THE WONDERFUL FISH
MID the sand-hills in Flanders not far from La Panne there lived a fisherman named Tintelentyn. He was very poor; he worked from morning till night and very often spent half the night wading in the water with his shrimping-net.
He had not been able to save enough money to build a little house. Meanwhile he and his idle wife, Susie Grill, lived in an old bathing-machine which they had received in exchange for some shrimps.
Fisherman Tintelentyn was a good man and never complained of his hard lot. His wife, on the contrary, who considered she had married beneath her, lay in the grass in front of the machine day after day bemoaning her fate and reproaching the Almighty for not giving her the riches enjoyed by her friends and acquaintances.
Poor Tintelentyn received the full brunt of her bad temper. In spite of his hard work she reproached him with being stupid and lazy.
Susie Grill being in a temper, the good man, despite an unfavourable tide, took up his nets and went to the sea. He cast his nets in despair. He was doomed to disappointment, for on drawing in his nets he only found some shells, seaweed, and starfish; not a single shrimp nor even a little crab.
He was very downhearted and perplexed, when suddenly he saw something red shining in one of his nets. On closer examination he saw that the red thing was alive; it was a fish, which seemed to be looking at him with its silvery eyes.
“Poor little fish,” the good man said in pitying tones, “I am sorry to have caught you. You are too pretty and too rare to fry. However, I dare not throw you back into the sea, for Susie Grill will be so angry if I return empty-handed.”
STOOD UP ON ITS TAIL
Imagine Tintelentyn’s amazement when the pretty fish, which he held in the hollow of his hand, stood up on its tail and began to speak in a piping voice:
“Little fisherman Tintelentyn,
Do not fry my bright red skin.
I beg you throw me back into the sea,
And all you may wish you shall have from me.”
Without hesitation and with never a thought of reward, the fisherman threw the strange fish into the waves. He was about to cast his nets for the second time when he saw his wife coming towards him with her arms akimbo. She immediately began to rail against him:
“Tintelentyn, you stupid man,
What shall we put in the frying-pan
If you throw back into the sea
The only fish you caught for me;
If you prefer poverty all your life,
You can go and find another wife.”
At first the poor man was too much astonished to answer. When he recovered, he tried to excuse himself, telling her that the fish he had caught was no ordinary fish, that he had looked at him so sadly and had implored him so gently and with promises of reward to give him his freedom. His wife became still more furious. “What!” she cried, “that fish would have made our fortune. You had only to make a wish and we should have been saved from this misery. You have thrown this wonderful fish back into the sea without even asking for a good catch of shrimps. You are an ass! Cast back your nets and wish for a large and beautiful house with turrets, such as the wealthy live in. It must have marble steps and be well furnished. If you do not catch the fish again, I shall run away and you will never see me again.”
A Lovely House with Lofty Towers
When the good man drew in his nets again, he found the red fish. When he let it wriggle in the palm of his hand, it again looked at him with pleading eyes and spoke in a very piping voice:
“Little fisherman Tintelentyn,
Do not fry my bright red skin.
I beg you throw me back into the sea,
And all you may wish you shall have from me.”
The fisherman cast a frightened glance towards his wife, who was seated on the dry sand. Then with much hesitation he said:
“O little fish so red and fine,
You shall live, O little fish mine;
But Susie Grill my wife desires
A lovely house with lofty towers,
Everything of the best must be,
O little fish, will you help me?”
The fish stood up on its tail and said:
“Susie Grill, she is neither mad nor shy,
What she has wished for is now close by.”
The fisherman threw the fish back into the sea and turned homewards. Oh! how wonderful! There on the highest sand-hill, where the bathing-machine had stood, was a beautiful house. He could hardly wait to collect his nets, he was so anxious to know whether this time his wife would receive him more amiably.
Proud as a peacock she awaited him on the marble steps:
“Well, Grilly,” he asked, “are you pleased with me?”
“Listen,” she replied, “it is true I now live in a beautiful house with turrets, a marble staircase and rooms exquisitely furnished, but I have no money. Go back to the sea ... catch the fish again and ask him to give us as much money as the richest man on the coast between Ostend and Dunkirk. Woe betide you if you return without it!”
The good man again returned to the sea, and when he had caught the fish and the latter again asked for his freedom, the fisherman answered, much embarrassed at asking yet another favour:
“O little fish so red and fine,
You shall live, O little fish mine;
But Susie Grill my wife
Wants to lead an easy life,
Heaps of silver and gold.
You will think her very bold.
But little fish, never mind,
O little fish to her be kind.”
Again the fish arose and replied:
“Susie Grill is neither shy nor bold,
She shall have riches and wealth untold.”
When Tintelentyn returned, he found his wife in her bedroom seated before a large chest overflowing with gold. She counted it without ceasing, arranging it in piles of a hundred on the table. Before the chest was another brimful of silver. She told her husband that she was going to Bruges the next morning to buy a coach and four and to engage a staff of servants. Her chef was to be a master of his art, he must out-rival the Count of Flanders’ chef.
