Flemish Legends

And she took the cup out of his hand.

“My lord brother,” said the younger son, “methinks you have too much of this roast of lamb with sweet chestnuts; I will take it, if you please.”

And he put the roast of lamb before his own place.

“My lord son,” said his mother, “you do not much like, it seems, this fair cheese and barley tart, give it to me, I pray you.”

And the Miserable, dumbfounded, gave it to her.

“My lord brother,” said the younger son, “you have been sitting there long enough like an emperor, will you be pleased to stir your limbs now and serve us?”

And the Miserable, getting up, served them as he was bidden.

“My lord son,” said his mother, “I see you now submissive to our orders, will you be pleased to ask my pardon for having so long kept me standing like a private servant, fetching you food and drink, though I am your mother?”

And the Miserable fell at her feet.

“My lord brother,” said the younger son, “wilt thou be pleased to fall at my feet likewise, and kiss them, for that thou hast made me do the work of a serf?”

“That I will not,” said the Miserable.

“Thou wilt not?”

“I will not,” said the Miserable, and stepped back a pace.

“Come hither,” said his brother.

“I will not,” said the Miserable.

Then the younger ran at him, and, bearing him to the ground without difficulty, began thumping and pommelling him, and striking him in the face with his golden spurs, saying: “Avenge thyself, Siewert Halewyn the Invincible. None can stand against thee, save I. Thou hast long treated us as serfs in thy house, now I will treat thee as a cheese and crush thee underfoot. Why dost thou not now caper as a kid, or fly away as a bird, Siewert the enchanted?” and, going into a frenzy of rage, he drew his knife, saying: “I will cut thee off thy head unless thou cry mercy.”

“I will not,” said the Miserable.

But his mother, hearing these words, took quickly from the fire a handful of embers, and notwithstanding their heat, threw them into the eyes and mouth of the younger brother, saying: “Thou shalt not kill my first-born, wicked son.”

And while the younger brother was howling by reason of the pain from the embers, which blinded him, his mother took the knife from him, and while he was twisting this way and that, swinging up his arms to strike whomever he could, she threw him down, shut him up in the room, and went out dragging her first-born after her. Then, although she was feeble with age, she carried Halewyn up into the tower on her back, as a shepherd carries a lamb (for he had quite lost his senses), and there tended him and bathed his face and breast, which were torn and bleeding, and there at nightfall left him and went away.

XIV. Of the great weakness of Sir Halewyn and of the days and nights which he spent in the forest

The Miserable, alone and somewhat comforted, rose to his feet, and was right glad to feel the sickle still at his belt; opened the door, listened to make sure that he could hear nothing, and that his brother was not there.

And when the night was fully dark, went down the stair slowly, sitting-wise.

For he was so weakened by the blows and wounds he had received that he could not hold himself upright by any means; and in this fashion he went on until he reached the bridge, and, finding that still down, crossed over it.

And very wearily he made his way to the forest.

But he could not, on account of his weakness, go so far as the cottages, which were a good two leagues distant to the northward.

So, lying down among the leaves, he sang.

But no maid came, for the song could not be heard from so far away.

And so passed the first day.

When night came again, cold rain began to fall, which sent him into a fever. But notwithstanding this he would not go back to his castle, for fear of his brother. Shivering, and with his teeth a-chatter, he dragged himself northward through the brake, and saw in a clearing a fair pretty maid, rosy-cheeked, fresh, slender, and neat, and he sang his song. But the girl did not come to him.

And so passed the second day.

That night the rain fell anew, and he could not move, so stiff was he from the cold, and he sang, but no maid came. At dawn the rain continued, and while he was lying there among the leaves a wolf came and sniffed at him, thinking him dead, but on seeing it draw near he cried out in a terrible fashion, and the wolf took fright and went off. Then he grew hungry, but could find himself nothing to eat. At vespers he sang anew, but no maid came.

And so passed the third day.

Towards midnight the sky cleared, and the wind grew warmer. But the Miserable, though he was suffering greatly from hunger, thirst, and weariness, dared not sleep. On the morning of the fourth day he saw a girl coming towards him who seemed to be a burgess’s daughter. The girl would have run away on seeing him, but he cried out loudly: “Help me! I am worn out with hunger and sickness.” Then she drew near to him and said: “I also am hungry.” “Art thou,” he said, “a maid? “ “Ah,” said she, “I have had to flee from Bruges, because the priests would have burnt me alive, on account of a brown mole which I have on my neck, of the size of a pea, coming, they say, from my having had fleshly commerce with the devil. But I have never seen the devil, and do not know what he is like.”

