XXIII
At Harlebeke Lamme renewed his provision of oliekoekjes, eating seven-and-twenty of them on the spot and putting thirty away into his basket. The same evening they came to Courtrai and dismounted from their donkeys at the tavern of the Bee that was kept by one Gilis Van den Ende, who himself came to the inn door as soon as he heard the singing of the lark.
At once the new arrivals found that everything was made like sugar and honey for them; for mine host, as soon as he had seen the letter from the Prince, presented Ulenspiegel with fifty caroluses on the Prince’s behalf, nor would he accept any payment at all for the turkey which he served for their dinner, nor yet for the dobbel clauwaert which he gave them to drink. He warned them also that there were many spies in Courtrai, and that it behoved both Ulenspiegel and his companion to keep a close watch on what they said during their stay in the city.
“We shall be careful,” said Ulenspiegel and Lamme. And so saying they came out of the tavern.
The gables of the houses were all gilded in the rays of the setting sun. The birds sang in the lime-trees, and Lamme and Ulenspiegel wandered at their ease along the streets of the town. All at once Lamme said:
“I asked Martin Van den Ende if by chance he had seen any one at all resembling my wife in Courtrai, and he told me that there were a number of women that were accustomed to meet together of an evening at the sign of the Rainbow, a house that is kept by a woman called La Stevenyne, just outside the town on the road to Bruges. I shall go there.”
“I will meet you anon,” said Ulenspiegel. “But now I would see the sights of the town. If I meet your wife I will send her on to you. Meanwhile remember what the innkeeper said, and keep your own counsel if you value your own skin.”
“I will be careful,” said Lamme.
Ulenspiegel walked about by himself till the sun set and night began to come on quickly. He had come to the Pierpot-Straetje—the Alley of the Pot of Stone—and there he heard the sound of a viola being played most melodiously, and presently he noticed a white figure that beckoned to him from a distance, then retreated, playing the viola all the time. It was a woman, and she sang like a seraphim, a sweet, slow song, stopping now and then to look behind her with a beckoning gesture, then retreating again. But Ulenspiegel ran quickly and overtook her, and was about to speak to her when she sealed his lips with a hand all scented with benjamin.
“Are you a working man or a nobleman?” she asked.
“I am Ulenspiegel.”
“Are you rich?”
“Rich enough for you.”
“But you have not seen me!” And she opened the lantern she carried so as to let the light shine straight upon her face.
“You are beautiful,” said Ulenspiegel.
“Then come with me,” she said.
And she brought him to the house of La Stevenyne, on the road to Bruges, at the sign of the Rainbow.
They entered a large room where a great number of girls were assembled, who all looked up jealously at Ulenspiegel’s companion as she came in. And suddenly Ulenspiegel saw Lamme, sitting there in a corner by a little table whereon was a candle, a ham, and a pot of beer. By his side were a couple of girls, who were endeavouring to get a share in the ham and the beer; but Lamme was trying to prevent them. As soon as he noticed Ulenspiegel he jumped up, crying:
“Blessed be God who has given back to me my friend! Bring more drink, baesine!”
At this Ulenspiegel drew out his purse, saying:
“Yes, bring us to drink to the value of what is in here!” and he jingled the money that was in the purse.
“No, by heaven!” cried Lamme, seizing the purse. “It’s I that shall pay, not you.”
Ulenspiegel would have recovered the purse by force, but Lamme kept tight hold. As they were struggling together, the one to keep the purse, the other to get it back again, Lamme whispered by fits and starts into Ulenspiegel’s ear:
“Listen. Constables. Here ... four of them ... in the little room with three girls. Two outside waiting for you and for me.... I tried to go out ... prevented.... The girl over there in the brocaded gown is a spy ... Stevenyne a spy!”
And all the time they were fighting Ulenspiegel listened attentively, though he kept on crying aloud:
“Give me back my purse, you rascal!”
And they seized each other by the neck and by the shoulders, and rolled together on the floor, while Lamme went on with his tidings to Ulenspiegel. Suddenly there appeared on the scene mine host of the tavern of the Bee; and he was followed by seven other men, with whom, however, he apparently had no connexion. As he came in he crowed like a cock and Ulenspiegel whistled like a lark. Then, seeing Ulenspiegel and Lamme still struggling on the floor, he inquired of La Stevenyne who they might be. “Two rascals,” she told him, “who ought to be parted from each other instead of being allowed to make all this disturbance ere they are brought to the gallows.”
“If any one tries to separate us,” said Ulenspiegel, “we will make him eat of these paving-stones.”
