XXV
Now, in those days a damsel some fifteen years of age was going from Heyst to Knokke, alone in the middle of the day, by the sand-dunes. No one had any fear for her for they knew that the wolves and wicked spirits of the damned go biting their victims only in the night. The damsel carried a satchel wherein were forty-eight gold coins of the value of four florins carolus, being the sum owed by the girl’s mother, Toria Pieterson, who lived at Heyst, to her uncle, Jan Rapen of Knokke, on account of a sale. The girl’s name was Betkin, and she was wearing her best clothes, and she went on her way most happily.
The same evening, seeing that she did not return, her mother became anxious, but reassured herself with the thought that the girl must have stayed the night with her uncle.
On the morrow, certain fishermen on their way back from the sea with a boat-load of fish, drew their boat on to the beach and unloaded their catch, which they would sell at auction by the cart-load at the Minque of Heyst. They went up the road along the dunes, all strewn with shells, and presently came upon a young girl, stripped naked even to her chemise, with traces of blood all about her. Coming nearer they found upon her neck the horrid marks of long sharp teeth. She was lying on her back with her eyes wide open gazing up into the sky, and her mouth was open also as if with the cry of death itself!
Covering the girl’s body with an opperst-kleed they brought it to Heyst, to the Town Hall, and there quickly assembled the aldermen and the leech, who declared that the long teeth that had made those marks were no teeth of a wolf as known in nature, but rather of some wicked and devilish werwolf, and that it behoved them now to pray God one and all that he would deliver the land of Flanders.
The Death of Betkin
And in all that country, and notably at Damme, at Heyst, and at Knokke, prayers and orisons were ordered to be made.
But Ulenspiegel went to the town bailiff and said to him: “I will go and kill the werwolf.”
“What gives you this confidence?” asked the bailiff.
“The ashes beat upon my heart,” Ulenspiegel replied. “Only give me leave to labour a while at the forge of the commune.”
“Very well,” said the bailiff.
Ulenspiegel, without telling a word concerning his project to any man or woman in Damme, betook him to the forge, and there, in secret, he fashioned a fine and a strong trap such as those traps which are made to catch wild beasts.
On the following day, which was a Saturday, day beloved of werwolves, Ulenspiegel armed himself with a letter from the bailiff to the curé of Heyst, together with the trap which he carried under his cloak, as well as a good crossbow and a well-sharpened cutlass. Thus provided, he departed on his way, saying to those in Damme:
“I am going out to hunt the seagulls, and of their down will I make a soft pillow for madame the wife of the bailiff.”
Now before he reached Heyst, he came out on to the seashore. The sea was rough and boisterous, and he heard the great waves growling like thunder, and the wind that blew from England whistling in the rigging of the boats that were stranded on the beach. A fisherman said to him:
“This bad wind will be our ruin. Last night the sea was calm, but at sunrise she suddenly swelled with anger. And to-day we shall not be able to go out fishing.” Ulenspiegel was pleased at this, for he knew that now he would be sure of some assistance if need arose. At Heyst he went straight to the curé and presented the letter that the bailiff had given him. The curé said:
“You are a brave man, but let me tell you that no one goes along the dunes on Saturday nights without being bitten by the werwolf and left dead on the sands. Even the men who are at work on the dikes never go there except in a party. The evening is coming on. Do you not hear the werwolf howling in his valley? Perchance he will come again into the cemetery, even as he came last night, howling most horribly through all the hours of darkness! God be with you, my son. But go not there.” And the curé crossed himself.
“The ashes beat upon my heart,” answered Ulenspiegel.
The curé said:
“Because you have so brave a spirit I will help you.”
“Monsieur le Curé,” said Ulenspiegel, “you will be doing a great kindness, as well to me as to this poor desolated land of ours, if you will go to Toria, the dead girl’s mother, and to her two brothers also, and tell them that the wolf is near at hand, and that I am going out to wait for it and kill it.”
The curé said:
“If you want to know where you should lie in wait, let me advise you to keep along by the path which leads to the cemetery. It runs between two hedges of broom. It is so narrow two men could scarcely walk abreast.”
“I understand,” said Ulenspiegel. “And you, brave curé, will you tell the girl’s mother and her husband and her brothers to come themselves and wait together in the church about the hour of the curfew. There, if they hear a cry like the cry of a seagull, it will mean that I have seen the werwolf. Then they must sound the wacharm on the bell, and come fast to my assistance. And if there are any other brave men....”
“There are none, my son,” replied the curé. “The fishermen are less afraid of the plague and of death itself than of the werwolf. Do not go, I beseech you.”
Ulenspiegel answered:
“The ashes beat upon my heart.”
And the curé said to him:
“I will do as you bid. God bless you. Are you hungry or thirsty?”
“Both,” answered Ulenspiegel.
The curé gave him some beer, some bread, and some cheese, and Ulenspiegel when he had eaten and drunk went his way.
And as he walked along he raised his eyes and beheld Claes, his father, seated in glory at the side of God in heaven where the moon shone so brightly. And thereafter he gazed upon the sea and upon the clouds, and he heard the wind that came blowing stormily from England.
“Alas!” he cried, “O Dusky Clouds that pass along so rapidly yonder in the sky, be you now for a vengeance on the murderer. And you, O Wind that whistles so sadly in the gorse along the dunes and in the rigging of the ships, be you now the voice of the victims that cry to God that he should help me on in this enterprise.”
