Part 6
“O little fish so red and fine, Help once again, little fish mine. My foolish wife, Susie Grill, Bids me ask her latest will. Little fish, I beg you pardon me, Now powerful as God she wants to be.”
He had hardly uttered the words when the fish leaped out of his hand and in his place appeared a mighty sea-king accompanied by mermaids and strange sea-monsters. These words came from the sea-king’s mouth like a curse:
“Susie Grill, Susie Grill, Nevermore shall have her will, She loses all in committing such sin, This night you will sleep in your old cabin.”
When Tintelentyn reached the sand-hill, Susie Grill, dressed in her old skirt and ragged blouse, was seated in front of the bathing-machine. She was grumbling about the hard times and the small profits to be drawn from shrimps.
THE FRYING-PAN
Once upon a time there lived a cobbler who was very fond of pancakes. His wife did not care for them at all. Every time he dared to mention his favourite dish, she replied:
“But, man, how can I make pancakes? You know quite well we have no frying-pan.”
“Well, borrow one from the neighbour,” he replied one day.
His wife dared not carry her objections any further. She fetched the frying-pan and she fried and fried as though she were frying for the whole village. She fried for so long that the pan became too hot and broke!
Neither of them wanted to return the frying-pan to their neighbour. This led to a dispute, and the little house, which was generally so peaceful, was in an uproar.
The man said that the person who had borrowed the frying-pan should return it.
His wife said that as it was borrowed for his benefit, he should undertake this unpleasant task.
“Listen,” said the cobbler, who was anxious to put an end to the quarrel; “I have an idea. We cannot keep our neighbour’s frying-pan for ever. Whichever of us speaks first, on no matter what subject, must take back the frying-pan.”
“Agreed,” said his wife. She pursed up her lips and clenched her teeth, as much as to say: “Wild horses will not drag a word out of me.”
The next day the neighbours knocked at the door and asked if they could have the frying-pan. Neither vouchsafed an answer. Then they asked the wife, and her only reply was to turn her spinning-wheel more vigorously. Not a word escaped her lips, except a sound which resembled the noise made by young chicks:
“Sjip, sjip, sjip, sjip, sjip.”
Then they asked the cobbler, who replied by hammering so loudly on a pair of soles that, unable to stand the noise, they shrugged their shoulders and went out.
The same thing happened to the customers.
The rumour soon spread in the village that the cobbler and his wife had been bewitched.
There was no time to be lost; their friends went to the exorcist to free them from the spell.
The charlatan, with incantations, prepared for the ceremony by crossing himself and sprinkling holy water.
In spite of all his efforts he was no more successful than the other villagers. He only heard the woman say, “Sjip, sjip, sjip,” and the man tapping with the hammer.
The exorcist, now at the end of his resources, took the pail of holy water and emptied the contents over the woman’s head, she being apparently the most obstinate case.
“Have you finished?” the woman burst out, while the water dripped from her body like snow melting off a snow-man.
“Dear little wife,” said the cobbler calmly, “you will take the frying-pan to our neighbour.”
The good man threw away the shoe he held in his hand and danced for joy.
FARMER BROOM, FARMER LEAVES, AND FARMER IRON
Once upon a time there were three peasants who lived in the same wood.
The first had a hut made of broom.
The second had a hut made of leaves.
The third had a hut made of iron.
That is why they were known as Farmer Broom, Farmer Leaves, and Farmer Iron.
One cold winter afternoon a wolf came stealthily into the clearing where the three farmers had built their huts. He hid himself behind a thick bush and hungrily watched the skaters as they glided over the polished surface of the ice. At twilight, just as Farmer Broom had returned home from the forest with a faggot of wood, the wolf knocked at his door, and cried, “Farmer Broom, Farmer Broom, open the door, my friend; my little hands are so cold, and my little feet are frozen.”
“I will not open the door,” Farmer Broom replied gruffly.
“Then I shall break it open.” The wolf hurled himself with such force against the door that he burst it open, went into the hut, and sat down by the fire.
