenspiegel affirmed, would break up all the furniture in the inn; and he begged the Dean to come and deliver the poor man from the wicked devil that possessed him.The Dean promised to do so, but he said he could not come at the moment (for he was busy with the accounts of the Chapter, trying to make something out of them for himself). Seeing that the Dean was growing impatient, Ulenspiegel said that he would return and bring with him the innkeeper’s wife in order that the Dean might speak to her himself.“Very well,” said the Dean.So Ulenspiegel came again to the innkeeper and said to him:“I have just seen the Dean, and he is willing to go surety for the blind men. Do you keep watch over them, and let your wife come with me, and the Dean will repeat to her what I have just told you.”“Go, wife,” said the innkeeper.So the innkeeper’s wife went with Ulenspiegel to the Dean, who was still at his accounts and busy with the same problem. When, therefore, he saw Ulenspiegel and the woman, he made an impatient gesture that they should withdraw, saying at the same time:“It is all right. I will come to the help of your husband in a day or two.”And Ulenspiegel went back to the inn and said to himself:“Seven florins shall he pay; seven florins. And that shall be the first of my Masses for the dead!”And Ulenspiegel departed from that place, and the blind men likewise.

XIVOn his return from the wars, the Emperor wanted to know why his son Philip was not there to welcome him.The Archbishop—the royal Governor—said that the child had refused to leave his solitude and the books which were the only things he loved.The Emperor asked where he was to be found at the moment. The Governor did not know exactly, but said they had better go and look for him somewhere where it was dark. This they did.When they had looked through a good number of rooms they came at last to a kind of closet, unpaved and lit only bya skylight. There they found a stake stuck into the ground, and a dear little monkey bound to the stake by a cord round the waist. (Now this monkey had been sent from the Indies as a present to His Highness to amuse him with its youthful gambols).... Round the bottom of the stake were some smoking sticks still glowing, and the closet was filled with a foul smell as of burning hair.Philip and the MonkeyPhilip and the MonkeyThe poor animal had suffered so much pain while being burnt to death that its little body no longer looked the body of a living animal, but seemed rather like the fragment of some root, all wrinkled and distorted. And its mouth, still open with the death-cry, was filled with froth mixed with blood; and the face was wet with tears.“Who has done this?” said the Emperor.The Governor did not dare to answer, and the two men stood there silent, sad, and angry.All at once, in the silence, there was heard a sound of feeble coughing that came from a corner in the shadow behind them. His Majesty turned and beheld Philip, his son, dressed all in black, sucking an orange.“Don Philip,” he said, “come and greet your father.”The child did not move, but gazed at his father with timid eyes that showed no spark of love.“Is it you,” asked the Emperor, “who have burnt alive in the fire this little animal?”The child bowed his head.But the Emperor: “If you have been cruel enough to do such a deed, at least be brave enough to own up to it.”The child made no answer.His Majesty seized the orange from the child’s hands, threw it to the ground, and was about to beat his son, who was shaking with terror, when the Archbishop restrained him, whispering in his ear:“The day will surely come when His Highness shall prove a mighty burner of heretics.” The Emperor smiled,and the two of them went away, leaving Philip alone with the monkey.But others there were, not monkeys, that were destined to meet their death in the flames....

XIV

On his return from the wars, the Emperor wanted to know why his son Philip was not there to welcome him.The Archbishop—the royal Governor—said that the child had refused to leave his solitude and the books which were the only things he loved.The Emperor asked where he was to be found at the moment. The Governor did not know exactly, but said they had better go and look for him somewhere where it was dark. This they did.When they had looked through a good number of rooms they came at last to a kind of closet, unpaved and lit only bya skylight. There they found a stake stuck into the ground, and a dear little monkey bound to the stake by a cord round the waist. (Now this monkey had been sent from the Indies as a present to His Highness to amuse him with its youthful gambols).... Round the bottom of the stake were some smoking sticks still glowing, and the closet was filled with a foul smell as of burning hair.Philip and the MonkeyPhilip and the MonkeyThe poor animal had suffered so much pain while being burnt to death that its little body no longer looked the body of a living animal, but seemed rather like the fragment of some root, all wrinkled and distorted. And its mouth, still open with the death-cry, was filled with froth mixed with blood; and the face was wet with tears.“Who has done this?” said the Emperor.The Governor did not dare to answer, and the two men stood there silent, sad, and angry.All at once, in the silence, there was heard a sound of feeble coughing that came from a corner in the shadow behind them. His Majesty turned and beheld Philip, his son, dressed all in black, sucking an orange.“Don Philip,” he said, “come and greet your father.”The child did not move, but gazed at his father with timid eyes that showed no spark of love.“Is it you,” asked the Emperor, “who have burnt alive in the fire this little animal?”The child bowed his head.But the Emperor: “If you have been cruel enough to do such a deed, at least be brave enough to own up to it.”The child made no answer.His Majesty seized the orange from the child’s hands, threw it to the ground, and was about to beat his son, who was shaking with terror, when the Archbishop restrained him, whispering in his ear:“The day will surely come when His Highness shall prove a mighty burner of heretics.” The Emperor smiled,and the two of them went away, leaving Philip alone with the monkey.But others there were, not monkeys, that were destined to meet their death in the flames....

On his return from the wars, the Emperor wanted to know why his son Philip was not there to welcome him.

The Archbishop—the royal Governor—said that the child had refused to leave his solitude and the books which were the only things he loved.

The Emperor asked where he was to be found at the moment. The Governor did not know exactly, but said they had better go and look for him somewhere where it was dark. This they did.

When they had looked through a good number of rooms they came at last to a kind of closet, unpaved and lit only bya skylight. There they found a stake stuck into the ground, and a dear little monkey bound to the stake by a cord round the waist. (Now this monkey had been sent from the Indies as a present to His Highness to amuse him with its youthful gambols).... Round the bottom of the stake were some smoking sticks still glowing, and the closet was filled with a foul smell as of burning hair.

Philip and the MonkeyPhilip and the Monkey

Philip and the Monkey

The poor animal had suffered so much pain while being burnt to death that its little body no longer looked the body of a living animal, but seemed rather like the fragment of some root, all wrinkled and distorted. And its mouth, still open with the death-cry, was filled with froth mixed with blood; and the face was wet with tears.

“Who has done this?” said the Emperor.

The Governor did not dare to answer, and the two men stood there silent, sad, and angry.

All at once, in the silence, there was heard a sound of feeble coughing that came from a corner in the shadow behind them. His Majesty turned and beheld Philip, his son, dressed all in black, sucking an orange.

“Don Philip,” he said, “come and greet your father.”

The child did not move, but gazed at his father with timid eyes that showed no spark of love.

“Is it you,” asked the Emperor, “who have burnt alive in the fire this little animal?”

The child bowed his head.

But the Emperor: “If you have been cruel enough to do such a deed, at least be brave enough to own up to it.”

The child made no answer.

His Majesty seized the orange from the child’s hands, threw it to the ground, and was about to beat his son, who was shaking with terror, when the Archbishop restrained him, whispering in his ear:

“The day will surely come when His Highness shall prove a mighty burner of heretics.” The Emperor smiled,and the two of them went away, leaving Philip alone with the monkey.

But others there were, not monkeys, that were destined to meet their death in the flames....

XVNovember was come, the month of hail-storms, when sufferers from cold in the head abandon themselves freely to their concerts of coughing and spitting. This also is the month when the turnip-fields are filled with gangs of youths that there disport themselves and steal whatever they can, to the mighty wrath of the peasants, who try in vain to catch them, chasing after them with sticks and pitchforks.Well, on an evening when Ulenspiegel was returning home from one of these raids, he heard close by, in a corner of the hedgerow, a sound as of groaning. He leant down, and beheld a dog lying stretched out on the stones.“Hallo!” he cried. “Poor little beast! What are you doing out here so late at night?”He patted the dog, and found that its back was all wet, as though some one had been trying to drown it. He took it in his arms to warm it, and when he had reached home he said:“I have brought back a wounded animal. What shall we do with it?”“Dress its wounds,” said Claes.Ulenspiegel laid the dog on the table; whereupon he and Claes and Soetkin saw that it was a little red-haired Luxemburg terrier, and that it was wounded in the back. Soetkin sponged the wounds, and anointed them with ointment, and bound them up with linen bandages. Then Ulenspiegel took the dog and put it in his bed; but Soetkin desired to have it in her own, saying she was afraid that Ulenspiegel would hurt the little red-haired thing. For in those days Ulenspiegel was wont to toss about in his sleep all night like a young devil in a stoup of holy water. Ulenspiegel, however,had his way, and he took such care of the dog that in the space of six days it was walking about like any other dog, and giving itself great airs.And the village schoolmaster christened him Titus Bibulus Schnouffius: Titus after a certain good Emperor of the Romans who was fond of befriending lost dogs; Bibulus because the dog loved beer with all the passion of a confirmed drunkard; and Schnouffius because he would always run about sniffing and putting his nose into every rat-hole and mole-hole he could find.

XV

November was come, the month of hail-storms, when sufferers from cold in the head abandon themselves freely to their concerts of coughing and spitting. This also is the month when the turnip-fields are filled with gangs of youths that there disport themselves and steal whatever they can, to the mighty wrath of the peasants, who try in vain to catch them, chasing after them with sticks and pitchforks.Well, on an evening when Ulenspiegel was returning home from one of these raids, he heard close by, in a corner of the hedgerow, a sound as of groaning. He leant down, and beheld a dog lying stretched out on the stones.“Hallo!” he cried. “Poor little beast! What are you doing out here so late at night?”He patted the dog, and found that its back was all wet, as though some one had been trying to drown it. He took it in his arms to warm it, and when he had reached home he said:“I have brought back a wounded animal. What shall we do with it?”“Dress its wounds,” said Claes.Ulenspiegel laid the dog on the table; whereupon he and Claes and Soetkin saw that it was a little red-haired Luxemburg terrier, and that it was wounded in the back. Soetkin sponged the wounds, and anointed them with ointment, and bound them up with linen bandages. Then Ulenspiegel took the dog and put it in his bed; but Soetkin desired to have it in her own, saying she was afraid that Ulenspiegel would hurt the little red-haired thing. For in those days Ulenspiegel was wont to toss about in his sleep all night like a young devil in a stoup of holy water. Ulenspiegel, however,had his way, and he took such care of the dog that in the space of six days it was walking about like any other dog, and giving itself great airs.And the village schoolmaster christened him Titus Bibulus Schnouffius: Titus after a certain good Emperor of the Romans who was fond of befriending lost dogs; Bibulus because the dog loved beer with all the passion of a confirmed drunkard; and Schnouffius because he would always run about sniffing and putting his nose into every rat-hole and mole-hole he could find.

November was come, the month of hail-storms, when sufferers from cold in the head abandon themselves freely to their concerts of coughing and spitting. This also is the month when the turnip-fields are filled with gangs of youths that there disport themselves and steal whatever they can, to the mighty wrath of the peasants, who try in vain to catch them, chasing after them with sticks and pitchforks.

Well, on an evening when Ulenspiegel was returning home from one of these raids, he heard close by, in a corner of the hedgerow, a sound as of groaning. He leant down, and beheld a dog lying stretched out on the stones.

“Hallo!” he cried. “Poor little beast! What are you doing out here so late at night?”

He patted the dog, and found that its back was all wet, as though some one had been trying to drown it. He took it in his arms to warm it, and when he had reached home he said:

“I have brought back a wounded animal. What shall we do with it?”

“Dress its wounds,” said Claes.

Ulenspiegel laid the dog on the table; whereupon he and Claes and Soetkin saw that it was a little red-haired Luxemburg terrier, and that it was wounded in the back. Soetkin sponged the wounds, and anointed them with ointment, and bound them up with linen bandages. Then Ulenspiegel took the dog and put it in his bed; but Soetkin desired to have it in her own, saying she was afraid that Ulenspiegel would hurt the little red-haired thing. For in those days Ulenspiegel was wont to toss about in his sleep all night like a young devil in a stoup of holy water. Ulenspiegel, however,had his way, and he took such care of the dog that in the space of six days it was walking about like any other dog, and giving itself great airs.

And the village schoolmaster christened him Titus Bibulus Schnouffius: Titus after a certain good Emperor of the Romans who was fond of befriending lost dogs; Bibulus because the dog loved beer with all the passion of a confirmed drunkard; and Schnouffius because he would always run about sniffing and putting his nose into every rat-hole and mole-hole he could find.

XVIThe young prince of Spain was now fifteen years old, and his custom was to wander about the rooms and passages and stairways of the castle. But chiefly was he to be found prowling around the women’s quarters, trying to pick a quarrel with one of the pages, who themselves were wont to lurk on the look out, like cats, in the corridors; while others, again, out in the courtyard, would stand singing some tender ballad, nose in air. When the young prince heard one singing thus, he would show himself at one of the windows, and the heart of that poor page would be stricken with fear as he saw that white face there, instead of the gentle eyes of his beloved.Now among the Ladies of the Court there was a gentle dame from Dudzeel near by Damme in Flanders. Fair-fleshed she was, like fine ripe fruit, and marvellously beautiful, for she had green eyes and reddish hair all wavy and gleaming gold. And of a gay humour was she, and of an ardent complexion, nor did she make any effort to conceal her taste for that fortunate lord to whom for the time being she was pleased to grant the freedom of the fair estate of her love. Such a one there was even now, handsome and proud, and she loved him well. Every day, at a certain hour, she went to find him—a thing which Philip was not long in finding out.So, one day, sitting himself down on a bench that stood against a window, he lay in wait for her, and there she saw him as she passed by, with her bright eyes and her mouth half open, all meet for love and fresh from her bath, with the gear of her dress of yellow brocade swinging about her as she stepped along. Without rising from his seat, Philip accosted her.“Madame,” says he, “could you not spare a moment?”Restive as some eager mare, stayed in her course towards the gallant stallion that is neighing for her in the field, the lady made answer:“All here must needs obey the royal will of your Highness.”“Then sit you down by my side,” said the Prince. And gazing at her lewdly, harshly, cunningly, he spake again:“I would have you recite to me thePater Nosterin Flemish. They taught it me once, but I no longer remember it.”The poor lady did as she was bid; and then the Prince commanded her to say it all over again, but more slowly. And so on, and so on, until she had recited it ten times over. After that he began to speak flatteringly to her, praising her beautiful hair, her fresh complexion, and her bright eyes. But he dared not to say a word concerning her lovely shoulders or her rounded throat, or of aught else beside.When at last she was beginning to hope that she might be able to get away, and was already scanning anxiously the courtyard where her lord was awaiting her, the Prince demanded of her if she could rightly tell him what were the several virtues of woman? She answered nothing, fearing that she might say something to displease him. He then answered for her, setting the matter forth in this wise:“The virtues of woman are these: chastity, regard for her own honour, and a modest manner of life.” And he counselled her, therefore, that she should dress decently and should always be careful to hide those things which weremeet to be hidden. The lady nodded assent, saying that for His Hyperborean Highness she would certainly take care to cover herself with ten bear-skins rather than with a single length of muslin.Having put him to shame by this answer, she made off gladly.But in Philip’s heart the fire of youth was alight—not the fiery glow that dares the souls of the brave to lofty deeds, but a dark fire from hell itself, the fire of Satan. And it flamed in his grey eyes like the beam of a winter’s moon shining down upon a charnel-house. And it burned within him cruelly....

