XXXIII
Towards the end of the third year of her banishment, Katheline returned to her home in Damme. And continually she cried aloud in her madness: “Fire, fire! My head is on fire! My soul is knocking, make a hole, she wants to get out!” And if ever she saw an ox or a sheep she would run from it as if in terror. And she would sit on the bench at the back of her cottage, under the lime-trees, wagging her head and staring at the people of Damme as they passed by. But she did not recognize them, and they called her “The mad-woman.”
Meanwhile Ulenspiegel went wandering along the roads and pathways of the world, and one day he met a donkey on the highway, harnessed with leather and studs of brass, and its head ornamented with tassels and plumes of scarlet wool....
Some old women were standing round the donkey in a circle, all talking at once and telling each other how that no one could tame the donkey for that he was a terrible animal and had belonged to the Baron of Raix, who was a magician and had been burned alive for having sacrificed eight children to the devil. “And he ran away so fast,” said the old women, “that none could catch him. And without a doubt he is under the protection of Satan. For a while ago he seemed tired, resting by the wayside, and the village constables came to seize him. But he suddenly kicked out with his hind legs and brayed in such fearful fashion that they durst not to go near him. And that was no bray of an ass, but the bray of the devil himself. So the constables left him to browse among the thistles, and passed no sentence upon him, nor did they burn him alive for a sorcerer as they should have done. Verily these men have no courage.”
Notwithstanding this brave talk, the donkey had only to prick up his ears or flick his sides with his tail, to send the women running away from him with cries of terror. Then back they would come, chattering and jabbering, but ever ready to be off again if the donkey showed the least sign of movement. Ulenspiegel could not help laughing at the sight,
“Ah!” said he, “talk and curiosity! They flow like an everlasting river from the mouths of women—and especially old women, for with the young the flow is less continuous by reason of their amorous occupations.”
Then, considering the donkey:
“This sorcerer-beast,” said he to himself, “is a sprightly ass without a doubt, and a good goer. What if I were to take him for my own, to ride, or maybe sell him?”
Without another word Ulenspiegel went and got a feed of oats, and returning, offered them to the donkey. But while he was eating of those viands Ulenspiegel jumped nimbly upon his back, and taking the reins, turned him first to the north, then to the east, and lastly to the west. Then, when he had gone from them a little way, he raised his hand as if in blessing on those aged dames. But they, almost fainting with fear, fell upon their knees before him. And that evening when they met together again, the tale was told of how an angel with a felt hat trimmed with a pheasant’s feather had come and blessed them, and had taken off the magician’s donkey by special favour of God.
And Ulenspiegel, astride of his ass, went his way through the green fields, where the horse pranced about at liberty, where the cows and heifers grazed at their ease or lay resting in the sunshine. And he called the ass Jef.
At last Jef came to a stop, and began, as happy as could be, to make his dinner off the thistles which grew in that place in great abundance. But anon he shivered all over, and flicked his sides with his tail in the hope of ridding himself of the greedy horse-flies who, like himself, were trying to get their dinner, not off the thistles, but off his own flesh.
Ulenspiegel, who himself began to feel the pangs of hunger, grew very melancholy.
“Happy indeed would you be, friend donkey, with your good dinner of fine thistles if there was no one to disturb you in your pleasures, and to remind you that you also are mortal, born, that is to say, to the endurance of all kinds of villainies.”
Thus did Ulenspiegel address his steed, and thus continued:
“For even as you have this gadfly of yours to worry you, so also hath His Holiness the Pope a gadfly of his own, even master Martin Luther; and His Sacred Majesty the Emperor, hath he not my Lord of France for his tormentor—Francis, first of that name, the King with the very long nose and a sword that is longer still? And forsooth, donkey mine, it is certainly permitted that I also, poor little man wandering all alone, may have my gadfly too.
“Alas! Woe is me! All my pockets have holes in them, and by the said apertures do all my fine ducats and florins and daelders ramble away, flying like a crowd of mice before the mouth of the cat that would devour them. I wonder why it is that money will have nothing to do with me—me that am so fond of money? Verily Fortune is no woman, whatever they may say, for she loves none but greedy misers that shut her up in their coffers, tie her up in sacks, close her down under twenty keys and never let her show herself at the window by so much as the little tip of her gilded nose! This, then, is the gadfly that preys upon me and makes me itch, and tickles me without ever so much as raising a laugh. But there, you are not listening to me at all, friend donkey! And you think of nothing but your food. You gobbling gobbler, your long ears are deaf to the cry of an empty stomach! But you shall listen to me. I insist!”
And he belaboured the ass as hard as he could, till the brute began to bray.
“Come, come, now that you have given us a song!” cried Ulenspiegel. But the donkey would not advance by more than a single step, and seemed determined to go on eating thistles until he had consumed all that grew by the roadside. And of these there was an abundance.
When Ulenspiegel saw what was happening he dismounted and cut off a bunch of thistles; then, mounting the ass again, he placed the bunch of thistles just in front of the animal’s nose. And in this way, leading the donkey by the nose, he arrived before long in the land of the Landgrave of Hesse.