“Yes,” said Lamme, “we will make him eat these paving-stones!”
Then Ulenspiegel whispered something in Lamme’s ear. “The innkeeper is come to rescue us.” And presently the innkeeper, who must have divined some mystery was afoot, joined the mêlée on the floor with his head down, and Lamme attacked him in the ear with these words:
“You have come to rescue us? How will you do it?”
The innkeeper made pretence of pulling Ulenspiegel by the ears, but managed to say to him the while, under his breath:
“These seven men are on your side ... they are strong men ... butchers.... I must be off ... too well known in the town ... but when I have gone.... ’T is van te beven de klinkaert.... Break up everything....”
“I understand,” said Ulenspiegel, rising at the same time from the floor and kicking out at the innkeeper. The latter struck Ulenspiegel in his turn and Ulenspiegel said:
“You hit hard, my hearty!”
“As hard as a hail-storm,” said the innkeeper. And quickly seizing the purse from Lamme he handed it back to Ulenspiegel.
“You may stand me a drink, you rogue, now you are come into your right mind again.”
“I’ll stand you one, you scandalous scamp,” replied Ulenspiegel.
“See how insolent he is,” said La Stevenyne.
“As insolent as you are beautiful,” answered Ulenspiegel.
Now La Stevenyne was sixty years old at least, and her face was like the fruit of the medlar, but all yellow with bile, and she had a large port-wine stain on her left cheek.
When the innkeeper had had his drink, he paid the bill and departed. The seven butchers meanwhile made sundry knowing grimaces at the constables and La Stevenyne. One of them indicated by a gesture that he held Ulenspiegel for a simpleton, and that he would be able to do for him very easily. But all the time that he was putting out his tongue in mockery to La Stevenyne, who herself was grinning and laughing, he whispered in Ulenspiegel’s ear:
“’T is van te beven de klinkaert—it is time to rattle the glasses.” Then, in his ordinary tone of voice, and pointing at the constables:
“Gentle Reformer,” he said, “we are all on your side. Stand us some food and drink, won’t you?”
And La Stevenyne laughed with pleasure, and put out her tongue at Ulenspiegel when his back was turned. And La Gilline, she of the brocaded gown, she also put out her tongue at Ulenspiegel, and the girls all began to whisper one to another: “Behold the spy that by her beauty draweth men to the torture and bringeth them at last to a death more cruel even than torture. Above seven-and-twenty Protestants hath she betrayed already. Gilline is her name, and now she is in a rapture of joy as she thinks of the reward she will get for her information—the first hundred caroluses, to wit, from the estate of each of her victims. But she will not laugh when she bethinketh her that she must share one-half of the spoil with La Stevenyne!”
And every one there present—the constables, the butchers, and the girls themselves—put out their tongues in mockery of Ulenspiegel. And Lamme sweated great drops of sweat, and became red with anger like the crest of a cock. But he would not let himself say a word.
“Come, stand us food and drink,” said the butchers and the constables.
“Very well,” said Ulenspiegel, jingling yet again the money in his purse. “Bring us meat and drink, my sweet Stevenyne; bring us drink in glasses that can sing!”
At this the girls began to laugh anew; but La Stevenyne went down to the cellar and brought back with her ham, sausages, black-pudding omelettes, and some of those singing glasses, that are so called because they are mounted on tall stems and can be made to resound like a bell when some one strikes them. Then Ulenspiegel said:
“Let him who is hungry eat, and he who is thirsty let him drink!” And the constables, the girls, the butchers, Gilline, and La Stevenyne applauded these words of Ulenspiegel, clapping their hands and stamping their feet; and then they all sat down to the feast. Ulenspiegel, Lamme, and the seven butchers sat at the big table of honour, the constables and the girls at two smaller tables; and they ate and drank right heartily. And the constables invited their two comrades, who had been waiting outside the house, to come in and join them.
La Stevenyne said with a snigger:
“Remember, no one can leave till he has paid me.”
And she went and locked all the doors, and put the keys in her pocket.
At this La Gilline raised her glass.
“The bird is in its cage,” she cried. “Let us drink.”
But two of the girls, whose names were Gena and Margot, said to her:
“Is this yet another man that you are going to lure to his death, you wicked one?”
“I know not,” said Gilline; “let us drink.”
But the girls would not drink with her.
And Gilline took her viola and sang in French this song:
Au son de la viole,
Je chante nuit et jour;
Je suis la fille-folle,
La vendeuse d’amour.