XVI

The young prince of Spain was now fifteen years old, and his custom was to wander about the rooms and passages and stairways of the castle. But chiefly was he to be found prowling around the women’s quarters, trying to pick a quarrel with one of the pages, who themselves were wont to lurk on the look out, like cats, in the corridors; while others, again, out in the courtyard, would stand singing some tender ballad, nose in air. When the young prince heard one singing thus, he would show himself at one of the windows, and the heart of that poor page would be stricken with fear as he saw that white face there, instead of the gentle eyes of his beloved.Now among the Ladies of the Court there was a gentle dame from Dudzeel near by Damme in Flanders. Fair-fleshed she was, like fine ripe fruit, and marvellously beautiful, for she had green eyes and reddish hair all wavy and gleaming gold. And of a gay humour was she, and of an ardent complexion, nor did she make any effort to conceal her taste for that fortunate lord to whom for the time being she was pleased to grant the freedom of the fair estate of her love. Such a one there was even now, handsome and proud, and she loved him well. Every day, at a certain hour, she went to find him—a thing which Philip was not long in finding out.So, one day, sitting himself down on a bench that stood against a window, he lay in wait for her, and there she saw him as she passed by, with her bright eyes and her mouth half open, all meet for love and fresh from her bath, with the gear of her dress of yellow brocade swinging about her as she stepped along. Without rising from his seat, Philip accosted her.“Madame,” says he, “could you not spare a moment?”Restive as some eager mare, stayed in her course towards the gallant stallion that is neighing for her in the field, the lady made answer:“All here must needs obey the royal will of your Highness.”“Then sit you down by my side,” said the Prince. And gazing at her lewdly, harshly, cunningly, he spake again:“I would have you recite to me thePater Nosterin Flemish. They taught it me once, but I no longer remember it.”The poor lady did as she was bid; and then the Prince commanded her to say it all over again, but more slowly. And so on, and so on, until she had recited it ten times over. After that he began to speak flatteringly to her, praising her beautiful hair, her fresh complexion, and her bright eyes. But he dared not to say a word concerning her lovely shoulders or her rounded throat, or of aught else beside.When at last she was beginning to hope that she might be able to get away, and was already scanning anxiously the courtyard where her lord was awaiting her, the Prince demanded of her if she could rightly tell him what were the several virtues of woman? She answered nothing, fearing that she might say something to displease him. He then answered for her, setting the matter forth in this wise:“The virtues of woman are these: chastity, regard for her own honour, and a modest manner of life.” And he counselled her, therefore, that she should dress decently and should always be careful to hide those things which weremeet to be hidden. The lady nodded assent, saying that for His Hyperborean Highness she would certainly take care to cover herself with ten bear-skins rather than with a single length of muslin.Having put him to shame by this answer, she made off gladly.But in Philip’s heart the fire of youth was alight—not the fiery glow that dares the souls of the brave to lofty deeds, but a dark fire from hell itself, the fire of Satan. And it flamed in his grey eyes like the beam of a winter’s moon shining down upon a charnel-house. And it burned within him cruelly....

The young prince of Spain was now fifteen years old, and his custom was to wander about the rooms and passages and stairways of the castle. But chiefly was he to be found prowling around the women’s quarters, trying to pick a quarrel with one of the pages, who themselves were wont to lurk on the look out, like cats, in the corridors; while others, again, out in the courtyard, would stand singing some tender ballad, nose in air. When the young prince heard one singing thus, he would show himself at one of the windows, and the heart of that poor page would be stricken with fear as he saw that white face there, instead of the gentle eyes of his beloved.

Now among the Ladies of the Court there was a gentle dame from Dudzeel near by Damme in Flanders. Fair-fleshed she was, like fine ripe fruit, and marvellously beautiful, for she had green eyes and reddish hair all wavy and gleaming gold. And of a gay humour was she, and of an ardent complexion, nor did she make any effort to conceal her taste for that fortunate lord to whom for the time being she was pleased to grant the freedom of the fair estate of her love. Such a one there was even now, handsome and proud, and she loved him well. Every day, at a certain hour, she went to find him—a thing which Philip was not long in finding out.

So, one day, sitting himself down on a bench that stood against a window, he lay in wait for her, and there she saw him as she passed by, with her bright eyes and her mouth half open, all meet for love and fresh from her bath, with the gear of her dress of yellow brocade swinging about her as she stepped along. Without rising from his seat, Philip accosted her.

“Madame,” says he, “could you not spare a moment?”

Restive as some eager mare, stayed in her course towards the gallant stallion that is neighing for her in the field, the lady made answer:

“All here must needs obey the royal will of your Highness.”

“Then sit you down by my side,” said the Prince. And gazing at her lewdly, harshly, cunningly, he spake again:

“I would have you recite to me thePater Nosterin Flemish. They taught it me once, but I no longer remember it.”

The poor lady did as she was bid; and then the Prince commanded her to say it all over again, but more slowly. And so on, and so on, until she had recited it ten times over. After that he began to speak flatteringly to her, praising her beautiful hair, her fresh complexion, and her bright eyes. But he dared not to say a word concerning her lovely shoulders or her rounded throat, or of aught else beside.

When at last she was beginning to hope that she might be able to get away, and was already scanning anxiously the courtyard where her lord was awaiting her, the Prince demanded of her if she could rightly tell him what were the several virtues of woman? She answered nothing, fearing that she might say something to displease him. He then answered for her, setting the matter forth in this wise:

“The virtues of woman are these: chastity, regard for her own honour, and a modest manner of life.” And he counselled her, therefore, that she should dress decently and should always be careful to hide those things which weremeet to be hidden. The lady nodded assent, saying that for His Hyperborean Highness she would certainly take care to cover herself with ten bear-skins rather than with a single length of muslin.

Having put him to shame by this answer, she made off gladly.

But in Philip’s heart the fire of youth was alight—not the fiery glow that dares the souls of the brave to lofty deeds, but a dark fire from hell itself, the fire of Satan. And it flamed in his grey eyes like the beam of a winter’s moon shining down upon a charnel-house. And it burned within him cruelly....

XVIINow this beautiful, gay-hearted lady left Valladolid one day for her Château 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:“IfI 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 château, 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.

XVII

Now this beautiful, gay-hearted lady left Valladolid one day for her Château 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:“IfI 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 château, 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.

Now this beautiful, gay-hearted lady left Valladolid one day for her Château 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:

“IfI 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 château, 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.

XVIIIWhen Ulenspiegel returned from Dudzeel and came to the entrance of the town, he saw Nele standing there leaning with her back against the toll-gate. She was picking the stones out of a bunch of black grapes, which she munched one by one, and found therefrom, doubtless, much delight and refreshment; nevertheless, she did not allow anything of her enjoyment to appear on her countenance. On the contrary,she seemed annoyed at something, tearing at the grapes angrily. She looked, indeed, so sad and sorrowful, so sweetly unhappy, that Ulenspiegel felt overcome with that pity which is almost love, and coming up to her from behind, he printed a kiss on the nape of the girl’s neck. But all the return she gave him was a great box on the ear.“Now I shall not be able to see properly any more,” he said.She burst into tears.“O Nele,” says he, “are you going to set up fountains at the entrance of all the villages?”“Be off with you,” says she.“But I can’t go away and leave you crying like this, my little pet.”“I am not your little pet,” says Nele; “neither am I crying.”“No, you are not crying, but there is certainly some water coming out of your eyes.”“Will you go away?” She turned on him.“No,” he answered.All the time she was holding her pinafore in her small trembling hand, tearing at the stuff in little spasms of rage, and wetting it with her tears.“Nele,” said Ulenspiegel, “when is it going to be fine again?”And he smiled at her very lovingly.“Why do you ask me that?” she said.“Because when it is fine there is an end of weeping,” answered Ulenspiegel.“Go back to your beautiful lady of the brocaded gown,” she said. “Your jokes are good enough forher....”Then Ulenspiegel sang:When I see my love cryingMy heart is torn.When she smiles ’tis honey,Pearls when she weeps.Either way I love her.And I’ll draw a draught of wine,Good wine from Louvain,And I’ll draw a draught of wine,When Nele smiles again.“You villainous man!” she cried, “making fun of me again!”“Nele,” said Ulenspiegel, “it is true that I am a man. But I am not a villain. For our family is of noble origin, a family of aldermen, and it carries on its shieldthree pint pots argent on a ground bruinbier. But, Nele, tell me now, is it a fact that in Flanders when a man sows a kiss he always reaps a box on the ear?”“I refuse to speak to you,” said Nele.“Then why open your mouth to tell me so?”“I am angry,” she said.Ulenspiegel slapped her on the back very lightly with his hand, saying:“Kiss a naughty girl and she will cuff you; cuff her, she will cry. Come then, sweet, cry upon my shoulder since I have cuffed you!”Nele turned round. He opened his arms, and she threw herself into them.“You won’t go away any more down there, will you Tyl?” she asked him.But he did not answer, busy as he was in pressing with his the hand that trembled so pitifully, and in drying with his lips the hot tears that fell from the eyes of Nele, like heavy drops of rain in a storm.

XVIII

When Ulenspiegel returned from Dudzeel and came to the entrance of the town, he saw Nele standing there leaning with her back against the toll-gate. She was picking the stones out of a bunch of black grapes, which she munched one by one, and found therefrom, doubtless, much delight and refreshment; nevertheless, she did not allow anything of her enjoyment to appear on her countenance. On the contrary,she seemed annoyed at something, tearing at the grapes angrily. She looked, indeed, so sad and sorrowful, so sweetly unhappy, that Ulenspiegel felt overcome with that pity which is almost love, and coming up to her from behind, he printed a kiss on the nape of the girl’s neck. But all the return she gave him was a great box on the ear.“Now I shall not be able to see properly any more,” he said.She burst into tears.“O Nele,” says he, “are you going to set up fountains at the entrance of all the villages?”“Be off with you,” says she.“But I can’t go away and leave you crying like this, my little pet.”“I am not your little pet,” says Nele; “neither am I crying.”“No, you are not crying, but there is certainly some water coming out of your eyes.”“Will you go away?” She turned on him.“No,” he answered.All the time she was holding her pinafore in her small trembling hand, tearing at the stuff in little spasms of rage, and wetting it with her tears.“Nele,” said Ulenspiegel, “when is it going to be fine again?”And he smiled at her very lovingly.“Why do you ask me that?” she said.“Because when it is fine there is an end of weeping,” answered Ulenspiegel.“Go back to your beautiful lady of the brocaded gown,” she said. “Your jokes are good enough forher....”Then Ulenspiegel sang:When I see my love cryingMy heart is torn.When she smiles ’tis honey,Pearls when she weeps.Either way I love her.And I’ll draw a draught of wine,Good wine from Louvain,And I’ll draw a draught of wine,When Nele smiles again.“You villainous man!” she cried, “making fun of me again!”“Nele,” said Ulenspiegel, “it is true that I am a man. But I am not a villain. For our family is of noble origin, a family of aldermen, and it carries on its shieldthree pint pots argent on a ground bruinbier. But, Nele, tell me now, is it a fact that in Flanders when a man sows a kiss he always reaps a box on the ear?”“I refuse to speak to you,” said Nele.“Then why open your mouth to tell me so?”“I am angry,” she said.Ulenspiegel slapped her on the back very lightly with his hand, saying:“Kiss a naughty girl and she will cuff you; cuff her, she will cry. Come then, sweet, cry upon my shoulder since I have cuffed you!”Nele turned round. He opened his arms, and she threw herself into them.“You won’t go away any more down there, will you Tyl?” she asked him.But he did not answer, busy as he was in pressing with his the hand that trembled so pitifully, and in drying with his lips the hot tears that fell from the eyes of Nele, like heavy drops of rain in a storm.

When Ulenspiegel returned from Dudzeel and came to the entrance of the town, he saw Nele standing there leaning with her back against the toll-gate. She was picking the stones out of a bunch of black grapes, which she munched one by one, and found therefrom, doubtless, much delight and refreshment; nevertheless, she did not allow anything of her enjoyment to appear on her countenance. On the contrary,she seemed annoyed at something, tearing at the grapes angrily. She looked, indeed, so sad and sorrowful, so sweetly unhappy, that Ulenspiegel felt overcome with that pity which is almost love, and coming up to her from behind, he printed a kiss on the nape of the girl’s neck. But all the return she gave him was a great box on the ear.

“Now I shall not be able to see properly any more,” he said.

She burst into tears.

“O Nele,” says he, “are you going to set up fountains at the entrance of all the villages?”

“Be off with you,” says she.

“But I can’t go away and leave you crying like this, my little pet.”

“I am not your little pet,” says Nele; “neither am I crying.”

“No, you are not crying, but there is certainly some water coming out of your eyes.”

“Will you go away?” She turned on him.

“No,” he answered.

All the time she was holding her pinafore in her small trembling hand, tearing at the stuff in little spasms of rage, and wetting it with her tears.

“Nele,” said Ulenspiegel, “when is it going to be fine again?”

And he smiled at her very lovingly.

“Why do you ask me that?” she said.

“Because when it is fine there is an end of weeping,” answered Ulenspiegel.

“Go back to your beautiful lady of the brocaded gown,” she said. “Your jokes are good enough forher....”

Then Ulenspiegel sang:

When I see my love cryingMy heart is torn.When she smiles ’tis honey,Pearls when she weeps.Either way I love her.And I’ll draw a draught of wine,Good wine from Louvain,And I’ll draw a draught of wine,When Nele smiles again.

When I see my love crying

My heart is torn.

When she smiles ’tis honey,

Pearls when she weeps.

Either way I love her.

