{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_37668/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_37668","id":"gutenberg_37668","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/37668","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Short Stories","Flemings -- Folklore","Folklore -- Belgium","Tales -- Flanders"],"text":"</pre>\n\n\n\nProduced by Jeroen Hellingman and the Online Distributed\nProofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net/ for Project\nGutenberg (This file was produced from images generously\nmade available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                            FLEMISH LEGENDS\n                          By CHARLES DE COSTER\n\n                         With eight woodcuts by\n                           Albert Delstanche\n\n                       Translated from the French\n                            By Harold Taylor\n\n\n                        London: Chatto & Windus\n                                 MCMXX\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n                                                     Page\n    I. The Brotherhood of the Cheerful Countenance      1\n    II. The Three Sisters                              31\n    III. Sir Halewyn                                   43\n    IV. Smetse Smee                                   101\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nILLUSTRATIONS\n\n\n    The Church of Haeckendover               Frontispiece\n    The Little Stone Boy                    Facing page 6\n    The Man in White                                   52\n    Sir Halewyn in the Wood                            64\n    The Song of the Head                               92\n    Smetse caught by the Two Branches                 108\n    In Smetse's Garden                                126\n    The Devil-King and the Sack                       150\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTRANSLATOR'S NOTE\n\n\nThere never was a book which needed less of an introduction than this\none, unless it is that it should have an apology from the translator\nfor his handling of so beautiful an original. But since so little is\ngenerally known of these Legends and their author a word of information\nmay be demanded.\n\nCharles de Coster flourished in the middle part of the last century. He\nwas brought up in the court of a great dignitary of the Roman Church,\nand intended for the aristocratic University of Louvain, but showed\nearly his independent and democratic turn of mind by preferring\nthe more popular University of Brussels, to which he made his own\nway. Here he fell in with a group of fellow-students and artistic\nenthusiasts which included Felicien Rops, with whom he was associated\nin a society called Les Joyeux, and afterwards in a short-lived Review,\nto which they gave the name of that traditional Belgian figure of\njoyousness and high spirits, Uylenspiegel. It was in this that these\nLegends first appeared, written in the years 1856 and 1857, and soon\nafterwards published in book form.\n\nBelgian literature was not at that time in a very flourishing\ncondition, and little general appreciation was shown of de Coster's\nwork, but it was hailed with enthusiasm by a few of the more\ndiscerning critics, and won him a place on a Royal Commission which\nwas investigating mediaeval state papers. After publishing another book,\nContes brabancons, likewise based on the folk-lore of his country, he\nseems to have withdrawn into himself and led the life of a dreamer,\nwandering about among the peasants and burying himself in the wide\ncountryside of Flanders, until he had completed his epic of the\nSpanish tyranny, Ulenspiegel, which has already been translated into\nEnglish. None of these publications brought him any material recompense\nfor his work, and he remained a poor man to the end of his life, in\nconstant revolt against what he called the horrible power of money. [1]\n\nThe primitive stuff of these Legends is to be found scattered up and\ndown, a piece here and a piece there, in the folk-lore of Brabant\nand Flanders. De Coster, who had an intense love of this folk-lore\nand at the same time, as he said, \"that particular kind of madness\nwhich is needed for such writing,\" set himself to give it a literary\nform. He has chosen to make that form so elaborate, and has worked\nhis material to so fine a composition, that he must be considered\nto have produced an entirely original book. But he has not been\nunfaithful to his masters the people. Sir Halewyn, for instance,\nfollows an old song. And the Faust-story of Smetse Smee, the jovial\nand ingenious smith, who gets the better of his bargain with the\ndevil in so wholly satisfactory a fashion, crops up in one form or\nanother again and again.\n\nThe Legends were written in the idiom of the sixteenth century, the\nperiod to which the latest and longest of them roughly belongs. I\nbelieve that no more perfect example of pastiche exists in the\nlanguage. But that is not of much interest to English readers, and\nI have made no attempt to reproduce the achievement. De Coster found\nmodern French, with its rigidity of form, unsuitable to his subject\nand inapt to his genius. He seems to have had a mind so perfectly in\ntune with the Middle Ages that one may well believe that he found it\nactually more natural to write in the still fluid language of Rabelais\nthan in that of his own day. The prose of the original is of arresting\nbeauty, especially in Sir Halewyn; which, with its peculiarly Flemish\ntale of faery and enchantment, still beauty and glowing hearths,\nand the sombreness of northern forests brooding over them, I feel\nto be the high-water mark of his achievement. At times it becomes so\nrhythmic that one can hardly decide whether it is prose or poetry. It\nis not difficult to believe Potvin's report that de Coster spent an\nimmense amount of pains on his work, sometimes doing a page twenty\ntimes over before he was content to let it go.\n\nDe Coster has been spoken of as a mouthpiece of\nProtestantism. Protestant, of course, is the last word in the world to\ndescribe him. No one can have regretted much more than he the passing\nof that warm-hearted time before the Reformation. One has but to read\nthe story of the building of the church at Haeckendover in The Three\nSisters, or the prayer of the girl Wantje to the Virgin in the tale\nof the hilarious Brotherhood to see how far this is true. It is only\nin Smetse Smee, when he comes to the time of the Inquisition, that he\nbursts out with that stream of invective and monstrous mockery which\nmade the Polish refugee Karski say of him, \"Well roared, Fleming!\" And\neven then it is Spain rather than Catholicism which is the centre of\nhis attack, and Philip II who is his aiming-point.\n\nAbove all and before all de Coster loved the simple peasant-people\nof his own land, with their frank interest in good things to eat\nand good beer to drink, their aptitude for quarrelling and their\ngreat hearts. All his chief portraits are painted from them. The\nold homely nobility of Flanders, such as were the people of Heurne\nin the tale of Halewyn, he liked well enough, but he could not bear\na rich man or a distant-mannered master of the Spanish type. A tale\nis told of him and his painter friend Dillens which may well stand\nas the key to his work. One day at Carnival-time they were in Ghent,\nand when the evening came Dillens asked what they should do. \"Voir\nle peuple!\" cried de Coster, \"le peuple surtout! La bourgeoisie est\nla meme partout! Va voir le peuple!\"\n\n\nH. T.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE BROTHERHOOD OF THE CHEERFUL COUNTENANCE\n\n\nI. Of the sorrowful voice which Pieter Gans heard in his garden,\nand of the flame running over the grass.\n\nIn the days when the Good Duke ruled over Brabant, there was to be\nfound at Uccle, with its headquarters in the tavern of The Horn, a\ncertain Brotherhood of the Cheerful Countenance, aptly enough so named,\nfor every one of the Brothers had a wonderfully jolly face, finished\noff, as a sign of good living, with two chins at the least. That was\nthe young ones; but the older ones had more.\n\nYou shall hear, first of all, how this Brotherhood was founded:\n\nPieter Gans, host of this same Horn, putting off his clothes one\nnight to get into bed, heard in his garden a sorrowful voice, wailing:\n\"My tongue is scorching me. Drink! Drink! I shall die of thirst.\"\n\nThinking at first that it was some drunkard below, he continued to\nget into bed quietly, notwithstanding the voice, which kept crying\nout in the garden: \"Drink! Drink! I shall die of thirst.\" But this\npersisted so long and in so melancholy a manner that at last Pieter\nGans must needs get up and go to the window to see who it might be\nmaking so much noise. Thence he saw a long flame, of great brightness\nand strange upstanding shape, running over the grass; and, thinking\nthat it must be some poor soul from purgatory in need of prayers,\nhe set about repeating litanies, and went through above a hundred,\nbut all in vain, for the voice never ceased crying out as before:\n\"Drink! Drink! I shall die of thirst.\"\n\nAfter cock-crow he heard no more, and looking out again he saw with\ngreat satisfaction that the flame had disappeared.\n\nWhen morning came he went straightway to the church. There he told the\nstory of these strange happenings to the priest, and caused a fair mass\nto be said for the repose of the poor soul; gave a golden peter to the\nclerk so that others might be said later, and returned home reassured.\n\nBut on the following night the voice began its wailing anew, as\nlamentably as if it were that of a dying man hindered from dying. And\nso it went on night after night.\n\nWhence it came about that Pieter Gans grew moody and morose.\n\nThose who had known him in former days, rubicund, carrying a good\npaunch and a joyous face, wont to tell his matins with bottles and\nhis vespers with flagons, would certainly never have recognized him.\n\nFor he grew so wizened, dried up, thin, and of such piteous appearance\nthat dogs used to start barking at the sight of him, as they do at\nbeggars with their bundles.\n\n\n\n\nII. How Jan Blaeskaek gave good counsel to Pieter Gans, and wherein\ncovetousness is sadly punished.\n\nIt so happened that while he was moping after this fashion, passing\nhis days in misery and without any joy of them, alone in a corner\nlike a leper, there came to the inn a certain Master Jan Blaeskaek,\nbrewer of good beer, a hearty fellow, and of a jovial turn of mind.\n\nThis visitor, seeing Pieter Gans looking at him nervously and\nshamefacedly, wagging his head like an old man, went up to him and\nshook him: \"Come,\" said he, \"wake up, my friend, it gives me no\npleasure to see thee sitting there like a corpse!\"\n\n\"Alas,\" answered Pieter Gans, \"I am not worth much more now,\nmy master.\"\n\n\"And whence,\" said Blaeskaek, \"hast thou gotten all this black\nmelancholy?\"\n\nTo which Pieter Gans made answer: \"Come away to some place where none\nwill hear us. There I will tell thee the whole tale.\"\n\nThis he did. When Blaeskaek had heard to the end he said: \"'Tis no\nChristian soul that cries in this manner, but the voice of a devil. It\nmust be appeased. Therefore go thou and fetch from thy cellar a good\ncask of ale, and roll it out into the garden, to the place where thou\ndidst see the flame shining.\"\n\n\"That I will,\" said Pieter Gans. But at vespers, thinking to himself\nthat ale was precious stuff to set before devils, he put instead in\nthat place a great bowl of clear water.\n\nTowards midnight he heard a voice more sorrowful than ever, calling\nout: \"Drink! Drink! I shall die of thirst.\"\n\nAnd he saw the bright flame dancing furiously over the bowl, which\nwas suddenly broken with a loud report, and this in so violent a\nmanner that the pieces flew up against the windows of the house.\n\nThen he began to sweat with terror and weep aloud, saying: \"Now\n'tis all over, dear God, all over with me. Oh, that I had followed\nthe advice of the wise Blaeskaek, for he is a man of good counsel,\nof excellent counsel! Master Devil, who are so thirsty, do not kill\nme to-night; to-morrow you shall drink good ale, Master Devil. Ah,\n'tis ale of fair repute throughout the land, this ale, fit for kings\nor for good devils like yourself!\"\n\nNevertheless the voice continued to wail: \"Drink! Drink!\"\n\n\"There, there! Have a little patience, Master Devil; to-morrow you\nshall drink my best ale. It cost me many a golden peter, my master,\nand I will give you a whole barrelful. Do you not see that you must not\nstrangle me to-night, but rather to-morrow if I do not keep my word.\"\n\nAnd after this fashion he wept and cried out until cock-crow. Then,\nfinding that he was not dead, he said his matins with a better heart.\n\nAt sun-up he went down himself to fetch the cask of ale from his\ncellar, and placed it in the middle of the grass, saying: \"Here is\nthe freshest and the best drink I have; I am no niggard. So have pity\non me, Master Devil.\"\n\n\n\n\nIII. Of the songs, voices, mewlings, and sounds of kisses which Pieter\nGans and Blaeskaek heard in the garden, and of the brave mien wherewith\nMaster Merry-face sat on the cask of stone.\n\nAt the third hour Blaeskaek came down and asked for news. Pieter Gans\ntold his tale, and as he was about to go away again drew him aside\nand said: \"I have kept this secret from my servants, lest they should\ngo and blab about it to the priests, and so I am as good as alone in\nthe house. Do not therefore leave me, for it may happen that some\nevil will come of the business, and 'twould be well to have a good\nstomach in case of such event. Alone I should certainly have none,\nbut together we shall have enough for both. It would be as well, then,\nto fortify ourselves against this assault on our courage. Instead of\nsleeping we will eat and drink heartily.\"\n\n\"For that,\" said Blaeskaek, \"I am as ready as thou.\"\n\nTowards midnight the two comrades, tippling in a low room, fortified\nwith good eating, but not without some apprehension nevertheless, heard\nthe same voice outside, no longer sorrowful, but joyous, singing songs\nin a strange tongue; and there followed divers sweet chants, such as\nangels might sing (speaking with proper respect to them all), who in\nParadise had drunken too much ambrosia, voices of women celestially\nsoft, mewlings of tigers, sighs, noise of embraces and lovers' kisses.\n\n\"Ho, ho!\" cried Pieter Gans, \"what is this, dear Jesus? They are devils\nfor a certainty. They will empty my cask altogether. And when they find\nmy ale so good they will want more of it, and come crying every night\nand shouting louder than ever: 'Drink! Drink!' And I shall be ruined,\nalas, alas! Come, friend Blaeskaek\"--and so saying he pulled out his\nkuyf, which is, as you may know, a strong knife well sharpened--\"Come,\nwe must drive them off by force! But alone I have not the courage.\"\n\n\"I will come with you,\" said Blaeskaek, \"but not until a little later,\nat cock-crow. They say that after that hour devils cannot bite.\"\n\nBefore the sun rose the cock crew.\n\nAnd he had, that morning, so martial a tone that you would have\nthought it a trumpet sounding.\n\nAnd hearing this trumpet all the devils suddenly put a stop to their\ndrinking and singing.\n\nPieter Gans and Blaeskaek were overjoyed at that, and ran out into\nthe garden in haste.\n\nPieter Gans, hurrying to look for his cask of ale, found it changed\ninto stone, and on top of it, sitting horseback fashion, what\nseemed to be a young boy, quite naked, a fair, sweet little boy,\ngaily crowned with vine-leaves, with a bunch of grapes hanging over\none ear, and in his right hand a staff with a fir-cone at the tip,\nand grapes and vine-branches twined round it.\n\nAnd although this little boy was made of stone, he had all the\nappearance of being alive, so merry a countenance had he.\n\nGreatly alarmed were Gans and Blaeskaek at the sight of this personage.\n\nAnd fearing both the wrath of the devil and the punishment of the\nChurch, and swearing together to say no word about it to any one,\nthey put the figure (which was but a few thumbs high) in a dark cellar\nwhere there was no drink kept.\n\n\n\n\nIV. Wherein the two worthy men set out for Brussels, capital city\nof Brabant, and of the manners and condition of Josse Cartuyvels\nthe Apothecary.\n\nHaving done so much they set out together for Brussels, there to\nconsult an old man, apothecary by trade, something of a glutton,\nbut liked well enough by the common folk on account of a certain\nhotch-potch he made, well seasoned with rare herbs, for which he\nasked a not unreasonable price. He was reputed by the devout to have\ncommerce with the devil, on account of the miraculous cures which he\neffected in both man and beast by means of his herbs. Furthermore,\nhe sold beer, which he bought from Blaeskaek. And he was hideous to\nlook at, gouty, wizened, yellow as a guinea, wrinkled as an old apple,\nand with carbuncles on his neck.\n\nHe lived in a house of mean appearance, in that part where you may\nnow see the brewery of Claes van Volxem. Gans and Blaeskaek, coming\nthither, found him in his kitchen, making up his stews.\n\nThe apothecary, seeing Gans in such a piteous melancholy state,\nasked him if he had some ill whereof he wished to be cured.\n\n\"He has nothing to be cured of,\" said Blaeskaek, \"save an evil fear\nwhich has been tormenting him for a week past.\"\n\nThereupon they told him the whole story of the chubby-faced image.\n\n\"Dear God!\" said Josse Cartuyvels, for such was the name of this\ndoctor of stews, \"I know this devil well enough, and will show you his\nlikeness.\" And taking them up to the top of his house, into a small\nroom which he had there, he showed them a gallant image of that same\ndevil, making merry with pretty maids and gay goat-foot companions.\n\n\"And what is the name,\" said Blaeskaek, \"of this merry boy?\"\n\n\"I have no doubt it is Bacchus,\" said Josse Cartuyvels. \"In olden\ntimes he was a god, but at the gracious coming of Our Lord Jesus\nChrist\"--here all three crossed themselves--\"he lost at once his\npower and his divinity. He was, in his time, good company, and more\nparticularly notable as the inventor of wine, beer, and ale. It may be,\non that account, that instead of hell he is only in purgatory, where\nno doubt he has become thirsty, and by God's permission was allowed to\nreturn to earth, once only, no more, and there sing this lamentable\nsong which you heard in your garden. But I suppose that he was not\nallowed to cry his thirst in countries where wine is chiefly drunk,\nand that he came accordingly to Master Gans, knowing well enough that\nwith him he would find the best ale in all Brabant.\"\n\n\"True,\" said Gans, \"true, friend Cartuyvels, the best in the duchy;\nand he drank up, if you please, a whole barrelful, without paying me\nso much as the smallest gold piece, nor silver, nor even copper. That\nis not the conduct of an honest devil.\"\n\n\"Ah!\" said Cartuyvels, \"there you are in error, and do not perceive\nwhat is for your good and what for evil. But if you will take the\nadvice I am about to give you, you may find a way whereby you can make\nclear profit from this Bacchus, for he is, you must know, the god of\njolly drinkers and good innkeepers, and I am disposed to think that\nhe will do you a good turn.\"\n\n\"Well, then,\" asked Blaeskaek, \"what must we do now?\"\n\n\"I have heard that this devil loves warmth and sunlight. So take him\nout, first of all, from this dark cellar. Then put him in some place\nwhither the sun reaches, such as on top of the tall press which stands\nin the room where your customers sit and drink.\"\n\n\"Sweet Jesus!\" exclaimed Pieter Gans, \"this is idolatry.\"\n\n\"In no wise,\" said the apothecary. \"I mean only this; that, put up\nwhere I tell you, sniffing the good smell of stoups and flagons, and\nhearing jolly talk, he will grow altogether frolicsome and happy. So\nmay you bring Christian comfort to poor dead souls.\"\n\n\"But if,\" said Pieter Gans, \"the priests should get wind of this\nstatue, so shamelessly set up for all to see?\"\n\n\"They cannot find you guilty of sin, for innocence keeps nothing\nsecret. You will show this Bacchus openly to all your friends and\nrelatives, and say that you found him buried under the earth in a\ncorner of your garden. Thus you will make him seem an ancient relic, as\nindeed he is. Only take care to forget his name when you speak of him\nto any one, and, entitling him, as in jest, Master Merry-face, use this\nname for him always, and institute in his honour a jolly brotherhood.\"\n\n\"So we will,\" answered Pieter Gans and Blaeskaek together, and they\nthen departed, not without having given the apothecary two large\ncoins for his trouble.\n\nHe did his best, however, to keep them back, so that they might partake\nof some of his heavenly hotch-potch, but Pieter Gans turned him a deaf\near, saying to himself that it was devil's cooking, unwholesome for\na good Christian stomach. So they left him and set out again for Uccle.\n\n\n\n\nV. Of the long conversation and great perplexity of Pieter Gans and\nBlaeskaek in the matter of the deviling; and how they returned to\nUccle with a resolution taken.\n\nWhile they were on their way: \"Well, comrade,\" said Gans to Blaeskaek,\n\"what is thy opinion of this apothecary?\"\n\n\"A dog of a heretic!\" said Blaeskaek, \"a heathen, a despiser of all\ngood and all virtue. For 'twas treasonable and wicked counsel he\ngave us.\"\n\n\"True, my good friend, true. And is it not besides a great heresy\nto dare tell us that this deviling on his cask is he who invented\nbeer, wine, and ale, when we have heard it preached every Sunday in\nour church that St. Noah, under the instruction of Our Lord Jesus\nChrist\"--here both crossed themselves--\"invented these things.\"\n\n\"For my part,\" said Blaeskaek, \"I know I have heard that preached\nabove a hundred times.\"\n\nHere, seating themselves on the grass, they began to refresh themselves\nwith a fine Ghent sausage, brought by Pieter Gans against such time\nas they should feel hungry.\n\n\"There, there,\" said he, \"let us not forget the Benedicite, my\nfriend. So, perhaps, we may escape burning. For 'tis to God we owe\nthis meat: may he deign to keep us always in his holy faith.\"\n\n\"Amen,\" said Blaeskaek; \"but, my master, between us we must certainly\nbreak up this wicked statue.\"\n\n\"He who has no sheep fears no wolves. 'Tis easy enough for thee to\ntalk comfortably of breaking up this deviling.\"\n\n\"'Twould be a deed much to our credit.\"\n\n\"But if he come back again to wail each night so piteously:\n'Drink! Drink!' And if he turn angry with me and cast spells on my\nbeer and my wine, and make me as poor as Job! Nay, better follow the\nadvice of the apothecary.\"\n\n\"Aye, and if the priests learn of the statue, and call us both before\nthe tribunal, and have us burnt as heretics and idolaters, what then?\"\n\n\"Ah,\" said Gans, \"here are the good God on the one hand and the wicked\ndevil on the other, fighting over our poor bodies, and we shall be\npounded to nothing between them, alas, alas!\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Blaeskaek, \"let us go to the good fathers openly, and\ntell them the whole affair.\"\n\n\"Alas, alas! We shall be burnt, my good master, burnt without mercy.\"\n\n\"I believe there must be some way whereby to escape this danger.\"\n\n\"There is none, my friend, there is none, and we shall be burnt. I\nfeel myself already half roast.\"\n\n\"I have thought of a way,\" said Blaeskaek.\n\n\"There is none, my friend, there is no way whatever, unless it be\nthe clemency of the worthy fathers. Canst see no pilgrim or wandering\nfriar on the road?\"\n\n\"None.\"\n\n\"If we see such a one we must give him all our sausage--have we said\nour grace for it?--and all the bread in our wallet, and humbly invite\nhim into our house, to eat a quarter of roast lamb, well washed down\nwith old wine. I have not much of that kind, but I will gladly give\nhim all there is of it. Canst not see such a one coming?\"\n\n\"No one,\" said Blaeskaek. \"But open those rabbit's ears of thine\nand hark to me: I will give thee good counsel, for I wish thee well,\nblubberer. We must follow the apothecary's advice in half-and-half\nfashion, so much only, you understand. 'Twould be idolatry of the\nmost shameless kind to put up this statue in the public hall.\"\n\n\"Alas, alas, by all the devils! yes, you are right.\"\n\n\"Very well, then we will put him in a cupboard, which shall be well\nfastened, but with an opening on the top to let in the air. Therein\nwe will also put a small keg of good beer, and ask him not to use\nit up too fast. In this way he will be, in fact, within the hall of\nthe inn, and he will keep himself well hid for certain, for in his\ncupboard he will be able to take what pleasure he may from the songs\nof the drinkers, rattling of mugs, and clinking of bottles.\"\n\n\"No,\" said Gans to that, \"no, we must follow wholly the apothecary's\nadvice, for he knows more about devils than we. As for this deviling,\nwe will do our best to satisfy him, according to our means. But in\nspite of it all, I fear we shall one day be burnt, alas, alas!\"\n\n\n\n\nVI. Wherein it is seen that the devil is not a good one; and of the\nevil trick which he played on the good wives of the drinkers.\n\nAs soon as they reached The Horn, the two worthies took out from the\ncellar the statue of the deviling and put it with great respect on\ntop of a press which stood in the hall.\n\nOn the morrow there came to this inn nearly all the men of Uccle,\nbrought together in this wise because on that day had been sold\npublicly in their stables two horses well bred by the late sheriff,\nJacob Naeltjens. His son was in no mind to keep them, saying that a\nman's best steeds were his slipper-shoes.\n\nThe men of Uccle were surprised and delighted when they saw the statue\nof the youngster on the press, especially when Blaeskaek told them\nthat his name was Master Merry-face, and that it was proposed, by\nway of jest, to establish forthwith in his honour a jolly brotherhood.\n\nThey were all willing to do this, and thereupon decided between\nthem that no one should be of their brotherhood until he had drunk,\nas his baptism, four-and-twenty monstrous great cups of wine, while\nanother brother beat twelve strokes on the plumpest belly of the\ncompany there present.\n\nEach night thereafter they gathered together at The Horn, and drank\ndeep enough, as you may well guess.\n\nThe most wonderful thing about the business was that in spite of this\nthey worked all day like stout fellows, some at their crafts, some at\ntheir trades, others in the fields, contented one and all. But their\ngood wives were not by any means contented, for as soon as vespers\nsounded all their husbands and sweethearts went off to The Horn,\nwithout giving them so much as a single thought, and there stayed\nuntil curfew.\n\nAnd when these worthies went home they did not beat their wives,\nas some drinkers do, but lay down quietly beside them in bed, and\nimmediately, without saying a word, fell fast asleep and began to sound\nsuch fanfares with their noses as Master Porker makes with his snout.\n\nThen the poor women might thump them, cuff them, call their names as\nthey would, to get them to sing their bedfellows a different sort of\nsong, but all quite in vain: as well beat water to get fire out of it.\n\nThey awoke only with cock-crow, but their temper in the morning was\nso rough and stormy that none of their womenfolk (that is to say,\nof such as were not asleep from weariness) dared say a word, either\nthen or at the dinner-hour. All this was brought about by the evil\npower and influence of the deviling.\n\nOn that account there was much sadness among the women, who said,\nall of them, that if such a state of things went on for long the race\nof the people of Uccle must needs become extinct, which would be a\ngreat pity.\n\n\n\n\nVII. Of the Great Parliament of the Women of Uccle.\n\nSo it came about that the women decided between themselves to save the\nvillage from this fate, and to this end, while their menfolk were at\ndrink with Pieter Gans, they met together at the house of a certain\ndame Syske, who was big, fat, loud-speaking, had hair upon her chin,\nand had buried five husbands, or else seven, I dare not particularize\nthe number for fear of untruth.\n\nThere, as a rebuke to their drunken husbands, they quenched their\nthirst with clear water.\n\nWhen all were present, the younger ones assembled on this side and\nthe older on that, the ugly ones among the older, dame Syske opened\nthe talk by saying that they must all go forthwith to The Horn, and\nthere give these drinkers such a drubbing that they would be stiff\nand sore for a week because of it.\n\nThe old and ugly ones applauded this proposal with their hands,\ntheir feet, their mouths, and their noses. There was a fine noise,\nyou may well believe.\n\nBut the young and pretty ones kept silent as fishes, all save one,\nvery pretty, very fresh and very neat, bearing the name of Wantje,\nwho said very modestly, and blushing somewhat, that it was of no use\nto belabour their worthy men in this fashion, but rather they must\nbring them back to good ways by gentleness and laughter.\n\nTo this the dame Syske replied: \"Little one, thou canst understand\nnothing of men, for thou art but a maid, or so I believe. For my part\nI know well enough how I managed my several husbands, and that was\nneither by gentleness nor by laughter, I promise thee. They are all\ndead, the worthy men (may God rest their souls!), but I remember them\nclearly, and know very well that at the least wrongdoing I made them\ndance the stick-dance on the field of obedience. None dared eat or\ndrink, sneeze or yawn, unless I had first given him leave. Little Job\nSyske, my last, did my cooking for me in my own house. He made a good\ncook, poor little man. But I had to give him many good beatings to\nbring him to that, and so it was with the others as well. Therefore,\nlittle one, give up all these laughters and gentlenesses of thine,\nthey are not worth much, I can tell thee. Let us rather go forthwith\nand cut ourselves good staves of greenwood, easy enough to find now\nthat it is spring-time, and going off to The Horn let us make fall\na good shower of blows on these unfaithful husbands.\"\n\nAt this the old and ugly ones broke out afresh into monstrous howls\nand tumult, crying, \"Out upon them! out on the drunkards! They want\na good drubbing, they want a good hanging!\"\n\n\n\n\nVIII. Of the great wit which every woman has, and of the modest\nconversation which the maid Wantje held with the worthies at the inn.\n\nOn the morrow all these good women met together once again, and drank\nas before a great quantity of clear water; and afterwards went off,\narmed with sticks, to the place where they knew their men were to\nbe found.\n\nBefore the door of The Horn they stopped, and there a great council\ntook place. The old ones wanted to go in with their sticks.\n\n\"No,\" said Wantje, with the young and pretty ones, \"we would rather\nbe beaten ourselves.\"\n\n\"Hark to these sillies!\" cried the old ones, \"these poor silly\nthings. They have not an ounce of pride in their bodies, between\nthe lot of them. Be guided by us, gentle ewekins: we will avenge the\ndignity of women for you upon these wretched drunkards.\"\n\n\"That you shall not,\" said the young ones, \"as long as we are there.\"\n\n\"That we shall,\" howled the old ones.\n\nBut here a certain young and merry wife burst out laughing.\n\n\"See ye not,\" said she, \"whence comes to these grannies so great a\nrage and such a thirst for vengeance? 'Tis simple bragging, to make\nus believe that their old croakers of husbands still care to sing\nthem songs.\"\n\nAt these words the old hags were thrown into such a state of fury\nthat one or two died of rage there and then. Others, having quite\nlost their heads, wanted to kill the maids and young wives who were\nlaughing at them (and 'twas pretty music, all those fresh and merry\nvoices), but the dame Syske stopped them from that, saying that for\nthe present they must take counsel together and not kill one another.\n\nContinuing their discussion, they quarrelled, argued, chattered,\njabbered in this and like fashion until curfew-time, when they\nseparated without having made up their minds to anything, by reason\nof not having had time enough to talk it over.\n\nAnd there were spoken in this assembly of women more than 877,849,002\nwords, each one as full of good sense as a cellarful of old wine.\n\nPieter Gans, who, as they said, had rabbit's ears, hearing in\nthe street a certain hum of chattering voices, cried out: \"Alas,\nalas! what is this now? Devils for a certainty, dear Jesus!\"\n\n\"I will go and see, little coward,\" answered Blaeskaek. But on\nopening the door he burst out laughing all at once, saying: \"Brothers,\n'tis our wives.\"\n\nThereupon all the drinkers rose and went to the door; some with bottles\nin their hands, others brandishing flagons, others again clinking\ntheir mugs together like church bells. Blaeskaek went out of the room,\ncrossed the threshold of the outer door, and stepped into the street.\n\n\"Well, wives,\" said he, \"what brings you here with all this greenwood?\"\n\nAt these words the young ones let fall their sticks to the ground,\nfor they were ashamed to be caught with such weapons.\n\nBut one old woman, brandishing hers in the air, answered for the\nothers: \"We come, drunkards, to tell you the tale of the stick,\nand give you a good thrashing.\"\n\n\"Woe, woe!\" wept Pieter Gans, \"that, I know, is my grandmother's\nvoice.\"\n\n\"So it is, scoundrel,\" said the old woman.\n\nMeanwhile the Brothers of the Cheerful Countenance, hearing all\nthis, shook their sides merrily with laughing, and Blaeskaek said:\n\"Then come in, come in, good wives, and let us see how you do your\ndrubbing. Are those good greenwood staves you have brought?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said they.\n\n\"I am glad of that. For our part we have ready for you some good\nrods, well pickled in vinegar, which we use for whipping disobedient\nboys. 'Twill doubtless give you all sweet pleasure to feel their\ncaresses, and so recall the days of your youth. Will you be pleased\nto try them? We will give you plenty.\"\n\nBut at these scoffing words the old women took fright and ran off as\nfast as their legs would carry them, more particularly mother Syske,\nmaking such terrible threats and noises as they went that they sounded\nto those jolly Brothers like a flight of screeching crows passing\ndown the deserted streets.\n\nThe young ones stayed before the door of the inn, and 'twas affecting\nto see them so humbly standing, gentle and submissive, waiting for\nsome kindly word from their husbands or sweethearts.\n\n\"Well,\" said Blaeskaek, \"do you please to come in?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said they all.\n\n\"Keep them out,\" said Pieter Gans into Blaeskaek's ear, \"keep them\nout, or they will go chattering to the priests about the deviling,\nand we shall be burnt, my good friend.\"\n\n\"I am deaf,\" said Blaeskaek; \"come in, my dears.\"\n\nThereupon entered all these good women, and took up their places,\nsome by their husbands, others by their sweethearts, and the maids\nin a line on a bench modestly.\n\n\"Women,\" said the drinkers, \"you wish to join us?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said they.\n\n\"And to drink also?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said they.\n\n\"And have not come here to tell us temperance stories?\"\n\n\"Nay,\" said they, \"we have come without any other wish than to join\nour good husbands and sweethearts, and laugh with them, if that may\nbe, with God's good will.\"\n\n\"Those are certainly fair words,\" said one old man, \"but I suspect\nbeneath them some woman's artifice or other.\"\n\nBut no one paid him any heed, for by this time the women were seated\nall about the table, and you might hear this: \"Drink this, pretty\nsweet, 'tis a draught from heaven.\" \"Pour, neighbour, pour, pour out\nsome more of this sweet drink.\" \"Who is a better man than I? I am the\nDuke; I have good wine and good wife!\" \"Ho, there! broach a fresh cask\nof wine; we must have the best there is to-day to pleasure these good\ndames.\" \"Courage! I have drunk too much; I am going to conquer the\nmoon. But wait a little first. For the present I stay by this good\nwife of mine. Kiss me, sweet.\"\n\n\"This is not the place, before all these people,\" the women would\nanswer. And with many caresses and pretty ways each said to her man:\n\"Come away home.\"\n\nThey would indeed have been glad enough to go, all those good\ndrinkers, but did not dare do it, being shamefaced in this matter in\none another's presence.\n\nGuessing as much, the women talked of going back.\n\n\"There, there!\" said the old man, \"is not that what I said. They want\nto have us outside.\"\n\n\"Nay, my masters,\" said Wantje very sweetly, \"but I pray you remember\nthat we are not accustomed to such strong drinks, nor even to their\nsmell. Therefore, master, if we feel the need to go out into the\nfresh air 'tis assuredly without wanting to anger or sadden you in\nany way whatsoever. May God keep you merry, brothers.\"\n\nAnd thereupon the good women went off, though the men tried to keep\nthem back by force.\n\n\n\n\nIX. Wherein it is seen that the learned Thomas a Klapperibus knew\nwhat makes a drinker fidget on his stool.\n\nLeft thus to their pots and tankards they turned to one another\nin wonder, saying: \"Ah, look ye at these dames! Does it not always\nfall out in this wise; that they would have us do whatever they bid,\nand that with humility! Submissive they seem, tyrants they are. But\nlook ye, is it to male or female that belongs properly the right of\ncommand in all matters? To the male. We are the males. Very well,\nthen, let us drink! And we will at all times carry out our own wishes,\nwhich will presently be to sleep here in this inn, if we please.\"\n\nAfter this fashion they talked together for some time, feigning great\nanger, but being, in fact, eager enough to go and join their wives. By\nand by they fell silent, and so remained for a while, some yawning,\nothers drumming tunes on the floor with their boots, others again, and\nthese many, fidgeting on their seats, as if they were on sharp thorns.\n\nSuddenly a young townsman, but lately married, got up and left the\nhall, saying that by the advice of a leech he was forbidden to drink\nmore than six-and-twenty mugs of ale, which number he had already\ntaken.\n\nAfter he had gone they all began to excuse themselves, one with a pain\nin his stomach, another with a headache, others with a melancholy\nfeeling or with the phlegm, and made off to their homes, excepting\nonly one or two among the older men.\n\nAnd when they were once outside they hurried with all speed to join\ntheir wives. Thus was borne out what was written by the learned Thomas\na Klapperibus in his great work De Amore, c. vi, wherein it is said,\nthat woman has more power than the devil.\n\n\n\n\nX. Of the brigand called Irontooth.\n\nBut this thing never happened but once; for on the morrow when the\ndrinkers were carousing at The Horn the good women who came thither\nto entice them away a second time were driven off in a shameful manner.\n\nAnd as for the men, they continued to drink and to shout hilarious\ncarols.\n\nSeveral times the night-watchman of the town came in to warn them\nagainst making so much noise after the sun was set. Ha, they listened\nto him with all respect, and seemed quite abashed and repentant at\ntheir fault; each one said his mea culpa; and in the meantime they gave\nthe poor watchman so abundantly to drink that when he got outside he\nwent off straight away to do his round leaning against some wall, and\nthere snoring like a bass-viol. The others continued their drinking\nbouts and heavy slumbering, whereof the unhappy wives never ceased\nto complain. And so on, in this fashion, for a month and four days.\n\nNow by great misfortune the good Duke had lately been at war with\nmy Lord of Flanders, and although peace had been made between them\nthere remained afoot a band of lewd and ribald scoundrels, who went\nabout ravishing all the countryside and robbing the townsfolk.\n\nThis same band was commanded by a savage captain, to whom was given\nthe name of Irontooth, because on the top of his casque he wore a\nsingle spike, sharp and cruel, like the tooth of some devil or of\none of the unicorns of hell, cut out into fantastic shape. In battle\nhe would sometimes put down his head and use this tooth as a wild\nboar uses his tusks. In this manner were slain many brave soldiers\nof the duchy of Brabant. On this same casque he carried also an evil\nbird whose wings beat against the steel, whereof it was said that it\nscreeched in battle in a terrible fashion.\n\nIt was Irontooth's custom to come at night to the villages on which he\nwas minded to carry out his forays, butchering without mercy the poor\ntownsfolk in their sleep, and carrying off jewels, plate, women, and\nmaids, but of these last only the young ones. As for the old women,\nhe left them their lives, saying that it was not worth the while of\nkilling them, for they would certainly die of fright by themselves.\n\n\n\n\nXI. In which it is seen how bravely the good wives of Uccle did the\nduty of men.\n\nIt came about that one night when only a few stars were showing,\nand the moon shining a little, there came to Uccle a certain Master\nAndre Bredael, running as hard as he could and quite out of breath.\n\nHe brought this news: that being by chance behind a bush on the road\nto Paris, he had seen a troop of men go past, whom he thought to be\nthe Irontooth's, for he had seen among them a spiked casque like that\nwhich the great brigand was wont to wear.\n\nWhile these men were halted by the roadside, and munching some food,\nhe overheard them say that they were bound that night for Uccle,\nwhere they hoped to get good sport and fair plunder, but they said\nalso that they must leave the high road and travel by small lanes,\nso that their passage should not be discovered. Master Bredael thought\nit most likely that they would debouch behind the church.\n\nHaving learned so much he had hurried to Uccle by the Paris road,\noutdistancing the brigands by a good half-league, so that he might\nwarn the townsmen to arms, and prepare a strong reception for these\nunwelcome travellers.\n\nAnd arriving there he hastened to the door of the prefecture and\nknocked loudly, so that the warning bell might be set ringing at once;\nbut none came to open to him, for the good reason that the custodian,\nbeing one of the Brothers of the Cheerful Countenance, was fast asleep,\nlike all the other drinkers. Andre Bredael then sought other means of\nalarum, and shouted out so loudly: \"Fire! fire! Brand! brand!\" that all\nthe women and old men, and children who were too young to drink, leapt\nout of bed and ran to their windows to see what was going forward.\n\nAndre Bredael made himself known to them and begged them to come\ndown into the square, which they did with all dispatch. When they\nwere all gathered round him he told them of the coming of Irontooth,\nand bade them go and wake their husbands.\n\nAt these words the older women began to shout as if mad: \"Welcome to\nIrontooth, God's tooth in good deed, come to rip them all open! Ha,\ndrinkers! now we shall see you, as a punishment from heaven, either\nhanged short or burnt alive or drowned without respite; and 'tis no\nmore than your sins deserve!\" Then, as if they had wings to their\nfeet, they flew into their houses, and there Master Bredael, who\nstayed with the younger women in the square, heard the enraged old\nhags shouting, whining, weeping, vociferating, thumping on chests\nand frying-pans, in an attempt to awaken their good men. At the same\ntime they cried in their ears: \"Scoundrels, wake up! Sweet friends,\ncome and protect us! Drunkards, do your duty for once in your accursed\nlives! Dear fellows, do you wish to find us dead by morning? Bear us\nno malice for our talk of thrashing you. We were foolish just then,\nand too hasty; ye were wise. But save us in this pass!\" And so on,\nmixing together smooth and bitter words, like milk and vinegar.\n\nBut none of the men stirred.\n\n\"What is this?\" said Master Bredael.\n\n\"Alas, master,\" said the young women, \"'tis as you see; they are as\ngood as dead the night through, and so has it been a while past. If\nthe angel of God himself were to come he would scarce be able to\nrouse them. Ah, must it be that after having left us lonely so long\nthese wicked husbands will now leave us to die!\"\n\n\"Do not weep,\" said Andre Bredael, \"this is no time for that. Do you\nlove these husbands of yours?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said they.\n\n\"And your sons?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said they.\n\n\"And your little daughters, so sweet and winsome?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said they.\n\n\"And you are ready to defend them as best you can?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said they.\n\n\"Well, then,\" said Bredael, \"go and fetch your men's bows and come\nback here with them as quickly as you can. We will think of some way\nto defend ourselves.\"\n\nSoon enough the women were back again, armed with bows which they\nhad taken from their husbands, brothers, or sweethearts. These bows\nof Uccle were of great renown throughout the land, for they were as\nstrong as steel, and winged their arrows with very great speed.\n\nWith them came certain boys of twelve years old, or not much more,\nand one or two brave old men, but the women sent them back again\nindoors, saying that they must stay behind and look to the village.\n\nThe good womenfolk then collected in a bunch in the square, talking\nwith great ardour and courage, but not too much bragging withal. Every\none was clad in a white gown, jacket, or shift, as is the customary\nnight apparel of women. But on this occasion it was by the special\nfavour of God that they were so clad, as you shall see by and by.\n\nWantje, who was one of their number, standing very bold and calm,\nsaid suddenly that they must pray. Thereupon they all knelt devoutly,\nand the maid spoke thus:\n\n\"Madam Mary the Virgin, who art queen of heaven as Madam the Duchess\nis queen of this country, give an ear to these poor wives and maids,\nhumbly kneeling before you, who by reason of the drunkenness of their\nhusbands and brothers must needs take on themselves men's duty and\narm themselves to fight. If you will but make a small prayer to My\nLord Jesus to give us his aid we shall be sure enough of victory. And\nwe will give you as thanksgiving a fair crown of gold, with rubies,\nturquoises and diamonds in its rim, a fair golden chain, a fair robe\nof brocade spangled over with silver, and the same to My Lord your\nson. Therefore pray for us, Madam Mary.\"\n\nAnd all the other good maids and wives said after Wantje: \"Pray for\nus, Madam Mary.\"\n\nSuddenly, as they were rising from their knees, they saw a beautiful\nbright star shoot from heaven to earth, not far from where they\nwere. This was, no doubt, an angel from the good God, who came down\nfrom Paradise in this guise, to stand beside them and help them the\nmore surely.\n\nSeeing the sign the good women took heart of grace, and Wantje spoke\nfurther, saying:\n\n\"Madam the Virgin hearkens to us, 'tis certain. Let us now proceed\nto the gate of the village, beside the church of Our Lord, who dwells\ntherein\"--here all crossed themselves--\"to await with confidence the\ncoming of the Irontooth and his men. And when we see them near at\nhand let every woman draw her bow, without speaking, nor moving in\nany way. Madam the Virgin will guide the arrows.\"\n\n\"Well spoken, brave maid,\" said Master Bredael. \"Come, I see in those\neyes of thine, so bright in the darkness, the breath of God, which is a\nflame, alight in thy maid's heart. We must do as she says, good wives.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes,\" said they.\n\nThis woman's army took up its place in line in the alley behind\nthe church.\n\nAfter a while of waiting, wherein was much perplexity and anxiety,\nthey heard the sound of footfalls and voices, growing louder as they\nlistened, as of men on the march.\n\nAnd Wantje said: \"Madam Mary, they are coming; have pity on us!\"\n\nThen a large body of men appeared before them, carrying lanterns. And\nthey heard a monstrous, husky, devil's voice crying: \"Out, friends,\nout upon them! Loot for the Irontooth!\"\n\nBut here suddenly all these good women let fly their arrows with\ngreat precision, for though they themselves remained in darkness they\ncould see the brigands, all lit up by their lanterns, as clearly as\nin daylight. Two hundred of the men fell at the first volley, some\nwith arrows in their skulls, others in their necks, and several with\nthem in their bellies.\n\nThe Irontooth himself was among the first that the good women heard\nfall with a great thud, from an arrow let fly by Wantje, which pierced\nhim through the eyeball neatly.\n\nSome were not wounded at all, but, having troubled conscience, thought\nwhen they saw all these white figures that 'twas the souls of those\nwhom they had made pass from life into death, come back by God's\ngrace to avenge themselves upon them. So they fell on their faces in\nthe dust, as if dead from fear, crying out in a most piteous manner:\n\"Mercy, Lord God! send back to hell all these ghosts, we pray you.\"\n\nBut when they saw the good wives bearing down on them fear put strength\ninto their legs, and they made off as fast as they would carry them.\n\n\n\n\nXII. Wherein Pieter Gans is nearer the stake than the wine-barrel.\n\nWhen the enemy had been so far discomfited the women came back into\nthe square and stood before the prefecture, not feeling any glory,\nbut rather sadness at having had to shed Christian blood in this\nmanner. Ah, they returned thanks with a full heart to Our Lady the\nVirgin and Our Lord Jesus, who had given them the victory.\n\nNor did they forget in their thanksgiving the good angel who had come\nto their assistance in the form of a bright star. And they sang fair\nhymns and litanies very sweetly.\n\nMeanwhile all the cocks in the countryside awoke one by one and\nheralded with their clarions the new day about to dawn.\n\nAnd at that call, all the drinkers were roused from sleep, and ran\nto their doors to find out whence came this sweet music.\n\nAnd my lord the Sun laughed in the sky.\n\nAnd the worthy men came out into the square, and some of them, when\nthey saw their wives in the assembly, were all for beating them\nbecause they had left their beds; but Andre Bredael interposed and\ntold them the whole story. Thereupon they were all amazed, ashamed,\nand repentant, seeing how well these brave petticoats had striven on\ntheir behalf. Pieter Gans, Blaeskaek, and Father Claessens, Dean of\nUccle, a most saintly man, also came out into the square.\n\nThereupon, seeing all this crowd assembled, Master Bredael spoke thus:\n\n\"Friends,\" said he, \"you hear how that 'tis through the valour of\nyour wives and daughters alone that you are not by this time sniffing\nthe air of heaven. Therefore 'tis seemly that here and now you should\npromise, and take oath to it, not to drink any more except by their\nwish.\"\n\n\"That is all very well, Master Bredael,\" said one of the townsmen,\n\"but 'tis not plain drinking that puts us all into so deep a sleep. I\nspeak of these things with knowledge, I who have drunk wine freely\nall my life, and hope still so to do with relish to the end of my\ndays. There is something else to it, devilry and evil spells, or so I\nthink. Come hither, Pieter Gans, come hither and talk to us somewhat,\nand if thou know anything, bring light to this dark matter.\"\n\n\"Alas, alas!\" said Pieter Gans, his head wagging and his teeth\nchattering (for he was afraid, poor fellow), \"alas, alas! I know\nnothing, my good friends.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" said the man, \"but thou dost know something of it, for I see\nthy head shaking and thy teeth chattering.\"\n\nBut at this point the Dean confronted Gans:\n\n\"Wicked Christian,\" said he, \"I can see well enough thou hast had\ncommerce with the devil, to the great despite of all these good\nmen. Confess thy sin with all humility, and we will accord thee such\ngrace as may be, but if thou deny it, thou shalt be punished with\nhot oil.\"\n\n\"Ah,\" said Pieter Gans in tears, \"'tis as I said; I shall be burnt,\ndear God! Blaeskaek, where art thou, my good friend? Give me thy\nhelp. Alas, alas!\"\n\nBut Blaeskaek had gone off in a hurry from fear of the holy Fathers.\n\n\"Ah,\" said Pieter Gans, \"see how the traitor deserts me when danger\nthreatens!\"\n\n\"Speak,\" said the very reverend Father.\n\n\"Yes, Master Dean,\" said Pieter Gans, weeping and wailing, \"I will tell\nyou the whole story, without keeping back anything.... Master!\" he\ncried when he had come to the end of his recital, \"if you will not\npunish me too heavily, Master, I will give all my poor savings as a\nperpetual gift to the Church. I am a true Christian, that I vow, and\nno heretic. Moreover, I wish not to die until I have had sufficient\ntime to do long and full penance. But have me not boiled in oil before\nI have had that time, I beg of you.\"\n\n\"As to that,\" answered the Dean, \"we shall see. Now take us to the\nplace where this devil is to be seen.\"\n\nBy that time they were close to the church, and the priest went in to\nget therefrom some holy water before they started. Then all the men,\nwomen, and children of the village took their way to The Horn.\n\nThere the Dean demanded to see what had been the cause of those wicked\nspells which had been cast over so many worthy men, and Pieter Gans,\nwith all humility, showed him the deviling, still smiling and holding\nhis staff of vine-branches in his hand. And all the women, after\nlooking at him for some time, said that he was very comely for a devil.\n\nThe priest first crossed himself, then, dipping his fingers in the\nholy water, anointed therewith the brow, breast, and belly of the\nstatue, which thereupon, by the grace of God, crumbled into dust,\nand a sorrowful voice was heard saying: \"Oi moi, o phos, tethneka!\"\n\nAnd these words of the devil were explained by the priest to signify,\nin the Greek tongue: \"Woe is me! Light! I die!\"\n\n\n\n\nXIII. Of the great wonder and astonishment of My Lord the Duke when\nhe heard of the valour of the women of Uccle.\n\nIn the meantime the village sent to the Duke two trusty men, with a\nmessage to that high prince informing him in due order all that had\noccurred. These men met him already on his way to Uccle, for he had\nlearnt by his runners the Irontooth's design, and knowing full well\nwhere he would find him was coming against him at all speed with a\nstrong force of horsemen.\n\nAs soon as the messengers saw who it was coming along the road they\nwent down on their knees, but the good Duke would have none of this,\nand made them rise and walk at his stirrup.\n\nBefore they had gone far they reached the scene of the brigands'\ndiscomfiture. At the sight of all those heaped-up bodies the Duke\nhalted, greatly astonished and no less pleased. \"And who,\" quoth he,\n\"has slain all these scoundrels in this wise?\"\n\n\"Our womenfolk,\" said one of the messengers.\n\n\"What is this thou'rt telling me?\" said the Duke with a frown.\n\n\"Before God, My Lord,\" said the man, \"I will tell you the whole story.\"\n\nAnd so he did.\n\n\"Well,\" said the Duke when he had done, \"who would have thought it\nof these good wives? I will reward them well for it.\"\n\nSo saying he caused the casque of the Irontooth to be taken up and\ncarried away. This casque was to be seen for many years in the armoury\nof My Lord Charles, who had it guarded with the utmost care.\n\n\n\n\nXIV. In what manner was instituted the Order of the Women-Archers\nof Uccle and of the fine reward which My Lord gave to the brave\nmaid Wantje.\n\nOn entering Uccle the good Duke saw coming towards him a large body of\npeople, and in their midst a man crying out in a most piteous voice:\n\"Master! Master Priest! let me not be boiled!\" To which the answer was:\n\"We shall see.\"\n\n\"Whence comes all this noise?\" said the Duke.\n\nBut as soon as Pieter Gans saw who it was he ran towards him and threw\nhis arms round his horse's legs. \"My Lord,\" he cried, \"My Lord Duke,\nlet me not be boiled!\"\n\n\"And why,\" said the Duke, \"should they boil one of my good men\nof Uccle?\"\n\nBut the very reverend Father Claessens, stepping forward, told him\nthe whole story with great indignation, while Pieter Gans continued to\nblubber alongside in a most melancholy fashion. And thereon followed\nsuch confusion, with the one weeping and groaning, the other denouncing\nand syllogizing, and each so vehemently, that the good Duke could\nnot tell which to listen to.\n\nSuddenly Wantje came forward out of the press, and, like Pieter Gans,\ncried: \"Mercy and pity!\"\n\n\"My Lord,\" said the maid, \"this man has sinned greatly against God,\nbut only from simpleness of mind and a natural cowardice. The devil\nfrightened him; he submitted to the devil. Pardon him, My Lord,\nfor our sakes.\"\n\n\"Maid,\" said the Duke, \"that was well spoken, and 'tis to thee I\nwill hearken.\"\n\nBut the very reverend Father: \"My Lord,\" said he, \"forgets to think\nof God.\"\n\n\"Father,\" said the Duke, \"I am not forgetful of that duty. Nevertheless\nI think he takes little pleasure in watching Christian fat smoke or\na good man's flesh boil, but likes rather to see men gentle and kind,\nand not giving their fellows penance to do. And on this day when Our\nLady the Virgin has deigned to perform a miracle for our sakes I will\nnot sadden her mother's heart by the death of a Christian. Therefore\nnone of the accused, neither this Pieter Gans nor any other there\nmay be, shall this time go to the stake.\"\n\nOn hearing this Pieter Gans burst out laughing like a madman, and\nbegan to dance and sing, crying out the while: \"Praise to My Lord! I\nam not to be boiled. Brabant to the Good Duke!\" And all the townsfolk\ncalled out after him: \"Praise to My Lord!\"\n\nThen the Duke bade them be silent, and smiling:\n\n\"Well, dames,\" said he, \"who have this night done man's work so\nvaliantly, come hither that I may give you a man's reward. First\nof all, to the bravest one among you I give this great chain of\ngold. Which is she?\"\n\nThe good women pushed Wantje forward before the Duke.\n\n\"Ah,\" said he, \"'tis thee, sweet pleader. Wilt kiss me, though I\nbe old?\"\n\n\"Yes, My Lord,\" said the maid. And so she did, notwithstanding that\nshe was a little shamefaced over it.\n\nAnd the good Duke, having hung the chain round her neck, spoke further\nin this wise:\n\n\"As for you all, good dames, who have this night so gallantly carried\narms, I institute among you a most honourable Order, under the\nprotection of Madam Mary the Virgin, and I direct that there shall be\nset up in this place a staff of a good length, and that each Sunday\nyou shall come together here and draw the bow in archery, in memory of\nthe time when with those bows you saved the lives of your husbands and\nchildren. And there shall be a fair crown of laurel and a fair purseful\nof golden peters, bright and new, to be awarded annually to the best\narcher of the year, and brought to her on a cushion by all the others\ntogether. And this purse will dower her if she be a maid, or, if she\nbe a wife, will stand her in good stead against a time of famine.\"\n\nIn this manner was instituted the Order of Women-Archers of Uccle,\nwho still draw the bow like men every Sunday, under the protection\nof Our Lady the Virgin.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE THREE SISTERS\n\n\nI. Of the three noble ladies and their great beauty.\n\nIn the year of Our Lord Jesus Christ 690, lived three maidens,\ndescended, by male issue, from the noble line of the great emperor\nOctavian.\n\nTheir names were Blanche, Claire, and Candide.\n\nThough they had dedicated the flower of their maidenhead to God,\nit is not to be supposed that this was for lack of lovers.\n\nFor, on every day that passed, a crowd of people used to collect\nfor nothing else than to see them go by on their way to church,\nand onlookers would say of them: \"See what gentle eyes, see what\nwhite hands!\"\n\nMore than one, besides, with his mouth watering to look at them,\nwould say sorrowfully: \"Must it be that such sweet maids as these\nshould dedicate themselves to God, who has eleven thousand or more\nin his Paradise already.\"\n\n\"But none so fair,\" answered an old wheezing merchant behind them,\nwho was drinking in the fragrance of their dresses.\n\nAnd going off on his way, if the old man saw any young fellow loafing\nby the roadside, or lying on his belly in the grass to warm his back\nin the sun, he would give him a kick in the ribs, saying: \"Well now,\ndost thou care nothing to see the finest flowers of beauty that were\never blowing?\"\n\n\n\n\nII. How a prince of Araby was taken with love for the youngest sister,\nand what came of it.\n\nNot a few young men tried to win them in marriage, but failing in\nthis endeavour, turned moody and pined visibly away.\n\nAmong them was a certain prince of Araby, who had himself baptized with\ngreat ceremony. And this for the sake of the youngest sister solely.\n\nBut, failing to attain his end, either by pleading or by force, set\nhimself one morning before her door, and there let himself fall on\nhis sword.\n\nThe maid, hearing this fair lord cry out, came down in haste and had\nhim carried in and laid on her own bed; whereat (for he was not quite\ndead) he found great solace.\n\nAnd when she bent over him to bathe and dress his wound, he roused\nwhat force he had left in him, kissed her on her red mouth, sighed\nlike a man delivered from torment, and so gave up his soul happily.\n\nBut the maid was not at all pleased at this kiss, for she considered\nit a dishonour to her divine husband Jesus. Nevertheless she wept\nfor the fair lord, a little.\n\n\n\n\nIII. Wherein it is seen how Satan persecutes those ladies who seek\nto escape from the world.\n\nThere were oftentimes a great crowd of suitors before the dwelling\nof the three ladies, some of them sighing laments, others prancing\nup and down on fine horses, others without uttering a word, but only\nlooking up at the windows all the day long.\n\nAnd oftentimes these men would fight together and kill one another,\nfrom jealousy. At this the ladies were saddened exceedingly.\n\n\"Ah,\" said the two elder to their sister, \"pray for us, white Blanche,\nwhite of soul and white of body, pray for us, little one. Jesus\nlistens readily to the prayers of such maids as thou art.\"\n\n\"My sisters,\" answered she, \"I am less worthy than you, but I will\npray, if you so wish it.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said they.\n\nThen the three sisters knelt down, and the youngest prayed in this\nmanner:\n\n\"Kind Jesus, we have sinned against you assuredly, else you would not\nhave let our beauty so touch these wicked men. Yes, we have indeed\nsinned, but, weaklings that we are, despite ourselves, Lord. Ah,\ngrant us pardon for our great sorrow. You would have us for your own,\nand so indeed we have kept ourselves: our youth and beauty, mirth\nand sadness, vows and prayers, souls and bodies, thoughts and deeds,\neverything. In the morning, at noon, and at vesper-time, at all hours\nand all moments, do we not have you in our minds? When your bright\nsun rises, O beloved, and no less when your bright stars shine in\nyour heaven, they can see us at prayer, and offering to you, not gold,\nfrankincense, or myrrh, but our humble loves and our poor hearts. That\nis not enough, we know well. Dear one, teach us to do more.\"\n\nPausing here they sighed sorrowfully, all three.\n\n\"Kind Jesus,\" went on the youngest sister, \"we know well enough\nthe desire of these men. They think themselves brave and handsome,\nand hope on this account to capture our love, but they are neither\nhandsome, nor brave, nor good, as you are, Jesus. And yours we are\nand shall be always, and theirs never. Will you please to love us\nalso a little, for you alone are our comfort and joy in this sad\nworld, Jesus? We will not be unfaithful to you in anything. Ah,\nlet us rather die quickly, for we hunger and thirst for you. If you\nwill, let these evil men continue to pursue us with their loves,\n'twill be but delight to suffer it for your sake. Nevertheless,\nthe mortal husband leaves not his wife in danger, nor the betrothed\nhis bride. Are you not better than they, and will you not keep us\nalso from the snares of the enemy? If it be not pleasing to you, do\nnothing, but then it may be that one day some one will steal from us\nour virginity, which is yours only. Ah, dear beloved, rather let us\npass our lives old, ugly, leprous, and then descend into purgatory,\namong devils, flame, and brimstone, there to wait until you deem us\npure enough at length to take us into your Paradise, where we shall\nbe allowed to see you and love you for ever. Have pity upon us. Amen.\"\n\nAnd having spoken thus, the poor child wept, and her sisters with her,\nsaying: \"Pity, Jesus, pity.\"\n\n\n\n\nIV. Of the voice of the divine bridegroom, and of the horseman in\nsilvern armour.\n\nSuddenly they heard a low voice saying: \"Take heart.\"\n\n\"Hark,\" they said, \"the husband deigns to speak to his brides.\"\n\nAnd presently the room was filled with a perfume more delicate than\nthat of a censer burning finest frankincense.\n\nThen the voice spake further: \"To-morrow,\" it said, \"when dawn breaks,\ngo out from the town. Mount your palfreys, and, riding without halt,\nfollow the road without heeding whither it leads. I will guide you.\"\n\n\"We will obey you,\" they said, \"for you have made us the happiest of\nthe daughters of men.\"\n\nAnd rising from their knees, they kissed one another joyfully.\n\nWhile the voice was speaking to them, there had come into the square a\nbeautiful horseman in silvern armour, with a golden helm on his head,\nand, flying above that like a bird, a crest more brilliant than a\nflame. The horse whereon he rode was of pure white.\n\nNone of those there had seen him coming, and he was as if risen from\nthe ground among the crowd of lovers, who, seized with fear, dared\nnot look him in the face.\n\n\"Rascals,\" quoth he, \"take these horses away out of the square. Do\nyou not know that the noise of their hooves troubles these three\nladies in their prayers?\"\n\nAnd therewith he rode away towards the east.\n\n\"Ah,\" said the lovers to one another, \"saw you that silvern armour\nand that flaming crest? 'Twas an angel of God assuredly, come from\nParadise for the sake of these three ladies.\" The more insistent among\nthem muttered: \"He did not forbid us to stand on foot before the door,\nand in that wise we may yet remain with impunity.\"\n\n\n\n\nV. How, by the command of God, the three ladies rode to adventure.\n\nOn the morrow, therefore, before daylight, the suitors returned once\nagain in great numbers, but first left their horses behind them in\ntheir stables. Soon after daybreak they saw the three ladies ride out\nfrom their courtyard, in obedience to the command which God had given\nthem, each one mounted upon her palfrey. Supposing that they were but\ngoing out into the neighbouring meadows to take the clean air, they\nfollowed behind, one and all, singing merry carols in their honour.\n\nFor so long as they were in the streets of the town the palfreys\nmoved slowly, but once out in the open country they began galloping.\n\nThe lovers tried still to follow them, but at last were forced to\ndrop off, and fell one by one along the wayside.\n\nWhen they had covered some miles the palfreys stood still; and the\nthree ladies, seeing that they had come free of their pursuers,\nresolved to give honour to God for his aid, and to this end to build\nhim a fair church.\n\nWhere? They did not know. But the thing was already decided in\nParadise, as you shall see.\n\nFor as soon as they were once again on their horses, the animals,\nguided by God's holy spirit, set off at a high trot.\n\nAnd leapt rivers, threaded forests, passed through towns, whereof the\ngates opened of themselves to let them by, and closed again after,\nbounded over walls and like obstacles.\n\nAnd startled every one they met, all amazed to see go by, quick as\nthe wind, these three white horses and these three fair ladies.\n\nAnd travelled in this way for a thousand leagues, or rather more.\n\n\n\n\nVI. Of the diamond hammers, and foundations torn up from the ground.\n\nAt Haeckendover, in the duchy of Brabant, the palfreys stood still\nonce again, and neighed.\n\nAnd would not go one step forward, nor back.\n\nFor this was where God had chosen to have his church.\n\nBut the ladies, supposing that they had stopped there because they\nwere tired, went on as far as Hoy-Bout on foot, and there determined\nto start building.\n\nTherefore they sent for the most skilful workers in stone, and\nmaster-builders also, in so great number that at the end of one day\nthe foundations were two hands' breadth high in the lowest part.\n\nAnd seeing this good beginning the ladies rejoiced greatly, and\nsupposed their work agreeable to God.\n\nBut on the morrow, alas, found all the stones torn up out of the\nground.\n\nThinking that by chance some traitor heretic had been buried in\nthat place, who at night shook down the stones of their church with\nthe trembling of his accursed bones, they removed to Steenen-Berg\nwith their workmen, and there started afresh in the same manner as\nat Hoy-Bout.\n\nBut on the morrow morning found the walls once again out of the ground.\n\nFor the Lord Jesus was minded to be worshipped more particularly\nat Haeckendover.\n\nAnd sent, therefore, his angels by night, with hammers of diamond\nfrom the workshops of Paradise.\n\nAnd bade them tear down the work of the three ladies.\n\nTherefore the sisters, greatly perplexed and wondering, went down on\ntheir knees, praying God that he would tell them where he wished to\nhave his church.\n\n\n\n\nVII. Of the youngest sister and the beautiful angel.\n\nAnd suddenly they saw a young man, of a beauty more than earthly,\nclad in a robe of the colour of the setting sun.\n\nKindly he looked at them.\n\nKnowing him for God's angel, the three ladies fell on their faces\nbefore him.\n\nBut the youngest, bolder than the others, as is the way with children,\ndared to steal a look at the fair ambassador, and, seeing him so\ncomely, took heart and smiled.\n\nThe angel took her by the hand, saying to her and to her sisters:\n\"Come and follow me.\"\n\nThis they did.\n\nAnd thence they came to the spot where the church now stands, and\nthe angel said to them: \"This is the place.\"\n\n\"Thank you, My Lord,\" said the youngest joyously.\n\n\n\n\nVIII. How the three ladies saw a green island, with sweet flowers\nand birds thereon.\n\nAt that time it was thirteen days past the feast of the Kings; snow\nhad fallen heavily and set hard in frost after, by reason of a north\nwind which was blowing.\n\nAnd the three ladies saw before them, among the snow, as it were a\ngreen island.\n\nAnd this island was girt about with a cord of purple silk.\n\nAnd upon the island the air was fresh as in spring, and roses were\nblowing, with violets and jessamine, whose smell is like balm.\n\nBut outside was naught but storm, north wind, and terrible cold.\n\nTowards the middle, where now stands the grand altar, was a holm-oak,\ncovered with blossom as if it had been a Persian jessamine.\n\nIn the branches, warblers, finches and nightingales sang to their\nhearts' content the sweetest songs of Paradise.\n\nFor these were angels, who had put on feathered guise, carolling in\nthis fashion in God's honour.\n\nOne fair nightingale, the sweetest singer of them all, held in his\nright claw a roll of parchment, whereon was written in letters of gold:\n\n\"This is the place chosen by God and shown by him to the three maidens\nfor the building of a church to the glory of Our Lord and Saviour\nJesus Christ.\"\n\nGreat was the joy of the ladies at that sight, and the youngest said\nto the angel:\n\n\"We see certainly that God loves us somewhat; what must we do now,\nMy Lord Angel?\"\n\n\"Thou must build the church here, little one,\" answered the messenger,\n\"and choose for this work twelve of the most skilled workmen, neither\nmore nor less; God himself will be the thirteenth.\"\n\nAnd having said so much he returned to high heaven.\n\n\n\n\nIX. Of the church of Our Lord at Haeckendover, and of the strange\nmason who worked there.\n\nThen all three went off in haste to choose from among the others the\ntwelve good workmen who should set up the foundations of the church\nwhere they had seen the cord of purple silk.\n\nThe work went on so well that it was a pleasure to see the stones\nmounting up, straight and quickly.\n\nBut the miracle was this, that during the hours of labour the masons\nwere always thirteen in number, but at dinner and at paytime twelve\nonly.\n\nFor the Lord Jesus was pleased to work with the others, but neither\nate nor drank with them; he who in Paradise had such fine broth and\nsuch sweet fruits, and wine from the fountain of Saphir, which is a\nfountain giving forth without intermission wine of a richer yellow\nthan liquid gold itself.\n\nNor did he suffer for want of money; for that is an evil reserved to\nus needy, piteous, and ill-faring mortals.\n\nThe building advanced so well that soon the bell was hung in the\ntower as a sign that the church was finished.\n\nThen the three maids entered in together; and, falling on her knees,\nthe youngest said:\n\n\"By whom, divine husband and beloved Jesus, shall we dedicate this\nchurch built for your service?\"\n\nTo which the Lord Jesus replied: \"It is I Myself who will consecrate\nand dedicate this church; let none come after me to consecrate\nit anew.\"\n\n\n\n\nX. Of the two bishops, and the withered hands.\n\nBy and by two venerable bishops passed through Haeckendover, and\nseeing the new church were minded to give it their blessing.\n\nThey knew nothing of the words of Jesus to the three ladies, or they\nwould not have thought of such temerity.\n\nBut they were punished terribly none the less.\n\nFor as one of them was about to bless the water for this purpose he\nbecame suddenly blind.\n\nAnd the other, who was holding the holy water brush, when he lifted\nhis arms for the blessing, found them suddenly withered and stiffened,\nso that he could no longer move them.\n\nAnd perceiving that they had sinned in some way the two bishops were\nfilled with repentance and prayed to the Lord Jesus to pardon them.\n\nAnd they were straightway pardoned, seeing that they had sinned\nin ignorance.\n\nAnd thereafter they came oftentimes most devoutly to Haeckendover.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nSIR HALEWYN\n\n\nI. Of the two castles.\n\nSir Halewyn lifted up his voice in a song.\n\nAnd whatever maid heard that song must needs go to him straight away.\n\nAnd now to all good Flemings will I tell the tale of this Halewyn\nand his song, and of the brave maid Magtelt.\n\nThere were two proud castles in the province of Flanders. In one\ndwelt Sir Roel de Heurne, with the lady Gonde, his good wife;\nToon the Silent, his son; Magtelt, his fair daughter, and a host\nof pages, grooms, varlets, men-at-arms, and all the other members\nof the household, among whom an especial favourite was Anne-Mie,\na girl of gentle blood, maid to the lady Magtelt.\n\nOf everything that was made by his peasants, Sir Roel took naught\nbut what was the best.\n\nAnd the peasants said of him that it was a good master who took only\nas much as he needed, when he might have left them with nothing.\n\nIn the other castle lived Sir Halewyn the Miserable, with his father,\nbrother, mother, and sister, and a large following of rascals and\nbrigands.