Part 19

"Let him who is hungry eat, and he who is thirsty let him drink!" And the constables, the girls, the butchers, Gilline, and La Stevenyne applauded these words of Ulenspiegel, clapping their hands and stamping their feet; and then they all sat down to the feast. Ulenspiegel, Lamme, and the seven butchers sat at the big table of honour, the constables and the girls at two smaller tables; and they ate and drank right heartily. And the constables invited their two comrades, who had been waiting outside the house, to come in and join them.

La Stevenyne said with a snigger:

"Remember, no one can leave till he has paid me."

And she went and locked all the doors, and put the keys in her pocket.

At this La Gilline raised her glass.

"The bird is in its cage," she cried. "Let us drink."

But two of the girls, whose names were Gena and Margot, said to her:

"Is this yet another man that you are going to lure to his death, you wicked one?"

"I know not," said Gilline; "let us drink."

But the girls would not drink with her.

And Gilline took her viola and sang in French this song:

Au son de la viole, Je chante nuit et jour; Je suis la fille-folle, La vendeuse d'amour.

Astarté de mes hanches Fit les lignes de feu; J'ai les épaules blanches, Et mon beau corps est Dieu.

Je suis froide ou brûlante, Tendre au doux nonchaloir: Tiède, éperdue, ardente, Mon homme, à ton vouloir.

Vois, je vends tout: mes charmes, Mon âme et mes yeux bleus; Bonheur, rires et larmes, Et la Mort si tu veux.

Au son de la viole, Je chante nuit et jour; Je suis la fille-folle, La vendeuse d'amour.

As she sang this song La Gilline looked so beautiful, so soft and fragrant, that all the men, the constables and the butchers, Lamme and Ulenspiegel himself, sat smiling there, quite melted and overcome by her charm.

All at once La Gilline gave a loud laugh and fixed her gaze on Ulenspiegel:

"And it's thus that the birds are caged," she said. And the spell of her charm was broken.

Ulenspiegel, Lamme, and the butchers looked at one another.

"Well now," said La Stevenyne, "are you going to pay the bill, my Lord Ulenspiegel?"

"We shall pay nothing in advance," said he.

"Then I shall pay myself later on--out of your inheritance," said La Stevenyne. After that:

"Let us drink!" she cried.

"Let us drink!" cried the constables.

"Let us drink!" cried La Stevenyne. "The doors are shut; the windows are strongly barred; the birds are in their cage. Let us drink!"

"Let us drink then," said Ulenspiegel. "And bring us wine of the best to crown the banquet."

La Stevenyne brought in more wine. And now they were all seated, drinking and eating, the constables and the girls together. But the seven butchers were at the same table with Ulenspiegel and Lamme, and they kept on throwing pieces of ham, and sausages, omelettes, and bottles of wine to the table of the girls, who themselves caught the food in mid-flight as carp catch the flies that buzz on the surface of a fishpond. And La Stevenyne laughed and grinned, and pointed to the packets of candles which hung over the counter. And these were the candles that the gay girls were used to purchase, five to the pound. Then La Stevenyne said to Ulenspiegel:

"On his way to the stake it is the custom for the condemned man to carry a wax candle. Shall I make you a present of one?"

"Let us drink!" said Ulenspiegel.

But La Gilline said: "Look at Ulenspiegel's eyes. They are shining like the eyes of a swan that is about to die."

"Wouldn't you like to eat one of the candles?" said La Stevenyne. "They would serve you in hell to lighten your eternal damnation."

"I see clearly enough to admire your ugly mug," said Ulenspiegel.

Suddenly he struck the stem of his wine-glass and clapped his hands together with a rhythm like that an upholsterer uses when he beats the wool of a mattress with his stick.

"'T is van te beven de klinkaert," he said; "it is time to make the glasses shiver--the glasses which resound...."

And this, in Flanders, is the signal that the drinkers make when they are angry, and when they are like to ransack and despoil in their wrath the houses of ill fame. So even now did Ulenspiegel raise his glass and drink, and then did he made it vibrate upon the table, crying yet again:

"'T is van te beven de klinkaert."

