Part 5

Then Eileen looked at her shamrock and thought of what good Saint Patrick had taught her ancestors. After that, a sense of peace folded her like a garment. Surely, God was near.

Looking up, in the dark night, toward the south and the west, where the last faint glow of light seemed to linger, she felt happier. Next, she saw lights moving on the distant shore. She rubbed her eyes. The sparkles and gleams seemed to be gaining in brightness. Yes, it was really so. The fairies were all there and waltzing about, until, as she came nearer, they looked like a shower of tiny stars, or a swarm of fireflies.

Pretty soon, the big sod slipped up against the shore, with a little bump. In a moment more, it seemed to be a part of the country itself, and the little chicks hopped ashore. Then the fairies led Eileen into a very pretty building, which looked something like a palace, but more like a church. There, a feast was spread, and she sat down to eat heartily, and drink plentifully, while the fairies waited upon her.

Then they led her into a nicely furnished sleeping chamber. Upon a silken couch, with fine dresses near at hand, she was soon fast asleep. The fairies brought up the shamrock plants and placed them on a table of Flemish oak, very dark and fine. The little chicks were kept in a coop, with plenty of food and water, and sticks to perch on.

In the morning, she cast her eyes, upon the home-plant, that told her of her Heavenly Father’s love. Then, after praying for her father and mother, she looked out upon a lovely landscape, rich in flowers; for she was now in Flanders, where the poppies and daisies grow.

Yet when she looked inquiringly for church spires, or round towers, or grand castles, they were not there. The people, going to work, or ploughing in the soft fields, seemed poor folks. Indeed, no men or women that she saw, had any gold on their persons. This, indeed, was the Belgic Land of long, long ago.

Eileen soon found that the inhabitants needed to be told of the good news of God, which the blessed Saint Patrick had taught the Irish. While she had enough to eat and drink, and plenty of pretty clothes to wear, she thought of the many people, who were not only poor, but who did not know of the Father in heaven. Why should she dwell in a rich castle, and dress in costly garments, when others were not only without these, but were also very ignorant.

So Eileen travelled through the country, and told the Belgian people the same good news from Heaven, which Saint Patrick had brought to her Irish ancestors. Wherever she went, she took one of her shamrocks with her, and taught the same lesson.

One of her plants, which she put into the ground, became the parent of others, in many varieties, so that the fields of Flanders were green, where once was only sterile sand. Cows and sheep found food, where, of old, was nothing but waste land. In time, the city of Ghent became a floral capital, with as wonderful a market for bulbs and blossoms, as Haarlem was for tulips and hyacinths, in Holland. These were rich in all the colors, with which the Father in Heaven had tinted the blooms of the field, and the opening buds of the fruit trees.

The most astonishing change took place, wherever Eileen stayed long enough to gather a congregation of people. She patiently taught them the lesson, of which the shamrock was the symbol; and, in each of seven places, she left one of her chickens. Somehow, from the love that was left behind, by this good woman, and around each living creature, there grew up a church, and every one of these churches was given a name after the Irish princess, Saint Eileen, though often pronounced differently in Flemish. To this day, the people in seven cities of Belgium, cherish the memory of the sweet lady, who spent her life in blessing their fathers.

Yet the dream story and the fairy tale are scarce more wonderful than the historic reality of ancient Christian Ireland’s gifts to Belgium. The story-teller adds, for the benefit of older folk, that the dream story and the fairy tale are scarcely more wonderful than the historic reality of ancient Erin’s missionary gifts to Belgic Land.

IX

WINE-CRUST, THE BLUE-BEARD OF FLANDERS

Ever so many centuries ago, when all Belgium was part of the great forests, that covered nearly all of northern Europe, there was a chief of a powerful tribe, who was named Halwyn; or, as we shall call him, Wine-Crust, or Crusty Wine. He was famous for loving three things, wine, women and song. Being a magician, he had great power over young maidens, many of whom thought they would like to marry him.