Farmer Broom was about to peel potatoes, and the wolf
began to repeat in a hoarse voice, “Warm in the stomach, as I shall have fat pigs. Warm in the stomach, as I shall have fat pigs.”
“What are you muttering about?” Farmer Broom asked innocently.
“Well,” replied the wolf, “you will be the first! But give me a potato at once; I am as hungry as can be.”
Farmer Broom put a potato on the point of his knife, and held it out at arm’s length to the wolf, but the latter swallowed the potato, the knife, and the farmer at a gulp.
The next day the wolf knocked at Farmer Leaves’ door, just after the latter had returned with a basketful of dead leaves which he had collected from beneath the snow.
“Farmer Leaves, Farmer Leaves, open the door, my dear friend; my little feet are so cold, and my little hands are frozen.”
“I shall not open it,” replied Farmer Leaves.
“Then I shall burst it open,” said the wolf, and thereupon he threw his weight against the door, forced it open, went in and sat down by the fire.
Farmer Leaves was also about to peel potatoes, and the wolf said in a deep voice, “Warm in the stomach, as I shall have fat pigs. Warm in the stomach, as I shall have fat pigs.”
“What are you mumbling?” asked Farmer Leaves.
“Well,” said the wolf, “I was saying a little prayer for you, but, quick, give me a potato, I am dying of hunger.”
Farmer Leaves held out his knife with a potato stuck on the end, but again the wolf swallowed the potato, the knife, and the farmer at a gulp.
The third day he went to Farmer Iron. The latter had seen him coming in the distance, as he was entering his hut with a bucketful of water from the well. He placed a large cauldron full of dried peas in the attic. The wolf knocked, and cried, “Farmer Iron, Farmer Iron, open the door, my friend; my little feet are so cold, and my little hands are frozen.”
“I shall not open it,” said Farmer Iron.
“Then I shall burst it open.”
“All right, burst it open,” said Farmer Iron.
The wolf made a spring and charged at the door, and dashed himself against it until his paws were torn and bleeding. He lost so much blood that Farmer Iron ended by taking pity on him, and opened the door.
The wolf went in and sat down by the fire with Farmer Iron. Very soon he began to say in a sepulchral voice, “Warm in the stomach, as I shall have fat pigs. Warm in the stomach, as I shall have fat pigs.”
“What nonsense are you repeating?” asked Farmer Iron in a derisive tone.
“Well,” said the wolf, “it is a little prayer for you, but give me a potato, my stomach feels quite hollow and empty.”
Farmer Iron held out a potato. The wolf was about to swallow it when Farmer Iron suddenly pulled a string and upset the cauldron of dried peas, which made a great noise as they ran out on the attic floor.
“Whatever is it, whatever is it?” asked the frightened wolf.
“The police who are tracking you down,” answered Farmer Iron, laughing. “They want to hang you for eating Farmer Broom and Farmer Leaves.”
“Good heavens, Farmer Iron, my friend, tell me where I can hide,” begged the wolf.
“Quick, climb into the attic,” said Farmer Iron. “I will not betray you.”
The wolf rushed to the ladder. Farmer Iron took a large saucepan of boiling water off the fire and put it down at the foot of the ladder. The wolf was in such a hurry that he slipped and fell into the saucepan, and was terribly scalded. Farmer Iron pulled him out, cut him open, and, oh, what joy! Farmer Broom and Farmer Leaves came out alive, each carrying his knife with a potato on the end.
They all three lifted up the wolf and threw him outside, and each returned to his own hut.
This is what happened in that wonderful country where after you are dead you live happy ever after.
LITTLE LODEWYK AND ANNIE THE WITCH
Little Lodewyk built card houses, but Annie the witch always came to blow them down.
One day little Lodewyk grew tired of this and built himself a stone house. He put in a fireplace and a pump. Now if the witch came she could not blow it down.
Suddenly he heard a knock at the door!
“Who is there?” asked the little man.
