Part 6

Now it was that a gudgeon came upon the scene, attracted in the first place by the odour of bread-crumbs; and he licked up the bread with his lips and opened his mouth for more, thinking no doubt in his innocence that the bread would fall into his gullet of itself. But while gazing thus in the air the gudgeon was suddenly swallowed up by a treacherous pike who had hurled himself upon him like a flash of lightning.

Now the pike played a similar trick upon a carp who was catching flies on the top of the water without any fear of danger. And after this good meal the pike stayed motionless below the surface of the water, disdainful of the smaller fry, who, indeed, were only too glad to swim away from him of their own accord and as fast as ever they could. But while the pike was taking his ease in this manner, a second pike came up; and he was a hungry pike, and his mouth was open wide, for as yet he had not breakfasted. With a bound the new arrival threw himself upon his brother, and a furious combat ensued. They lashed at one another with their fins, the water was red with their blood. The pike that had eaten defended himself but feebly against the assaults of the hungry one; nevertheless, backing a little, he took courage again and threw himself like a bullet against his adversary. The latter awaited this new attack with open jaws, which did not close until more than half of his assailant's head had disappeared between them. Now they tried to free themselves, but could not because of the hooked teeth of the one that had become embedded in the flesh of the other. And so they battled against each other in despair. Nor did they notice, interlocked as they were, the strong fish-hook at the end of a silken cord, which rose towards them from the depths of the water. In another moment it had embedded itself in the body of the pike that had dined, and the two struggling fish found themselves drawn out of the water and laid together on the grass without the least deference.

As he killed them Ulenspiegel said:

"Ha ha, my little pikes, I will call you the Pope and the Emperor, that prey ever one upon the other; but I, forsooth, am the Common Man that shall catch you on his hook, in God's good time, and make an end of your battles!"

XXVIII

In the meantime Nele was taking care of Katheline, who was still out of her mind and who called continually upon Hanske, her ice-cold lover. But sometimes Nele would leave her mother safely guarded in the house of some kindly neighbour, and herself would wander far and wide and all alone, even unto Antwerp, searching ever, among the ships on the river, or along the dusty roads, for Ulenspiegel.

And at home, also, in the house of Claes, it was evil days. Claes worked sadly on his land alone, for there was not enough work for two. And Soetkin stayed in the cottage by herself, cooking the beans which formed their daily fare in a hundred different ways, so that she might have something to enliven her husband's appetite. And she sang and laughed all the time, so that he might not be grieved by seeing her unhappy.

One day a man on horseback drew up in front of the cottage. He was dressed all in black, he was very thin, and very sad of countenance.

"Is any one within?" he asked.

"God bless your sadness," answered Soetkin, "but am I a phantom, that seeing me here you must yet inquire if there is any one within?"

"Where is your father?" asked the horseman.

"If my father's name is Claes, he is over there," Soetkin told him. "You will find him sowing corn."

The horseman departed in the direction in which she had pointed, and Soetkin also went her way ruefully, for this was the sixth time that she had had to go to the baker's to buy bread with no money to pay for it.

On returning empty-handed to the cottage, Soetkin was amazed to see Claes coming down the road triumphantly seated on the horse of the man in black. He looked very proud of himself, and the man in black walked by his side holding the horse's bridle. Hanging at his side, Claes held a leathern bag which appeared to be full of things. Dismounting from the horse, Claes embraced his companion, gave him a playful pat upon the back, and then, shaking the bag, cried out in a loud voice:

"Long life to Josse, my brother, the good hermit of Meyborg! May God keep him in joy and fatness, in happiness and health! Our Josse, patron of plenty, and of all abundance, and rich soups!"

And so saying he took up the sack and deposited it upon the table. But Soetkin said sadly:

"My good man, we shall not eat this day. The baker has refused to give me any bread."

"Bread?" cried Claes, opening the sack and letting a river of golden coins roll out on the table. "Bread? Here is bread and butter, meat, wine, beer! Here are hams, marrow-bones, pasties, ortolans, fatted poulets, castrelins, all just as you might find them in the houses of the rich! Bread indeed! Here are casks of beer and kegs of wine! Mad must be the baker who will refuse to give us bread. Verily we will deal at his shop no more!"

"But, my good man!" said Soetkin amazed.

"Nay, listen," said Claes, "and make the most of your good fortune. For these are the facts. Katheline, it seems, has lately been to Meyborg in Germany, and Nele with her, on a visit to my eldest brother Josse, who dwells there as a hermit. Nele told my brother how that we were living in poverty, notwithstanding that we work so hard. And now, if we are to believe this good messenger"--and here Claes pointed to the black horseman--"Josse has left the holy Roman religion and abandoned himself to the heresy of Luther."