“Friend donkey,” he said as they went along, “you, verily, go running after a bunch of thistles, the meagre fare with which I have provided you; but you leave behind the lovely road that is filled with all kinds of most delicate herbs. And thus do all men, scenting out, some of them, the bouquet called Fame which Fortune puts under their nose, others the bouquet of Gain, and yet others the bouquet that is called Love. But at the end of the journey they discover, like you, that they have been pursuing things that are of little account, and that they have left behind all that is worth anything—health, and work, repose, happiness, and home.”
In such discourse with his donkey Ulenspiegel came at last to the palace of the Landgrave.
There two Captains of Artillery were playing dice upon the steps of the palace, and one of them, a red-haired man of gigantic stature, soon noticed Ulenspiegel as he approached modestly upon his ass, gazing down upon them and their game.
“What do you want,” said the Captain, “you, fellow, with your starved pilgrim’s face?”
“I am extremely hungry,” answered Ulenspiegel, “and if I am a pilgrim, it is against my will.”
“And you are hungry,” replied the Captain, “go, eat the next gallows cord you come to, for such cords are prepared for vagabonds like you.”
“Sir Captain,” answered Ulenspiegel, “only give me the fine golden cord you wear on your hat, and I will go straightway and hang myself by the teeth from that fat ham which I see hanging over there at the cook-shop.”
The Captain asked him where he came from. Ulenspiegel told him, “From Flanders.”
“What do you want?”
“To show His Highness the Landgrave one of my pictures. For I am a painter.”
“If it is a painter that you are,” said the Captain, “and from Flanders, come in, and I will lead you to my master.”
When he had been brought before the Landgrave, Ulenspiegel saluted thrice and again.
“May your Highness deign,” said he, “to excuse my presumption in daring to come and lay before these noble feet a picture I have made for your Highness, wherein I have had the honour to portray Our Lady the Virgin in her royal attire.”
And then after a moment’s pause:
“It may be that my picture may please your Highness,” he continued, “and in that case I am sufficiently presumptuous to hope that I might aspire even unto this fine chair of velvet, where sat in his lifetime the painter that is lately deceased and ever to be regretted by your Magnanimity.”
Now the picture which Ulenspiegel showed him was very beautiful, and when the Landgrave had inspected it, he told Ulenspiegel to sit down upon the chair, for that he would certainly make him his Court Painter. And the Landgrave kissed him on both cheeks, most joyously, and Ulenspiegel sat down on the chair.
“Of a truth you are a very talkative fellow,” said the Landgrave, looking him up and down.
“May it please your Lordship,” answered Ulenspiegel, “Jef—my donkey—has dined most excellently well on thistles, but as for me I have seen nothing but misery these three days past, and have had nothing to nourish me but the mists of expectation.”
“You shall soon have some better fare than that,” answered the Landgrave. “But where is this donkey of yours?”
“I left him on the Grande Place,” Ulenspiegel said, “opposite the palace; and I should be most obliged if he could be given lodging for the night—some straw and a little fodder.”
The Landgrave immediately gave instructions to one of his pages that Ulenspiegel’s donkey should be treated even as his own.
The hour for supper soon arrived, and the meal was like a wedding festival. Hot meats smoked in the dishes, wine flowed like water, while Ulenspiegel and the Landgrave grew both as red as burning coals. Ulenspiegel also became very merry, but His Highness was somewhat pensive even in his cups.
“Our painter,” said he suddenly, “will have to paint our portrait. For it is a great satisfaction to a mortal prince to bequeath to his descendants the memory of his countenance.”
“Sir Landgrave,” answered Ulenspiegel, “your will is my pleasure. Nevertheless, I cannot help feeling sorry at the thought that if your Lordship is painted by himself he will feel lonely, perhaps, all there in solitary state through the ages to come. Surely he should be accompanied by his noble wife, Madame the Landgravine, by her lords and ladies, and by his captains and most warlike officers of State. In the midst of these, my Lord and his Lady will shine like twin suns surrounded by lanterns.”
“Well, painter mine, and how much shall I have to pay you for this mighty work?”
“One hundred florins, either now or later, just as you will.”
“Here they are, in advance,” said the Landgrave.
“Most compassionate master,” said Ulenspiegel as he took the money, “you have filled my lamp with oil, and now it shall burn bright in your honour.”
On the next day Ulenspiegel asked the Landgrave to let him see those persons who were to have the honour of being painted. And first there came before him the Duke of Lüneburg, commander of the infantry of the Landgrave. He was a stout man who carried with difficulty his great paunch swollen with food. He went up to Ulenspiegel and whispered in his ear:
“When you paint my portrait see that you take off half my fat at least. Else will I order my soldiers to have you hung.”
The Duke passed on. And next there came a noble lady with a hump on her back and a bosom as flat as a sword-blade.