\n\nAnd these were an ill-favoured crew, I can tell you, past masters of\nrobbery, pillage, and murder, such as it is not good to meet at too\nclose quarters.\n\n\n\n\nII. Of Dirk, called the Crow.\n\nThis family were issue by direct line of Dirk, the first of the\nHalewyns, to whom was given the name of the Crow, because he was as\ngreedy of booty as a crow is of carrion.\n\nAnd also because he was clad all in black, and his men with him.\n\nThis Dirk, who lived in the time of the great wars, was like a\nthunderbolt in battle, where, with his only weapon, a heavy club,\nfurnished with a beak at one side, he broke javelins, splintered\nlances, and tore away mail as if it had been cloth; and no one could\nwell resist his onslaught. And in this manner he so frightened his\nenemies that when they saw Dirk and his black soldiers bearing down\nupon them, shouting, yelling, without fear of any one, and in great\nnumber, they gave themselves up for dead before ever battle was joined.\n\nWhen victory was won and the more important booty divided (whereof Dirk\nalways secured the lion's share and never came off badly), the other\nbarons and their knights would leave the rest of the field to him and\nhis followers, and would go off, saying: \"The pieces are for the crow.\"\n\nNo other man-at-arms would dare to stay behind then, or he would have\nbeen quickly taken and slain without waiting. And thereafter Dirk's\nmen would begin to play the crow in earnest; cutting off fingers to\nget the rings on them, even of those not yet dead, who cried out to\nthem for succour; chopping off heads and arms so that they might pull\naway clothes the more easily. And they even fought amongst themselves,\nand sometimes killed one another, over the bodies of the dead, for\nthe sake of neck-pieces, straps of hide, or more paltry stuff still.\n\nAnd stayed sometimes on the battlefield over this business three days\nand three nights.\n\nWhen all the dead were stark naked they piled up their gains into\ncarts which they brought for this purpose.\n\nAnd with these they returned to Dirk's castle, there to hold high\nrevel and have good cheer. On the way they fought the peasants,\ntaking whatever women and girls were at all comely, and did with\nthem what they pleased. In this way they passed their lives fighting,\npillaging, robbing the helpless, and caring nothing at all for either\nGod or devil.\n\nDirk the Crow became exceedingly powerful and got very much worship,\nboth by reason of his prowess in battle and from the fact that My\nLord the Count gave him after his victories the demesne of Halewyn,\nwith powers of seigneury, both of the higher and the lower order.\n\nAnd he had a fine escutcheon made for himself, wherein was a crow\nsable on a field or, with this device: The pieces are for the Crow.\n\n\n\n\nIII. Of Sir Halewyn and how he carried himself in his youth.\n\nBut to this strong Crow were born children of a quite other kind.\n\nFor they were all, strangely enough, men of the quill and writing-desk,\ncaring nothing for the fine arts of war, and despising all arms.\n\nThese great clerks lost a good half of their heritage. For each year\nsome stronger neighbour would rob them of a piece of it.\n\nAnd they begot puny and miserable children, with pale faces, who passed\ntheir time, as clerks are wont, lurking in corners, sitting huddled\non stools, and whining chants and litanies in a melancholy fashion.\n\nThus came to an end the good men of the line.\n\nSiewert Halewyn, who was the wretch of whom I am to tell you this\ntale, was as ugly, puny, woebegone, and sour-faced as the others,\nor even worse than they.\n\nAnd like them he was always lurking and hiding in corners, and\nshirking company, hated the sound of laughter, sweated ill-humour, and,\nmoreover, was never seen to lift his head skywards like an honest man,\nbut was all the while looking down at his boots, wept without reason,\ngrumbled without cause, and never had any satisfaction in anything. For\nthe rest he was a coward and cruel, delighting during his childhood\nin teasing, frightening and hurting puppies and kittens, sparrows,\nthrushes, finches, nightingales, and all small beasts.\n\nAnd even when he was older, he hardly dared to attack so large a thing\nas a wolf, though he were armed with his great sword. But as soon as\nthe beast was brought down he would rain blows on it with high valour.\n\nSo he went on until he was old enough to marry.\n\n\n\n\nIV. How Sir Halewyn wished to take himself a wife, and what the ladies\nand gentlewomen said to it.\n\nThen, since he was the oldest of the family, he was sent off to the\ncourt of the Count, there to find himself a wife. But every one laughed\nat him, on account of his marvellous ugliness, more particularly the\nladies and gentlewomen, who made fun of him among themselves, saying:\n\n\"Look at this fine knight! What is he doing here? He has come to marry\nus, I suppose.--Who would have him, for four castles, as many manors,\nten thousand peasants and half the gold in the province? None.--And\nthat is a pity, for between them they would get fine children, if\nthey were to be like their father!--Ho, what fine hair he has, the\ndevil must have limned it with an old nail; what a fine nose, 'tis\nlike a withered plum, and what fair blue eyes, so marvellously ringed\nround with red.--See, he is going to cry! That will be pretty music.\"\n\nAnd Sir Halewyn, hearing the ladies talk after this fashion, could\nnot find a word to answer them with, for between anger, shame, and\nsorrow his tongue was fast stuck to the roof of his mouth.\n\nNevertheless he would take a lance at every tournament, and every\ntime would be shamefully overcome, and the ladies, seeing him fall,\nwould applaud loudly, crying out: \"Worship to the ill-favoured one! The\nold crow has lost his beak.\" Thus they compared him, for his shame,\nwith Dirk, the old stock of the Halewyns, who had been so mighty\nin his day. And, acclaimed in this fashion every time he jousted,\nSir Halewyn would go back from the field in sorrow to his pavilion.\n\n\n\n\nV. How it came about that Sir Halewyn, after a certain tournament,\ncalled upon the devil for aid.\n\nAt the third tournament wherein he was beaten there were on the field\nhis father, mother, brother, and sister.\n\nAnd his father said:\n\n\"Well, look at my fine son, Siewert the soft, Siewert the overthrown,\nSiewert the faint-heart, coming back from jousting with his tail\nbetween his legs, like a dog thrashed with a great stick.\"\n\nAnd his mother said:\n\n\"I suppose for certain that My Lord the Count has put a gold chain\nround thy neck, and acclaimed thee publicly, for having so valiantly\nin this jousting jousted on thy back, as in the old days my lord of\nBeaufort was wont to make thee do. Holy God! that was a fine tumble.\"\n\nAnd his sister said:\n\n\"Welcome, my fair brother, what news do you bring? Thou wert the\nvictor for certain, as I see from thy triumphant mien. But where is\nthe wreath of the ladies?\"\n\nAnd his brother said:\n\n\"Where is your lordly bearing, My Lord Siewert Halewyn the\nelder, descendant of the Crow with the great beak? For such a Crow\nvanquishes without much trouble eagles, goshawks, shrikes, gerfalcons,\nsparrow-hawks. Are you not thirsty, my brother, with the thirst of\na baron, of a victor, I will not say of a villein? We have here some\nfine frog's wine, which will cool the fires of victory in your belly.\"\n\n\"Ha,\" answered the Sire, grinding his teeth, \"if God gave me strength,\nI would make thee sing a different song Sir Brother.\"\n\nAnd saying this, he pulled out his sword to do so, but the younger,\nparrying his thrust, cried out:\n\n\"Bravo, uncrowlike Crow! Bravo, capon! Raise up our house, I beg of\nthee, Siewert the victorious!\"\n\n\"Ha,\" said the Sire, \"and why does this chatterer not go and joust as\nwell as I? But he would not dare, being that kind of coward who looks\non at others, folding his arms and making fun of those who strive.\"\n\nThen he dismounted from his horse, went off and hid himself in his\nchamber, cried out to the four walls in a rage, prayed to the devil\nto give him strength and beauty, and promised him, on the oath of a\nknight, that he would give him his soul in exchange.\n\nSo he called on him all through the night, crying out, weeping,\nbewailing his lot, minded at times even to kill himself. But the\ndevil did not come, being busy elsewhere.\n\n\n\n\nVI. Of the rovings and wanderings of Sir Halewyn.\n\nEvery day after this, whether it were fair or foul, light sky or dark,\nstorm or gentle breeze, rain, snow, or hail, Sir Halewyn wandered\nalone through the fields and woods.\n\nAnd children, seeing him, ran away in fear.\n\n\"Ah,\" said he, \"I must be very ugly!\" And he went on with his\nwandering.\n\nBut if on his way he met some common man who had strength and beauty,\nhe would bear down on him and oftentimes kill him with his sword.\n\nAnd every one grew to shun him, and to pray to God that he would soon\nremove their Lord from this world.\n\nAnd every night, Sir Halewyn called on the devil.\n\nBut the devil would not come.\n\n\"Ah,\" said the Sire sorrowfully, \"if thou wilt only give me strength\nand beauty in this life, I will give thee my soul in the other. 'Tis\na good bargain.\"\n\nBut the devil never came.\n\nAnd he, restless, always in anguish and melancholy, was soon like an\nold man to look at, and was given the name throughout the country of\nthe Ill-favoured Lord.\n\nAnd his heart was swollen with hatred and anger. And he cursed God.\n\n\n\n\nVII. Of the Prince of the Stones and of the song.\n\nOne day in the season of plum-picking, having roved over the whole\ncountryside, and even as far as Lille, on the way back to his castle\nhe passed through a wood. Ambling along he saw among the undergrowth,\nalongside an oak, a stone which was of great length and broad in\nproportion.\n\nAnd he said: \"That will make me a good seat, comfortable enough to\nrest on for a little while.\" And sitting down on the stone he once\nagain prayed to the devil to let him have health and beauty.\n\nBy and by, although it was still daylight, and the small birds,\nwarblers and finches, sang in the woods joyously, and there was a\nbright sun and a soft wind, Sir Halewyn went off to sleep, for he\nwas very tired.\n\nHaving slept until it was night, he was suddenly awakened by a strange\nsound. And he saw, by the light of the high moon and the clear stars,\nas it were a little animal, with a coat like a mossy stone, who was\nscratching up the earth beneath the rock, now and again thrusting\nhis head into the hole he had made, as a dog does hunting moles.\n\nSir Halewyn, thinking it was some wild thing, hit at it with his sword.\n\nBut the sword was broken at its touch, and a little mannikin of stone\nleapt up on to his shoulders, and smote his cheeks sharply with his\nhard hands, and said, wheezing and laughing:\n\n\"Seek, Siewert Halewyn; seek song and sickle, sickle and song; seek,\nseek, ill-favoured one!\"\n\nAnd so saying he hopped about like a flea on the back of the Miserable,\nwho bent forward as he was bid, and with a piece of his sword dug in\nthe hole. And the stony cheek of the little mannikin was alongside\nhis own, and his two eyes lit up the hole better than lanterns would\nhave done.\n\nAnd biting Halewyn's flesh with his sharp teeth, striking him with\nhis little fists, and with his nails pinching and pulling him, and\nlaughing harshly, the little mannikin said: \"I am the Prince of the\nStones, I have fine treasures; seek, seek, Miserable!\"\n\nAnd saying this, he pommelled him beyond endurance. \"He wants,\" he\nscreamed, mocking him, \"Siewert Halewyn wants strength and beauty,\nbeauty and strength; seek then, Miserable.\"\n\nAnd he pulled out his hair in handfuls, and tore his dress with his\nnails until he was all in rags, and kept saying, with great bursts\nof laughter: \"Strength and beauty, beauty and strength; seek, seek,\nMiserable!\" And he hung from his ears with his two hands, and kicked\nhis stone feet in his face, notwithstanding that the Sire cried out\nwith pain.\n\nAnd the little mannikin said: \"To get strength and beauty, seek,\nHalewyn, a song and a sickle, seek, Sir Miserable!\" And the Miserable\nwent on scratching out the earth with his piece of sword.\n\nSuddenly the earth fell away under the stone, leaving a great\nhole open, and Halewyn, by the light of the mannikin's eyes, saw a\nsepulchre, and within the sepulchre a man lying, who was of marvellous\nbeauty and had none of the appearance of death.\n\nThis man was clad all in white, and in his hands held a sickle,\nwhereof both handle and blade were of gold.\n\n\"Take the sickle,\" quoth the little mannikin, thumping his head with\nhis fists.\n\nSir Halewyn did as he was bid, and straightway the man in the tomb\nbecame dust, and from the dust came a white flame, tall and spreading,\nand from the white flame a wonderfully sweet song.\n\nAnd suddenly all about the wood was spread a perfume of cinnamon,\nfrankincense, and sweet marjoram.\n\n\"Sing,\" said the mannikin, and the Miserable repeated the song. While\nhe was singing his harsh voice was changed to a voice sweeter than\nan angel's, and he saw coming out of the depths of the wood a virgin\nof heavenly beauty and wholly naked; and she came and stood before him.\n\n\"Ah,\" she said, weeping, \"master of the golden sickle. I come, for I\nmust obey; do not make me suffer too much in the taking of my heart,\nmaster of the golden sickle.\"\n\nThen the virgin went away into the depths of the wood; and the\nmannikin, bursting out into laughter, threw Sir Halewyn down on to\nthe ground, and said:\n\n\"Hast song and sickle; so shalt thou have strength and beauty; I am\nthe Prince of the Stones; farewell, cousin.\"\n\nAnd Halewyn, picking himself up, saw no more of either the mannikin\nor the naked maid; and studying well the golden sickle, and pondering\nin his mind what could be the meaning of the man in the tomb and the\nnaked virgin, and inquiring within himself in perplexity what use he\ncould make of the sickle and the sweet song, he saw suddenly on the\nblade a fair inscription, written in letters of fire.\n\nBut he could not read the writing, for he was ignorant of all the arts;\nand, weeping with rage, he threw himself into the bushes, crying out:\n\"Help me, Prince of the Stones. Leave me not to die of despair.\"\n\nThereupon the mannikin reappeared, leapt upon his shoulder, and,\ngiving him a stout rap on the nose, read on one side of the blade of\nthe sickle this inscription which follows:\n\n\n        Song calls,\n        Sickle reaps.\n        In the heart of a maid shalt thou find:\n        Strength, beauty, honour, riches,\n        From the hands of a dead virgin.\n\n\nAnd upon the other side of the blade the mannikin read further:\n\n\n        Whoso thou art shalt do this thing,\n        Writing read and song sing:\n        Seek well, hark and go;\n        No man shall lay thee low.\n        Song calls,\n        Sickle reaps.\n\n\nAnd having read this the mannikin went away once more.\n\nSuddenly the Miserable heard a sad voice saying:\n\n\"Wilt thou seek strength and beauty in death, blood, and tears?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said he.\n\n\"Ambitious heart, heart of stone,\" answered the voice. Then he heard\nnothing more.\n\nAnd he gazed at the sickle with its flaming letters until such time\nas My Lord Chanticleer called his hens awake.\n\n\n\n\nVIII. What Halewyn did to the little girl cutting faggots.\n\nThe Miserable was overjoyed at what had come about, and inquired\nwithin himself whether it would be in the heart of a virgin child or\nof a marriageable virgin that he would find what was promised him,\nand so satisfy his great desire for worship and power.\n\nPondering this he went a little way through the wood and stationed\nhimself near to some cottages where he knew there were maids of divers\nages, and there waited until morning.\n\nSoon after the sun was up, a little girl came out, nine years old,\nor rather less, and began collecting and cutting up faggots.\n\nGoing up to her, he sang the song and showed her the sickle.\n\nWhereupon she cried out in fear, and ran away as fast as she could.\n\nBut Halewyn, having quickly overtaken her, dragged her off by force\nto his castle.\n\nGoing in, he met on the bridge his lady mother, who said to him:\n\"Where goest thou, Miserable, with this child?\"\n\nHe answered:\n\n\"To bring honour to our house.\"\n\nAnd his lady mother let him pass, thinking him mad.\n\nHe went into his room, opened the side of the girl beneath a breast\njust budding, cut out the heart with the sickle, and drank the blood.\n\nBut he got no more strength from it than he had before.\n\nAnd weeping bitter tears, he cried: \"The sickle has played me\nfalse.\" And he threw down into the moat both the heart and the body.\n\nAnd the lady Halewyn seeing this poor heart and body dropping into\nthe water, ordered that they should be taken out and brought to her.\n\nSeeing the body rent open under the breast, and the heart taken out,\nshe became afraid lest Siewert her first-born was following dark\npractices.\n\nAnd she put the girl's heart back in her breast, and gave her a very\nfine and Christian burial, and had a fair great cross made on her\nwinding-sheet, and afterwards she was put in the ground and a fair\nmass said for the quiet of her soul.\n\n\n\n\nIX. Of the heart of a maid and of the great strength which came to\nSir Halewyn.\n\nSorely troubled, and falling on his knees, Halewyn said: \"Alas, is the\nspell then impotent? I sang, and she would not come to my singing! What\nwould you have me do now, Lord Prince of the Stones? If it is that\nI must wait until nightfall, that I will do. Then, without doubt,\nhaving no sun to hinder your powers, you will give me strength and\nbeauty, and all prowess, and you will send me the virgin I need.\"\n\nAnd he went at night to wander in the woods round about the cottages,\nand there, singing his song, and looking out to see if any were coming.\n\nHe saw by the light of the bright moon the daughter of Claes, a poor\nmad man, nicknamed the Dog-beater, because he used to thump and pommel\ngrievously whomever he met, saying that these accursed dogs had robbed\nhim of his coat, and must give it him back again.\n\nThis girl took care of Claes very well, and would not marry, though\nshe was a beautiful maid, saying: \"Since he is simple, I cannot leave\nhim to look to himself.\"\n\nAnd every one, seeing her so stout-hearted, gave her, one some of\nhis cheese, another some beans, another some flour, and so they lived\ntogether without wanting for food.\n\nThe Miserable stood still at the edge of the wood and sang. And\nthe maid walked straight towards the singing and fell on her knees\nbefore him.\n\nHe went home to his castle, and she followed him, and entered in with\nhim, saying no word.\n\nOn the stair he met his brother, just returned from boar-hunting,\nwho said, in mocking wise:\n\n\"Ah, is the Miserable about to get us a bastard?\" And to the girl:\n\"Well, mistress, thy heart must be fast set on my ugly brother that\nthou must needs follow him in this wise, without a word spoken.\"\n\nBut Halewyn, in a rage, hit out at his brother's face with his sword.\n\nThen, passing him by, went up into his own room.\n\nAnd there, having shut fast the door, from fear of his brother,\nhe stripped the girl quite naked, as he had seen the virgin in his\nvision. And the girl said that she was cold.\n\nQuickly he opened her breast with the golden blade, under the left pap.\n\nAnd as the maid gave the death-cry, the heart came out of itself on\nthe blade.\n\nAnd the Miserable saw before his eyes the little mannikin coming out\nof the stones of the wall, who said to him, grinning:\n\n\"Heart on heart gives strength and beauty. Halewyn shall hang the\nmaid in the Gallows-field. And the body shall hang until the hour of\nGod.\" Then he went back into the wall.\n\nHalewyn put the heart on his breast, and felt it beating firmly and\ntaking root in his skin. And suddenly his bent back was straightened;\nand his arm found such strength that he broke easily in two a heavy\noaken bench; and looking at himself in a mirror-glass he saw an image\nso beautiful that he could scarce tell it for his own.\n\nAnd he felt in his veins the fire of youth burning.\n\nGoing down into the great hall he found there at supper his father,\nmother, brother, and sister.\n\nNone of them would have known him but for his voice, which was\nunchanged.\n\nAnd his mother rose and peered into his face to see him better.\n\nAnd he said to her: \"Woman, I am thine own son, Siewert Halewyn,\nthe Invincible.\"\n\nBut his brother, whom he had but lately smitten in the face, ran\ntowards him hotly, saying: \"Cursed be the Invincible!\" and struck\nhim with his knife. But the blade snapped off like glass against the\nbody of the Miserable; whereupon the younger brother seized him in\nhis arms, but the Miserable tore him off and threw him to one side\nas if he had been a caterpillar.\n\nThen he rushed at him with his head down, like a battering-ram, but\nas soon as his head touched the Miserable it was cut open, and the\nblood ran down over his face.\n\nAnd his father and mother, his sister and the wounded brother, threw\nthemselves on their knees and asked his forgiveness, begging him,\nsince he had become so powerful, to bring them riches and honour.\n\n\"That I will,\" said he.\n\n\n\n\nX. How the Miserable robbed a Lombard goldsmith, and of the pleasant\nspeech of the ladies and gentlewomen.\n\nOn the morrow, armed only with the sickle, for he despised other arms\non account of the strength which the spell gave him, Halewyn took the\nbody of the maid to the Gallows-field and there hanged it on the tree.\n\nThen he rode off to the city of Ghent.\n\nAnd the ladies, gentlewomen and maidens of the town, seeing him pass by\non his black horse, said among themselves: \"Who is this fair horseman?\"\n\n\"'Tis,\" he cried right proudly, \"Siewert Halewyn, who was called the\nIll-favoured one.\"\n\n\"Nay, nay,\" said the bolder among them, \"you are making fun of us,\nMy Lord, or else you have been changed by a fairy.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said he, \"and, moreover, I had fleshly knowledge of her;\nand so shall have of you, if I please.\"\n\nAt these words the ladies and gentlewomen were not at all put out.\n\nAnd he went to the shop of a Lombard goldsmith in that town, who\nhad at one time and another lent him six-and-twenty florins. But the\ngoldsmith did not know him for himself.\n\nHe told him that he was Sir Halewyn.\n\n\"Ah,\" said the goldsmith, \"then I pray, My Lord, that you will repay\nme my six-and-twenty florins.\"\n\nBut Halewyn, laughing: \"Take me,\" he said, \"to the room where thou\nkeepest thy gold.\"\n\n\"My Lord,\" said the goldsmith, \"that I will not, for all that I hold\nyou in high esteem.\"\n\n\"Dog,\" said he, \"if thou dost not obey me I will strike thee dead\ninstantly.\"\n\n\"Ha!\" said the goldsmith, \"do not come blustering here, My Lord, for\nI am neither serf nor peasant, but a free burgess of this town. And\nif you are so minded as to lay your hands on me, I shall know how to\nget redress, I promise you.\"\n\nThen Halewyn struck him, and the burgess called for help.\n\nHearing this cry, apprentices to the number of six came down into\nthe shop, and, seeing Halewyn, ran to seize him.\n\nBut he beat them off likewise and bade them show him where the gold\nwas kept.\n\nWhich they did, saying one to another: \"This is the Devil.\"\n\nAnd the goldsmith, weeping: \"My Lord,\" said he, \"do not take it all.\"\n\n\"I shall take what I will,\" said Halewyn; and he filled his money-bag.\n\nAnd in this way he took from the goldsmith more than seven hundred\ngolden bezants.\n\nThen, seeing the poor man lamenting his lot, he struck him two or\nthree hard blows, telling him not to whine so loud, and that before\nthe month was out he would take from him double the amount.\n\n\n\n\nXI. Of the arrogant arms of Sir Halewyn.\n\nAnd the Miserable became the richest, most powerful, and most feared\nbaron in the whole province.\n\nAnd blasphemously he compared himself to God.\n\nAnd considering that the old arms of Dirk, and his device, were too\nmean for his new magnificence:\n\nHe sent to Bruges for painters in heraldry to fashion them afresh.\n\nThese painters put the old crow away in one quarter, and on a field\nargent and sable blazoned a heart gules and a sickle or, with this\ndevice: None can stand against me.\n\nMoreover, he had this same blazon fashioned into a great standard which\nwas flown from his castle keep. And also had it cut in stone over the\ngate. And on his shield, which he caused to be made larger so that the\narrogant device might be seen to better advantage. And on his arms,\nhis clothes, and wherever it could be put, there he had it as well.\n\n\n\n\nXII. How Sir Halewyn jousted with a knight of England.\n\nIt so happened that at about this time My Lord of Flanders let call\na tournament.\n\nAnd sent out to all his lords and barons to come to Ghent for that\npurpose.\n\nHalewyn went thither and set up his shield among the others.\n\nBut the barons and lords, seeing the arrogant device and the great\nsize of the shield, were greatly put to offence thereat.\n\nAnd all of them jousted with him, but each was overthrown in turn.\n\nAmong them was present an English knight of much prowess, who rode\nout to the middle of the tourney-field and stood straight and proud\nbefore Sir Halewyn.\n\n\"Well,\" quoth he, \"My Lord the Invincible, it displeases me to see thee\nplanted there so arrogantly and unhorsing us all in this fashion. Wilt\nthou fight with me?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Sir Halewyn.\n\n\"If I overcome thee, thou shalt be my servant and I shall take thee\nwith me into Cornwall.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Sir Halewyn.\n\n\"And cause thee to grease my horses' hooves, and empty the dung\nfrom the stable; and find out whether thou art invincible at such\nwork also.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Sir Halewyn.\n\n\"And if thou art not invincible, the invincible stick shall thrash\nthee invincibly.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Sir Halewyn.\n\n\"But if thou overcome me, this shall be thy guerdon:\n\n\"Five-and-twenty bezants which are in the house of thy Lord, the\nnoble Count of Flanders; all the accoutrement of my horse, which is\nof fine mail; his fair saddle of pear-wood, covered with leather,\nand saddle-bows richly figured with ten horsemen lustily fighting and\nwith Our Lord driving out the devil from one possessed; furthermore\nmy helm of fine wrought steel, and on it a crest of silver, gilt\nover, with spread wings, which may very well, notwithstanding thy\ndevice, stand against thy bleeding heart, thy gaping sickle, and thy\nmiserable crow. Well, My Lord the Invincible, dost think thou shalt\nwin invincibly the five-and-twenty bezants, the helm of my head,\nand the trappings of my horse?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Sir Halewyn.\n\nThen, after My Lord himself had given the signal, they ran together\nwith a great clatter.\n\nAnd the English knight was overthrown like the rest.\n\nThen all the ladies acclaimed and applauded the Miserable, crying out:\n\"Worship to Siewert Halewyn the noble, Siewert Halewyn the Fleming,\nSiewert Halewyn the Invincible.\"\n\nAnd on his way back to the house of My Lord, there to feast with him,\nhe was by these ladies kissed, fondled, and made much of without stint.\n\nAnd, putting on the gear of the English knight, he went off to the\ntowns of Bruges, Lille, and Ghent, thieving and ravishing everywhere.\n\nAnd came back from each expedition with much booty.\n\nAnd felt the heart all the while pouring live strength into his breast\nand beating against his skin.\n\nThen he went back to his own castle with the five-and-twenty bezants\nand the arms of the knight of England.\n\nWhen he sounded the horn there came to him his mother, who, seeing him\nso gilt over, was overcome with joy, and cried: \"He brings us riches,\nas he promised.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Sir Halewyn.\n\nAnd she fell at his feet and kissed them.\n\nAs also did the younger brother, saying: \"Sir Brother thou hast lifted\nus up from poverty, I will willingly serve thee.\"\n\n\"So shouldst thou, indeed,\" said Halewyn. Then, going into the hall:\n\"I would sup,\" he said, \"thou, woman, fetch me meat, and thou,\nfellow, drink.\"\n\nAnd on the morrow, and every day thereafter, he made to serve him at\ntable, as if they had been his private servants, his father, mother,\nbrother, and sister, turn by turn.\n\n\n\n\nXIII. Of the heart dried up and of the dame Halewyn.\n\nBut one morning while he was at meat in his castle, when his father\nand sister were gone to Bruges to buy corn-coloured cloth-of-scarlet\nfor their clothes,\n\nAnd he was being served, with all humility, by his mother and brother,\n\nHe became suddenly quite cold, for the heart had ceased to beat.\n\nPutting his hand to his breast, he touched dried-up skin.\n\nThen he felt his face go back as it was before, his shoulders shrink\ndown, his back hump up, and all his body lessen in stature.\n\nLooking at his mother and brother in turn, he saw them laughing and\nsaying to each other: \"See, here is our master back in his old ugly\nskin, and with his old ugly face.\"\n\n\"Ha, My Lord,\" said his brother, coming boldly up to him and speaking\ninsolently, \"will you not take some of this clauwaert to hearten\nyourself? You have no longer, it seems, your former strength.\"\n\n\"Wilt try it?\" said the Miserable, and struck him with his fist,\nbut did him no more hurt than if he had been a fly.\n\nSeeing this the younger brother grew bolder, and seating himself\nclose to Halewyn on the seat:\n\n\"My lord,\" said he, \"you have had pudding enough, I think, 'tis my\nturn to eat.\"\n\nAnd he took the pudding from off his platter.\n\n\"My lord son,\" said his mother, \"now you shall give to me, who am old,\nsome of this old wine you have kept for yourself.\"\n\nAnd she took the cup out of his hand.\n\n\"My lord brother,\" said the younger son, \"methinks you have too\nmuch of this roast of lamb with sweet chestnuts; I will take it,\nif you please.\"\n\nAnd he put the roast of lamb before his own place.\n\n\"My lord son,\" said his mother, \"you do not much like, it seems,\nthis fair cheese and barley tart, give it to me, I pray you.\"\n\nAnd the Miserable, dumbfounded, gave it to her.\n\n\"My lord brother,\" said the younger son, \"you have been sitting there\nlong enough like an emperor, will you be pleased to stir your limbs\nnow and serve us?\"\n\nAnd the Miserable, getting up, served them as he was bidden.\n\n\"My lord son,\" said his mother, \"I see you now submissive to our\norders, will you be pleased to ask my pardon for having so long kept\nme standing like a private servant, fetching you food and drink,\nthough I am your mother?\"\n\nAnd the Miserable fell at her feet.\n\n\"My lord brother,\" said the younger son, \"wilt thou be pleased to\nfall at my feet likewise, and kiss them, for that thou hast made me\ndo the work of a serf?\"\n\n\"That I will not,\" said the Miserable.\n\n\"Thou wilt not?\"\n\n\"I will not,\" said the Miserable, and stepped back a pace.\n\n\"Come hither,\" said his brother.\n\n\"I will not,\" said the Miserable.\n\nThen the younger ran at him, and, bearing him to the ground without\ndifficulty, began thumping and pommelling him, and striking him in the\nface with his golden spurs, saying: \"Avenge thyself, Siewert Halewyn\nthe Invincible. None can stand against thee, save I. Thou hast long\ntreated us as serfs in thy house, now I will treat thee as a cheese\nand crush thee underfoot. Why dost thou not now caper as a kid, or\nfly away as a bird, Siewert the enchanted?\" and, going into a frenzy\nof rage, he drew his knife, saying: \"I will cut thee off thy head\nunless thou cry mercy.\"\n\n\"I will not,\" said the Miserable.\n\nBut his mother, hearing these words, took quickly from the fire a\nhandful of embers, and notwithstanding their heat, threw them into\nthe eyes and mouth of the younger brother, saying: \"Thou shalt not\nkill my first-born, wicked son.\"\n\nAnd while the younger brother was howling by reason of the pain from\nthe embers, which blinded him, his mother took the knife from him,\nand while he was twisting this way and that, swinging up his arms to\nstrike whomever he could, she threw him down, shut him up in the room,\nand went out dragging her first-born after her. Then, although she was\nfeeble with age, she carried Halewyn up into the tower on her back,\nas a shepherd carries a lamb (for he had quite lost his senses),\nand there tended him and bathed his face and breast, which were torn\nand bleeding, and there at nightfall left him and went away.\n\n\n\n\nXIV. Of the great weakness of Sir Halewyn and of the days and nights\nwhich he spent in the forest.\n\nThe Miserable, alone and somewhat comforted, rose to his feet, and\nwas right glad to feel the sickle still at his belt; opened the door,\nlistened to make sure that he could hear nothing, and that his brother\nwas not there.\n\nAnd when the night was fully dark, went down the stair slowly,\nsitting-wise.\n\nFor he was so weakened by the blows and wounds he had received that\nhe could not hold himself upright by any means; and in this fashion\nhe went on until he reached the bridge, and, finding that still down,\ncrossed over it.\n\nAnd very wearily he made his way to the forest.\n\nBut he could not, on account of his weakness, go so far as the\ncottages, which were a good two leagues distant to the northward.\n\nSo, lying down among the leaves, he sang.\n\nBut no maid came, for the song could not be heard from so far away.\n\nAnd so passed the first day.\n\nWhen night came again, cold rain began to fall, which sent him into\na fever. But notwithstanding this he would not go back to his castle,\nfor fear of his brother. Shivering, and with his teeth a-chatter, he\ndragged himself northward through the brake, and saw in a clearing\na fair pretty maid, rosy-cheeked, fresh, slender, and neat, and he\nsang his song. But the girl did not come to him.\n\nAnd so passed the second day.\n\nThat night the rain fell anew, and he could not move, so stiff was\nhe from the cold, and he sang, but no maid came. At dawn the rain\ncontinued, and while he was lying there among the leaves a wolf came\nand sniffed at him, thinking him dead, but on seeing it draw near he\ncried out in a terrible fashion, and the wolf took fright and went\noff. Then he grew hungry, but could find himself nothing to eat. At\nvespers he sang anew, but no maid came.\n\nAnd so passed the third day.\n\nTowards midnight the sky cleared, and the wind grew warmer. But the\nMiserable, though he was suffering greatly from hunger, thirst, and\nweariness, dared not sleep. On the morning of the fourth day he saw\na girl coming towards him who seemed to be a burgess's daughter. The\ngirl would have run away on seeing him, but he cried out loudly:\n\"Help me! I am worn out with hunger and sickness.\" Then she drew near\nto him and said: \"I also am hungry.\" \"Art thou,\" he said, \"a maid? \"\n\"Ah,\" said she, \"I have had to flee from Bruges, because the priests\nwould have burnt me alive, on account of a brown mole which I have\non my neck, of the size of a pea, coming, they say, from my having\nhad fleshly commerce with the devil. But I have never seen the devil,\nand do not know what he is like.\"\n\nHe, without listening to her, asked again if she were a virgin, and,\nas the girl said nothing, he sang his song.\n\nBut she did not move from where she stood, only saying: \"You have\na very sweet and strong voice for one so wasted with sickness and\nhunger.\"\n\nThen he said to her: \"I am the lord Siewert Halewyn. Go to my castle\nand ask to be taken to my lady mother, and without speaking to any\none else, whosoever he be, tell her that her son is hard put to it\nin the forest with hunger, fever, and weariness, and will die before\nlong if none bring him help.\"\n\nThe girl went off as he bid her, but coming out of the wood she saw\nin the Gallows-field the body of the maid hanging, and ran away in a\nfright. Passing into the territory of Sir Roel de Heurne she craved\nfood and drink at the cottage of one of his peasants. And there she\ntold how she had found Sir Halewyn dying of hunger. But she was told\nin reply that the said lord was crueller and more wicked than the\ndevil himself, and should be left to be eaten by the wolves and other\nbeasts of the forest.\n\nAnd the Miserable waited, lying in the leaves in great anguish.\n\nAnd so passed the fourth day.\n\nAnd at dawn of the fifth, having seen no more of the girl, he supposed\nthat she had been caught by the priests and taken back to Bruges to\nbe burnt.\n\nQuite disheartened, and chilled with the cold, and saying that he\nwould soon die, he cursed the Prince of the Stones.\n\nNevertheless, at vespers he sang once more.\n\nAnd he was then by the side of a forest way.\n\nAnd he saw coming through the trees a fair maid, who fell on her\nknees before him.\n\nAnd he did to her as he had done to the others.\n\nThen rose full of fresh strength, vigour, and beauty, and with the\nheart resting against his own went off to the Gallows-field, carrying\nthe body, and there hanged it by that of the first virgin.\n\n\n\n\nXV. How the Miserable, having hanged fifteen virgins in the\nGallows-field, held wicked revels and cruel orgies.\n\nSir Halewyn became most powerful and greatly feared, and killed up\nto fifteen virgins, whom he hanged in the Gallows-field.\n\nAnd he led a riotous life, eating, drinking, and carousing continually.\n\nAll those ladies who had made fun of him in the days of his impotence\nand ugliness were brought to his castle.\n\nAnd having had his will of them he turned them out of doors like\nbitches, so wreaking upon them his evil vengeance.