And the seven butchers did likewise.

Then a great stillness fell upon the company. La Gilline grew pale; La Stevenyne looked astonished. The constables said:

"Are the seven with them too?" But the butchers winked their eyes and reassured them; yet all the time they continued without ceasing, and louder and louder as Ulenspiegel led them:

"'T is van te beven de klinkaert. 'T is van te beven de klinkaert."

La Stevenyne took another draught of wine to give herself courage.

Then Ulenspiegel struck his fist on the table in that regular rhythm which the upholsterers use as they beat their mattresses; and the seven did likewise; and the glasses, jugs, trenchers, flagons, and goblets began to dance upon the table, slowly at first, but beginning soon to knock against each other, and to break and to heel over on one side as they fell. And all the time echoed and re-echoed, more sternly menacing, with every monotonous repetition:

"'T is van te beven de klinkaert."

"Alas!" said La Stevenyne, "they will break everything." And her teeth seemed to show farther out from her lips than ever. And the hot blood of their fury and of their anger began to flame in the souls of the seven butchers, and in the souls of Lamme and Ulenspiegel. Till at last, without ceasing once their melancholy and monotonous chant, all they that were sitting at Ulenspiegel's table took their glasses, and brake them upon the table, and at the same moment they drew their cutlasses and leapt upon the chairs. And they made such a din with their song that all the windows in the house shook. Then like a band of infuriated devils they went round the room, visiting each table in turn, crying without ceasing:

"'T is van te beven de klinkaert."

And the constables rose up trembling with terror and seized their ropes and chains. But the butchers, together with Lamme and Ulenspiegel, thrust their knives quickly back into their cases, and sprang up to run nimbly through the chamber, hitting out right and left with their chairs as though they had been cudgels. And they spared nothing there except the girls, for everything else they brake in pieces--furniture, windows, chests, plates, pots, trenchers, glasses, and flagons, hitting out at the constables without mercy, and crying out all the time in the rhythm of the mattress-beaters: "'T is van te beven de klinkaert. 'T is van te beven de klinkaert." And Ulenspiegel, who had given La Stevenyne a blow on the nose with his fist, and had taken all her keys and put them into his satchel, was now amusing himself by forcing her to eat those candles of hers. And the girls laughed at the sight of her as she sneezed with anger and tried to spit out the candles--but in vain, for her mouth was too full. And all the time Ulenspiegel and the seven butchers did not cease the rhythm of their dire refrain: "'T is van te beven de klinkaert." But at last Ulenspiegel made a sign, and when silence had at last been restored he spake, saying:

"You are here, my friends, in our power. It is a dark night and the River Lys is close at hand, where a man drowns easily if he is once pushed in. And the gates of Courtrai are shut." Then turning to the seven butchers:

"You are bound for Peteghen, to join the Beggarmen?"

"We were ready to go there when the news came to us that you were here."

"And from Peteghen you were going to the sea?"

"Yes," they said.

"Do you think there are one or two among these constables whom it would be safe to release for our service?"

"There are two," they said, "Niklaes and Joos by name, who have never as yet been guilty of persecuting the poor Reformers."

"You can trust us!" said Niklaes and Joos.

"Very well then," said Ulenspiegel. "Here are twenty caroluses for you, twice as much, that is, as you would have got for an act of shameful betrayal." And at that the other five constables cried out as one man:

"Twenty florins! We will serve the Prince for twenty florins. The King's pay is bad. Only give us half as much and we will tell the judge any tale you please." But Lamme and the butchers kept muttering under their breath:

"'T is van te beven de klinkaert. 'T is van te beven de klinkaert."

"In order that you may be kept from too much talking," Ulenspiegel continued, "the seven will lead you in handcuffs to Peteghen, and there you will be given over into the hands of the Beggarmen. The florins will be handed to you at sea, and if you prove brave in battle you will have your share of the spoil. If you attempt to desert you will be hanged."

"We will serve him who pays us," they said.

"'T is van te beven de klinkaert! 'T is van te beven de klinkaert," murmured the seven.

"You will also take with you," said Ulenspiegel, "La Gilline, La Stevenyne and the girls. If any one of them tries to escape you will sew her in a sack and throw her into the river."

"He has not killed me yet!" cried La Gilline, jumping up from her corner and brandishing her viola in the air. And she began to sing:

Sanglant était mon rêve. Le rêve de mon coeur. Je suis la fille d'Eve Et de Satan vainqueur.

But La Stevenyne and the others seemed as if they were going to cry.

"Do not be afraid, my sweets," said Ulenspiegel. "You are so pretty and so tender that all men will love to caress you wherever you go, and after every victory you will have your share in the spoils." But the three girls turned upon La Gilline:

"You that were her daughter, her breadwinner, sharing with La Stevenyne the shameful rewards of her espionage, do you still dare to flaunt yourself before us and to insult us with your dress of brocade? Verily it is the blood of the victims and nothing else that has clothed you so richly. But now let us take her dress from her, so she may be like to us."

"That shall not be," said Ulenspiegel.

And the girls looked jealously at Ulenspiegel, saying:

"He is mad about her, like all the rest."

And La Gilline played upon her viola and sang, and the seven butchers departed for Peteghen, taking with them the constables and the girls. And they passed along by the River Lys. And as they went they kept muttering:

"'T is van te beven de klinkaert! 'T is van te beven de klinkaert!" And at break of day they came to the camp, and sang out like the lark and were answered straightway by a cockcrow. The girls and the constables were put under a strong guard, but in spite of these precautions La Gilline was found dead at noon on the third day, her heart pierced by a long needle. The three girls accused La Stevenyne of having done this deed, and she was brought before the captain. There she confessed that she had committed the crime out of jealousy and anger at the way the girl had treated her. And La Stevenyne was hanged and buried in the wood.

La Gilline also was buried, and prayers were said over her sweet body.

XXIV

Warm was the air, and not a breath of wind was wafted from the calm sea. The trees on the Damme canal were motionless, and the grasshoppers were busy in the meadows, while from many a church and abbey the men came into the fields to fetch that "thirteenth part of the harvest" which was claimed by the curés and the abbés who lived round about. From the depths of a blue and blazing sky the sun poured down his heat, and Nature slept beneath that radiance like some beautiful girl that has swooned away beneath the caresses of her lover.

From far off, Lamme and Ulenspiegel descried the high, square, massive tower of Notre Dame, and Lamme said:

"There, my son, is the home both of your loves and of your sorrows." But Ulenspiegel made no answer.

"In a little while," continued Lamme, "I shall be seeing my old home, and perhaps my wife!" But Ulenspiegel did not answer.

"You man of wood," said Lamme, "you heart of stone, will nothing move you--neither the near approach to the place where you passed your childhood, nor yet the dear memory of poor Claes and Soetkin, the two martyrs? What! You are not sad, neither are you merry; who can it be that has thus hardened your heart? Look at me, how anxious and uneasy I am, and how my belly heaves with nervousness; look at me I say!"

But Lamme looked at Ulenspiegel and saw that his face was drawn and pale, and his lips were trembling with tears, and he said not a word. And now Lamme also held his peace.

They walked along in this way without speaking till they came to Damme, which they entered by the rue Héron; and they saw no one about because of the heat. Only the dogs lay on their sides on the doorsteps of many a house, gasping, with their tongues out, while Lamme and Ulenspiegel passed right in front of the Town Hall where Claes had been burnt to death; and here the lips of Ulenspiegel trembled the more, and his tears dried up. And at last they were come to the house of Claes himself, which was now occupied by a master charcoal-burner. Ulenspiegel entered in and said:

"Do you recognize me? I would wish to rest here a while."

The master charcoal-burner answered:

"I recognize you. You are the son of the victim. You are free in this house to go wheresoever you will."

Ulenspiegel went into the kitchen, and then upstairs into the room of Claes and Soetkin, and there he shed many tears.

When he had come down again, the master charcoal-burner said to him: "Here is bread, cheese, and beer. If you are hungry, eat. If you are thirsty, drink."