SHE COUNTED IT WITHOUT CEASING
“Well, are you happy now, little wife?” Tintelentyn murmured.
“Well, to be truthful, no,” his wife replied. “I have mentioned the Count of Flanders’ chef. How foolish I am, as we can have anything we desire—why should I not wish to be the Countess of Flanders? Now I know for what purpose I was born. I shall sit on the throne. I shall be a queen. Go back as quickly as you can to the sea. Tell the fish what I wish, and do not forget to add that you will accept some high position at my court.”
When the fisherman cast his net, he noticed that the sky was overcast on the horizon. The waves became more angry than before and a strong breeze was blowing. However, he soon caught the fish and said to him:
“O little fish, so red and fine,
I’ll not harm you, little fish mine;
But Susie Grill, O little fish,
Has yet once more another wish.
Fish, dear little fish, I beg you help me,
Now Countess of Flanders she would be.”
Standing up on his tail the fish replied:
“If Susie Grill thinks it her destiny
Countess of Flanders she shall be.”
“I am not dissatisfied with what you have done”
Tintelentyn could hardly believe his eyes, when instead of arriving at the house he lived in up to an hour ago he found himself in front of a palace, with pointed towers so high that they seemed to disappear into the clouds. He saw knights and ladies going in and coming out, and grooms in rich liveries. He dared not go in dressed in his ragged fisherman’s clothes. Suddenly his wife appeared at an open window with a crown on her head and a sceptre in her hand. She signed to him to approach:
“My man,” she said with great importance, “I am not dissatisfied with what you have done. I even feel disposed to reward you handsomely. I require a cup-bearer. Well, I will appoint you to this post on condition that you return
HE SOON CAUGHT THE FISH
once again to the sea and obtain me yet another great honour.”
“Good gracious, wife,” exclaimed the good man, “are you not overwhelmed with honours? You are richer than the richest man between Ostend and Dunkirk, you hold the title of Countess of Flanders, you wear a crown and sceptre, what more can you possibly desire?”
“You are an innocent,” laughed Susie Grill. “Is there not a sky above my head, and is there not a God who reigns in the sky? Go quickly to the sea, catch the red fish. Ask him to make me as powerful as God. If you dare to return without obtaining my wish, you will be hanged.”
A MIGHTY SEA-KING
This time Tintelentyn did not hurry. He felt as though his legs were weighted with lead. He stumbled along as though he had been drinking. The sea was rougher than he had ever seen it. A storm was coming up from the west. The wind whistled among the sand-hills, driving the sand before it. Distant thunder rolled and lightning flashed. For the last time the red fish let himself be caught.
“Little Fisherman Tintelentyn,
Do not fry my bright red skin.”
He spoke roughly, as though in warning.
“O Tintelentyn, O Tintelentyn,
Do not commit this awful sin.”
But the poor fisherman, thinking of the rope which awaited him, said in a trembling voice:
“O little fish so red and fine,
Help once again, little fish mine.
My foolish wife, Susie Grill,
Bids me ask her latest will.
Little fish, I beg you pardon me,
Now powerful as God she wants to be.”
He had hardly uttered the words when the fish leaped out of his hand and in his place appeared a mighty sea-king accompanied by mermaids and strange sea-monsters. These words came from the sea-king’s mouth like a curse:
“Susie Grill, Susie Grill,
Nevermore shall have her will,
She loses all in committing such sin,
This night you will sleep in your old cabin.”
When Tintelentyn reached the sand-hill, Susie Grill, dressed in her old skirt and ragged blouse, was seated in front of the bathing-machine. She was grumbling about the hard times and the small profits to be drawn from shrimps.
The Cobbler and His Wife
THE FRYING-PAN
NCE upon a time there lived a cobbler who was very fond of pancakes. His wife did not care for them at all. Every time he dared to mention his favourite dish, she replied:
“But, man, how can I make pancakes? You know quite well we have no frying-pan.”
“Well, borrow one from the neighbour,” he replied one day.
His wife dared not carry her objections any further. She fetched the frying-pan and she fried and fried as though she were frying for the whole village. She fried for so long that the pan became too hot and broke!
Neither of them wanted to return the frying-pan to their neighbour. This led to a dispute, and the little house, which was generally so peaceful, was in an uproar.
The man said that the person who had borrowed the frying-pan should return it.
His wife said that as it was borrowed for his benefit, he should undertake this unpleasant task.
“Listen,” said the cobbler, who was anxious to put an end to the quarrel; “I have an idea. We cannot keep our neighbour’s frying-pan for ever. Whichever of us speaks first, on no matter what subject, must take back the frying-pan.”
“Agreed,” said his wife. She pursed up her lips and clenched her teeth, as much as to say: “Wild horses will not drag a word out of me.”
The next day the neighbours knocked at the door and asked if they could have the frying-pan. Neither vouchsafed an answer. Then they asked the wife, and her only reply was to turn her spinning-wheel more vigorously. Not a word escaped her lips, except a sound which resembled the noise made by young chicks:
“Sjip, sjip, sjip, sjip, sjip.”
