Chapter VIII: Book IV: I (2)

And the lords and gentlemen his friends, having been summoned to Damme, were all present as witnesses before the tribunal.

Then the bailiff spake and said:

"Nele, the girl who defends her mother Katheline with such great and courageous affection, found in the pocket stitched in her mother's jacket, a jacket for feast days, a note signed 'Joos Damman.' Among the belongings taken from the corpse of Hilbert Ryvish I found in the dead man's satchel another letter addressed to him by the said Joos Damman, the defendant here present before you. I have kept both these letters in my custody, in order that at the appropriate moment, which is the present, you might judge of this man's obstinacy and acquit or condemn him in accordance with law and justice. Here is the parchment found in the satchel; I have never touched it, and know not whether it is legible or not."

The judges were then in great perplexity.

The bailiff endeavoured to undo the parchment ball; but it was in vain, and Joos Damman laughed.

An alderman said:

"Let us put the ball in water, and then before the fire. If there is in it any secret of adhesion, the fire and the water will melt it."

The water was brought; the executioner lit a great fire of wood in the field; the smoke rose up blue into the clear sky through the verdurous branches of the lime tree of justice.

"Do not put the letter in the basin," said an alderman "for if it is written with sal ammoniac dissolved in water, you will efface the characters."

"Nay," said the surgeon, who was there, "the characters will not be effaced; the water will soften only the point that keeps the magic ball from opening up."

The parchment was dipped in the water and being softened, was unfolded.

"Now," said the surgeon, "put it before the fire."

"Aye, aye," said Nele, "put the paper before the fire; master surgeon is on the road to the truth, for the murderer grows pale and trembles in his limbs."

Thereupon, Messire Joos Damman said:

"I neither grew pale nor trembled, thou little common harpy that art fain of the death of a man of rank; thou shalt never succeed; this parchment must needs be rotten, after sixteen years' sojourning in the earth."

"The parchment is not decayed," said the sheriff, "for the satchel was lined with silk; silk is not consumed in the earth, and the worms have not gone through the parchment."

The parchment was put in front of the fire.

"Monseigneur Bailiff, Monseigneur Bailiff," said Nele, "there is the ink appearing before the fire; give orders that the writing be read."

As the surgeon was about to read it, Messire Joos Damman would have stretched out his arms to seize the parchment; but Nele flung herself upon his arm quick as the wind and said:

"Thou shalt not touch it, for thereon is written thy death or the death of Katheline. If now thy heart bleeds, murderer, there are fifteen years through which ours have been bleeding; fifteen years that Katheline suffers; fifteen years she had her brain in her head burned by thee; fifteen years that Soetkin is dead by consequence of the torture; fifteen years that we are needy, ragged, and live in abject want, but proudly. Read the paper, read the paper! The judges are God upon earth, for they are Justice; read the paper!"

"Read the paper!" cried the men and women, weeping. "Nele is a brave lass! read the paper! Katheline is no witch!"

And the clerk read:

"To Hilbert, son of Willem Ryvish, Esquire, Joos Damman, greeting.

"Blessed friend, lose thy money no more in gambling dens, at
dice, and other follies. I will tell thee how it can be won for
very certain. Let us make us devils, handsome devils, beloved of
women and of girls. Let us take the fair and rich, let us leave
the ugly and poor; let them pay for their pleasure. I made,
at this trade, in six months five thousand rixdaeldars in the
country of Germany. Women will give their petticoat and chemise
to their man when they love him; flee from the miserly ones with
pinched up nose that take time to pay for their pleasures. For
thy own affair, and to appear goodly and a true devil, an incubus,
if they accept thee for the night, announce thy coming by crying
like a night bird. And to make thee a veritable devil's face,
of a terrifying devil, rub thy visage with phosphorus, which is
luminous in spots when it is damp. Its odour is disagreeable,
but they will believe that it is the odour of hell. Slay what is
in thy way, man, woman, or beast.

"We shall soon go together to the house of Katheline, a fine
good-natured wench; her daughter Nele, a child of my own, if
Katheline was faithful to me, is comely and pretty; thou wilt
take her easily; I give her to thee, for I care but little for
these bastards that cannot for certain be recognized as one's
own offspring. Her mother gave me already more than twenty-three
carolus, all she possessed. But she hath a treasure hidden,
which is, unless I be a fool, the inheritance of Claes, the
heretic burned at Damme: seven hundred florins carolus liable to
confiscation, but the good King Philip, who had so many of his
subjects burned to inherit after them, could never lay his claw
on this sweet treasure. It will weigh more in my pouch than in
his. Katheline will tell me where it is; we shall divide. Only
thou must leave me the greater part for the discovery.

"As for the women, being our gentle handmaids and slaves in love,
we shall take them to the land of Germany. There we shall teach
them to become female demons and succubae, drawing the love of
all the rich burgesses and men of birth; there we shall live, they
and we, upon love paid for with good rixdaeldars, velvets, silk,
gold, pearls, and jewels; we shall thus be rich without fatigue,
and, unknown to the succubae devils, beloved by the most lovely,
always exacting payment besides. All women are fools and ninnies
for the man that can light the fire of love that God set beneath
their girdles. Katheline and Nele will be more so than others,
and believing us to be devils, will obey us in all things: thou,
do thou keep thy forename, but never give the name of thy father,
Ryvish. If the judge seizes the women, we shall depart without
their knowing us or being able to denounce us. To the rescue,
my trusty comrade. Fortune smiles on the young, as was wont to
say his late Sainted Majesty Charles the Fifth, past master in
affairs of love and of war."

