The Legend of Ulenspiegel Volume Ii Part 43

"The mad she-devil," cried Lamme. "If she loves G.o.d more than her husband, why does she show herself to me lovely and desirable? And if she loves me, why does she leave me?"

"Dost thou see clear in a deep well?" asked Ulenspiegel.

"Alas!" said Lamme, "I shall die before long."

And he stayed upon the deck, livid and distraught.

Meanwhile, had come up the men of Simonen-Bol, with a great artillery.

They fired against the s.h.i.+p, which replied to them. And their cannon b.a.l.l.s broke the ice all about it. Towards evening a warm rain fell.

The wind blowing from the west, the sea grew angry under the ice, and heaved it up in immense blocks, which were seen rising up on high, falling back again, clas.h.i.+ng against one another, one mounting on top of another, not without peril to the s.h.i.+p, which when dawn broke through the clouds of night, opened out its canvas wings like a bird of freedom and sailed towards the free ocean.

There they joined up with the fleet of Messire de Lumey de la Marche, admiral of Holland and Zealand, and chief and captain-general, and as such carrying a lantern at his s.h.i.+p's peak.

"Look well at him, my son," said Ulenspiegel; "that one will never spare thee, if thou shouldst wish to leave the s.h.i.+p against orders. Hearest thou his voice breaking forth like thunder? See how broad and strong he is in his great stature! Look at his long hands with the crooked nails! See his round eyes, eagle eyes and cold, and his long pointed beard that he means to leave to grow until he has hanged all the monks and priests to avenge the death of the two counts! See him redoubtable and cruel; he will have thee hanged high on a short rope, if thou dost continue to whine and cry always: 'My wife!'"

"My son," replied Lamme, "he that talks of a halter for his neighbour has already the hempen cravat on his own neck."

"Thou thyself shalt be the first to wear it. Such is my vow as a friend," said Ulenspiegel.

"I shall see thee on the gallows," replied Lamme, "thrust out thy poisonous tongue a fathom out of thy mouth."

And both were in mere jest.

On that day Tres-Long's s.h.i.+p took a s.h.i.+p from Biscay laden with mercury, gold dust, wines, and spices. And the s.h.i.+p was emptied of its marrow, men, and booty, as a beef bone under a lion's teeth.

It was at this time also that the duke ordained in the Low Countries cruel and abominable imposts, obliging all the inhabitants who sold real or personal estate to pay one thousand florins in ten thousand. And this tax was a permanent one. All sellers and buyers whatsoever must pay the king the tenth part of the purchase price, and it was said among the people that if goods were sold ten times within a week the king should have all.

And thus commerce and industry took the way towards Ruin and Death.

And the Beggars took Briele, a strong seaboard fortress that was christened the Orchard of Freedom.

II

In the first days of May, under a clear sky, with the s.h.i.+p sailing proudly along the sea, Ulenspiegel sang:

"The ashes beat upon my heart.

The butchers are come; they have struck With poignard, fire, violence, the sword.

They have paid for foulest spying.

Where once were Love and Faith, mild virtues, They have set Denunciation and Mistrust.

May the butchers be smitten, Beat the drum of war.

"Long live the Beggar! Beat upon the drum!

Briele is taken, Flessingue, too, the key of the Scheldt; G.o.d is good, Camp-Veere is taken, Where Zealand kept her artillery!

We have bullets, powder, and shot, Iron shot and leaden shot.

G.o.d is with us, who then is against?

"Beat upon the drum of war and glory!

Long live the Beggar! Beat upon the drum!

"The sword is drawn, be our hearts high, Firm be our arms, the sword is drawn.

Out upon the tenth t.i.the, the whole of ruin, Death to the butcher, halter to the spoiler, For a perjured king a rebel folk.

The sword is drawn for our rights, For our houses, our wives, and our children.

The sword is drawn, beat upon the drum!

"High are our hearts, stout are our arms.

Out upon the tenth t.i.the, out upon the infamous pardon.

Beat upon the drum of war, beat upon the drum!"

"Aye, good fellows and friends," said Ulenspiegel; "aye, they have set up at Antwerp, before the Townhall, a dazzling scaffold covered with red cloth; the duke is seated upon it like a king upon his throne in the midst of liverymen and soldiers. Meaning to smile benevolently, he makes a sour grimace. Beat upon the war drum!

"He hath accorded a pardon, make silence, his gilded cuira.s.s s.h.i.+nes in the sun; the grand provost is on horseback beside the dais; lo here cometh the herald with his kettle-drums; he reads; it is a pardon for all those that have not sinned; the others will be punished cruelly.

"Oyez, good fellows, he reads the edict that orders, on penalty as for rebellion, the payment of the tenth and twentieth deniers."

And Ulenspiegel sang:

"O Duke! hearest thou the voice of the people, The strong dull clamour? Tis the sea that rises In the hour of the mighty surges.

Enough of gold, enough of blood.

Enough of ruins. Beat upon the drum!

The sword is drawn. Beat upon the drum of woe!

"It is the nails tearing the bleeding wound, Robbery after murder. Must thou then Mix all our gold with our blood for your drink?

We moved in ways of duty, faithful and true To the King's Majesty. His Majesty is perjured, We are free of our oaths. Beat upon the drum of war.

"Duke of Alba, b.l.o.o.d.y duke, See these booths, these shops shut fast, See these brewers, bakers, grocers, Refusing to sell so as not to pay.

Who then salutes thee when thou art pa.s.sing?

No man. Feelest thou, like a steaming plague Hate and Scorn enwrap thee round?

"The fair land of Flanders, The gay country of Brabant, Are sad as graveyards.

There where of old, in freedom's days, Sang the viols, squealed the fifes, There are silence now and death.

Beat upon the drum of war.

"Instead of jolly faces Of drinkers, and singing lovers There are pallid faces now Of men that wait, resigned, The stroke of the sword of injustice.

Beat upon the drum of war.

"No man now hears in the taverns The jolly clink of pots, Nor the clear voices of girls Singing in bands about the streets.

And Brabant and Flanders, lands of mirth, Are become the lands of tears.

Beat upon the drum of woe.

"Land of our fathers, sufferer beloved, Stoop not your brow to the murderer's foot, Toilsome bees, rush in your swarms, Upon the hornets from Spain.