The man in black made answer:

"It is they that are heretics, they who follow the cult of the Scarlet Woman. For the Pope is a cheat and a trader in holy things."

"Oh!" cried Soetkin, "speak not so loud, sir. You will have us burned alive, all three."

"Well," continued Claes, "it appears that Josse has made known to this good messenger that inasmuch as he is going to fight in the army of Frederic of Saxony, and is bringing him fifty armed men fully equipped, he has no need of much money to leave it to the hands of some wretch of a landsknecht, now that he himself is going to the war. Therefore, says he, take it to my brother Claes, and render to him, with my blessing, these seven hundred florins. Tell him to live virtuously, and to ponder the salvation of his soul."

"Yea, verily," said the horseman, "now is the time. For God will reward every man according to his works, and every man according to his merit."

"Good sir," said Claes, "it is not forbidden, I trust, to rejoice in the meantime at this good news? Deign, then, to stay with us, and we will celebrate our fortune with a nice dinner of tripe, well boiled, and a knuckle of that ham which I saw just now at the pork-butcher's. Of a truth, it looked so plump and tasty that my teeth almost shot out of my mouth to close thereon."

"Alas!" said the stranger, "the foolish make merry while the eye of the Lord is yet upon them."

"Come now, messenger," said Claes, "will you eat and drink with us or will you not?"

The man answered: "It will be time enough for the faithful to think about such earthly joys when mighty Babylon has fallen."

Seeing Claes and Soetkin cross themselves, he made as though to leave them. But Claes said to him:

"Since you persist in leaving us without accepting of our hospitality, will you at least give to my brother the kiss of peace on my behalf, and look after him well at the wars."

"That will I," said the man.

And he departed from them, while Soetkin went to make her preparations for celebrating their good fortune.

Now it was quickly noised abroad through the town that Claes that was once so poor had now become rich through the generosity of his brother Josse. And the Dean of Damme was heard to say that it was Katheline no doubt who had laid a charm on Josse, and he said this because Claes, although he had received a large sum of money from his brother, had given not so much as a single vestment to Notre Dame. But Claes and Soetkin were happy again, Claes working in the fields or looking after his business of charcoal-burning, while Soetkin attended to her home right valiantly. Yet still was she sorrowful at heart, scanning ever with her eyes the open road if perchance she might see her son Ulenspiegel returning back to her. And thus it was these three lived on and experienced the happiness which comes from God while waiting for that which was going to come to them from men.

XXIX

The Emperor Charles had received a letter from England, from Philip, who was now married to the Queen of that country.

"Sir and Father," the letter ran,--"It is matter of sore displeasure to me that I should have to live in a country like this where the accursed heretics swarm like fleas and worms and locusts. Fire and sword are needed to remove them from the trunk of that tree of life which is our Holy Mother the Church. And, as if this were not trouble enough, I have also to put up with being regarded not as a King but merely as the husband of the Queen; for in very truth apart from her I am destitute of all authority. And the English make mock of me, spreading broadcast the most shameful pamphlets which assert that I am being bribed by the Pope to afflict their country with every kind of impious burning and persecution. Nor can I discover who it is that writes these pamphlets, nor yet who prints them. And when I try to raise from the people some necessary contribution (for in their malice and wickedness they often leave me without any money at all), they answer by advising me, in coarse lampoons, to ask of Satan in whose pay I am. Parliament makes excuses for fear of my sting, but I can get nothing out of them. And meanwhile the walls of London are covered with the grossest pictures representing me as a parricide who is ready to strike down your Majesty for the sake of my inheritance. But well you know, my Lord and Father, that notwithstanding all the hopes of a legitimate ambition, I most certainly desire that your Majesty may enjoy yet long and glorious years of rule. Furthermore, there are circulating through the city certain engravings on copper which show me torturing animals and laughing the while. But well you know, Sire, that if ever it has happened to me to taste this profane pleasure, I have surely never laughed thereat. But they try to make out that this innocent sport is a sort of crime, despite the fact that animals have no souls, and although it is assuredly permitted to all men, especially if they be of Royal birth, to make use of brute beasts even unto death for purposes of honest recreation. But in this land of England the people are so fond of animals that they treat their animals better than their own servants. The stables and dog-kennels are kept like palaces, and I have known great lords who pass the night on the same litter with their horse. To crown all, my noble Wife and Queen is barren, and these people have the outrageous effrontery to declare that I am to blame and not she, who is in other respects a most jealous and intractable woman, and amorous to excess. Sir and Father, I pray daily that the Lord God may have me in his grace, and I live in hopes that another throne may be given me, even though it be with the Turk, what time I still await that other glorious throne to which I shall be one day called by the honour of being the son of your very Glorious and Victorious Majesty.