\n\nAnd from Lille, Ghent, and Bruges came the most beautiful courtesans,\nwith their badge on their arms, and they ministered to his pleasure\nand to that of his friends, among whom the more evil were Diederich\nPater-noster, so called because he was a great frequenter of churches;\nNellin the Wolf, who in battle attacked only the fallen, as wolves\ndo; and Baudouin Sans Ears, who in his court of justice always cried:\n\"Death, death,\" without waiting to hear any defence whatever.\n\nIn company with the fair courtesans these same lords held revels and\norgies without end, and took from their poor peasants all they had,\ncorn, cheese, jewels, cocks, oxen, calves, and swine.\n\nThen, having stuffed themselves as full as they could hold, threw to\ntheir dogs choice viands and rich cakes.\n\nGave to be broken and pounded up for their hawks and falcons, the\nmeat of fowls, cockerels, and doves; had the hooves of their horses\nbathed in wine.\n\nOftentimes until midnight, or even until cock-crow, there would be\nbeating of drums, trilling of pipes, squeaking of viols, skirling of\nbagpipes, and winding of horns, for their entertainment.\n\n\n\n\nXVI. How the burgesses of the good town of Ghent gave protection to\nthe virgins of the domain of Halewyn.\n\nMeanwhile in the cottages of the peasant folk were tears, hunger,\nand great misery.\n\nAnd when the fifteenth maid had been taken in the domain of Halewyn,\n\nThe mothers prayed to God that he would make them barren, or else\nthat they might bear men-children only.\n\nAnd the fathers complained and said to one another sadly: \"Is it not\na pitiful thing to see these sweet and gentle flowers of youth so\nbrought to death and dishonour!\"\n\nAnd some among them said: \"Let us go by night to the good town of\nGhent, taking with us all our virgin daughters, and tell the whole\ntale to the burgesses, begging their blessed protection for them,\nand leaving them there in the town if we are so permitted. So they\nwill escape death at the hands of our master.\"\n\nEvery one who heard this plan thought it a good one; and all the\npeasants with daughters who were virgins took them off to Ghent,\nand there told the story to the commune, and the good men gave them\nprotection.\n\nThen with lighter hearts the peasants returned to the domain of\nHalewyn.\n\n\n\n\nXVII. Of what Sir Halewyn did on the borders of his domain.\n\nNot long afterwards a hard winter set in, with bitter cold and\nfurious storm.\n\nAnd the heart of the fifteenth virgin no longer beat strong against\nSir Halewyn's breast.\n\nAnd he sang, but none came. Wherefore he was disappointed and angry.\n\nBut calling to mind that there were, in the castle of Sir Roel de\nHeurne, two girls supposed by common report to be virgins,\n\nAnd that this castle was no more than the fifth part of a league from\nthe borders of his land,\n\nAnd that therefore the two maids would be able to hear and come to\nthe call of his song,\n\nHe went each night and stationed himself on the farthest border of\nhis demesne, and there sang towards the said castle, notwithstanding\nthe bitter cold, and the snow beginning to fall abundantly.\n\n\n\n\nXVIII. Of the damosels Magtelt and Anne-Mie, and of Schimmel the\ndapple-gray.\n\nWhile the Miserable was roaming the woods, Sir Roel de Heurne and the\nlady Gonde, his wife, richly clad, and wrapt round with deer-skins,\nwhich give particular warmth to the body, were sitting snugly on their\ncoffers before their good fire of oaken logs, chatting together as\nold folk will.\n\nBut it was the Lady Gonde who spoke most, being the woman.\n\nAnd she said:\n\n\"My good man, do you hear the storm raging furiously in the forest?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" answered Sir Roel.\n\nAnd his lady said further:\n\n\"God has been kind to give us, against this great cold, such a fine\ncastle so strongly built, such good clothes, and such a bright fire.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" answered the Sire.\n\n\"But above all,\" said she, \"he has shown us his divine grace by giving\nus such good and brave children.\"\n\n\"True,\" answered the Sire.\n\n\"For,\" said she, \"nowhere could you find a young man more valiant,\ncourteous, gentle, and fitter to uphold our name than Toon, our son.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said the Sire, \"he has saved my life in battle.\"\n\n\"But,\" said his lady, \"he has this fault, that he is so scant of\nwords that we scarce know the tone of his voice. He is well called\nthe Silent.\"\n\n\"There is better worth to a man,\" said the Sire, \"in a good sword\nthan in a long tongue.\"\n\n\"Here I see you, my lord,\" said the lady, \"pent up with your\nreflections, for sadness and gravity are the lot of old age, but I\nknow well a certain maid who would smooth out your forehead and set\nyou laughing.\"\n\n\"'Tis possible,\" said the Sire.\n\n\"Yes,\" said she, \"it is certainly possible, for when Magtelt our\ndaughter comes into this room, I shall see my lord and husband turn\nhappy at once.\"\n\nAt these words Sir Roel nodded his head and smiled a little.\n\n\"Yes, yes,\" said his lady, \"for when Magtelt laughs, then laughs my\nold Roel; when she sings, then my old Roel grows thoughtful and nods\nhis head happily, and if she passes by, he follows with smiling eyes\neach step of his little daughter.\"\n\n\"True, Gonde,\" said the Sire.\n\n\"Yes, yes,\" said she, \"for who is the well-being and joy of this\nhouse? 'Tis not I, who am old, and losing my teeth one by one; nor you\neither, my fellow in antiquity; nor the Silent either; nor Anne-Mie\nthe private servant, who, though she is very sweet and healthy in her\nperson, is something too quiet in her ways, and laughs only when she\nis set laughing. But she who makes our old age happy, she who is the\nnightingale in the house, she who is always coming and going, passing\nand repassing, flying hither and thither, singing and singing again,\nas happy as a peal of bells at Christmastide: 'tis our good daughter.\"\n\n\"So it is,\" said the Sire.\n\n\"Ah,\" said his lady further, \"it is a happy thing for us to have\nsuch a child, since both of us have already cold in our feet at all\nseasons. For without her we should pass our time in sadness, and from\nour old feet the cold would creep up to our hearts, and so we should\nbe taken to our graves more quickly.\"\n\n\"Yes, wife,\" said the Sire.\n\n\"Ah,\" said she, \"another damosel would have wished for love-suitors,\nand to go to the court of My Lord to get a husband. But our little\nmaid gives no thought to that, for hereabout she loves no one but\nourselves, and her who goes everywhere with her, and is as a sister\nto her, Anne-Mie the private servant; but not without teasing her a\nlittle in order to make her laugh.\"\n\n\"True,\" said the Sire.\n\n\"Yes, yes,\" said his lady, \"and every one loves her, admires her, and\nrespects her, pages, grooms, varlets, men-at-arms, private servants,\nserfs, and peasants, so joyous and merry is she, so brave and gentle\nis her bearing. There is no one, even down to Schimmel, the great\nwar-horse, who does not follow her like a dog. Ah! When he sees her\ncoming he whinnies joyously; and she alone must bring him his oats and\ncorn; from none other will he take a grain. She treats him like a man,\nand often gives him a great draught of clauwaert, which he drinks up\nwith relish. She makes herself understood to him by words, but she must\nnever be cross with him, or he makes as if to weep, and looks at her\nwith so sad a manner that she cannot withstand it and then calls him\nto her, saying: 'Beautiful Schimmel, brave Schimmel,' and other soft\nwords; hearing which the good dapple-gray gets up and comes close to\nher to have more compliments. He suffers no one on his back but she,\nand when he is carrying her he is as proud as My Lord of Flanders at\nthe head of his good barons and knights. So she has her sovereignty\nover every one, by joyousness, goodness, and fair speaking.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said the Sire.\n\n\"Ah,\" said his lady, \"may the very good God watch over our little one,\nand may our old ears hear this fledgeling nightingale singing always.\"\n\n\"Amen,\" said the Sire.\n\n\n\n\nXIX. How Magtelt sang to Sir Roel the lied of the Lion, and the song\nof the Four Witches.\n\nWhile Sir Roel and the lady Gonde were talking together,\n\nThe snow had fallen in great quantity,\n\nAnd had quite covered Magtelt and Anne-Mie, who were coming back from\nhaving taken an eagle-stone to the wife of Josse, for her to bind to\nher left thigh and so get ease in her lying-in.\n\nAnd the girls came into the great hall, where Sir Roel was sitting\nwith his good wife.\n\nMagtelt, drawing close to her father, knelt to him in salutation.\n\nAnd Sir Roel, having raised her up, kissed her on the brow.\n\nBut Anne-Mie stayed quietly in a corner, as became a private servant.\n\nAnd it was a good sight to see these two maids wholly covered with\nsnow.\n\n\"Jesus-Maria,\" said the lady Gonde, \"see these two sillies, what have\nthey been doing to get themselves clothed in snow in this fashion? To\nthe fire quickly, children; draw to the fire and dry yourselves.\"\n\n\"Silence, wife,\" said Sir Roel, \"you make youth faint-heart. In my\nyoung days I went through cold, snow, hail, thunder, and tempest\nwithout a thought. And so do I still, when there is need to, and\nI will have Magtelt do the same. Thanks be to God! 'tis not from a\nfire of logs that a daughter of ours must get warmth, but from the\nnatural fire which burns in the bodies of the children of old Roel.\"\n\nBut Magtelt, seeing him about to grow angry, went and knelt at\nhis feet.\n\n\"Lord father,\" said she, \"we are not cold at all, for we have been\nleaping, dancing and frolicking so heartily, thumping and drubbing each\nother, that we turned winter into spring; furthermore we sang some fine\nsongs, which I beg you will give me leave to sing over again to you.\"\n\n\"So I will, little one,\" said Sir Roel. So Magtelt sang him the lied,\nof Roeland de Heurne the Lion, who came back from the Holy Land,\nand brought thence a great sword; and also the song of the Four\nWitches, wherein you may hear mewling of cats, bleating of goats,\nand the noise which they make with their tails in rainy weather.\n\nAnd Sir Roel forgot his anger.\n\nWhen Magtelt had done singing he caused supper to be served and the\ncross lit up, which threw over them a bright light from the four\nlamps burning at the end of each arm.\n\nAnd he made his daughter sit at his side.\n\nAnne-Mie came likewise to sit at table, beside the lady Gonde, who\nsaid: \"Young company warms old folk.\"\n\nAnd there were served to them that evening fine white bread, beef\nsalted and smoked in the chimney among the sweet smoke of fir-cones,\nGhent sausage, which was invented, they say, by Boudwin the Glutton,\nbastard of Flanders, and old clauwaert.\n\nSupper finished, and a prayer spoken, Magtelt and Anne-Mie went off\nto bed, in the same room, for Magtelt loved Anne-Mie like a sister\nand would have her by her side at all times.\n\n\n\n\nXX. Of the sixteenth virgin hanged.\n\nMagtelt, with laughter, singing, and frolic, soon fell asleep.\n\nBut Anne-Mie, being somewhat cold, could not close her eyes.\n\nAnd the Miserable came and stationed himself on the border of his\nland. Thence his voice rang out clear, soft, and melodious.\n\nAnd Anne-Mie heard it, and, forgetting that she was but lightly clad,\nrose up and went out of the castle by the postern.\n\nWhen she came into the open the snow smote harshly on her face,\nher breast, and her shoulders.\n\nAnd she tried to shield herself against this bitter cold and evil snow,\nbut could not, for she had lain down to sleep nearly naked.\n\nGoing towards the song she passed barefoot across the moat, whereof\nthe water was hard frozen.\n\nAnd trying to mount the farther bank, which was high and slippery,\nshe fell;\n\nAnd cut a great wound in her knee.\n\nHaving picked herself up she entered the forest, wounding her bare\nfeet on the stones, and her numbed body on the branches of trees.\n\nBut she went her way without heeding.\n\nWhen she drew near to the Miserable she fell on her knees before\nhim. And he did to her as he had done to the others.\n\nAnd Anne-Mie was the sixteenth virgin hanged in the Gallows-field.\n\n\n\n\nXXI. How Magtelt sought Anne-Mie.\n\nOn the morrow Magtelt, being, as was customary, the first awake,\nsaid her prayers to My Lord Jesus and to Madam Saint Magtelt, her\nblessed patron.\n\nHaving besought them earnestly for Sir Roel, the lady Gonde, the\nSilent, and all the household, most particularly for Anne-Mie,\nshe looked at the maid's bed, and seeing its curtains half drawn\nshe supposed that her companion was still asleep; and so, putting on\nher fine clothes, she kept saying as she moved up and down the room,\nor looked at herself in the mirror-glass:\n\n\"Ho, Anne-Mie, wake up, wake up, Anne-Mie! Who sleeps late comes last\nto grass. The sparrows are awake and the hens also, and already their\neggs are laid. Wake up, Anne-Mie, Schimmel is neighing in the stable,\nand the sun is shining bright on the snow; my lord father is scolding\nthe servants, and my lady mother is interceding for them. Canst\nnot smell the savoury odour of beans and good beef broiled with\nspices? I can smell it well enough, and it makes me hungry; wake up,\nAnne-Mie.\" But the girl could not possess herself in patience any\nlonger, and threw the curtains wide open.\n\nFinding no Anne-Mie: \"There!\" she said, \"the rogue, she has gone down\nwithout me; and without me, no doubt, is at this same moment eating\nthose good beans and beef.\"\n\nAnd going down the stairs at a run Magtelt entered the great hall,\nwhere, seeing Sir Roel her father, she knelt to him and asked his\nblessing, and then likewise to the lady Gonde.\n\nBut her mother said to her: \"Where is Anne-Mie?\"\n\n\"I cannot tell,\" said Magtelt, \"she is having some fun with us,\nI suppose, hidden in some corner.\"\n\n\"That,\" said Sir Roel, \"is not her way, for if any one here makes\nfun of others 'tis not she, but thou, little one.\"\n\n\"My lord father,\" said Magtelt, \"you make me anxious by talking so.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Sir Roel, \"go and seek Anne-Mie; as for us, mother,\nlet us eat; our old stomachs cannot wait for food as well as these\nyoung ones.\"\n\n\"Ah,\" said the lady Gonde, \"I have no mind to eat; go, Magtelt,\nand find me Anne-Mie.\"\n\nBut Sir Roel helped himself to a great platterful of beans and good\nbeef, and, falling to it, said that nothing was so easily put out,\ntroubled, made anxious, as a woman, and this for nothing at all.\n\nNevertheless he was himself a little uneasy, and from time to time\nlooked up at the door, saying that the rascal of a girl would show\nherself suddenly from somewhere.\n\nBut Magtelt, after searching the whole castle over, came back and said:\n\"I can find Anne-Mie nowhere.\"\n\n\n\n\nXXII. How Magtelt wept bitterly, and of the fine dress which she had.\n\nAnd Magtelt had great sorrow in her heart, and wept, and made lament,\ncrying: \"Anne-Mie, where art thou? Would I could see thee again!\" And\nfalling on her knees before Sir Roel, she said: \"My lord father, I pray\nyou to send our men-at-arms in goodly number in search for Anne-Mie.\"\n\n\"So I will,\" said he.\n\nThe men-at-arms went out, but dared not pass on to the lands of\nHalewyn from fear of the spell.\n\nAnd on their return they said: \"We can hear nothing of Anne-Mie.\"\n\nAnd Magtelt went up and stretched herself on her bed, and prayed to\nthe good God to send her back her sweet comrade.\n\nOn the second day she went and sat before the glazed window, and\nwithout intermission looked out all day at the countryside and the\nfalling snow, and watched to see if Anne-Mie were coming.\n\nBut Anne-Mie could not come.\n\nAnd on the third day the lids of her eyes bled for weeping. And on\nthat day the snow ceased falling, the sky became clear, the sun shone\ntherein, and the earth was hard frozen.\n\nAnd every day in the same place went and sat the sorrowing Magtelt,\nwatching the countryside, thinking of Anne-Mie and saying nothing.\n\nSir Roel, seeing her so low-hearted, sent to Bruges for some blue\ncloth-of-scarlet, for her to make herself a dress, and fine Cyprian\ngold for the border, and fine gold buttons of rich workmanship.\n\nMagtelt worked away at making this dress, but took no pleasure at\nall at the thought of all this fine apparel.\n\nAnd so passed away the week, and each day Magtelt worked at her dress,\nsaying nothing and singing never, but weeping oftentimes.\n\nOn the fifth day, when the dress was finished, well trimmed with the\nCyprian gold and embellished with the rich buttons, the lady Gonde\nbade Magtelt don it, and then showed her her magnificence in a great\nmirror-glass; but Magtelt had no heart to be glad at seeing herself\nso beautiful, for she was thinking of Anne-Mie.\n\nAnd the lady Gonde, seeing how sad she was and silent, wept also,\nsaying: \"Since our Magtelt stopped singing I have felt more bitterly\nthe chill of winter and old age.\"\n\nAnd Sir Roel made no murmur, but became sullen and pensive, and drank\nclauwaert all day.\n\nAnd at times, turning angry, he bade Magtelt sing and be cheerful.\n\nAnd the maid sang merry lieds to the old man, who then turned joyous\nagain, and Gonde as well.\n\nAnd they spent all their time before the fire, nodding their heads. And\nthey said: \"The nightingale is come back again to the house, and her\nmusic makes the fires of spring sunshine stir in our bones.\"\n\nAnd Magtelt, having done singing, would go off to hide herself in a\ncorner and weep for Anne-Mie.\n\n\n\n\nXXIII. Of Toon the Silent.\n\nOn the eighth day, the Silent went wolf-hunting.\n\nFollowing a certain beast he rode into the domain of Halewyn.\n\nAnd at vespers the lady Gonde, leaving the great hall to go to the\nkitchen for the ordering of supper, on opening the door saw Toon before\nher. He seemed loth to come in, and hung his head as if with shame.\n\nThe lady Gonde, going to him, said: \"My son, why do you not come into\nthe hall to bid good evening to the lord your father?\"\n\nThe Silent, without answering, went into the hall, and muttering\nshort and sullen words by way of salutation, went to sit in the\ndarkest corner.\n\nAnd the lady Gonde said to Sir Roel: \"Our son is angry at something,\nI think, since he goes off into a dark corner far away from us,\nagainst his habit.\"\n\nSir Roel said to the Silent: \"Son, come hither to the light that we\nmay see thy face.\"\n\nHe obeyed, and Sir Roel, the lady Gonde, and the sorrowing Magtelt\nsaw that he was bleeding from the head and from the neck, and cast\ndown his eyes, not daring to look them in the face.\n\nThe lady Gonde cried out with fright on seeing the blood, and Magtelt\ncame to him, and Sir Roel said: \"Who has given my son this shamed\ncountenance, this downcast heart, and these wounds in his body?\"\n\nThe Silent answered: \"Siewert Halewyn.\"\n\n\"Why,\" said Sir Roel, \"was my son so presumptuous as to attack the\nInvincible?\"\n\nThe Silent answered: \"Anne-Mie hanged in the Gallows-field of Siewert\nHalewyn.\"\n\n\"Woe!\" cried Sir Roel, \"our poor maid hanged! shame and sorrow\nupon us!\"\n\n\"Lord God,\" said Gonde, \"you smite us hard indeed.\" And she wept.\n\nBut Magtelt could neither weep nor speak from the bitterness of the\ngrief which laid hold upon her.\n\nAnd she looked at her brother fixedly, and his sunken face blenched,\nand from the wounds against his eyes dropped tears of blood, and his\nbody was shaken with spasms.\n\nAnd the Silent sank into a seat, weeping dully like a wounded lion.\n\n\"Ha,\" quoth Sir Roel, hiding his face, \"this is the first man of the\nhouse of Heurne that has found need to sit weeping. Shame upon us,\nand without redress, for there is a spell woven.\"\n\nAnd the Silent stuffed his fingers into the wound in his neck,\npressing out the blood; but he felt nothing of the pain.\n\n\"Toon,\" said the lady Gonde, \"do not dirty your wound with your\nfingers in this wise; you will poison it, my son.\"\n\nBut the Silent did not seem to hear.\n\n\"Toon,\" said the lady Gonde, \"do not do it; I, your mother, order\nyou. Let me wash away this blood and dress with ointment these\nugly sores.\"\n\nWhile she hurried to prepare the ointment and to warm the water in\na washing-basin, Toon did not cease his groaning and weeping. And he\ntore out the hair from his beard in a rage.\n\nAnd Sir Roel, watching him, said: \"When a man weeps 'tis blood and\nshame, shame without redress. Halewyn has a spell. Ah, presumptuous\none, must thou then go to his castle to brave the Invincible?\"\n\n\"Woe, my lord,\" said the lady Gonde, \"be not so bitter angry with the\nSilent, for he showed fine courage in wishing to avenge Anne-Mie on\nthe Miserable.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Sir Roel, \"fine courage that brings shame to our house.\"\n\n\"Tell,\" said she, \"tell, Toon, the tale to thy father, to show him\nthat thou art a worthy son to him none the less.\"\n\n\"I wish it,\" said Sir Roel.\n\n\"My lord father,\" said the Silent, groaning, and speaking in short\nbreaths, \"Anne-Mie hanging, Siewert Halewyn near to the gallows. He\nwas laughing. I ran at him, cutting at his belly with my sword in the\nfashion of a cross to break the spell. Invincible! He laughed, saying:\n'I will take Magtelt.' I struck him with a knife; the blade turned. He\nlaughed. He said: 'I do not care for punishment, be off.' I did not\ngo. I struck him with sword and knife together; in vain. He laughed. He\nsaid again: 'Be off.' I could not. Then he struck me with the flat\nof his sword in the neck and breast, and with the hilt in the back,\nlike a serf. He laughed. I lost sense from the blows. Beaten like a\nserf, my lord father, I could do naught against him.\"\n\nSir Roel, having heard Toon speak, was less angered, understanding\nthat he had not been presumptuous, thinking also of his great pain\nand of his bitter groaning and his grievous shame.\n\nWith the ointment ready and the water warm, the lady Gonde set to\nwork to dress the wounds of her son, particularly that on his neck,\nwhich was a deep one.\n\nBut Magtelt wept never a tear, and soon went off to her bed, not\nwithout a blessing from Sir Roel her father, and her lady mother.\n\nThe three stayed a long while together before the fire, father, mother,\nand son, without a word spoken, for the Silent, moaning all the while,\ncould not bear his defeat, and the lady Gonde wept and prayed; and\nSir Roel, sad and ashamed, hid his face.\n\n\n\n\nXXIV. How the damosel Magtelt made a good resolution.\n\nMagtelt, before she lay down on her bed, prayed, but not aloud. And\nher face was hard set with anger.\n\nAnd having undressed she lay down in her bed, tugging at her breast\nwith her finger-nails from time to time, as if she were fighting\nfor breath.\n\nAnd her breathing was as if she were in agony.\n\nFor she was bitter sad and out of heart.\n\nBut she did not weep.\n\nAnd she heard the high wind, forerunner of snow, lifting over the\nforest, and roaring like a stream in spate after heavy rain.\n\nAnd it tossed against the window glass dried leaves and branches,\nwhich beat on the pane like dead men's finger-nails.\n\nAnd it howled and whistled sadly in the chimney.\n\nAnd the sorrowing maid saw in her mind's eye Anne-Mie hanging in the\nGallows-field and her poor body pecked by the crows, and she thought\nof the stain on her brave brother's honour, and of the fifteen poor\nvirgins outraged by the Miserable.\n\nBut she did not weep.\n\nFor in her breast was a dumb pain, harsh anguish, and a bitter thirst\nfor vengeance.\n\nAnd she asked very humbly of Our Lady if it were a good thing to\nlet the Miserable any longer go killing the maidens of the land\nof Flanders.\n\nAnd at cock-crow she rose from her bed, and her eyes were bright,\nand proud was her countenance, and her head held high, and she said:\n\"I will go to Halewyn.\"\n\nAnd throwing herself on her knees she prayed to the very strong God\nto give her courage and strength for the revenge of Anne-Mie, Toon\nthe Silent, and the fifteen virgins.\n\n\n\n\nXXV. Of the sword of the Lion.\n\nAt sun-up she went to Sir Roel, who was still in bed, on account of\nthe cold.\n\nSeeing her come in and fall on her knees before him, he said: \"What\nwilt thou, little one?\"\n\n\"My lord father,\" she said, \"may I go to Halewyn?\"\n\nAt this he became afraid, and saw well enough that Magtelt, unable\nto rid her heart of the thought of Anne-Mie, was minded to avenge\nher. And he said with love and anger:\n\n\"No, my daughter, no, not thou; who goes there will not come again!\"\n\nBut seeing her go out of the room he never supposed that she would\nfail in her obedience.\n\nAnd Magtelt went thence to the lady Gonde, who was praying in the\nchapel for the repose of Anne-Mie's soul; and she pulled at her\nmother's dress, to show that she was there.\n\nWhen the lady Gonde turned her head, Magtelt fell on her knees\nbefore her:\n\n\"Mother,\" said she, \"may I go to Halewyn?\"\n\nBut her lady mother: \"Oh no, child, no, not thou; who goes there will\nnot come again!\"\n\nAnd so saying, she opened her arms and let fall the golden ball\nwherewith she warmed her hands, so that the embers spread this way\nand that on the floor. Then she fell to moaning, weeping, trembling,\nand chattering with her teeth, and embraced the girl tightly as if\nshe would never let her go.\n\nBut she never supposed that she could fail in her obedience.\n\nAnd Magtelt went thence to Toon, who, despite his wounds, was already\nout of bed, and seated on his coffer, warming himself before a\nnew-lit fire.\n\n\"Brother,\" she said, \"may I go to Halewyn?\"\n\nSaying this she held herself straight before him.\n\nThe Silent lifted his head and looked at her severely, waiting for\nher to speak further.\n\n\"Brother,\" she said, \"Siewert Halewyn has killed this sweet maid whom\nI loved; and has done the same to fifteen other pitiful virgins,\nwho are hanging in the Gallows-field shamefully; he is for this\ncountry a greater evil than war, death, and pestilence; brother,\nI would kill him.\"\n\nBut Toon looked at Magtelt and answered nothing.\n\n\"Brother,\" said she, \"thou must not refuse me, for my heart bids\nme go. Canst thou not see how sad and downcast I am in this house,\nand how I shall die of sorrow if I do not that which I should. But\nhaving been to him I shall come back joyous and singing as before.\"\n\nBut the Silent said not a word.\n\n\"Ah,\" she said, \"dost fear for me, seeing how many good knights have\nassailed him and been by him shamefully overthrown, even thyself, my\nbrave brother, who carriest even now his marks? I am not ignorant that\non his shield is written: 'None can stand against me.' But what others\ncould not, one may do. He goes glorying in his strength, more terrible\nthan an oliphant, prouder than a lion, thinking himself invincible,\nbut when the beast goes with assurance the hunter follows the more\neasily. Brother, may I go to Halewyn?\"\n\nWhen Magtelt had reached so far in her speech, suddenly there\nfell from the wall whereon it was fastened a fair sword well set\nand sharpened, and with the blade stout to the hilt. The handpiece\nwas of cedar of Lebanon, set out with golden cresslets, and in the\ncastle this sword was held to be of marvellous virtue and holiness,\nbecause it had been brought from the crusade by Roeland de Heurne,\nthe Lion. And none dared use it.\n\nThe sword, falling, lay at the feet of Magtelt.\n\n\"Brother,\" said Magtelt, crossing herself, \"the good sword of the\nLion has fallen at my feet; 'tis the very strong God showing thus\nhis will. He must be obeyed, brother; let me go to Halewyn.\"\n\nAnd Toon the Silent, crossing himself as Magtelt had done, answered:\n\n\"'Tis all one to me where thou go, if thou cherish thine honour and\ncarry thy crown straight.\"\n\n\"Brother,\" she said, \"I thank you.\" And the noble maid began to\ntremble mightily from head to foot; and she who had not shed a\ntear on hearing of Anne-Mie's death and her brother's dishonour,\nfell to weeping abundantly, whereby her bitter anger was melted,\nand bursting into tears by reason of her great joy she said again:\n\"Brother, brother, 'tis the hour of God! I go to the reckoning!\"\n\nAnd she took the good sword.\n\nThe Silent, seeing her so brave, lifted himself straight before her\nand put his hand on her shoulder. \"Go,\" said he.\n\nAnd she went out.\n\n\n\n\nXXVI. Of the noble apparel of the maid Magtelt.\n\nIn her own room she dressed herself in her most beautiful clothes as\nquickly as she could.\n\nWhat did the fair maid put on her white body? A bodice finer than silk.\n\nAnd over the fine bodice?\n\nA robe of cloth-of-scarlet of Flemish blue, whereon were the arms\nof de Heurne marvellously worked, and the edges next to the feet and\nthe neck embroidered with fine Cyprian gold.\n\nWherewith did the fair maid bind in her slender waist?\n\nWith a girdle of the hide of a lion, studded with gold.\n\nWhat had the fair maid on her beautiful shoulders?\n\nHer great keirle, which was of cramoisy stitched with Cyprian gold,\nand covered her from head to foot, for it was an ample cloak.\n\nWhat had the fair maid on her proud head?\n\nA fine crown of beaten gold, whence fell tresses of pale hair as long\nas herself.\n\nWhat held she in her little hand?\n\nThe blessed sword brought from the crusade.\n\nSo apparelled she went out to the stable, and harnessed Schimmel,\nthe great war-horse, with his saddle of State, a fine leathern seat,\npainted in divers colours, and richly worked with gold.\n\nAnd they set out together, through the snow falling thickly.\n\n\n\n\nXXVII. How Sir Roel and the lady Gonde questioned Toon the Silent,\nand of what he answered.\n\nWhile Magtelt was on her way to Halewyn, and when the first hour of\nher journey had already gone by, the lady Gonde questioned Sir Roel:\n\"Sir,\" she said, \"do you know where our daughter may be?\"\n\nSir Roel said that he knew nothing of it; and speaking to the Silent:\n\"Son,\" said he, \"dost thou know where thy sister has gone?\"\n\nThe Silent answered quietly: \"Magtelt is a brave maid; whom God leads\nhe leads well.\"\n\n\"Sir,\" said the lady Gonde, \"do not put yourself to the trouble of\nquestioning him further, for saying so much he has used up his words.\"\n\nBut Sir Roel to Toon: \"Son, dost thou not know where she is?\"\n\n\"Magtelt,\" answered he, \"is a fair maid, and carries her crown\nstraight.\"\n\n\"Ah,\" exclaimed the lady Gonde, \"I am growing anxious; where is\nshe then?\"\n\nAnd she went off to search the castle thoroughly.\n\nBut coming back she said to Sir Roel: \"She is nowhere in the house;\nshe has defied our orders and gone to Halewyn.\"\n\n\"Wife,\" said Roel, \"that cannot be. Children, in this country, were\nalways obedient to their parents.\"\n\n\"Toon,\" said she, \"where is she? Toon, do you not know?\"\n\n\"The Miserable,\" he answered, \"fears the beautiful maid; whom God\nleads he leads well.\"\n\n\"Roel,\" cried out the lady Gonde, \"he knows where our Magtelt has\ngone!\"\n\n\"Son, answer,\" said Sir Roel.\n\nThe Silent answered:\n\n\"The sword of the crusade fell from the wall at the maid's feet. Whom\nGod guides succeeds in everything.\"\n\n\"Toon,\" cried the lady Gonde, \"where is Magtelt?\"\n\n\"The virgin,\" he said, \"rides without fear, she goes faster than the\narmed man: whom God leads he leads well.\"\n\nThe lady Gonde groaned:\n\n\"Ah,\" she said, \"our Magtelt will be killed, even now she is stiff\nfrozen, sweet Jesus! The sword of the crusade is of no avail against\nSiewert Halewyn.\"\n\nThe Silent answered:\n\n\"He glories in his strength, thinking himself invincible, but when\nthe beast goes with assurance the hunter follows more easily.\"\n\n\"Wicked son, how couldst thou think to send the little bird to the\nhawk, the virgin to the enemy of virgins?\"\n\nThe Silent answered:\n\n\"She will come whither none looks to see her: whom God leads he\nleads well.\"\n\n\"Sir,\" said the lady Gonde to Roel, \"you hear what he says; she has\ngone to Halewyn, and 'tis this wicked son that gave her leave.\"\n\nSir Roel going to Toon:\n\n\"Son,\" said he, \"we had here but one joy, that was our Magtelt. Thou\nhast abused thy privilege in giving her leave to go thither. If she\ncomes not back to us by nightfall I will curse thee and banish thee\nfrom my house. May God hear me, and take from thee, in this world\nbread and salt, and in the other thy portion in Paradise.\"\n\n\"God,\" said the Silent, \"will guide the sword. Whosoever has done\nwrong, on him let fall the punishment.\"\n\nGonde began crying out, weeping and making dole. Roel bade her be\nsilent, and sent a goodly troop of men-at-arms in the direction she\nhad taken.\n\nBut they came back without having seen anything of Magtelt, for\nthey had not dared to go into the territory of Halewyn by reason of\nthe spell.\n\n\n\n\nXXVIII. The riding of the maid Magtelt.\n\nSinging and winding her horn, rides the noble damosel.\n\nAnd she is beautiful with a beauty from heaven; fresh and rosy are\nher cheeks.\n\nAnd straight she carries her crown.\n\nAnd her little hand holds fast beneath her keirle the good sword of\nRoel the Lion.\n\nAnd wide open are her fearless eyes, searching the forest for Sir\nHalewyn.\n\nAnd she listens for the sound of his horse.\n\nBut she hears nothing, except, in the heavy silence, the still sound\nof snowflakes falling quietly like feathers.\n\nAnd she sees nothing, except the air whitened with snow, and white\nalso the long road, and white also the leafless trees.\n\nWhat is it makes the flame glow in her clear brown eyes? It is her\nhigh courage.\n\nWhy does she carry so straight her head and her crown? Because of\nthe great strength in her heart.\n\nWhat is it so swells her breast? The cruel thought of Anne-Mie,\nand her brother's shame and the great crimes of Sir Halewyn.\n\nAnd ceaselessly she looks to see if he be not coming, and if she can\nhear nothing of the sound of his horse.\n\nBut she sees nothing, except the air whitened with snow, and white\nalso the long road, and white also the leafless trees.\n\nAnd she hears nothing, except, in the heavy silence, the still sound\nof snowflakes falling quietly like feathers.\n\nAnd she sings.\n\nThen, speaking to Schimmel, she said: \"Together, good Schimmel, we are\ngoing to a lion. Canst not see him in his cavern, awaiting passers-by,\nand devouring poor maids?\"\n\nAnd Schimmel, hearing her, whinnied joyously.\n\n\"Schimmel,\" said Magtelt, \"thou art glad, I see, to be going to the\nrevenge of Anne-Mie with the good sword.\"\n\nAnd Schimmel whinnied a second time.\n\nAnd Magtelt sought Sir Halewyn everywhere as she went through the\nforest. And she listened well for the sound of his horse, and looked\nto see if he were nowhere coming.\n\nAnd she saw nothing, except the air whitened with snow, and white\nalso the long road, and white also the leafless trees.\n\nAnd she heard nothing, except, in the heavy silence, the still sound\nof snowflakes falling quietly like feathers.\n\nAnd she wound her horn.\n\n\n\n\nXXIX. Of the crow and the sparrow, of the hound, the horse and the\nseven echoes.\n\nWhen she reached the middle part of the forest, she saw through the\nthick snowflakes Sir Halewyn coming towards her.\n\nThe Miserable had that day on his body a fine dress of blue cloth,\non which was broidered in two colours his ugly arms. Round his waist\nhe had a fair belt studded with lumps of gold, and at his belt the\ngolden sickle, and over his dress a fair opperst-kleed of corn-coloured\ncloth-of-scarlet.\n\nRiding on his roan horse he came up to Magtelt, and she saw that he\nwas handsome.\n\nBefore his horse, barking and making a great noise, ran a hound like\na wolf, which, on seeing Schimmel, leapt at him and bit him. But\nSchimmel, with a great kick which he let fly, set him dancing a sorry\ndance, and singing a pitiful song over his broken paw.\n\n\"Ah,\" thought the maid, \"God grant, brave Schimmel, that I may do\nbetter for the master than thou hast done for the dog.\"\n\nAnd the Miserable came to her:\n\n\"Salutation,\" he said, \"fair maid with clear brown eyes.\"\n\n\"Salutation,\" she said, \"Siewert Halewyn the Invincible.\"\n\nBut the Miserable: \"What brings thee,\" he said, \"into my lands?\"\n\n\"My heart,\" said Magtelt, \"bade me come, I wished greatly to see thee,\nand am content now that I can look at thee face to face.\"\n\n\"So,\" said he, \"have done and shall do all virgins, even more beautiful\nthan thou art.\"\n\nWhile they were talking together the wounded hound made a rush at the\nhorse and hung on to Halewyn's opperst-kleed as if he would drag him\ndown to the ground.\n\nHaving done this, he went off and sat down in the snow beside the road,\nand there lifting up his muzzle howled most lamentably.\n\n\"See,\" said he, \"my hound crying out to death. Hast no fear, maid?\"\n\n\"I go,\" she said, \"in God's keeping.\"\n\nHaving moved forward a little way, talking and riding together, they\nsaw in the air above their heads, a crow of great size, on whose neck\nwas perched an angry little sparrow, pecking him, clutching him,\npulling out his feathers and piping furiously. Wounded, torn open,\nflying this way and that, right, left, upward, downward, banging\nagainst the trees blindly, and croaking with pain, this crow at length\nfell dead, with his eyes pecked out, across Halewyn's saddle. Having\nlooked at it a moment, he tossed it aside into the road; while the\nsparrow flew off to a bough, and there, shaking out his feathers\nmerrily, fell a-piping at the top of his voice in celebration of\nhis victory.\n\n\"Ah,\" said Magtelt, laughing to the sparrow, \"thou art of noble blood,\nlittle bird; come hither, I will find thee a fair cage and give thee\nthy fill of wheat, millet, hemp, and linseed.\"\n\nBut Halewyn became mightily angry: \"Common little insolent!\" he cried,\n\"would that I had thee in a snare! Shouldst not then sing for long\nthy victory over this noble crow.