And the clerk, making an end of reading, said:

"Such is this letter, and it is signed, 'Joos Damman, esquire'."

And the people shouted:

"To the death with the murderer! To the death with the sorcerer! To the fire the turner of women's wits! To the gallows with the robber!"

The bailiff said then:

"People, keep silence, that in all freedom we may judge this man."

And speaking to the aldermen:

"I will," said he, "read to you the second letter, found by Nele in the pocket of Katheline's festal jacket; it is conceived as follows:

"Darling Witch, here is the recipe of a compound sent me by the
very wife of Lucifer: by the help of this compound thou wilt be
able to transport thyself to the sun, the moon, and the stars,
converse with the elemental spirits that carry the prayers of
men unto God, and to traverse all the towns and burgs and rivers
and fields of the whole universe. Thou art to bruise together
in equal quantities: stramonium, sleep-solanum, henbane, opium,
the fresh tips of hemp, belladonna, and datura.

"If thou wilt, we shall go this night to the sabbath of the
spirits: but thou must love me better and not be miserly again
like the other night, when thou didst refuse me ten florins,
saying thou didst not have them. I know that thou dost hide a
treasure and wilt not tell me of it. Dost thou love me no longer,
my sweetheart?"

"Thy cold devil,

"Hanske."

"To the death with the sorcerer!" cried the people.

The bailiff said:

"We must compare the two writings."

This being done, they were adjudged to be similar. The bailiff then said to the lords and gentlemen there present:

"Do ye recognize this man for Messire Joos Damman, son of the alderman of La Keure of Ghent?"

"Aye," said they.

"Did ye know," said he, "Messire Hilbert, son of Willem Ryvish, Esquire?"

One of the gentlemen, who was called Van der Zickelen, spoke and said:

"I am from Ghent; my house is in St. Michael's Place; I know Willem Ryvish, Esquire, sheriff of La Keure of Ghent. He lost, fifteen years past, a son of twenty-three years of age, debauched, a gamester, an idler; but everyone forgave it him because of his youth. Since that time no man has had news of him. I ask to see the sword, the poignard, and the satchel of the dead man."

Having them before him, he said:

"The sword and the poignard carry on the pommel of the hilt the arms of the Ryvishes, which are three silver fish on an azure field. I see the same arms reproduced on a gold shield between the meshes of his pouch. What is that other poignard?"

The bailiff speaking:

"It is that poignard," said he, "which was found planted in the body of Hilbert Ryvish, the son of Willem."

"I recognize on it," said the lord, "the arms of the Dammans; the tower gules on a silver field. So keep me God and all his saints."

The other gentlemen also said:

"We recognize the aforesaid arms for those of Ryvish and of Damman. So keep us God and all his saints."

Then the bailiff said:

"From the evidence heard and read by the tribunal of aldermen, Messire Joos Damman is the sorcerer, a murderer, a seducer of women, a robber of the king's goods, and as such guilty of the crime of treason human and divine."

"You say so, Messire Bailiff," rejoined Joos, "but you will not condemn me, lacking sufficient proofs: I am not nor ever was a sorcerer; I did but play at the game of being a devil. As for my shining face, you have the recipe for it and that for the unguent, the which, while containing henbane, is merely soporific. When this woman, a real witch, used it, she fell in a trance, and thought she went to the sabbath and there danced in the ring with her face to the outside of the circle, and adored a devil with the shape of a goat, set upon an altar.

"The dance being over, she thought she went and kissed him under the tail, as sorcerers do, to give herself up thereafter with me, her friend, to strange copulations pleasing to her perverted mind. If I had, as she says, cold arms and cool body, it was a mark of youth, not of sorcery. In the works of love coolness doth not endure. But Katheline would fain believe what she desired, and take me for a devil notwithstanding that I am a man of flesh and bone, in everything as yourselves that look at me. She alone is guilty: taking me for a demon and receiving me in her bed, she sinned both in intention and deed against God and the Holy Spirit. It is therefore she, and not I, that committed the crime of sorcery; it is she that is to be made to pass through the fire, as a furious and malignant witch that seeks to make herself pass for a madwoman, in order to hide her cunning."

But Nele:

"Do ye hear him," said she, "the murderer? He hath, like a girl for sale, with the armlet on her arm, made a trade and merchandise of love. Do ye hear him? He means, to save himself, to have her burned that gave him all."

"Nele is bad," said Katheline, "do not listen to her, Hans, my beloved."

"Nay," said Nele, "nay, thou art no man: thou art a cowardly cruel devil." And taking Katheline in her arms: "Messieurs Judges," exclaimed she, "listen not to this pale evil one: he hath but one wish, to see my mother burn, she that did no other crime but to be smitten by God with madness, and to believe the phantoms of her dreams real. She hath already suffered much in her body and in her mind. Do not put her to death, Messieurs the Judges. Leave the innocent to live out her sad life in peace."

And Katheline said: "Nele is bad; thou must not believe her, Hans my lord."

And among the common folk the women were weeping and the men said: "Pardon for Katheline."

The bailiff and the aldermen gave their sentence on Joos Damman, upon a confession which he made after being tortured afresh: he was condemned to be degraded from his noble estate and burned alive in a slow fire until death ensued, and suffered the penalty the next day before the doors of the Townhall, still saying: "Put the witch to death; she alone is guilty! Cursed be God! my father will slay the judges."

And he rendered up the ghost.

And the people said: "See him cursing and a blasphemer: he dies like a dog."