He, without listening to her, asked again if she were a virgin, and, as the girl said nothing, he sang his song.

But she did not move from where she stood, only saying: “You have a very sweet and strong voice for one so wasted with sickness and hunger.”

Then he said to her: “I am the lord Siewert Halewyn. Go to my castle and ask to be taken to my lady mother, and without speaking to any one else, whosoever he be, tell her that her son is hard put to it in the forest with hunger, fever, and weariness, and will die before long if none bring him help.”

The girl went off as he bid her, but coming out of the wood she saw in the Gallows-field the body of the maid hanging, and ran away in a fright. Passing into the territory of Sir Roel de Heurne she craved food and drink at the cottage of one of his peasants. And there she told how she had found Sir Halewyn dying of hunger. But she was told in reply that the said lord was crueller and more wicked than the devil himself, and should be left to be eaten by the wolves and other beasts of the forest.

And the Miserable waited, lying in the leaves in great anguish.

And so passed the fourth day.

And at dawn of the fifth, having seen no more of the girl, he supposed that she had been caught by the priests and taken back to Bruges to be burnt.

Quite disheartened, and chilled with the cold, and saying that he would soon die, he cursed the Prince of the Stones.

Nevertheless, at vespers he sang once more.

And he was then by the side of a forest way.

And he saw coming through the trees a fair maid, who fell on her knees before him.

And he did to her as he had done to the others.

Then rose full of fresh strength, vigour, and beauty, and with the heart resting against his own went off to the Gallows-field, carrying the body, and there hanged it by that of the first virgin.

XV. How the Miserable, having hanged fifteen virgins in the Gallows-field, held wicked revels and cruel orgies

Sir Halewyn became most powerful and greatly feared, and killed up to fifteen virgins, whom he hanged in the Gallows-field.

And he led a riotous life, eating, drinking, and carousing continually.

All those ladies who had made fun of him in the days of his impotence and ugliness were brought to his castle.

And having had his will of them he turned them out of doors like bitches, so wreaking upon them his evil vengeance.

And from Lille, Ghent, and Bruges came the most beautiful courtesans, with their badge on their arms, and they ministered to his pleasure and to that of his friends, among whom the more evil were Diederich Pater-noster, so called because he was a great frequenter of churches; Nellin the Wolf, who in battle attacked only the fallen, as wolves do; and Baudouin Sans Ears, who in his court of justice always cried: “Death, death,” without waiting to hear any defence whatever.

In company with the fair courtesans these same lords held revels and orgies without end, and took from their poor peasants all they had, corn, cheese, jewels, cocks, oxen, calves, and swine.

Then, having stuffed themselves as full as they could hold, threw to their dogs choice viands and rich cakes.

Gave to be broken and pounded up for their hawks and falcons, the meat of fowls, cockerels, and doves; had the hooves of their horses bathed in wine.

Oftentimes until midnight, or even until cock-crow, there would be beating of drums, trilling of pipes, squeaking of viols, skirling of bagpipes, and winding of horns, for their entertainment.

XVI. How the burgesses of the good town of Ghent gave protection to the virgins of the domain of Halewyn

Meanwhile in the cottages of the peasant folk were tears, hunger, and great misery.

And when the fifteenth maid had been taken in the domain of Halewyn,

The mothers prayed to God that he would make them barren, or else that they might bear men-children only.

And the fathers complained and said to one another sadly: “Is it not a pitiful thing to see these sweet and gentle flowers of youth so brought to death and dishonour!”

And some among them said: “Let us go by night to the good town of Ghent, taking with us all our virgin daughters, and tell the whole tale to the burgesses, begging their blessed protection for them, and leaving them there in the town if we are so permitted. So they will escape death at the hands of our master.”

Every one who heard this plan thought it a good one; and all the peasants with daughters who were virgins took them off to Ghent, and there told the story to the commune, and the good men gave them protection.

Then with lighter hearts the peasants returned to the domain of Halewyn.