And so saying he came down into the valley, stumbling as if he had been a drunken man; and he began to sing, hiccuping all the time, staggering from side to side, yawning, spitting, and then standing still and pretending to be sick. But all the time he was keeping his eyes wide open, and peering this way and that, for he had heard the sharp sound as of a wolf howling. Then, as he stood there vomiting like a dog, he descried the long outline of a wolf moving towards the cemetery in the bright light of the moon.
At that he lurched on again, and came into the path between the hedges of broom. There he pretended to fall down, and as he did so, he placed his trap upon the side from which the wolf was coming. Then he loaded his crossbow, and went forward about ten paces, standing up again in a drunken posture. He still went on staggering to right and to left, nor did he cease to retch and to hiccup, but all the time his mind was taut as a bowstring, and he was all eyes and ears for what might be going to happen. Yet he saw nothing save the dark clouds racing in the sky, and again that large and heavy form of blackness coming down the path towards him. Neither did he hear aught but the dismal wailing of the wind, and the angry thunder of the sea, and the sound that the shells on the path gave forth beneath a heavy step that tapped upon them. Feigning to be about to sit down, Ulenspiegel fell forwards on to the path, very heavily like a drunken man. After that he heard as it were a piece of iron clinking close to his ear, and then the sound of the trap shutting, and a human voice that cried out in the darkness.
“The werwolf,” said Ulenspiegel to himself. “He’s got his front paws caught in the trap. Now he is howling and trying to run away, dragging the trap with him. But he shall not escape.” And he drew his crossbow and shot an arrow at the legs of the werwolf.
“He’s wounded now,” said Ulenspiegel, “and he has fallen down.”
Thereupon he whistled like a seagull, and straightway the church bell clanged out from the village and a boy’s shrill voice was heard crying from afar off:
“Awake! Awake, you sleepers! The werwolf is caught.”
“Praise be to God,” said Ulenspiegel.
Now the first to arrive on the scene of the capture were Toria the mother of Betkin, and Lansaen her husband, and her two brothers Josse and Michael. And they brought lanterns with them.
“You have caught him?” they asked.
“Look on the path,” answered Ulenspiegel.
“Praise be to God,” they exclaimed, crossing themselves.
“Who is it that is calling out the news in the village?” asked Ulenspiegel.
“It is my eldest boy,” Lansaen answered. “The youngster is running through the village knocking on all the doors and crying out that the wolf is caught. Praise be to thee!”
“The ashes beat upon my heart,” answered Ulenspiegel.
Suddenly the werwolf began to speak:
“Have mercy on me! Have mercy, Ulenspiegel!”
“This wolf can talk!” they exclaimed, crossing themselves again. “He is a devil in very truth, and knows Ulenspiegel’s name already!”
“Have mercy! Have mercy!” the voice cried again. “I am no wolf. Order the bell to stop ringing. For thus it is that it tolls for the dead. And my wrists are torn by the trap. I am old and I am bleeding. Have mercy! And what is this—this shrill voice of a child awakening all the village? Oh pray, have mercy!”
“I have heard your voice before,” said Ulenspiegel passionately. “You are the fishmonger. The murderer of Claes, the vampire that preys upon poor maids! Have no fear, good mother and father. This is none other than the Dean of the Fishmongers on whose account poor Soetkin died of grief.” And with one hand he held the man fast by the neck, and with the other he drew out his cutlass.
But Toria the mother of Betkin prevented him.
“Take him alive,” cried she. “Take him alive. Let him pay!”
Meanwhile there were many fisherfolk, men and women of Heyst, who were come out at the news that the werwolf was taken and that he was no devil but a man. Some of these carried lanterns and flaming torches, and all of them cried aloud when they saw him:
“Thief! Murderer! Where hide you the gold that you have stolen from your poor victims?”
“He shall repay it all,” said Toria. And she would have beaten him in her rage had she not fallen down there and then upon the sand in a mad fury like unto one dead. And they left her there until she came to herself.
And Ulenspiegel, sad at heart, beheld the clouds racing like mad things in the sky, and out at sea the white crests of the waves, and on the ground at his feet the white face of the fishmonger that looked up at him in the light of the lantern with cruel eyes. And the ashes beat upon his heart.
And they walked for four hours, and came to Damme where was a great crowd assembled that already was aware of what had happened. Every one desired to see the fishmonger, and they pressed round the fishermen and fisherwives, crying out and singing and dancing and saying: “The werwolf is caught! He is caught, the murderer! Blessed be Ulenspiegel! Long live our brother Ulenspiegel!—Lange leve onzen broeder Ulenspiegel.” And it was like a popular rising. And when the crowd passed in front of the bailiff’s house, he came out, hearing the noise, and said to Ulenspiegel:
“You are the conqueror; all praise to you!”
“It was the ashes of Claes that beat upon my heart,” said Ulenspiegel.
Then the bailiff said:
“Half the murderer’s fortune shall be yours.”
“Let it be given to his victims,” answered Ulenspiegel.
Now Lamme and Nele were there too—Nele laughing and crying with joy and kissing her lover; Lamme jumping heavily and striking his belly while he cried out at the same time:
“Brave, trusty, and true! My comrade, my well-beloved! You cannot match him anywhere, you other men of the flat country.”
But the fisherfolk laughed and made mock of Lamme.