Then they asked the cobbler, who replied by hammering so loudly on a pair of soles that, unable to stand the noise, they shrugged their shoulders and went out.
The same thing happened to the customers.
The rumour soon spread in the village that the cobbler and his wife had been bewitched.
There was no time to be lost; their friends went to the exorcist to free them from the spell.
The charlatan, with incantations, prepared for the ceremony by crossing himself and sprinkling holy water.
In spite of all his efforts he was no more successful than the other villagers. He only heard the woman say, “Sjip, sjip, sjip,” and the man tapping with the hammer.
The exorcist, now at the end of his resources, took the pail of holy water and emptied the contents over the woman’s head, she being apparently the most obstinate case.
“Have you finished?” the woman burst out, while the water dripped from her body like snow melting off a snow-man.
“Dear little wife,” said the cobbler calmly, “you will take the frying-pan to our neighbour.”
The good man threw away the shoe he held in his hand and danced for joy.
NEITHER OF THEM WANTED TO RETURN THE FRYING-PAN
The Three Farmers
FARMER BROOM, FARMER
LEAVES, AND FARMER IRON
NCE upon a time there were three peasants who lived in the same wood.
The first had a hut made of broom.
The second had a hut made of leaves.
The third had a hut made of iron.
That is why they were known as Farmer Broom, Farmer Leaves, and Farmer Iron.
One cold winter afternoon a wolf came stealthily into the clearing where the three farmers had built their huts. He hid himself behind a thick bush and hungrily watched the skaters as they glided over the polished surface of the ice. At twilight, just as Farmer Broom had returned home from the forest with a faggot of wood, the wolf knocked at his door, and cried, “Farmer Broom, Farmer Broom, open the door, my friend; my little hands are so cold, and my little feet are frozen.”
“I will not open the door,” Farmer Broom replied gruffly.
“Then I shall break it open.” The wolf hurled himself with such force against the door that he burst it open, went into the hut, and sat down by the fire.
Farmer Broom was about to peel potatoes, and the wolf
THE THREE FARMERS AND THEIR HOUSES
began to repeat in a hoarse voice, “Warm in the stomach, as I shall have fat pigs. Warm in the stomach, as I shall have fat pigs.”
He Burst it Open
“What are you muttering about?” Farmer Broom asked innocently.
“Well,” replied the wolf, “you will be the first! But give me a potato at once; I am as hungry as can be.”
Farmer Broom put a potato on the point of his knife, and held it out at arm’s length to the wolf, but the latter swallowed the potato, the knife, and the farmer at a gulp.
The next day the wolf knocked at Farmer Leaves’ door, just after the latter had returned with a basketful of dead leaves which he had collected from beneath the snow.
“Farmer Leaves, Farmer Leaves, open the door, my dear friend; my little feet are so cold, and my little hands are frozen.”
“I shall not open it,” replied Farmer Leaves.
“Then I shall burst it open,” said the wolf, and thereupon he threw his weight against the door, forced it open, went in and sat down by the fire.
Farmer Leaves was also about to peel potatoes, and the wolf said in a deep voice, “Warm in the stomach, as I shall have fat pigs. Warm in the stomach, as I shall have fat pigs.”
“What are you mumbling?” asked Farmer Leaves.
“Well,” said the wolf, “I was saying a little prayer for you, but, quick, give me a potato, I am dying of hunger.”
THE WOLF WENT IN AND SAT DOWN
Farmer Leaves held out his knife with a potato stuck on the end, but again the wolf swallowed the potato, the knife, and the farmer at a gulp.
The third day he went to Farmer Iron. The latter had seen him coming in the distance, as he was entering his hut with a bucketful of water from the well. He placed a large cauldron full of dried peas in the attic. The wolf knocked, and cried, “Farmer Iron, Farmer Iron, open the door, my friend; my little feet are so cold, and my little hands are frozen.”
“I shall not open it,” said Farmer Iron.
“Then I shall burst it open.”
“All right, burst it open,” said Farmer Iron.
The wolf made a spring and charged at the door, and dashed himself against it until his paws were torn and bleeding. He lost so much blood that Farmer Iron ended by taking pity on him, and opened the door.
The wolf went in and sat down by the fire with Farmer Iron. Very soon he began to say in a sepulchral voice, “Warm in the stomach, as I shall have fat pigs. Warm in the stomach, as I shall have fat pigs.”
FARMER BROOM AND FARMER LEAVES CAME OUT ALIVE
“What nonsense are you repeating?” asked Farmer Iron in a derisive tone.
“Well,” said the wolf, “it is a little prayer for you, but give me a potato, my stomach feels quite hollow and empty.”
Farmer Iron held out a potato. The wolf was about to swallow it when Farmer Iron suddenly pulled a string and upset the cauldron of dried peas, which made a great noise as they ran out on the attic floor.