“Sir painter,” said she, “unless you remove the hump on my back and give me a couple of others in the place where they should be, verily I will have you drawn and quartered as if you were a prisoner.”
The lady went away, and now there appeared a young maid of honour, fair, fresh, and comely, only that she lacked three teeth under her upper lip.
“Sir painter,” said she, “if you do not paint me smiling and showing through my parted lips a perfect set of teeth, I’ll have you chopped up into small pieces at the hands of my gallant. There he is, look at him.”
And she pointed to that Captain of Artillery who a while ago had been playing dice on the palace steps. And she went her way.
The procession continued, until at last Ulenspiegel was left alone with the Landgrave.
The Landgrave said to him:
“My friend, let me warn you that if your painting has the misfortune to be inaccurate or false to all these various physiognomies by so much as a single feature, I will have your throat cut as if you were a chicken.”
“If I am to have my head cut off,” thought Ulenspiegel, “if I am to be drawn and quartered, chopped up into small pieces, and finally hung, I should do better to paint no portrait at all. I must consider what is best to be done.”
“And where is the hall,” he asked the Landgrave, “which I am to adorn with all these likenesses!”
“Follow me,” said the Landgrave. And he brought him to a large room with great bare walls.
“This is the hall,” he said.
“I should be very grateful,” said Ulenspiegel, “if some curtains could be hung right along the walls, so that my paintings may be protected from the flies and the dust.”
“Certainly,” said the Landgrave.
When the curtains had been hung as directed, Ulenspiegel asked if he might have three apprentices to help him with the mixing of his colours.
This was done, and for thirty days Ulenspiegel and the apprentices spent the whole of their time feasting and carousing together, with every extravagance of meat and drink. And the Landgrave looked on at it all. But at last on the thirty-first day he came and thrust his nose in at the door of the chamber where Ulenspiegel had begged him not to enter.
“Well, Tyl,” he said, “and where are the portraits?”
“They are not finished,” answered Ulenspiegel.
“When shall I be able to see them?”
“Not just yet,” said Ulenspiegel.
On the six-and-thirtieth day the Landgrave again thrust his nose inside the door.
“Well, Tyl,” he inquired, “how now?”
“Ah, Sir Landgrave,” said Ulenspiegel, “the portraits are getting on.”
On the sixtieth day the Landgrave grew very angry, and coming right into the room:
“Show me the pictures at once!” he cried.
“I will do so,” answered Ulenspiegel, “but pray have the kindness not to draw the curtain until you have summoned hither the lords and captains and ladies of your court.”
“Very well,” said the Landgrave, and at his command the aforesaid notabilities appeared. Ulenspiegel took up his stand in front of the curtain, which was still carefully drawn.
“My Lord Landgrave,” he said, “and you, Madame the Landgravine, and you my Lord of Lüneburg, and you others, fine ladies and valiant captains, know that behind this curtain have I portrayed to the best of my abilities your faces, every one warlike or gentle as the case may be. It will be quite easy for each one of you to recognize himself. And that you are anxious to see yourselves is only natural. But I pray you have patience and suffer me to speak a word or two before the curtain is drawn. Know this, fair ladies and valiant captains; all you that are of noble blood shall behold my paintings and rejoice. But if there be among you any that is of low or humble birth, such an one will see nothing but a blank wall. So there! And now, have the goodness to open wide your noble eyes.”
And so saying, Ulenspiegel drew the curtain.
“Remember,” said he again, “only they of noble birth can see my pictures, whether they be lords or ladies.” And again, presently: “He of low birth is blind to my pictures But he who clearly sees, that man is a nobleman without a doubt.”
At that every one present opened wide his eyes, pretending—you may be sure—to see, and feigning to recognize the various faces and pointing themselves out to one another, though in reality they beheld nothing at all but a bare wall. And for this they were each and all secretly ashamed.
Suddenly the court jester, who was standing by, jumped three feet in the air and jaggled his bells.
“Take me for a villain,” he cried, “a most villainous villain, but I verily will affirm and assert and say with trumpets and fanfares that there I see a wall, a blank, white wall, and nothing but a wall, so help me God and his saints!”
Ulenspiegel said:
“When fools ’gin talking, time for wise men to be walking.”
And he was about to leave the palace when the Landgrave stopped him.
“Fool in your folly,” said he, “you make boast that you go through the world praising what is good and fair and making mock of foolery, and you have dared to make open game of so many and so high-born ladies, and of their yet more noble lords, bringing ridicule on the pride of their nobility! Of a truth I tell you that the day will come when you will hang for your free speech.”
“If the cord is of gold,” said Ulenspiegel, “it will break with dread at my approach.”
“Stay,” said the Landgrave. “Here is the first bit of your rope,” and he gave him fifteen florins.
“All thanks to you,” said Ulenspiegel, “and I promise you that every tavern on the road shall have a thread of it, a thread of that gold which makes Crœsuses of all those rascally tavern-keepers.”
And off he went on his donkey, holding his head up high in air, with the plume in his cap wagging joyously in the breeze.