“Annie the witch, open the door,” was the answer.
“What can Annie the witch want with me?”
“Very little, nothing but a little fire.”
“I have no fire.”
“You most certainly have, I saw smoke coming out of the chimney.”
“Then you must squint, my chimney cannot smoke. I have never lighted the fire; you must have seen the smoke from my neighbour’s chimney.”
“No, no, I am not to be taken in like that. My eyes are quite straight,” and she went off in a huff.
The next day she came back and again knocked at the door.
“Who is there?” asked little Lodewyk.
“It is I, my good man, Annie the witch.”
“What can Annie the witch want with me again?”
“Nothing much, only a pail of water.”
“You know very well I have no water.”
“Most certainly you have water, for I heard it gurgling in the pump.”
“Then you have very strange ears. I have never raised the pump-handle. No doubt the noise you heard came from my neighbour’s house.”
“I warn you that if you refuse to open the door I shall cut off your head.”
Little Lodewyk was terrified; he put the chain on the door and hid himself up the chimney.
In spite of this the witch went in and searched for him everywhere, but she could not find him. However, at last she discovered him seated in the chimney, and dragged him down by the hair of his head.
“Put your head on the table that I may cut it off,” commanded the witch, opening wide her red eyes.
“Willingly Annie, but tell me how,” said Lodewyk, who had a scheme in his head. “Show what I am to do.”
“Very well, place your head like this!” cried Annie the witch, and she placed her large and hideous head quite unsuspectingly on the table.
Lodewyk quickly seized his axe and cut off the witch’s head.
Then little Lodewyk calmly fried a herring for his supper and smoked a pipe.
And then there came a pig with a long snout.
And the little story has run out.
THE GIANT OF THE CAUSEWAY
In olden days there was a feudal castle on the site where now stand the Causeway and Giant’s Mount, in the town of Brussels.
A giant lived in this castle who is reputed to have been over nine feet high.
This noble giant was generally beloved and esteemed, for in spite of his capricious and brusque character, he was ever ready to exert his superhuman strength in the defence of the weak. He rebuked the powerful, exterminated brigands and robbers, and cleared the roads of highwaymen.
From the tower of his castle, which he had built on high ground, he had a commanding view of the surrounding country.
He never left his castle except to inflict punishment on the wicked, or in order to protect the weak.
He consecrated all his leisure to his dear and beautiful daughter Helen. She was his only child by his beloved wife, who died in giving her birth.
From her childhood Helen was accustomed to a secluded life and had never left the castle grounds. In summer she amused herself with her sewing on the top of the tower.
One day, when her father was scouring the country, she ventured to take a little walk in the Valley of the Brook. She had only taken a few steps outside the castle grounds when, on turning the corner of a little path, she found herself face to face with a knight in armour, of comely appearance.
As soon as the latter saw Helen, he stood still, spellbound by the youth and beauty of the young girl. He loved her at first sight, and bewitched by her shy, maidenly demeanour, flung himself at her feet. Helen, for her part, stood bewildered at these demonstrations of respect and adoration.
Suddenly her father appeared, followed by four prisoners he had captured. He was leading them by a cord. He took in the situation at a glance, and said to the knight, who was lost in contemplation of the young maiden, “How dare you kneel at my daughter’s feet?”
“Sire,” replied the knight, “pardon me, I pray you. I love your daughter, and love has drawn me to her feet.”
Helen trembled, for she had also fallen in love.
“Who are you?” asked the giant.
He questioned the knight in such a severe manner that the maiden shivered, and blushing with shame took her father’s hand, murmuring words only intelligible to him.
“I am Harry of Housestone,” replied the young man; “I was knighted by Lothario.”
“That is sufficient; be quite frank with me.”
“I see your gentle daughter for the first time. The sight of her fills me with a happiness which radiates through all my being. I feel that without her life is not worth living. If, sire, I am fortunate enough to have won her favour, I pray you to give me her hand.”