XVII. Of what Sir Halewyn did on the borders of his domain

Not long afterwards a hard winter set in, with bitter cold and furious storm.

And the heart of the fifteenth virgin no longer beat strong against Sir Halewyn’s breast.

And he sang, but none came. Wherefore he was disappointed and angry.

But calling to mind that there were, in the castle of Sir Roel de Heurne, two girls supposed by common report to be virgins,

And that this castle was no more than the fifth part of a league from the borders of his land,

And that therefore the two maids would be able to hear and come to the call of his song,

He went each night and stationed himself on the farthest border of his demesne, and there sang towards the said castle, notwithstanding the bitter cold, and the snow beginning to fall abundantly.

XVIII. Of the damosels Magtelt and Anne-Mie, and of Schimmel the dapple-gray

While the Miserable was roaming the woods, Sir Roel de Heurne and the lady Gonde, his wife, richly clad, and wrapt round with deer-skins, which give particular warmth to the body, were sitting snugly on their coffers before their good fire of oaken logs, chatting together as old folk will.

But it was the Lady Gonde who spoke most, being the woman.

And she said:

“My good man, do you hear the storm raging furiously in the forest?”

“Yes,” answered Sir Roel.

And his lady said further:

“God has been kind to give us, against this great cold, such a fine castle so strongly built, such good clothes, and such a bright fire.”

“Yes,” answered the Sire.

“But above all,” said she, “he has shown us his divine grace by giving us such good and brave children.”

“True,” answered the Sire.

“For,” said she, “nowhere could you find a young man more valiant, courteous, gentle, and fitter to uphold our name than Toon, our son.”

“Yes,” said the Sire, “he has saved my life in battle.”

“But,” said his lady, “he has this fault, that he is so scant of words that we scarce know the tone of his voice. He is well called the Silent.”

“There is better worth to a man,” said the Sire, “in a good sword than in a long tongue.”

“Here I see you, my lord,” said the lady, “pent up with your reflections, for sadness and gravity are the lot of old age, but I know well a certain maid who would smooth out your forehead and set you laughing.”

“’Tis possible,” said the Sire.

“Yes,” said she, “it is certainly possible, for when Magtelt our daughter comes into this room, I shall see my lord and husband turn happy at once.”

At these words Sir Roel nodded his head and smiled a little.

“Yes, yes,” said his lady, “for when Magtelt laughs, then laughs my old Roel; when she sings, then my old Roel grows thoughtful and nods his head happily, and if she passes by, he follows with smiling eyes each step of his little daughter.”

“True, Gonde,” said the Sire.

“Yes, yes,” said she, “for who is the well-being and joy of this house? ’Tis not I, who am old, and losing my teeth one by one; nor you either, my fellow in antiquity; nor the Silent either; nor Anne-Mie the private servant, who, though she is very sweet and healthy in her person, is something too quiet in her ways, and laughs only when she is set laughing. But she who makes our old age happy, she who is the nightingale in the house, she who is always coming and going, passing and repassing, flying hither and thither, singing and singing again, as happy as a peal of bells at Christmastide: ’tis our good daughter.”

“So it is,” said the Sire.

“Ah,” said his lady further, “it is a happy thing for us to have such a child, since both of us have already cold in our feet at all seasons. For without her we should pass our time in sadness, and from our old feet the cold would creep up to our hearts, and so we should be taken to our graves more quickly.”

“Yes, wife,” said the Sire.

“Ah,” said she, “another damosel would have wished for love-suitors, and to go to the court of My Lord to get a husband. But our little maid gives no thought to that, for hereabout she loves no one but ourselves, and her who goes everywhere with her, and is as a sister to her, Anne-Mie the private servant; but not without teasing her a little in order to make her laugh.”

“True,” said the Sire.