Next day the bailiff and the aldermen gave their sentence upon Katheline, who was condemned to undergo the trial by water in the Bruges Canal. Floating, she should be burned as a witch; going to the bottom and dying, she should be regarded as dying like a Christian, and as such should be interred in the garden of the church, which is the graveyard.

The day after, Katheline, holding a wax taper in her hand, barefooted and clad in a chemise of black linen, was brought to the bank of the canal, all along by the trees, in grand procession. Before her marched, singing the prayers for the dead, the dean of Notre Dame, his vicars, the beadle carrying the cross; and behind, the bailiffs of Damme, the aldermen, the clerks and recorders, the constables of the commune, the provost, the executioner and his two assistants. Upon the banks there was a great crowd of women weeping and men growling, in pity for Katheline, who walked as a lamb suffering herself to be led she knew not whither, and always saying: "Take away the fire, my head burns! Hans, where art thou?"

In the midst of the women Nele cried: "I want to be thrown in with her." But the women did not suffer her to come near to Katheline.

A sharp wind blew from the sea; from the gray sky a fine hail was falling into the water of the canal; a bark was there, which the executioner and his men seized in the name of His Majesty the king. At their command, Katheline went into it; the executioner was seen, standing in it, and at the signal of the provost lifting his wand of justice, he cast Katheline into the canal: she struggled, but not for long, and went to the bottom, having cried out: "Hans! Hans! help!"

And the people said: "This woman is no witch."

Men plunged into the canal and pulled Katheline out from it, unconscious and rigid as a corpse. Then she was brought into a tavern and placed before a great fire; Nele took off her clothes and her wet linen, to give her others; when she came back to herself, she said, trembling and chattering her teeth:

"Hans, give me a woollen cloak."

And Katheline could not get back her warmth. And she died on the third day. And she was interred in the garden of the church.

And Nele, orphaned, departed to the land of Holland, to Rosa van Auweghen.

VII

Upon the hulls of Zealand, on boyers, on croustèves, away goes Thyl Claes Ulenspiegel.

The free sea wafts the valiant flyboats on which are eight, ten or twenty guns all of iron: they belch forth death and massacre on the traitor Spaniards.

He is an expert gunner, Thyl Ulenspiegel, son of Claes, lo how he aims straight and true, and pierces like a wall of butter the carcases of the butchers.

In his hat he wears the silver crescent, with this legend: "Liever den Turc als den Paus": "Rather to serve the Turk than the Pope."

The sailors that see him climb up upon their ships, agile as a cat, supple as a squirrel, singing some song or other, with some gay jest in his mouth, would ask him curiously:

"Whence is it, little man, that thou hast so young a mien, for they say thou wert born long ago at Damme?"

"I am no body, but a spirit," said he, "and Nele, my sweetheart, is like me. Spirit of Flanders, love of Flanders, we shall never die."

"And yet," said they, "when thou art cut, thou dost bleed."

"Ye see but the appearance of it," answered Ulenspiegel, "it is wine and not blood."

"We will broach thy belly, then!"

"I would be the only one to drain it," replied Ulenspiegel.

"Thou art mocking us."

"He that beats the case will hear the drum," answered Ulenspiegel.

And the embroidered banners of the Roman Catholic processions floated from the masts of the ships. And clad in velvet, in brocade, in silk, in cloth of gold and of silver, such as abbots wear at solemn masses, bearing mitre and crozier, drinking the monks' wine, the Beggars kept guard on their ships.

And it was a strange sight to behold appearing from out of these rich vestments those coarse hands that held arquebus or arbalest, halberd or pike, and all men of hard physiognomy, girt about with pistols and cutlasses gleaming in the sun, and drinking from golden chalices the abbots' wine that had become the wine of liberty.

And they sang and they shouted: "Long live the Beggar!" and thus they scoured the ocean and the Scheldt.

VIII

At this time the Beggars, among whom were Lamme and Ulenspiegel, took Gorcum. And they were commanded by Captain Marin: this Marin, who had been a workman on the dykes, disported himself with great haughtiness and sufficiency, and signed with Gaspard Turc, the defender of Gorcum, a capitulation whereby Turc, the monks, burgesses, and soldiers shut up in the citadel were to come forth freely, bullet in mouth, musket on shoulder, with all that they could carry, save that the goods of the Church should be left to the assailants.

But Captain Marin, upon an order from Messire de Lumey, held the nineteen monks as prisoners, and let the soldiers and the citizens go free.

And Ulenspiegel said:

"The word of a soldier should be a word of gold. Why doth he fail of his?"

An ancient Beggar made answer to Ulenspiegel:

"The monks are sons of Satan, the leprosy of nations, the shame of countries. Since the coming of the Duke of Alba, these fellows lifted up their noses high in Gorcum. There is among them one, the priest Nicolas, prouder than a peacock and fiercer than a tiger. Every time he passed in the street with his pyx in which was his host made with dog's fat, he would look with eyes full of fury at the houses from which the women did not come and kneel, and would denounce to the judge all that did not bend the knee before his idol of dough and gilded brass. The other monks imitated him. That was the cause of many great oppressions, burnings, and cruel punishments in the town of Gorcum. Captain Marin does well to keep prisoner the monks who would else go off with their likes into villages, burgs, towns, and townlets, to preach against us, stirring up the populace and causing the poor reformers to be burned. Mastiffs are put on the chain until they die: to the chain with the monks; to the chain with the bloed-honden, the duke's blood-hounds; to the cage with the butchers. Long live the Beggar!"

