Part 5

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mine host answered quietly:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Let me go surety for them," said Ulenspiegel.

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

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

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

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

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

"Very well," said the Dean.

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

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

"Go, wife," said the innkeeper.

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

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

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

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

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

XXV

Now in those days Katheline had effected a cure, by means of herbs, on three sheep, an ox, and a pig, all belonging to a certain man named Speelman. She also attempted to cure a cow, the property of one Jan Beloen, but in this she was not successful. Jan Beloen promptly accused her of being a witch, asserting that she had laid a charm on the animal, inasmuch as all the time she was giving the herbs she had caressed it and talked to it, in the Devil's own language, as was evident--for what business has an honest Christian woman to go talking with an animal...?

Jan Beloen added that he was a neighbour of Speelman's, the man whose ox had been cured, together with three sheep and a pig as aforesaid, and if Katheline had now killed his cow, it was doubtless at the instigation of Speelman, who was jealous at seeing his, Beloen's, land better and more profitably cultivated than his own. Pieter Meulmeester, a man of good life and reputation, and Jan Beloen himself both testified that Katheline was commonly reputed to be a witch by the people of Damme, and that she had certainly killed the cow; and on this testimony Katheline was arrested and condemned to be tortured until she had confessed her crimes and malpractices.

She was cross-examined by a certain alderman who was notorious for his ill-temper, for he was accustomed to drink brandy all the day long. And he ordered her to be placed on the seat of torture in the presence of himself and the members of the Town Council.

The torturer put her on the seat stark naked, and then shaved off her hair, looking carefully to see that no charm was concealed anywhere about her person. Finding none, he bound her with cords to the seat of torture. And she said:

"It shames me to be naked before these men. O Mother Mary, let me die!"

The torturer then wrapped some damp cloths round her breast and body and legs, and raising the bench upright he proceeded to pour great quantities of hot water down her throat so that her stomach became all swollen. Then he let the bench down again.

The alderman asked Katheline if she would now acknowledge her crime. She made a sign in the negative. And the torturer poured more hot water into her; but this Katheline brought all up again.

Then by the advice of the doctor she was released. But she did not speak a word, only beat her breast as much as to say that the hot water had burned her. When the torturer saw that she was recovered from this first ordeal, he said to her:

"Confess that you are a witch, and that you laid a charm on the cow."

"I will confess no such thing," replied Katheline. "I am here in your power. Nevertheless, I tell you that an animal can die of an illness, just as a man can, and in spite of all the help of surgeons and of doctors. And I swear by Our Lord Christ who was pleased to die upon the Cross for our sins, that I wished to do no harm to this cow, but simply to cure her by well-known remedies."

Thereat the alderman was angry and cried out:

"This devil's drab, she cannot go on lying for ever! Put her to the second torture."

Then he drank a large glass of brandy.

The torturer meanwhile sat Katheline down on the lid of an oak coffin which was placed on trestles. Now the coffin-lid was pointed like a roof, and the edge of it was as sharp as a sword. A great fire was burning in the fireplace, for it was the month of November. Katheline, seated on the edge of the coffin-lid, had her feet shod in shoes of new leather several sizes too small for her, and then she was placed in front of the fire. When she began to feel the sharp wood of the coffin-lid cutting into her flesh, and when her shoes began to shrink under the heat of the fire, Katheline cried aloud:

"Oh, agony! Will no one give me a draught of black poison?"

"Put her nearer the fire," said the alderman.

Then he inquired of her:

"How often, pray, have you ridden on a broom to the Witches' Sabbath? And how many times have you caused the corn to wither in the ear, and the fruit on the tree, and the babe in the womb of its mother? And turned most loving brothers into sworn enemies, and sisters into rivals full of hatred?"

Katheline would have answered if she had been able. But she could only move her arms, as if to say "No." But the alderman said:

"I see she will not speak till she has felt her witch's fat all melting in the fire. Put her nearer."

Katheline cried out. But the alderman said:

"You had better ask Satan, your friend, to refresh you."

And now her shoes were beginning to smoke in the heat of the fire, so that she made a gesture as if to try and take them off.

"Ask Satan to help you," said the alderman.

Ten o'clock struck. It was the madman's dinner hour. And he retired with the torturer and the clerk of the court, leaving Katheline alone in front of the fire in the place of torture.

An hour later they returned. Katheline was still sitting there stiff and motionless. The clerk said:

"I think she is dead."