“Whatever is it, whatever is it?” asked the frightened wolf.
“The police who are tracking you down,” answered Farmer Iron, laughing. “They want to hang you for eating Farmer Broom and Farmer Leaves.”
“Good heavens, Farmer Iron, my friend, tell me where I can hide,” begged the wolf.
“Quick, climb into the attic,” said Farmer Iron. “I will not betray you.”
The wolf rushed to the ladder. Farmer Iron took a large saucepan of boiling water off the fire and put it down at the foot of the ladder. The wolf was in such a hurry that he slipped and fell into the saucepan, and was terribly scalded. Farmer Iron pulled him out, cut him open, and, oh, what joy! Farmer Broom and Farmer Leaves came out alive, each carrying his knife with a potato on the end.
They all three lifted up the wolf and threw him outside, and each returned to his own hut.
This is what happened in that wonderful country where after you are dead you live happy ever after.
Lodewyk and his Cards
LITTLE LODEWYK AND
ANNIE THE WITCH
ITTLE Lodewyk built card houses, but Annie the witch always came to blow them down.
One day little Lodewyk grew tired of this and built himself a stone house. He put in a fireplace and a pump. Now if the witch came she could not blow it down.
Suddenly he heard a knock at the door!
“Who is there?” asked the little man.
“Annie the witch, open the door,” was the answer.
“What can Annie the witch want with me?”
“Very little, nothing but a little fire.”
“I have no fire.”
“You most certainly have, I saw smoke coming out of the chimney.”
“Then you must squint, my chimney cannot smoke. I have never lighted the fire; you must have seen the smoke from my neighbour’s chimney.”
“No, no, I am not to be taken in like that. My eyes are quite straight,” and she went off in a huff.
The next day she came back and again knocked at the door.
“Who is there?” asked little Lodewyk.
“It is I, my good man, Annie the witch.”
“What can Annie the witch want with me again?”
“Nothing much, only a pail of water.”
“You know very well I have no water.”
“Most certainly you have water, for I heard it gurgling in the pump.”
“Then you have very strange ears. I have never raised the pump-handle. No doubt the noise you heard came from my neighbour’s house.”
“I warn you that if you refuse to open the door I shall cut off your head.”
Little Lodewyk was terrified; he put the chain on the door and hid himself up the chimney.
In spite of this the witch went in and searched for him everywhere, but she could not find him. However, at last she discovered him seated in the chimney, and dragged him down by the hair of his head.
“Put your head on the table that I may cut it off,” commanded the witch, opening wide her red eyes.
“Willingly Annie, but tell me how,” said Lodewyk, who had a scheme in his head. “Show what I am to do.”
“Very well, place your head like this!” cried Annie the witch, and she placed her large and hideous head quite unsuspectingly on the table.
Lodewyk quickly seized his axe and cut off the witch’s head.
Then little Lodewyk calmly fried a herring for his supper and smoked a pipe.
And then there came a pig with a long snout.
And the little story has run out.
ANNIE THE WITCH ALWAYS CAME TO BLOW THEM DOWN
The Giant and Five Highwaymen
THE GIANT OF THE
CAUSEWAY
N olden days there was a feudal castle on the site where now stand the Causeway and Giant’s Mount, in the town of Brussels.
A giant lived in this castle who is reputed to have been over nine feet high.
This noble giant was generally beloved and esteemed, for in spite of his capricious and brusque character, he was ever ready to exert his superhuman strength in the defence of the weak. He rebuked the powerful, exterminated brigands and robbers, and cleared the roads of highwaymen.
From the tower of his castle, which he had built on high ground, he had a commanding view of the surrounding country.
He never left his castle except to inflict punishment on the wicked, or in order to protect the weak.
He consecrated all his leisure to his dear and beautiful daughter Helen. She was his only child by his beloved wife, who died in giving her birth.
From her childhood Helen was accustomed to a secluded life and had never left the castle grounds. In summer she amused herself with her sewing on the top of the tower.
HE NEVER LEFT HIS CASTLE EXCEPT TO INFLICT PUNISHMENT ON THE WICKED
One day, when her father was scouring the country, she ventured to take a little walk in the Valley of the Brook. She had only taken a few steps outside the castle grounds when, on turning the corner of a little path, she found herself face to face with a knight in armour, of comely appearance.
SHE VENTURED TO TAKE A LITTLE WALK
As soon as the latter saw Helen, he stood still, spellbound by the youth and beauty of the young girl. He loved her at first sight, and bewitched by her shy, maidenly demeanour, flung himself at her feet. Helen, for her part, stood bewildered at these demonstrations of respect and adoration.
Suddenly her father appeared, followed by four prisoners he had captured. He was leading them by a cord. He took in the situation at a glance, and said to the knight, who was lost in contemplation of the young maiden, “How dare you kneel at my daughter’s feet?”
“Sire,” replied the knight, “pardon me, I pray you. I love your daughter, and love has drawn me to her feet.”
Helen trembled, for she had also fallen in love.
