II
While the cart went lumbering along on the top of the dike, with the pond on one side and the canal on the other, Ulenspiegel sat brooding on the past and cherishing in his bosom the ashes of Claes. He pondered deeply upon that vision he had seen, and asked himself if indeed it were true or false, and if those spirits of Nature had been making mock of him, or if perchance they had been revealing to him under a figure those things that must be done if the land of his fathers were to be restored. In vain did he turn the matter over and over in his mind, for he could not discover what was meant by those words, the “Seven” and the “Cincture.” He called to mind the late Emperor Charles V, the present King, the Governess of the Netherlands, the Pope of Rome, the Grand Inquisitor, and last of all, the General of the Jesuits—six great persecutors of his country whom most willingly would he have burned alive had he been able. But he was forced to conclude that none of these was the personage indicated, for that they were all too obviously worthy of being burnt, and would be in another place. And he could only go on repeating to himself those words of the Lord of the Spring:
When the North
Shall kiss the West,
Then shall be the end of ruin.
Love the Seven,
And the Cincture.
“Alas!” he cried, “in death, in blood, in tears, find the Seven, burn the Seven, love the Seven! What does it all mean? My poor brain reels, for who, pray, would ever want to burn that which he loved?”
The cart by this time had progressed a good way along the road, when all at once a sound was heard of some one stepping along the sand, and of a voice singing:
Oh, have ye seen him, ye that pass,
The lover I have lost, alas!
Feckless he wandereth, knowing no tie—
Have ye seen him pass by?
As tender lamb the eagle seizeth,
So on my poor heart he feedeth.
Beardless his chin, though to manhood nigh—
Have ye seen him pass by?
If ye find him, ye may tell
Weary with following faints his Nele.
O Tyl, my beloved, hear me, I cry!
Have ye seen him pass by?
Languisheth ever the faithful dove,
Seeking, seeking her fickle love.
So, far more so, languish I—
Have ye seen him pass by?
Ulenspiegel gave Lamme a blow on his great belly, and told him to hold his breath.
“That,” said Lamme, “is a very difficult thing, I fear, for a man of my corpulence.”
But Ulenspiegel, paying no further attention to his companion, hid himself behind the canvas hood of the cart, and began to sing in the voice of a man with a bad cold that has drunk well:
In a shaky old cart with age all green,
Your feckless sweetheart I have seen;
And a glutton rides with him, like pig in sty—
I have seen him pass by.
“Tyl,” said Lamme, “you have a wry tongue in your cheek this morning!”
But Tyl put his head out of a hole in the hood:
“Nele, don’t you know me?” he said.
And Nele, for it was none other than she herself, was filled with fear, crying and laughing all at the same time, and her cheeks were wet as she answered him:
“I see you, and I know you, you wretch, you traitor!”
“Nele,” said Ulenspiegel, “if you want to give me a beating, you will find a stick in the cart here. It is heavy enough in all conscience, and knotted so that it will leave its mark right enough.”
“Tyl,” said Nele, “are you seeking the Seven?”
“Even so,” Tyl told her.
Now Nele carried with her a bag, or satchel, that was so full it seemed likely to burst. This satchel she offered to Tyl, saying:
“I thought it was unwholesome, Tyl, that a man should go on a journey without a good fat goose, and a ham, and some Ghent sausages. So take them, and when you eat of them think of me.”
While Ulenspiegel stood gazing at Nele, quite oblivious of the satchel which she was holding out to him, Lamme poked out his head from another hole in the hood, and began to address the girl in his turn.
“O girl most wise,” he said, “O girl most prudent, if he refuses such a gift it must be from pure absence of mind. But you had much better give into my own keeping that goose of yours, that ham, and those fine sausages. I will take care of them, I promise you!”
“And who,” asked Nele of her lover, “who may this red-face be?”
“A victim of the married state,” Tyl told her, “that is wasting away with sorrow, and would soon, in fact, shrink away to nothing, like an overbaked apple, were it not that he recuperated his strength from time to time and all the time by taking nourishment.”
“Alas, my son,” sighed Lamme, “what you say is only too true.”
Now it was very hot, and Nele had covered her head with her apron because of the sun. Ulenspiegel looked upon her, and conceived a sudden desire to be alone with her. He turned to Lamme, and pointed to a woman that was walking some way off in a field.
“Do you see that woman?” he said.
“I see her,” said Lamme.
“Do you recognize her?”
“Heavens!” cried Lamme, “can it be my wife? In truth she is dressed like no common country wench!”
“Can you still be doubtful, you old mole?”
“But supposing it were not her after all?” said Lamme.
“You would be none the worse off,” Ulenspiegel told him, “for over there to the left, towards the north, I know a tavern that sells most excellent bruinbier. We will join you there, and here meanwhile is some salt ham that will provide an excellent relish to your thirst.”
So Lamme got down from the cart, and made off as fast as his legs would carry him in the direction of the woman in the field.
Ulenspiegel said to Nele: “Why will you not come near me?”
Then he helped her to climb up beside him on to the cart, and made her sit close by his side. He removed her apron from her head and the cloak from her shoulders, and then when he had kissed her a hundred times at least, he asked her:
“Where were you going to, beloved?”
She answered him nothing, but seemed carried away in a sort of ecstasy. Ulenspiegel, in like rapture, said to her:
“Anyway you are here now! And truly the wild hedgerow is dun beside the sweet pink colouring of your skin, and though you are no queen, behold I will make a crown of kisses all for you! O sweet arms of my love, so tender, so rosy, and made for nothing but to hold me in their embrace! Ah, little girl, little love, how dare I touch you? These rough hands of mine, will they not tarnish the purity of your white shoulder? Yea verily, for the lightsome butterfly may flit to rest upon the crimson carnation, but I, clumsy bumpkin that I am, how can I rest myself without tarnishing the living whiteness that is you? God is in heaven, the king is on his throne, the sun rides triumphing in the sky, but am I a god, or a king, or the sun himself that I may come so close to you? O tresses softer than silk! O Nele, I fear to touch your hair, so clumsy am I, lest I tear it, lest I shred it all to pieces. But have no fear, my love. Your foot, your sweet foot! What makes it so white? Do you bathe it in milk?”
Nele would have risen from his side, but,
“What are you afraid of?” he asked her. “It is not the sun alone that shines upon us now and paints you all gold. Do not cast down your eyes, but look straight into mine, and behold the pure fire that flames there. And listen, my love, hearken to me, dearest. Now is midday, the silent hour. The labourer is at home, eating his dinner of soup. Shall we not also feed upon our love? Oh why, oh why have I not yet a thousand years wherein to tell at your knees my rosary of Indian pearls!”
“Golden Tongue!” she said.
But my Lord the Sun blazed down upon the white hood of the cart, and a lark sang high over the clover, and Nele leant her head upon the shoulder of Ulenspiegel.