And I’ll draw a draught of wine,

Good wine from Louvain,

And I’ll draw a draught of wine,

When Nele smiles again.

“You villainous man!” she cried, “making fun of me again!”

“Nele,” said Ulenspiegel, “it is true that I am a man. But I am not a villain. For our family is of noble origin, a family of aldermen, and it carries on its shieldthree pint pots argent on a ground bruinbier. But, Nele, tell me now, is it a fact that in Flanders when a man sows a kiss he always reaps a box on the ear?”

“I refuse to speak to you,” said Nele.

“Then why open your mouth to tell me so?”

“I am angry,” she said.

Ulenspiegel slapped her on the back very lightly with his hand, saying:

“Kiss a naughty girl and she will cuff you; cuff her, she will cry. Come then, sweet, cry upon my shoulder since I have cuffed you!”

Nele turned round. He opened his arms, and she threw herself into them.

“You won’t go away any more down there, will you Tyl?” she asked him.

But he did not answer, busy as he was in pressing with his the hand that trembled so pitifully, and in drying with his lips the hot tears that fell from the eyes of Nele, like heavy drops of rain in a storm.

XIXThese were the days when the noble city of Ghent refused to pay the tax which her son, the Emperor Charles, was demanding of her. The fact was it was impossible to pay, foralready the city was drained of money by the act of Charles himself. But it seemed that the city was guilty of a great crime, and Charles resolved to go himself and exact punishment. For to be whipped by her own son is above all things painful to a mother.Now, although he was his enemy, Francis Long-Nose was pleased to offer the Emperor a free passage through the land of France. Charles accepted the offer, and instead of being held as a prisoner, he was fêted and feasted in right royal fashion. For this is ever a sovereign bond of union between kings: each to aid the other against their own peoples.Charles stayed a long time at Valenciennes, and still gave no sign of his wrath, so that Mother Ghent began to lay aside her fears, believing that the Emperor her son was going to forgive her, seeing that she had acted within her rights.But at length Charles arrived under the walls of the city with 4000 horse, together with the Duke of Alba and the Prince of Orange. The poorer townsfolk and the small business men wished to prevent this filial entry into their city, and would have called to arms 80,000 men of the city and of the country round. But the merchants, thehoogh-poorters, opposed this suggestion, being afraid of the predominance of the people. Thus Ghent could easily have cut her son to pieces, him and his 4000 horse. But it seemed she loved him too dearly, and even the small tradesmen themselves were fast regaining their trust in him.Charles also loved the city, but only for the sake of his coffers that were stored with her money, and which he hoped to store up fuller yet.Having made himself master of the place, he established military posts everywhere, and ordered that they should patrol the city night and day. Then, in great state, he pronounced his sentence.The chief merchants of the city with cords round their necks were to appear before him as he sat on his throne, andto make a formal apology. Ghent itself was declared guilty of the most costly crimes—of disloyalty, disregard of treaties, disobedience, sedition, conspiracy, and high treason. The Emperor declared that all and every privilege—rights, customs, freedoms, and usages—all were to be abolished and annulled; and he stipulated for the future too, as though he were God himself, that none of his successors on coming to the throne should ever observe any one of these usages again, except only that which was called the Caroline Concession, as granted by him to the city.The Abbey of St. Bavon he razed to the ground, and in place he erected a fortress whence he could pierce with bullets and at his ease his mother’s very heart. Like a good son that is in a hurry for his inheritance, he confiscated all the riches of Ghent, its revenues, its houses, its artillery and munitions of war. Finding it still too well guarded, he destroyed also the Red Tower, the Tower of theTrou de Crapaud, theBraampoort, theSteenpoort, theWaalpoort, theKetelpoort, and many another of its gates, all carved as they were and sculptured like jewels in stone.And afterwards, when strangers came to Ghent, they would ask of one another:“Can this indeed be Ghent whose marvels were on the lips of all—this city so desolated and brought low?”And the people of Ghent would make answer:“Charles the Emperor has been to the city. He has ravished her sacred zone.”And so saying they would be filled with anger and with shame. And from the ruins of the city gates did the Emperor take away the bricks wherewith to build his castle.For it was his will that Ghent should be utterly impoverished, that thereby he might make it impossible for her ever to oppose his proud designs, either by her labour or her industry or wealth; therefore he condemned her to pay that share of the tax of 400,000 caroluses which she hadpreviously refused him, and in addition 150,000 caroluses down, and 6000 more every year in perpetuity. Moreover, in earlier days the city had lent him money upon which he should have paid interest at the rate of 150 pounds gross annually. But he made himself remit by force the notes of credit, and by paying off his debt in this way he actually enriched himself.Many and many a time had Ghent cherished him and succoured him, but now he struck her on the breast as it were with a dagger, looking for blood, since it seemed he had not there found milk enough.Last shame of all, he cast his eye upon the bell that is calledRoelandt; and the man who had sounded the alarm thereon, bidding all the citizens to defend the rights of their city, him he had bound and hung to the clapper of the bell. And he had no pity uponRoelandt, the very tongue of his mother, the tongue whereby she spake to all the land of Flanders,Roelandtthe proud bell that sings of herself this song:When I ring there is a fireWhen I peal there is a stormIn the land of Flanders.And thinking that his mother had too loud a voice he carried away her bell. And the people of the country round would say that Ghent was dead, now that her son had wrenched away her tongue with his pincers of iron.

XIX

These were the days when the noble city of Ghent refused to pay the tax which her son, the Emperor Charles, was demanding of her. The fact was it was impossible to pay, foralready the city was drained of money by the act of Charles himself. But it seemed that the city was guilty of a great crime, and Charles resolved to go himself and exact punishment. For to be whipped by her own son is above all things painful to a mother.Now, although he was his enemy, Francis Long-Nose was pleased to offer the Emperor a free passage through the land of France. Charles accepted the offer, and instead of being held as a prisoner, he was fêted and feasted in right royal fashion. For this is ever a sovereign bond of union between kings: each to aid the other against their own peoples.Charles stayed a long time at Valenciennes, and still gave no sign of his wrath, so that Mother Ghent began to lay aside her fears, believing that the Emperor her son was going to forgive her, seeing that she had acted within her rights.But at length Charles arrived under the walls of the city with 4000 horse, together with the Duke of Alba and the Prince of Orange. The poorer townsfolk and the small business men wished to prevent this filial entry into their city, and would have called to arms 80,000 men of the city and of the country round. But the merchants, thehoogh-poorters, opposed this suggestion, being afraid of the predominance of the people. Thus Ghent could easily have cut her son to pieces, him and his 4000 horse. But it seemed she loved him too dearly, and even the small tradesmen themselves were fast regaining their trust in him.Charles also loved the city, but only for the sake of his coffers that were stored with her money, and which he hoped to store up fuller yet.Having made himself master of the place, he established military posts everywhere, and ordered that they should patrol the city night and day. Then, in great state, he pronounced his sentence.The chief merchants of the city with cords round their necks were to appear before him as he sat on his throne, andto make a formal apology. Ghent itself was declared guilty of the most costly crimes—of disloyalty, disregard of treaties, disobedience, sedition, conspiracy, and high treason. The Emperor declared that all and every privilege—rights, customs, freedoms, and usages—all were to be abolished and annulled; and he stipulated for the future too, as though he were God himself, that none of his successors on coming to the throne should ever observe any one of these usages again, except only that which was called the Caroline Concession, as granted by him to the city.The Abbey of St. Bavon he razed to the ground, and in place he erected a fortress whence he could pierce with bullets and at his ease his mother’s very heart. Like a good son that is in a hurry for his inheritance, he confiscated all the riches of Ghent, its revenues, its houses, its artillery and munitions of war. Finding it still too well guarded, he destroyed also the Red Tower, the Tower of theTrou de Crapaud, theBraampoort, theSteenpoort, theWaalpoort, theKetelpoort, and many another of its gates, all carved as they were and sculptured like jewels in stone.And afterwards, when strangers came to Ghent, they would ask of one another:“Can this indeed be Ghent whose marvels were on the lips of all—this city so desolated and brought low?”And the people of Ghent would make answer:“Charles the Emperor has been to the city. He has ravished her sacred zone.”And so saying they would be filled with anger and with shame. And from the ruins of the city gates did the Emperor take away the bricks wherewith to build his castle.For it was his will that Ghent should be utterly impoverished, that thereby he might make it impossible for her ever to oppose his proud designs, either by her labour or her industry or wealth; therefore he condemned her to pay that share of the tax of 400,000 caroluses which she hadpreviously refused him, and in addition 150,000 caroluses down, and 6000 more every year in perpetuity. Moreover, in earlier days the city had lent him money upon which he should have paid interest at the rate of 150 pounds gross annually. But he made himself remit by force the notes of credit, and by paying off his debt in this way he actually enriched himself.Many and many a time had Ghent cherished him and succoured him, but now he struck her on the breast as it were with a dagger, looking for blood, since it seemed he had not there found milk enough.Last shame of all, he cast his eye upon the bell that is calledRoelandt; and the man who had sounded the alarm thereon, bidding all the citizens to defend the rights of their city, him he had bound and hung to the clapper of the bell. And he had no pity uponRoelandt, the very tongue of his mother, the tongue whereby she spake to all the land of Flanders,Roelandtthe proud bell that sings of herself this song:When I ring there is a fireWhen I peal there is a stormIn the land of Flanders.And thinking that his mother had too loud a voice he carried away her bell. And the people of the country round would say that Ghent was dead, now that her son had wrenched away her tongue with his pincers of iron.

These were the days when the noble city of Ghent refused to pay the tax which her son, the Emperor Charles, was demanding of her. The fact was it was impossible to pay, foralready the city was drained of money by the act of Charles himself. But it seemed that the city was guilty of a great crime, and Charles resolved to go himself and exact punishment. For to be whipped by her own son is above all things painful to a mother.

Now, although he was his enemy, Francis Long-Nose was pleased to offer the Emperor a free passage through the land of France. Charles accepted the offer, and instead of being held as a prisoner, he was fêted and feasted in right royal fashion. For this is ever a sovereign bond of union between kings: each to aid the other against their own peoples.

Charles stayed a long time at Valenciennes, and still gave no sign of his wrath, so that Mother Ghent began to lay aside her fears, believing that the Emperor her son was going to forgive her, seeing that she had acted within her rights.

But at length Charles arrived under the walls of the city with 4000 horse, together with the Duke of Alba and the Prince of Orange. The poorer townsfolk and the small business men wished to prevent this filial entry into their city, and would have called to arms 80,000 men of the city and of the country round. But the merchants, thehoogh-poorters, opposed this suggestion, being afraid of the predominance of the people. Thus Ghent could easily have cut her son to pieces, him and his 4000 horse. But it seemed she loved him too dearly, and even the small tradesmen themselves were fast regaining their trust in him.

Charles also loved the city, but only for the sake of his coffers that were stored with her money, and which he hoped to store up fuller yet.

Having made himself master of the place, he established military posts everywhere, and ordered that they should patrol the city night and day. Then, in great state, he pronounced his sentence.

The chief merchants of the city with cords round their necks were to appear before him as he sat on his throne, andto make a formal apology. Ghent itself was declared guilty of the most costly crimes—of disloyalty, disregard of treaties, disobedience, sedition, conspiracy, and high treason. The Emperor declared that all and every privilege—rights, customs, freedoms, and usages—all were to be abolished and annulled; and he stipulated for the future too, as though he were God himself, that none of his successors on coming to the throne should ever observe any one of these usages again, except only that which was called the Caroline Concession, as granted by him to the city.

The Abbey of St. Bavon he razed to the ground, and in place he erected a fortress whence he could pierce with bullets and at his ease his mother’s very heart. Like a good son that is in a hurry for his inheritance, he confiscated all the riches of Ghent, its revenues, its houses, its artillery and munitions of war. Finding it still too well guarded, he destroyed also the Red Tower, the Tower of theTrou de Crapaud, theBraampoort, theSteenpoort, theWaalpoort, theKetelpoort, and many another of its gates, all carved as they were and sculptured like jewels in stone.

And afterwards, when strangers came to Ghent, they would ask of one another:

“Can this indeed be Ghent whose marvels were on the lips of all—this city so desolated and brought low?”

And the people of Ghent would make answer:

“Charles the Emperor has been to the city. He has ravished her sacred zone.”

And so saying they would be filled with anger and with shame. And from the ruins of the city gates did the Emperor take away the bricks wherewith to build his castle.

For it was his will that Ghent should be utterly impoverished, that thereby he might make it impossible for her ever to oppose his proud designs, either by her labour or her industry or wealth; therefore he condemned her to pay that share of the tax of 400,000 caroluses which she hadpreviously refused him, and in addition 150,000 caroluses down, and 6000 more every year in perpetuity. Moreover, in earlier days the city had lent him money upon which he should have paid interest at the rate of 150 pounds gross annually. But he made himself remit by force the notes of credit, and by paying off his debt in this way he actually enriched himself.

Many and many a time had Ghent cherished him and succoured him, but now he struck her on the breast as it were with a dagger, looking for blood, since it seemed he had not there found milk enough.

Last shame of all, he cast his eye upon the bell that is calledRoelandt; and the man who had sounded the alarm thereon, bidding all the citizens to defend the rights of their city, him he had bound and hung to the clapper of the bell. And he had no pity uponRoelandt, the very tongue of his mother, the tongue whereby she spake to all the land of Flanders,Roelandtthe proud bell that sings of herself this song:

When I ring there is a fireWhen I peal there is a stormIn the land of Flanders.

When I ring there is a fire

When I peal there is a storm

In the land of Flanders.

And thinking that his mother had too loud a voice he carried away her bell. And the people of the country round would say that Ghent was dead, now that her son had wrenched away her tongue with his pincers of iron.