"But," said Ulenspiegel, "Monseigneur d'Orange, our prince of liberty, wills that we should respect, among those who surrender, the property of individuals and freedom of conscience."

The ancient Beggars replied:

"The admiral wills it not for the monks: he is master; he took Briele. To the cage with the monks!"

"Word of a soldier, word of gold! why does he fail of it?" answered Ulenspiegel. "The monks kept in prison suffer a thousand insults."

"The ashes beat no longer upon thy heart," said they: "a hundred thousand families, in consequence of the edicts, have taken over yonder, to the north-west, to the land of England, the trades, the industry, the wealth of our country; bemoan then those that wrought our ruin! Under the Emperor Charles the Fifth, Butcher the First, under this one, the king of Blood, Butcher the Second, one hundred and eighteen thousand persons have perished by execution. Who carried the taper of the obsequies in murder and in tears? Monks and soldiers of Spain. Dost thou not hear the souls of the dead lamenting?"

"The ashes beat upon my heart," said Ulenspiegel. "Word of a soldier, 'tis word of gold."

"Who then," said they, "would by excommunication have put the country under the ban of all nations? Who would have armed against us, had it been possible, earth and sky, God and the devil, and their serried ranks of saints, both male and female? Who made the sacred host bleed with the blood of an ox, who made wooden statues weep? Who had the De Profundis sung in the land of our fathers, if not this accursed clergy, these hordes of lazy monks, in order that they might keep their riches, their influence over idol worshippers, and reign over the poor country by ruin, blood, and fire. To the cage with the wolves that rush upon men on earth; to the cage with the hyænas! Long live the Beggar!"

"Word of a soldier, word of gold," said Ulenspiegel.

The next day a message came from Messire de Lumey, with orders to transfer from Gorcum to Briele, where the admiral was, the nineteen monks that were prisoners.

"They will be hanged," said Captain Marin to Ulenspiegel.

"Not while I am alive," replied he.

"My son," said Lamme, "speak not thus to Messire de Lumey. He is fierce, and will hang thee with them without mercy."

"I shall speak according to the truth," replied Ulenspiegel; "word of a soldier, word of gold."

"If thou canst save them," said Marin, "take their boat to Briele. Take with thee Rochus the pilot and thy friend Lamme if thou wilt."

"I do wish it," answered Ulenspiegel.

The boat was moored at the Green quay; the nineteen monks entered into it; Rochus the timid was set at the helm; Ulenspiegel and Lamme, well armed, took their place at the prow of the ship. Certain rascal troopers that had come among the Beggars for pillage were beside the monks, who were hungry. Ulenspiegel gave them drink and food. "That one is going to turn traitor!" said the rascal troopers. The nineteen monks, seated amidships, were all gaping and shivering, though it was July, and the sun was bright and hot, and a gentle breeze filled out the sails of the ship as she glided massive and bulging over the green waves.

Father Nicolas then spake and said to the pilot:

"Rochus, are we being brought to the Gallows Field?"

Then turning towards Gorcum: "O town of Gorcum!" said he, standing and stretching out his hand, "town of Gorcum! how many woes hast thou to suffer: thou shalt be accursed among cities, for thou hast grown within thy walls the grain of heresy! O town of Gorcum! And the angel of the Lord shall watch no longer at thy gates. He will have no more care of thy virgins' modesty, the courage of thy men, the fortune of thy merchants! O town of Gorcum! thou art accursed, unfortunate!"

"Accursed, accursed," answered Ulenspiegel, "accursed as the comb that hath passed through and taken away the Spanish lice, accursed as the dog breaking his chain, as the proud horse shaking a cruel rider from off his back! Accursed thyself, booby preacher, who findest ill that the rod should be broken, were it an iron rod upon the tyrants' back!"

The monk held his tongue, and lowering his eyes, appeared steeped in holy hate.

The rascal soldiers that had come among the Beggars for the sake of pillage were close by the monks, who soon were hungry. Ulenspiegel asked biscuit and herrings for them; the ship master answered:

"Let them be thrown into the Meuse, they can have fresh herring to eat then."

Ulenspiegel then gave the monks all the bread and sausage he had for himself and for Lamme. The ship-master and the rascal Beggars said one to another:

"This one is a traitor, he is feeding the monks; we must denounce him."

At Dordrecht the ship stopped in the Harbour at the Bloemen-Key, the Flower quay; men, women, lads, and lasses ran up in crowds to see the monks, and said to one another pointing at them with a finger or threatening them with their fist:

"Look at those clowns, manufacturers of Bons Dieux that bring men's bodies to the stake and their souls to the fire everlasting; look at the fat tigers and big-bellied jackals."

The monks hung their heads and dared not speak. Ulenspiegel saw them trembling once more.

"We are hungry again," said they, "compassionate soldier."

But the ship master:

"What is always drinking? Dry sand. Who eats without ceasing? The monk."

Ulenspiegel went up the town to find bread for them, ham, and a great jug of beer.

"Eat and drink," said he; "ye are our prisoners, but I shall save you if I can. Word of a soldier, word of gold."

"Why dost thou give them that? They will never pay you," said the rascal Beggars; and talking among themselves they whispered these words in each other's ears: "He has promised to save them; let us keep good watch upon him."

At dawn they came to Briele. The gates having been opened to them, a voet-looper, a courier, went to inform Messire de Lumey of their coming.

As soon as he had the news, he came on horseback, having just put on his clothes, and accompanied by some horsemen and foot-soldiers, with their weapons.

And Ulenspiegel could see once more the fierce admiral clad like a proud lord living in opulence.

