IV
Some while after these happenings, when Nele had returned to her home with Katheline, Lamme and Ulenspiegel came to Bruges. They were at the place called Minne-Water, the Lake of Love—though the learned folk would have it to be derived from Minre-Water, that is, the Water belonging to the order of monks who are called Minims. Be this as it may, here on the bank of the lake, Lamme and Ulenspiegel sat themselves down, watching those that passed in front of them under the trees. The green branches hung over the pathway like a vault of foliage, and below there sauntered both men and women, youths and maids, clasping each other’s hands, with flowers on their heads, walking so close together and gazing so tenderly into each other’s eyes that they seemed to see nothing else in all the world save themselves alone.
As he watched them, the thoughts of Ulenspiegel were far away with Nele, and his thoughts were sad thoughts. Yet his words were of another colour, bidding Lamme come off with him to the tavern for a drink. But Lamme paid no attention to what Tyl was saying, for he himself was absorbed no less by the sight of those loving pairs.
“In the old days,” he said, “we too, my wife and I, were wont to go a-courting, while others, just as we are now, would watch us, alone and companionless by the lake-side.”
“Come and have a drink!” said Ulenspiegel, “Belike we will find the Seven at the bottom of a pint of beer.”
“That’s but a drunkard’s notion,” answered Lamme, “for you know quite well that the Seven are giants, and taller than the roof of the Church of St. Sauver itself!”
The thoughts of Ulenspiegel were still with Nele, but none the less did he hope to find, perchance, good quarters in some inn, a good supper, and a comely hostess into the bargain. Again, therefore, did he urge his companion to come along with him and drink. But Lamme would not listen to him, gazing sadly at the tower of Notre Dame, and addressing himself in prayer to Our Lady somewhat in this wise:
“O Blessed Lady, patroness of all lawful unions, suffer me, I pray, to see yet once again the white neck, the soft and tender neck, of my love!”
“Come and drink!” cried Ulenspiegel. “Belike you will find her displaying these charms of hers to the drinkers in the tavern.”
“How dare you harbour such a thought!” cried Lamme.
“Come and drink!” repeated Ulenspiegel. “Your wife has turned innkeeper without a doubt.”
And thus conversing, they repaired to the Marché du Samedi, and entered into the Blauwe Lanteern—at the sign of the Blue Lantern. And there they found a right jolly-looking innkeeper.
The donkey meanwhile was unharnessed from the cart, and was put up in the stables and provided with a good feed of oats. Our travellers themselves ordered supper, and when they had eaten their fill, they went to bed and slept soundly till morning, only to wake up and eat again. And Lamme, who was wellnigh bursting with all that he had eaten, said that he could hear in his stomach a sound like the music of the spheres.
Now when the time came to pay the bill, mine host came to Lamme and told him that the total amounted to six patards.
“He has the money,” said Lamme, pointing to Ulenspiegel.
“No such thing,” said Ulenspiegel.
“What about that half-florin?” said Lamme.
“I haven’t got it,” said Ulenspiegel.
“Here’s a nice way of going on!” cried the innkeeper. “I shall strip your doublet and shirt from the two of you!”
Suddenly Lamme took courage of all he had been drinking:
“And if I choose to eat and to drink,” he cried, “yea, to eat and to drink the worth of twenty-seven florins, and more, do you think I shall not do so? Do you think that this belly of mine is not the equal of a penny? God’s life! Up to now I have fed on ortolans. But you, never have you carried anything of that sort under your belt of greasy hide. For you, you bad man, must needs carry your suet in the collar of your doublet, far otherwise than I that bear three inches at least of delicate fat on this good belly of mine.”
At this the innkeeper fell into a passion of rage, and though he was a stammerer he began to talk at a great rate, and the greater his haste the more he stammered and spluttered like a dog that has just come out of the water. Ulenspiegel began to throw pellets of bread at him, and Lamme, growing more and more excited, continued his harangue in the following strain:
“And now, what do you say? For here have I enough, and more than enough, to pay you for those three lean chickens forsooth, and those four mangy poulets, to say nothing of that big simpleton of a peacock that parades his paltry tail in the stable yard. And if your very skin was not more dry than that of an ancient cock, if your bones even now were not falling to very dust within your breast, still should I have the wherewithal to eat you up, you and your slobbering servant there—your one-eyed serving-maid and your cook, whose arms are not long enough to scratch himself though he had the itch! And do you see,” he continued, “do you see this fine bird of yours that for the sake of half a florin would have deprived us of our doublet and our shirt? Say, what is your own wardrobe worth, preposterous chatterbox that you are; and I will give you three liards in exchange for the lot!”
But the innkeeper, who by this time was beside himself with rage, stammered and spluttered more and more, while Ulenspiegel went on throwing pellets of bread in his face, till Lamme at last cried out again in a voice brave as a lion’s:
“What’s the value, think you, skinny-face, of a fine donkey with a splendid nose, long ears, large chest, and legs as strong as iron? Twenty-eight florins at the least, is it not so, most seedy of innkeepers? And how many old nails have you, pray, locked fast away in your coffer, with which to pay the price of so fine an animal?”
More than ever did the innkeeper puff and blow, yet dared not budge an inch from where he stood. And Lamme said again:
“And what is the value, think you, of a fine cart of ash-wood, finely painted in crimson, and furnished with a hood of Courtrai cloth for protection from sun and rain? Twenty-four florins at the least, is it not so? And how much is twenty-four florins added to twenty-eight florins? Answer that, you miser that cannot even count! And now, since it is market day, and since your paltry tavern happens to be full of peasants that are come to market, behold I will put up my cart to auction and my donkey too, and I will sell them here, now, and at once!”
Which, in very truth, he did. For all they that were there knew very well who Lamme was. And he actually realized from the sale of his donkey and cart as much as forty-four florins and ten patards. And he jingled the money under the innkeeper’s nose, and said to him:
“Scent you not the savour of festivities to be?”
“Yea,” answered mine host. But under his breath he swore that if ever Lamme came to him and offered to sell him his very skin, he would buy it for a liard and make of it an amulet for a charm against extravagance.
Meanwhile there was a sweet and gentle-looking young woman that stood in the yard without, and she came up oftentimes to the window and looked at Lamme, but withdrew her pretty face each time that he might have seen her. And the same evening, when Lamme was going up to bed, stumbling about on the staircase without any light (for he had been drinking not wisely), he was aware of a woman that put her arms round him, and greedily kissed his cheek and mouth and his nose even, and moistened his face with amorous tears, and then left him.
But Lamme, who was thoroughly drowsed by all that he had been drinking, lay down straightway and went to sleep; and on the morrow he departed to Ghent together with Ulenspiegel. There he went seeking his wife in all the cabarets and taverns of the town. But at nightfall he rejoined Ulenspiegel at the sign of the Singing Swan.