But Ulenspiegel made a gesture to the effect that he was neither hungry nor thirsty, and he left the house and came with Lamme to Katheline's cottage, and there they tethered their donkeys and straightway entered in. It was the hour of the midday meal. On the table was a dish of broad beans in their pods together with some white beans. Katheline was busy eating, while Nele was standing by her ready to pour into Katheline's plate some vinegar sauce which she had just taken off the fire. When Ulenspiegel came into the room Nele was so startled that she put the sauce, and the pot and all, into Katheline's platter. And Katheline kept on wagging her head, and picking out the broad beans with her spoon from the trencher, striking her forehead the while and crying ever like one mad:

"Put out the fire! My head is burning!"

And the smell of the vinegar made Lamme feel hungry. But Ulenspiegel stood still where he was, gazing at Nele and smiling for love of her despite his great sorrow.

And Nele, without a word of greeting, flung her arms round his neck. And she also seemed like one bereft of sense. For she cried and laughed, and blushing as she was with her great and sweet happiness, she could only say: "Tyl! Tyl!"

Ulenspiegel, happy now in his turn, gazed into her eyes. Then she let go of him and stepped back a pace or two, gazed at him joyfully in her turn, and then threw herself on him again, clasping her arms round his neck, and so many times and again. And he suffered her gladly, powerless to tear himself away from her, till at last she fell into a chair, tired out and like one bereft of her senses, and she said without shame:

"Tyl! Tyl, my beloved! Here you are come back to me again!"

Lamme meanwhile was standing at the door; but when Nele had recovered herself a little, she pointed to him, saying:

"Where have I seen this fat man?"

"He is my friend," Ulenspiegel told her. "He goes seeking his wife in my company."

"I know you," said Nele to Lamme. "You used to live in the rue Héron. You are seeking for your wife? Well, I have seen her. She is living at Bruges in all piety and devotion, and when I asked her why she had left her husband so unkindly, she answered that it was by the Holy Will of God and at the command of Holy Penance, and that she could never live with her husband again."

At these words Lamme was sad, but his eyes wandered to the beans and vinegar. And outside the larks sang as they flew upwards into the sky, and all Nature swooned away under the caress of her Lord the Sun. And Katheline kept stirring with her spoon that pot of beans and sauce.

XXV

Now, in those days a damsel some fifteen years of age was going from Heyst to Knokke, alone in the middle of the day, by the sand-dunes. No one had any fear for her for they knew that the wolves and wicked spirits of the damned go biting their victims only in the night. The damsel carried a satchel wherein were forty-eight gold coins of the value of four florins carolus, being the sum owed by the girl's mother, Toria Pieterson, who lived at Heyst, to her uncle, Jan Rapen of Knokke, on account of a sale. The girl's name was Betkin, and she was wearing her best clothes, and she went on her way most happily.

The same evening, seeing that she did not return, her mother became anxious, but reassured herself with the thought that the girl must have stayed the night with her uncle.

On the morrow, certain fishermen on their way back from the sea with a boat-load of fish, drew their boat on to the beach and unloaded their catch, which they would sell at auction by the cart-load at the Minque of Heyst. They went up the road along the dunes, all strewn with shells, and presently came upon a young girl, stripped naked even to her chemise, with traces of blood all about her. Coming nearer they found upon her neck the horrid marks of long sharp teeth. She was lying on her back with her eyes wide open gazing up into the sky, and her mouth was open also as if with the cry of death itself!

Covering the girl's body with an opperst-kleed they brought it to Heyst, to the Town Hall, and there quickly assembled the aldermen and the leech, who declared that the long teeth that had made those marks were no teeth of a wolf as known in nature, but rather of some wicked and devilish werwolf, and that it behoved them now to pray God one and all that he would deliver the land of Flanders.

And in all that country, and notably at Damme, at Heyst, and at Knokke, prayers and orisons were ordered to be made.

But Ulenspiegel went to the town bailiff and said to him: "I will go and kill the werwolf."