XXIn those days, which were days of spring, fresh and clear, when all the earth is in love, Soetkin was chatting by the open window, and Claes humming a tune, while Ulenspiegel was dressing up the dog Bibulus Schnouffius in a judge’s bonnet. The dog plied his paws as though desirous of passing judgment upon some one, though in reality itwas simply his way of trying to get rid of his ungainly head-gear.All at once, Ulenspiegel shut the window and ran back into the room. Then he jumped upon the chairs and the table, reaching up towards the ceiling with his hands. Soetkin and Claes soon discovered the cause of this mad behaviour, for there was a tiny little bird, chirruping with fear, and cowering against a beam in the recess of the ceiling, and Ulenspiegel was trying to catch it. He had almost succeeded when Claes spoke out briskly and asked him:“Why are you jumping about like this?”“To catch the bird,” answered Ulenspiegel, “and put him in a cage, and feed him with seeds, and make him sing for me.”Meantime the bird, crying in an agony of terror, flew back into the room, striking its head against the window-pane. Still Ulenspiegel went on trying to catch it, but suddenly the hand of Claes came down heavily upon his shoulder.“Catch the bird if you can,” said he, “put it in a cage, make it sing for your pleasure; but I also will put you in a cage that is fastened with strong bars of iron, and I will make you sing too. Then you, who like nothing better than to run about, will be able to do so no more; and you will be kept standing in the shade when you are chilly, and in the sun when you are hot. And, one Sunday, we shall all go out and forget to give you your food, and we shall not return again till Thursday, and then maybe we shall find our Tyl all stiff and starved to death.”Soetkin was crying at this picture, but Ulenspiegel started forward.“What are you going to do?” asked Claes.“Open the window for the bird to fly out,” he answered.And in fact the bird, which was a goldfinch, flew straight out through the window, and with a cry of joy mounted up into the air like an arrow, and then alighted upon a neighbouringapple-tree, smoothing its wings with its beak, ruffling its plumage. And all kinds of abuse did it sing in its bird language, all directed against Ulenspiegel.Then Claes said:“O son of mine, take care that you never take away its liberty from either man or beast, for liberty is the greatest good in the world. Let every one be free, free to go out into the sun when it is cold, and into the shade when it is hot. And let God give judgment on His Sacred Majesty, he who, not content with denying freedom of belief to the people of Flanders, has now put all the noble city of Ghent into a cage of slavery.”

XX

In those days, which were days of spring, fresh and clear, when all the earth is in love, Soetkin was chatting by the open window, and Claes humming a tune, while Ulenspiegel was dressing up the dog Bibulus Schnouffius in a judge’s bonnet. The dog plied his paws as though desirous of passing judgment upon some one, though in reality itwas simply his way of trying to get rid of his ungainly head-gear.All at once, Ulenspiegel shut the window and ran back into the room. Then he jumped upon the chairs and the table, reaching up towards the ceiling with his hands. Soetkin and Claes soon discovered the cause of this mad behaviour, for there was a tiny little bird, chirruping with fear, and cowering against a beam in the recess of the ceiling, and Ulenspiegel was trying to catch it. He had almost succeeded when Claes spoke out briskly and asked him:“Why are you jumping about like this?”“To catch the bird,” answered Ulenspiegel, “and put him in a cage, and feed him with seeds, and make him sing for me.”Meantime the bird, crying in an agony of terror, flew back into the room, striking its head against the window-pane. Still Ulenspiegel went on trying to catch it, but suddenly the hand of Claes came down heavily upon his shoulder.“Catch the bird if you can,” said he, “put it in a cage, make it sing for your pleasure; but I also will put you in a cage that is fastened with strong bars of iron, and I will make you sing too. Then you, who like nothing better than to run about, will be able to do so no more; and you will be kept standing in the shade when you are chilly, and in the sun when you are hot. And, one Sunday, we shall all go out and forget to give you your food, and we shall not return again till Thursday, and then maybe we shall find our Tyl all stiff and starved to death.”Soetkin was crying at this picture, but Ulenspiegel started forward.“What are you going to do?” asked Claes.“Open the window for the bird to fly out,” he answered.And in fact the bird, which was a goldfinch, flew straight out through the window, and with a cry of joy mounted up into the air like an arrow, and then alighted upon a neighbouringapple-tree, smoothing its wings with its beak, ruffling its plumage. And all kinds of abuse did it sing in its bird language, all directed against Ulenspiegel.Then Claes said:“O son of mine, take care that you never take away its liberty from either man or beast, for liberty is the greatest good in the world. Let every one be free, free to go out into the sun when it is cold, and into the shade when it is hot. And let God give judgment on His Sacred Majesty, he who, not content with denying freedom of belief to the people of Flanders, has now put all the noble city of Ghent into a cage of slavery.”

In those days, which were days of spring, fresh and clear, when all the earth is in love, Soetkin was chatting by the open window, and Claes humming a tune, while Ulenspiegel was dressing up the dog Bibulus Schnouffius in a judge’s bonnet. The dog plied his paws as though desirous of passing judgment upon some one, though in reality itwas simply his way of trying to get rid of his ungainly head-gear.

All at once, Ulenspiegel shut the window and ran back into the room. Then he jumped upon the chairs and the table, reaching up towards the ceiling with his hands. Soetkin and Claes soon discovered the cause of this mad behaviour, for there was a tiny little bird, chirruping with fear, and cowering against a beam in the recess of the ceiling, and Ulenspiegel was trying to catch it. He had almost succeeded when Claes spoke out briskly and asked him:

“Why are you jumping about like this?”

“To catch the bird,” answered Ulenspiegel, “and put him in a cage, and feed him with seeds, and make him sing for me.”

Meantime the bird, crying in an agony of terror, flew back into the room, striking its head against the window-pane. Still Ulenspiegel went on trying to catch it, but suddenly the hand of Claes came down heavily upon his shoulder.

“Catch the bird if you can,” said he, “put it in a cage, make it sing for your pleasure; but I also will put you in a cage that is fastened with strong bars of iron, and I will make you sing too. Then you, who like nothing better than to run about, will be able to do so no more; and you will be kept standing in the shade when you are chilly, and in the sun when you are hot. And, one Sunday, we shall all go out and forget to give you your food, and we shall not return again till Thursday, and then maybe we shall find our Tyl all stiff and starved to death.”

Soetkin was crying at this picture, but Ulenspiegel started forward.

“What are you going to do?” asked Claes.

“Open the window for the bird to fly out,” he answered.

And in fact the bird, which was a goldfinch, flew straight out through the window, and with a cry of joy mounted up into the air like an arrow, and then alighted upon a neighbouringapple-tree, smoothing its wings with its beak, ruffling its plumage. And all kinds of abuse did it sing in its bird language, all directed against Ulenspiegel.

Then Claes said:

“O son of mine, take care that you never take away its liberty from either man or beast, for liberty is the greatest good in the world. Let every one be free, free to go out into the sun when it is cold, and into the shade when it is hot. And let God give judgment on His Sacred Majesty, he who, not content with denying freedom of belief to the people of Flanders, has now put all the noble city of Ghent into a cage of slavery.”

XXINow Philip was married to Marie of Portugal, and with her he acquired her lands for the crown of Spain; and together they had a son, Don Carlos, he who was afterwards called “the mad” and “the cruel.” And Philip had no love for his wife.The Queen was lying-in. She kept her bed, and by her side were the maids of honour, the Duchess of Alba among them.Oftentimes did Philip leave his wife to go and see the burning of heretics. And all the gentlemen and ladies of the Court did likewise. And thus also did the Duchess of Alba and the other noble ladies whose duty it was to watch by the Queen in her childbed.Now at that time the ecclesiastical judges had seized a certain sculptor of Flanders, a good Roman Catholic, on the following charge: He had been commissioned, it seems, by a certain monk to carve a wooden statue of Our Lady for a certain sum, and on the monk refusing to pay the price which had been agreed between them, the sculptor had slashed at the face of the image with his chisel, saying that he would rather destroy his work than let it go at the price of a piece of dirt.He was straightway denounced by the monk as an iconoclast, tortured most piteously and condemned to be burntalive. During the torture they had scalded the soles of his feet, so that he cried out as he passed along from the prison to the stake: “Cut my feet off! For God’s sake cut my feet off!”And Philip, hearing these cries from afar, was glad, though smiled he never a smile.Queen Marie’s dames of honour all left her, wishing to be present at the burning, and the last of all to desert her was the said Duchess of Alba, who, hearing the cries of the sculptor, could not forbear to witness the spectacle.So, in the presence of King Philip and of his lords, princes, counts, equerries, and ladies, the sculptor was bound to the stake by a long chain. And all round the stake was a circle of flaming bundles of straw and fiery torches, the idea being that if he wished, the sculptor could be roasted very gently by keeping close to the stake in the centre of the circle, thus avoiding the full rigour of the fire.And right curiously did they watch him, naked or almost naked as he was, and trying to stiffen his resolution against the heat of the fire.Meanwhile Queen Marie was stricken with a great thirst, lying there alone on her bed of childbirth. And seeing the half of a melon on a plate, she dragged herself out of bed, and took hold of the melon and ate it all. But thereafter the cold substance of the melon made her to sweat and to shiver, and she lay upon the floor unable to move.“Alas!” she cried, “would that there were some one to carry me back into bed that I might get warm again!”Then it was that she heard the cry of the poor sculptor:“Cut off my feet! Cut off my feet!”“Ah!” said the Queen, “is that some dog or other baying at my death?”It was at this very moment that the sculptor, seeing around him none but the faces of Spaniards, his enemies, bethought him of Flanders, the land of valorous men, and he crossed hisarms on his breast, and dragging the long chain behind him, walked straight towards the outer circle of the straw and the flaming torches. And standing upright there, still with his arms crossed:“This,” cried he, “this is how the men of Flanders can die in the face of the tyrants of Spain. Cut offtheirfeet—not mine—that they may be able no more to run into the way of crime. Flanders for ever! Flanders for ever!”And the ladies clapped their hands, crying him mercy for the sake of his proud look.And he died.And Queen Marie shook all over her body, and she cried out, her teeth chattering together with the chill of approaching death. And her arms and legs grew stiff, and she said:“Put me back into my bed that I may be warmed.”So she died.And thus it was, according to the prophecy of Katheline the good sorceress, that Philip the King sowed everywhere he went the seeds of death, and blood, and tears.

XXI

Now Philip was married to Marie of Portugal, and with her he acquired her lands for the crown of Spain; and together they had a son, Don Carlos, he who was afterwards called “the mad” and “the cruel.” And Philip had no love for his wife.The Queen was lying-in. She kept her bed, and by her side were the maids of honour, the Duchess of Alba among them.Oftentimes did Philip leave his wife to go and see the burning of heretics. And all the gentlemen and ladies of the Court did likewise. And thus also did the Duchess of Alba and the other noble ladies whose duty it was to watch by the Queen in her childbed.Now at that time the ecclesiastical judges had seized a certain sculptor of Flanders, a good Roman Catholic, on the following charge: He had been commissioned, it seems, by a certain monk to carve a wooden statue of Our Lady for a certain sum, and on the monk refusing to pay the price which had been agreed between them, the sculptor had slashed at the face of the image with his chisel, saying that he would rather destroy his work than let it go at the price of a piece of dirt.He was straightway denounced by the monk as an iconoclast, tortured most piteously and condemned to be burntalive. During the torture they had scalded the soles of his feet, so that he cried out as he passed along from the prison to the stake: “Cut my feet off! For God’s sake cut my feet off!”And Philip, hearing these cries from afar, was glad, though smiled he never a smile.Queen Marie’s dames of honour all left her, wishing to be present at the burning, and the last of all to desert her was the said Duchess of Alba, who, hearing the cries of the sculptor, could not forbear to witness the spectacle.So, in the presence of King Philip and of his lords, princes, counts, equerries, and ladies, the sculptor was bound to the stake by a long chain. And all round the stake was a circle of flaming bundles of straw and fiery torches, the idea being that if he wished, the sculptor could be roasted very gently by keeping close to the stake in the centre of the circle, thus avoiding the full rigour of the fire.And right curiously did they watch him, naked or almost naked as he was, and trying to stiffen his resolution against the heat of the fire.Meanwhile Queen Marie was stricken with a great thirst, lying there alone on her bed of childbirth. And seeing the half of a melon on a plate, she dragged herself out of bed, and took hold of the melon and ate it all. But thereafter the cold substance of the melon made her to sweat and to shiver, and she lay upon the floor unable to move.“Alas!” she cried, “would that there were some one to carry me back into bed that I might get warm again!”Then it was that she heard the cry of the poor sculptor:“Cut off my feet! Cut off my feet!”“Ah!” said the Queen, “is that some dog or other baying at my death?”It was at this very moment that the sculptor, seeing around him none but the faces of Spaniards, his enemies, bethought him of Flanders, the land of valorous men, and he crossed hisarms on his breast, and dragging the long chain behind him, walked straight towards the outer circle of the straw and the flaming torches. And standing upright there, still with his arms crossed:“This,” cried he, “this is how the men of Flanders can die in the face of the tyrants of Spain. Cut offtheirfeet—not mine—that they may be able no more to run into the way of crime. Flanders for ever! Flanders for ever!”And the ladies clapped their hands, crying him mercy for the sake of his proud look.And he died.And Queen Marie shook all over her body, and she cried out, her teeth chattering together with the chill of approaching death. And her arms and legs grew stiff, and she said:“Put me back into my bed that I may be warmed.”So she died.And thus it was, according to the prophecy of Katheline the good sorceress, that Philip the King sowed everywhere he went the seeds of death, and blood, and tears.

Now Philip was married to Marie of Portugal, and with her he acquired her lands for the crown of Spain; and together they had a son, Don Carlos, he who was afterwards called “the mad” and “the cruel.” And Philip had no love for his wife.

The Queen was lying-in. She kept her bed, and by her side were the maids of honour, the Duchess of Alba among them.

Oftentimes did Philip leave his wife to go and see the burning of heretics. And all the gentlemen and ladies of the Court did likewise. And thus also did the Duchess of Alba and the other noble ladies whose duty it was to watch by the Queen in her childbed.

Now at that time the ecclesiastical judges had seized a certain sculptor of Flanders, a good Roman Catholic, on the following charge: He had been commissioned, it seems, by a certain monk to carve a wooden statue of Our Lady for a certain sum, and on the monk refusing to pay the price which had been agreed between them, the sculptor had slashed at the face of the image with his chisel, saying that he would rather destroy his work than let it go at the price of a piece of dirt.

He was straightway denounced by the monk as an iconoclast, tortured most piteously and condemned to be burntalive. During the torture they had scalded the soles of his feet, so that he cried out as he passed along from the prison to the stake: “Cut my feet off! For God’s sake cut my feet off!”

And Philip, hearing these cries from afar, was glad, though smiled he never a smile.

Queen Marie’s dames of honour all left her, wishing to be present at the burning, and the last of all to desert her was the said Duchess of Alba, who, hearing the cries of the sculptor, could not forbear to witness the spectacle.

So, in the presence of King Philip and of his lords, princes, counts, equerries, and ladies, the sculptor was bound to the stake by a long chain. And all round the stake was a circle of flaming bundles of straw and fiery torches, the idea being that if he wished, the sculptor could be roasted very gently by keeping close to the stake in the centre of the circle, thus avoiding the full rigour of the fire.