This Halwyn got his name from a curious custom which he had. He was very fond of anything sweet, whether it were honey or the sugary crust, left, by old or sweet wine, on the sides of barrels and the wooden vessels, in which the wine had stood for a long time. He chipped or broke it off, and ate it as if it were candy. So people called him Sir Halwyn, or Wine-Crust.

Now the curious thing about Sir Halwyn and his castle, was, that it was supposed that he had been married more than once. Yet no one ever saw his wife with him, or met any one of the wives he had had; for no other chief or nobleman was ever admitted into his castle. It was because he had such a fine voice, and could sing so well, that he was invited into other castles. Yet he never made any return of the courtesies which he had received. It was rumored about, in Flanders, that he had married in distant places and brought his brides, one after another, to his own castle; yet, no one in Flanders or the Ardennes ever saw or heard of them afterwards.

So, in time, in spite of his good singing, Halwyn’s reputation was so bad, that no king or noble would allow his daughter, when out hunting, to go anywhere near the stronghold of Sir Halwyn. Moreover, it was suspected that he was a magician, and used his magic craft very cruelly.

In those forest days, girls were trained to riding, wrestling, and the use of the sword, spear and shield. The women often went to war with their husbands and brothers, and fought the enemy, both in the tribal fights and those against the Romans.

Now there was a beautiful maiden, named Quirina, one of several daughters of the king of Arlon, and she was his favorite and best beloved child. Her father, mother, brother, and her only sister, who was never jealous of her, vied with each other in making her presents of ornaments, and clothes, and pretty things, that would please her; and all this, she repaid with sweet and tender affection.

Quirina was unusually well skilled in horsemanship, and the use of the sword and spear. She had brown eyes and hair of the same color, but much darker, and was tall and slender but very strong.

Though bold in hunting, she was very fond also of pretty clothes, and when she dressed herself in her best, there was no woman, young or old, in the castle hall, even on great occasions, that looked finer than she. In fact, it was well known, through all Belgic Land, that no maiden possessed a richer wardrobe than Quirina. Many times Sir Halwyn had tried to win her; and, by openly making love to her, and by offering her father a title and home for his daughter, he hoped to succeed. Or, he strove to lure her away, by telling of his great castle and domain; but had never succeeded. Yet, as much as ever, he seemed determined to persevere and win her.

Quirina, on the other hand, openly declined; for she was secretly determined not to be his wife. By this time, also, her father, mother, brother and sister, had heard the evil reports about Sir Halwyn, and that none of his wives had ever been heard from, after once entering his castle. They steadfastly warned their dear sister to beware of the fellow, as a dangerous person, and not even, in the ardor of her chase after deer, to get too near his domain.

One day, every one was surprised, when Quirina asked her father to give his consent for her to go to visit Sir Halwyn’s castle. In the words of the old Flemish ballad, he answered.

“O neen! myn dochter—neen gy niet; Die derwaert gaen en keeren niet.”

In English, this is:

“O no, my daughter; no, not so, They ne’er return who thereward go.”

Then Quirina asked her mother, but she replied to her daughter, exactly as her father had done.

Then she sought the advice of her older sister, whether she should go to Sir Halwyn’s castle.

The answer made was the same.

Finally of her brother, she made the same request. His reply was different from that of the others; for he trusted that his sister’s wit would extricate her from any difficulty.

“Go where thou wilt, all’s one to me, But see thou keep’st thine honor free, Thy crown bear firm and uprightly.”

After receiving these answers, though secretly encouraged, more by what her brother had purposely refrained from saying, than from what he had said, this is what the maiden Quirina did:

She went up into that part of her father’s castle called the Virgin’s Bower, which, in ancient days, was a room upstairs and off from the main hall, or “house.” It was reached by a stairway built on the outside. There, in her room, she dressed herself in her finest robes.