“Yes, yes,” said his lady, “and every one loves her, admires her, and respects her, pages, grooms, varlets, men-at-arms, private servants, serfs, and peasants, so joyous and merry is she, so brave and gentle is her bearing. There is no one, even down to Schimmel, the great war-horse, who does not follow her like a dog. Ah! When he sees her coming he whinnies joyously; and she alone must bring him his oats and corn; from none other will he take a grain. She treats him like a man, and often gives him a great draught of clauwaert, which he drinks up with relish. She makes herself understood to him by words, but she must never be cross with him, or he makes as if to weep, and looks at her with so sad a manner that she cannot withstand it and then calls him to her, saying: ‘Beautiful Schimmel, brave Schimmel,’ and other soft words; hearing which the good dapple-gray gets up and comes close to her to have more compliments. He suffers no one on his back but she, and when he is carrying her he is as proud as My Lord of Flanders at the head of his good barons and knights. So she has her sovereignty over every one, by joyousness, goodness, and fair speaking.”

“Yes,” said the Sire.

“Ah,” said his lady, “may the very good God watch over our little one, and may our old ears hear this fledgeling nightingale singing always.”

“Amen,” said the Sire.

XIX. How Magtelt sang to Sir Roel the lied of the Lion, and the song of the Four Witches

While Sir Roel and the lady Gonde were talking together,

The snow had fallen in great quantity,

And had quite covered Magtelt and Anne-Mie, who were coming back from having taken an eagle-stone to the wife of Josse, for her to bind to her left thigh and so get ease in her lying-in.

And the girls came into the great hall, where Sir Roel was sitting with his good wife.

Magtelt, drawing close to her father, knelt to him in salutation.

And Sir Roel, having raised her up, kissed her on the brow.

But Anne-Mie stayed quietly in a corner, as became a private servant.

And it was a good sight to see these two maids wholly covered with snow.

“Jesus-Maria,” said the lady Gonde, “see these two sillies, what have they been doing to get themselves clothed in snow in this fashion? To the fire quickly, children; draw to the fire and dry yourselves.”

“Silence, wife,” said Sir Roel, “you make youth faint-heart. In my young days I went through cold, snow, hail, thunder, and tempest without a thought. And so do I still, when there is need to, and I will have Magtelt do the same. Thanks be to God! ’tis not from a fire of logs that a daughter of ours must get warmth, but from the natural fire which burns in the bodies of the children of old Roel.”

But Magtelt, seeing him about to grow angry, went and knelt at his feet.

“Lord father,” said she, “we are not cold at all, for we have been leaping, dancing and frolicking so heartily, thumping and drubbing each other, that we turned winter into spring; furthermore we sang some fine songs, which I beg you will give me leave to sing over again to you.”

“So I will, little one,” said Sir Roel. So Magtelt sang him the lied, of Roeland de Heurne the Lion, who came back from the Holy Land, and brought thence a great sword; and also the song of the Four Witches, wherein you may hear mewling of cats, bleating of goats, and the noise which they make with their tails in rainy weather.

And Sir Roel forgot his anger.

When Magtelt had done singing he caused supper to be served and the cross lit up, which threw over them a bright light from the four lamps burning at the end of each arm.

And he made his daughter sit at his side.

Anne-Mie came likewise to sit at table, beside the lady Gonde, who said: “Young company warms old folk.”

And there were served to them that evening fine white bread, beef salted and smoked in the chimney among the sweet smoke of fir-cones, Ghent sausage, which was invented, they say, by Boudwin the Glutton, bastard of Flanders, and old clauwaert.

Supper finished, and a prayer spoken, Magtelt and Anne-Mie went off to bed, in the same room, for Magtelt loved Anne-Mie like a sister and would have her by her side at all times.

XX. Of the sixteenth virgin hanged

Magtelt, with laughter, singing, and frolic, soon fell asleep.

But Anne-Mie, being somewhat cold, could not close her eyes.

And the Miserable came and stationed himself on the border of his land. Thence his voice rang out clear, soft, and melodious.

And Anne-Mie heard it, and, forgetting that she was but lightly clad, rose up and went out of the castle by the postern.

When she came into the open the snow smote harshly on her face, her breast, and her shoulders.

And she tried to shield herself against this bitter cold and evil snow, but could not, for she had lain down to sleep nearly naked.

Going towards the song she passed barefoot across the moat, whereof the water was hard frozen.

And trying to mount the farther bank, which was high and slippery, she fell;

And cut a great wound in her knee.

Having picked herself up she entered the forest, wounding her bare feet on the stones, and her numbed body on the branches of trees.

But she went her way without heeding.

When she drew near to the Miserable she fell on her knees before him. And he did to her as he had done to the others.