\"\n\nNone the less the sparrow went on singing without a break, and in\nthis wise seemed to mock at Halewyn, who said to Magtelt:\n\n\"Dost dare to applaud and give heart to this little animal,\nknowing that my shield bears on it the crow of my glorious ancestor\nDirk! Knowest thou not that like him thou hast but little longer\nto sing?\"\n\n\"I,\" she said, \"shall sing as long as it pleases God, my master.\"\n\n\"There is for thee,\" said he, \"no other master than I, for here I\nrule alone.\" Suddenly he turned very cold, for the heart of Anne-Mie,\nthough it still beat, was become like ice in his breast. So, thinking\nthat this heart was about to dry up, he said to Magtelt: \"Thou comest\nin good season, fair virgin.\"\n\n\"Whom God leads,\" said she, \"comes always in good season.\"\n\n\"But,\" he said, \"who art thou, riding in my land, singing and winding\nthe horn, who bringest hither such insolent talk?\"\n\n\"I,\" said she, \"am the Lady Magtelt, daughter of Roel le Preux,\nLord of Heurne.\"\n\n\"And,\" said he, \"art thou not chilled, riding thus in the snow?\"\n\n\"None,\" she said, \"feels the cold in the race of the Lords of Heurne.\"\n\n\"And,\" said he, \"hast thou no fear, here at my side and on my own land,\nwhere no one dares to set foot?\"\n\n\"None,\" she said, \"knows of fear in the race of the Lords of Heurne.\"\n\n\"Thou art,\" said he, \"a brave maid.\"\n\n\"I,\" she said, \"am daughter of Roel le Preux, Lord of Heurne.\"\n\nHe answered nothing to that, and they went on a while without speaking.\n\nSuddenly he said, lifting his head arrogantly: \"Am I not truly the\nInvincible, the Beautiful, the Strong? Shall I not be so always? Yes,\nfor all things come to my aid in the hour of victory. In former times\nI must needs sing, in cold, snow, wind, and darkness, to call virgins\nto me, but now the most proud, noble, and beautiful of maids comes\nhither in broad day without song to call her: sure sign of growing\npower. Who is my equal? None, save God. He has the heavens and I the\nearth, and over all living things triumph and mastery. Let come what\nmay, armies, lightning, thunder, tempest; who can stand but I?\"\n\n\"I!\" answered to his hideous blasphemy seven voices speaking together.\n\nThose voices were the echo of the Seven Giants, which sent back every\nsound seven times over with great force and volume.\n\nBut the Miserable: \"Hark!\" said he, \"my Lord Echo dares to mock\nthe Invincible.\"\n\nAnd he burst out laughing.\n\nBut the echo burst out laughing likewise, and laughed loud, long,\nand terribly.\n\nAnd Halewyn appeared well pleased at the noise, and went on laughing,\nwith the seven echoes after him.\n\nAnd it seemed to Magtelt as it were a thousand men hidden in the\nforest.\n\nAnd meanwhile the hound had taken fright and howled so desperately\nthat it seemed to Magtelt as it were a thousand hounds in the forest\ncrying out to death.\n\nThe Miserable's horse had taken fright also, and was so terrified\nat his master's laughter, the dog's howls, and his own neighing,\nall ringing out together, that he plunged, reared, stood up on\nhis hind legs like a man, laid back his ears with fear, and would,\nwithout doubt, have thrown Halewyn from his back, if, driving him\nonward with his spurs, he had not made him pass by force the place\nof the seven echoes.\n\nBut Schimmel had not moved at all, and this strangely enough, for he\nwas a young horse, apt to be alarmed.\n\nWhen the noise was over they rode on their way, speaking few words\ntogether as they rode.\n\nAnd together they came to the Gallows-field.\n\n\n\n\nXXX. How Magtelt came to the Gallows-field.\n\nThere Magtelt saw the sixteen virgins hanging, and amongst them\nAnne-Mie, and all were covered over with snow.\n\nHalewyn's horse began again to rear, plunge, and lay back his ears\nas a sign of fear; but Schimmel neighed, and pawed the ground proudly\nwith his hoof.\n\nAnd Halewyn said to Magtelt: \"Thou hast there an unfaithful friend,\nwho can neigh happily at the hour of thy death.\"\n\nBut Magtelt answered nothing, and looking steadfastly at those poor\nvirgins prayed to the very strong God to help her in their revenge.\n\nMeanwhile the Miserable alighted from his horse, and taking the golden\nsickle in his hand came towards Magtelt.\n\n\"It is,\" he said, \"the hour of thy death. Get down, therefore, as I\nhave done.\"\n\nAnd in his impatience he would have lifted her from Schimmel's back.\n\nBut Magtelt:\n\n\"Leave me,\" she said, \"to get down by myself; if I must die 'twill\nbe without weeping.\"\n\n\"Thou art a fine girl,\" said he.\n\nAnd she, having dismounted from her horse, said: \"My lord, before\nthou strikest, doff thine opperst-kleed of the colour of corn, for\nthe blood of virgins gushes fiercely, and if mine should stain thee\nI should be grieved.\"\n\nBut before the opperst-kleed was off his shoulders, his head fell to\nthe ground at his feet.\n\nAnd Magtelt, looking at the body, said: \"He strode confidently,\nthinking himself invincible; but when the beast goes with assurance\nthe hunter follows more easily.\"\n\nAnd she crossed herself.\n\n\n\n\nXXXI. Of the sixteen deaths and of the Prince of the Stones.\n\nSuddenly the head spoke, saying: \"Go thou to the end of the road,\nand sound my horn aloud, so that my friends may hear.\"\n\nBut Magtelt:\n\n\"To the end of the road will I not go; thine horn will I not sound;\nmurderer's counsel will I not follow.\"\n\n\"Ah,\" said the head, \"if thou art not the Virgin without pity, join\nme to my body, and with the heart that is in my breast anoint my\nred wound.\"\n\nBut Magtelt:\n\n\"I am the Virgin without pity; to thy body will I not join thee, and\nwith the heart that is in thy breast will I not anoint thy red wound.\"\n\n\"Maid,\" said the head, weeping and speaking with great terror,\n\"maid, quickly, quickly, make on my body the sign of the cross,\nand carry me into my castle, for he is coming.\"\n\nWhile the head was speaking, suddenly came out of the wood the Prince\nof the Stones, and he came and seated himself on the body of the\nMiserable, and taking in his hands the head: \"Salutation,\" he said,\n\"to the Ill-favoured one; art thou now content? What of thy triumphant\nbearing, my lord the Invincible? She whom thou calledst not came\nwithout a song: the virgin without fear, in whose hands is death. But\nthou must sing once again thy sweet song, the song to call virgins.\"\n\n\"Ah,\" said the head, \"make me not sing, Lord Prince of the Stones,\nfor I know well enough that at the end there is great suffering.\"\n\n\"Sing,\" said the Prince of the Stones, \"sing, coward that hast never\nwept to do evil, and now weepest at the time of punishment: sing,\nMiserable.\"\n\n\"Ah,\" said the head, \"have pity, Lord.\"\n\n\"Sing,\" said the Prince of the Stones, \"sing, 'tis the hour of God.\"\n\n\"My lord Prince,\" said the head, \"be not so hard in my evil hour.\"\n\n\"Sing, Miserable,\" said the Prince of the Stones, \"sing, 'tis the\nhour of the reckoning.\"\n\n\"Ah,\" said the head, weeping, \"I will sing, since you are my master.\"\n\nAnd the head sang the faery song.\n\nAnd suddenly there spread abroad in the air a smell of cinnamon,\nfrankincense, and sweet marjoram.\n\nAnd the sixteen virgins, hearing the song, came down from the gallows\nand drew near to the body of Halewyn.\n\nAnd Magtelt, crossing herself, watched them pass, but felt no fear.\n\nAnd the first virgin, who was the daughter of the poor simpleton, Claes\nthe Dog-beater, took the golden sickle, and cutting into the breast\nof the Miserable below the left nipple drew out a great ruby, and put\nthis on her wound, where it melted into rich red blood in her breast.\n\nAnd the head let a great pitiful cry of pain.\n\n\"So,\" said the Prince of the Stones, \"did the poor virgins cry out\nwhen thou madest them pass from life unto death; sixteen times hast\nthou brought death about, sixteen times shalt thou die, besides the\ndeath thou hast suffered already. The cry is the cry of the body\nwhen the soul leaves it; sixteen times hast thou drawn this cry from\nother bodies, sixteen times shall cry out thine own; sing, Miserable,\nto call the virgins to the reckoning.\"\n\nAnd the head sang again the faery song, while the first virgin walked\naway silently towards the wood like a living person.\n\nAnd the second virgin came to the body of the Miserable and did to\nit as the first had done.\n\nAnd she also walked away into the wood like a living person.\n\nSo did each of the sixteen virgins, and for each of them a ruby was\nchanged into good red blood.\n\nAnd sixteen times the head sang the faery song, and sixteen times\ngave the death-cry.\n\nAnd one by one all the virgins went away into the depth of the wood.\n\nAnd the last of all, who was Anne-Mie, came to Magtelt, and kissing\nher right hand wherein she had held the sword: \"Blessed be thou,\"\nshe said, \"who camest without fear, and, delivering us from the spell,\nleadest us into paradise.\"\n\n\"Ah,\" said Magtelt, \"must thou go so far away, Anne-Mie?\"\n\nBut Anne-Mie, without hearing her, passed like the others into the\ndepth of the wood, walking silently over the snow like a living person.\n\nWhile the head was weeping and uttering bitter plaints, came out\nfrom the forest the child of nine years old, whom the Miserable had\nkilled first of all. Still wearing her shroud she approached and fell\nat the feet of the mannikin Prince of the Stones.\n\n\"Ah,\" she said, kissing the head tenderly, stroking it, caressing it,\nand wiping away its tears, \"poor Miserable, I will pray for thee to\nthe very good God, who readily hears the prayers of children.\"\n\nAnd the girl prayed in this wise:\n\n\"Dear Lord, see how much he is suffering! Is it not payment enough that\nhe should die sixteen times? Ah, Lord, sweet Lord, and you, Madam Mary,\nwho are so kind, deign to hear me and grant him forgiveness.\"\n\nBut the mannikin, starting up, pushed the child away and said\nharshly: \"This head is mine, thy prayers avail nothing; be off,\nlittle ragamuffin, go back whence thou came.\"\n\nAnd the child went away like the other maids into the depth of\nthe wood.\n\nThen he thrust his hand into the breast of the Miserable and pulled\nout a heart of stone: then, in his rasping voice, which hissed like\na viper and scraped like a thousand pebbles under the iron sole of\nan armed man, he said: \"Ambitious heart, heart of stone, thou wast in\nthy lifetime cruel and a coward; thou couldst not be content with such\nample gifts as God in His bounty had given thee, thou hadst no desire\ntowards goodness, courage, or just dealing, but towards gold, power,\nand vain honours; thou hadst no love for anything, neither father,\nmother, brother, nor sister; and so, to get more power and higher\njurisdiction, thou killedst the people of the land of Flanders,\nwithout shame: and so also thou didst set thyself to hurt the weak,\nsucking thy life from their life, and thy blood from their blood. So\nhave done and so shall always do this reptile order of ambitious ugly\nmen. Blessed be God, who, by the hands of this frail and winsome maid,\nhas cut off thine head from thy neck and taken thee from the world.\"\n\nAs he spoke he had thrown the heart down into the snow, and trampling\nover it with great despite, kicking it with his toe like a vile thing,\nand laughing bitterly, he spoke again in his rasping voice:\n\n\"Stone thou art, stone shalt thou be a thousand years, but a live\nstone, a suffering stone. And when men come and carve thee, cleave\nthee, grind thee to powder, thou shalt endure it all without being\nable to cry out. Ambitious heart, heart of stone, suffer and bleed,\nmy cousin.\n\n\"Thou hast starved poor folk, so shalt thou starve a thousand years;\nthou hast brought cold into their homes, thou shalt freeze in like\nmanner. Ambitious heart, heart of stone, suffer and bleed, my cousin.\n\n\"Thou shalt be a hearth-stone and burn with the heat; paving-stone,\nand let men walk over thee; stone of a church, and bear upon thee all\nthe weight of the building; and thou shalt suffer every evil, pain,\nand anguish. Ambitious heart, heart of stone, suffer and endure,\nmy cousin.\"\n\nHaving said this the Prince of the Stones, driving before him with his\nfoot the Miserable's heart, disappeared among the trees of the forest.\n\nThen Magtelt looked at the head, and saw that its eyes were open\nwide. She took it up and washed it with snow, then, carrying it with\nher, rode away on Schimmel, leaving near the body Halewyn's horse and\nhound, the one moaning softly, the other watching it with sorrowful\nwonderment.\n\nAs she took up the head, the hound growled, but did not dare touch her.\n\nAnd while she rode away, horse and hound stayed by the body, downcast\nand sad, and covered with the snow which fell without ceasing.\n\nAnd they seemed to be guarding their master.\n\n\n\n\nXXXII. How father, mother, and sister sought everywhere their son\nand brother, and could not find him.\n\nSinging and winding her horn rides the noble maid Magtelt.\n\nAnd in her heart is joy, at the thought that Anne-Mie, the fifteen\nvirgins, and Toon the Silent are avenged.\n\nAnd her hand holds fast beneath her keirle the good sword and the\nhead of Halewyn.\n\nAnd Schimmel trots quickly, eager to be back in his stable.\n\nWhile she was riding she saw, through the thick snow falling, an old\nman coming towards her on a black horse.\n\nAnd the old man said:\n\n\"Beautiful maid, riding so fast, hast seen my son Halewyn?\"\n\nAnd Magtelt:\n\n\"I left thy son Halewyn well placed, taking his diversion in the snow\nwith sixteen maidens.\"\n\nAnd the old man rode on.\n\nWhen she had gone farther she saw, through the thick snow falling,\na young and rosy-cheeked damosel coming towards her on a white palfrey.\n\nAnd the damosel said:\n\n\"Beautiful maid, riding so fast, hast seen my brother Halewyn?\"\n\nBut Magtelt:\n\n\"Go farther, to the Gallows-field, where thou shalt see thy brother\nin like guise to the sixteen maidens.\"\n\nAnd the damosel rode on.\n\nFarther still on her way, Magtelt saw, through the thick snow falling,\na young man of haughty and stiff-necked countenance coming towards\nher on a roan charger.\n\nAnd the young man said:\n\n\"Beautiful maid, riding so fast, hast seen my brother Halewyn?\"\n\nBut Magtelt:\n\n\"Thy brother is a fair lord, so fair that round him sixteen maidens\nstand sentinel, unwilling to let him go.\"\n\nAnd the young man rode on.\n\nAfter travelling on her way still farther, she saw, through the thick\nsnow falling, an old woman, high-coloured and of robust seeming,\ndespite her great age, coming towards her.\n\nAnd the old woman said:\n\n\"Beautiful maid, riding so fast, hast seen my son Halewyn?\"\n\nBut Magtelt:\n\n\"Thy son Siewert Halewyn is dead; see, here is his head beneath my\nkeirle, and his blood running thick on my dress.\"\n\nAnd the old woman cried out:\n\n\"If thou had spoken these words earlier thou shouldst not have ridden\nso far.\"\n\nBut Magtelt:\n\n\"Thou art fortunate, old woman, in that I have left thee thine own\nbody and not slain thee as I have thy son.\"\n\nAnd the old dame took fright and made off.\n\nAnd night fell.\n\n\n\n\nXXXIII. Of the feast in the castle of Heurne, and of the head upon\nthe table.\n\nSchimmel trotted quickly, and soon Magtelt reached her father's castle\nand there sounded the horn.\n\nJosse van Ryhove, who was gate-keeper that night, was filled with\namazement at the sight of her. Then he cried out: \"Thanks be to God,\n'tis our damosel come home again.\"\n\nAnd all the household ran to the gate crying out likewise with great\nnoise and much shouting: \"Our damosel is come home.\"\n\nMagtelt, going into the great hall, went to Sir Roel and knelt\nbefore him:\n\n\"My lord father,\" she said, \"here is the head of Siewert Halewyn.\"\n\nSir Roel, taking the head in his hands and looking at it well, was\nso overcome with joy that he wept for the first time since the eyes\nwere in his head.\n\nAnd the Silent, rising up, came to Magtelt, kissed her right hand\nwherewith she had held the sword, and wept likewise, saying: \"Thanks\nbe to thee who hast brought about the reckoning.\"\n\nThe lady Gonde was like a woman drunk with joy, and could not find\nher tongue. At last, bursting into sobs, melting into tears, and\nembracing Magtelt eagerly:\n\n\"Ah, ah,\" she cried out, \"kiss me, kiss me, kiss me, little\none! She has slain the Miserable, the sweet maid; the nightingale\nhas vanquished the falcon! My child is come home again, home again\nmy child. Noel! Thanks be to God who loves aged mothers and will not\nhave them robbed of their children. Noel! See, Magtelt the beautiful,\nMagtelt the singing-bird, Magtelt the joyous, Magtelt the bright\nof heart, Magtelt the glorious, Magtelt the victorious, Magtelt my\ndaughter, my child, my all, Noel!\"\n\nAnd Magtelt smiled at her, caressing her and stroking her hands gently.\n\nAnd the lady Gonde, weeping freely, let her do, without speaking.\n\n\"Ah,\" said Sir Roel, \"I never saw my wife before in such festival\nmood.\" Then suddenly he cried out:\n\n\"Festival,\" quoth he, \"this should be a day of festival, the great\nfeast of the house of Heurne!\"\n\nAnd he threw open the door to call his pages, grooms, men-at-arms,\nand all the household.\n\nBut they all held back, not daring to enter.\n\n\"Ho!\" cried he, in his great joyous voice, \"where are cooks and\nkitchen-maids? Where are cauldrons, pots, and frying-pans? Where are\nbarrels, kegs, flagons and bottles, tankards, mugs, and goblets? Where\nis clauwaert simple and double? Where is old wine and new wine? Where\nare hams and sausages, whales' tongues, and loins of beef, meat of the\nair, meat of the waters, and meat of the fields? Bring in everything\nthere is and set it on the table, for this must be a feast-day in this\nhouse, feast for an emperor, a king, a prince; for\"--and so saying\nhe held up the Miserable's head by the hair--\"our beloved maid has\nslain with her own hand the lord Siewert Halewyn.\"\n\nHearing this they all cried out with a roar like thunder:\n\n\"Praise be to God! Noel to our damosel!\"\n\n\"Go then,\" said Sir Roel, \"and do as I have bid.\"\n\nAnd when the great feast was served the head was put in the middle\nof the table.\n\nOn the morrow there was let cry war in the seigneury of Heurne. And\nSir Roel went with a goodly force of men to attack by arms the castle\nof the Miserable, whereof all the relatives, friends, and followers\nwere either hanged or slain.\n\nAnd My Lord the Count gave to the family of Heurne, the goods,\ntitles and territories of Halewyn, excepting only the ugly shield,\nand theirs they remain to this day.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nSMETSE SMEE\n\n\nI. Of Smetse, his belly, and his forge.\n\nSmetse Smee lived in the good town of Ghent, on the Quai aux Oignons,\nbeside the fair River Lys.\n\nHe was well skilled in his trade, rich in bodily fat, and with so jolly\na countenance that the most melancholy of men were cheered and took\nheart for no more than the sight of him in his smithy, trotting about\non his short legs, head up and belly forward, seeing to everything.\n\nWhen work was in full swing in his shop, Smetse, listening to the\nbusy sounds round the fire, would say, with his hands clasped across\nhis stomach, quietly and happily: \"By Artevelde! what are drums,\ncymbals, fifes, viols, and bagpipes worth? For heavenly music give\nme my sledges beating, my anvils ringing, my bellows roaring, my good\nworkmen singing and hammering.\"\n\nThen, speaking to them all: \"Courage,\" he would say, \"my children! Who\nworks well from daybreak drinks the better for it at vespers. Whose is\nthat feeble arm down there, tapping with his hammer so gently? Does\nhe think he is cracking eggs, the faint-heart? To those bars, Dolf,\nand plunge them in the water. To that breastplate, Pier, beat it out\nfor us fine and true: iron well beaten is proof against bullets. To\nthat plough-share, Flipke, and good work to it, too: from the plough\ncomes the world's bread. To the door, Toon, here comes the raw-boned\nnag of Don Sancio d'Avila, the knight with the sour countenance,\nbrought hither by his raw-boned groom, who is for having him shod,\nno doubt: let him pay double for his Spanish haughtiness and his\nharshness to poor folk!\"\n\nSo went Smetse about his smithy, singing mostly, and whistling\nwhen he was not singing. And for the rest getting much honest gain,\nprofiting in health, and, at vespers, drinking bruinbier with a will\nin the inn of Pensaert.\n\n\n\n\nII. How Slimbroek the Red put out the fire in Smetse's forge.\n\nBy and by there came to the Quai aux Oignons a certain Adriaen\nSlimbroek, who set up, with the licence of the guild, another\nsmithy. This Slimbroek was an ugly, wizened, lean and puny personage,\nwhite-faced, underhung in the jaw like a fox, and nicknamed the Red\non account of the colour of his hair.\n\nSkilled in intrigue, expert in sharp-practice, master of arts in cant\nand hypocrisy, and making himself out to be the finest of smiths, he\nhad interested in his business all the rich and gentle folk of the\ntown, who from fear or otherwise held to the Spaniards and wished\nill to those of the reformed faith. They were before, for the most\npart, customers of Smetse, but Slimbroek had put them against him,\nsaying: \"This Smetse is a knave to the bottom of his heart, he was a\nmarauder in his young days, sailing the seas with the men of Zeeland\nin despite of Spain, on the side of this religion which they call\nreformed. He still has many friends and relatives in Walcheren, more\nparticularly at Middelburg, Arnemuiden, Camp-Veere, and Flushing,\nall obstinate Protestants, and speaking of the Pope of Rome and my\nLords the Archdukes without veneration.\n\n\"And for the rest,\" added he, \"this fellow Smetse is altogether an\natheist, reading the bible of Antwerp in despite of the decrees,\nand going to church only because he is afraid, and not at all because\nhe will.\"\n\nBy such slanders as these Slimbroek robbed Smetse of all his customers.\n\nAnd soon the fire was out in the forge of the good smith, and soon,\ntoo, the savings were eaten up, and Dame Misery came to the dwelling.\n\n\n\n\nIII. Wherein Slimbroek is seen in the river prettily tricked out.\n\nBrought to this pass Smetse, nevertheless, would not let himself take\nto despair; but he was always sad and heavy of heart when, sitting\nin his cold smithy and looking at all his good tools lying idle on\nthe ground, he heard the fair sound of hammers and anvils coming from\nSlimbroek's shop.\n\nBut what angered him most was that whenever he passed before\nSlimbroek's dwelling the traitor carrot-head would appear suddenly\non the threshold, and, saluting him graciously and giving him fair\ncompliments, would make a hundred flattering speeches, accompanied\nby as many hypocritical salutations, and all for the sake of poking\nfun at him and to laugh unkindly at his misery.\n\nThese ugly encounters and grimaces went on a long while, and Smetse\ncame to the end of his patience: \"Ah,\" said he, \"it angers me to\nbe in such poor case; although I must submit, for such is the holy\nwill of God. But it irks me too bitterly to see this wicked knave,\nwho by his trickeries has taken away all my customers, so amusing\nhimself with my misery.\"\n\nMeanwhile Slimbroek spared him not at all, and each day became sharper\nin speech, for the more wrong he did to the good smith the more hate\nhe bore him.\n\nAnd Smetse swore to have his revenge on him, in such a way as to\nspoil thenceforward his taste for mockery.\n\nIt so happened that one Sunday when he was standing on the Quai des\nBateliers, looking at the river with a crowd of watermen, townsfolk,\nboys, and scholars who were idle for the holy day, suddenly there came\nout of a pothouse, wherein he had been swallowing many pints of ale,\nSlimbroek, bolder than usual on account of the drink. Seeing Smetse\nhe came and placed himself close to him, and with much gesticulation,\nloud bursts of talk and laughter, said to him in an insolent tone:\n\"Good day, Smetse, good day, my worthy friend. How is thy fine face? It\nseems to lose its fat, which was of good quality, Smetse. 'Tis a\ngreat pity. What is the reason for it? Art thou angry at the loss of\nthy customers, Smetse? Thou must drink well to bring back the joy to\nthy stomach, Smetse. We never see thee now at vespers in the inn of\nPensaert; why, Smetse? Hast no pennies to get drink? I have plenty\nfor thee, if thou wilt, Smetse.\" And he shook his money-bag to make\nit ring.\n\n\"Thank thee kindly,\" said Smetse, \"thou art too generous, Master\nSlimbroek, 'tis my turn to stand thee drink now.\"\n\n\"Ah,\" cried Slimbroek, feigning pity and compassion, \"why wilt thou\nstand drink to me? The world knows thou art not rich, Smetse.\"\n\n\"Rich enough,\" answered the smith, \"to stand thee the best draught\nthou ever had.\"\n\n\"Hark to him,\" said Slimbroek to the crowd of watermen and townsfolk,\n\"hark to him. Smetse will stand us drink! The world is coming to an\nend. 'Tis the year of golden rags. Smetse will stand us drink! Ah! I\nshall taste with great pleasure the bruinbier that Smetse will stand\nus. I am thirsty as an African desert, thirsty as Sunday, thirsty as\na devil half-boiled in the cauldrons of Lucifer.\"\n\n\"Drink then, Slimbroek,\" said Smetse, and threw him into the river.\n\nSeeing this the people who were on the quay applauded heartily, and\nall ran to the edge to have a good look at Slimbroek, who, falling\ninto the water head first, had struck and broken through the belly\nof a dog a long while dead, which was floating down on the stream\nas such carrion will. And he was tricked out round the neck with\nthis dog in a most marvellous manner, nor could he get rid of it,\nbeing busy with his arms at keeping himself afloat, and his face was\nsmeared all over with offensive matter.\n\nNotwithstanding that he was half-blinded, he dared not come out on\nto the quay where Smetse was, but swam off towards the other bank,\ndecked with his carrion and blowing like a hundred devils.\n\n\"Well,\" said Smetse, \"dost find the bruinbier to thy liking; is it\nnot the best in all the land of Flanders? But my good sir, take off\nthy bonnet to drink; such headgear is not worn for river parties.\"\n\nWhen Slimbroek was in midstream, over against the bridge, Smetse\nwent up on to this bridge with the other onlookers, and Slimbroek,\nin the midst of his puffing and snorting, cried out to Smetse:\n\"I'll have thee hanged, accursed reformer!\"\n\n\"Ah,\" said the good smith, \"you are mistaken, my friend; 'tis not I\nwho am the reformer, but you, who devise these new bonnets. Where got\nyou this one? I have never seen such a one, neither so beautiful,\nnor so richly ornamented with tufts and hangings. Is the fashion\ncoming to Ghent by and by?\"\n\nSlimbroek answered nothing, and struggled to get rid of the dead dog,\nbut in vain, and having paused in his swimming for this purpose,\nwent down to the bottom, and came up again more furious than ever,\nblowing harder, and trying all the while to tear off the body.\"\n\n\"Leave your hat on, my master,\" said Smetse, \"do not so put yourself\nout in order to salute me, I am not worth the trouble. Leave it on.\"\n\nAt last Slimbroek climbed out of the water. On the quay he shook off\nthe dog hastily and made away as fast as he could to his dwelling. But\nhe was followed by a crowd of young watermen and boys, who ran after\nhim hooting, whistling, covering him with mud and other filth. And\nthey continued to do the same to his house-front after he had gone in.\n\n\n\n\nIV. Of the two branches.\n\nIn this wise Smetse had his revenge on Slimbroek, who thereafter\ndared not look him in the face, and hid when he passed.\n\nBut the good smith, nevertheless, had no more pleasure in anything\nthan before, for with every passing day he became more and more needy,\nhaving already, with his wife, used up what help came to them from\nthe guild, and also a small sum of silver from Middelburg in Walcheren.\n\nAshamed to get his living by begging and knavery, and knowing how to\nbear with his lot no longer, he resolved to kill himself.\n\nSo one night he left his house, and went out to the moats of the\ntown, which are bordered by fine trees, forked and spreading down\nto the ground. There he fastened a stone to his neck, commended his\nsoul to God, and, stepping back three paces to get a better start,\nran and jumped.\n\nBut while he was in the very act he was caught suddenly by two\nbranches, which, falling upon his shoulders, gripped him like man's\nhands and held him fast where he was. These branches were neither\ncold nor hard, as wood naturally is, but supple and warm. And he\nheard at the same instant a strange and scoffing voice saying:\n\"Where goest thou, Smetse?\"\n\nBut he could not answer by reason of his great astonishment.\n\nAnd although there was no wind the trunks and branches of the tree\nmoved and swung about like serpents uncoiling, while all around there\ncrackled above ten hundred thousand sparks.\n\nAnd Smetse grew more afraid, and a hot breath passed across his face,\nand the voice, speaking again, but nearer, or so it seemed, repeated:\n\"Where goest thou, Smetse?\"\n\nBut he could not speak for fear, and because his throttle was dry\nand his teeth chattering.\n\n\"Why,\" said the voice, \"dost not dare answer him who wishes thee\nnaught but well? Where goest thou, Smetse?\"\n\nHearing so pleasant and friendly a speech, the good smith took heart\nand answered with great humility: \"Lord whom I cannot see, I was\ngoing to kill myself, for life is no longer bearable.\"\n\n\"Smetse is mad,\" said the voice.\n\n\"So I am, if you will, Lord,\" answered the smith; \"nevertheless when\nmy smithy is lost to me by the cunning of a wicked neighbour, and I\nhave no way to live but by begging and knavery, 'twould be greater\nmadness in me to live than to die.\"\n\n\"Smetse,\" said the voice, \"is mad to wish himself dead, for he shall\nhave again, if he will, his fair smithy, his good red fire, his good\nworkmen, and as many golden royals in his coffers as he sees sparks\nin this tree.\"\n\n\"I,\" exclaimed the smith in great delight, \"shall never have such\nfine things as that! They are not for such miserables as I.\"\n\n\"Smetse,\" said the voice, \"all things are possible to my master.\"\n\n\"Ah,\" said the smith, \"you come from the devil, Lord?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" answered the voice, \"and I come to thee on his account to\npropose a bargain: For seven years thou shalt be rich, thou shalt\nhave thy smithy the finest in the town of Ghent; thou shalt win gold\nenough to pave the Quai aux Oignons; thou shalt have in thy cellars\nenough beer and wine to wet all the dry throttles in Flanders; thou\nshalt eat the finest meats and the most delicate game; thou shalt have\nhams in plenty, sausages in abundance, mince-pies in heaps; every\none shall respect thee, admire thee, sing thy praises; Slimbroek at\nthe sight of it shall be filled with rage; and for all these great\nbenefits thou hast only to give us thy soul at the end of seven years.\"\n\n\"My soul?\" said Smetse, \"'tis the only thing I have; would you not,\nMy Lord Devil, make me rich at a less price?\"\n\n\"Wilt thou or wilt thou not, smith?\" said the voice.\n\n\"Ah,\" answered Smetse, \"you offer me things that are very desirable,\neven, My Lord Devil (if I may say it without offence), more than\nI wish; for if I might have only my forge and enough customers to\nkeep the fire alight I should be happier than My Lord Albert or\nMadam Isabella.\"\n\n\"Take or leave it, smith,\" said the voice.\n\n\"Lord Devil,\" answered Smetse, \"I beg you not to become angry with\nme, but to deign to consider that if you give me but my forge, and\nnot all this gold, wine, and meats, you might perhaps be content to\nlet my soul burn for a thousand years, which time is not at all to\nbe compared with the great length of all eternity, but would seem\nlong enough to whomever must pass it in the fire.\"\n\n\"Thy forge for thee, thy soul for us; take or leave it, smith,\"\nsaid the voice.\n\n\"Ah,\" lamented Smetse, \"'tis dear bought, and no offence to you,\nLord Devil.\"\n\n\"Well then, smith,\" said the voice, \"to riches thou preferest\nbeggary? Do as thou wilt. Ah, thou wilt have great joy when, walking\nwith thy melancholy countenance about the streets of Ghent, thou art\nfled by every one and dogs snap at thy heels; when thy wife dies of\nhunger, and thou chantest mea culpa in vain; then when, alone in the\nworld, thou beatest on thy shrunken belly the drum for a feast, and\nthe little girls dancing to such music give thee a slap in the face\nfor payment; then, at last, when thou dost hide thyself in thy house\nso that thy rags shall not be seen in the town, and there, scabby,\nchatter-tooth, vermin-fodder, thou diest alone on thy dung-hill like a\nleper, and art put into the earth, and Slimbroek comes to make merry\nat thy downfall.\"\n\n\"Ah,\" said Smetse, \"he would do it, the knave.\"\n\n\"Do not await this vile end,\" said the voice, \"it were better to die\nnow: leap into the water, Smetse; leap, Smee.\"\n\n\"Alas,\" lamented he, \"if I give myself to you, I shall burn for\nall eternity.\"\n\n\"Thou wilt not burn,\" said the voice, \"but serve us for food,\ngood smith.\"\n\n\"I?\" cried Smetse, much frightened at these words, \"do you think to\neat me down there? I am not good for eating, I must tell you. There\nis no meat more sour, tough, common, and vulgar than mine is. It has\nbeen at one time and another diseased with plague, itch, and other vile\nmaladies. Ah, I should make you a shabby feast, you and the others, My\nLord Devil, who have in hell so many souls which are noble, succulent,\ntasty, and well-fed. But mine is not at all good, I declare.\"\n\n\"Thou art wrong, smith,\" said the voice. \"Souls of wicked emperors,\nkings, princes, popes, famous captains of arms, conquerors, slayers\nof men, and other brigands, are always as hard as an eagle's beak;\nfor so their omnipotence fashions them; we break our teeth off bit\nby bit in eating them. Others, having been eaten up beforehand by\nambition and cruelty, which are like ravenous worms, give us hardly\na crumb to pick. Souls of girls who, without want or hunger, sell\nfor money what nature bids them give for nothing, are so rotten,\nputrid, and evil-smelling that the hungriest of devils will not touch\nthem. Souls of vain men are bladders, and within there is nothing\nbut wind; 'tis poor food. Souls of hypocrites, canters, liars, are\nlike beautiful apples without, but beneath the skin are full of bile,\ngall, sour wine, and frightful poison; none of us will have any ado\nwith them. Souls of envious men are as toads, who from spleen at\nbeing so ugly, run yellow spittle on whatever is clean and shining,\nfrom mouth, feet, and all their bodies. Souls of gluttons are naught\nbut cow-dung. Souls of good drinkers are always tasty, and above all\nwhen they have about them the heavenly smell of good wine and good\nbruinbier. But there is no soul so tasty, delectable, succulent,\nor of such fine flavour as that of a good woman, a good workman,\nor a good smith such as thou. For, working without intermission,\nthey have no time for sin to touch and stain them, unless it be once\nor twice only, and for this reason we catch them whenever we can;\nbut 'tis a rare dish, kept for the royal table of My Lord Lucifer.\"\n\n\"Ah,\" said Smetse, \"you have made up your mind to eat me, I see well\nenough; nevertheless 'twould not cost you much to give me back my\nforge for nothing.\"\n\n\"'Tis no great discomfort,\" said the voice, \"to be so eaten, for My\nLord and King has a mouth larger than had the fish whereby Jonah the\nJew was swallowed in olden time; thou wilt go down like an oyster\ninto his stomach, without having been wounded by his teeth in any\nwise; there, if it displease thee to stay, thou must dance with\nfeet and hands as hard as thou canst, and My Lord will at once spit\nthee out, for he will not find it possible to stand for long such\na drubbing. Falling at his feet thou wilt show him a joyous face,\na steady look in his eyes, and a good countenance, and the same to\nMadam Astarte, who, without a doubt, will take thee for her pet, as\nshe has done already to several; thereafter thou wilt have a joyous\ntime, serving My Lady merrily and brushing his hair for My Lord;\nas for the rest of us, we shall be right glad to have you with us,\nfor, among all these familiar vile and ugly faces of conquerors,\nplunderers, thieves, and assassins, 'twill do us good to see the\nhonest countenance of a merry smith, as thou art.\"\n\n\"My Lord Devil,\" said Smetse, \"I do not merit such honour. I can\nwell believe, from what you tell me, that 'tis pleasant enough down\nthere with you. But I should be ill at ease, I must tell you, being\nnaturally uncouth in the company of strangers; and so I should bring\nno joy with me, and should not be able to sing; and therefore you\nwould get but poor amusement from me, I know in advance. Ah, give\nme back rather my good forge and my old customers, and hold me quit;\nthis would be the act of a royal devil and would sit well upon you.\"\n\nSuddenly the voice spoke with anger: \"Smith, wilt thou pay us in such\nape's coin? Life is no longer of benefit to thee, death is abhorrent,\nand thou wouldst have from us without payment the seven full, rich and\njoyous years which I offer thee. Accept or refuse, thy forge for thee,\nthy soul for us, under the conditions I have told thee.\"\n\n\"Alas,\" said Smetse, \"then I will have it so, since it must be,\nLord Devil!\"\n\n\"Well then,\" said the voice, \"set thy mark in blood to this deed.\"\n\nAnd a black parchment, with a crow's quill, fell from the tree at the\nsmith's feet. He read on the parchment, in letters of fire, the pact\nof seven years, opened his arm with his knife, and signed with the\ncrow's quill. And while he was still holding the parchment and the\nquill, he felt them suddenly snatched from his hands with violence,\nbut he saw nothing, and only heard a noise as of a man running in\nslipper-shoes, and the voice saying as it went into the distance:\n\"Thou hast the seven years, Smetse.\" And the tree ceased its swaying,\nand the sparks in the branches went out.