And right curiously did they watch him, naked or almost naked as he was, and trying to stiffen his resolution against the heat of the fire.

Meanwhile Queen Marie was stricken with a great thirst, lying there alone on her bed of childbirth. And seeing the half of a melon on a plate, she dragged herself out of bed, and took hold of the melon and ate it all. But thereafter the cold substance of the melon made her to sweat and to shiver, and she lay upon the floor unable to move.

“Alas!” she cried, “would that there were some one to carry me back into bed that I might get warm again!”

Then it was that she heard the cry of the poor sculptor:

“Cut off my feet! Cut off my feet!”

“Ah!” said the Queen, “is that some dog or other baying at my death?”

It was at this very moment that the sculptor, seeing around him none but the faces of Spaniards, his enemies, bethought him of Flanders, the land of valorous men, and he crossed hisarms on his breast, and dragging the long chain behind him, walked straight towards the outer circle of the straw and the flaming torches. And standing upright there, still with his arms crossed:

“This,” cried he, “this is how the men of Flanders can die in the face of the tyrants of Spain. Cut offtheirfeet—not mine—that they may be able no more to run into the way of crime. Flanders for ever! Flanders for ever!”

And the ladies clapped their hands, crying him mercy for the sake of his proud look.

And he died.

And Queen Marie shook all over her body, and she cried out, her teeth chattering together with the chill of approaching death. And her arms and legs grew stiff, and she said:

“Put me back into my bed that I may be warmed.”

So she died.

And thus it was, according to the prophecy of Katheline the good sorceress, that Philip the King sowed everywhere he went the seeds of death, and blood, and tears.

XXIIBut Ulenspiegel and Nele loved each other, and their love was true.It was now the end of April. All the trees were in bloom, and every plant was swollen with sap, for May was near, the month of the peacock, flowered like a bouquet, the month that sends the nightingales singing aloud in the trees of all the earth.Oftentimes would Nele and Ulenspiegel wander together along the roads. Nele would lean on the arm of Ulenspiegel, and hang round him with her two hands. Ulenspiegel loved this little game, and often did he pass his arm about Nele’s waist, to hold her the better, as he said. And she was happy, but spake not a word.Softly along the roads blew the wind, wafting the scent from the fields; the sea boomed in the distance, rocking lazily in the sun; Ulenspiegel seemed like some youthful devil, all pride; and Nele like a little saint from Paradise, half shy of her happiness.She leant her head against Ulenspiegel’s shoulder, and her hand was in his, and as they passed along he kissed her forehead, and her cheek, and her sweet lips. But still she spake no word.Nele and UlenspiegelNele and UlenspiegelAfter some hours they grew hot and thirsty, and they drank milk at the house of a peasant; and yet they were not refreshed. Then they sat them down on the grass by the side of the ditch, and Nele seemed pale and pensive, and Ulenspiegel looked at her, afraid that something was amiss.“You are unhappy?” said she.“Yes,” he admitted.“But why?” she asked him.“I know not,” said he. “But these apple-trees and cherry-trees all in flower, this air so warm that one would say it was charged with lightning, these daisies that open their blushing petals to the fields, and oh, the hawthorn, there, close by us in the hedge, all white.... Will no one tell me why it is that I feel troubled, and always ready to die or to go to sleep? And my heart beats so strangely when I hear the birds awaken in the trees, and when I see the swallows coming home! Then I am fain to go away beyond the sun and beyond the moon. And sometimes I am cold, and then again I am hot. Ah, Nele! would that I were no longer a creature of this low world! Verily I would give my life a thousand times to her that would love me!”Yet Nele spake not at all, but smiling at her ease sat looking at Ulenspiegel.

XXII

But Ulenspiegel and Nele loved each other, and their love was true.It was now the end of April. All the trees were in bloom, and every plant was swollen with sap, for May was near, the month of the peacock, flowered like a bouquet, the month that sends the nightingales singing aloud in the trees of all the earth.Oftentimes would Nele and Ulenspiegel wander together along the roads. Nele would lean on the arm of Ulenspiegel, and hang round him with her two hands. Ulenspiegel loved this little game, and often did he pass his arm about Nele’s waist, to hold her the better, as he said. And she was happy, but spake not a word.Softly along the roads blew the wind, wafting the scent from the fields; the sea boomed in the distance, rocking lazily in the sun; Ulenspiegel seemed like some youthful devil, all pride; and Nele like a little saint from Paradise, half shy of her happiness.She leant her head against Ulenspiegel’s shoulder, and her hand was in his, and as they passed along he kissed her forehead, and her cheek, and her sweet lips. But still she spake no word.Nele and UlenspiegelNele and UlenspiegelAfter some hours they grew hot and thirsty, and they drank milk at the house of a peasant; and yet they were not refreshed. Then they sat them down on the grass by the side of the ditch, and Nele seemed pale and pensive, and Ulenspiegel looked at her, afraid that something was amiss.“You are unhappy?” said she.“Yes,” he admitted.“But why?” she asked him.“I know not,” said he. “But these apple-trees and cherry-trees all in flower, this air so warm that one would say it was charged with lightning, these daisies that open their blushing petals to the fields, and oh, the hawthorn, there, close by us in the hedge, all white.... Will no one tell me why it is that I feel troubled, and always ready to die or to go to sleep? And my heart beats so strangely when I hear the birds awaken in the trees, and when I see the swallows coming home! Then I am fain to go away beyond the sun and beyond the moon. And sometimes I am cold, and then again I am hot. Ah, Nele! would that I were no longer a creature of this low world! Verily I would give my life a thousand times to her that would love me!”Yet Nele spake not at all, but smiling at her ease sat looking at Ulenspiegel.

But Ulenspiegel and Nele loved each other, and their love was true.

It was now the end of April. All the trees were in bloom, and every plant was swollen with sap, for May was near, the month of the peacock, flowered like a bouquet, the month that sends the nightingales singing aloud in the trees of all the earth.

Oftentimes would Nele and Ulenspiegel wander together along the roads. Nele would lean on the arm of Ulenspiegel, and hang round him with her two hands. Ulenspiegel loved this little game, and often did he pass his arm about Nele’s waist, to hold her the better, as he said. And she was happy, but spake not a word.

Softly along the roads blew the wind, wafting the scent from the fields; the sea boomed in the distance, rocking lazily in the sun; Ulenspiegel seemed like some youthful devil, all pride; and Nele like a little saint from Paradise, half shy of her happiness.

She leant her head against Ulenspiegel’s shoulder, and her hand was in his, and as they passed along he kissed her forehead, and her cheek, and her sweet lips. But still she spake no word.

Nele and UlenspiegelNele and Ulenspiegel

Nele and Ulenspiegel

After some hours they grew hot and thirsty, and they drank milk at the house of a peasant; and yet they were not refreshed. Then they sat them down on the grass by the side of the ditch, and Nele seemed pale and pensive, and Ulenspiegel looked at her, afraid that something was amiss.

“You are unhappy?” said she.

“Yes,” he admitted.

“But why?” she asked him.

“I know not,” said he. “But these apple-trees and cherry-trees all in flower, this air so warm that one would say it was charged with lightning, these daisies that open their blushing petals to the fields, and oh, the hawthorn, there, close by us in the hedge, all white.... Will no one tell me why it is that I feel troubled, and always ready to die or to go to sleep? And my heart beats so strangely when I hear the birds awaken in the trees, and when I see the swallows coming home! Then I am fain to go away beyond the sun and beyond the moon. And sometimes I am cold, and then again I am hot. Ah, Nele! would that I were no longer a creature of this low world! Verily I would give my life a thousand times to her that would love me!”

Yet Nele spake not at all, but smiling at her ease sat looking at Ulenspiegel.

XXIIIOne Day of All Souls, Ulenspiegel went forth from Notre Dame with certain other vagabonds of his own age. Amongthem was Lamme Goedzak, who seemed strayed among them like a lamb in the midst of a herd of wolves. Lamme treated them with drinks all round, for his mother, as her custom was on Sundays and feast days, had given him threepatards.So he went with his companions to the tavernIn dem Rooden Schildt—at the sign of the Red Shield. Jan van Liebeke kept the house, and he served them withdobbel knollaertfrom Courtrai.They began to be warmed with the drink, and the talk turned on the subject of prayer, and Ulenspiegel declared quite openly that, for his part, he thought that Masses for the dead did nobody any good, except the priests who said them.Now in that company there was a Judas, who went and denounced Ulenspiegel for a heretic. And in spite of the tears of Soetkin, and the entreaties of Claes, Ulenspiegel was seized and taken prisoner. He remained shut up in a cellar for the space of a month and three days without seeing a soul. The jailor himself consumed three-quarters of the ration that was given him for food.During all this time the authorities were informing themselves as to Ulenspiegel’s reputation—whether it was good or whether it was bad. They found that there was not much to be said against him except that he was a lively sort of customer, always railing against his neighbours. But they could not find that he had ever spoken evil of Our Lord God, or of Madame the Virgin, nor yet of the Saints. On this account the sentence passed on him was a light one, for he might easily have been condemned to have his face branded with a hot iron and to be flogged till the blood flowed. But in consideration of his youth, the judges merely sentenced him to walk in his shirt behind the priests barefoot and hatless, and holding a candle in his hand. And this he was to do on the Feast of the Ascension, in the first procession that left the church.So it was done, and when the procession was on the pointof turning back, Ulenspiegel was made to stop beneath the porch of Notre Dame, and there cry out aloud:“Thanks be to our Lord Jesus! Thanks be to the reverend priests! Sweet are their prayers unto the souls in purgatory; nay, they are filled with every virtue of refreshment! For eachAveis even as a bucket of water poured upon the backs of those who are being punished, and everyPateris a tubful!”And the people heard him with great devotion, and not without a smile.On Whit-Sunday the same proceeding had to be gone through, and Ulenspiegel followed again in the procession with nothing on but his shirt, and with his head bare, and no shoes on his feet, and holding a candle in his hand. On returning to the church he stood up in the porch, holding the candle most reverently in his hand, and then in a high, clear voice (yet not without sundry waggish grimaces) spake as follows:“If the prayers of all good Christians are very comforting to the souls in purgatory, how much more so must be those of the Dean of Notre Dame, a holy man and perfect in the performance of every virtue. Verily, his prayers assuage the flames of fire in such wise that they are transformed all of a sudden into ice. But yet be sure that not an atom of it goes to refresh the devils that are in hell.”And again the people hearkened to what he said with great devotion. But some of them smiled, and the Dean smiled too, in his grim ecclesiastical way.After that, Ulenspiegel was condemned to banishment from the land of Flanders for the space of three years, on condition that he went to Rome on pilgrimage and brought back with him the papal absolution. For this sentence Claes had to pay three florins: but he gave an extra florin to his son, and bought him a pilgrim’s habit.Ulenspiegel was heart-broken when he came to say good-byeto Claes and Soetkin on the day of his departure. He embraced them both, and his mother was all in tears; but she accompanied him far on his way, and Claes went too, and many of the townsmen and townswomen.When they were home again Claes said to his wife:“Good wife, it is very hard that such a boy should be condemned to this cruel punishment and all for a few silly words.”“Why, you are crying, my man!” said Soetkin. “Truly, you love him more than you like to show. Yes, you are sobbing now with a man’s sobs, sobs that are like unto the tears of a lion.”But he answered her not.As for Nele, she had gone to hide herself in the barn, so that none might see that she also wept for Ulenspiegel. But she followed afar after Soetkin and Claes and the other townsfolk: and when she saw her lover disappearing in the distance, she ran after him and threw herself on his neck.“In Italy you will meet many beautiful ladies,” she said.“I do not know about their being beautiful,” he replied, “but fresh like thee—no. For they are all parched with the sun.”They walked a long way side by side, and Ulenspiegel seemed thoughtful, muttering from time to time:“I’ll make ’em pay—I’ll make ’em pay for their Masses for the dead!”“What Masses are those you speak of?” Nele inquired. “And who is to pay for them?”Ulenspiegel answered:“All the deans,curés, clerks, beadles and the rest, both superior and inferior, who feed us with their trash. See now, if I had happened to be a strong working man they would have robbed me of the value of three years’ labour by making me thus to go on this pilgrimage. But as things are, it is the poor Claes who pays. Ah, but they shall give me back mythree years a hundredfold, and with their own money I myself will sing for them their Masses for the dead!”“Alas, Tyl!” said Nele, “be prudent, or they will have you burnt alive.”“I am fireproof,” answered Ulenspiegel.And they parted from one another, she all in tears, he heart-broken and angry.