And Anne-Mie was the sixteenth virgin hanged in the Gallows-field.

XXI. How Magtelt sought Anne-Mie

On the morrow Magtelt, being, as was customary, the first awake, said her prayers to My Lord Jesus and to Madam Saint Magtelt, her blessed patron.

Having besought them earnestly for Sir Roel, the lady Gonde, the Silent, and all the household, most particularly for Anne-Mie, she looked at the maid’s bed, and seeing its curtains half drawn she supposed that her companion was still asleep; and so, putting on her fine clothes, she kept saying as she moved up and down the room, or looked at herself in the mirror-glass:

“Ho, Anne-Mie, wake up, wake up, Anne-Mie! Who sleeps late comes last to grass. The sparrows are awake and the hens also, and already their eggs are laid. Wake up, Anne-Mie, Schimmel is neighing in the stable, and the sun is shining bright on the snow; my lord father is scolding the servants, and my lady mother is interceding for them. Canst not smell the savoury odour of beans and good beef broiled with spices? I can smell it well enough, and it makes me hungry; wake up, Anne-Mie.” But the girl could not possess herself in patience any longer, and threw the curtains wide open.

Finding no Anne-Mie: “There!” she said, “the rogue, she has gone down without me; and without me, no doubt, is at this same moment eating those good beans and beef.”

And going down the stairs at a run Magtelt entered the great hall, where, seeing Sir Roel her father, she knelt to him and asked his blessing, and then likewise to the lady Gonde.

But her mother said to her: “Where is Anne-Mie?”

“I cannot tell,” said Magtelt, “she is having some fun with us, I suppose, hidden in some corner.”

“That,” said Sir Roel, “is not her way, for if any one here makes fun of others ’tis not she, but thou, little one.”

“My lord father,” said Magtelt, “you make me anxious by talking so.”

“Well,” said Sir Roel, “go and seek Anne-Mie; as for us, mother, let us eat; our old stomachs cannot wait for food as well as these young ones.”

“Ah,” said the lady Gonde, “I have no mind to eat; go, Magtelt, and find me Anne-Mie.”

But Sir Roel helped himself to a great platterful of beans and good beef, and, falling to it, said that nothing was so easily put out, troubled, made anxious, as a woman, and this for nothing at all.

Nevertheless he was himself a little uneasy, and from time to time looked up at the door, saying that the rascal of a girl would show herself suddenly from somewhere.

But Magtelt, after searching the whole castle over, came back and said: “I can find Anne-Mie nowhere.”

XXII. How Magtelt wept bitterly, and of the fine dress which she had

And Magtelt had great sorrow in her heart, and wept, and made lament, crying: “Anne-Mie, where art thou? Would I could see thee again!” And falling on her knees before Sir Roel, she said: “My lord father, I pray you to send our men-at-arms in goodly number in search for Anne-Mie.”

“So I will,” said he.

The men-at-arms went out, but dared not pass on to the lands of Halewyn from fear of the spell.

And on their return they said: “We can hear nothing of Anne-Mie.”

And Magtelt went up and stretched herself on her bed, and prayed to the good God to send her back her sweet comrade.

On the second day she went and sat before the glazed window, and without intermission looked out all day at the countryside and the falling snow, and watched to see if Anne-Mie were coming.

But Anne-Mie could not come.

And on the third day the lids of her eyes bled for weeping. And on that day the snow ceased falling, the sky became clear, the sun shone therein, and the earth was hard frozen.

And every day in the same place went and sat the sorrowing Magtelt, watching the countryside, thinking of Anne-Mie and saying nothing.

Sir Roel, seeing her so low-hearted, sent to Bruges for some blue cloth-of-scarlet, for her to make herself a dress, and fine Cyprian gold for the border, and fine gold buttons of rich workmanship.

Magtelt worked away at making this dress, but took no pleasure at all at the thought of all this fine apparel.

And so passed away the week, and each day Magtelt worked at her dress, saying nothing and singing never, but weeping oftentimes.

On the fifth day, when the dress was finished, well trimmed with the Cyprian gold and embellished with the rich buttons, the lady Gonde bade Magtelt don it, and then showed her her magnificence in a great mirror-glass; but Magtelt had no heart to be glad at seeing herself so beautiful, for she was thinking of Anne-Mie.