"What gives you this confidence?" asked the bailiff.

"The ashes beat upon my heart," Ulenspiegel replied. "Only give me leave to labour a while at the forge of the commune."

"Very well," said the bailiff.

Ulenspiegel, without telling a word concerning his project to any man or woman in Damme, betook him to the forge, and there, in secret, he fashioned a fine and a strong trap such as those traps which are made to catch wild beasts.

On the following day, which was a Saturday, day beloved of werwolves, Ulenspiegel armed himself with a letter from the bailiff to the curé of Heyst, together with the trap which he carried under his cloak, as well as a good crossbow and a well-sharpened cutlass. Thus provided, he departed on his way, saying to those in Damme:

"I am going out to hunt the seagulls, and of their down will I make a soft pillow for madame the wife of the bailiff."

Now before he reached Heyst, he came out on to the seashore. The sea was rough and boisterous, and he heard the great waves growling like thunder, and the wind that blew from England whistling in the rigging of the boats that were stranded on the beach. A fisherman said to him:

"This bad wind will be our ruin. Last night the sea was calm, but at sunrise she suddenly swelled with anger. And to-day we shall not be able to go out fishing." Ulenspiegel was pleased at this, for he knew that now he would be sure of some assistance if need arose. At Heyst he went straight to the curé and presented the letter that the bailiff had given him. The curé said:

"You are a brave man, but let me tell you that no one goes along the dunes on Saturday nights without being bitten by the werwolf and left dead on the sands. Even the men who are at work on the dikes never go there except in a party. The evening is coming on. Do you not hear the werwolf howling in his valley? Perchance he will come again into the cemetery, even as he came last night, howling most horribly through all the hours of darkness! God be with you, my son. But go not there." And the curé crossed himself.

"The ashes beat upon my heart," answered Ulenspiegel.

The curé said:

"Because you have so brave a spirit I will help you."

"Monsieur le Curé," said Ulenspiegel, "you will be doing a great kindness, as well to me as to this poor desolated land of ours, if you will go to Toria, the dead girl's mother, and to her two brothers also, and tell them that the wolf is near at hand, and that I am going out to wait for it and kill it."

The curé said:

"If you want to know where you should lie in wait, let me advise you to keep along by the path which leads to the cemetery. It runs between two hedges of broom. It is so narrow two men could scarcely walk abreast."

"I understand," said Ulenspiegel. "And you, brave curé, will you tell the girl's mother and her husband and her brothers to come themselves and wait together in the church about the hour of the curfew. There, if they hear a cry like the cry of a seagull, it will mean that I have seen the werwolf. Then they must sound the wacharm on the bell, and come fast to my assistance. And if there are any other brave men...."

"There are none, my son," replied the curé. "The fishermen are less afraid of the plague and of death itself than of the werwolf. Do not go, I beseech you."

Ulenspiegel answered:

"The ashes beat upon my heart."

And the curé said to him:

"I will do as you bid. God bless you. Are you hungry or thirsty?"

"Both," answered Ulenspiegel.

The curé gave him some beer, some bread, and some cheese, and Ulenspiegel when he had eaten and drunk went his way.

And as he walked along he raised his eyes and beheld Claes, his father, seated in glory at the side of God in heaven where the moon shone so brightly. And thereafter he gazed upon the sea and upon the clouds, and he heard the wind that came blowing stormily from England.

"Alas!" he cried, "O Dusky Clouds that pass along so rapidly yonder in the sky, be you now for a vengeance on the murderer. And you, O Wind that whistles so sadly in the gorse along the dunes and in the rigging of the ships, be you now the voice of the victims that cry to God that he should help me on in this enterprise."

And so saying he came down into the valley, stumbling as if he had been a drunken man; and he began to sing, hiccuping all the time, staggering from side to side, yawning, spitting, and then standing still and pretending to be sick. But all the time he was keeping his eyes wide open, and peering this way and that, for he had heard the sharp sound as of a wolf howling. Then, as he stood there vomiting like a dog, he descried the long outline of a wolf moving towards the cemetery in the bright light of the moon.