\n\n\n\n\nV. Of the flaming ball, of the forge relit, and of the terrible great\nbuffet which the man with the lantern gave to Smetse's wife.\n\nSmetse, greatly amazed, rubbed his eyes, thinking he was\ndreaming. Suddenly shaking himself: \"This devil,\" said he, \"was he\nnot making fun of me after all? Have I verily gotten my good forge\nback again? I will go and see.\"\n\nHaving said this he started running in haste, and from far away saw a\ngreat light reddening the sky above the houses, and it seemed to him\nthat the fire sending up this light was on the Quai aux Oignons; and\nhe said to himself: \"Could that be my forge?\" And he ran the faster.\n\nComing to the quay he found it lit up as if by a sun, from the\npaving-stones up to the tops of the trees which stood alongside,\nand he said to himself: \"It is my forge.\"\n\nThen he was seized and shaken with joy, his legs failed him, and his\nbreath grew short; but he kept running as hard as he could, and coming\nat last to his house he saw his smithy wide open as in the daytime,\nand at the back of it a great bright fire.\n\nUnable to contain himself at this sight he fell to dancing, leaping,\nand bursting out into laughter, crying: \"I have my forge, my own\nforge! Ghent is mine!\" Then he went in. Inspecting, examining, touching\neverything, he saw at the sides, laid out in good order, iron of all\nkinds: armour-iron, iron bars, plough-iron. \"By Artevelde!\" he said,\n\"the devil was not lying!\" And he took up a bar, and having made it\nred with the fire, which was done quickly, started beating it, making\nthe hammer ring on the anvil like thunder, and crying: \"Ha, so I have\nmy good tools back again, and hear once more this good music which\nhas so long been silent!\" And while he was wiping away a tear of joy,\nwhich gave an unaccustomed wetness to his eye, he saw on a chest near\nby a good pewter pot standing, and beside it a fine mug, and he filled\nup the mug several times and drank it down with relish: \"Ah,\" he said,\n\"the good bruinbier, the drink which makes men! I had lost the taste\nfor it! How good it is!\" Then he went back to hammering the iron bar.\n\nWhile he was making all this noise, he heard himself called by name,\nand looking to see whence the voice came he perceived his wife in the\nhalf-open door which led from the kitchen, thrusting through her head\nand looking at him with a startled face.\n\n\"Smetse,\" she said, \"is it thou, my man?\"\n\n\"Yes, wife,\" said he.\n\n\"Smetse,\" she said, \"come close to me, I dare not set foot in this\nforge.\"\n\n\"And why not, wife?\" said he.\n\n\"Alas,\" she said, clinging to him and gazing into the forge, \"wert\nthou alone there, my man?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said he.\n\n\"Ah,\" she said, \"Smetse, while you were away there were strange\nhappenings!\"\n\n\"What happenings, wife?\"\n\n\"As I was lying in bed,\" she said, \"suddenly the house trembled, and\na flaming ball passed across our room, went out through the door,\nwithout hurting anything, down the stairs, and into the forge,\nwhere, bursting, as I suppose, it made a noise like a hundred\nthunder-claps. Suddenly all the windows and doors were thrown open\nwith a great clatter Getting out of bed, I saw the quay all lit up,\nas it is now. Then, thinking that our house was on fire, I came down\nin haste, went into the forge, saw the fire lit, and heard the bellows\nworking noisily. In each corner the iron of different kinds arranged\nitself in place according to the work for which it was used; but I\ncould see no hands moving it, though there must have been some for\nsure. I began to cry out in a fright, when suddenly I felt, as it were,\na glove of hot leather pressed against my mouth and holding it shut,\nwhile a voice said: 'Do not cry out, make no sound, if thou wilt not\nhave thy husband burnt alive for the crime of sorcery.' Nevertheless\nhe who thus ordered me to keep silent made himself more noise than I\nshould ever have dared, but by a miracle none of our neighbours heard\nit. As for me, my man, I had no more heart to make a sound, and I\nfled back hither into the kitchen, where I was praying to God when\nI heard thy voice, and dared to open the door a crack. Oh, my man,\nsince thou art here, explain, if thou can, all this tumult.\"\n\n\"Wife,\" answered Smetse, \"we must leave that to those more learned\nthan ourselves. Think only to obey the order of the voice: keep thy\nmouth shut, speak to no one of what thou hast seen to-night, and go\nback to thy bed, for it is still pitch-dark.\"\n\n\"I go,\" she said, \"but wilt thou not come also, my man?\"\n\n\"I cannot leave the forge,\" said he.\n\nWhile he was speaking thus there came towards them, one after another,\na baker carrying new-baked bread, a grocer carrying cheeses, and a\nbutcher carrying hams.\n\nSmetse knew well enough that they were devils, from their white faces,\nhollow eyes, scorched hair, twisted fingers, and also from the fact\nthat they walked with so little sound.\n\nHis wife, amazed to see them coming into her house with all this food,\nwould have stopped them, but they slipped between her hands like eels,\nand went into the kitchen, walking straight and silently.\n\nThere, without a word spoken, the baker arranged his loaves in the\npan, while the butcher and grocer put their cheeses and hams in the\ncool-of the cellar. And they finished their work, taking no notice\nof the smith's wife, who kept crying: \"'Tis not here you must bring\nthese things; you have made a mistake, I tell you, my good men. Go\nelsewhither.\"\n\nBut they, notwithstanding her voice, arranged the loaves, meat,\nand cheeses quietly.\n\nThis made the good woman more than ever put out, and she grew angry:\n\"I tell you,\" she exclaimed, \"you have made a mistake; do you not\nhear me? You have made a mistake, 'tis not here you should be; I say\nhere, with us, in this place, in the house of Smetse the beggar,\nwho has not a farthing to his name, who will never pay you. Alas,\nthey will not listen to me!\"\n\nAnd crying out at the top of her voice: \"Masters, you are at Smetse's,\ndo you not understand? Smetse the beggar! Do I not say it loud\nenough? Jesus, Lord, God! Smetse the needy! Smetse the ragged! Smetse\nthe starved! Smetse who is rich in nothing but lice! Who will pay you\nnothing: do you hear me? Who will pay you nothing, nothing, nothing!\"\n\n\"Wife,\" said the smith, \"you are losing your head, my dear. 'Tis I\nwho sent for these good men.\"\n\n\"Thou!\" said his wife, \"thou! but thou art mad, my man; yes, he is mad,\nmy masters, altogether mad. Ah, 'tis thou who sent for them! 'Tis\nthou who sendest for loaves, hams, and cheeses in this profusion,\nlike a rich man, when thou knowest well enough we cannot pay for them,\nand so showest thy bad faith!\"\n\n\"Wife,\" answered Smetse quietly, \"we are rich, and will pay for\neverything.\"\n\n\"We rich?\" she said, \"ah, poor beggar-man. Do I not know what is\nin our chest? Hast ever put thy nose in to see, any more than in\nthe bread-pan? Art thou become the housewife? Alas, my man is mad,\nGod help us!\"\n\nMeanwhile the three men came back into the smithy.\n\nSeeing them again, the wife ran to them: \"Master trades-men,\" said she,\n\"you heard me well enough, for you are not deaf, I believe; we have\nnothing, we can pay you nothing; take back your provisions.\"\n\nBut without looking at her, nor seeming to hear her, the three went\noff, walking stiff and silently.\n\nNo sooner had they gone out than a brewer's cart drew up at the door,\nand the brewer's men came into the smithy carrying between them a\ngreat barrel full of bruinbier.\n\n\"Smetse,\" said his wife, \"this is too much! Master brewers, this is\nnot for us; we do not like beer at all, we drink water. Take this\nbarrel to one of our neighbours, it is no concern of ours, I tell you.\"\n\nNone the less the brewer's men took down the barrel of bruinbier into\nthe cellar, came up again, and went out to fetch others, and placed\nthem alongside the first to the number of twenty. The good wife,\ntrying to stop them, was pushed aside, while Smetse could not speak\nfor laughing, and could only draw her to his side, and so prevent her\nfrom hurting herself on the barrels, which the men were carrying from\nstreet to cellar with marvellous speed and dispatch.\n\n\"Oh,\" she wailed, \"let me be! This is too much, Smetse! Alas! Now we\nare worse than beggars, we are debtors, Smetse: I shall go and throw\nmyself into the river, my man. To run up debts to fill a famished\nstomach, that is shame enough; but to do so from simple gluttony,\nthat is unbearable deceit. Canst thou not be content with bread and\nwater got honestly with thy two hands? Art thou then become such a\ndelicate feeder that thou must have cakes, fine cheeses, and full\nbarrels? Smetse, Smetse, that is not like a good man of Ghent, but\nrather like a Spanish rogue. Oh, I shall go and drown myself, my man!\"\n\n\"Wife,\" said Smetse, troubled at seeing her in such distress,\n\"do not weep. 'Tis all ours, my dear, duly, and by right.\"\n\n\"Ah,\" she said moaning, \"'tis an ill thing to lose in this wise in\nyour old age that honesty which was your only crown.\"\n\nWhile the smith was endeavouring, but in vain, to console her, there\nentered a vintner followed by three-and-thirty porters, each carrying\na basket full of bottles containing precious wines of great rarity,\nas was shown by the shape of those said bottles.\n\nWhen the good wife saw them she was overcome with despair, and her\ncourage failed her: \"Come in,\" she said in a piteous voice, \"come in,\nmaster vintners; the cellar is below. You have there a goodly number\nof bottles, six score for certain. That is none too much for us who\nare wealthy, wealthy of misery, vermin, and lice; come in, my masters,\nthat is the door of the cellar. Put them all there, and more besides\nif you will.\"\n\nAnd giving Smetse a push: \"Thou art happy, no doubt,\" said she, \"for\n'tis a fine sight for a drunkard, such as thou art, to see all this\ngood wine coming into the house without payment. Ah, he laughs!\"\n\n\"Yes, wife,\" said Smetse, \"I laugh with content, for the wines are\nours, ours the meats, ours the loaves and cheeses. Let us make merry\nover it together.\" And he tried to embrace her: but she, shaking\nherself free: \"Oh, oh,\" she said, \"he runs up debts, he tells lies,\nhe laughs at his shame: he has all the vices, none is wanting.\"\n\n\"Wife,\" said Smetse, \"all this is ours, I tell thee again. To this\namount am I paid in advance for certain large orders which have been\ngraciously given me.\"\n\n\"Art thou not lying?\" said she, growing a little calmer.\n\n\"No,\" said he.\n\n\"All this is ours?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he said, \"by the word of honour of a citizen of Ghent.\"\n\n\"Ah, my man, then we are henceforward out of our trouble.\"\n\n\"Yes, wife,\" said he.\n\n\"'Tis a miracle from God.\"\n\n\"Alas,\" said he.\n\n\"But these men come hither by night, against the usual custom, tell\nme the reason of that.\"\n\n\"He who knows the reason for everything,\" said Smetse, \"is an evil\nprier. Such a one am not I.\"\n\n\"But,\" said she, \"they speak never a word.\"\n\n\"They do not like to talk,\" said Smetse, \"that is clear. Or it may\nbe that their master chose them dumb, so that they should not waste\ntime chattering with housewives.\"\n\n\"Yes, that may be,\" she said, while the thirty-first porter was going\npast, \"but 'tis very strange, I cannot hear their footfalls, my man?\"\n\n\"They have for certain,\" said Smetse, \"soles to suit their work.\"\n\n\"But,\" she said, \"their faces are so pale, sad, and motionless,\nthat they seem like faces of the dead.\"\n\n\"Night-birds have never a good complexion,\" said Smetse.\n\n\"But,\" said his wife, \"I have never seen these men among the guilds\nof Ghent.\"\n\n\"Thou dost not know them all,\" said Smetse.\n\n\"That may be, my man.\"\n\nIn this manner the smith and his wife held converse together, the one\nvery curious and disturbed, the other confused and ashamed at his lies.\n\nSuddenly, as the three-and-thirtieth porter of the master-vintner was\ngoing out of the door, there rushed in in great haste a man of middling\nheight, dressed in a short black smock, pale-haired, large-headed,\nwan-faced, stepping delicately, quick as the wind, stiff as a poker;\nfor the rest, smiling continually, and carrying a lantern.\n\nThe man came up to Smetse hurriedly, without speaking bade him follow,\nand seized him by the arm. When Smetse hung back he made him a quick\nsign to have no fear, and led him into the garden, whither they were\nfollowed by the good wife. There he took a spade, gave his lantern\nto Smetse to hold, dug in the earth rapidly and opened a great hole,\npulled out of the hole a leathern bag, opened it quickly, and with a\nsmile showed Smetse and his wife that it was full of gold coin. The\ngood wife cried out at the sight of the gold, whereupon he gave her\na terrible great buffet in the face, smiled again, saluted, turned\non his heel and went off with his lantern.\n\nThe good wife, knocked down by the force of the blow, and quite dazed,\ndared not cry out again, and only moaned softly: \"Smetse, Smetse,\"\nsaid she, \"where art thou, my man? my cheek hurts me sorely.\"\n\nSmetse went to her and picked her up, saying: \"Wife, let this buffet\nbe a lesson to thee henceforward to control thy tongue better; thou\nhast disturbed with thy crying all the good men who have come here\nthis night for my good; this last was less patient than the rest and\npunished thee, not without good reason.\"\n\n\"Ah,\" she said, \"I did ill not to obey thee; what must I do now,\nmy man?\"\n\n\"Help me,\" said Smetse, \"to carry the bag into the house.\"\n\n\"That I will,\" she said.\n\nHaving taken in the bag, not without some trouble, they emptied it\ninto a coffer.\n\n\"Ah,\" she said, seeing the gold run out of the bag and spread itself\nthis way and that, \"'tis a fine sight. But who was this man who showed\nthee this sack with such kindness, and who gave me this terrible\ngreat blow?\"\n\n\"A friend of mine,\" said Smetse, \"a great discoverer of hidden\ntreasure.\"\n\n\"What is his name?\" said she.\n\n\"That,\" said Smetse, \"I am not allowed to tell thee.\"\n\n\"But, my man...\"\n\n\"Ah, wife, wife,\" said Smetse, \"thou wilt know too much. Thy\nquestioning will be thy death, my dear.\"\n\n\"Alas,\" said she.\n\n\n\n\nVI. Wherein the wife of Smetse shows the great length of her tongue.\n\nWhen the day was up, Smetse and his wife sat down together to the\ngood loaves, the fat ham, the fine cheese, the double bruinbier,\nand the good wines, and so eased their stomachs, hurt a little by\nbeing such a long while hungry.\n\nSuddenly there came in all the old workmen, and they said:\n\n\"Baes Smetse, thou didst send for us; here we are, right glad to see\nthy fire lit up again, and to work for thee who wast always so good\na master.\"\n\n\"By Artevelde!\" said Smetse, \"here they all are: Pier, Dolf, Flipke,\nToon, Hendrik, and the rest. Good day, my lads!\" and he gripped them\nby the hand, \"we must drink.\"\n\nWhile they were drinking, his wife said suddenly with a toss of the\nhead: \"But no one sent for you all! Is that not so, Smetse?\"\n\n\"Wife, wife,\" said the smith, \"wilt thou never learn to hold thy\ntongue?\"\n\n\"But,\" said she, \"I am speaking the truth, my man.\"\n\n\"Thou art speaking foolishly,\" said he, \"of things whereof thou knowest\nnothing. Stay in thy kitchen and do not come meddling in my forge.\"\n\n\"Baesine,\" said Flipke, \"without wishing to belie you, I must tell\nyou that a message was sent to us in the name of the baes. For a man\ncame in the middle of the night knocking on the doors of our houses,\nshouting out that we should all of us come hither without fail this\nmorning for work of great urgency, and that for this we should each\nbe given a royal as forfeit to our several masters. And we came,\nall of us, not wishing to leave our baes in the lurch.\"\n\n\"'Tis good of you,\" said Smetse, \"ye shall have the promised royal. But\ncome with me, I will apportion to each of you the usual task.\" This he\ndid, and once again the good music of sledges beating, anvils ringing,\nbellows blowing, and workmen singing was heard in the forge of the\ngood smith.\n\nMeanwhile Smetse went to his wife and said to her with great\nheat: \"Dost think it a fine thing to gainsay me before these good\nmen! Chattering magpie, wilt never learn to hold thy tongue? Hast\nnot already to-night been admonished sharply enough? Must thou have\nmore telling?\"\n\n\"But, Smetse,\" said his wife, \"I did not know that you had sent\nfor them.\"\n\n\"That is no reason,\" he said, \"why thou shouldst give me the lie before\nall my workmen; canst thou not leave thy speaking until I have done,\nor else hold thy tongue altogether, which would be better still.\"\n\n\"Smetse,\" said his wife, \"I never saw you so angry before. Do not\nbeat me, my man, I will be henceforward as dumb as this cheese.\"\n\n\"So you should,\" said Smetse.\n\n\"But, my man,\" said she, \"canst not explain to me somewhat of all\nthese happenings?\"\n\n\"Sometime,\" he said, and went back into his smithy.\n\n\n\n\nVII. Of Smetse the Rich.\n\nThat day there came to Smetse many persons, both notable and common,\nnobles, priests, burgesses, and peasants, to give him orders for much\nwork, and so it went on again on other days, and all through the year.\n\nSoon the smithy became too small, and Smetse had to enlarge it by\nreason of the ever-growing numbers of his workmen. And the work which\nthey did was so beautiful and so marvellously well done that the fame\nof it spread abroad to foreign and distant countries, and people came\nto see and admire it from Holland, Zeeland, Spain, Germany, England,\nand even from the land of the Turk.\n\nBut Smetse, thinking of the seven years, was not happy at all.\n\nSoon his coffers were full of fine crusats, angelots, rose nobles,\nand golden jewels. But he found no pleasure in looking at all this\nwealth, for he thought them poor payment for giving his soul to the\ndevil for all the length of eternity.\n\nRed Slimbroek lost all his customers, who came back one by one to\nSmetse. Ragged and miserable he used to come every day and lounge on\nthe quay, watching from there the bright fire glowing in the forge\nof the good smith, and, so standing, he seemed dazed and stupid,\nlike an owl watching a doit. Smetse, knowing that he was needy,\nsent him several customers to bring him some means of sustenance,\nand also more than once a gift of money. But although he thus repaid\nevil with good he was no longer happy, thinking of the seven years.\n\nSmetse's wife, finding him so wealthy, bought for dinner each\nSunday legs of fat mutton, geese, capons, turkeys, and other good\nmeats; invited to her table his relatives, friends, and workmen;\nand then there would be a great feast, well washed down with double\nbruinbier. But Smetse, though he ate and drank like an emperor, was not\nat all happy, thinking of the seven years. And the steam from the roast\nmeats spread abroad on the Quai aux Oignons, so fragrant and succulent,\nand so sweetening the air, that all the dogs wandering in the streets\nof the town would stop before the house and sniff at the smell, and\nthere on their haunches, nose in air, would wait for crumbs: and the\nbeggars, of whom there were great numbers, came thither likewise and\ntried to drive away the dogs. Thereupon ensued furious battles, in\nwhich many were badly bitten. Seeing this, Smetse's wife and other\nwomen would come every Sunday to the door with baskets of alms,\nand there, before the meal began, would give the beggars good bread,\nslices of meat, and two farthings to get themselves drink, and all\nthis with soft words and fair speaking; then they charged them to\ngo away from the quay, which they did in an orderly manner. But the\ndogs stayed behind, and at the end of the feast there was given to\nthem likewise food of some sort. And then they would go off also,\ntaking each his bone or other booty.\n\nSmetse and his wife together took both dogs and men into their\naffection; to the beggars he gave food and shelter; and so also to\nall the dogs of Ghent that were lame, infirm, or sickly, until at\nlength his house came to be called the Dogs' Hospital and the Home\nof the Poor.\n\nNevertheless he was not at all happy, thinking of the seven years.\n\nWorn and troubled with these thoughts, Smetse stopped singing and\nlost his fat, shrivelled visibly, became melancholy and moody, and\nin his smithy said never a word, except to give a necessary order.\n\nAnd he was no longer called Smetse the Merry, but Smetse the Rich.\n\nAnd he counted the days.\n\n\n\n\nVIII. How there came a ragged, wayfarer to Smetse's door, and with him,\non an ass, a sweet wife and a little child.\n\nOn the two hundred and forty-fifth day of the seventh year, when\nthe plum-trees were in bloom, Smetse, dumb as a stone, was taking\na little noonday rest. He sat on a wooden bench opposite his door,\nand with melancholy mien looked at the trees planted all along the\nquay, and the small birds playing among the branches or squabbling\nand pecking one another over some morsel of food, and blinked in the\nbright sun which made these birds so merry, and heard at his back\nthe goodly sounds of his forge, his wife preparing dinner, and his\nworkmen hurrying at their work so that they might be off to their meal,\nfor it was nearing the time; and he said to himself that in hell he\nwould see neither the sun, nor the birds, nor the trees with their\nload of green leaves, nor hear any more the sounds of his forge,\nnor the smiths hurrying, nor his good wife preparing dinner.\n\nBy and by the workmen came out, and Smetse was left sitting alone\non his bench, pondering in his mind whether there were not some way\nwhereby he might outwit the devil.\n\nSuddenly there drew up at his door a man of piteous appearance, with\nbrown hair and beard, dressed like a ragged townsman, and carrying\na great staff in his hand. He was walking beside an ass, and leading\nit along by a rein. On the ass rode a sweet and beautiful young woman\nwith a noble mien, suckling a little child, who was quite naked, and\nof such gentle and winsome countenance that the sight of it warmed\nSmetse's heart.\n\nThe ass stopped at the door of the smithy and began to bray loudly.\n\n\"Master smith,\" said the man, \"our ass has cast one of his shoes\non his way hither, wilt thou be pleased to give orders that another\nshould be given him?\"\n\n\"I will do it myself,\" said Smetse, \"for I am alone here.\"\n\n\"I should tell thee,\" said the man, \"that we are beggars, without\nmoney.\"\n\n\"Have no care for that,\" said Smetse, \"I am rich enough to be able\nto shoe in silver without payment all the asses in Flanders.\"\n\nHearing this the woman alighted from the ass and asked Smetse if she\nmight sit down on the bench.\n\n\"Yes,\" said he.\n\nAnd while he was fastening up the beast, paring his hoof and fitting\nthe shoe, he said to the man: \"Whence come you, with this woman and\nthis ass?\"\n\n\"We come,\" said the man, \"from a distant country, and have still far\nto go.\"\n\n\"And this child whom I see naked,\" said Smetse, \"does he not oftentimes\nsuffer from the cold?\"\n\n\"Nay,\" said the man, \"for he is all warmth and all life.\"\n\n\"Well, well,\" said Smetse, \"you do not cry down your own children,\nmaster. But what is your meat and drink while you are travelling in\nthis manner?\"\n\n\"Water from streams,\" said the man, \"and such bread as is given us.\"\n\n\"Ah,\" said Smetse, \"that is not much, I see, for the ass's panniers\nare light. You must often go hungry.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said the man.\n\n\"This,\" said Smetse, \"is displeasing to me, and it is most unwholesome\nfor a nursing mother to suffer hunger, for so the milk turns sour,\nand the child grows in sickly wise.\" And he called out to his wife:\n\"Mother, bring hither as many loaves and hams as will fill the panniers\nof this beast. And do not forget some double bruinbier, 'tis heavenly\ncomfort for poor travellers. And a good peck of oats for the ass.\"\n\nWhen the panniers were filled and the beast shod, the man said to\nSmetse: \"Smith, it is in my mind to give thee some recompense for\nthy great goodness, for such as thou seest me I have great power.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Smetse, with a smile, \"I can see that well enough.\"\n\n\"I am,\" said the man, \"Joseph, nominal husband of the very blessed\nVirgin Mary, who is sitting on this bench, and this child that she\nhas in her arms is Jesus, thy Saviour.\"\n\nSmetse, dumbfounded at these words, looked at the wayfarers with\ngreat astonishment, and saw about the man's head a nimbus of fire,\na crown of stars about the woman's, and, about the child's, beautiful\nrays more brilliant than the sun, springing from his head and girdling\nhim round with light.\n\nThereupon he fell at their feet and said: \"My Lord Jesus, Madam\nthe Virgin, and my Master St. Joseph, grant me pardon for my lack\nof understanding.\"\n\nTo this St. Joseph replied: \"Thou art an honest man, Smetse, and\nrighteous as well. For this reason I give thee leave to make three\nrequests, the greatest thou canst think of, and my Lord Jesus will\nlisten to them favourably.\"\n\nAt these words Smetse was filled with joy, for it seemed to him that\nin this way he might perhaps escape the devil; but at the same time\nhe did not dare to avow that he had traded his soul away. So he\nremained in silence for a few moments, thinking of what things he\ncould ask, then suddenly said, with great respect: \"My Lord Jesus,\nMadam St. Mary, and you, Master St. Joseph, will you please to enter\nmy dwelling? There I can tell you what boons I ask.\"\n\n\"We will,\" said St. Joseph.\n\n\"Mother,\" said Smetse to his wife, \"come hither and look to the ass\nof these noble lords.\"\n\nAnd Smetse went in before them, sweeping the threshold so that there\nshould be no dust to touch the soles of their feet.\n\nAnd he took them into his garden, where there was a fine plum-tree in\nfull blossom. \"My Lord, Madam, and Sir,\" said Smetse, \"will it please\nyou to order that whosoever shall climb up into this plum-tree shall\nnot be able to come down again unless I so desire?\"\n\n\"It will,\" said St. Joseph.\n\nThence he led the way into the kitchen, where there stood a great and\nprecious arm-chair, well padded in the seat, and of enormous weight.\n\n\"My Lord, Madam, and Sir,\" said Smetse, \"will it please you that\nwhosoever shall sit in this chair shall not be able to rise unless\nI so desire?\"\n\n\"It will,\" said St. Joseph.\n\nThen Smetse fetched a sack, and, showing it to them, said: \"My Lord,\nMadam, and Sir, will it please you that, whatsoever his stature,\nman or devil shall be able to get into this sack, but not out again,\nunless I so desire?\"\n\n\"It will,\" said St. Joseph.\n\n\"My Lord, Madam, and Sir,\" said Smetse, \"thanks be unto you. Now that I\nhave made my three requests I have naught else to ask of your goodness,\nsave only your blessing.\"\n\n\"We will give it,\" said St. Joseph.\n\nAnd he blessed Smetse, and thereafter the holy family went upon\ntheir way.\n\n\n\n\nIX. What Smetse did in order to keep his secret.\n\nThe good wife had heard nothing of what was said to her man by the\ncelestial wayfarers, and she was amazed to see the behaviour and hear\nthe speech of the good smith. But she was more so than ever when, on\nthe departure of the all-powerful visitors, Smetse began to give forth\nbursts of laughter, to rub his hands, take hold of her, thump her on\nthe chest, twist her this way and that, and say in a triumphant tone:\n\"It may be, after all, that I shall not burn, that I shall not roast,\nthat I shall not be eaten! Art not glad of it?\"\n\n\"Alas,\" she said, \"I cannot understand what you are talking about,\nmy man; have you gone mad?\"\n\n\"Wife,\" said Smetse, \"do not show me the whites of thine eyes in\nthis pitiful manner, 'tis no time for that. Canst not see how light\nmy heart has grown? 'Tis because I have got rid of a burden on my\nshoulders heavier than the belfry itself; I say this belfry, our\nown, with the dragon taken from that of Bruges. And I am not to be\neaten. By Artevelde! my legs bestir themselves of their own accord\nat the thought of it. I dance! Wilt not do likewise? Fie, moody one,\nbrewing melancholy when her man is so happy! Kiss me, wife, kiss me,\nmother, for my proficiat; and so thou shouldst, for instead of despair\nI have found a good and steadfast hope. They think to roast me with\nsauces and feast off my flesh to their fill. I will have the laugh\nof them. Dance, wife, dance!\"\n\n\"Ah, Smetse,\" said she, \"you should take a purge, my man; they say\n'tis good for madness.\"\n\n\"Thou,\" he said, tapping her on the shoulder with great affection\nand tenderness, \"talkest boldly.\"\n\n\"Hark,\" said she, \"to the good doctor preaching reason to me! But\nwert thou mad or not, Smetse, doffing thy bonnet as thou did to\nthose beggars who came hither sowing their lice; giving to me, thy\nwife, their ass to hold; filling their hampers with our best bread,\nbruinbier, and ham; falling on thy knees before them to have their\nblessing, and treating them like archdukes, with a torrent of My Lords,\nSirs, and Madams.\"\n\nAt these words Smetse saw well enough that the lordly wayfarers had\nnot wished to discover themselves to any but he. \"Wife,\" he said,\n\"thou must not question me further, for I can tell thee nothing of\nthis mystic happening, which it is not given thee to understand.\"\n\n\"Alas,\" said she, \"then 'tis worse than madness, 'tis mystery. Thou\ndost ill to hide thyself from me in this wise, Smetse, for I have\nalways lived in thy house, faithful to thee only, cherishing thine\nhonour, husbanding thy wealth, neither lending nor borrowing, holding\nmy tongue in the company of other wives, considering thy secrets as\nmine own and never breathing a word of them to any one.\"\n\n\"I know it,\" said Smetse, \"thou hast been a good and true wife.\"\n\n\"Then why,\" said she, \"knowing this, hast thou not more faith in\nme? Ah, my man, it hurts me; tell me the secret, I shall know how to\nkeep it, I promise thee.\"\n\n\"Wife,\" said he, \"knowing nothing thou wilt be able to hold thy tongue\nthe more easily.\"\n\n\"Smetse,\" said she, \"wilt thou verily tell me nothing?\"\n\n\"I cannot,\" said he.\n\n\"Alas,\" said she.\n\nBy and by the workmen came back, and Smetse gave each of them a good\nroyal to get themselves drink.\n\nWhereat they were all so merry, and felt themselves so rich, that for\nthree days none of them put his nose into the smithy, save one old\nman who was too withered, stiff, short of breath, and unsteady on\nhis legs to go swimming with the others in the Lys, and afterwards\ndrying in the sun among the tall grasses, dancing in the meadows\nto the music of rebecks, bagpipes, and cymbals, and at night in the\ntavern emptying pots and draining glasses.\n\n\n\n\nX. Of the Bloody Councillor.\n\nAt length the day came on which the good smith was due to hand over\nhis soul to the devil, for the seventh year had run out, and plums\nwere once again ripe.\n\nAt nightfall, when certain workmen were busy on a grating for the\nFranciscan brothers which was to be done that night, and had stayed\nbehind with Smetse for that purpose, there came into the forge an\nevil-looking fellow, with greasy white hair, a rope round his neck,\nhis jaw dropped, his tongue hanging out, and dressed in an ill-found\nhabit like a nobleman's servant fallen on evil days.\n\nThis fellow, without being heard by any one there as he walked\nacross the floor, came quickly up to Smetse and put his hand on his\nshoulder. \"Smetse,\" he said, \"hast packed thy bundle?\"\n\nHearing this the smith swung round. \"Packed,\" he said, \"and how does\nmy packing concern thee, master bald-pate?\"\n\n\"Smetse,\" replied the fellow in a harsh voice, \"hast forgotten thy\nrestored fortunes, and the good times thou hast enjoyed, and the\nblack paper?\"\n\n\"No, no,\" said Smetse, doffing his bonnet with great humility, \"I\nhave not forgotten; pardon me, my lord, I could not call to mind your\ngracious countenance. Will you be pleased to come into my kitchen,\nand try a slice of fat ham, taste a pot of good bruinbier, and sip\na bottle of wine? We have time enough for that, for the seven years\nare not yet struck, but want, if I am not mistaken, still two hours.\"\n\n\"That is true,\" said the devil; \"then let us go into thy kitchen.\"\n\nSo they entered in and sat down to the table.\n\nThe good wife was greatly astonished to see them come in. Smetse\nsaid to her: \"Bring us wine, bruinbier, ham, sausages, bread, cakes,\nand cheeses, and the best of each that we have in the house.\"\n\n\"But, Smetse,\" said she, \"you waste the good things which God has\ngiven you. 'Tis well to come to the help of poor folk, but not to do\nmore for one than another. Beggar-men are beggar-men, all are equal!\"\n\n\"Beggar-men!\" exclaimed the devil, \"that I am not and never was. Death\nto the beggar-men! To the gallows with the beggar-men!\"\n\n\"My lord,\" said Smetse, \"I beg you not to be angry with my good wife,\nwho knows you not at all. Wife, consider and look at our guest with\ngreat attention, but greater respect, and afterwards thou mayest tell\nthy gossips that thou hast seen my Lord Jacob Hessels, the greatest\nreaper of heretics that ever was.\n\n\"Ah, wife, he mowed them down grandly, and had so many of them hanged,\nburnt, and tortured in divers ways, that he could drown himself a\nhundred times in the blood of his dead. Go, wife, go and fetch him\nmeat and drink.\"\n\nWhile he was munching, Smetse said: \"Ah, my lord, I soon recognized\nyou by your particular way of saying: 'To the gallows!' and also by\nthis rope which finished off your life in so evil a manner. For Our\nLord said: 'Whoso liveth by the rope shall perish by the rope.' My\nLord Ryhove was harsh and treacherous toward you, for besides taking\nyour life he took also your beard, which was a fine one.\n\n\"Ah, that was an evil trick to play on so good a councillor as you\nwere in those days when you slept so quietly and peaceably in the\nBloody Council--I should say the Council of Civil Disorders, speaking\nrespectfully--and woke up only to say: 'To the gallows!' and then\nwent to sleep again.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said the devil, \"those were good times.\"\n\n\"So they were,\" said Smetse, \"times of riches and power for you, my\nlord. Ah, we owe you a great deal: the tithe tax, dropped by you into\nthe ear of the Emperor Charles; the arrest of my lords of Egmont and\nHoorn, whereof the warrant was written in your own fair hand, and of\nmore than two thousand persons who perished at your command by fire,\nsteel, and rope!\"\n\n\"I do not know the number,\" said the devil, \"but it is large. Give me,\nSmetse, some more of this sausage, which is excellent.\"\n\n\"Ah,\" said the smith, \"'tis not good enough for your lordship. But\nyou are drinking nothing. Empty this tankard, 'tis double bruinbier.\"\n\n\"Smith,\" said the devil, \"it is good also, but I tasted better at\nPierkyn's tavern one day when five girls of the Reformed Faith were\nburnt together in the market-place. That frothed better. While we were\ndrinking we heard these five maids singing psalms in the fire. Ah,\nwe drank well that day! But think, Smetse, of the great perversity\nof those maids, all young and strong, and so fast set in their crimes\nthat they sang their psalms without complaint, smiling at the fire and\ninvoking God in a heretical fashion. Give me more to drink, Smetse.\"\n\n\"But,\" said Smetse, \"King Philip asked for your canonization at Rome,\nfor having served Spain and the Pope so well; why then are you not\nin paradise, my lord?\"\n\n\"Alas,\" wept the devil, \"I had no recognition of my former\nservices. Those traitors of Reformers are with God, while I burn in\nthe bottom of the pit. And there, without rest or respite, I have to\nsing heretical psalms; cruel punishment, unspeakable torment! These\nchants stick in my throat, scrape up and down in my breast, tearing\nmy inner flesh like a bristling porcupine with iron spines. At every\nnote a new wound, a bleeding sore: and always, always I have to keep\nsinging, and so it will go on through all the length of eternity.\"\n\nAt these words Smetse was very much frightened, thinking how heavily\nGod had punished Jacob Hessels.\n\n\"Drink, my lord,\" he said to him; \"this bruinbier is balm to sore\nthrottles.\"\n\nSuddenly the clock struck.\n\n\"Come, Smetse,\" said the devil, \"'tis the hour.\"\n\nBut the good smith, without answering, heaved a great sigh.\n\n\"What ails thee?\" said the devil.\n\n\"Ah,\" said Smetse, \"I am grieved at your incontinence. Have I\nwelcomed you so ill that you will not let me go, before I leave here,\nto embrace my wife a last time and bid farewell to my good workmen,\nand to take one more look at my good plum-tree whose fruits are so\nrich and juicy? Ah, I would gladly refresh myself with one or two\nbefore I go off to that land where there is always thirst.\"\n\n\"Do not think to escape me,\" said the devil.\n\n\"That I would not, my lord,\" said Smetse. \"Come with me, I pray you\nmost humbly.\"\n\n\"Very well,\" said the devil, \"but not for long.\"\n\nIn the garden Smetse began to sigh afresh.\n\n\"Ah,\" he said, \"look at my plums, my lord; will you be pleased to\nlet me go up and eat my fill?\"\n\n\"Go up then,\" said the devil.\n\nUp in the tree Smetse began to eat in a most greedy manner, and suck\nin the juice of the plums with a great noise. \"Ah,\" cried he, \"plums\nof paradise, Christian plums, how fat you are! Princely plums, you\nwould solace a hundred devils burning in the lowest parts of hell. By\nyou, sweet plums, blessed plums, is thirst driven out of my throat;\nby you, adorable plums, gentle plums, is purged from my stomach all\nevil melancholy; by you, fresh plums, sugary plums, is diffused in\nmy blood an infinite sweetness. Ah, juicy plums, joyous plums, faery\nplums, would that I could go on sucking you for ever!