XLIX
After the death of Soetkin Ulenspiegel grew dreamy, sorrowful, and angry, and he would wander about the fields, hearing nothing, taking what food or drink was put before him, and never choosing for himself. And oftentimes he rose from his bed in the middle of the night and went out into the country alone.
In vain did the gentle voice of Nele urge him not to despair, in vain did Katheline assure him that Soetkin was now in Paradise with Claes. To both alike Tyl answered:
“The ashes beat upon my breast.”
And he was as one mad, and Nele was sorrowful because of him.
Meanwhile, Grypstuiver the fishmonger dwelt alone in his house, like a parricide, daring only to come out in the evening. For if any man or woman passed him on the road they would shout after him and call him “murderer.” And the little children ran away when they saw him, for they had been told that he was a hangman. So he wandered about by himself, not venturing to enter any of the taverns that are in Damme, for the finger of scorn was pointed at him, and if ever he stood in the bar for a minute, they that were drinking there left the tavern.
The result was that no innkeeper desired him as a customer any more, and whenever he presented himself at their houses they would shut the door on him. The fishmonger would make a humble remonstrance, but they answered that they had a licence to sell wine certainly, but that they were not obliged to sell it against their will.
The fishmonger grew impatient at this, and in future when he wanted a drink he would go to the In ’t Roode Valck—at the sign of the Red Falcon—a little cabaret outside the town on the banks of the Sluys canal. There they served him, for they were hard up at that inn, and glad to get anything from any one. But even so, the innkeeper never entered into conversation with him, nor did his wife either. Now in that house there were also two children and a dog; but when the fishmonger made as though he would kiss the children they ran away, and the dog, when he called him, tried to bite him.
One evening Ulenspiegel was standing on his doorstep in a dream, and Mathyssen, the cooper, happening to pass by, saw him standing there, and said to him:
“If you worked with your hands belike you would forget this grievous blow.”
But Ulenspiegel answered: “The ashes of Claes beat upon my breast.”
“Ah!” said Mathyssen, “there lives a man who is sadder even than you are—Grypstuiver the fishmonger. None speaks to him, and all avoid him, so much so that when he wants his pint of bruinbier he is forced to go out all alone to the poor folk of the Roode Valck. Verily he is well punished.”
“The ashes beat....” Ulenspiegel answered him again.
And the same evening, when the bells of Notre Dame were sounding the ninth hour, Ulenspiegel sallied forth towards the Roode Valck, but failing to find the fishmonger there as he had expected, he went wandering along under the trees that grow by the canal-side. It was a bright moonlight night.
Presently he saw the figure of the murderer coming towards him. He passed close in front of Ulenspiegel, who could hear what he was saying, for the fishmonger was talking to himself, as is the custom of they who live much alone.
“Where have they hidden it?” he muttered. “Where have they hidden the money?” But Ulenspiegel answered the question for him by giving him a great blow in the face.
“Alas!” cried the fishmonger as he felt the hand of Ulenspiegel upon him. “Alas, I know you! You are his son! But have pity on me. Have pity! For I am weak and aged, and what I did to your father was not done out of malice, but in the service of His Majesty. Only deign to forgive me, and I will give you back again all the goods that I have bought, and you shall not pay me a penny. You shall have everything, and half a florin over and above, for I am not a rich man. No, you must not think that I am rich!”
And he was about to kneel down in front of Ulenspiegel. But seeing him so ugly, so craven, and so base, Ulenspiegel took hold of him and threw him into the canal.