“You are worthy to be my son-in-law,” replied the giant. “However, I have sworn that I will only give her in marriage to whoever shall be able to construct a paved roadway in a single night. The next day at dawn he must be able to take her on horseback down the Causeway bordered by columns to St. George’s Chapel.”
After this speech he glanced ironically at the knight, and taking Helen by the hand led her home. As she was about to cross the threshold the young maiden cast a sad and tender glance at the Knight of Housestone, who was completely disheartened by the giant’s impossible demands.
“Let me consider,” said the young lover, suddenly raising his head, “if there is a way to perform this task.”
But by the time he had estimated the length of the ground and the depth of the ravine on which he had to construct a paved way in a single night, and had realized the impossibility of carting the necessary stones for the colonnade, he groaned and sighed in dire despair.
“Night is falling,” he cried; “I will try my last resource. I will go and see if the miners who work in my uncle’s copper-mines could do this work before dawn.”
He at once started off to the Sunny Wood; he summoned the overseers and asked them if they could build a paved roadway from the Giant’s Castle to the town gates in a single night.
The overseers answered him that it would take at least a year, employing a thousand workmen a day, to execute such a work.
Harry, in deep dismay, took his homeward road, completely overwhelmed by his misfortunes. On the way he saw a little black-haired man, with a tall green hat and white pointed beard, leaning against a tree. He was not more than three feet high. He looked at the young knight with flaming eyes.
“You look sorrowful, Knight of Housestone; no mortal power can help you in your distress ... but if you like I can overcome your difficulties.”
“Oh, whoever you may be, you are very welcome,” replied the knight, holding out his hand. “But who are you?”
“I am the spirit of the copper-mines your uncle is working. I live in the underground caves, and his excavations are a source of great annoyance to me. If you will promise that the mining shall cease, that the galleries and shafts shall be filled in, in order that I and my companions may live in peace in the bowels
of the earth, we will this night construct the road and the colonnade demanded by the giant. To-morrow you will marry Helen.”
“I can promise no such thing, for my uncle has a son who is heir to all he possesses.”
“His son, who was a good-for-nothing, was killed this morning by a man-at-arms whom he had had flogged yesterday. You are now your uncle’s sole heir.”
After saying a prayer for the repose of the soul of his cousin, Harry placed his left hand on the hilt of his sword, and holding out the other to the dwarf, he said, “I swear to do as you request immediately after my uncle’s death.”
“Enough,” replied the dwarf, “to-morrow at dawn repair to the spot where the road should begin, and all you will have to do is to fetch your bride.”
About midnight a terrible storm arose, the wind rooted up the tall trees, and the thunder rolled.
Helen, aroused by these alarming sounds, shaking with fear, got up and sought protection in her father’s room.
“Do not be alarmed, my child,” the giant said softly, “it is the devil chasing some wild beast of the forest.”
“But do you not hear the sound of hammers, the rumbling of wheelbarrows, and confused noises, as though a crowd of men were at work?”
“It is possible,” replied the giant, looking out of the window; “but if Housestone is attempting to perform the task I set him, he must be mad.”
As he shut the window again a puff of wind blew out the lamp. At the same moment the storm abated, and all was calm and still as on other nights.
Helen had not a moment’s rest. At daybreak she ran up to the tower. Her surprise and joy were boundless when she saw a magnificent archway glittering in front of the castle, and beyond it stretched a splendid road, at the end of which she saw Harry of Housestone mounted on a black horse, followed by a beautiful white ambling nag, led by two pages.
On hearing her joyous cries her father appeared. All the giant had demanded was done. The Knight of Housestone was married to Helen the same day, and on his uncle’s death he faithfully fulfilled his promise to the dwarf of the underworld. He ordered the shafts and galleries to be filled up in the copper-mines, and to this day no one has been able to discover where they are.
THE KEY-FLOWER
In Flanders the cowslip is called the key-flower. The story I am about to tell you will explain why it is so named.