Astarté de mes hanches
Fit les lignes de feu;
J’ai les épaules blanches,
Et mon beau corps est Dieu.
Je suis froide ou brûlante,
Tendre au doux nonchaloir:
Tiède, éperdue, ardente,
Mon homme, à ton vouloir.
Vois, je vends tout: mes charmes,
Mon âme et mes yeux bleus;
Bonheur, rires et larmes,
Et la Mort si tu veux.
Au son de la viole,
Je chante nuit et jour;
Je suis la fille-folle,
La vendeuse d’amour.
As she sang this song La Gilline looked so beautiful, so soft and fragrant, that all the men, the constables and the butchers, Lamme and Ulenspiegel himself, sat smiling there, quite melted and overcome by her charm.
All at once La Gilline gave a loud laugh and fixed her gaze on Ulenspiegel:
“And it’s thus that the birds are caged,” she said. And the spell of her charm was broken.
Ulenspiegel, Lamme, and the butchers looked at one another.
“Well now,” said La Stevenyne, “are you going to pay the bill, my Lord Ulenspiegel?”
“We shall pay nothing in advance,” said he.
“Then I shall pay myself later on—out of your inheritance,” said La Stevenyne. After that:
“Let us drink!” she cried.
“Let us drink!” cried the constables.
“Let us drink!” cried La Stevenyne. “The doors are shut; the windows are strongly barred; the birds are in their cage. Let us drink!”
“Let us drink then,” said Ulenspiegel. “And bring us wine of the best to crown the banquet.”
La Stevenyne brought in more wine. And now they were all seated, drinking and eating, the constables and the girls together. But the seven butchers were at the same table with Ulenspiegel and Lamme, and they kept on throwing pieces of ham, and sausages, omelettes, and bottles of wine to the table of the girls, who themselves caught the food in mid-flight as carp catch the flies that buzz on the surface of a fishpond. And La Stevenyne laughed and grinned, and pointed to the packets of candles which hung over the counter. And these were the candles that the gay girls were used to purchase, five to the pound. Then La Stevenyne said to Ulenspiegel:
“On his way to the stake it is the custom for the condemned man to carry a wax candle. Shall I make you a present of one?”
“Let us drink!” said Ulenspiegel.
But La Gilline said: “Look at Ulenspiegel’s eyes. They are shining like the eyes of a swan that is about to die.”
“Wouldn’t you like to eat one of the candles?” said La Stevenyne. “They would serve you in hell to lighten your eternal damnation.”
“I see clearly enough to admire your ugly mug,” said Ulenspiegel.
Suddenly he struck the stem of his wine-glass and clapped his hands together with a rhythm like that an upholsterer uses when he beats the wool of a mattress with his stick.
“’T is van te beven de klinkaert,” he said; “it is time to make the glasses shiver—the glasses which resound....”
And this, in Flanders, is the signal that the drinkers make when they are angry, and when they are like to ransack and despoil in their wrath the houses of ill fame. So even now did Ulenspiegel raise his glass and drink, and then did he made it vibrate upon the table, crying yet again:
“’T is van te beven de klinkaert.”
And the seven butchers did likewise.
Then a great stillness fell upon the company. La Gilline grew pale; La Stevenyne looked astonished. The constables said:
“Are the seven with them too?” But the butchers winked their eyes and reassured them; yet all the time they continued without ceasing, and louder and louder as Ulenspiegel led them:
“’T is van te beven de klinkaert. ’T is van te beven de klinkaert.”
La Stevenyne took another draught of wine to give herself courage.
Then Ulenspiegel struck his fist on the table in that regular rhythm which the upholsterers use as they beat their mattresses; and the seven did likewise; and the glasses, jugs, trenchers, flagons, and goblets began to dance upon the table, slowly at first, but beginning soon to knock against each other, and to break and to heel over on one side as they fell. And all the time echoed and re-echoed, more sternly menacing, with every monotonous repetition:
“’T is van te beven de klinkaert.”
“Alas!” said La Stevenyne, “they will break everything.” And her teeth seemed to show farther out from her lips than ever. And the hot blood of their fury and of their anger began to flame in the souls of the seven butchers, and in the souls of Lamme and Ulenspiegel. Till at last, without ceasing once their melancholy and monotonous chant, all they that were sitting at Ulenspiegel’s table took their glasses, and brake them upon the table, and at the same moment they drew their cutlasses and leapt upon the chairs. And they made such a din with their song that all the windows in the house shook. Then like a band of infuriated devils they went round the room, visiting each table in turn, crying without ceasing:
“’T is van te beven de klinkaert.”