\"\n\nAnd while he was saying all this, Smetse went on picking them, eating\nthem and sipping the juice, without ever stopping.\n\n\"Pox!\" said the devil, \"it makes my mouth water; why dost not throw\nme down some of these marvellous plums?\"\n\n\"Alas, my lord,\" said Smetse, \"that I cannot do; they would melt\ninto water on their fall, so delicate are they. But if you will be\npleased to climb up into the tree you will find much pleasure in\nstore for you.\"\n\n\"Then I will,\" said the devil.\n\nWhen he was well settled on a stout branch and there regaling himself\nwith plums, Smetse slipped down, picked up a stick lying on the grass\nand fell to belabouring him with great vigour.\n\nFeeling the stick on his back the devil would have leapt down on the\nsmith, but could not move, for the skin of his seat held fast to the\nbranch. And he snorted, ground his teeth, and foamed at the mouth\nwith great rage, and also by reason of the pain which his tender skin\ncaused him.\n\nMeanwhile Smetse gave him a good drubbing, caressed with his stick\nevery quarter of his body in turn, bruised him to the bone, tore his\nhabit, and gave him as strong and straight a beating as was ever\ngiven in the land of Flanders. And he kept saying: \"You say not a\nword about my plums, my lord; they are good, none the less.\"\n\n\"Ah,\" cried Hessels, \"why am I not free!\"\n\n\"Alas, yes! why are you not free!\" answered Smetse, \"you would give me\nto some little butcher among your friends who would cut me up freely\ninto slices like a ham, under your learned instruction, for you are,\nas I know well, a doctor of torment. But are you not being well\ntormented in turn by my stick? Alas, yes! why are you not free! You\nwould hoist me up on some blessed gallows, and every one would see\nme hanging in the air, and freely would Master Hessels laugh. And so\nhe would have his revenge on me for this excellent drubbing which\nI am giving him with such freedom. For nothing in this world is so\nfree as a free stick falling freely on an unfree councillor. Alas,\nyes! why are you not free! You would free my head from my body, as you\ndid with such satisfaction to my masters of Egmont and Hoorn. Alas,\nyes! why are you not free! then we should see Smetse in some good\nlittle fire, which would roast him freely, as was done to the poor\nmaids of the reformed faith; and Smetse, like them, would be heard\nsinging with a free soul to the God of free believers, and with a\nfree conscience stronger than the flame, while Master Hessels drank\nbruinbier and said that it frothed nicely.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" said the devil, \"why beat me so cruelly, without pity for my\nwhite hairs?\"\n\n\"As for thy white hair,\" said Smetse, \"'tis the hair of an old tiger\nwho ate up our country. For this reason it gives me sweet pleasure to\nbeat thee with this oaken stick; and also in order that thou mayst\ngive me permission to stay another seven years on this earth, where\nI find myself so well content, if it so please thee.\"\n\n\"Seven years!\" said the devil, \"do not count on that; I would rather\nbleed under thy stick.\"\n\n\"Ah,\" said Smetse, \"I see that your skin is fond of good blows. These\nare tasty ones, it is true. But the best of cheer is unwholesome if\ntaken in excess. So when you have had enough of them, be so good as\nto tell me. I will put a stop to this feast, but for that I must have\nthe seven years.\"\n\n\"Never,\" said Hessels; and lifting his snout into the air like a\nbaying dog, he cried out: \"Devils to the rescue!\" But this he did so\nloudly, and in such screeching wise, that at the sound of his cracked\nvoice blaring out like a trumpet, all the workmen came to see what\nit was about.\n\n\"You do not shout loud enough,\" said Smetse, \"I will help you.\" And\nhe beat him the harder, so that the devil cried the louder.\n\n\"See,\" said Smetse, \"how well this stick makes the little nightingale\nsing in my plum-tree. He is saying over his lied of love to call\nhither his fair mate. She will come by and by, my lord; but come down,\nI pray you, and await her below, for they say that the night dew is\ndeadly at a height from the ground.\"\n\n\"Baes,\" said certain workmen, \"is it not my lord Jacob Hessels,\nthe Bloody Councillor, who is perched up there in thy plum-tree?\"\n\n\"Yes, lads,\" answered Smetse, \"'tis indeed that worthy man. He\nseeks high places now as he did all his life, and so also at the\nend of it, when he swung in the air, putting out his tongue at the\npassers-by. For that which is of the gallows returns to the gallows,\nand the rope will take back its own. 'Tis written.\"\n\n\"Baes,\" said they, \"can we not help to bring him down?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said he. And the workmen went off to the smithy.\n\nMeanwhile the devil said nothing, trying all the time to get his\nseat away from the branch. And he struggled, wriggled about, twisted\nhimself a hundred different ways, and used as levers, to lift himself\nup, feet, hands, and head, but all in vain.\n\nAnd Smetse, belabouring him well, said to him: \"My lord Councillor,\nyou are fast stuck, it seems, to the saddle; but I will have you out\nof it, have you out as fast as I can, for if I do not so, beating\nyou with all my strength, you will tear up out of the ground the\ntree and its roots, and the good folk will see you walking along,\ndragging a plum-tree from your seat like a tail, which would be a\npiteous and laughable spectacle for such a noble devil as yourself\nto make. Give me rather the seven years.\"\n\n\"Baes,\" said the workmen, who had returned from the smithy with\nhammers and iron bars, \"here we are at your orders; what shall we do?\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Smetse, \"since I have combed him down with oaken staves\nwe will now louse him with hammers and bars.\"\n\n\"Mercy, Smetse, mercy!\" cried the devil; hammers and bars, this is\ntoo much; thou hast the seven years, smith.\"\n\n\"Make haste,\" said Smetse, \"and write me the quittance.\"\n\n\"Here it is,\" said he.\n\nThe smith took it, saw that it was in good order, and said: \"I desire\nthat thou come down.\"\n\nBut the devil was so weak and enfeebled by the blows he had had that\nwhen he tried to leap he fell on his back. And he went off limping,\nshaking his fist at Smetse, and saying: \"I await thee, in seven years,\nin hell, smith.\"\n\n\"So you may,\" said Smetse.\n\n\n\n\nXI. Wherein the workmen hold fair speech with Smetse.\n\nWhile the devil was making off, Smetse, watching his workmen, saw\nthat they were looking at one another strangely, spoke together in\nlow voices, and seemed awkward in their manner, like people who would\nspeak out, but dare not.\n\nAnd he said to himself: \"Are they going to denounce me to the priests?\"\n\nSuddenly Flipke the Bear came up to him. \"Baes,\" said he, \"we know\nwell enough that this ghost of Hessels was sent to thee by him who is\nlord below; thou hast made a pact with the devil and art rich only\nby his money. We have guessed as much for some time. But so that\nthou should not be vexed, none of us have spoken of it in the town,\nand none will so speak. We would tell thee this to put thy mind at\nrest. And so now, baes, good night and quiet sleep to thee.\"\n\n\"Thank you, lads,\" said Smetse, greatly softened.\n\nAnd they went their several ways.\n\n\n\n\nXII. How that Smetse would not give his secret into his wife's\ntongue's keeping.\n\nIn the kitchen Smetse found his wife on her knees beating her breast,\nweeping, sighing, sobbing, and saying: \"Jesus Lord God, he has made a\npact with the devil; but 'tis not with my consent, I swear. And you\nalso, Madam the Virgin, you know it, and you also, all my masters\nthe saints. Ah, I am indeed wretched, not on my own account, but for\nmy poor man, who for the sake of some miserable gold sold his soul\nto the devil! Alas, yes, sell it he did! Ah, my saintly masters,\nwho are yourselves so happy and in such glory, pray the very good\nGod for him, and deign to consider that if, as I dare hope, I die a\nChristian death and go to paradise, I shall be all alone there, eating\nmy rice pudding with silver spoons, while my poor man is burning in\nhell, crying out in thirst and hunger, and I not able to give him\neither meat or drink.... Alas, that will make me so unhappy! Ah,\nmy good masters the saints, Madam the Virgin, My Lord Jesus, he\nsinned but this once, and was all the rest of his life a good man,\na good Christian, kind to the poor and soft of heart. Save him from\nthe fires which burn for ever, and do not separate above those who\nwere so long united below. Pray for him, pray for me, alas!\"\n\n\"Wife,\" said Smetse, \"thou art very wretched, it seems.\"\n\n\"Ah, wicked man,\" said she, \"now I know all. 'Twas hell fire\nwhich came bursting into the house and lit up the forge; those\nmaster-bakers, brewers, and vintners were devils, all of them, and\ndevil also that ugly man who showed thee the treasure and gave me\nso grievous a buffet. Who will dare to live peaceably in this house\nfrom now on? Alas, our food is the devil's, our drink also; devil's\nmeat, loaves, and cheeses, devil's money, house, and all. Whoever\nshould dig under this dwelling would see the fires of hell gush out\nincontinent. There are all the devils, I see them above, below, on the\nright hand, on the left, awaiting their prey with dropped jaws, like\ntigers. Ah, what a fine sight 'twill be to see my poor man torn into\na hundred pieces by all these devils, and that in seven years, for he\nsaid, as I heard well enough, that he would come back in seven years.\"\n\n\"Weep not, wife,\" said Smetse, \"in seven years I may again be master\nas I was to-day.\"\n\n\"But,\" said she, \"if he had not gone up into the plum-tree, what\nwouldst thou have done, poor beggar-man? And what if he will not let\nhimself fall a second time into thy snare as he did to-day?\"\n\n\"Wife,\" said Smetse, \"he will so fall, for my snares are from heaven,\nand the things which are from God can always get the better of devils.\"\n\n\"Art not lying again?\" she said. \"And wilt tell me what they are?\"\n\n\"That I cannot,\" said he, \"for devils have sharp ears and would hear\nme telling thee, no matter how low I spoke; and then I should be\ntaken off to hell without mercy.\"\n\n\"Ah,\" said she, \"then I will not ask, though 'tis not pleasant for me\nto live here in ignorance of everything, like a stranger. Nevertheless\nI would rather have thee silent and saved than talking and damned.\"\n\n\"Wife,\" he said, \"thou art wise when thou speakest so.\"\n\n\"I will pray,\" she said, \"every day for thy deliverance, and have a\ngood mass said for thee at St. Bavon.\"\n\n\"But,\" said he, \"is it with devil's money thou wilt pay for this mass?\"\n\n\"Have no care for that,\" said she, \"when this money enters the church\ncoffers 'twill become suddenly holy.\"\n\n\"Do as thou wilt, wife,\" said Smetse.\n\n\"Ah,\" said she, \"My Lord Jesus shall have a stout candle each day,\nand Madam the Virgin likewise.\"\n\n\"Do not forget my master St. Joseph,\" said Smetse, \"for we owe\nhim much.\"\n\n\n\n\nXIII. Of the Bloody Duke.\n\nThe end of the seventh year came again in its turn, and on the last\nevening there crossed the threshold of Smetse Smee's dwelling a man\nwith a sharp and haughty Spanish face, a nose like a hawk's beak,\nhard and staring eyes, and a white beard, long and pointed. For the\nrest he was dressed in armour finely worked and most richly gilt;\ndecorated with the illustrious order of the Fleece; wore a fine red\nsash; rested his left hand on the hilt of his sword, and held in his\nright the seven years' pact and a marshal's wand.\n\nComing into the forge he walked straight towards Smetse, holding his\nhead loftily and without deigning to notice any of the workmen.\n\nThe smith was standing in a corner, wondering how he could make the\ndevil who was sent for him sit down in the arm-chair, when Flipke\nran quickly up to him and said in his ear: \"Baes, the Bloody Duke is\ncoming, take care!\"\n\n\"Woe!\" said Smetse, speaking to himself, \"'tis all up with me, if\nd'Alva has come to fetch me.\"\n\nMeanwhile the devil approached the smith, showed him the pact, and\ntook him by the arm without a word to lead him off.\n\n\"My Lord,\" said Smetse in a most sorrowful manner, \"whither would you\ntake me? To hell. I follow you. 'Tis too great honour for one so mean\nas I to be ordered by so noble a devil as yourself. But is it yet the\nappointed time? I think it is not, and your highness has too upright\na soul to take me off before the time written in the deed. In the\nmeantime I beg your highness to be seated: Flipke, a chair for My Lord;\nthe best in my poor dwelling, the large, well-padded arm-chair which\nstands in my kitchen, beside the press, near the chimney, beneath\nthe picture of my master St. Joseph. Wipe it well, lad, so that no\ndust may be left on it; and quick, for the noble duke is standing.\"\n\nFlipke ran into the kitchen and came back, saying: \"Baes, I cannot\nlift that arm-chair alone, 'tis so heavy.\"\n\nThen Smetse feigned great anger and said to his workmen: \"Do ye not\nhear? He cannot lift it alone. Go and help him, and if it takes ten\nof you let ten go. And quick now. Fie! the blockheads, can ye 'not\nsee that the noble duke is standing?\"\n\nNine workmen ran to obey him and brought the chair into the forge,\nthough not without difficulty. Smetse said: \"Put it there, behind My\nLord. Is there any dust on it? By Artevelde! they have not touched\nthis corner. I will do it myself. Now 'tis as clean as new-washed\nglass. Will your highness deign to be seated?\"\n\nThis the devil did, and then looked round him with great haughtiness\nand disdain. But of a sudden the smith fell at his feet, and said\nwith mocking laughter: \"Sir duke, you see before you the most humble\nof your servants, a poor man living like a Christian, serving God,\nhonouring princes, and anxious, if such is your lordly pleasure,\nto continue in this way of life seven years more.\"\n\n\"Thou shalt not have one minute,\" said the devil, \"come, Fleming,\ncome with me.\"\n\nAnd he tried to rise from the chair, but could not. And while he\nwas struggling with might and main, making a thousand vain efforts,\nthe good smith cried joyously: \"Would your highness get up? Ah,\n'tis too soon! Let your highness wait, he is not yet rested after\nhis long journey; long, I make bold to say, for it must be a good\nhundred leagues from hell to my smithy, and that is a long way for\nsuch noble feet, by dusty roads. Ah, My Lord, let yourself rest a\nlittle in this good chair. Nevertheless, if you are in great haste\nto be off, grant me the seven years and I will give you in return\nyour noble leave and a full flask of Spanish wine.\"\n\n\"I care nothing for thy wine,\" answered the devil.\n\n\"Baes,\" said Flipke, \"offer him blood, he will drink then.\"\n\n\"My lad,\" said Smetse, \"thou knowest well enough we have no such thing\nas blood in our cellars hereabouts, for that is no Flemish drink,\nbut one that we leave to Spain. Therefore his highness must be so good\nas to excuse me. Nevertheless, I think he is thirsty, not for blood,\nbut for blows, and of those I will give him his illustrious fill,\nsince he will not grant me the seven years.\"\n\n\"Smith,\" said the devil, looking at Smetse with great contempt,\n\"thou wouldst not dare beat me, I think?\"\n\n\"Yes, My Lord,\" said the good man. \"You would have me dead. For\nmy part I hold to my skin, and this not without good reason, for\nit has always been faithful to me and well fastened. Would it not\nbe a criminal act to break off in this sudden fashion so close a\npartnership? And besides, you would take me off with you to hell,\nwhere the air is filled with the stench of the divers cookeries for\ndamned souls which are set up there. Ah, rather than go thither I\nwould beat your highness for seven years.\"\n\n\"Fleming,\" said the devil, \"thou speakest without respect.\"\n\n\"Yes, My Lord,\" said Smetse, \"but I will hit you with veneration.\"\n\nAnd so saying he gave him with his clenched fist a terrible great\nblow on the nose, whereat the devil seemed astonished, dazed, and\nangry, like a powerful king struck by a low-born servant. And he\ntried to leap upon the smith, clenched his fists, ground his teeth,\nand shot out blood from his nose, his mouth, his eyes, and his ears,\nso angry was he.\n\n\"Ah,\" said Smetse, \"you seem angry, My Lord. But deign to consider\nthat since you will not listen to my words, I must speak to you by\nblows. By this argument am I not doing my best to soften your heart\nto my piteous case? Alas, deign to consider that my humble fist is\nmaking its supplication as best it can to your illustrious eyes,\nbegs seven years from your noble nose, implores them from your ducal\njaw. Do not these respectful taps tell your lordly cheeks how happy,\njoyous, and well-liking I should be during those seven years? Ah,\nlet yourself be convinced. But, I see, I must speak to you in another\nfashion, with the words of iron bars, the prayers of tongs, and the\nsupplications of sledge-hammers. Lads,\" said the smith to his workmen,\n\"will you be pleased to hold converse with My Lord?\"\n\n\"Yes, baes,\" said they.\n\nAnd together with Smetse they chose their tools. But it was the oldest\nwho picked the heaviest ones, and were the hottest with rage, because\nit was they who in former days had lost, through the duke's doing,\nmany friends and relatives by steel, by stake, and by live burial,\nand they cried: \"God is on our side, he has delivered the enemy into\nour hands. Out upon the Bloody Duke, the master-butcher, the lord of\nthe axe!\"\n\nAnd all of them, young and old, cursed the devil with a thunder of\ncries; and they came up to him menacingly, surrounding the chair and\nraising their tools to strike.\n\nBut Smetse stopped them and spoke again to the devil. \"If your\nhighness,\" he said, \"is minded to hold to his noble bones, let him\ndeign to grant me the seven years, for the time for laughter is past,\nlet me tell you.\"\n\n\"Baes,\" said the workmen, \"whence comes to thee this kindness beyond\nmeasure? Why hold so long and fair parley with this fellow? Let us\nfirst break him up, and then he will offer thee the seven years of\nhis own accord.\"\n\n\"Seven years!\" said the devil, \"seven years! he shall not have so\nmuch as the shadow of a minute. Strike, men of Ghent, the lion is in\nthe net; ye who could not find a hole deep enough to hide yourselves\nin when he was free and showed his fangs. Flemish cowards, see what\nI think of you and your threats.\" And he spat on them.\n\nAt this spittle the bars, hammers, and other tools fell on him thick\nas hail, breaking his bones and the plates of his armour, and Smetse\nand his workmen said as they beat to their hearts' content:\n\n\"Cowards were we, who wished to worship God in the sincerity of\nour hearts; valiant was he who prevented us with steel, stake, and\nlive burial.\n\n\"Cowards were we for having always laughed readily and drunk joyously,\nlike men who, having done what they had to do, make light of the rest:\nvaliant was this dark personage when he had poor men of the people\narrested in the midst of their merrymaking at Kermis-time and put\ndeath where had been laughter.\n\n\"Cowards were the eighteen thousand eight hundred persons who died for\nthe glory of God; cowards those numberless others who by the rapine,\nbrutality and insolence of the fighting men, lost their lives in these\nlands and others. Valiant was he who ordained their sufferings, and\nmore valiant still when he celebrated his own evil deeds by a banquet.\n\n\"Cowards were we always, we who, after a battle, treated our prisoners\nlike brothers; valiant was he who, after the defeat in Friesland,\nhad his own men slaughtered.\n\n\"Cowards were we, who laboured without ceasing, spreading abroad over\nthe whole world the work of our hands; valiant was he when, under the\ncloak of religion, he slew the richer among us without distinction\nbetween Romans and Reformers, and robbed us by pillage and extortion\nof thirty-six million florins. For the world is turned upside down;\ncowardly is the busy bee who makes the honey, and valiant the idle\ndrone who steals it away. Spit, noble duke, on these Flemish cowards.\"\n\nBut the duke could neither spit nor cough, for from the roughness of\nthe blows they had given him he had altogether lost the shape of a man,\nso mingled and beaten together were bones, flesh, and steel. But there\nwas no blood to be seen, which was a marvellous thing. Suddenly, while\nthe workmen, wearied with beating, were taking breath, a weak voice\ncame out from this hotch-potch of bones, flesh, and steel, saying:\n\n\"Thou hast the seven years, Smetse.\"\n\n\"Very well then, My Lord,\" said he, \"sign the quittance.\"\n\nThis the devil did.\n\n\"And now,\" said Smetse, \"will your highness please to get up.\"\n\nAt these words, by great marvel, the devil regained his shape. But\nwhile he was walking away, holding up his head with great haughtiness\nand not deigning to look at his feet, he tripped over a sledge lying\non the ground, and fell on his nose with great indignity, thereby\ngiving much occasion for laughter to the workmen, who did not fail to\nmake use of it. Picking himself up he threatened them with his fist,\nbut they burst out laughing more loudly than ever. He came at them,\ngrinding his teeth; they hooted him. He tried to strike with his\nsword a short and sturdy little workman; but the man seized the sword\nfrom his hands and broke it in three pieces. He struck another in the\nface with his fist, but the man gave him so good and valiant a kick\nas to send him sprawling on the quay with his legs in the air. There,\nflushing with shame, he melted into red smoke, like a vapour of blood,\nand the workmen heard a thousand joyous and merry voices, saying:\n\"Beaten is the Bloody Duke, shamed is the lord of the axe, inglorious\nthe prince of butchers! Vlaenderland tot eeuwigheid! Flanders for\never!\" And a thousand pairs of hands beat applause all together. And\nthe dawn broke.\n\n\n\n\nXIV. Of the great fears and pains of Smetse's wife.\n\nSmetse, going to look for his wife, found her in the kitchen on\nher knees before the picture of St. Joseph. \"Well, mother,\" said he,\n\"what didst think of our dance? Was it not a merry one? Ah, henceforth\nthey will call our house the House of Beaten Devils.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said his wife, wagging her head, \"yes, and also the house of\nSmetse who was carried away to hell. For that is where thou wilt go;\nI know it, I feel it, I foretell it. This devil's coming all accoutred\nfor war presages evil. He will come back, no longer alone, but with\na hundred thousand devils armed like himself. Ah, my poor man! They\nwill carry lances, swords, pikes, hooked axes, and arquebuses. They\nwill drag behind them canon which they will fire at us; and everything\nwill be ground to pieces, thou, I, the smithy, and the workmen. Alas,\neverything will be levelled to the ground! And where our smithy now\nstands will be nothing but a sorry heap of dust. And the folk walking\npast along the quay will say when they see this dust: 'There lies\nthe house of Smetse, the fool who sold his soul to the devil.' And\nI, after dying in this fashion, shall go to Paradise, as I dare to\nhope. But thee, my man, oh, woe unspeakable! they will take away with\nthem and drag through fire, smoke, brimstone, pitch, boiling oil, to\nthat terrible place where those are punished who, wishing to break\na pact made with the devil, have no special help from God or his\nholy saints. Poor little man, my good comrade, dost know what there\nis in store for thee? Ho, a gulf as deep as the heavens are high,\nand studded all down its terrible sides with jutting points of rock,\niron spikes, horrid spears, and a thousand dreadful pikes. And dost\nknow what manner of gulf this is, my man? 'Tis a gulf wherein a man\nmay keep falling always--dost understand me, always, always--gashed\nby the rocks, cut about by the spears, torn open by the pikes, always,\nalways, down all the long length of eternity.\"\n\n\"But, wife,\" said Smetse, \"hast ever seen this gulf whereof thou\nspeakest?\"\n\n\"Nay,\" said she, \"but I know what manner of place it is, for I have\noften heard tell of it in the church of St. Bavon. And the good canon\npredicant would not lie.\"\n\n\"Ah, no,\" said Smetse.\n\n\n\n\nXV. Of the Bloody King.\n\nWhen the last night of the seventh year was come Smetse was in his\nsmithy, looking at the enchanted sack, and asking himself with much\nanxiety how he could make the devil get into it.\n\nWhile he was wondering, the smithy suddenly became filled with an evil\nstench of the most putrid, offensive and filthy kind. Innumerable\nlice swarmed over the threshold, ceiling, anvils, sledges, bars and\nbellows, Smetse and his men, who were all as if blinded, for these\nlice were as thick in the smithy as smoke, cloud, or fog.\n\nAnd a melancholy but imperative voice spoke, saying: \"Smetse, come\nwith me; the seven years have struck.\"\n\nAnd Smetse and his workmen, looking as well as they could in the\ndirection whence the voice came, saw a man coming towards them with a\nroyal crown on his head, and on his back a cloak of cloth-of-gold. But\nbeneath the cloak the man was naked, and on his breast were four great\nabscesses, which formed together a single wide sore, and from this\ncame the stench which filled the smithy, and the clouds of lice which\nswarmed round about. And he had on his right leg another abscess,\nmore filthy, rank, and offensive than the rest. The man himself was\nwhite-faced, auburn-haired, red-bearded, with lips a little drawn,\nand mouth open somewhat. In his grey eyes were melancholy, envy,\ndissimulation, hypocrisy, harshness, and evil rancour.\n\nWhen the older workmen saw him they cried out in a voice like thunder:\n\"Smetse, the Bloody King is here, take care!\"\n\n\"Silence,\" cried the smith, \"peace there, silence and veneration! Let\nevery man doff his bonnet to the greatest king that ever lived,\nPhilip II by name, King of Castile, Leon, and Aragon, Count of\nFlanders, Duke of Burgundy and Brabant, Palatine of Holland and\nZeeland, most illustrious of all illustrious princes, great among\nthe great, victorious among victors. Sire,\" said he to the devil,\n\"you do me unparalleled honour to come hither in person to lead me\nto hell, but my humble Ghentish lowness makes bold to suggest to\nyour Royal and Palatine Highness that the appointed hour has not yet\nstruck. Therefore if it pleases your Majesty I will pass on earth\nthe brief time which is still left to me to live.\"\n\n\"I allow it,\" said the devil.\n\nMeanwhile Smetse seemed unable to take his eyes off the devil, and\nshowed himself very sorrowful and heavy, nodding his head, and saying\nseveral times:\n\n\"Alas, alas! cruel torment! evil hour!\"\n\n\"What ails thee?\" said the devil.\n\n\"Sire,\" said Smetse, \"nothing ails me but the great sorrow which I\nhave at seeing how harsh God has been towards you, leaving you to\nbear in hell the malady whereof you died. Ah, 'tis a most pitiful\nsight to see so great a king as you consumed by these lice and eaten\nup with these abscesses.\"\n\n\"I care nothing for thy pity,\" answered the king.\n\n\"Sire,\" said Smetse further, \"deign to think no evil of my words. I\nhave never been taught fine ways of speech; but notwithstanding this\nI make bold to sympathize with your illustrious sufferings, and this\nthe more in that I myself have known and suffered your ill, and you can\nstill see, Sire, the terrible marks on my skin.\" And Smetse, uncovering\nhis breast, showed the marks of the wounds which he had received from\nthe traitor Spanish when he sailed the seas with the men of Zeeland.\n\n\"But,\" said the devil-king, \"thou seemest well enough cured,\nsmith! Wast thou verily as sick as I?\"\n\n\"Like you, Sire,\" said Smetse, \"I was nothing but a heap of living\nfilth; like you I was fetid, rank, and offensive, and every one fled\nfrom me as they fled from you; like you I was eaten up with lice;\nbut what could not be done for you by the most illustrious doctor\nOlias of Madrid, a humble carpenter did for me.\"\n\nAt these words the devil-king cocked his ear. \"In what place,\" said he,\n\"does this carpenter dwell, and what is his name?\"\n\n\"He dwells,\" said Smetse, \"in the heavens, and his name is Master\nSt. Joseph.\"\n\n\"And did this great saint appear to thee by especial miracle?\"\n\n\"Yes, Sire.\"\n\n\"And by virtue of what didst thou merit this rare and blessed favour?\"\n\n\"Sire,\" answered Smetse, \"I have never by my own virtue merited so\nmuch as the shadow of a single grain of particular grace, but in\nmy sufferings I prayed humbly and with faith to my blessed patron,\nMaster St. Joseph, and he deigned to come to my succour.\"\n\n\"Tell me of this happening, smith.\"\n\n\"Sire,\" said Smetse, holding up the sack, \"this was my remedy.\"\n\n\"This sack?\" asked the devil.\n\n\"Yes, Sire; but will your Majesty deign to look closely at the\nhemp whereof it is woven. Do you not think its quality altogether\nstrange! Alas,\" said Smetse, running on with his talk, and appearing\nto go into an ecstasy, \"'tis not given to us poor men to see every day\nsuch hemp as this. For this is not earthly hemp, but hemp of heaven,\nhemp from the good Paradise, sown by my master St. Joseph round about\nthe tree of life, harvested and woven under his especial orders to\nmake sacks wherein the beans are stored which my masters the angels\neat on fast-days.\"\n\n\"But,\" asked the devil, \"how did this sack come into thy hands?\"\n\n\"Ah, Sire, by great marvel. One night I was in my bed, suffering twenty\ndeaths from my ulcers, and almost at the point of giving up my soul. I\nsaw my good wife weeping; I heard my neighbours and workmen, of whom\nthere were many, saying round about my bed the prayers for the dying;\nmy body was overcome with pain and my soul with despair. Nevertheless\nI kept praying to my blessed patron and swore that if he brought\nme out of that pass, I would burn to his honour in the church of\nSt. Bavon such a candle as the fat of twenty sheep would not suffice\nto make. And my prayers were not in vain, Sire, for suddenly a hole\nopened in the ceiling above my head, a living flame and a celestial\nperfume filled the room, a sack came down through the hole, a man\nclothed in white followed the sack, walked in the air to my bed,\npulled down the sheets which covered me, and in the twinkling of an\neye put me in the sack and drew the strings tight round my neck. And\nthen, behold the miracle! No sooner was I wrapped about with this\ngood hemp than a genial warmth passed through me, my ulcers dried up,\nand the lice all perished suddenly with a terrible noise. After that\nthe man told me with a smile about the hemp of heaven and the angelic\nbeans, and finished his discourse by saying: 'Keep safe this remedy,\n'tis sent thee by my master St. Joseph. Whosoever shall use it shall\nbe cured of all ills and saved for all eternity, if in the meantime he\ndo not sell his soul to the devil!' Then the man went away. And what\nthe good messenger told me was true, for by means of this sack from\nheaven, I cured Toon, my workman, of the king's evil; Pier of fever,\nDolf of scurvy, Hendrik of the phlegm, and a score of others who owe\nit to me that they are still alive.\"\n\nWhen Smetse had finished his speech the devil-king seemed lost in deep\nreflection, then suddenly lifted his eyes to heaven, joined his hands,\ncrossed himself again and again, and, falling to his knees, beat upon\nhis breast, and with most lamentable cries prayed as here follows: \"Ah,\nmy Master St. Joseph, sweet Lord, blessed saint, immaculate husband of\nthe Virgin without stain, you have deigned to make whole this smith,\nand he would have been saved by you for all eternity had he not sold\nhis soul to the devil. But I, Master, I, a poor king, who pray to you,\ndo you disdain to make me whole also, and to save me as you would\nhave saved him? You know well, sweet Lord, how I devoted my life,\nmy person, my goods and those of my subjects to the defence of our\nblessed religion; how I hated, as is right, the freedom to believe\nother things than those which are ordained for us; how I combated it\nby steel, stake, and live burial; how I saved in this wise from the\nvenom of reform Brabant, Flanders, Artois, Hainault, Valenciennes,\nLille, Douai, Orchies, Namur, Tournai, Tournaisie, Malines, and\nmy other lands. Nevertheless I have been thrown into the fires of\nhell, and there suffer without respite the unutterable torment of\nmy consuming ulcers and my devouring vermin. Ah, will you not make\nme whole, will you not save me? You are able, my Master. Yes, you\nwill perform again for the sorrowing king the miracle which saved\nthe smith. Then shall I be able to pass into paradise, blessing\nand glorifying your name through centuries and centuries. Save me,\nMaster St. Joseph, save me. Amen.\"\n\nAnd the devil-king, crossing himself, beating his breast, and babbling\npaternosters turn by turn, rose to his feet and said to Smetse:\n\"Put me in the sack, smith.\"\n\nThis Smetse did gladly, rolled him into the sack, leaving only his\nhead thrust out, drew tight round his neck the stout cords, and placed\nthe devil on an anvil.\n\nAt this spectacle the workmen burst out laughing, clapping their\nhands together, and saying a hundred merry things to one another.\n\n\"Smith,\" asked the devil, \"are these Flemings laughing at me?\"\n\n\"Yes, Sire.\"\n\n\"What are they saying, smith?\"\n\n\"Oh, Sire, they are saying that horses are caught by means of corn;\ndogs by liver; asses by thistles; hogs by swill; trout by curdled\nblood; carp by cheese; pike by gudgeon; and a humbug of your kidney\nby tales of false miracles.\"\n\n\"Ho, the traitor smith,\" howled the devil, grinding his teeth,\n\"he has taken in vain the name of my Master St. Joseph, he has lied\nwithout shame.\"\n\n\"Yes, Sire.\"\n\n\"And thou wilt dare to beat me as thou didst Jacob Hessels and my\nfaithful duke?\"\n\n\"Even more heartily, Sire. Nevertheless 'tis only if you so wish\nit. You shall be set free if you please. Free if you give me back the\ndeed; beaten if you are fixed in your idea of carrying me off to hell.\"\n\n\"Give thee back the deed! \"roared the devil, \"I would rather suffer\na thousand deaths in a single moment.\"\n\n\"Sire King,\" said Smetse, \"I pray you to think of your bones, which\nseem to me none too sound as it is. Consider also that the opportunity\nis a good one for us to avenge on your person our poor Flanders, so\ndrenched in blood at your hands. But it displeases me to pass a second\ntime where has passed already the wrath of the very just God. So give\nme back the deed; grace, Sire King, or 'twill begin raining presently.\"\n\n\"Grace!\" said the devil, \"grace to a Fleming! perish Flanders\nrather! Ah, why have I not again, one single day, as much power,\narmies, and riches as I will; Flanders would give up her soul\nquickly. Then famine should reign in the land, parching the soil,\ndrying up the water-springs and the life of plants; the last ghostly\ninhabitants of the empty towns would wander like phantoms in the\nstreets, killing one another in heaps to find a little rotten food;\nbands of famished dogs would snatch newborn children from their\nmothers' withered breasts and devour them; famine should lie where\nhad been plenty, dust where had been towns, crows where had been\nmen; and on this earth stripped naked, stony, and desolate, on this\nburial-ground, I would set up a black cross with this inscription: Here\nlies Flanders the heretic, Philip of Spain passed over her breast!\"\n\nSo saying the devil foamed at the mouth with wrath, but scarce were\nhis last words cold from his lips when all the hammers and bars in\nthe smithy fell on him at once. And Smetse and his workmen, striking\nin turn, said: \"This is for our broken charters and our privileges\nviolated despite thine oath, for thou wast perjurer.\n\n\"This is for that when we called thee thou didst not dare come into\nour land, where thy presence would have cooled the hottest heads,\nfor thou wast coward.\n\n\"This is for the innocent Marquess of Berg-op-Zoom, whom thou\npoisoned in prison, so that his inheritance might be thine; and for\nthe Prince of Ascoly, whom thou madest to marry Dona Eufrasia, in\nchild by thy seed, so that his wealth might enrich the bastard that\nwas coming. The Prince died also, like so many others, for thou wert\npoisoner of bodies.\n\n\"This is for the false witnesses paid by thee, and thy promise to\nennoble whomever would kill Prince William for money, for thou wast\npoisoner of souls.\"\n\nAnd the blows fell heavy, and the king's crown was knocked off, and\nhis body, like the duke's, was no more than a hotch-potch of bones\nand flesh, without any blood. But the workmen went on with their\nhammering, saying:\n\n\"This is for thine invention of the Tourniquet, wherewith thou didst\nstrangle Montigny, friend of thy son, for thou wast seeker of new\ntortures.\n\n\"This is for the Duke of Alva, for the Counts of Egmont and Hoorn,\nfor all our poor dead, for our merchants who went off to enrich\nEngland and Germany, for thou wast death and ruin to our land.\n\n\"This is for thy wife, who died by thy deed, for thou wast husband\nwithout love.\n\n\"This is for thy poor son Charles, who died without any sickness,\nfor thou wast father without bowels.\n\n\"This is for the hatred, cruelty, and slaughter with which thou didst\nmake return for the gentleness, confidence, and goodwill of our land,\nfor thou wast king without justice.\n\n\"And this is for the Emperor, thy father, who, with his execrable\nproclamations and edicts, first sounded for our land the stroke of\nthe evil hour. Give him a good drubbing on our account, and tell us\nthou wilt give back the deed to the baes.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" wept a melancholy voice, coming from the heap of bones and\nflesh, \"thou hast everything, Smetse, thou art free.