(Signed) Phle."

To this letter the Emperor made reply in the following terms:

"Sir and Son,--You have bitter enemies, I do not dispute it; but you must try to endure them without vexation in anticipation of the yet more brilliant crown that shall be yours hereafter. I have already made it widely known that I am determined to retire from my lordship over the Low Countries and other of my dominions, for I am growing old and gouty, and I know that I shall not long be able to withstand King Henry the Second of France, for Fortune ever favours the young. You should remember also that so long as you are master of England, you will be as a thorn in the side of our enemy France. Truly I suffered a nasty defeat at Metz, and lost there near forty thousand men. I was compelled to retreat before the King of Saxony. If God does not soon see fit by a stroke of His good and divine will to re-establish me in the force and vigour of my prime, I am inclined, Sir and Son, to quit my kingdoms altogether and to leave them to you.

"Have patience therefore, and do your duty meanwhile against the heretics, sparing none of them, man, woman, girl, or child, for I am credibly informed that Madame your Queen has been minded to treat them mercifully, and this is a great grief to me.

"Your affectionate father,

"(Signed) Charles."

XXX

Ulenspiegel had been long upon the road. His feet were bleeding, but in the district of the bishopric of Mayence he met a wagon full of pilgrims who invited him to join them, and they carried him with them to Rome.

When they arrived at the city Ulenspiegel got down from the wagon, and straightway noticed a charming-looking woman standing at the door of an inn. She smiled when she saw him looking at her.

Taking this kindly humour of hers for a good omen:

"Hostess," says he, "will you give asile, pray, to a poor pilgrim on pilgrimage who has carried his full time and is about to be delivered of his sins?"

"We give asile to all such as pay us for it," said the woman.

I have a hundred ducats in my purse," said Ulenspiegel (who, in fact, had no more than one), "and I would dearly like to spend the first of them in your pleasant company and over a bottle of old Roman wine."

"Wine is not dear in these holy parts," she answered. "Come in and drink your fill. It will only cost you a soldo."

And they twain drank together for so long, and emptied so many bottles of wine and all to the tune of such pleasant conversation, that the hostess was constrained to order her servant to serve the customers in her place, while she and Ulenspiegel retired into a room at the back of the inn, a marble chamber, cool as a winter's day, where, leaning her head on her new friend's shoulder, she demanded of him who he might be.

And Ulenspiegel answered her:

"I am Lord of Geeland, Count of Gavergeëten, Baron of Tuchtendeel. I was born at Damme, in Flanders, and I hold there for my estate five and twenty acres of moonlight."

"What land is that whence you come?" the hostess asked him, drinking from Ulenspiegel's tankard.

"It is a misty land," he told her, "a land of illusion, where are sown the seeds of false hopes and of castles in the air. But you, sweet hostess mine, were born in no such land of moonlight, you with your amber skin and your eyes that shine like pearls. For bright is the sunshine that has coloured that browned gold of your hair, and it is Lady Venus herself who, without a single pang of jealousy, has formed your soft shoulders, and your prancing breasts, your rounded arms, your delicate sweet hands. Say, shall we sup together this night?"

"Fine pilgrim that you are from Flanders," says she, "say, why are you come hither?"

"To have a talk with the Pope," said Ulenspiegel.

"Heavens!" she cried, clasping her hands together, "and that is something that even myself, a native of the country, have never been able to do!"

"Yet shall I," said Ulenspiegel.

"But know you where the Pope lives, what he is like, what are his habits and his ways of life?"

"I heard all about him on the way," answered Ulenspiegel. "His name is Julius III. Wanton he is, and gay and dissolute, a good talker, that never falters for a clever repartee. I have also heard that he has taken an extraordinary fancy to a little dirty beggar of a man--a dark fellow and a rude who used to wander about with a monkey asking for alms. He came to the Pope, and the Pope, it seems, has made a Cardinal of him, and now gets quite ill if a single day passes without their meeting."

"Have some more to drink," said the landlady, "and do not speak so loud."

"I have also heard," continued Ulenspiegel, "that one day he swore like a soldier, Al dispetto di Dio, potta di Dio, and all because they did not bring him the cold peacock that he had ordered to be kept for his supper. And he excused himself, saying, 'If my Master was angered over an apple, I, who am the vicar of God, can certainly swear an oath about a pheasant!' You see, my pet, I know the Pope very well, and understand just what sort of a man he is!"