“’Tis van te beven de klinkaert”
And the constables rose up trembling with terror and seized their ropes and chains. But the butchers, together with Lamme and Ulenspiegel, thrust their knives quickly back into their cases, and sprang up to run nimbly through the chamber, hitting out right and left with their chairs as though they had been cudgels. And they spared nothing there except the girls, for everything else they brake in pieces—furniture, windows, chests, plates, pots, trenchers, glasses, and flagons, hitting out at the constables without mercy, and crying out all the time in the rhythm of the mattress-beaters: “’T is van te beven de klinkaert. ’T is van te beven de klinkaert.” And Ulenspiegel, who had given La Stevenyne a blow on the nose with his fist, and had taken all her keys and put them into his satchel, was now amusing himself by forcing her to eat those candles of hers. And the girls laughed at the sight of her as she sneezed with anger and tried to spit out the candles—but in vain, for her mouth was too full. And all the time Ulenspiegel and the seven butchers did not cease the rhythm of their dire refrain: “’T is van te beven de klinkaert.” But at last Ulenspiegel made a sign, and when silence had at last been restored he spake, saying:
“You are here, my friends, in our power. It is a dark night and the River Lys is close at hand, where a man drowns easily if he is once pushed in. And the gates of Courtrai are shut.” Then turning to the seven butchers:
“You are bound for Peteghen, to join the Beggarmen?”
“We were ready to go there when the news came to us that you were here.”
“And from Peteghen you were going to the sea?”
“Yes,” they said.
“Do you think there are one or two among these constables whom it would be safe to release for our service?”
“There are two,” they said, “Niklaes and Joos by name, who have never as yet been guilty of persecuting the poor Reformers.”
“You can trust us!” said Niklaes and Joos.
“Very well then,” said Ulenspiegel. “Here are twenty caroluses for you, twice as much, that is, as you would have got for an act of shameful betrayal.” And at that the other five constables cried out as one man:
“Twenty florins! We will serve the Prince for twenty florins. The King’s pay is bad. Only give us half as much and we will tell the judge any tale you please.” But Lamme and the butchers kept muttering under their breath:
“’T is van te beven de klinkaert. ’T is van te beven de klinkaert.”
“In order that you may be kept from too much talking,” Ulenspiegel continued, “the seven will lead you in handcuffs to Peteghen, and there you will be given over into the hands of the Beggarmen. The florins will be handed to you at sea, and if you prove brave in battle you will have your share of the spoil. If you attempt to desert you will be hanged.”
“We will serve him who pays us,” they said.
“’T is van te beven de klinkaert! ’T is van te beven de klinkaert,” murmured the seven.
“You will also take with you,” said Ulenspiegel, “La Gilline, La Stevenyne and the girls. If any one of them tries to escape you will sew her in a sack and throw her into the river.”
“He has not killed me yet!” cried La Gilline, jumping up from her corner and brandishing her viola in the air. And she began to sing:
Sanglant était mon rêve.
Le rêve de mon cœur.
Je suis la fille d’Eve
Et de Satan vainqueur.
But La Stevenyne and the others seemed as if they were going to cry.
“Do not be afraid, my sweets,” said Ulenspiegel. “You are so pretty and so tender that all men will love to caress you wherever you go, and after every victory you will have your share in the spoils.” But the three girls turned upon La Gilline:
“You that were her daughter, her breadwinner, sharing with La Stevenyne the shameful rewards of her espionage, do you still dare to flaunt yourself before us and to insult us with your dress of brocade? Verily it is the blood of the victims and nothing else that has clothed you so richly. But now let us take her dress from her, so she may be like to us.”
“That shall not be,” said Ulenspiegel.
And the girls looked jealously at Ulenspiegel, saying:
“He is mad about her, like all the rest.”
And La Gilline played upon her viola and sang, and the seven butchers departed for Peteghen, taking with them the constables and the girls. And they passed along by the River Lys. And as they went they kept muttering:
“’T is van te beven de klinkaert! ’T is van te beven de klinkaert!” And at break of day they came to the camp, and sang out like the lark and were answered straightway by a cockcrow. The girls and the constables were put under a strong guard, but in spite of these precautions La Gilline was found dead at noon on the third day, her heart pierced by a long needle. The three girls accused La Stevenyne of having done this deed, and she was brought before the captain. There she confessed that she had committed the crime out of jealousy and anger at the way the girl had treated her. And La Stevenyne was hanged and buried in the wood.
La Gilline also was buried, and prayers were said over her sweet body.