The Legend of the Glorious Adventures of Tyl Ulenspiegel in the land of Flanders Part 9

"Cut off my feet! Cut off my feet!"

"Ah!" said the Queen, "is that some dog or other baying at my death?"

It was at this very moment that the sculptor, seeing around him none but the faces of Spaniards, his enemies, bethought him of Flanders, the land of valorous men, and he crossed his arms on his breast, and dragging the long chain behind him, walked straight towards the outer circle of the straw and the flaming torches. And standing upright there, still with his arms crossed:

"This," cried he, "this is how the men of Flanders can die in the face of the tyrants of Spain. Cut off their feet--not mine--that they may be able no more to run into the way of crime. Flanders for ever! Flanders for ever!"

And the ladies clapped their hands, crying him mercy for the sake of his proud look.

And he died.

And Queen Marie shook all over her body, and she cried out, her teeth chattering together with the chill of approaching death. And her arms and legs grew stiff, and she said:

"Put me back into my bed that I may be warmed."

So she died.

And thus it was, according to the prophecy of Katheline the good sorceress, that Philip the King sowed everywhere he went the seeds of death, and blood, and tears.

XXII

But Ulenspiegel and Nele loved each other, and their love was true.

It was now the end of April. All the trees were in bloom, and every plant was swollen with sap, for May was near, the month of the peac.o.c.k, flowered like a bouquet, the month that sends the nightingales singing aloud in the trees of all the earth.

Oftentimes would Nele and Ulenspiegel wander together along the roads. Nele would lean on the arm of Ulenspiegel, and hang round him with her two hands. Ulenspiegel loved this little game, and often did he pa.s.s his arm about Nele's waist, to hold her the better, as he said. And she was happy, but spake not a word.

Softly along the roads blew the wind, wafting the scent from the fields; the sea boomed in the distance, rocking lazily in the sun; Ulenspiegel seemed like some youthful devil, all pride; and Nele like a little saint from Paradise, half shy of her happiness.

She leant her head against Ulenspiegel's shoulder, and her hand was in his, and as they pa.s.sed along he kissed her forehead, and her cheek, and her sweet lips. But still she spake no word.

After some hours they grew hot and thirsty, and they drank milk at the house of a peasant; and yet they were not refreshed. Then they sat them down on the gra.s.s by the side of the ditch, and Nele seemed pale and pensive, and Ulenspiegel looked at her, afraid that something was amiss.

"You are unhappy?" said she.

"Yes," he admitted.

"But why?" she asked him.

"I know not," said he. "But these apple-trees and cherry-trees all in flower, this air so warm that one would say it was charged with lightning, these daisies that open their blus.h.i.+ng petals to the fields, and oh, the hawthorn, there, close by us in the hedge, all white.... Will no one tell me why it is that I feel troubled, and always ready to die or to go to sleep? And my heart beats so strangely when I hear the birds awaken in the trees, and when I see the swallows coming home! Then I am fain to go away beyond the sun and beyond the moon. And sometimes I am cold, and then again I am hot. Ah, Nele! would that I were no longer a creature of this low world! Verily I would give my life a thousand times to her that would love me!"

Yet Nele spake not at all, but smiling at her ease sat looking at Ulenspiegel.

XXIII

One Day of All Souls, Ulenspiegel went forth from Notre Dame with certain other vagabonds of his own age. Among them was Lamme Goedzak, who seemed strayed among them like a lamb in the midst of a herd of wolves. Lamme treated them with drinks all round, for his mother, as her custom was on Sundays and feast days, had given him three patards.

So he went with his companions to the tavern In dem Rooden Schildt--at the sign of the Red s.h.i.+eld. Jan van Liebeke kept the house, and he served them with dobbel knollaert from Courtrai.

They began to be warmed with the drink, and the talk turned on the subject of prayer, and Ulenspiegel declared quite openly that, for his part, he thought that Ma.s.ses for the dead did n.o.body any good, except the priests who said them.

Now in that company there was a Judas, who went and denounced Ulenspiegel for a heretic. And in spite of the tears of Soetkin, and the entreaties of Claes, Ulenspiegel was seized and taken prisoner. He remained shut up in a cellar for the s.p.a.ce of a month and three days without seeing a soul. The jailor himself consumed three-quarters of the ration that was given him for food.

During all this time the authorities were informing themselves as to Ulenspiegel's reputation--whether it was good or whether it was bad. They found that there was not much to be said against him except that he was a lively sort of customer, always railing against his neighbours. But they could not find that he had ever spoken evil of Our Lord G.o.d, or of Madame the Virgin, nor yet of the Saints. On this account the sentence pa.s.sed on him was a light one, for he might easily have been condemned to have his face branded with a hot iron and to be flogged till the blood flowed. But in consideration of his youth, the judges merely sentenced him to walk in his s.h.i.+rt behind the priests barefoot and hatless, and holding a candle in his hand. And this he was to do on the Feast of the Ascension, in the first procession that left the church.

So it was done, and when the procession was on the point of turning back, Ulenspiegel was made to stop beneath the porch of Notre Dame, and there cry out aloud:

"Thanks be to our Lord Jesus! Thanks be to the reverend priests! Sweet are their prayers unto the souls in purgatory; nay, they are filled with every virtue of refreshment! For each Ave is even as a bucket of water poured upon the backs of those who are being punished, and every Pater is a tubful!"

And the people heard him with great devotion, and not without a smile.

On Whit-Sunday the same proceeding had to be gone through, and Ulenspiegel followed again in the procession with nothing on but his s.h.i.+rt, and with his head bare, and no shoes on his feet, and holding a candle in his hand. On returning to the church he stood up in the porch, holding the candle most reverently in his hand, and then in a high, clear voice (yet not without sundry waggish grimaces) spake as follows:

"If the prayers of all good Christians are very comforting to the souls in purgatory, how much more so must be those of the Dean of Notre Dame, a holy man and perfect in the performance of every virtue. Verily, his prayers a.s.suage the flames of fire in such wise that they are transformed all of a sudden into ice. But yet be sure that not an atom of it goes to refresh the devils that are in h.e.l.l."

And again the people hearkened to what he said with great devotion. But some of them smiled, and the Dean smiled too, in his grim ecclesiastical way.

After that, Ulenspiegel was condemned to banishment from the land of Flanders for the s.p.a.ce of three years, on condition that he went to Rome on pilgrimage and brought back with him the papal absolution. For this sentence Claes had to pay three florins: but he gave an extra florin to his son, and bought him a pilgrim's habit.

Ulenspiegel was heart-broken when he came to say good-bye to Claes and Soetkin on the day of his departure. He embraced them both, and his mother was all in tears; but she accompanied him far on his way, and Claes went too, and many of the townsmen and townswomen.

When they were home again Claes said to his wife:

"Good wife, it is very hard that such a boy should be condemned to this cruel punishment and all for a few silly words."

"Why, you are crying, my man!" said Soetkin. "Truly, you love him more than you like to show. Yes, you are sobbing now with a man's sobs, sobs that are like unto the tears of a lion."

But he answered her not.

As for Nele, she had gone to hide herself in the barn, so that none might see that she also wept for Ulenspiegel. But she followed afar after Soetkin and Claes and the other townsfolk: and when she saw her lover disappearing in the distance, she ran after him and threw herself on his neck.

"In Italy you will meet many beautiful ladies," she said.

"I do not know about their being beautiful," he replied, "but fresh like thee--no. For they are all parched with the sun."

They walked a long way side by side, and Ulenspiegel seemed thoughtful, muttering from time to time: