Loe raamatut: «Flemish Legends», lehekülg 8
XXXII. How father, mother, and sister sought everywhere their son and brother, and could not find him
Singing and winding her horn rides the noble maid Magtelt.
And in her heart is joy, at the thought that Anne-Mie, the fifteen virgins, and Toon the Silent are avenged.
And her hand holds fast beneath her keirle the good sword and the head of Halewyn.
And Schimmel trots quickly, eager to be back in his stable.
While she was riding she saw, through the thick snow falling, an old man coming towards her on a black horse.
And the old man said:
“Beautiful maid, riding so fast, hast seen my son Halewyn?”
And Magtelt:
“I left thy son Halewyn well placed, taking his diversion in the snow with sixteen maidens.”
And the old man rode on.
When she had gone farther she saw, through the thick snow falling, a young and rosy-cheeked damosel coming towards her on a white palfrey.
And the damosel said:
“Beautiful maid, riding so fast, hast seen my brother Halewyn?”
But Magtelt:
“Go farther, to the Gallows-field, where thou shalt see thy brother in like guise to the sixteen maidens.”
And the damosel rode on.
Farther still on her way, Magtelt saw, through the thick snow falling, a young man of haughty and stiff-necked countenance coming towards her on a roan charger.
And the young man said:
“Beautiful maid, riding so fast, hast seen my brother Halewyn?”
But Magtelt:
“Thy brother is a fair lord, so fair that round him sixteen maidens stand sentinel, unwilling to let him go.”
And the young man rode on.
After travelling on her way still farther, she saw, through the thick snow falling, an old woman, high-coloured and of robust seeming, despite her great age, coming towards her.
And the old woman said:
“Beautiful maid, riding so fast, hast seen my son Halewyn?”
But Magtelt:
“Thy son Siewert Halewyn is dead; see, here is his head beneath my keirle, and his blood running thick on my dress.”
And the old woman cried out:
“If thou had spoken these words earlier thou shouldst not have ridden so far.”
But Magtelt:
“Thou art fortunate, old woman, in that I have left thee thine own body and not slain thee as I have thy son.”
And the old dame took fright and made off.
And night fell.
XXXIII. Of the feast in the castle of Heurne, and of the head upon the table
Schimmel trotted quickly, and soon Magtelt reached her father’s castle and there sounded the horn.
Josse van Ryhove, who was gate-keeper that night, was filled with amazement at the sight of her. Then he cried out: “Thanks be to God, ’tis our damosel come home again.”
And all the household ran to the gate crying out likewise with great noise and much shouting: “Our damosel is come home.”
Magtelt, going into the great hall, went to Sir Roel and knelt before him:
“My lord father,” she said, “here is the head of Siewert Halewyn.”
Sir Roel, taking the head in his hands and looking at it well, was so overcome with joy that he wept for the first time since the eyes were in his head.
And the Silent, rising up, came to Magtelt, kissed her right hand wherewith she had held the sword, and wept likewise, saying: “Thanks be to thee who hast brought about the reckoning.”
The lady Gonde was like a woman drunk with joy, and could not find her tongue. At last, bursting into sobs, melting into tears, and embracing Magtelt eagerly:
“Ah, ah,” she cried out, “kiss me, kiss me, kiss me, little one! She has slain the Miserable, the sweet maid; the nightingale has vanquished the falcon! My child is come home again, home again my child. Noël! Thanks be to God who loves aged mothers and will not have them robbed of their children. Noël! See, Magtelt the beautiful, Magtelt the singing-bird, Magtelt the joyous, Magtelt the bright of heart, Magtelt the glorious, Magtelt the victorious, Magtelt my daughter, my child, my all, Noël!”
And Magtelt smiled at her, caressing her and stroking her hands gently.
And the lady Gonde, weeping freely, let her do, without speaking.
“Ah,” said Sir Roel, “I never saw my wife before in such festival mood.” Then suddenly he cried out:
“Festival,” quoth he, “this should be a day of festival, the great feast of the house of Heurne!”
And he threw open the door to call his pages, grooms, men-at-arms, and all the household.
But they all held back, not daring to enter.
“Ho!” cried he, in his great joyous voice, “where are cooks and kitchen-maids? Where are cauldrons, pots, and frying-pans? Where are barrels, kegs, flagons and bottles, tankards, mugs, and goblets? Where is clauwaert simple and double? Where is old wine and new wine? Where are hams and sausages, whales’ tongues, and loins of beef, meat of the air, meat of the waters, and meat of the fields? Bring in everything there is and set it on the table, for this must be a feast-day in this house, feast for an emperor, a king, a prince; for” – and so saying he held up the Miserable’s head by the hair – “our beloved maid has slain with her own hand the lord Siewert Halewyn.”
Hearing this they all cried out with a roar like thunder:
“Praise be to God! Noël to our damosel!”
“Go then,” said Sir Roel, “and do as I have bid.”
And when the great feast was served the head was put in the middle of the table.
On the morrow there was let cry war in the seigneury of Heurne. And Sir Roel went with a goodly force of men to attack by arms the castle of the Miserable, whereof all the relatives, friends, and followers were either hanged or slain.
And My Lord the Count gave to the family of Heurne, the goods, titles and territories of Halewyn, excepting only the ugly shield, and theirs they remain to this day.
Smetse Smee
I. Of Smetse, his belly, and his forge
Smetse Smee lived in the good town of Ghent, on the Quai aux Oignons, beside the fair River Lys.
He was well skilled in his trade, rich in bodily fat, and with so jolly a countenance that the most melancholy of men were cheered and took heart for no more than the sight of him in his smithy, trotting about on his short legs, head up and belly forward, seeing to everything.
When work was in full swing in his shop, Smetse, listening to the busy sounds round the fire, would say, with his hands clasped across his stomach, quietly and happily: “By Artevelde! what are drums, cymbals, fifes, viols, and bagpipes worth? For heavenly music give me my sledges beating, my anvils ringing, my bellows roaring, my good workmen singing and hammering.”
Then, speaking to them all: “Courage,” he would say, “my children! Who works well from daybreak drinks the better for it at vespers. Whose is that feeble arm down there, tapping with his hammer so gently? Does he think he is cracking eggs, the faint-heart? To those bars, Dolf, and plunge them in the water. To that breastplate, Pier, beat it out for us fine and true: iron well beaten is proof against bullets. To that plough-share, Flipke, and good work to it, too: from the plough comes the world’s bread. To the door, Toon, here comes the raw-boned nag of Don Sancio d’Avila, the knight with the sour countenance, brought hither by his raw-boned groom, who is for having him shod, no doubt: let him pay double for his Spanish haughtiness and his harshness to poor folk!”
So went Smetse about his smithy, singing mostly, and whistling when he was not singing. And for the rest getting much honest gain, profiting in health, and, at vespers, drinking bruinbier with a will in the inn of Pensaert.
II. How Slimbroek the Red put out the fire in Smetse’s forge
By and by there came to the Quai aux Oignons a certain Adriaen Slimbroek, who set up, with the licence of the guild, another smithy. This Slimbroek was an ugly, wizened, lean and puny personage, white-faced, underhung in the jaw like a fox, and nicknamed the Red on account of the colour of his hair.
Skilled in intrigue, expert in sharp-practice, master of arts in cant and hypocrisy, and making himself out to be the finest of smiths, he had interested in his business all the rich and gentle folk of the town, who from fear or otherwise held to the Spaniards and wished ill to those of the reformed faith. They were before, for the most part, customers of Smetse, but Slimbroek had put them against him, saying: “This Smetse is a knave to the bottom of his heart, he was a marauder in his young days, sailing the seas with the men of Zeeland in despite of Spain, on the side of this religion which they call reformed. He still has many friends and relatives in Walcheren, more particularly at Middelburg, Arnemuiden, Camp-Veere, and Flushing, all obstinate Protestants, and speaking of the Pope of Rome and my Lords the Archdukes without veneration.
“And for the rest,” added he, “this fellow Smetse is altogether an atheist, reading the bible of Antwerp in despite of the decrees, and going to church only because he is afraid, and not at all because he will.”
By such slanders as these Slimbroek robbed Smetse of all his customers.
And soon the fire was out in the forge of the good smith, and soon, too, the savings were eaten up, and Dame Misery came to the dwelling.
III. Wherein Slimbroek is seen in the river prettily tricked out
Brought to this pass Smetse, nevertheless, would not let himself take to despair; but he was always sad and heavy of heart when, sitting in his cold smithy and looking at all his good tools lying idle on the ground, he heard the fair sound of hammers and anvils coming from Slimbroek’s shop.
But what angered him most was that whenever he passed before Slimbroek’s dwelling the traitor carrot-head would appear suddenly on the threshold, and, saluting him graciously and giving him fair compliments, would make a hundred flattering speeches, accompanied by as many hypocritical salutations, and all for the sake of poking fun at him and to laugh unkindly at his misery.
These ugly encounters and grimaces went on a long while, and Smetse came to the end of his patience: “Ah,” said he, “it angers me to be in such poor case; although I must submit, for such is the holy will of God. But it irks me too bitterly to see this wicked knave, who by his trickeries has taken away all my customers, so amusing himself with my misery.”
Meanwhile Slimbroek spared him not at all, and each day became sharper in speech, for the more wrong he did to the good smith the more hate he bore him.
And Smetse swore to have his revenge on him, in such a way as to spoil thenceforward his taste for mockery.
It so happened that one Sunday when he was standing on the Quai des Bateliers, looking at the river with a crowd of watermen, townsfolk, boys, and scholars who were idle for the holy day, suddenly there came out of a pothouse, wherein he had been swallowing many pints of ale, Slimbroek, bolder than usual on account of the drink. Seeing Smetse he came and placed himself close to him, and with much gesticulation, loud bursts of talk and laughter, said to him in an insolent tone: “Good day, Smetse, good day, my worthy friend. How is thy fine face? It seems to lose its fat, which was of good quality, Smetse. ’Tis a great pity. What is the reason for it? Art thou angry at the loss of thy customers, Smetse? Thou must drink well to bring back the joy to thy stomach, Smetse. We never see thee now at vespers in the inn of Pensaert; why, Smetse? Hast no pennies to get drink? I have plenty for thee, if thou wilt, Smetse.” And he shook his money-bag to make it ring.
“Thank thee kindly,” said Smetse, “thou art too generous, Master Slimbroek, ’tis my turn to stand thee drink now.”
“Ah,” cried Slimbroek, feigning pity and compassion, “why wilt thou stand drink to me? The world knows thou art not rich, Smetse.”
“Rich enough,” answered the smith, “to stand thee the best draught thou ever had.”
“Hark to him,” said Slimbroek to the crowd of watermen and townsfolk, “hark to him. Smetse will stand us drink! The world is coming to an end. ’Tis the year of golden rags. Smetse will stand us drink! Ah! I shall taste with great pleasure the bruinbier that Smetse will stand us. I am thirsty as an African desert, thirsty as Sunday, thirsty as a devil half-boiled in the cauldrons of Lucifer.”
“Drink then, Slimbroek,” said Smetse, and threw him into the river.
Seeing this the people who were on the quay applauded heartily, and all ran to the edge to have a good look at Slimbroek, who, falling into the water head first, had struck and broken through the belly of a dog a long while dead, which was floating down on the stream as such carrion will. And he was tricked out round the neck with this dog in a most marvellous manner, nor could he get rid of it, being busy with his arms at keeping himself afloat, and his face was smeared all over with offensive matter.
Notwithstanding that he was half-blinded, he dared not come out on to the quay where Smetse was, but swam off towards the other bank, decked with his carrion and blowing like a hundred devils.
“Well,” said Smetse, “dost find the bruinbier to thy liking; is it not the best in all the land of Flanders? But my good sir, take off thy bonnet to drink; such headgear is not worn for river parties.”
When Slimbroek was in midstream, over against the bridge, Smetse went up on to this bridge with the other onlookers, and Slimbroek, in the midst of his puffing and snorting, cried out to Smetse: “I’ll have thee hanged, accursed reformer!”
“Ah,” said the good smith, “you are mistaken, my friend; ’tis not I who am the reformer, but you, who devise these new bonnets. Where got you this one? I have never seen such a one, neither so beautiful, nor so richly ornamented with tufts and hangings. Is the fashion coming to Ghent by and by?”
Slimbroek answered nothing, and struggled to get rid of the dead dog, but in vain, and having paused in his swimming for this purpose, went down to the bottom, and came up again more furious than ever, blowing harder, and trying all the while to tear off the body.”
“Leave your hat on, my master,” said Smetse, “do not so put yourself out in order to salute me, I am not worth the trouble. Leave it on.”
At last Slimbroek climbed out of the water. On the quay he shook off the dog hastily and made away as fast as he could to his dwelling. But he was followed by a crowd of young watermen and boys, who ran after him hooting, whistling, covering him with mud and other filth. And they continued to do the same to his house-front after he had gone in.
IV. Of the two branches
In this wise Smetse had his revenge on Slimbroek, who thereafter dared not look him in the face, and hid when he passed.
But the good smith, nevertheless, had no more pleasure in anything than before, for with every passing day he became more and more needy, having already, with his wife, used up what help came to them from the guild, and also a small sum of silver from Middelburg in Walcheren.
Ashamed to get his living by begging and knavery, and knowing how to bear with his lot no longer, he resolved to kill himself.
So one night he left his house, and went out to the moats of the town, which are bordered by fine trees, forked and spreading down to the ground. There he fastened a stone to his neck, commended his soul to God, and, stepping back three paces to get a better start, ran and jumped.
But while he was in the very act he was caught suddenly by two branches, which, falling upon his shoulders, gripped him like man’s hands and held him fast where he was. These branches were neither cold nor hard, as wood naturally is, but supple and warm. And he heard at the same instant a strange and scoffing voice saying: “Where goest thou, Smetse?”
But he could not answer by reason of his great astonishment.
And although there was no wind the trunks and branches of the tree moved and swung about like serpents uncoiling, while all around there crackled above ten hundred thousand sparks.
And Smetse grew more afraid, and a hot breath passed across his face, and the voice, speaking again, but nearer, or so it seemed, repeated: “Where goest thou, Smetse?”
But he could not speak for fear, and because his throttle was dry and his teeth chattering.
“Why,” said the voice, “dost not dare answer him who wishes thee naught but well? Where goest thou, Smetse?”
Hearing so pleasant and friendly a speech, the good smith took heart and answered with great humility: “Lord whom I cannot see, I was going to kill myself, for life is no longer bearable.”
“Smetse is mad,” said the voice.
“So I am, if you will, Lord,” answered the smith; “nevertheless when my smithy is lost to me by the cunning of a wicked neighbour, and I have no way to live but by begging and knavery, ’twould be greater madness in me to live than to die.”
“Smetse,” said the voice, “is mad to wish himself dead, for he shall have again, if he will, his fair smithy, his good red fire, his good workmen, and as many golden royals in his coffers as he sees sparks in this tree.”
“I,” exclaimed the smith in great delight, “shall never have such fine things as that! They are not for such miserables as I.”
“Smetse,” said the voice, “all things are possible to my master.”
“Ah,” said the smith, “you come from the devil, Lord?”
“Yes,” answered the voice, “and I come to thee on his account to propose a bargain: For seven years thou shalt be rich, thou shalt have thy smithy the finest in the town of Ghent; thou shalt win gold enough to pave the Quai aux Oignons; thou shalt have in thy cellars enough beer and wine to wet all the dry throttles in Flanders; thou shalt eat the finest meats and the most delicate game; thou shalt have hams in plenty, sausages in abundance, mince-pies in heaps; every one shall respect thee, admire thee, sing thy praises; Slimbroek at the sight of it shall be filled with rage; and for all these great benefits thou hast only to give us thy soul at the end of seven years.”
“My soul?” said Smetse, “’tis the only thing I have; would you not, My Lord Devil, make me rich at a less price?”
“Wilt thou or wilt thou not, smith?” said the voice.
“Ah,” answered Smetse, “you offer me things that are very desirable, even, My Lord Devil (if I may say it without offence), more than I wish; for if I might have only my forge and enough customers to keep the fire alight I should be happier than My Lord Albert or Madam Isabella.”
“Take or leave it, smith,” said the voice.
“Lord Devil,” answered Smetse, “I beg you not to become angry with me, but to deign to consider that if you give me but my forge, and not all this gold, wine, and meats, you might perhaps be content to let my soul burn for a thousand years, which time is not at all to be compared with the great length of all eternity, but would seem long enough to whomever must pass it in the fire.”
“Thy forge for thee, thy soul for us; take or leave it, smith,” said the voice.
“Ah,” lamented Smetse, “’tis dear bought, and no offence to you, Lord Devil.”
“Well then, smith,” said the voice, “to riches thou preferest beggary? Do as thou wilt. Ah, thou wilt have great joy when, walking with thy melancholy countenance about the streets of Ghent, thou art fled by every one and dogs snap at thy heels; when thy wife dies of hunger, and thou chantest mea culpa in vain; then when, alone in the world, thou beatest on thy shrunken belly the drum for a feast, and the little girls dancing to such music give thee a slap in the face for payment; then, at last, when thou dost hide thyself in thy house so that thy rags shall not be seen in the town, and there, scabby, chatter-tooth, vermin-fodder, thou diest alone on thy dung-hill like a leper, and art put into the earth, and Slimbroek comes to make merry at thy downfall.”
“Ah,” said Smetse, “he would do it, the knave.”
“Do not await this vile end,” said the voice, “it were better to die now: leap into the water, Smetse; leap, Smee.”
“Alas,” lamented he, “if I give myself to you, I shall burn for all eternity.”
“Thou wilt not burn,” said the voice, “but serve us for food, good smith.”
“I?” cried Smetse, much frightened at these words, “do you think to eat me down there? I am not good for eating, I must tell you. There is no meat more sour, tough, common, and vulgar than mine is. It has been at one time and another diseased with plague, itch, and other vile maladies. Ah, I should make you a shabby feast, you and the others, My Lord Devil, who have in hell so many souls which are noble, succulent, tasty, and well-fed. But mine is not at all good, I declare.”
“Thou art wrong, smith,” said the voice. “Souls of wicked emperors, kings, princes, popes, famous captains of arms, conquerors, slayers of men, and other brigands, are always as hard as an eagle’s beak; for so their omnipotence fashions them; we break our teeth off bit by bit in eating them. Others, having been eaten up beforehand by ambition and cruelty, which are like ravenous worms, give us hardly a crumb to pick. Souls of girls who, without want or hunger, sell for money what nature bids them give for nothing, are so rotten, putrid, and evil-smelling that the hungriest of devils will not touch them. Souls of vain men are bladders, and within there is nothing but wind; ’tis poor food. Souls of hypocrites, canters, liars, are like beautiful apples without, but beneath the skin are full of bile, gall, sour wine, and frightful poison; none of us will have any ado with them. Souls of envious men are as toads, who from spleen at being so ugly, run yellow spittle on whatever is clean and shining, from mouth, feet, and all their bodies. Souls of gluttons are naught but cow-dung. Souls of good drinkers are always tasty, and above all when they have about them the heavenly smell of good wine and good bruinbier. But there is no soul so tasty, delectable, succulent, or of such fine flavour as that of a good woman, a good workman, or a good smith such as thou. For, working without intermission, they have no time for sin to touch and stain them, unless it be once or twice only, and for this reason we catch them whenever we can; but ’tis a rare dish, kept for the royal table of My Lord Lucifer.”
“Ah,” said Smetse, “you have made up your mind to eat me, I see well enough; nevertheless ’twould not cost you much to give me back my forge for nothing.”
“’Tis no great discomfort,” said the voice, “to be so eaten, for My Lord and King has a mouth larger than had the fish whereby Jonah the Jew was swallowed in olden time; thou wilt go down like an oyster into his stomach, without having been wounded by his teeth in any wise; there, if it displease thee to stay, thou must dance with feet and hands as hard as thou canst, and My Lord will at once spit thee out, for he will not find it possible to stand for long such a drubbing. Falling at his feet thou wilt show him a joyous face, a steady look in his eyes, and a good countenance, and the same to Madam Astarte, who, without a doubt, will take thee for her pet, as she has done already to several; thereafter thou wilt have a joyous time, serving My Lady merrily and brushing his hair for My Lord; as for the rest of us, we shall be right glad to have you with us, for, among all these familiar vile and ugly faces of conquerors, plunderers, thieves, and assassins, ’twill do us good to see the honest countenance of a merry smith, as thou art.”
“My Lord Devil,” said Smetse, “I do not merit such honour. I can well believe, from what you tell me, that ’tis pleasant enough down there with you. But I should be ill at ease, I must tell you, being naturally uncouth in the company of strangers; and so I should bring no joy with me, and should not be able to sing; and therefore you would get but poor amusement from me, I know in advance. Ah, give me back rather my good forge and my old customers, and hold me quit; this would be the act of a royal devil and would sit well upon you.”
Suddenly the voice spoke with anger: “Smith, wilt thou pay us in such ape’s coin? Life is no longer of benefit to thee, death is abhorrent, and thou wouldst have from us without payment the seven full, rich and joyous years which I offer thee. Accept or refuse, thy forge for thee, thy soul for us, under the conditions I have told thee.”
“Alas,” said Smetse, “then I will have it so, since it must be, Lord Devil!”
“Well then,” said the voice, “set thy mark in blood to this deed.”
And a black parchment, with a crow’s quill, fell from the tree at the smith’s feet. He read on the parchment, in letters of fire, the pact of seven years, opened his arm with his knife, and signed with the crow’s quill. And while he was still holding the parchment and the quill, he felt them suddenly snatched from his hands with violence, but he saw nothing, and only heard a noise as of a man running in slipper-shoes, and the voice saying as it went into the distance: “Thou hast the seven years, Smetse.” And the tree ceased its swaying, and the sparks in the branches went out.