XXIII

One Day of All Souls, Ulenspiegel went forth from Notre Dame with certain other vagabonds of his own age. Amongthem was Lamme Goedzak, who seemed strayed among them like a lamb in the midst of a herd of wolves. Lamme treated them with drinks all round, for his mother, as her custom was on Sundays and feast days, had given him threepatards.So he went with his companions to the tavernIn dem Rooden Schildt—at the sign of the Red Shield. Jan van Liebeke kept the house, and he served them withdobbel knollaertfrom Courtrai.They began to be warmed with the drink, and the talk turned on the subject of prayer, and Ulenspiegel declared quite openly that, for his part, he thought that Masses for the dead did nobody any good, except the priests who said them.Now in that company there was a Judas, who went and denounced Ulenspiegel for a heretic. And in spite of the tears of Soetkin, and the entreaties of Claes, Ulenspiegel was seized and taken prisoner. He remained shut up in a cellar for the space of a month and three days without seeing a soul. The jailor himself consumed three-quarters of the ration that was given him for food.During all this time the authorities were informing themselves as to Ulenspiegel’s reputation—whether it was good or whether it was bad. They found that there was not much to be said against him except that he was a lively sort of customer, always railing against his neighbours. But they could not find that he had ever spoken evil of Our Lord God, or of Madame the Virgin, nor yet of the Saints. On this account the sentence passed on him was a light one, for he might easily have been condemned to have his face branded with a hot iron and to be flogged till the blood flowed. But in consideration of his youth, the judges merely sentenced him to walk in his shirt behind the priests barefoot and hatless, and holding a candle in his hand. And this he was to do on the Feast of the Ascension, in the first procession that left the church.So it was done, and when the procession was on the pointof turning back, Ulenspiegel was made to stop beneath the porch of Notre Dame, and there cry out aloud:“Thanks be to our Lord Jesus! Thanks be to the reverend priests! Sweet are their prayers unto the souls in purgatory; nay, they are filled with every virtue of refreshment! For eachAveis even as a bucket of water poured upon the backs of those who are being punished, and everyPateris a tubful!”And the people heard him with great devotion, and not without a smile.On Whit-Sunday the same proceeding had to be gone through, and Ulenspiegel followed again in the procession with nothing on but his shirt, and with his head bare, and no shoes on his feet, and holding a candle in his hand. On returning to the church he stood up in the porch, holding the candle most reverently in his hand, and then in a high, clear voice (yet not without sundry waggish grimaces) spake as follows:“If the prayers of all good Christians are very comforting to the souls in purgatory, how much more so must be those of the Dean of Notre Dame, a holy man and perfect in the performance of every virtue. Verily, his prayers assuage the flames of fire in such wise that they are transformed all of a sudden into ice. But yet be sure that not an atom of it goes to refresh the devils that are in hell.”And again the people hearkened to what he said with great devotion. But some of them smiled, and the Dean smiled too, in his grim ecclesiastical way.After that, Ulenspiegel was condemned to banishment from the land of Flanders for the space of three years, on condition that he went to Rome on pilgrimage and brought back with him the papal absolution. For this sentence Claes had to pay three florins: but he gave an extra florin to his son, and bought him a pilgrim’s habit.Ulenspiegel was heart-broken when he came to say good-byeto Claes and Soetkin on the day of his departure. He embraced them both, and his mother was all in tears; but she accompanied him far on his way, and Claes went too, and many of the townsmen and townswomen.When they were home again Claes said to his wife:“Good wife, it is very hard that such a boy should be condemned to this cruel punishment and all for a few silly words.”“Why, you are crying, my man!” said Soetkin. “Truly, you love him more than you like to show. Yes, you are sobbing now with a man’s sobs, sobs that are like unto the tears of a lion.”But he answered her not.As for Nele, she had gone to hide herself in the barn, so that none might see that she also wept for Ulenspiegel. But she followed afar after Soetkin and Claes and the other townsfolk: and when she saw her lover disappearing in the distance, she ran after him and threw herself on his neck.“In Italy you will meet many beautiful ladies,” she said.“I do not know about their being beautiful,” he replied, “but fresh like thee—no. For they are all parched with the sun.”They walked a long way side by side, and Ulenspiegel seemed thoughtful, muttering from time to time:“I’ll make ’em pay—I’ll make ’em pay for their Masses for the dead!”“What Masses are those you speak of?” Nele inquired. “And who is to pay for them?”Ulenspiegel answered:“All the deans,curés, clerks, beadles and the rest, both superior and inferior, who feed us with their trash. See now, if I had happened to be a strong working man they would have robbed me of the value of three years’ labour by making me thus to go on this pilgrimage. But as things are, it is the poor Claes who pays. Ah, but they shall give me back mythree years a hundredfold, and with their own money I myself will sing for them their Masses for the dead!”“Alas, Tyl!” said Nele, “be prudent, or they will have you burnt alive.”“I am fireproof,” answered Ulenspiegel.And they parted from one another, she all in tears, he heart-broken and angry.

One Day of All Souls, Ulenspiegel went forth from Notre Dame with certain other vagabonds of his own age. Amongthem was Lamme Goedzak, who seemed strayed among them like a lamb in the midst of a herd of wolves. Lamme treated them with drinks all round, for his mother, as her custom was on Sundays and feast days, had given him threepatards.

So he went with his companions to the tavernIn dem Rooden Schildt—at the sign of the Red Shield. Jan van Liebeke kept the house, and he served them withdobbel knollaertfrom Courtrai.

They began to be warmed with the drink, and the talk turned on the subject of prayer, and Ulenspiegel declared quite openly that, for his part, he thought that Masses for the dead did nobody any good, except the priests who said them.

Now in that company there was a Judas, who went and denounced Ulenspiegel for a heretic. And in spite of the tears of Soetkin, and the entreaties of Claes, Ulenspiegel was seized and taken prisoner. He remained shut up in a cellar for the space of a month and three days without seeing a soul. The jailor himself consumed three-quarters of the ration that was given him for food.

During all this time the authorities were informing themselves as to Ulenspiegel’s reputation—whether it was good or whether it was bad. They found that there was not much to be said against him except that he was a lively sort of customer, always railing against his neighbours. But they could not find that he had ever spoken evil of Our Lord God, or of Madame the Virgin, nor yet of the Saints. On this account the sentence passed on him was a light one, for he might easily have been condemned to have his face branded with a hot iron and to be flogged till the blood flowed. But in consideration of his youth, the judges merely sentenced him to walk in his shirt behind the priests barefoot and hatless, and holding a candle in his hand. And this he was to do on the Feast of the Ascension, in the first procession that left the church.

So it was done, and when the procession was on the pointof turning back, Ulenspiegel was made to stop beneath the porch of Notre Dame, and there cry out aloud:

“Thanks be to our Lord Jesus! Thanks be to the reverend priests! Sweet are their prayers unto the souls in purgatory; nay, they are filled with every virtue of refreshment! For eachAveis even as a bucket of water poured upon the backs of those who are being punished, and everyPateris a tubful!”

And the people heard him with great devotion, and not without a smile.

On Whit-Sunday the same proceeding had to be gone through, and Ulenspiegel followed again in the procession with nothing on but his shirt, and with his head bare, and no shoes on his feet, and holding a candle in his hand. On returning to the church he stood up in the porch, holding the candle most reverently in his hand, and then in a high, clear voice (yet not without sundry waggish grimaces) spake as follows:

“If the prayers of all good Christians are very comforting to the souls in purgatory, how much more so must be those of the Dean of Notre Dame, a holy man and perfect in the performance of every virtue. Verily, his prayers assuage the flames of fire in such wise that they are transformed all of a sudden into ice. But yet be sure that not an atom of it goes to refresh the devils that are in hell.”

And again the people hearkened to what he said with great devotion. But some of them smiled, and the Dean smiled too, in his grim ecclesiastical way.

After that, Ulenspiegel was condemned to banishment from the land of Flanders for the space of three years, on condition that he went to Rome on pilgrimage and brought back with him the papal absolution. For this sentence Claes had to pay three florins: but he gave an extra florin to his son, and bought him a pilgrim’s habit.

Ulenspiegel was heart-broken when he came to say good-byeto Claes and Soetkin on the day of his departure. He embraced them both, and his mother was all in tears; but she accompanied him far on his way, and Claes went too, and many of the townsmen and townswomen.

When they were home again Claes said to his wife:

“Good wife, it is very hard that such a boy should be condemned to this cruel punishment and all for a few silly words.”

“Why, you are crying, my man!” said Soetkin. “Truly, you love him more than you like to show. Yes, you are sobbing now with a man’s sobs, sobs that are like unto the tears of a lion.”

But he answered her not.

As for Nele, she had gone to hide herself in the barn, so that none might see that she also wept for Ulenspiegel. But she followed afar after Soetkin and Claes and the other townsfolk: and when she saw her lover disappearing in the distance, she ran after him and threw herself on his neck.

“In Italy you will meet many beautiful ladies,” she said.

“I do not know about their being beautiful,” he replied, “but fresh like thee—no. For they are all parched with the sun.”

They walked a long way side by side, and Ulenspiegel seemed thoughtful, muttering from time to time:

“I’ll make ’em pay—I’ll make ’em pay for their Masses for the dead!”

“What Masses are those you speak of?” Nele inquired. “And who is to pay for them?”

Ulenspiegel answered:

“All the deans,curés, clerks, beadles and the rest, both superior and inferior, who feed us with their trash. See now, if I had happened to be a strong working man they would have robbed me of the value of three years’ labour by making me thus to go on this pilgrimage. But as things are, it is the poor Claes who pays. Ah, but they shall give me back mythree years a hundredfold, and with their own money I myself will sing for them their Masses for the dead!”

“Alas, Tyl!” said Nele, “be prudent, or they will have you burnt alive.”

“I am fireproof,” answered Ulenspiegel.

And they parted from one another, she all in tears, he heart-broken and angry.

XXIVOnce in the open country, Ulenspiegel shook himself like a dog, or like a bird that has regained its liberty, and his heart was cheered by the trees and fields and the bright sunshine.When he had walked on thus for three days he came to the outskirts of Brussels, and to the wealthy township of Uccle. And there, passing in front of the inn with the sign of the Trumpet, his attention was drawn to a most heavenly odour of fricassee. A little urchin who stood by was also sniffing the delightful perfume of the sauce, and Ulenspiegel asked him in whose honour it was that there rose to heaven such odour of festal incense. The boy made answer that the Guild of the Jolly Face was to meet at the inn that evening after vespers, to celebrate the deliverance of the town by the women and girls of olden time.Now in the distance Ulenspiegel saw a high pole with a popinjay on the top of it, and the pole was set in the ground, and round it were a company of women armed with bows and arrows. He asked the boy if women were become archers nowadays?The boy, still sniffing greedily the savour of the sauces, replied that in the days of the Good Duke the very bows that were now being used by those women had been the means of killing over a hundred brigands.Ulenspiegel desired to know further concerning this matter, but the boy said that he could tell no more, so hungrywas he, unless forsooth Ulenspiegel would give him apatardwith which he might buy food and drink. This Ulenspiegel did, for he felt sorry for him.No sooner had the boy received thepatardthan he rushed into the tavern like a fox to the hen-house, and presently reappeared in triumph with half a sausage and a large loaf of bread.And now Ulenspiegel was suddenly aware of a sweet sound of viols and tabors, and soon he saw a number of women dancing together, and among them a woman of great beauty with a chain of gold hanging round her neck.The boy, who had by this time assuaged his hunger and was grinning with delight, informed Ulenspiegel that the beautiful woman was the Queen of Archery, that her name was Mietje, and that she was wife to Messire Renonckel, alderman of the parish. Then he asked Ulenspiegel to give him sixliardsfor a drink. Ulenspiegel gave him the money, and when he had thus eaten and drunk his fill the urchin sat himself down in the sun and fell to picking his teeth with his nails.When the women archers noticed Ulenspiegel standing there in his pilgrim’s habit, they came and began to dance round him in a ring, crying:“Hail pilgrim, hail! Do you come from far away, you handsome pilgrim boy?”Ulenspiegel, thinking sadly of Nele, thus made answer:“I come from Flanders, a lovely land and filled with lovesome girls.”“What crime have you committed?” asked the women, stopping in their dance.“I dare not confess it, so great it was,” said he.They asked him the reason why it was needful for him to journey thus with a pilgrim’s staff and wallet, and those scalloped oysters that are the sign of the pilgrim.“The reason is,” he replied, not quite truthfully, “that I said that Masses for the dead are advantageous to the priests.”“True, they bring many a soundingdenierto the priests,” they answered; “but are they not also of advantage to the souls in purgatory!”“I have never been there,” answered Ulenspiegel.“Will you come dine with us?” said the prettiest of the archers.“Willingly would I dine with you,” said he, “and dineoffyou into the bargain! You and all your companions in turn, for you are morsels fit for a king, more delicate to swallow than any ortolan or thrush or snipe!”“Nay,” they answered, “but we are not for sale.”“Then perhaps you willgive?” he asked them.“Yea, verily,” they laughed, “a good box on the ear to such as are too bold. And if needs were we would beat you now like a bundle of corn!”“Thank you,” he said, “I will go without the beating.”“Well then,” they said, “come in to dinner.”So he followed them into the inn yard, glad for their fresh young faces. And thereafter he saw the Brethren of the Jolly Face themselves, who were now entering the yard with great ceremony, and by their own jolly appearance living up most conspicuously to the name of their Guild.They scrutinized Ulenspiegel with some curiosity, till one of the women informed them who he was—a pilgrim they had picked up on the road, and whom, being a good red-face like unto their husbands and their sweethearts, they had invited to share in the entertainment. The men were agreeable to this proposal, and one of them addressed himself to Ulenspiegel:“Pilgrim on pilgrimage, what say you now to continuing your pilgrimage across some sauce and fricassee?”“I shall have need of my seven-league boots,” answered Ulenspiegel.Now as he was following them into the festal hall, he noticed twelve blind men coming along the Paris road. And as they passed they were lamenting most piteouslytheir hunger and thirst. But Ulenspiegel said to himself that they should dine that night like kings, and all at the expense of the Dean of Uccle himself, and in memory of the Masses for the dead.He accosted them, saying:“Here are nine florins for you. Come in to dinner. Do you not smell the good smell of fricassee?”“Ah!” they cried, “for the last half-league, and without hope!”“Now you can eat your fill,” said Ulenspiegel, “for you have nine florins.”But he had not really given them anything.“The Lord bless you,” they said. For being blind, each man believed his neighbour had been given the money. And shown the way by Ulenspiegel, they all sat down at a small table while the Brethren of the Jolly Face took their seats at a long one, together with their wives and their daughters.Then, with the complete assurance that comes from the possession of nine florins:“Mine host,” cried the blind men insolently, “give us now to eat and to drink of your best.”The landlord, who had heard tell of the nine florins and thought that they were safe in the blind men’s purse, asked them what they would like for their dinner.Then they all began to talk at once at the top of their voices:“Bacon and peas, hotchpotch of beef and veal, chicken and lamb! And where are the sausages—were they made for the dogs, pray? And who is he that has smelt out the black and white puddings in the passage without collaring them for us? I used to be able to see them, alas, in the days when my poor eyes were bright as candles! And where is the butteredkoekebakkenof Anderlecht? Sizzling in the frying-pan, juicy and crackling, enough to make a fish thirsty for drink! Ho there! But who will bring me eggs and ham, orham and eggs, twin friends of my palate? And where are you, youchoesels, that float in a heavenly mess of meats and kidneys, coxcombs, sweetbreads, ox-tails, lamb’s feet, with many onions, pepper, cloves, nutmegs, all in a stew, and three pints at least of best white wine for sauce? And who will bring you to me divine, chitterlings, you that are so good that one does not utter a word while you are being swallowed! And they come straight from Luyleckerland, a land bursting with fatness and filled with happy lazy folk, whose passion for good things to eat is never assuaged! And where are you, dried leaves of autumns past? Now quick there! Bring me a leg of mutton with broad beans. And for me, some pig’s ears grilled with bread-crumbs. And for me, a chaplet of ortolans. Verily the snipe shall figure thePaters, and a fat capon theCredo.”Mine host answered quietly:“I will bring you an omelette made with sixty eggs. And as sign-posts to guide your spoons, I will plant fifty black puddings in the midst, all smoking on a veritable mountain of good cheer; and from the top of all somedobbel petermanshall flow down like a river on every side.”At this the mouths of the poor blind men began to water indeed, and they said:“Then serve us, pray, and that right quickly with the mountain, the sign-posts, and the river!”And the Brethren of the Jolly Face, who were now all seated at table with their wives, remarked to Ulenspiegel that this should be called the Day of the Invisible Feast; for that the blind men could not see what they were eating, and thus, poor things, were deprived of half their pleasure.At last it came—the omelette all garnished with cress and parsley, carried by mine host himself and four of his cooks—and the blind men desired to fall to incontinently, and at once began to set their paws upon it. But mine host was determined to serve each of them fairly, and, however difficultit might be, to make sure that each trencher had its just portion.The women archers were filled with pity to see the blind men gobbling and sighing with joy at what was set before them. For in truth they were half starved, and they swallowed down the puddings as though they had been oysters. And thedobbel petermanflowed into their stomachs asifit had been a cataract falling down from some lofty mountain.When at length they had cleared their trenchers, they demanded yet further supplies ofkoekebakken, ortolans, and fricassees. Mine host, however, only provided a great platter of beef and veal and mutton bones, all swimming in a most goodly sauce. But he did not divide it properly. So that when they had well dipped their bread in the sauce, and eke their hands right up to the elbows, yet drew not out anything but bones of cutlet of veal or mutton, each man fell straightway to imagining that his neighbour had got hold of all the meat, and they began to fight among themselves, hitting out most furiously one against another with the bones.The Brethren of the Jolly Face laughed heartily at this, but being charitably disposed, each put a portion of his own dinner into the blind men’s platter. So now if one of the blind went searching for a new bone with which to carry on the fight, he would put his hand belike upon a thrush or chicken or a lark or two; and all the time the women, holding their heads well backwards, kept pouring into the mouths of the blind long draughts of Brussels wine, and when they reached out with their hands to feel, as blind men will, whence came these rivulets of ambrosia, they would catch oftentimes at a woman’s skirt, and try to hold it fast. But quickly the skirt would make its escape.Thus they laughed and drank, ate and sang, enjoying themselves hugely. Some of them, when they found that women were present, ran through the hall all maddened with amorous desire. But the malicious girls kept out oftheir way, hiding behind the Brethren of the Jolly Face. And one of them would say: “Come, kiss me!” And when the blind victim tried to do so he would find himself kissing not a girl at all but the bearded face of a man, who would reward him with a cuff on the cheek as like as not.And the Brethren of the Jolly Face began to sing, and the blind men sang also, and the merry women smiled with fond delight to see their pleasure. But when the juicy hours were past, it was the turn of the innkeeper, who came forward, saying:“Now you have eaten your fill, my friends, and drunk your fill. You owe me seven florins.”The Feast of the Blind MenThe Feast of the Blind MenBut each of the blind men swore that he had no purse, and asserted that it was one of the others who carried it. Thereat arose a further dispute, and they began to hit out at one another with feet and hands and heads; but they mostly missed their mark, striking out at random, while the Brethren of the Jolly Face, entering into the fun, took care to keep them apart, so that their blows rained down upon the empty air—all save one, which happened unfortunately to strike the face of the innkeeper, who straightway fell into a rage and ransacked all their pockets. But he found there nothing but an old scapular, sevenliards, three breeches-buttons, and a few rosaries.At last he threatened to throw the whole lot of them into the pig-trough, and leave them there with nothing but bread and water to eat till they paid what they owed.“Let me go surety for them,” said Ulenspiegel.“Certainly,” answered the innkeeper, “if some one will also go surety for you.”This the Brethren of the Jolly Face at once offered to do, but Ulenspiegel refused them.“No,” he said, “the Dean of Uccle shall be my surety. I will go and find him.”To be sure it was those Masses for the dead that he wasthinking of. And when he had found the Dean he told him a story of how the innkeeper of the Trumpet Inn was possessed by the Devil, and how he could talk of nothing but “pigs” and “blind men”—something or other about pigs eating the blind, and the blind eating the pigs under various infamous forms of roast meats and fricassees. While these attacks were on, the innkeeper, so Ulenspiegel affirmed, would break up all the furniture in the inn; and he begged the Dean to come and deliver the poor man from the wicked devil that possessed him.The Dean promised to do so, but he said he could not come at the moment (for he was busy with the accounts of the Chapter, trying to make something out of them for himself). Seeing that the Dean was growing impatient, Ulenspiegel said that he would return and bring with him the innkeeper’s wife in order that the Dean might speak to her himself.“Very well,” said the Dean.So Ulenspiegel came again to the innkeeper and said to him:“I have just seen the Dean, and he is willing to go surety for the blind men. Do you keep watch over them, and let your wife come with me, and the Dean will repeat to her what I have just told you.”“Go, wife,” said the innkeeper.So the innkeeper’s wife went with Ulenspiegel to the Dean, who was still at his accounts and busy with the same problem. When, therefore, he saw Ulenspiegel and the woman, he made an impatient gesture that they should withdraw, saying at the same time:“It is all right. I will come to the help of your husband in a day or two.”And Ulenspiegel went back to the inn and said to himself:“Seven florins shall he pay; seven florins. And that shall be the first of my Masses for the dead!”And Ulenspiegel departed from that place, and the blind men likewise.