\"\n\n\"Give me back the parchment,\" said Smetse.\n\n\"Open the sack,\" answered the voice.\n\n\"Ho,\" cried Smetse, \"yes, yes, indeed, I will open the sack wide,\nand Master Philip will leap out and take me off to hell with all\nspeed. Oh, the good little devil! But 'tis not now the time for such\nhigh pranks. Therefore I make bold to beg your Majesty to give me\nfirst the parchment, which he may without difficulty pass up through\nthis gap which is between his neck and the edge of the sacking.\"\n\n\"I will not do it,\" said the devil.\n\n\"That,\" said Smetse, \"is as it pleases your subtle Majesty. In the\nsack he is, in the sack he may remain; I make no objection. Every\nman his own humour. But mine will be to leave him in his sack, and in\nthis wise carry him off to Middelburg in Walcheren, and there ask the\nprefect that leave be given me to build a good little stone box in the\nmarket-place and therein to place your Majesty, leaving outside his\nmelancholy countenance. So placed he will be able to see at a close\nview the happiness, joy, and prosperity of the men of the reformed\nfaith: that will be a fine treat for him, which might be added to,\non feast-days and market-days, by an unkind blow or two which people\nwould give him in the face, or some wicked strokes with a stick, or\nsome spittle dropped on him without respect. You will have besides,\nSire, the unutterable satisfaction of seeing many good pilgrims\nfrom Flanders, Brabant, and your other blood-soaked countries come\nto Middelburg to pay back with good coin of their staves their old\ndebt to your Most Merciful Majesty.\"\n\n\"Ah,\" said the devil, \"I will not have this shame put upon me. Take,\nsmith, take the parchment.\"\n\nSmetse obeyed, and saw that it was indeed his own, then went and\ndipped it in holy water, where it turned into dust.\n\nAt this he was filled with joy and opened the sack for the devil, whose\nbones moved and became joined again to one another. And he took on\nagain his withered shape, his hungry vermin, and his devouring sores.\n\nThen, covering himself with his cloak of cloth-of-gold, he went out\nof the smithy, while Smetse cried after him: \"Good journey to you,\nand a following wind, Master Philip!\"\n\nAnd on the quay the devil kicked against a stone, which opened of\nitself and showed a great hole, wherein he was swallowed suddenly up\nlike an oyster.\n\n\n\n\nXVI. Wherein Smetse beholds on the River Lys a most marvellous sight.\n\nWhen the devil had gone Smetse was almost off his head with joy, and\nran to his wife, who had come to the door of the kitchen, and thumped\nher for joy, seized her, kissed her, hugged the good woman, shook her,\npressed her to him, ran back to his men, shook them all by the hand,\ncrying: \"By Artevelde! I am quits, Smetse is quits!\" And he seemed\nto have a tongue for nothing else but that he was quits! And he blew\nin his wife's ear, into his workmen's faces, and under the nose of a\nbald and wheezing old cat who sat up in one corner and got quit with\nhim by a scratch in the face.\n\n\"The rascal,\" said Smetse, \"does not seem glad enough at my\ndeliverance. Is he another devil, think you? They say they disguise\nthemselves in every kind of shape. Ho,\" said he to the cat, who was\narching her back in annoyance, \"hast heard, listened, and understood,\ndevil cat? I am quit and free, quit and franked, quit and happy,\nquit and rich! And I have made fools of all the devils. And from now\non I will live gaily as becomes a quit smith. Wife, I will send this\nvery day a hundred philipdalers to Slimbroek, so that that poor sinner\nmay also rejoice at Smetse's quittance.\"\n\nBut his wife said nothing, and when Smetse went to look for her he\nfound her on the stair with a great bowl of holy water in her hands,\nin which she was dipping a fair sprig of palm branch.\n\nComing into the smithy she began to sprinkle with the palm her man and\nthe workmen, and also the hammers, anvils, bellows, and other tools.\n\n\"Wife,\" said Smetse, trying to escape the wetting, \"what art thou at?\"\n\n\"I am saving thee,\" said she, \"presumptuous smith. Dost verily think\nthat, being freed of devils, thou hast for thine own the chattels that\ncome from them? Dost think that though they have lost the soul which\nwas to be their payment they will leave thee thy riches. Ho, the good\nfool! They will come back again, yes; and if I do not sprinkle thee\nwith this holy water, and myself likewise, and all these good men,\nwho knows with what evils they may not torment us, alas!\"\n\nAnd the good wife was working away with her palm-branch when suddenly\na great thunder rumbled under the earth, shaking the quay, and the\nstones cracked, the panes shivered in the windows, all the doors and\ncasements in the smithy opened of themselves, and a hot wind blew.\n\n\"Ah,\" said she, \"they are coming; pray, my man!\"\n\nAnd suddenly there appeared in the sky the figure of a man, naked\nand of marvellous beauty. He was standing in a chariot of diamond,\ndrawn by four flaming horses. And he held in his right hand a banner,\nwhereon was written: \"More beautiful than God.\" And from the body of\nthis man, whereof the flesh shone brightly, came golden rays which\nlit up the Lys, the quay and the trees like sunlight. And the trees\nbegan to sway and swing their stems and branches, and all the quay\nseemed to roll like a ship upon the sea, and thousands of voices\ncalled out together: \"Lord, we cry hunger and thirst; Lord, feed us;\nLord, give us to drink.\"\n\n\"Ah,\" said the good wife, \"here is my Lord Lucifer and all his devils!\"\n\nAnd when the voices had ceased the man made a sign with his hand,\nand of a sudden the waters of the Lys rose as if God had lifted up\nthe river-bed. And the river became like a rough sea; but the waves\ndid not roll on the quay, but each lifted separately, bearing on its\ncrest a foam of fire. Then each of these flames rose into the air,\ndrawing up the water like a pillar, and there seemed to poor Smetse\nand his wife and the men to be hundreds of thousands of these pillars\nof water, swaying and foaming.\n\nThen each pillar took on the form of a fearful animal, and suddenly\nthere appeared, mingled together, striking and wounding one another,\nall the devils whose work was to torment poor damned souls. There were\nto be seen, crawling over crooked and shivering men's legs, monstrous\ncrabs, devouring those who were servile in their lives. Near these\ncrabs were ostriches bigger than horses, who ran along flapping their\nwings. Under their tails they had laurel-wreaths, sceptres, and crowns,\nand behind their tails were made to run those men who in our world\nspent all their time running after vain honours, without a care for\ndoing good. And the ostriches went quicker than the wind, while the\nmen ran without respite behind them in the effort to get the wreaths,\ncrowns, and sceptres; but they could never reach them. In this way\nthey were led to a treacherous pond full of loathsome mud, wherein they\nfell shamefully and stayed stuck for all eternity, whilst the mocking\nostriches walked up and down on the bank dangling their bawbles.\n\nAmong the ostriches were squadrons of many-coloured apes, diapered\nlike butterflies, whose concern was with miserly Jewish and Lombard\nusurers. These men, when they entered hell, looked round them\ncarefully, screwing up their eyes under their spectacles, collected\nfrom the ground divers rusty nails, old breeches, filthy rags, buttons\nshowing the wood, and other old stuff, then dug a hole hastily, hid\ntheir treasures in it and went off to sit down some way away. The apes,\nseeing this, would leap on the hole, empty out its content, and throw\nit into the fire. Then the misers would weep, make lamentations, and\nbe beaten by the apes, and at last go off to find some more secret\nplace, hide there once again their new depredations, and see once\nagain the hole emptied and the apes coming once again to beat them,\nand so on for all eternity.\n\nIn the air, above the apes, soared eagles, who had, instead of a beak,\nfour-and-twenty matchlock barrels firing together. These eagles were\ncalled Royal, because their concern was with conqueror princes, who\nwere too fond in their lifetime of the sounds of war and cannon. And\nfor their punishment these matchlocks were fired off in their faces\nagain and again throughout eternity.\n\nBesides the ostriches, apes, and eagles, reared up a great serpent\nwith a bear's coat, who writhed and twisted this way and that. He was\nof great length and breadth, beyond all measure, and had a hundred\nthousand hairy arms, in each of which he held an iron pike as sharp\nas a razor. He was called the Spaniards' Serpent, because in hell\nit was his task to gash about with his pikes without mercy all the\nbands of traitor pillagers who had despoiled our good country.\n\nKeeping clear of this serpent with great prudence, darted about\nmischievous little winged pigs whose tails were eels. These tails\nwere designed for the perpetual teazing of such gluttons as came to\nhell. For the pig would come up to such a one, hold the eel close to\nhis mouth, and, when he tried to bite it, suddenly fly away from him,\nand so on throughout eternity.\n\nThere were to be seen also, marching up and down in their gorgeous\nfeathers, monstrous peacocks. Whenever some vain dandy came their way,\ngiving himself airs in his fine clothes, one of these peacocks would\ngo to him and spread its tail, as if inviting him to pluck out a fine\nfeather for his bonnet. But as soon as the dandy approached to take\nhis feather, Master Peacock would let fly in his face with filthy\nand evil-smelling water, which spoilt all his fine clothes. And\nthroughout eternity the dandy would try to get the feather, and\nthroughout eternity be so swilled down.\n\nAmong these fearful animals, wandered two by two male and female\ngrasshoppers as big as a man, the one playing on a pipe, and the\nother brandishing a great knotted stick. Whenever they saw a man who,\nin his lifetime, leapt, by cowardice, from good to evil, from black to\nwhite, from fire to water, always on the side of the strongest, these\ngrasshoppers would go to him, and one would play the pipe, while the\nother, leaning on his stick with great dignity, would say: \"Leap for\nGod,\" and the man would leap; \"Leap for the Devil,\" and the man would\nleap again; \"Leap for Calvin, leap for the Mass, leap for the goat,\nleap for the cabbage,\" and the man would keep leaping. But he never\nleapt high enough for the liking of the grasshopper with the stick,\nand so he was each time belaboured in a most pitiless manner. And he\nleapt without ceasing and was belaboured without respite, while the\npipe made continual pleasant music, and so on throughout eternity.\n\nFarther on, naked and lying on cloths of gold, silk, and velvet,\ncovered with pearls and a thousand resplendent gems, more beautiful\nthan the most beautiful ladies of Ghent, Brussels, or Bruges,\nlascivious and smiling, singing, and playing on sweet instruments,\nwere the wives of the devils. These dealt out punishment to old rakes,\ncorrupters of youth and beauty. To them these she-devils would call\nout amorously, but they could never get near them. Throughout eternity\nthese poor rakes had to look at them without being able to touch them\neven with the tip of the nail of their little finger. And they wept\nand made lamentation, but all in vain, and so on through centuries\nand centuries.\n\nThere were also mischievous little devils with drums, made of the\nskins of hypocrites, whose masks hung down over the drum case as\nornament. And the hypocrites to whom they belonged, without their\nskins, without their masks, in all their ugliness, ashamed, hooted,\nhissed, spat at, eaten up by horrible flies, and followed by the\nlittle devils beating their drums, had to wander up and down hell\nthroughout eternity.\n\nIt was good to see also the devils of conceited men. These were fine\ngreat leathern bottles full of wind, finished off with a beak, at the\nend of which was a reed. These bottles had eagle's feet and two good\nlittle arms, with fingers long enough to go round the widest part of\nthe bottle. When the conceited man came into hell, saying: \"I am great,\nI am grand, strong, beautiful, victorious, I will overcome Lucifer\nand marry his dam Astarte,\" the leathern bottles would come up to him\nand say, with a deep reverence: \"My lord, will you be pleased to let\nus speak a word to you in secret, touching your high designs?\" \"Yes,\"\nhe would say. Then two bottles would stuff their reeds into his ears\nin such a manner that he could not get them out again, and begin to\npress in their bellies with their long fingers, so as to force wind\ninto his head, which thereupon swelled up, large and always larger,\nand Master Self-Conceit rose into the air and went off to wander\nthroughout eternity, with his head bumping the ceiling of hell,\nand his legs waving in the air in the efforts to get down again;\nbut all in vain.\n\nMarvellous devils were certain apes of quicksilver, always running,\ntumbling, leaping, coming, and going. These devils bore down on\nthe lazy fellows who were thrown to them, gave them a spade to dig\nearth with, a sword to polish, a tree to trim, or a book to con. The\nlazybones would look at the task set him, saying: \"To-morrow,\"\nand would stretch his arms, scratching and yawning. But as soon\nas he had his mouth wide open the ape would stuff into it a sponge\nsoaked in quintessence of rhubarb. \"This,\" he would say mockingly,\n\"is for to-day; work, slug, work.\" Then, while the lazybones was\nretching, the devil would thump him, shake him a hundred different\nways, giving him no more peace than a gadfly gives a horse, and so\non throughout eternity.\n\nPleasing devils were pretty little children very wide-awake and\nmischievous, whose concern was to teach learned orators to think,\nspeak, weep, and laugh according to common nature. And when they did\notherwise the little devils would rap them sharply on the knuckles. But\nthe poor pedants could no longer learn, being too heavy, old, and\nstupid; so they had a rap on the knuckles every day and a whipping\non Sundays.\n\nAnd all these devils cried out together: \"Master, we are hungry;\nMaster, give us to eat, pay somewhat for the good services we render\nthee.\"\n\nAnd suddenly the man in the chariot made a sign, and the good River\nLys threw all these devils on the quay, as the sea splashes on the\nshore, and they hissed loud and terribly at landing.\n\nAnd Smetse, his wife, and the workmen heard the doors of the cellars\nopen with a loud noise, and all the casks of bruinbier came hissing\nup the stairs, and hissing across the floor of the forge, and still\nhissing described a curve in the air and fell among the crowd of\nall the devils. And so also did the bottles of wine, so also the\nhams, loaves, and cheeses, and so also the good crusats, angelots,\nphilipdalers, and other moneys, which were all changed into meat and\ndrink. And the devils fell over one another, fought, scrambled, wounded\nthemselves, forming only one great mass of battling monsters, howling\nand hissing, and each trying to get more than the others. When there\nwas left neither drop nor crumb, the man in the chariot made another\nsign, and all the devils melted into black water and flowed into the\nriver, where they disappeared. And the man vanished from the sky.\n\nAnd Smetse Smee was as poor as before, save for one little bag of\ngolden royals, which his wife had by chance sprinkled with holy\nwater, and which he kept, although it came from the devil. But this,\nas you shall see, did not profit him at all. And he lived with great\ncontent until he died suddenly one day in his smithy, at the great\nand blessed age of ninety-three years.\n\n\n\n\nXVII. Of Hell, of Purgatory, of the long ladder, and finally of\nParadise.\n\nWhen he was dead his soul had to pass through Hell in the guise of a\nsmith. Coming thither he saw, through the open windows, the devils\nwhich had so frightened him in the vision on the Lys, and who were\nnow busy torturing and tormenting the poor damned souls as terribly\nas they could. And Smetse went to the doorkeeper; but the doorkeeper,\non seeing him, howled out in a most awful fashion: \"Smetse is here,\nSmetse Smee the traitor smith!\" And he would not let him in. Hearing\nthe hubbub, My Lord Lucifer, Madam Astarte, and all their court came\nto the windows, and all the other devils after them.\n\nAnd they all cried out in fear:\n\n\"Shut the doors, 'tis the enchanted Smetse, Smetse the traitor smith,\nSmetse the beater of poor devils. If he comes in here he will overset,\nspoil, break up everything. Begone, Smetse!\"\n\n\"My masters,\" said Smetse, \"if I do indeed come hither to look at\nyour snouts, which are not beautiful I promise ye, 'tis not at all\nfor my pleasure; and besides, I am not by any means anxious to come\nin. So do not make such a noise, master devils.\"\n\n\"Yes, indeed, my fine smith,\" answered Madam Astarte, \"thou showest\na velvet pad now, but when thou art within thou wilt show thy claws\nand thine evil intention, and will slay us all, me, my good husband,\nand all our friends. Be off, Smetse; be off, Smee.\"\n\n\"Madam,\" said Smetse, \"you are indeed the most beautiful she-devil I\never saw, but that is, nevertheless, no reason why you should think\nso ill of a fellow-creature's intentions.\"\n\n\"Hark to the fellow!\" said Madam Astarte, \"how he hides his wickedness\nunder sugared words! Drive him away, devils, but do him no great harm.\"\n\n\"Madam,\" said Smetse, \"I beg you to listen.\"\n\n\"Be off, smith!\" cried out all the devils; and they threw burning\ncoals at him, and whatever else they could find. And Smetse ran off\nas fast as his legs would take him.\n\nWhen he had travelled some way he came before Purgatory. On the other\nside was a ladder, with this inscription at its foot: \"This is the\nroad to the good Paradise.\"\n\nAnd Smetse, filled with joy, began to climb the ladder, which was made\nof golden thread, with here and there a sharp point sticking out, in\nvirtue of that saying of God which tells us: \"Broad is the way which\nleadeth to Hell, strait and rough the way to Heaven.\" And, indeed,\nSmetse soon had his feet sore. Nevertheless, he made his way upward\nwithout halting, and only stopped when he had counted ten hundred\nthousand rungs and could see no more of either earth or hell. And he\nbecame thirsty. Finding nothing to drink he became a little sullen,\nwhen suddenly he saw a little cloud coming past, and drank it up\njoyfully. It did not indeed seem to him as good drink as bruinbier,\nbut he took consolation from the thought that it is not possible\nto have comforts everywhere alike. A little higher up the ladder he\nsuddenly had hard work to keep his bonnet on his head, by reason of\na treacherous autumn wind which was going down to earth to pull off\nthe last leaves. And by this wind he was sorely shaken, and nearly\nlost his hold. After he was out of this pass he became hungry, and\nregretted the good earthly beef, smoked over pine-cones, which is so\ngood a food for poor wayfarers. But he took heart, thinking that it\nis not given to man to understand everything.\n\nSuddenly he saw an eagle of terrible aspect coming upon him from the\nearth. Thinking for certain that he was some fat sheep, the eagle\nrose above him and would have dropped on him like a cannon-ball; but\nthe good smith had no fear, bent to one side and caught the bird by\nthe neck, which he wrung subtly. Then, still going up, he hastened to\npluck it, ate morsels of it raw, and found them stringy. Nevertheless,\nhe took this meat with patience, because he had no other. Then,\npatiently and bravely, he climbed for several days and several nights,\nseeing nothing but the blue of the sky and innumerable suns, moons,\nand stars above his head, under his feet, to right, to left, and\neverywhere. And he seemed to be in the midst of a fair great globe,\nwhereof the inner walls had been painted this fair blue, strewn with\nall these suns, moons, and stars. And he was frightened by the great\nsilence and by the immensity.\n\nSuddenly he felt a genial warmth, heard sweet voices singing, distant\nmusic, and the sound of a city toiling. And he saw a town of infinite\nsize girt about with walls, over which he could see housetops, trees,\nand towers. And he felt that he was moving more quickly despite his\nown legs, and by and by, leaving the last rung behind, he set foot\nbefore the gate of the town.\n\n\"By Artevelde!\" said he, \"here is the good Paradise.\"\n\nAnd he knocked on the gate; St. Peter came to open to him.\n\nSmetse was somewhat frightened at the gigantic appearance of the good\nsaint, his great head of hair, his red beard, his large face, his high\nforehead, and his piercing eyes, with which he looked at him fixedly.\n\n\"Who art thou?\" quoth he.\n\n\"Master St. Peter,\" said the smith, \"I am Smetse Smee, who in his\nlifetime lived at Ghent on the Quai aux Oignons, and now prays you\nto let him enter your good Paradise.\"\n\n\"No,\" said St. Peter.\n\n\"Ah, my master!\" said Smetse most piteously, \"if 'tis because in my\nlifetime I sold my soul to the devil, I make bold to tell you that\nI repented most heartily, and was redeemed from his power and kept\nnothing that was his.\"\n\n\"Excepting a sackful of royals,\" said the saint, \"and on that account\nthou shalt not come in.\"\n\n\"Master,\" said the smith, \"I am not so guilty as you suppose; the sack\nstayed in my house because it had been blessed, and for that reason\nI thought I might well keep it. But take pity on me, for I knew not\nwhat I was doing. I pray you also to deign to consider that I come\nfrom a far country, that I am greatly tired, and would gladly rest\nin this good Paradise.\"\n\n\"Be off, smith,\" said the saint, who was holding the door a crack open.\n\nMeanwhile Smetse had slipped through the opening, and taking off his\nleathern apron sat down, saying:\n\n\"Master, I am here rightfully, you cannot turn me out.\"\n\nBut St. Peter bade a troop of halberdier angels who were near at hand\ndrive him away: and this the halberdier angels did with great dispatch.\n\nThereafter, Smetse did not cease to beat on the door with his fists,\nand lamented, wept, and cried out: \"Master, have pity on me, let\nme in, my master; I repent of all the sins I have committed, and\neven the others as well. Master, grant me permission to enter the\nblessed Paradise. Master....\" But Master St. Peter, hearing this,\nput his head over the wall:\n\n\"Smith,\" said he, \"if thou wilt persist in this uproar, I shall have\nthee sent to Purgatory.\"\n\nAnd poor Smetse held his peace, and sat down on his seat, and so\npassed sad days, watching others enter.\n\nIn this wise a week went by, during which he lived on a few scraps of\nbread which were thrown to him over the wall, and on grapes gathered\nfrom a sour vine which grew on the outer face of the wall of Paradise\nin this part.\n\nAnd Smetse was most unhappy, leading this idle existence. And he\nsought in his head for some work or other which would gladden him\nsomewhat. Having found it, he shouted as loud as he could, and\nSt. Peter put his head over the wall.\n\n\"What wilt thou, Smetse?\" said he.\n\n\"Master,\" answered the smith, \"will you be pleased to let me go down\nto earth for one night, so that I may see my good wife and look to\nmy affairs?\"\n\n\"Thou mayst, Smetse,\" answered St. Peter.\n\n\n\n\nXVIII. Wherein it is seen why Smetse was whipped.\n\nIt was then All Saints' Eve; bitter was the cold, and Smetse's good\nwife was in her kitchen, brewing some good mixture of sugar, yolk of\negg, and bruinbier, to cure her of an evil catarrh, which had lain\nupon her ever since her man died.\n\nSmetse came and knocked at the window of the kitchen, whereat his\nwife was greatly frightened.\n\nAnd she cried out sadly: \"Do not come and torment me, my man, if\n'tis prayers thou wilt have. I say as many as I can, but I will say\nmore if need be. Wilt thou have masses said? Thou shalt have them,\nand prayers and indulgences likewise. I will buy them, my man,\nI promise thee; but go back quickly whence thou camest.\"\n\nNevertheless Smetse went on knocking. \"'Tis not masses or prayers,\"\nsaid he, \"that I want, but shelter, food, and drink, for bitter is\nthe cold, rude the wind, sharp the frost. Open, wife.\"\n\nBut she, on hearing him speak thus, prayed the more and cried out\nthe louder, and beat her breast and crossed herself, but made no move\nto open the door, saying only: \"Go back, go back, my man; thou shalt\nhave prayers and masses.\"\n\nSuddenly the smith discerned an open window in the attic. He climbed\nup and entered the house by that means, went down the stair, and,\nopening the door, appeared before his wife; but as she kept drawing\nback before him as he advanced, crying out and calling the neighbours\nat the top of her voice, Smetse stood still so as not to frighten\nher further, sat down on a stool, and said:\n\n\"Dost not see, mother, that I am indeed Smetse, and wish thee no harm?\"\n\nBut his wife would listen to nothing and crept back into a\ncorner. Thence with her teeth a-chatter, and her eyes open wide,\nshe made a sign to him to leave her, for she could no longer find\nher tongue, by reason of her great fear.\n\n\"Wife,\" said the smith in friendly tones, \"is it thus that thou givest\ngreeting and welcome to thy poor husband, after the long time he has\nbeen away? Alas, hast forgot our old comradeship and union?\"\n\nHearing this soft and joyous voice she answered in a low tone and\nwith great timidity:\n\n\"No, dead master.\"\n\n\"Well then,\" said he, \"why art thou so afraid? Dost not know thy man's\nfat face, his round paunch, and the voice which in former days sang\nso readily hereabout?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she said, \"I know thee well enough.\"\n\nAnd why,\" said he, \"if thou knowest me, wilt not come to me and\ntouch me?\"\n\n\"Ah,\" said she, \"I dare not, master, for 'tis said that whatever\nmember touches a dead man is itself dead.\"\n\n\"Come, wife,\" said the smith, \"and do not believe all these lying\ntales.\"\n\n\"Smetse,\" said she, \"will you in good truth do me no hurt?\"\n\n\"None,\" said he, and took her by the hand.\n\n\"Ah,\" she said suddenly, \"my poor man, thou art cold and hungry and\nthirsty indeed!\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said he.\n\n\"Well then,\" said she, \"eat, drink, and warm thyself.\"\n\nWhile Smetse was eating and drinking he told his wife how he had been\nforbidden the door to Paradise, and how he designed to take from the\ncellar a full cask of bruinbier and bottles of French wine, to sell\nto those who went into the Holy City, so that he might be well paid,\nand with the money he received buy himself better food.\n\n\"This, my man,\" she said, \"is all very well, but will Master St. Peter\ngive thee permission to set up at the gates of Paradise such a tavern?\"\n\n\"Of that,\" he said, \"I have hope.\"\n\nAnd Smetse, laden with his cask and bottles, went his way back,\nup towards the good Paradise.\n\nHaving reached the foot of the wall he set up his tavern in the open\nair, for the weather is mild in this heavenly land, and on the first\nday all who went in drank at Smetse's stall, and paid him well out\nof compassion.\n\nBut one or two became drunk, and entering Paradise in this state, set\nMaster Peter inquiring into the cause of it; and having found it out\nhe enjoined Smetse to stop his selling, and had him whipped grievously.\n\n\n\n\nXIX. Of the fair judgment of My Lord Jesus.\n\nNot long afterwards the good wife died also, by reason of the terror\nthat had seized hold of her at the sight of her man's ghost.\n\nAnd her soul went straight towards Paradise, and there she saw, sitting\nwith his seat against the wall, the poor Smetse in a fit of melancholy\nbrooding. When he saw her he jumped up with great joy, and said:\n\n\"Wife, I will go in with thee.\"\n\n\"Dost thou dare?\" said she.\n\n\"I will hide myself,\" said he, \"under thy skirt, which is wide enough\nfor us both, and so I shall pass without being seen.\"\n\nWhen he had done this she knocked on the door, and Master St. Peter\ncame to open it. \"Come in,\" he said, \"good wife.\" But seeing Smetse's\nfeet below the hem of the skirt: \"This wicked smith,\" he cried,\n\"will he always be making fun of me? Be off, devil-baggage!\"\n\n\"Ah, my master,\" said she, \"have pity on him, or else let me stay out,\ntoo, to keep him company.\"\n\n\"No,\" said Master St. Peter, \"thy place is here, his is outside. Come\nin then, and let him be off at once.\"\n\nAnd the good wife went in while Smetse stayed outside. But as soon\nas the noonday hour came, and the angel cooks had brought the good\nwife her beautiful rice pudding, she went to the wall and put her\nhead over it.\n\n\"Art thou there,\" she said, \"my man?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said he.\n\n\"Art thou hungry?\" she said.\n\n\"Yes,\" said he.\n\n\"Well then,\" she said, \"spread thy leathern apron; I will throw thee\nthe pudding which has just been given me.\"\n\n\"But thou,\" said he, \"wilt thou eat nothing?\"\n\n\"No,\" said she, \"for I have heard it said that there is supper by\nand by.\"\n\nSmetse ate the rice pudding, and was suddenly filled with comfort,\nfor the pudding was more succulent and delicious than the finest meats\nof the earth. Meanwhile his wife went off to walk about in the good\nParadise, and afterwards came back to Smetse to tell him what she\nhad seen.\n\n\"Ah,\" she said, \"my man, 'tis a most beautiful place. Would that\nI could see thee within! Round about My Lord Jesus are the pure\nintelligences who discuss with him whatever is goodness, love, justice,\nknowledge, and beauty, and also the best means of governing men and\nmaking them happy. Their speech is like music. And all the while they\nkeep throwing down to earth the seeds of beautiful, good, just and true\nthoughts. But men are so wicked and stupid that they tread underfoot\nthese fair seeds or let them wither away. Farther on, established in\ntheir several places, are potters and goldsmiths, masons, painters,\ntanners and fullers, carpenters and shipbuilders, and thou shouldst\nsee what fine work they do, each in his own trade. And when they have\nmade some progress they cast down the seed of that also towards the\nearth, but 'tis lost oftentimes.\"\n\n\"Wife,\" said Smetse, \"didst see no smiths?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said she.\n\n\"Alas,\" said he, \"I would gladly be working alongside them, for I am\nashamed to be sitting here like a leper, doing nothing and begging my\nbread. But listen, wife; since Master St. Peter will not let me in,\ngo thou and ask grace for me from My Lord Jesus, who is kind and will\nlet me in for certain.\"\n\n\"I go, my man,\" said she.\n\nMy Lord Jesus, who was in council with his doctors, saw her coming\ntowards him. \"I know thee, good wife,\" said he; \"thou wast in thy\nlifetime wedded to Smetse the smith, who entreated me so well when,\nin the guise of a little child, I came down to earth with Master\nJoseph and Madam Mary. Is he not in Paradise, thy good man?\"\n\n\"Alas, no, My Lord!\" answered she, \"my man is at the door, most sad\nand out of heart, because Master St. Peter will not let him in.\"\n\n\"Why is that?\" said My Lord Jesus.\n\n\"Ah, I cannot tell,\" said she.\n\nBut the angel who writes down the faults of men in a record of brass,\nspeaking suddenly, said: \"Smetse cannot enter Paradise, for Smetse,\ndelivered from the devil, kept devil's money.\"\n\n\"Ah,\" said My Lord Jesus, \"that is a great sin; but has he not repented\nof it?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said the good wife, \"he has repented, and, moreover, he has\nbeen all his life good, charitable, and compassionate.\"\n\n\"Go and find him,\" said My Lord Jesus, \"I will question him myself.\"\n\nTwo or three halberdier angels ran to obey him, and brought Smetse\nbefore the Son of God, who spoke in this wise:\n\n\"Smetse, is it true that thou didst keep devil's money?\"\n\n\"Yes, My Lord,\" answered the smith, whose knees were knocking together\nwith fear.\n\n\"Smetse, this is not good, for a man should rather suffer every ill,\npain, and anguish, than keep the money of one who is wicked, ugly,\nunjust, and a liar, as is the devil. But hast thou no meritorious\ndeed to tell me, to mitigate this great sin?\"\n\n\"My Lord,\" answered Smetse, \"I fought a long while beside the men\nof Zeeland for freedom of conscience, and, doing this, suffered with\nthem hunger and thirst.\"\n\n\"This is good, Smetse, but didst thou persist in this fair conduct?\"\n\n\"Alas, no, My Lord!\" said the smith, \"for, to tell truth, my courage\nlacked constancy, and I went back to Ghent, where, like so many\nanother, I came under the Spanish yoke.\"\n\n\"This is bad, Smetse,\" answered My Lord Jesus.\n\n\"My Lord,\" wept the good wife, \"none was more generous than he to\nthe poor, kind to every one, charitable to his enemies, even to the\nwicked Slimbroek.\"\n\n\"This is good, Smetse,\" said My Lord Jesus; \"but hast thou no other\nmerit in thy favour?\"\n\n\"My Lord,\" said the smith, \"I have always laboured with a good heart,\nhated idleness and melancholy, loved joy and merriment, sung gladly,\nand drunk with thankfulness the bruinbier which came to me from you.\"\n\n\"This is good, Smetse, but it is not enough.\"\n\n\"My Lord,\" answered the smith, \"I thrashed as soundly as I could\nthe wicked ghosts of Jacob Hessels, the Duke of Alva, and Philip II,\nKing of Spain.\"\n\n\"Smetse,\" said My Lord Jesus, \"this is very good. I grant thee leave\nto enter my Paradise.\"\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                     UNIFORM WITH \"FLEMISH LEGENDS\"\n\n                     THE LEGEND OF TYL ULENSPIEGEL\n\n                          BY CHARLES DE COSTER\n\n         Translated by Geoffrey Whitworth. With 20 Woodcuts by\n                     Albert Delstanche. 7s. 6d. net\n\n\nSOME PRESS OPINIONS\n\n\"Tyl Ulenspiegel is not yet, in most English households, an old\nfriend. Yet we believe that the fellow will soon make his brave and\nhumorous way into the friendship of old and young. And the twenty\nfull-page woodcuts with which M. Albert Delstanche has illustrated\nthis edition will help the friendship on. All the heartiness, the\nruggedness, the fun, and the gloom of one tragic period in the history\nof a homely and much-enduring people are expressed through the eye\nto the mind by M. Delstanche's knowledge and skill.\"--The Times.\n\n\"An excellent translation has brought a notable example of modern\nBelgian literature within the reach of readers in this country. Taking\nas his central figure the scampish Tyl Ulenspiegel, already in the\nsixteenth century a traditional personage, De Coster produced a\nremarkable reconstruction of Flemish life in the days of Spanish\noppression and of the famous 'Beggars'.\"--Scotsman.\n\n\"On the large scale, the obvious work of a master, a man who knew\nsorrow but who loved to share the mirth and good living of his fellows,\nmocked impostors wherever he found them, and had a hatred of cruelty\nand injustice that is like lightning. It is one of the rare books,\nfull of sad laughter and warm understanding, of the order of 'Don\nQuixote'.\"--The Nation.\n\n\"It is a happy thought which has brought out Mr. Geoffrey Whitworth's\nversion of 'The Legend of Tyl Ulenspiegel' now ... for the\ndescription of it as the 'national epic of Flanders' has much more\nmeaning than such phrases usually have.... And all the adventures\nof Tyl and his friends have this quality of reality in fairy-land,\nwhether they are grotesque or tragic. The book has tragedy in it\nto balance its boisterous comedy, but the two are combined in a\nstyle whose generosity and exuberance make their union complete\nand satisfactory. It is a great book indeed. Mr. Whitworth is to be\ncongratulated on his excellently easy and vivid translation; and the\nwoodcuts of M. Albert Delstanche are all exceedingly impressive and\nmany exceedingly beautiful.\"--Land and Water.\n\n\"It is hardly too much to say that De Coster's book is a work of pure\ngenius.... At such a moment as the present no publication could be\nmore timely than this English version of what will inevitably rank as\na great epic of Belgian nationality.... For the rest, we have only to\ncompliment the publishers, the translator, and the illustrator upon\ntheir joint efforts to present a fine work in a worthy and acceptable\nform.\"--The Guardian.\n\n\"The illustrator's bold and luminous drawings certainly catch the\nbluff spirit of Charles de Coster's quaint masterpiece, in which the\ntransition-age between mediaevalism and modernity lives again so grimly,\nso shrewdly, so humorously. Here there is a suitable gift-book for all\nwho love to travel in the highways of world-literature.\"--Morning Post.\n\n\"It is, of course, for adults and not for children, with its grim\nhorrors and its full-blooded jollity. What we have learnt to call the\nsoul of a people is in it--the spirit of Flanders. The force of De\nCoster's style loses nothing in Mr. Geoffrey Whitworth's translation,\nand there are admirable illustrations cut on the wood by M. Albert\nDelstanche.\"--Daily Telegraph.\n\n\"A most remarkable volume.\"--Glasgow Herald.\n\n\"Reading it for the first time in Mr. Whitworth's admirable English\nversion, one is amazed at first that it has not been rendered\npreviously. De Coster will never require another English version,\nand this one book of 'glorious adventures' is aureole enough to ensure\nhis place on the great hierarchy of literature.\"--The Bookman.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nNOTE\n\n\n[1] His biography has been written by Charles Potvin. Charles de\nCoster; Sa Biographie. Weissenbruch; Brussels.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n<pre id=\"pg-footer\">","title":"Flemish Legends","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":54250}