The alderman commanded the torturer to remove Katheline from the coffin-lid, and to take off the shoes from her feet. This he could not do, so that he was forced to cut them, and Katheline's feet were exposed to view, all red and bleeding. The alderman, whose thoughts were still with his dinner, gazed at her without a word. But after a while she came to her senses, and fell upon the ground, nor was she able to get up again in spite of many attempts. Then she said to the alderman:

"Once you desired me for your wife. But now you shall have none of me! Four times three is the sacred number, and my husband is the thirteenth."

The alderman was going to answer her, but she forestalled him:

"Be silent. His hearing is more delicate than that of the archangel in heaven who counts the heart-beats of the just. Why are you so late? Four times three is the sacred number. He killeth those who hold me in desire."

The alderman said:

"It seems she welcomes the devil to her bed!"

"The pains of the torture have turned her brain," said the clerk.

So Katheline was taken back into prison. And three days later there was a meeting of the aldermen in the Council Hall; and after some deliberation Katheline was condemned to suffer the ordeal by fire.

She was taken to the grand market of Damme by the torturer and his assistants. There she was made to mount the scaffold. In the square were assembled the provost, the herald, and the judges. The herald sounded his trumpet thrice, then turned towards the crowd and made the following announcement:

"The Council of Damme," he cried, "having taken pity upon the woman Katheline, have decreed that punishment shall not be exacted to the full extremity of the rigour of our laws. Nevertheless, in witness that she is a sorceress, her hair shall be burned, she shall pay a fine of twenty carolus d'or, and she shall be banished from the territory of Damme for the space of three years, under penalty of losing one of her limbs."

And at this rough gentleness the people broke into applause.

Then the torturer tied Katheline to the stake, placed on her shorn scalp a wig of tow, and held it in the fire. And the tow burned for a long time, and Katheline cried aloud and wept.

Then they released her, and she was put in a cart and taken away outside the territory of Damme. She could not walk at all, because of her feet that were burned.

XXVI

Ulenspiegel, meanwhile, had arrived in his wanderings at the fish-market at Liége. There he descried a tall young fellow carrying under his arm a net filled with all sorts of poultry, and another net also which he was rapidly filling with haddock, trout, eels, and pike.

Ulenspiegel recognized him as none other than his old friend Lamme Goedzak.

"What are you doing here, Lamme?" he said.

"You must know," Lamme answered, "that many people have lately emigrated from Flanders to this gentle land of Liége. As for me, I follow my loves. And you?"

"I am on the look-out for a master to serve for my daily bread," said Ulenspiegel.

"Bread is a dry sort of nourishment," said Lamme. "You would do better to try a chaplet of ortolans with a thrush for the Credo."

"You have plenty of money?" Ulenspiegel inquired.

Lamme Goedzak made answer:

"I have lost my father and mother, and that young sister of mine that used to beat me so. I shall inherit all their property, and now I am living with a one-eyed servant who is very learned in the noble art of making fricassees."

"Would you like me to carry your fish and your poultry for you?" suggested Ulenspiegel.

"Yes," said Lamme.

And together they began to wander through the market. All at once Lamme said to his companion:

"You are mad. Do you know why?"

"No," said Ulenspiegel.

"Because you go carrying fish and poultry in your hand instead of in your stomach."

"You are right, Lamme," said Ulenspiegel; "but since I have lacked bread, ortolans will not even look at me."

"You shall eat your fill of them," said Lamme, "and serve me too, if my cook takes a fancy to you."

While they were walking along, Lamme pointed out to Ulenspiegel a beautiful young girl, who was walking through the market. She wore a silk dress and gazed at Lamme with sweet and gentle eyes. An old man, her father, walked just behind, carrying two nets, one filled with fish, the other with game.

"See that girl?" said Lamme, pointing at her. "I am going to marry her."

"Oh!" said Ulenspiegel, "I know her. She is a Flemish maid from Zotteghem. She lives in the rue Vinave-d'Isle, and the neighbours say that she lets her mother sweep the road in front of the house in her stead, while her own father irons her underclothing."

To this Lamme made no answer, but exclaimed delightedly:

"She looked at me just now!"

By this time they were come to Lamme's lodging, near the Pont-des-Arches. They knocked at the door, and a one-eyed servant opened to them. Ulenspiegel saw that she was old, scraggy, lank, and fierce of aspect.