XXIV

Once in the open country, Ulenspiegel shook himself like a dog, or like a bird that has regained its liberty, and his heart was cheered by the trees and fields and the bright sunshine.When he had walked on thus for three days he came to the outskirts of Brussels, and to the wealthy township of Uccle. And there, passing in front of the inn with the sign of the Trumpet, his attention was drawn to a most heavenly odour of fricassee. A little urchin who stood by was also sniffing the delightful perfume of the sauce, and Ulenspiegel asked him in whose honour it was that there rose to heaven such odour of festal incense. The boy made answer that the Guild of the Jolly Face was to meet at the inn that evening after vespers, to celebrate the deliverance of the town by the women and girls of olden time.Now in the distance Ulenspiegel saw a high pole with a popinjay on the top of it, and the pole was set in the ground, and round it were a company of women armed with bows and arrows. He asked the boy if women were become archers nowadays?The boy, still sniffing greedily the savour of the sauces, replied that in the days of the Good Duke the very bows that were now being used by those women had been the means of killing over a hundred brigands.Ulenspiegel desired to know further concerning this matter, but the boy said that he could tell no more, so hungrywas he, unless forsooth Ulenspiegel would give him apatardwith which he might buy food and drink. This Ulenspiegel did, for he felt sorry for him.No sooner had the boy received thepatardthan he rushed into the tavern like a fox to the hen-house, and presently reappeared in triumph with half a sausage and a large loaf of bread.And now Ulenspiegel was suddenly aware of a sweet sound of viols and tabors, and soon he saw a number of women dancing together, and among them a woman of great beauty with a chain of gold hanging round her neck.The boy, who had by this time assuaged his hunger and was grinning with delight, informed Ulenspiegel that the beautiful woman was the Queen of Archery, that her name was Mietje, and that she was wife to Messire Renonckel, alderman of the parish. Then he asked Ulenspiegel to give him sixliardsfor a drink. Ulenspiegel gave him the money, and when he had thus eaten and drunk his fill the urchin sat himself down in the sun and fell to picking his teeth with his nails.When the women archers noticed Ulenspiegel standing there in his pilgrim’s habit, they came and began to dance round him in a ring, crying:“Hail pilgrim, hail! Do you come from far away, you handsome pilgrim boy?”Ulenspiegel, thinking sadly of Nele, thus made answer:“I come from Flanders, a lovely land and filled with lovesome girls.”“What crime have you committed?” asked the women, stopping in their dance.“I dare not confess it, so great it was,” said he.They asked him the reason why it was needful for him to journey thus with a pilgrim’s staff and wallet, and those scalloped oysters that are the sign of the pilgrim.“The reason is,” he replied, not quite truthfully, “that I said that Masses for the dead are advantageous to the priests.”“True, they bring many a soundingdenierto the priests,” they answered; “but are they not also of advantage to the souls in purgatory!”“I have never been there,” answered Ulenspiegel.“Will you come dine with us?” said the prettiest of the archers.“Willingly would I dine with you,” said he, “and dineoffyou into the bargain! You and all your companions in turn, for you are morsels fit for a king, more delicate to swallow than any ortolan or thrush or snipe!”“Nay,” they answered, “but we are not for sale.”“Then perhaps you willgive?” he asked them.“Yea, verily,” they laughed, “a good box on the ear to such as are too bold. And if needs were we would beat you now like a bundle of corn!”“Thank you,” he said, “I will go without the beating.”“Well then,” they said, “come in to dinner.”So he followed them into the inn yard, glad for their fresh young faces. And thereafter he saw the Brethren of the Jolly Face themselves, who were now entering the yard with great ceremony, and by their own jolly appearance living up most conspicuously to the name of their Guild.They scrutinized Ulenspiegel with some curiosity, till one of the women informed them who he was—a pilgrim they had picked up on the road, and whom, being a good red-face like unto their husbands and their sweethearts, they had invited to share in the entertainment. The men were agreeable to this proposal, and one of them addressed himself to Ulenspiegel:“Pilgrim on pilgrimage, what say you now to continuing your pilgrimage across some sauce and fricassee?”“I shall have need of my seven-league boots,” answered Ulenspiegel.Now as he was following them into the festal hall, he noticed twelve blind men coming along the Paris road. And as they passed they were lamenting most piteouslytheir hunger and thirst. But Ulenspiegel said to himself that they should dine that night like kings, and all at the expense of the Dean of Uccle himself, and in memory of the Masses for the dead.He accosted them, saying:“Here are nine florins for you. Come in to dinner. Do you not smell the good smell of fricassee?”“Ah!” they cried, “for the last half-league, and without hope!”“Now you can eat your fill,” said Ulenspiegel, “for you have nine florins.”But he had not really given them anything.“The Lord bless you,” they said. For being blind, each man believed his neighbour had been given the money. And shown the way by Ulenspiegel, they all sat down at a small table while the Brethren of the Jolly Face took their seats at a long one, together with their wives and their daughters.Then, with the complete assurance that comes from the possession of nine florins:“Mine host,” cried the blind men insolently, “give us now to eat and to drink of your best.”The landlord, who had heard tell of the nine florins and thought that they were safe in the blind men’s purse, asked them what they would like for their dinner.Then they all began to talk at once at the top of their voices:“Bacon and peas, hotchpotch of beef and veal, chicken and lamb! And where are the sausages—were they made for the dogs, pray? And who is he that has smelt out the black and white puddings in the passage without collaring them for us? I used to be able to see them, alas, in the days when my poor eyes were bright as candles! And where is the butteredkoekebakkenof Anderlecht? Sizzling in the frying-pan, juicy and crackling, enough to make a fish thirsty for drink! Ho there! But who will bring me eggs and ham, orham and eggs, twin friends of my palate? And where are you, youchoesels, that float in a heavenly mess of meats and kidneys, coxcombs, sweetbreads, ox-tails, lamb’s feet, with many onions, pepper, cloves, nutmegs, all in a stew, and three pints at least of best white wine for sauce? And who will bring you to me divine, chitterlings, you that are so good that one does not utter a word while you are being swallowed! And they come straight from Luyleckerland, a land bursting with fatness and filled with happy lazy folk, whose passion for good things to eat is never assuaged! And where are you, dried leaves of autumns past? Now quick there! Bring me a leg of mutton with broad beans. And for me, some pig’s ears grilled with bread-crumbs. And for me, a chaplet of ortolans. Verily the snipe shall figure thePaters, and a fat capon theCredo.”Mine host answered quietly:“I will bring you an omelette made with sixty eggs. And as sign-posts to guide your spoons, I will plant fifty black puddings in the midst, all smoking on a veritable mountain of good cheer; and from the top of all somedobbel petermanshall flow down like a river on every side.”At this the mouths of the poor blind men began to water indeed, and they said:“Then serve us, pray, and that right quickly with the mountain, the sign-posts, and the river!”And the Brethren of the Jolly Face, who were now all seated at table with their wives, remarked to Ulenspiegel that this should be called the Day of the Invisible Feast; for that the blind men could not see what they were eating, and thus, poor things, were deprived of half their pleasure.At last it came—the omelette all garnished with cress and parsley, carried by mine host himself and four of his cooks—and the blind men desired to fall to incontinently, and at once began to set their paws upon it. But mine host was determined to serve each of them fairly, and, however difficultit might be, to make sure that each trencher had its just portion.The women archers were filled with pity to see the blind men gobbling and sighing with joy at what was set before them. For in truth they were half starved, and they swallowed down the puddings as though they had been oysters. And thedobbel petermanflowed into their stomachs asifit had been a cataract falling down from some lofty mountain.When at length they had cleared their trenchers, they demanded yet further supplies ofkoekebakken, ortolans, and fricassees. Mine host, however, only provided a great platter of beef and veal and mutton bones, all swimming in a most goodly sauce. But he did not divide it properly. So that when they had well dipped their bread in the sauce, and eke their hands right up to the elbows, yet drew not out anything but bones of cutlet of veal or mutton, each man fell straightway to imagining that his neighbour had got hold of all the meat, and they began to fight among themselves, hitting out most furiously one against another with the bones.The Brethren of the Jolly Face laughed heartily at this, but being charitably disposed, each put a portion of his own dinner into the blind men’s platter. So now if one of the blind went searching for a new bone with which to carry on the fight, he would put his hand belike upon a thrush or chicken or a lark or two; and all the time the women, holding their heads well backwards, kept pouring into the mouths of the blind long draughts of Brussels wine, and when they reached out with their hands to feel, as blind men will, whence came these rivulets of ambrosia, they would catch oftentimes at a woman’s skirt, and try to hold it fast. But quickly the skirt would make its escape.Thus they laughed and drank, ate and sang, enjoying themselves hugely. Some of them, when they found that women were present, ran through the hall all maddened with amorous desire. But the malicious girls kept out oftheir way, hiding behind the Brethren of the Jolly Face. And one of them would say: “Come, kiss me!” And when the blind victim tried to do so he would find himself kissing not a girl at all but the bearded face of a man, who would reward him with a cuff on the cheek as like as not.And the Brethren of the Jolly Face began to sing, and the blind men sang also, and the merry women smiled with fond delight to see their pleasure. But when the juicy hours were past, it was the turn of the innkeeper, who came forward, saying:“Now you have eaten your fill, my friends, and drunk your fill. You owe me seven florins.”The Feast of the Blind MenThe Feast of the Blind MenBut each of the blind men swore that he had no purse, and asserted that it was one of the others who carried it. Thereat arose a further dispute, and they began to hit out at one another with feet and hands and heads; but they mostly missed their mark, striking out at random, while the Brethren of the Jolly Face, entering into the fun, took care to keep them apart, so that their blows rained down upon the empty air—all save one, which happened unfortunately to strike the face of the innkeeper, who straightway fell into a rage and ransacked all their pockets. But he found there nothing but an old scapular, sevenliards, three breeches-buttons, and a few rosaries.At last he threatened to throw the whole lot of them into the pig-trough, and leave them there with nothing but bread and water to eat till they paid what they owed.“Let me go surety for them,” said Ulenspiegel.“Certainly,” answered the innkeeper, “if some one will also go surety for you.”This the Brethren of the Jolly Face at once offered to do, but Ulenspiegel refused them.“No,” he said, “the Dean of Uccle shall be my surety. I will go and find him.”To be sure it was those Masses for the dead that he wasthinking of. And when he had found the Dean he told him a story of how the innkeeper of the Trumpet Inn was possessed by the Devil, and how he could talk of nothing but “pigs” and “blind men”—something or other about pigs eating the blind, and the blind eating the pigs under various infamous forms of roast meats and fricassees. While these attacks were on, the innkeeper, so Ulenspiegel affirmed, would break up all the furniture in the inn; and he begged the Dean to come and deliver the poor man from the wicked devil that possessed him.The Dean promised to do so, but he said he could not come at the moment (for he was busy with the accounts of the Chapter, trying to make something out of them for himself). Seeing that the Dean was growing impatient, Ulenspiegel said that he would return and bring with him the innkeeper’s wife in order that the Dean might speak to her himself.“Very well,” said the Dean.So Ulenspiegel came again to the innkeeper and said to him:“I have just seen the Dean, and he is willing to go surety for the blind men. Do you keep watch over them, and let your wife come with me, and the Dean will repeat to her what I have just told you.”“Go, wife,” said the innkeeper.So the innkeeper’s wife went with Ulenspiegel to the Dean, who was still at his accounts and busy with the same problem. When, therefore, he saw Ulenspiegel and the woman, he made an impatient gesture that they should withdraw, saying at the same time:“It is all right. I will come to the help of your husband in a day or two.”And Ulenspiegel went back to the inn and said to himself:“Seven florins shall he pay; seven florins. And that shall be the first of my Masses for the dead!”And Ulenspiegel departed from that place, and the blind men likewise.