"Hail and greeting," said he, "Messires the monks. Lift up your hands. Where is the blood of Messieurs d'Egmont and de Hoorn? Ye show me clean white paws; 'tis well for you."

A monk called Leonard answered:

"Do with us as thou wilt. We are monks; no one will claim us."

"He hath well said," said Ulenspiegel; "for the monk having broken with the world, which is father and mother, brother and sister, spouse and lover, finds at the hour of God no soul that claims him. And yet, Your Excellency, I will do so. Captain Marin, when he signed the capitulation of Gorcum, agreed that these monks should be free as all those that were taken in the citadel, and who came out from it. And yet they were held prisoner without cause; I hear it said they shall be hanged. Monseigneur, I address myself humbly to you, speaking to you on their behalf, for I know that the word of a soldier is word of gold."

"Who art thou?" asked Messire de Lumey.

"Monseigneur," answered Ulenspiegel, "Fleming am I from the goodly land of Flanders, clown, nobleman, all at once, and through the world in this wise I go wandering, praising things good and lovely, and mocking folly without stint. And I will praise you if you keep to the promise made by the captain: word of a soldier, word of gold."

But the rascally Beggars that were upon the ship:

"Monseigneur," said they, "that fellow is a traitor: he hath promised to save them; he hath given them bread, ham, sausages, and beer, and to us nothing."

Messire de Lumey said then to Ulenspiegel:

"Fleming gadabout and monk feeder, thou shalt be hanged with them."

"I have no fear," answered Ulenspiegel, "word of a soldier, word of gold."

"Thou carriest thy comb high," said de Lumey.

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

The monks were brought into a barn, and Ulenspiegel with them: there they would fain have converted him by theological disputations; but he fell asleep listening to them.

Messire de Lumey being at table, full of wine and meat, a messenger arrived from Gorcum, from Captain Marin, with a copy of letters from the Silent, Prince of Orange, "commanding all governors of cities and other places to hold the ecclesiastics in like safeguard, safety, and privilege as the rest of the people."

The messenger asked to be brought before de Lumey to give the copy of the letters into his own hands.

"Where is the original?" de Lumey asked him.

"With my master," said the messenger.

"And the clown sends me the copy!" said de Lumey. "Where is thy passport?"

"Here it is, Monseigneur," said the messenger.

Messire de Lumey read it in a loud voice:

"Monseigneur and master Marin Brandt enjoins upon the ministers, governors, and officers of the republic that they suffer to pass safely," etc.

De Lumey, striking his fist on the table and tearing up the passport:

"God's blood!" said he, "what is he meddling with, this Marin, this trash, who had not, before the taking of Briele, the backbone of a red herring to put between his teeth? He dubs himself monseigneur and master, and sends me his order. He enjoins and ordains! Tell thy master that since he is so much captain and monseigneur, and so much bidding and forbidding, the monks shall be hanged high and short at once, and thou with them if thou dost not take thyself off."

And fetching him a kick, he sent him out of the chamber.

"Give me to drink," he cried. "Have you seen the insolence of this Marin? I could spit out my breakfast with rage. Let them hang the monks immediately in their barn, and bring me their Flemish conductor, after he has seen their execution. We shall see if he will dare to tell me I have done wrong. God's blood! what are these jugs and glasses wanted here for still?"

And he broke with a great crashing the cups and dishes, and no man dared speak to him. The servants would have picked up the pieces; he did not allow them, and drinking out of the flasks immoderately, he became more and more angry, striding about and crushing the bits and trampling on them furiously.

Ulenspiegel was brought before him.

"Well!" said he, "dost thou bring tidings of thy friends the monks?"

"They are hanged," said Ulenspiegel; "and a cowardly executioner, killing them for hire, opened the belly and sides of one of them after death, like a disembowelled pig, to sell the fat to an apothecary. Word of a soldier is no longer word of gold."

De Lumey, trampling among the broken crockery:

"Thou bravest me," said he, "four-foot rascal, but thou, too, shalt be hanged, not in a barn, but ignominiously on the open square, in the eyes of everybody."

"Shame upon you," said Ulenspiegel, "shame upon us: word of a soldier no longer word of gold."

"Wilt thou hold thy tongue, mule!" said Messire de Lumey.

"Shame upon thee," said Ulenspiegel; "word of a soldier is no more word of gold. Punish rather the rascally vendors of human fat."

Then Messire de Lumey, rushing on him, raised his hand to strike him.

"Strike," said Ulenspiegel; "I am thy prisoner, but I have no fear of thee; word of a soldier is no more word of gold."

Messire de Lumey then drew his sword and would certainly have slain Ulenspiegel if Messire de Tres-Long, holding back his arm, had not said:

"Have pity! he is brave and valiant; he hath committed no crime!"

De Lumey, then controlling himself:

"Let him ask pardon," said he.

But Ulenspiegel, remaining upright:

"I will not," said he.

"Let him say at least that I was not wrong," cried de Lumey, becoming furious.

Ulenspiegel made answer:

"I do not lick the boots of lords: word of a soldier is no more word of gold."

"Let them erect the gallows," said de Lumey, "and let them bring him to it; that will be a hempen word for him."

"Aye," said Ulenspiegel, "and I shall cry out in the presence of all the people: 'Word of a soldier is no more word of gold!'"

The gallows was set up on the great marketplace. The news ran swiftly about the town that they were about to hang Ulenspiegel, the valiant Beggar. And the people were moved with pity and compassion. And they ran together in a crowd to the great market; Messire de Lumey came thither also on horseback, wishing himself to give the signal for the execution.

He looked with no mildness upon Ulenspiegel on the ladder, arrayed for death, in his shirt, his arms tied to his body, his hands folded, the rope about his neck, and the executioner ready to do his work.

Tres-Long said to him:

"Monseigneur, pardon him; he is no traitor, and no one ever saw a man hanged because he was sincere and merciful."

And the men and women of the people, hearing Tres-Long speak, cried: "Pity, Monseigneur, grace and pity for Ulenspiegel."

"That mule-headed fellow braved me," said de Lumey: "let him repent and say I did right."

"Wilt thou repent and say that he did right?" said Tres-Long to Ulenspiegel.

"Word of a soldier is no more word of gold," replied Ulenspiegel.

"Put on the rope," said de Lumey.

The executioner was about to obey; a young girl, all clad in white and garlanded with flowers, ran up the stairs of the scaffold, leaped on Ulenspiegel's neck, and said:

"This man is mine; I take him for my husband."

And the people applauded and the women cried out:

"Long live, long live the girl who is Ulenspiegel's saviour!"

"What is this?" asked Messire de Lumey.

Tres-Long answered:

"After the use and custom of the town, it is by right and law that a young maiden and unmarried woman can save a man from the rope by taking him for husband at the foot of the gallows."

"God is with him," said de Lumey; "untie him."

Then riding up to the scaffold, he saw the girl prevented from cutting Ulenspiegel's ropes and the executioner seeking to oppose her efforts and saying:

"If you cut them, who will pay for them?"

But the girl paid no heed to him.

Seeing her so light, so loving, and so subtle, he was touched.

"Who art thou?" said he.

"I am Nele, his betrothed," said she, "and I come from Flanders to seek him."

"Thou didst well," said de Lumey in a naughty voice.

And he went away.

Tres-Long then coming up:

"Little Fleming," said he, "once thou art married wilt thou be a soldier still in our ships?"

"Aye, Messire," answered Ulenspiegel.

"And thou, girl, what wilt thou do without thy man?" Nele answered:

"If you are willing, Messire, I will be fifer in his ship."

"I am willing," said Tres-Long.

And he gave her two florins for the wedding feast.

And Lamme, weeping and laughing with pleasure, said:

"Here are three florins more: we shall eat it all; I am paying. Let us go to the Golden Comb. He is not dead, my friend. Long live the Beggar!"

And the people applauded, and they went off to the Golden Comb, where a great feast was ordered: and Lamme threw deniers to the people out of the windows.

And Ulenspiegel said to Nele:

"Darling beloved, there thou art then beside me! Hurrah! She is here, flesh, heart, and soul, my sweet friend. Oh! the sweet eyes and lovely red lips whence there came never aught but kind words! She saved my life, the dear beloved! Thou shalt play the fife of deliverance on our ships. Dost thou remember ... but no.... Ours is the present hour full of gladness, and mine thy face sweet as June flowers. I am in paradise. But," said he, "thou art weeping...."

"They have killed her," said she.

And she told him the tale of mourning.

And, looking on one another, they wept with love and grief.

And at the feast they drank and ate, and Lamme looked on them woefully, saying:

"Alas! my wife, where art thou?"

And the priest came and married Nele and Ulenspiegel.

And the morning sun found them one beside the other in their bridal bed.

And Nele lay with her head on Ulenspiegel's shoulder. And when she awoke in the sunshine, he said:

"Fresh face and sweet heart, we shall be the avengers of Flanders."

She, kissing him on the mouth:

"Wild head and stout arms," said she, "God will bless the fife and the sword."

"I will make thee a soldier's garb."

"At once?" said she.

"At once," replied Ulenspiegel; "but who said that strawberries are good in the morning? Thy mouth is far better."

IX

Ulenspiegel, Lamme, and Nele had, like their friends and comrades, taken from the convents the wealth gotten from the people by the help of processions, feigned miracles, and other Roman mummeries. This was against the orders of the Silent, the prince of liberty, but the money helped with the charges of the war. Lamme Goedzak, not content with providing himself with money, looted from out the convents hams, sausages, flasks of beer and wine, and came back from them joyously carrying across his breast a baldric of fowls, geese, turkeys, capons, hens and pullets, and leading behind him on a rope certain monastical calves and pigs. And this by right of war, said he.

Rejoicing in each prize, he fetched it to the ship that there might be revel and feast, but lamented all the same that the master cook was so ignorant in the science of sauces and fricassees.

Now on that day the Beggars, having looked victoriously upon the cup, said to Ulenspiegel:

"Thou hast thy nose always in the wind to smell out news of terra firma; thou knowest all the adventures of the war: sing them to us. And Lamme shall beat the drum the while and the pretty little fifer shall squeal to the measure of thy song."

And Ulenspiegel said:

"One bright cool day in May, Ludwig of Nassau, thinking to enter into Mons, finds not his footmen nor his horse. A few trusty men held a gate open and a drawbridge down, that he might have the town. But the citizens seized the gate and the drawbridge. Where are the soldiers of Count Louis? The citizens are about to hoist up the bridge. Count Louis winds his horn."

And Ulenspiegel sang:

"Where are thy footmen and thy horse?
They are in the woods, treading all down:
Dry twigs, and lily of the valley in bloom.
Master Sun makes all shine,
Their ruddy warrior faces,
The polished rumps of their horses;
Count Ludwig winds his horn:
They hear it. Softly beat the drum.

"Full trot, bridle loose!
Speed of the lightning, speed of the cloud:
Water spout of clinking iron;
They fly, the heavy horsemen!
Haste! haste! to the rescue!
The bridge rises.... Send the spur
Into the chargers' bloody flanks.
The bridge rises: The town is lost!

"They are before it. Is it too late?
Ride like the wind! Bridle loose!
Guitoy de Chaumont on his Spanish steed
Leaps on the bridge that falls again.
The town is won! Do ye hear
Along the paven streets of Mons
Speed of the lightning, speed of the cloud,
Waterspout of clinking iron!

"Hurrah for Chaumont and his Spanish steed!
Sound the clarion of joy, beat upon the drum:
'Tis the hay month, fragrant are the meadows;
The lark mounts up, singing in the sky:
Long live the bird of freedom!
Beat upon the drum of glory.
Hurrah for Chaumont and the Spanish steed.
Hey there. Drink up there.
The town is won!... Long live the Beggar!"

And the Beggars sang on the ships: "Christ look down upon thy soldiers. Furbish our weapons, Lord. Long live the Beggar!"

And Nele, smiling, made the fife squeal amain, and Lamme beat the drum, and aloft, towards the sky, God's temple, there were raised golden cups and hymns of liberty. And the waves, like sirens, bright and cool about the ships, murmured in harmony.

X

One day in the month of August, a hot and heavy day, Lamme was plunged in melancholy. His jolly drum was dumb and sleeping, and he had thrust the drumsticks into the mouth of his satchel. Ulenspiegel and Nele, smiling with amorous delight, were warming themselves in the sun: the look-out men stationed in the tops were whistling or singing, searching over the wide ocean if they could not see some prey on the horizon. Très-Long kept questioning them; they still replied: "Niets," nothing.

And Lamme, pale and broken down, sighed piteously. And Nele said to him:

"Whence cometh it, Lamme, that thou art so woebegone?"

And Ulenspiegel said to him:

"Thou art growing thin, my son."

"Aye," said Lamme, "I am woebegone and thin. My heart loses its gaiety and my jolly face its freshness. Aye, laugh at me, ye that have found one another again through a thousand perils. Mock you at poor Lamme, who lives a widower, being married, while she," said he, pointing to Nele, "must needs tear her man away from the kisses of the rope, his last lover. She did well, God be praised; but let her not laugh at me. Aye, thou must not laugh at poor Lamme, Nele, my dear. My wife laughs enough for ten. Alas, ye females, ye are cruel towards others' woes. Aye, I have a grieved heart, stricken with the sword of desertion, and nothing will ever comfort it, if not she."

"Or some fricassee," said Ulenspiegel.

"Aye," said Lamme, "where is the meat in this miserable ship? On the king's vessels, they have meat four times a week, if there be no fast, and fish three times. As for the fish, God destroy me if this tow--I mean their flesh--does anything but kindle my blood for nothing, my poor blood that will go to water before long. They have beer, cheese, soup, and good drink. Aye! they have everything for the comfort of their stomachs: biscuit, rye bread, beer, butter, smoked meat, yea, all, dried fish, cheese, mustard seed, salt, beans, peas, barley, vinegar, oil, tallow, wood, and coal. We, we have just been forbidden to take the cattle of any so-ever, be he citizen, abbot, or gentleman. We eat herrings and drink small beer. Alas! I have nothing left now: neither love of women, nor good wine, nor dobbele-bruinbier, nor good food. Where are our joys here?"

"I will tell thee, Lamme," answered Ulenspiegel. "Eye for eye, tooth for tooth: at Paris, on Saint Bartholomew's night, they killed ten thousand free hearts in Paris city alone; the king himself shot at his folk. Awake, Fleming; seize the axe without mercy: there are our joys; smite the Spaniard and Roman enemy wherever thou shalt find him. Let be thy eatables. They have taken the dead or living victims to their rivers, and by full cartloads, and have flung them in the water. Dead or alive, dost thou hear, Lamme? The Seine ran red for nine days, and the ravens settled down in clouds upon the town. At La Charité, at Rouen, Toulouse, Lyons, Bordeaux, Bourges, Meaux, terrible was the massacre. Seest thou the troops of dogs satiate with eating, lying beside the bodies? Their teeth are tired. The flight of the ravens is heavy, so laden are their stomachs with the flesh of the victims. Hearest thou, Lamme, the voice of their spirits crying vengeance and pity? Awake, Fleming! Thou dost speak of thy wife. I do not believe her unfaithful, but bereft of her wits, and she loveth thee still, poor friend of mine: she was not among those court ladies who on the very night of the massacre stripped the bodies with their fine hands to see how great or how small were their carnal members. And they laughed, these ladies great in lewdness. Rejoice, my son, notwithstanding thy fish and thy small beer. If the after taste of the herring is insipid, more insipid still is the smell of this foulness. Those that slew took their meals, and with ill-washen hands carved fat geese to offer the wings, legs, and rump to the charming Paris damozels. They had but lately felt other meat, cold meat."

"I will complain no more, my son," said Lamme, rising up: "the herring is ortolan; malvoisie is small beer to free hearts."

And Ulenspiegel said:

"Long Live the Beggar! Let us not weep, brothers.
In ruins and blood

"Flowers the rose of liberty.
If God is with us, who shall be against?

"When the hyæna triumphs,
Comes the lion's turn,
With one stroke of his paw he flings him, disbowelled, on the
ground.
Eye for eye, tooth for tooth. Long live the Beggar!"

And the Beggars on the ship sang:

"The Duke keeps the same fate for us.
Eye for eye, tooth for tooth,
Wound for wound. Long live the Beggar!"

XI

On a black night the tempest growled in the depths of the clouds. Ulenspiegel was on the deck of the ship with Nele, and said:

"All our lights are out. We are foxes, watching by night for the passing of the Spanish poultry, which is to say their two and twenty assabres, rich ships with lanterns burning, that will be to them stars of ill fortune. And we shall rush upon them."

Nele said:

"This night is a witches' night. This sky is black as the mouth of hell; these lightnings gleam like the smile of Satan; the distant thunderstorm is growling dully; the sea-mews pass, uttering loud cries; the sea rolls its phosphorescent waves like silver serpents. Thyl, my beloved, come into the world of the spirits. Take the powder of vision."

"Shall I see the Seven, my darling?"

And they took the powder of vision.

And Nele shut Ulenspiegel's eyes, and Ulenspiegel shut Nele's eyes. And they beheld a cruel spectacle.

Heaven, earth, sea were full of men, of women, of children, toiling, wandering, journeying, or dreaming. The sea cradled them; the earth carried them. And they swarmed like eels in a basket.

Seven men and women were in the middle of the firmament, seated upon thrones, their brows girt with a brilliant star, but they were so shadowy that Nele and Ulenspiegel could see only their stars with any distinctness.

The sea rose up to the sky, tumbling in its foam the innumerable multitude of ships whose masts and rigging clashed together, interlocked, broke one another, crushed each other, following the tempestuous moving of the waves. Then one ship appeared in the midst of all the others. Its bottom was of flaming iron. Its keel was made of steel shaped and sharpened like a knife. The water cried out, groaning, when it went through. Death was upon the stern of the ship, seated, grinning, holding his scythe in one hand and in the other a whip which he smote upon seven personages. One was a man woebegone, thin, haughty, silent. He held in one hand a sceptre and in the other a sword. Beside him, mounted upon a goat, there was a ruddy girl, with bared breast, her robe open, and a sprightly eye. She was stretched out lasciviously beside an old Jew picking up bits of rubbish and a big bloated fellow that fell down every time she set him on his feet, while a thin and angry woman beat them both. The big man never avenged himself nor did his red-faced she-companion. A monk in their midst was eating sausages. A woman lying on the earth, was crawling like a serpent among the others. She bit the old Jew because of his old rubbish, the bloated man because he was too comfortable, the red woman for the dewy brightness of her eyes, the monk for his sausage, and the thin man because of his sceptre. And soon all of them fell a-fighting.

When they passed, the battle was horrible on the sea, in the sky, and on the earth. It rained blood. The ships were broken with blows of axes, arquebuses, and cannon shot. The shattered fragments flew into the air in the midst of the powder smoke. On the earth armies clashed together like walls of bronze. Towns, villages, harvests burned amid cries and tears: tall spires, stone lace-work, held up their proud silhouettes in the midst of the fire, then fell down with a crash like oak trees laid low. Black horsemen, numerous and close arrayed as bands of ants, sword in hand, pistol in hand, were smiting men, women, children. Some made holes in the ice and buried old men alive in them; others cut off women's breasts and sprinkled pepper on the place; others hanged children in the fireplaces. Those who were tired of killing violated some girl or some woman; drank, played dice, and tossing over piles of gold, the fruit of pillage, dabbled their red fingers in it.

The Seven, crowned with stars, cried: "Pity for the poor world!"

And the phantoms grinned with laughter. And their voices were as the voices of a thousand sea-eagles crying together. And Death brandished his scythe.

"Dost thou hear them?" said Ulenspiegel; "they are the birds of prey of poor mankind. They live on small birds, which are the simple and the good."

The Seven, crowned with stars, cried: "Love, justice, compassion!"

And the Seven phantoms laughed loudly. And their voices were like the voices of a thousand sea-eagles crying all together. And Death struck them with his whip.

And the ship passed over the sea, cutting in two boats, vessels, men, women, children. On the sea reëchoed the plaints of the victims crying: "Pity!"

And the red ship passed over them all, while the phantoms, laughing, cried like sea-eagles.

And Death, laughing loud, drank the water that was full of blood.

And the ship having disappeared in the mist, the battle ceased, and the Seven crowned with stars vanished away.

And Ulenspiegel and Nele saw nothing now save the black sky, the surging sea, the dark clouds coming forward on the phosphorescent sea, and close at hand, red stars.

These were the lanterns of the two and twenty assabres. The sea and the thunder were growling dully and faintly.

And Ulenspiegel rang the bell for the wacharm softly, and cried: "The Spaniard, the Spaniard! He is sailing for Flessingue!" And the cry was repeated throughout the whole fleet.

And Ulenspiegel said to Nele:

"A gray hue is spreading over the sky and over the sea. The lanterns burn now but feebly; the dawn lifts, the wind is freshening, the waves throw their spume over the decks of the ships; a thick rain is falling and speedily ceases; the sun rises radiant, gilding the crest of the waves: it is thy smile, Nele, fresh as the morning, sweet as the sun's ray."

The two and twenty assabres pass: on the ships of the Beggars the drums are beating, the fifes are squealing: de Lumey cries: "In the Prince's name, to the chase!" Ewout Pietersen Wort, sub-admiral, cries: "In the name of Monseigneur d'Orange and the admiral, to the chase!" On all the ships, the Johannah, the Swan, Anne-Mie, the Beggar, the Compromise, the d'Egmont, the de Hoorn, on the Willem de Zwyger (the William the Silent,) all the captains cry: "In the name of Monseigneur d'Orange and the admiral!"