Lamme addressed her as La Sanginne, and inquired if she would take Ulenspiegel to help in the kitchen.

"I will give him a trial," she said.

"Then take him," said Lamme, "and let him also make trial of the delights of your kitchen."

La Sanginne put three black puddings on the table, a pint of ale, and a large loaf of bread. Ulenspiegel set to with a will, and Lamme began to nibble at one of the puddings.

"Know you," Lamme asked presently, "where it is that our souls abide?"

"No, Lamme," said Ulenspiegel.

"In our stomachs," Lamme told him, "so they can keep them excavated continually, and for ever renew in our bodies the impulse for life. And who are the best companions for a man? I'll tell you. The best companions for a man are all good and jolly things to eat, and wine from the Meuse to crown all!"

"True," said Ulenspiegel. "A pudding is good company to a solitary soul."

"He's still hungry," said Lamme to La Sanginne. "Give him some more." And the woman served him with a second portion of pudding--white this time.

While Ulenspiegel went on eating, Lamme grew thoughtful.

"When I die," said he, "my stomach will die with me, and down there in purgatory they will leave me to fast, and I shall have to carry my poor belly about with me, all empty and limp."

"I like the black ones best," said Ulenspiegel.

"You have eaten six already," said La Sanginne, "and you won't have any more."

"You may be sure," said Lamme, "that you will be well treated here, and you will have just the same to eat as I do."

"I shall remember this promise of yours," said Ulenspiegel. But seeing that what his friend had told him was the truth, Ulenspiegel was well content, and the puddings that he had swallowed gave him such courage that on that very day he polished the kettles and the pots and the pans till they shone like the sun. And he lived happily in that house, frequenting willingly the kitchen and the wine-cellar, and leaving the loft to the cats.

One day La Sanginne had two poulets to roast, and she asked Ulenspiegel to turn the spit while she went to market for some herbs for a seasoning. The two poulets being well roasted, Ulenspiegel took one of them and ate it. When La Sanginne returned from the market she remarked:

"There were two poulets, but now I can only see one."

"Just open your other eye," answered Ulenspiegel, "and you will see the two of them all right!"

But she was angry, and went to Lamme Goedzak to tell him what had happened. Lamme came down into the kitchen and said to Ulenspiegel:

"Why do you make fun of my serving-maid? There were certainly two poulets."

"There were," said Ulenspiegel, "but when I came you told me that I was to eat and drink just as much as you. There were two poulets. Very well. I have eaten one, and you will eat the other. My pleasure is over. Yours is still to come. Are you not happier than I?"

"Yes," said Lamme smiling, "but just you do what La Sanginne tells you, and you'll find your work halved."

"I will be careful to do as you say," said Ulenspiegel.

So every time that La Sanginne told him to do anything he did but the half of it. If she asked him to go and draw two pails of water he would only bring back one; and if she told him to go and fill a pot of ale at the cask, he would pour the half of it down his throat on the way--and so on and so on.

At last La Sanginne grew tired of these goings on, and she told Lamme that either this good-for-nothing fellow must leave the house or she must leave herself.

Lamme descended on Ulenspiegel and told him:

"You'll have to go, my son, notwithstanding that you have looked so much better in health since you have been here. Listen to that cock crowing. And it's two o'clock of the afternoon! That means rain. I am sorry to have to put you out of doors in bad weather. But there, my son, you know that La Sanginne is the guardian angel of my life, with her lovely fricassees. If she were to leave me I might die a speedy death. I cannot risk it. Go then, my boy, and God be with you, and here are three florins and this string of saveloys to liven your journey."

And Ulenspiegel departed, crestfallen and with many regrets for Lamme and his kitchen.

XXVII

There was a rumour abroad that the Emperor Charles was going to annul the right of the monks to inherit the estates of those who happened to die in their convents, a thing which was very displeasing to the Pope.

One day when Ulenspiegel was come to fish from the banks of the river Meuse, he was thinking to himself that by the above action the Emperor would stand to profit both ways, since he would inherit the said estates, while the family of the deceased would inherit nothing at all. Pondering these thoughts, he carefully baited his hook, and then sat down by the river-side. And he began to nibble at a piece of stale brown bread, regretting the while that he had no good Romagna wine wherewith to wash it down. Still, he thought, one cannot always have everything just as one would like. And all the time he kept on throwing little pieces of his bread into the water, saying to himself that no man deserves a meal who will not share it with his neighbours.