A little child died. Its little soul was as innocent and pure as freshly fallen snow. As a dove freed after long captivity flies straight into the blue sky, so the little soul flew into God’s Heaven and knocked at the gate.
St. Peter with his large golden key drew back the heavy lock, half opened the door and looked through the crack.
On seeing who was there, he opened the door wide and welcomed in the new little angel.
But behold, when the Saint was about to close the door, he let fall the bunch of keys with a thud on the golden threshold. Before he was able to pick them up they had slipped from the threshold into the fathomless blue.
They fell through space for two or three days and landed in a cemetery at the entrance to a little village.
Scarcely had they touched the earth, where they sparkled amidst the grass and the flowers, when a beautiful new flower sprang to life which had never been seen on earth before and was therefore without a name.
Early next morning a little orphan girl went to the cemetery to put flowers on her mother’s grave. She soon discovered this strange flower poised so proudly on its stalk. She was very surprised to find the pretty little bell flowers, which were certainly not growing there the day before, and which she had never seen.
She stooped down to examine the plant more closely and was amazed to find in the bushes a bunch of golden keys held together by a gold ring on which she read the word “Heaven.”
The discovery of the new flower and the bunch of keys was fully discussed in the village, and the news spread far and wide. Every one came to see the new flower. They called it the Key of Heaven, by which name it has been known ever since.
THE OGRE
This time I am going to talk about myself, to tell you something that really happened to me. If you do not believe this you must not listen. I can only tell this story to children who are quite sure that I speak the truth.
I was between six and seven years old and still learning my letters at school. One fine Sunday afternoon in September I went with five or six of my schoolfellows into the Aulnes wood.
It was the nut season, and we knew there were a number of nut-trees in the wood.
After gathering nuts for some time on the edge of the wood, it happened that in going from tree to tree we gradually separated from each other. Before I became aware of it, I was deep in the wood. There I discovered a sort of hedge where the nuts grew so plentifully that I could hardly believe my eyes.
The spreading branches were weighed down with nuts in bunches of four, five, or even six ripe nuts in their yellow cups, hanging so temptingly.
At first I ate a good many and had a regular feast. I had never eaten such nuts! There were no bad ones and no empty shells. When I had eaten as many as I wanted, I filled my pockets, all my pockets. First the pockets of my Sunday coat, then my trouser pockets. I then filled my cap and tied some up in my handkerchief. Just as I was thinking that I could put in a few more I noticed that it was very still and lonely in the wood and that the nuts did not show up so plainly among the leaves.
High above my head the last rays of the sunset shone among the branches of the huge elms, oaks, and poplars. Here and there a bird chirped on its nest, and far away towards the sunset I heard the sound of wheels on the road.
I could not hear my companions, but no doubt they were within call, they could not be far off. I put my hands to my mouth and shouted: “Hallo! John! Peter Little Carrots! George!”
I called them all and shouted their names one after the other, shouting louder and louder in all directions. But only the echo answered me. When I shouted John, the echo mockingly replied “Ohn,” and when I shouted George, it replied “Orge.”
Suddenly my heart sank within me, the last rays of light disappeared above my head and with startling rapidity darkness fell among the trees and bushes. The darkness seemed to grow out of the ground. The birds were silent. A cold breeze shook the branches, and far, far away a little bell rang out the Angelus.
I recognized the bell, it was our village bell. I knew that the carriage I had heard was the post-cart which was returning from Ternath to Lennick.
It was in the direction of these two sounds that I had to find a road, however. I could not imagine how far I was from the edge of the wood, and it was imperative that I should reach the fields before darkness overtook me.
I started off with my cap full of nuts in one hand and my handkerchief full in the other.
After going a few steps, I shouted again, “John! Peter!” but this time even the echo made no reply and my voice sounded so strangely in my ears that I did not recognize it.
I ran for about an hour and a half, when all at once I felt as though I was bound with ropes and I fell. I was held fast by the long tendrils of a blackberry-bush which I had not noticed in the gathering darkness.
I dropped my handkerchief and could barely distinguish it in the darkness.