The Legend of Ulenspiegel Volume Ii Part 53

Now on that day the Beggars, having looked victoriously upon the cup, said to Ulenspiegel:

"Thou hast thy nose always in the wind to smell out news of terra firma; thou knowest all the adventures of the war: sing them to us. And Lamme shall beat the drum the while and the pretty little fifer shall squeal to the measure of thy song."

And Ulenspiegel said:

"One bright cool day in May, Ludwig of Na.s.sau, thinking to enter into Mons, finds not his footmen nor his horse. A few trusty men held a gate open and a drawbridge down, that he might have the town. But the citizens seized the gate and the drawbridge. Where are the soldiers of Count Louis? The citizens are about to hoist up the bridge. Count Louis winds his horn."

And Ulenspiegel sang:

"Where are thy footmen and thy horse?

They are in the woods, treading all down: Dry twigs, and lily of the valley in bloom.

Master Sun makes all s.h.i.+ne, Their ruddy warrior faces, The polished rumps of their horses; Count Ludwig winds his horn: They hear it. Softly beat the drum.

"Full trot, bridle loose!

Speed of the lightning, speed of the cloud: Water spout of clinking iron; They fly, the heavy hors.e.m.e.n!

Haste! haste! to the rescue!

The bridge rises.... Send the spur Into the chargers' b.l.o.o.d.y flanks.

The bridge rises: The town is lost!

"They are before it. Is it too late?

Ride like the wind! Bridle loose!

Guitoy de Chaumont on his Spanish steed Leaps on the bridge that falls again.

The town is won! Do ye hear Along the paven streets of Mons Speed of the lightning, speed of the cloud, Waterspout of clinking iron!

"Hurrah for Chaumont and his Spanish steed!

Sound the clarion of joy, beat upon the drum: 'Tis the hay month, fragrant are the meadows; The lark mounts up, singing in the sky: Long live the bird of freedom!

Beat upon the drum of glory.

Hurrah for Chaumont and the Spanish steed.

Hey there. Drink up there.

The town is won!... Long live the Beggar!"

And the Beggars sang on the s.h.i.+ps: "Christ look down upon thy soldiers. Furbish our weapons, Lord. Long live the Beggar!"

And Nele, smiling, made the fife squeal amain, and Lamme beat the drum, and aloft, towards the sky, G.o.d's temple, there were raised golden cups and hymns of liberty. And the waves, like sirens, bright and cool about the s.h.i.+ps, murmured in harmony.

X

One day in the month of August, a hot and heavy day, Lamme was plunged in melancholy. His jolly drum was dumb and sleeping, and he had thrust the drumsticks into the mouth of his satchel. Ulenspiegel and Nele, smiling with amorous delight, were warming themselves in the sun: the look-out men stationed in the tops were whistling or singing, searching over the wide ocean if they could not see some prey on the horizon. Tres-Long kept questioning them; they still replied: "Niets," nothing.

And Lamme, pale and broken down, sighed piteously. And Nele said to him:

"Whence cometh it, Lamme, that thou art so woebegone?"

And Ulenspiegel said to him:

"Thou art growing thin, my son."

"Aye," said Lamme, "I am woebegone and thin. My heart loses its gaiety and my jolly face its freshness. Aye, laugh at me, ye that have found one another again through a thousand perils. Mock you at poor Lamme, who lives a widower, being married, while she," said he, pointing to Nele, "must needs tear her man away from the kisses of the rope, his last lover. She did well, G.o.d be praised; but let her not laugh at me. Aye, thou must not laugh at poor Lamme, Nele, my dear. My wife laughs enough for ten. Alas, ye females, ye are cruel towards others' woes. Aye, I have a grieved heart, stricken with the sword of desertion, and nothing will ever comfort it, if not she."

"Or some frica.s.see," said Ulenspiegel.

"Aye," said Lamme, "where is the meat in this miserable s.h.i.+p? On the king's vessels, they have meat four times a week, if there be no fast, and fish three times. As for the fish, G.o.d destroy me if this tow--I mean their flesh--does anything but kindle my blood for nothing, my poor blood that will go to water before long. They have beer, cheese, soup, and good drink. Aye! they have everything for the comfort of their stomachs: biscuit, rye bread, beer, b.u.t.ter, smoked meat, yea, all, dried fish, cheese, mustard seed, salt, beans, peas, barley, vinegar, oil, tallow, wood, and coal. We, we have just been forbidden to take the cattle of any so-ever, be he citizen, abbot, or gentleman. We eat herrings and drink small beer. Alas! I have nothing left now: neither love of women, nor good wine, nor dobbele-bruinbier, nor good food. Where are our joys here?"

"I will tell thee, Lamme," answered Ulenspiegel. "Eye for eye, tooth for tooth: at Paris, on Saint Bartholomew's night, they killed ten thousand free hearts in Paris city alone; the king himself shot at his folk. Awake, Fleming; seize the axe without mercy: there are our joys; smite the Spaniard and Roman enemy wherever thou shalt find him. Let be thy eatables. They have taken the dead or living victims to their rivers, and by full cartloads, and have flung them in the water. Dead or alive, dost thou hear, Lamme? The Seine ran red for nine days, and the ravens settled down in clouds upon the town. At La Charite, at Rouen, Toulouse, Lyons, Bordeaux, Bourges, Meaux, terrible was the ma.s.sacre. Seest thou the troops of dogs satiate with eating, lying beside the bodies? Their teeth are tired. The flight of the ravens is heavy, so laden are their stomachs with the flesh of the victims. Hearest thou, Lamme, the voice of their spirits crying vengeance and pity? Awake, Fleming! Thou dost speak of thy wife. I do not believe her unfaithful, but bereft of her wits, and she loveth thee still, poor friend of mine: she was not among those court ladies who on the very night of the ma.s.sacre stripped the bodies with their fine hands to see how great or how small were their carnal members. And they laughed, these ladies great in lewdness. Rejoice, my son, notwithstanding thy fish and thy small beer. If the after taste of the herring is insipid, more insipid still is the smell of this foulness. Those that slew took their meals, and with ill-washen hands carved fat geese to offer the wings, legs, and rump to the charming Paris damozels. They had but lately felt other meat, cold meat."

"I will complain no more, my son," said Lamme, rising up: "the herring is ortolan; malvoisie is small beer to free hearts."

And Ulenspiegel said:

"Long Live the Beggar! Let us not weep, brothers.

In ruins and blood

"Flowers the rose of liberty.

If G.o.d is with us, who shall be against?

"When the hyaena triumphs, Comes the lion's turn, With one stroke of his paw he flings him, disbowelled, on the ground.

Eye for eye, tooth for tooth. Long live the Beggar!"

And the Beggars on the s.h.i.+p sang:

"The Duke keeps the same fate for us.

Eye for eye, tooth for tooth, Wound for wound. Long live the Beggar!"

XI

On a black night the tempest growled in the depths of the clouds. Ulenspiegel was on the deck of the s.h.i.+p with Nele, and said:

"All our lights are out. We are foxes, watching by night for the pa.s.sing of the Spanish poultry, which is to say their two and twenty a.s.sabres, rich s.h.i.+ps with lanterns burning, that will be to them stars of ill fortune. And we shall rush upon them."

Nele said:

"This night is a witches' night. This sky is black as the mouth of h.e.l.l; these lightnings gleam like the smile of Satan; the distant thunderstorm is growling dully; the sea-mews pa.s.s, uttering loud cries; the sea rolls its phosph.o.r.escent waves like silver serpents. Thyl, my beloved, come into the world of the spirits. Take the powder of vision."

"Shall I see the Seven, my darling?"