Once in the open country, Ulenspiegel shook himself like a dog, or like a bird that has regained its liberty, and his heart was cheered by the trees and fields and the bright sunshine.

When he had walked on thus for three days he came to the outskirts of Brussels, and to the wealthy township of Uccle. And there, passing in front of the inn with the sign of the Trumpet, his attention was drawn to a most heavenly odour of fricassee. A little urchin who stood by was also sniffing the delightful perfume of the sauce, and Ulenspiegel asked him in whose honour it was that there rose to heaven such odour of festal incense. The boy made answer that the Guild of the Jolly Face was to meet at the inn that evening after vespers, to celebrate the deliverance of the town by the women and girls of olden time.

Now in the distance Ulenspiegel saw a high pole with a popinjay on the top of it, and the pole was set in the ground, and round it were a company of women armed with bows and arrows. He asked the boy if women were become archers nowadays?

The boy, still sniffing greedily the savour of the sauces, replied that in the days of the Good Duke the very bows that were now being used by those women had been the means of killing over a hundred brigands.

Ulenspiegel desired to know further concerning this matter, but the boy said that he could tell no more, so hungrywas he, unless forsooth Ulenspiegel would give him apatardwith which he might buy food and drink. This Ulenspiegel did, for he felt sorry for him.

No sooner had the boy received thepatardthan he rushed into the tavern like a fox to the hen-house, and presently reappeared in triumph with half a sausage and a large loaf of bread.

And now Ulenspiegel was suddenly aware of a sweet sound of viols and tabors, and soon he saw a number of women dancing together, and among them a woman of great beauty with a chain of gold hanging round her neck.

The boy, who had by this time assuaged his hunger and was grinning with delight, informed Ulenspiegel that the beautiful woman was the Queen of Archery, that her name was Mietje, and that she was wife to Messire Renonckel, alderman of the parish. Then he asked Ulenspiegel to give him sixliardsfor a drink. Ulenspiegel gave him the money, and when he had thus eaten and drunk his fill the urchin sat himself down in the sun and fell to picking his teeth with his nails.

When the women archers noticed Ulenspiegel standing there in his pilgrim’s habit, they came and began to dance round him in a ring, crying:

“Hail pilgrim, hail! Do you come from far away, you handsome pilgrim boy?”

Ulenspiegel, thinking sadly of Nele, thus made answer:

“I come from Flanders, a lovely land and filled with lovesome girls.”

“What crime have you committed?” asked the women, stopping in their dance.

“I dare not confess it, so great it was,” said he.

They asked him the reason why it was needful for him to journey thus with a pilgrim’s staff and wallet, and those scalloped oysters that are the sign of the pilgrim.

“The reason is,” he replied, not quite truthfully, “that I said that Masses for the dead are advantageous to the priests.”

“True, they bring many a soundingdenierto the priests,” they answered; “but are they not also of advantage to the souls in purgatory!”

“I have never been there,” answered Ulenspiegel.

“Will you come dine with us?” said the prettiest of the archers.

“Willingly would I dine with you,” said he, “and dineoffyou into the bargain! You and all your companions in turn, for you are morsels fit for a king, more delicate to swallow than any ortolan or thrush or snipe!”

“Nay,” they answered, “but we are not for sale.”

“Then perhaps you willgive?” he asked them.

“Yea, verily,” they laughed, “a good box on the ear to such as are too bold. And if needs were we would beat you now like a bundle of corn!”

“Thank you,” he said, “I will go without the beating.”

“Well then,” they said, “come in to dinner.”

So he followed them into the inn yard, glad for their fresh young faces. And thereafter he saw the Brethren of the Jolly Face themselves, who were now entering the yard with great ceremony, and by their own jolly appearance living up most conspicuously to the name of their Guild.

They scrutinized Ulenspiegel with some curiosity, till one of the women informed them who he was—a pilgrim they had picked up on the road, and whom, being a good red-face like unto their husbands and their sweethearts, they had invited to share in the entertainment. The men were agreeable to this proposal, and one of them addressed himself to Ulenspiegel:

“Pilgrim on pilgrimage, what say you now to continuing your pilgrimage across some sauce and fricassee?”

“I shall have need of my seven-league boots,” answered Ulenspiegel.

Now as he was following them into the festal hall, he noticed twelve blind men coming along the Paris road. And as they passed they were lamenting most piteouslytheir hunger and thirst. But Ulenspiegel said to himself that they should dine that night like kings, and all at the expense of the Dean of Uccle himself, and in memory of the Masses for the dead.

He accosted them, saying:

“Here are nine florins for you. Come in to dinner. Do you not smell the good smell of fricassee?”

“Ah!” they cried, “for the last half-league, and without hope!”

“Now you can eat your fill,” said Ulenspiegel, “for you have nine florins.”

But he had not really given them anything.

“The Lord bless you,” they said. For being blind, each man believed his neighbour had been given the money. And shown the way by Ulenspiegel, they all sat down at a small table while the Brethren of the Jolly Face took their seats at a long one, together with their wives and their daughters.

Then, with the complete assurance that comes from the possession of nine florins:

“Mine host,” cried the blind men insolently, “give us now to eat and to drink of your best.”

The landlord, who had heard tell of the nine florins and thought that they were safe in the blind men’s purse, asked them what they would like for their dinner.

Then they all began to talk at once at the top of their voices:

“Bacon and peas, hotchpotch of beef and veal, chicken and lamb! And where are the sausages—were they made for the dogs, pray? And who is he that has smelt out the black and white puddings in the passage without collaring them for us? I used to be able to see them, alas, in the days when my poor eyes were bright as candles! And where is the butteredkoekebakkenof Anderlecht? Sizzling in the frying-pan, juicy and crackling, enough to make a fish thirsty for drink! Ho there! But who will bring me eggs and ham, orham and eggs, twin friends of my palate? And where are you, youchoesels, that float in a heavenly mess of meats and kidneys, coxcombs, sweetbreads, ox-tails, lamb’s feet, with many onions, pepper, cloves, nutmegs, all in a stew, and three pints at least of best white wine for sauce? And who will bring you to me divine, chitterlings, you that are so good that one does not utter a word while you are being swallowed! And they come straight from Luyleckerland, a land bursting with fatness and filled with happy lazy folk, whose passion for good things to eat is never assuaged! And where are you, dried leaves of autumns past? Now quick there! Bring me a leg of mutton with broad beans. And for me, some pig’s ears grilled with bread-crumbs. And for me, a chaplet of ortolans. Verily the snipe shall figure thePaters, and a fat capon theCredo.”

Mine host answered quietly:

“I will bring you an omelette made with sixty eggs. And as sign-posts to guide your spoons, I will plant fifty black puddings in the midst, all smoking on a veritable mountain of good cheer; and from the top of all somedobbel petermanshall flow down like a river on every side.”

At this the mouths of the poor blind men began to water indeed, and they said:

“Then serve us, pray, and that right quickly with the mountain, the sign-posts, and the river!”

And the Brethren of the Jolly Face, who were now all seated at table with their wives, remarked to Ulenspiegel that this should be called the Day of the Invisible Feast; for that the blind men could not see what they were eating, and thus, poor things, were deprived of half their pleasure.

At last it came—the omelette all garnished with cress and parsley, carried by mine host himself and four of his cooks—and the blind men desired to fall to incontinently, and at once began to set their paws upon it. But mine host was determined to serve each of them fairly, and, however difficultit might be, to make sure that each trencher had its just portion.

The women archers were filled with pity to see the blind men gobbling and sighing with joy at what was set before them. For in truth they were half starved, and they swallowed down the puddings as though they had been oysters. And thedobbel petermanflowed into their stomachs asifit had been a cataract falling down from some lofty mountain.

When at length they had cleared their trenchers, they demanded yet further supplies ofkoekebakken, ortolans, and fricassees. Mine host, however, only provided a great platter of beef and veal and mutton bones, all swimming in a most goodly sauce. But he did not divide it properly. So that when they had well dipped their bread in the sauce, and eke their hands right up to the elbows, yet drew not out anything but bones of cutlet of veal or mutton, each man fell straightway to imagining that his neighbour had got hold of all the meat, and they began to fight among themselves, hitting out most furiously one against another with the bones.

The Brethren of the Jolly Face laughed heartily at this, but being charitably disposed, each put a portion of his own dinner into the blind men’s platter. So now if one of the blind went searching for a new bone with which to carry on the fight, he would put his hand belike upon a thrush or chicken or a lark or two; and all the time the women, holding their heads well backwards, kept pouring into the mouths of the blind long draughts of Brussels wine, and when they reached out with their hands to feel, as blind men will, whence came these rivulets of ambrosia, they would catch oftentimes at a woman’s skirt, and try to hold it fast. But quickly the skirt would make its escape.

Thus they laughed and drank, ate and sang, enjoying themselves hugely. Some of them, when they found that women were present, ran through the hall all maddened with amorous desire. But the malicious girls kept out oftheir way, hiding behind the Brethren of the Jolly Face. And one of them would say: “Come, kiss me!” And when the blind victim tried to do so he would find himself kissing not a girl at all but the bearded face of a man, who would reward him with a cuff on the cheek as like as not.

And the Brethren of the Jolly Face began to sing, and the blind men sang also, and the merry women smiled with fond delight to see their pleasure. But when the juicy hours were past, it was the turn of the innkeeper, who came forward, saying:

“Now you have eaten your fill, my friends, and drunk your fill. You owe me seven florins.”

The Feast of the Blind MenThe Feast of the Blind Men

The Feast of the Blind Men

But each of the blind men swore that he had no purse, and asserted that it was one of the others who carried it. Thereat arose a further dispute, and they began to hit out at one another with feet and hands and heads; but they mostly missed their mark, striking out at random, while the Brethren of the Jolly Face, entering into the fun, took care to keep them apart, so that their blows rained down upon the empty air—all save one, which happened unfortunately to strike the face of the innkeeper, who straightway fell into a rage and ransacked all their pockets. But he found there nothing but an old scapular, sevenliards, three breeches-buttons, and a few rosaries.

At last he threatened to throw the whole lot of them into the pig-trough, and leave them there with nothing but bread and water to eat till they paid what they owed.

“Let me go surety for them,” said Ulenspiegel.

“Certainly,” answered the innkeeper, “if some one will also go surety for you.”

This the Brethren of the Jolly Face at once offered to do, but Ulenspiegel refused them.

“No,” he said, “the Dean of Uccle shall be my surety. I will go and find him.”

To be sure it was those Masses for the dead that he wasthinking of. And when he had found the Dean he told him a story of how the innkeeper of the Trumpet Inn was possessed by the Devil, and how he could talk of nothing but “pigs” and “blind men”—something or other about pigs eating the blind, and the blind eating the pigs under various infamous forms of roast meats and fricassees. While these attacks were on, the innkeeper, so Ulenspiegel affirmed, would break up all the furniture in the inn; and he begged the Dean to come and deliver the poor man from the wicked devil that possessed him.

The Dean promised to do so, but he said he could not come at the moment (for he was busy with the accounts of the Chapter, trying to make something out of them for himself). Seeing that the Dean was growing impatient, Ulenspiegel said that he would return and bring with him the innkeeper’s wife in order that the Dean might speak to her himself.

“Very well,” said the Dean.

So Ulenspiegel came again to the innkeeper and said to him:

“I have just seen the Dean, and he is willing to go surety for the blind men. Do you keep watch over them, and let your wife come with me, and the Dean will repeat to her what I have just told you.”

“Go, wife,” said the innkeeper.

So the innkeeper’s wife went with Ulenspiegel to the Dean, who was still at his accounts and busy with the same problem. When, therefore, he saw Ulenspiegel and the woman, he made an impatient gesture that they should withdraw, saying at the same time:

“It is all right. I will come to the help of your husband in a day or two.”

And Ulenspiegel went back to the inn and said to himself:

“Seven florins shall he pay; seven florins. And that shall be the first of my Masses for the dead!”

And Ulenspiegel departed from that place, and the blind men likewise.

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