“Who are you?” asked the giant.
He questioned the knight in such a severe manner that the maiden shivered, and blushing with shame took her father’s hand, murmuring words only intelligible to him.
“I am Harry of Housestone,” replied the young man; “I was knighted by Lothario.”
“That is sufficient; be quite frank with me.”
“I see your gentle daughter for the first time. The sight of her fills me with a happiness which radiates through all my being. I feel that without her life is not worth living. If, sire, I am fortunate enough to have won her favour, I pray you to give me her hand.”
“You are worthy to be my son-in-law,” replied the giant. “However, I have sworn that I will only give her in marriage to whoever shall be able to construct a paved roadway in a single night. The next day at dawn he must be able to take her on horseback down the Causeway bordered by columns to St. George’s Chapel.”
After this speech he glanced ironically at the knight, and taking Helen by the hand led her home. As she was about to cross the threshold the young maiden cast a sad and tender glance at the Knight of Housestone, who was completely disheartened by the giant’s impossible demands.
TOOK HER FATHER’S HAND
“Let me consider,” said the young lover, suddenly raising his head, “if there is a way to perform this task.”
But by the time he had estimated the length of the ground and the depth of the ravine on which he had to construct a paved way in a single night, and had realized the impossibility of carting the necessary stones for the colonnade, he groaned and sighed in dire despair.
“Night is falling,” he cried; “I will try my last resource. I will go and see if the miners who work in my uncle’s copper-mines could do this work before dawn.”
He at once started off to the Sunny Wood; he summoned the overseers and asked them if they could build a paved roadway from the Giant’s Castle to the town gates in a single night.
The overseers answered him that it would take at least a year, employing a thousand workmen a day, to execute such a work.
Harry, in deep dismay, took his homeward road, completely overwhelmed by his misfortunes. On the way he saw a little black-haired man, with a tall green hat and white pointed beard, leaning against a tree. He was not more than three feet high. He looked at the young knight with flaming eyes.
HE WAS NO MORE THAN THREE FEET HIGH
“You look sorrowful, Knight of Housestone; no mortal power can help you in your distress ... but if you like I can overcome your difficulties.”
“Oh, whoever you may be, you are very welcome,” replied the knight, holding out his hand. “But who are you?”
“I am the spirit of the copper-mines your uncle is working. I live in the underground caves, and his excavations are a source of great annoyance to me. If you will promise that the mining shall cease, that the galleries and shafts shall be filled in, in order that I and my companions may live in peace in the bowels
LED BY TWO PAGES
of the earth, we will this night construct the road and the colonnade demanded by the giant. To-morrow you will marry Helen.”
About Midnight a terrible Storm arose
“I can promise no such thing, for my uncle has a son who is heir to all he possesses.”
“His son, who was a good-for-nothing, was killed this morning by a man-at-arms whom he had had flogged yesterday. You are now your uncle’s sole heir.”
After saying a prayer for the repose of the soul of his cousin, Harry placed his left hand on the hilt of his sword, and holding out the other to the dwarf, he said, “I swear to do as you request immediately after my uncle’s death.”
“Enough,” replied the dwarf, “to-morrow at dawn repair to the spot where the road should begin, and all you will have to do is to fetch your bride.”
About midnight a terrible storm arose, the wind rooted up the tall trees, and the thunder rolled.
Helen, aroused by these alarming sounds, shaking with fear, got up and sought protection in her father’s room.
THE GIANT, HIS DAUGHTER, AND THE KNIGHT
“Do not be alarmed, my child,” the giant said softly, “it is the devil chasing some wild beast of the forest.”
“But do you not hear the sound of hammers, the rumbling of wheelbarrows, and confused noises, as though a crowd of men were at work?”
“It is possible,” replied the giant, looking out of the window; “but if Housestone is attempting to perform the task I set him, he must be mad.”
As he shut the window again a puff of wind blew out the lamp. At the same moment the storm abated, and all was calm and still as on other nights.
Helen had not a moment’s rest. At daybreak she ran up to the tower. Her surprise and joy were boundless when she saw a magnificent archway glittering in front of the castle, and beyond it stretched a splendid road, at the end of which she saw Harry of Housestone mounted on a black horse, followed by a beautiful white ambling nag, led by two pages.
On hearing her joyous cries her father appeared. All the giant had demanded was done. The Knight of Housestone was married to Helen the same day, and on his uncle’s death he faithfully fulfilled his promise to the dwarf of the underworld. He ordered the shafts and galleries to be filled up in the copper-mines, and to this day no one has been able to discover where they are.
THE KEY-FLOWER
N Flanders the cowslip is called the key-flower. The story I am about to tell you will explain why it is so named.
A little child died. Its little soul was as innocent and pure as freshly fallen snow. As a dove freed after long captivity flies straight into the blue sky, so the little soul flew into God’s Heaven and knocked at the gate.
St. Peter with his large golden key drew back the heavy lock, half opened the door and looked through the crack.
On seeing who was there, he opened the door wide and welcomed in the new little angel.
