Flemish Legends

But Schimmel had not moved at all, and this strangely enough, for he was a young horse, apt to be alarmed.

When the noise was over they rode on their way, speaking few words together as they rode.

And together they came to the Gallows-field.

XXX. How Magtelt came to the Gallows-field

There Magtelt saw the sixteen virgins hanging, and amongst them Anne-Mie, and all were covered over with snow.

Halewyn’s horse began again to rear, plunge, and lay back his ears as a sign of fear; but Schimmel neighed, and pawed the ground proudly with his hoof.

And Halewyn said to Magtelt: “Thou hast there an unfaithful friend, who can neigh happily at the hour of thy death.”

But Magtelt answered nothing, and looking steadfastly at those poor virgins prayed to the very strong God to help her in their revenge.

Meanwhile the Miserable alighted from his horse, and taking the golden sickle in his hand came towards Magtelt.

“It is,” he said, “the hour of thy death. Get down, therefore, as I have done.”

And in his impatience he would have lifted her from Schimmel’s back.

But Magtelt:

“Leave me,” she said, “to get down by myself; if I must die ’twill be without weeping.”

“Thou art a fine girl,” said he.

And she, having dismounted from her horse, said: “My lord, before thou strikest, doff thine opperst-kleed of the colour of corn, for the blood of virgins gushes fiercely, and if mine should stain thee I should be grieved.”

But before the opperst-kleed was off his shoulders, his head fell to the ground at his feet.

And Magtelt, looking at the body, said: “He strode confidently, thinking himself invincible; but when the beast goes with assurance the hunter follows more easily.”

And she crossed herself.

XXXI. Of the sixteen deaths and of the Prince of the Stones

Suddenly the head spoke, saying: “Go thou to the end of the road, and sound my horn aloud, so that my friends may hear.”

But Magtelt:

“To the end of the road will I not go; thine horn will I not sound; murderer’s counsel will I not follow.”

“Ah,” said the head, “if thou art not the Virgin without pity, join me to my body, and with the heart that is in my breast anoint my red wound.”

But Magtelt:

“I am the Virgin without pity; to thy body will I not join thee, and with the heart that is in thy breast will I not anoint thy red wound.”

“Maid,” said the head, weeping and speaking with great terror, “maid, quickly, quickly, make on my body the sign of the cross, and carry me into my castle, for he is coming.”

While the head was speaking, suddenly came out of the wood the Prince of the Stones, and he came and seated himself on the body of the Miserable, and taking in his hands the head: “Salutation,” he said, “to the Ill-favoured one; art thou now content? What of thy triumphant bearing, my lord the Invincible? She whom thou calledst not came without a song: the virgin without fear, in whose hands is death. But thou must sing once again thy sweet song, the song to call virgins.”

“Ah,” said the head, “make me not sing, Lord Prince of the Stones, for I know well enough that at the end there is great suffering.”

“Sing,” said the Prince of the Stones, “sing, coward that hast never wept to do evil, and now weepest at the time of punishment: sing, Miserable.”

“Ah,” said the head, “have pity, Lord.”

“Sing,” said the Prince of the Stones, “sing, ’tis the hour of God.”

“My lord Prince,” said the head, “be not so hard in my evil hour.”

“Sing, Miserable,” said the Prince of the Stones, “sing, ’tis the hour of the reckoning.”

“Ah,” said the head, weeping, “I will sing, since you are my master.”

And the head sang the faery song.

And suddenly there spread abroad in the air a smell of cinnamon, frankincense, and sweet marjoram.

And the sixteen virgins, hearing the song, came down from the gallows and drew near to the body of Halewyn.

And Magtelt, crossing herself, watched them pass, but felt no fear.

And the first virgin, who was the daughter of the poor simpleton, Claes the Dog-beater, took the golden sickle, and cutting into the breast of the Miserable below the left nipple drew out a great ruby, and put this on her wound, where it melted into rich red blood in her breast.

And the head let a great pitiful cry of pain.