First she put on a chemise, which was soft as silk. Over this, was a skirt and bodice, richly trimmed with lace, made of threads of gold. Her crimson petticoat, showing behind that part of her dress which was open in front, was studded with golden stars. Around her neck, she clasped strings of pearls. Finally, on her head, she placed a coronet, rich in precious stones. In her resplendent attire, she stood forth as fair in face, and form, and as gorgeously arrayed, as any queen on earth.

Then hieing to her father’s stable, she chose from the stalls a horse that was the finest and fleetest of them all. Leaping upon its back, she sat astride the steed, riding like a man. Clapping her ankles against its sides, she rode off in the direction of Halwyn’s castle, singing aloud, until the woods re-echoed her gladness. She had scarcely reached the middle of the forest, when Sir Halwyn, having heard her song, came riding along.

He cantered up to her, swung off his big hat, which had a long feather in it and bowing low, twice cried out “gegroet,” which is the Flemish for “Greeting” and “Welcome.” He called her “Fair maid, with the clear brown eyes.”

Quirina smilingly returned his salutation and seemed pleased to ride with him. Then their horses cantered on, while they chatted by the way. Sir Halwyn never seemed more charming in his manners, or more brilliant in his conversation. She let him choose where they should ride and the hours passed very pleasantly.

Suddenly they came to an opening in the forest. Quirina looked over to the left, and beheld a frightful picture, which, revealed the true character of Sir Halwyn; for there, from the cross-beam of a long gallows frame, hung the bodies of no fewer than sixteen maidens, whom this brutish murderer had cruelly put to death.

The monster and magician Halwyn, for such he was, now appeared in his true character. With a scowl, he cried out:

“Most beautiful of all women, though you are, you are now to die; but, since you are so lovely, I shall allow you to choose the manner of your death. Yet decide quickly, for you have but a moment to live.”

Quirina, perfectly cool, instead of piteously entreating the magician Halwyn to spare her life, thanked him for allowing her a choice between the gallows and beheading, and made reply:

“Well, if I must decide, let me die under your bright sword. But first, remove your velvet cloak and fine silk doublet; for a young girl’s blood spurts out high in the air, and I should be sorry to have your fine clothes ruined by blood stains.”

Making haste to throw aside his velvet cloak, and then to unlace his silk coat, rich in gold decoration, Halwyn, while busy at this task, suddenly found his head off.

The maiden had deftly drawn his sword from its sheath, and with one skilful sweep of the blade, cut his neck through.

The magician’s head tumbled at her feet, but his tongue uttered these words, beseeching her:

“Take my hunting horn, and go into yonder grain field, and blow it; so that my servants and friends may know my fate.”

“Not I,” shouted the angry maiden. “I’ll follow no murderer’s counsel.”

“Well, then, please go under the gallows frame yonder. There you will find a pot of salve. Bring it, and anoint my red neck with it.”

“Never,” cried the maiden. “I shall follow no murderer’s counsel.”

She propped up the headless corpse, as if Halwyn were still looking at the gallows, and enjoying the sight of the sixteen maidens’ bodies hung there.

She took up the head, and repairing to the fountain, she washed it in the spring water, which was clear and cold, until all the blood was off it. Then, rolling it up under his cloak to conceal it, and again sitting astride her horse, she galloped away, singing a song of victory.

When half through the wood, she met Halwyn’s father.

“Beautiful maiden,” said he, “have you seen my son?”

“I have left him well placed. He sits in the green field, playing with sixteen of his girls.”

Further on, Halwyn’s brother came riding along.

“Fair one, have you chanced to meet my brother, today?”

“Oh, yes, sir. Your brother is a renowned lord. He told me the secrets of his art today, with sixteen maidens, well guarded, around him.”

A few furlongs further, she met Halwyn’s sister, who asked her the news, and whether she had seen anything of her brother.

“Oh, yes!” answered Quirina, “you must ride further on. Then you will see him with sixteen lovely girls around him. He is a hero, isn’t he?”

Again, as she rode homeward, she met Halwyn’s mother, who inquired about her son.