But behold, when the Saint was about to close the door, he let fall the bunch of keys with a thud on the golden threshold. Before he was able to pick them up they had slipped from the threshold into the fathomless blue.
They fell through space for two or three days and landed in a cemetery at the entrance to a little village.
Scarcely had they touched the earth, where they sparkled amidst the grass and the flowers, when a beautiful new flower sprang to life which had never been seen on earth before and was therefore without a name.
Early next morning a little orphan girl went to the cemetery to put flowers on her mother’s grave. She soon discovered this strange flower poised so proudly on its stalk. She was very surprised to find the pretty little bell flowers, which were certainly not growing there the day before, and which she had never seen.
She stooped down to examine the plant more closely and was amazed to find in the bushes a bunch of golden keys held together by a gold ring on which she read the word “Heaven.”
The discovery of the new flower and the bunch of keys was fully discussed in the village, and the news spread far and wide. Every one came to see the new flower. They called it the Key of Heaven, by which name it has been known ever since.
HE LET FALL THE BUNCH OF KEYS
Ripe Nuts in their Cups
THE OGRE
HIS time I am going to talk about myself, to tell you something that really happened to me. If you do not believe this you must not listen. I can only tell this story to children who are quite sure that I speak the truth.
I was between six and seven years old and still learning my letters at school. One fine Sunday afternoon in September I went with five or six of my schoolfellows into the Aulnes wood.
It was the nut season, and we knew there were a number of nut-trees in the wood.
After gathering nuts for some time on the edge of the wood, it happened that in going from tree to tree we gradually separated from each other. Before I became aware of it, I was deep in the wood. There I discovered a sort of hedge where the nuts grew so plentifully that I could hardly believe my eyes.
The spreading branches were weighed down with nuts in bunches of four, five, or even six ripe nuts in their yellow cups, hanging so temptingly.
At first I ate a good many and had a regular feast. I had never eaten such nuts! There were no bad ones and no empty shells. When I had eaten as many as I wanted, I filled my pockets, all my pockets. First the pockets of my Sunday coat, then my trouser pockets. I then filled my cap and tied some up in my handkerchief. Just as I was thinking that I could put in a few more I noticed that it was very still and lonely in the wood and that the nuts did not show up so plainly among the leaves.
I FILLED MY POCKETS
High above my head the last rays of the sunset shone among the branches of the huge elms, oaks, and poplars. Here and there a bird chirped on its nest, and far away towards the sunset I heard the sound of wheels on the road.
I could not hear my companions, but no doubt they were within call, they could not be far off. I put my hands to my mouth and shouted: “Hallo! John! Peter Little Carrots! George!”
I called them all and shouted their names one after the other, shouting louder and louder in all directions. But only the echo answered me. When I shouted John, the echo mockingly replied “Ohn,” and when I shouted George, it replied “Orge.”
Suddenly my heart sank within me, the last rays of light disappeared above my head and with startling rapidity darkness fell among the trees and bushes. The darkness seemed to grow out of the ground. The birds were silent. A cold breeze shook the branches, and far, far away a little bell rang out the Angelus.
I recognized the bell, it was our village bell. I knew that the carriage I had heard was the post-cart which was returning from Ternath to Lennick.
It was in the direction of these two sounds that I had to find a road, however. I could not imagine how far I was from the edge of the wood, and it was imperative that I should reach the fields before darkness overtook me.
I started off with my cap full of nuts in one hand and my handkerchief full in the other.
After going a few steps, I shouted again, “John! Peter!” but this time even the echo made no reply and my voice sounded so strangely in my ears that I did not recognize it.
I ran for about an hour and a half, when all at once I felt as though I was bound with ropes and I fell. I was held fast by the long tendrils of a blackberry-bush which I had not noticed in the gathering darkness.
I dropped my handkerchief and could barely distinguish it in the darkness.
I then shouted again as loudly as ever I could until I lost courage and could shout no more. I dared not, I dared not, because of the terrible silence which seemed to close round me. The silence was so uncanny that I distinctly heard the blood coursing through my veins.
I was alone, alone in the vast never-ending forest, lost, strayed, and far from the road when night fell. I thought of home, of my gentle mother and my good father. I thought of the terrible anxiety they would be in when I did not return. Feeling my way I sat down on the roots of a tree and began to cry....
I then closed my eyes as tightly as ever I could in order to see nothing. I meant to sit there and see what would happen, but when I raised my eyes to say a short prayer, I saw a soft light piercing through the roof of branches above my head, which seemed to me like a smiling face trying to throw its silver rays upon me.
It was the moon; she was rising in the opposite direction to which I had seen the last rays of the sinking sun. As my eyes grew accustomed to the light I began to distinguish things around me. At first the tree-trunks, some as thick as my body, others as thick as my head, others as thick as my legs and arms. Then I saw the shrubs and bushes, the flowers in the grass, and the ferns.