"Oh dear," she said, "pray be careful and do not tell this to any one else. But still, and in spite of all you tell me, I maintain that you will not get to see him."

"I shall," said Ulenspiegel.

"I will wager you a hundred florins."

"They are mine!" said Ulenspiegel.

The very next day, tired as he was, he ran through all the city and found out that the Pope was to say Mass that morning at the Church of St. John Lateran. Thither Ulenspiegel repaired, and took up a position as prominently in the Pope's view as he could. And every time that the Pope elevated chalice or Host, Ulenspiegel turned his back to the altar. Now one of the cardinals was officiating with the Pope, swarthy of countenance he was, malicious and corpulent; and on his shoulder he carried a monkey. He reported Ulenspiegel's behaviour to the Pope, who straightway after Mass sent four terrible-looking soldiers (such as one finds in those warlike lands) to seize the pilgrim.

"What religion do you profess?" the Pope asked him.

"Most Holy Father," answered Ulenspiegel, "my religion is the same as my landlady's."

The Pope had the woman fetched.

"What is your religion?" he asked her.

"The same as your Holiness's," she told him.

"That also is mine," said Ulenspiegel.

The Pope asked him why he turned his back upon the Holy Sacrament.

"I felt myself unworthy to look upon it face to face," he answered.

"You are a pilgrim?" said the Pope.

"Yes," answered Ulenspiegel, "and I am come from Flanders to beg remission of my sins."

The Pope absolved and blessed him, and Ulenspiegel departed in the company of his landlady, who paid over to him his hundred florins. And with this good store of money he departed from Rome and set out to return again to the land of Flanders.

But he had to pay seven ducats for the certificate of his pardon, all scribed upon parchment.

XXXI

In those days there came to Damme two brothers of the Premonstratensian Order, sellers of indulgences. And over their monastic robes they wore beautiful jackets bordered with lace.

When it was fine they stood outside the porch of the church, and under the porch when it was wet, and there they stuck up their tariff; and this was the scale of charges: for six liards a hundred years' indulgence, for one patard two hundred years, three hundred years for half a sovereign, four hundred years for seven florins, and so on according to the price--indulgences plenary or semi-plenary, and pardons for all the most terrible crimes.

And they gave to their patrons, in exchange for payment, little parchment certificates on which were written out the number of years of indulgence, and below was the following inscription:

Who wants not to be Stewed, roasted, fricasseed, Burning in hell for evermore, Indulgences let him buy. Pardon and forgiveness, For a little money, God will return to him.

And the eager purchasers came thronging round the monks. One of whom never left off addressing his audience. This brother had a blooming countenance, and displayed three chins at least, and a portentous belly, all without the least embarrassment.

"Unhappy ones!" he cried, fixing with his eye now one, now another of the crowd. "Unhappy ones! Let me show you a picture. Behold! You are in hell! The fire burns you most cruelly. You are boiling in that cauldron full of oil wherein are prepared the olie-koekjes of Astarte. You are nothing better than a sausage on the frying-pan of Lucifer, or a leg of mutton on the spit of Guilguiroth, biggest of all the devils. And first they cut you up in little pieces. Ah, woe is me! Behold this sinner who despised indulgences! Behold this plate of daintiness! 'Tis he! 'Tis he! His wicked body thus reduced by damnation. And for sauce, brimstone and pitch and tar! Thus are those poor sinners eaten alive to be born again continually to their pain! And here in all reality is the place of tears and of grinding of teeth. Have mercy, God of mercy! For now, poor damned one, you are in hell, and you suffer unspeakable woes. And yet if any there were to subscribe a denier for you, straightway one of your hands would find relief; and let but some other give a half a denier and your two hands would be freed entirely from the pain of the fire. But as for the remainder of your body, let some one only give a florin, and there falls the dew of indulgence over all! O freshness of delight! And now for ten days, a hundred days, a thousand years maybe, according as one pays, no more roast meat, no more olie-koekjes, no more fricassees for you! And even if it is not for yourself, is there no one else, there in the secret depths of the fire, no one else for whom you would wish to gain relief--one of your parents perhaps, a dear wife, or some lovely girl with whom you have committed wilful sin?"

And as he spoke these words, the monk jogged the elbow of his brother that stood by holding in his hands a silver bowl. And that brother, lowering his eyes at this signal, shook the bowl unctuously, as if inviting contributions.