“Madam,” answered Quirina, “your son is dead. I have his head in my lap and my apron, covering it, is stained red with his blood;” and she rushed past her.

The mother, in grief and rage, called after Quirina, angrily:

“Oh, if you had told me that first, you could never have ridden past me.”

“Ha! you ugly woman, you are lucky that I let you off with your life, and did not lay you out stiff like your son.”

Then she rode away furiously. Reaching her father’s castle, she blew a blast on the horn, which no man could exceed. Her father, brother, mother, sister, and all the men of the garrison rushed together and warm was their greeting.

Not one of them knew, or suspected, what had happened; for everything else was forgotten in the joy of seeing and welcoming her back alive. In fact, she kept the surprise, which she had in store for them, to the hour of the banquet.

Then at night, when all were arrayed in their finest clothes, and each one stood in his proper place, at the long table, and the gleemen had sung a ballad or two, and it was time to sit down to partake of the viands:

Quirina walked into the hall, carrying a huge dish, on top of which, was a big napkin. All the company wondered what was under the cover. She set it down on the table, and lifted the napkin.

And lo! It was the head of the magician Halwyn.

Then the blasts of the hornmen, and the deafening shouts from the warriors, told only too well how they enjoyed the gruesome sight of the wicked magician’s head.

X

LYDERIC, THE ORPHAN

In the middle ages, the holy saint Willebrod spent his life in doing good among the Dutch and Belgian tribes. His relics rest in the church at Echternach, in Luxemburg.

When trouble of any sort came upon the country people, they looked to him for help and advice.

In a certain year, a plague came upon their cattle. The poor dumb creatures acted as if they had brain fever. They were giddy, and staggered about, going round and round, but seemed to be unable to go forward. So the fields could not be ploughed and the cows would not give milk. The babies cried, the land was threatened with barrenness, and the people feared starvation.

In their distress, they came before the tomb of the good bishop, and made a vow that, if the pestilence ceased, they would, every year, make a pilgrimage to the church in which he was buried.

Now the curious thing, about this pilgrimage, was the manner in which it was carried out. To some extent, the people imitated, in their dancing and gestures, the odd behavior of the cattle, during their brain disorder. It became the fashion to leap and stagger, as the smitten beasts had done. In times, however, the celebration took the form of a processional, with bands of music.

So, every year, the long line of thousands of people, old and young, rich and poor, strong and weak, sick and well, led by the musicians, and all singing as they went, started from the river bridge. They walked hand in hand, and four abreast, and this was the method of their march; they would take three steps forward, and two steps backward. In this way, they would advance, very gradually, to the hill where the church stands. Having reached this, they laid their gifts upon the altar and then danced down the church aisle, to the porch, door and outside.

One can see, that, to make an advance of one step, the dancers and singers had to take five distinct steps. In this way, although the route from the river to the church was only one mile, in length, five hours were required to go the whole route. Many joined in the procession who were so old and weak, that they were likely to fall down. Nevertheless many weak folk, tried it, for they hoped to get rid of their pains and aches.

Especially hard was the ascent of the sixty stone steps, on the hillside. To mount to the top, five hundred human steps were necessary.

Thus it happened that not a few fell down along the march. Fainting and weary, they were left by the wayside. On the church steps, strong men stood by, on either side, to watch for any, who, from weakness, should lose their balance and fall down. Those who were likely to do so, or could not keep up, had to be dragged away quickly, lest they should be crushed by the waves of the oncoming dancers. In the frenzy of fervor and excitement, those who were waltzing, with giddy brains, might be so absorbed in their own motions, as not to notice what they were doing.

Now there was a young widow, who, out of grief, and hoping for comfort, had come to join in the procession. Being the bride of a few months, she was hoping for a son, and had vowed to St. Willebrod that, if she became the mother of a boy, she would dance from the river’s edge to the saint’s tomb. She prayed fervently that her hopes might be fulfilled.