I SAW SOMETHING WHITE
Suddenly I saw something white—a little weasel—which approached very cautiously. Had I moved a little twig? Quick as lightning the little fellow darted off. I saw him disappearing like a white arrow.
Now I could see I was not so frightened. I got up, emptied my cap and put it on my head, determined to try once again to find a path. I started off in the same direction as the weasel had disappeared. I had walked for about a quarter of an hour when, my heart beating violently, I stopped—something like a star shone very low, low among the foliage—no, so low that it could not be a star—it must be either a light from a lantern or a window. Certainly some one must be passing with a light or living in a little house.
However far it might be, I decided to walk towards it. I groped on hands and knees, keeping out of the way of brambles and bushes. Then it was easier walking among the trunks of the tall trees. I was always trying to reach the light. Oh, dear! what a long way it was. The moon was already far behind me above the trees. It was a beautiful starlit night. Far, far away a church clock struck. I could not tell this time if it were our village clock; it struck nine and still I had not reached the light. Sometimes it grew larger, then it disappeared for some time. I was very frightened. Would it never appear again? Thank heavens! the little star twinkled once more ... suddenly it was so near that I could see it growing. Now it was as large as an egg—then as large as an orange—and finally I saw it as large as the face of the moon high among the bushes. Now I could see how the light showed up in a disc on a dark surface. A few steps farther and I found myself outside a little house. A light shone through a round opening in the shutter. Under the window was an old broken barrel. There was no sound to be heard in the house. Could I dare to knock? Did robbers, a witch, or, worse still, an ogre live there?
COULD I DARE TO KNOCK?
To stay out all night was equally dangerous; there might be wolves or savage dogs in the wood, and witches and ogres could soon scent me out.
I tapped on the shutter, and very soon heard footsteps approaching.
“Who knocks so late?” asked an anxious voice.
“I am a little boy from a neighbouring village, I have lost my companions and have been wandering for three hours in the wood. Please open the door and let me come in.”
I heard the sound of a heavy sigh behind the door and then the voice said more gently than before:
“Oh, my child, do not ask to come in here! Get away as fast as your legs can carry you. I would willingly give you shelter! But my husband is an ogre. He devours without pity all who fall into his hands.”
However, I felt so weary, I was chilled by the cold night air, and the loneliness of the wood so terrified me that to be under cover of a roof with human beings I was willing to run all risks.
To be eaten alive by an ogre was not a very agreeable prospect! But if I continued to wander about in the woods at night, I ran the danger of coming face to face with this awful man. Perhaps under his own roof I should be in less danger of being eaten.
I begged and implored so earnestly that the woman gave in and opened the door.
“Little friend,” the good soul said to me, “you have not a moment to lose. It is nearly ten o’clock, it is at that hour that my husband returns from his first round. Here is a little bread and milk. If you are hungry and thirsty, eat and drink! Take good heed of what I am going to say to you! Directly you hear a knock at the door, hide yourself in the dark corner by the cupboard behind those two large tubs. If you value your life do not move a muscle. If my husband finds you, he will eat you, skin, bones, and all. If you are as quiet as a mouse I may save you, God helping me.”
The words were scarcely out of her mouth when “bang, bang, bang,” the door shook under the blows of a heavy fist. A rough voice, at the sound of which my blood ran cold, shook the little house.
“Great heavens! woman! How much longer must I wait before you open the door?”
Before the wife had lifted the latch, I was crouching behind the two tubs. I made myself as small as possible. I was so terrified that I shrank with fear. I shrank more and more, sometimes I felt as small as a little dog, then as small as a cat, and then as small as a frog!
BEHIND THOSE TWO LARGE TUBS
Do you know why I was so frightened? While the woman was going towards the door I very quickly lifted the lid of each tub. Oh, horror! what did I see inside? One tub was filled with milk, but the other was filled to the brim with human flesh! Hands, feet, heads of little boys about my own age, and all were sprinkled with a quantity of coarse salt.
A tread like that of a giant sounded on the hard earth floor of the house. From between the two tubs I saw the Ogre stop in the middle of the room. His nostrils suddenly dilated as he sniffed around him like a hound. His eyes sparkled—he smacked his lips.
“Wife,” he burst forth in thunderous tones, “wife, I smell it! There is young and tender human flesh in the house! Speak! Where is it? My mouth waters.”
I SMELL HUMAN FLESH
He took a heavy axe from his belt and brandished it in the air in a threatening manner. His wife denied this. “You certainly smell human flesh,” she answered, “but you smell the three little boys you put in the brine-tub last Friday. I have not seen a living soul all the blessed day.”
“What!” replied the Ogre, and he began to swear. “Thunder and lightning, do you call me a liar? I tell you that I smell a child’s fresh and living flesh.”
I saw him brandish his axe in the air and fling it into the corner where I was hiding ... oh, horror! the tub of milk was shattered to atoms. I should certainly have been in his clutches if I had not become as small as a frog from terror, and was thus carried down the drain, which was hidden by the other tub, in the current of milk.
