Belgian Fairy Tales

by William Elliot Griffis

A long time ago, there was a Belgian crusader, a Fleming, who got acquainted with a dragon of most respectable character, that lived near Aleppo, which was one of the famous cities of the Saracens. This was a water-dragon, named Buccoleon (buc-có-le-on), that lived in the river near by, though sometimes, when it wanted to go on a picnic, or enjoy the company of the hill dragons, it flew into the mountains. [[167]]

The Turkish water dragons were great friends of those fairies that lived in the clouds, and had much to do with the showers and heavy rains, that make the flowers grow.

A great many caravans passed through Aleppo. These brought the tea, ivory, silk, and spices from the countries in the Far East, where the sun rises. These, they sent from Aleppo, by sea, to Antwerp, one of the greatest seaports in the world. The camels did not, of course, require much rain water, for they only took a drink about once a week. When they did, however, they made up for it, with their long necks, by tasting the water all the way down; that is, for about two yards. On the other hand, when they had a cough, it was awfully troublesome, to have six feet of sore throat. So the good dragons pitied the camels, and were always kind to them.

It was necessary for the river dragons to keep on good terms with the hill dragons and cloud fairies; for, without rain, the river would dry up. Then the dragon, that lived in the water, would have no place to board, or to lodge, or even to wash in, for the river was its bath tub.

This river dragon was a peaceful creature and did not like war. In fact, among its fellow creatures, it was known as the Weeping Dragon, because it cried so much. Whenever there was a battle between the Belgian crusaders and the [[168]]Saracens, this dragon wept great tears. Each tear, in volume and amount, was equal to a bucket of water. Why should men, the dragon thought, chop and hack each other to death, because one carried a crescent on his banner, and the other sewed a red cross on his coat, over his armor? After every bloody fight, this river dragon used to go over the fields where the men from Belgium were buried, and drop a tear over each grave. Then it mopped its eyes, with a great bandana handkerchief, because the Flemings had died so far from home.

Now a bucket full of tear-water, falling on each burial spot, changed the sandy soil into fertile ground, and thereupon up sprang a new flower.

This novelty in the plant world looked like a cup, held by its stem. It rose up, in the air and sunlight, and was very rich and varied in color. All the hues and tints, of the other buds and blossoms, seen in the gardens that lined the river banks, seemed to unite in this one flower, as if everything good in the dead man had come to life again in bright colors. On some days, when, in the early morning, the sunlight struck the dew drops that lay on these flowers, each one looked like a crown set with costly jewels.

Now a certain Belgian soldier, a Fleming, whose home town was Ghent, and who was a [[169]]florist, by profession, noticed this splendid new flower. His name was Theophilus; but they called him Taff, for short. From the first, his hope and ambition, in going to the East, had been—if he were not killed while fighting the battles of the cross, or if he did not die of fever, or from the terrible ulcer, they called the “Aleppo button”—to take home a floral souvenir from the Turk’s country. He knew that all the little boys would be expecting to see him come home loaded with trophies, captured from the Saracens; but the strange flower would also show where he had been, and through what adventures he had passed.

The Pilgrims to Jerusalem always carried home a scallop shell; but he intended to surprise the Ghenters with something prettier.

What better than the spirit-flower, or memorial blossom, which sprang up, where the weeping dragon had shown its grief? In fact, Taff thought of naming it “the Dragon’s Tear.”