She joined in the procession, and followed faithfully the rules laid down, but, when scarcely half way to the church, she felt her strength giving out. Fearing lest, if she continued, she might be trampled to death, she left the procession. Then, after a brief rest, she walked out from the open road, some distance into the forest.

There, in her loneliness, her child was born, and it was a boy. Though she rejoiced to have her own, and its father’s hopes fulfilled, yet she felt that she had so overtaxed her strength, in the dancing procession, that she was likely to die.

So, wrapping her babe in one of her own garments, she laid it down on a little bed of fallen leaves. Then scraping clean a part of the ground, she wrote, with a stick, upon the dirt, the name “Lyderic.” Then, her last measure of strength having ebbed away, she died.

A pious hermit, whose dwelling was a hut in the forest, while strolling about, heard the infant’s wail. Coming near the place, whence the sound proceeded, he found the dead mother and the living child. Something else also met his sight and a very wonderful picture it was. There on the bed of leaves, which the mother had scraped up, lay the baby boy. Beside him, lying along the floor of the forest was a doe, and this female deer was suckling the infant. This dumb mother of fawns seemed as careful and as anxious, as if the baby had been her own offspring; and indeed, it was not far away in the deep woods, that the doe kept her little family.

The baby boy, not knowing anything about different kinds of mothers, or qualities of food, was as active, as if living in the nursery of a house, and fondled on a human mother’s lap.

The fawn’s large, deep, lustrous eyes, were appealing to the old hermit’s heart. The wild creature did not tremble, or show any fear, for every beast of the forest seemed to know, and love the old man; as if realizing that he was their friend, and not an enemy, as the hunters were. They could see that he had no weapons, and even a bird could understand that.

The body of the human mother was given Christian burial, though the only conscious mourner was the old man, who hastily made a rustic cross, and set it over the grave; on which, also, he planted some wild flowers.

Now the hermit was not accustomed to take care of babies, but he made a rude cradle; and, every day, the doe mother came, as regularly as to her own little deer, to furnish nourishment to the child. So the infant grew to double his first weight and gave every promise of health and vigor. In a few months, he was crawling on the floor, in the hermit’s hut; and, according to his mother’s writing on the ground, Lyderic was his name.

To the old man, the days and months seemed to fly very fast, as babyhood was left behind, and a robust boy was growing up.

The old hermit recalled his own boyhood’s skill at such things, and made toys for the little fellow, who played happily with them. Anything bright, or shining, was especially attractive to the child.

One day, while the hermit was out among the willow trees, which skirted the stream, to make a whistle, for the baby boy, the fairies came into the hut and visited him at his cradle. They were traveling fairies, for they had come all the way from Wales. One of them, was named Morgana, or, as she was well known, Morgana la Fay. She fell in love with the little fellow, and promised that when he grew up, he was to be her love, while all the fairies agreed to bestow on him the gifts of mind and body, through which he might become a great man and conquer all his enemies.

It would make our story too long, to tell how Lyderic, even while a baby boy, was looked upon as the leader of men, in one of those civil wars, which so long troubled Belgic Land. Once, during battle, his cradle was hung upon a tree branch, and he was called the baby leader, and centuries afterwards, a statue and a fountain were reared at Brussels in his honor.

Lyderic, when fully grown, was known as a man of fine character and tremendous strength. He was unselfish, and always ready to help the weak. In time, he became a crusader, and, going off to fight the Saracens, in Syria, won renown for his bravery. There was no Turk, that could stand against his lance, or sword, or battle axe; and their weapons had no power over him. So he came back, unhurt, to Belgium.

After his return home, he built a castle, but soon tiring of a quiet life, he crossed the sea and traveled in Britain. There he met Gratina, the beautiful daughter of Angart, or Edgar, the King of England. By this alliance, he became very powerful. Then the great monarch, Charlemagne, recognized him as an ally and vassal, and gave him, in fief, the Belgic provinces of Hainault and Brabant.