I found myself lying outside the house, my hair and eyes full of cream. I was half dazed with alarm, but oh, so glad to be outside! I was much colder now than when I knocked at the door. If only I could find a place to rest my weary head. Just in front of me was the empty barrel which I had seen on my arrival at the cottage. The outlet of the drain was exactly under the only window. The moonlight enabled me to see inside the barrel. To my great surprise I found it half full of hay. I soon made up my mind. I crawled into the barrel through the bottom, which had been staved in, drew the hay over me, and, after saying a short prayer, tried to sleep.
I slept for some time. When I awoke, my clothes were dried. Very soon I heard a strange growling sound not far from my hiding-place. It sounded like the pattering of paws and a dog growling.
I SAW HIS BODY
“A wolf,” was my first thought, after the Ogre, the wolf which ate Little Red Riding Hood! How should I escape this time?
Suddenly the animal came near and licked the barrel, which had probably contained lard, with its rough tongue.
Looking through the bung-hole, I saw by the light of the moon a large and beautiful dog jumping about.
It suddenly struck me that if I could catch the dog by the tail I would ask him very politely if he would draw me and my tub away—far, far away from this terrible house.
The dog again approached, again I heard his tongue licking the staves. I saw his body exactly opposite the bung-hole—then I spoke to him very gently, as gently and as agreeably as I could. I asked him to do what I wished. Oh, wonderful to relate, the dog turned round and offered me his tail. I took hold of it and immediately felt myself being drawn forward as though I were in a sledge or a boat.
At first he ran slowly without making a sound, but farther on, about fifty or sixty yards from the little house, I was so enjoying this midnight drive that I grew reckless.
I thought we were travelling too slowly. “Gee up,” I cried, “Gee up, little fiery steed! Show me how you can gallop. Hallo! Gee up.”
I pulled his tail, and the animal not expecting this movement bolted off like the wind.
He ran so wildly that the barrel bounded against the trees until, after a violent blow, it was smashed to pieces. The dog ran off as fast as ever he could.
Dear me! How the wood had changed! There was not a star in the sky and the moon had vanished.
Everything was enveloped in a pale grey light. Birds’ song filled the air. In the distance, far away outside the wood, a hundred cocks crowed one after the other.
I again thought of my dear parents. I pictured their agony during the long and terrible night, and my heart beat quickly at the thought of being with them once more.
I would soon find the road. If only I could discover in which direction lay the village.
I heard a bell ringing, “Ding, Ding, Ding, Dong.” Was it seven o’clock? Unfortunately the wind whistled so loudly in the tree-tops that the first “Ding” seemed to come from the north, while the last seemed to come from the west. What was I to do?
Then I had a happy thought. I chose one of the highest trees, a poplar, whose lower branches hung nearly to the ground. I climbed up like a cat from bough to bough and reached the top—from there I could see right over the wood. On one side I saw fields and meadows as far as the eye could see, and on the other I saw my village, my dear little village.
The poplar I had climbed was only twenty yards from the edge of the wood. It was so high that the topmost branches on which I was perched were much higher than the surrounding trees.
My village lay there at the bottom, not far from the edge of the wood. Not far from the wall of the churchyard was the white house, the white house where my parents lived. Oh, if I could only be there, how I longed to be at home.
But I was high up above all the other tree-tops, waving my cap so vigorously in the air that the few remaining nuts fell out. While I was perched there on the top of the tree, it began to sway gently from left to right, then backwards and forwards. Then it swayed so violently that it passed over the top of first two, then three, and then ten trees. The morning breeze seemed to take pleasure in it, and blew stronger and stronger—“whip, whip—whoop, whoop,” the tree-top swayed out beyond the top of the trees on the edge of the wood.
I WAS PERCHED THERE ON THE TOP OF THE TREE
Oh, dear! it was so amusing! “Whip, whip,” in a huge semicircle over the top of a hundred trees behind me, then in a still wider semicircle in front as far as the first houses of the village. “Whip, whip,” backwards farther and farther, then “whoop, whoop,” in front as far as farmer Van den Eeckhoudt’s farm. Then a few yards farther and I was swaying out almost over my father’s house!
Should I dare, should I take the risk? Could I in leaning all my weight make the top of the tree bend so that the rebound would send me right over the house? “Whip, whip—whoop, whoop!” Before I had made up my mind I found myself where I wished to be.
I crossed myself, let go my hold, and landed on the edge of the large chimney-pot. I fell down the chimney into the stove.
My mother was making coffee. “My boy, my boy,” she cried, “what an anxiety you have been to us. Your father and I have been up all night.”
At that moment my father came in; he had been hunting round his land in search of me for the tenth time.
“My lad,” he said to me, when he succeeded in recognizing me, “where have you been and why are you so black?”
“Father,” I answered, “I am black because I have just fallen down the chimney into the house. I have come from the Aulnes wood, where I went to gather nuts yesterday. The Ogre has not eaten me and the wolf did not scent me out. Father, my pockets are full of lovely ripe nuts.”
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