“So,” said the Prince of the Stones, “did the poor virgins cry out when thou madest them pass from life unto death; sixteen times hast thou brought death about, sixteen times shalt thou die, besides the death thou hast suffered already. The cry is the cry of the body when the soul leaves it; sixteen times hast thou drawn this cry from other bodies, sixteen times shall cry out thine own; sing, Miserable, to call the virgins to the reckoning.”

And the head sang again the faery song, while the first virgin walked away silently towards the wood like a living person.

And the second virgin came to the body of the Miserable and did to it as the first had done.

And she also walked away into the wood like a living person.

So did each of the sixteen virgins, and for each of them a ruby was changed into good red blood.

And sixteen times the head sang the faery song, and sixteen times gave the death-cry.

And one by one all the virgins went away into the depth of the wood.

And the last of all, who was Anne-Mie, came to Magtelt, and kissing her right hand wherein she had held the sword: “Blessed be thou,” she said, “who camest without fear, and, delivering us from the spell, leadest us into paradise.”

“Ah,” said Magtelt, “must thou go so far away, Anne-Mie?”

But Anne-Mie, without hearing her, passed like the others into the depth of the wood, walking silently over the snow like a living person.

While the head was weeping and uttering bitter plaints, came out from the forest the child of nine years old, whom the Miserable had killed first of all. Still wearing her shroud she approached and fell at the feet of the mannikin Prince of the Stones.

“Ah,” she said, kissing the head tenderly, stroking it, caressing it, and wiping away its tears, “poor Miserable, I will pray for thee to the very good God, who readily hears the prayers of children.”

And the girl prayed in this wise:

“Dear Lord, see how much he is suffering! Is it not payment enough that he should die sixteen times? Ah, Lord, sweet Lord, and you, Madam Mary, who are so kind, deign to hear me and grant him forgiveness.”

But the mannikin, starting up, pushed the child away and said harshly: “This head is mine, thy prayers avail nothing; be off, little ragamuffin, go back whence thou came.”

And the child went away like the other maids into the depth of the wood.

Then he thrust his hand into the breast of the Miserable and pulled out a heart of stone: then, in his rasping voice, which hissed like a viper and scraped like a thousand pebbles under the iron sole of an armed man, he said: “Ambitious heart, heart of stone, thou wast in thy lifetime cruel and a coward; thou couldst not be content with such ample gifts as God in His bounty had given thee, thou hadst no desire towards goodness, courage, or just dealing, but towards gold, power, and vain honours; thou hadst no love for anything, neither father, mother, brother, nor sister; and so, to get more power and higher jurisdiction, thou killedst the people of the land of Flanders, without shame: and so also thou didst set thyself to hurt the weak, sucking thy life from their life, and thy blood from their blood. So have done and so shall always do this reptile order of ambitious ugly men. Blessed be God, who, by the hands of this frail and winsome maid, has cut off thine head from thy neck and taken thee from the world.”

As he spoke he had thrown the heart down into the snow, and trampling over it with great despite, kicking it with his toe like a vile thing, and laughing bitterly, he spoke again in his rasping voice:

“Stone thou art, stone shalt thou be a thousand years, but a live stone, a suffering stone. And when men come and carve thee, cleave thee, grind thee to powder, thou shalt endure it all without being able to cry out. Ambitious heart, heart of stone, suffer and bleed, my cousin.

“Thou hast starved poor folk, so shalt thou starve a thousand years; thou hast brought cold into their homes, thou shalt freeze in like manner. Ambitious heart, heart of stone, suffer and bleed, my cousin.

“Thou shalt be a hearth-stone and burn with the heat; paving-stone, and let men walk over thee; stone of a church, and bear upon thee all the weight of the building; and thou shalt suffer every evil, pain, and anguish. Ambitious heart, heart of stone, suffer and endure, my cousin.”

Having said this the Prince of the Stones, driving before him with his foot the Miserable’s heart, disappeared among the trees of the forest.

Then Magtelt looked at the head, and saw that its eyes were open wide. She took it up and washed it with snow, then, carrying it with her, rode away on Schimmel, leaving near the body Halewyn’s horse and hound, the one moaning softly, the other watching it with sorrowful wonderment.

As she took up the head, the hound growled, but did not dare touch her.

And while she rode away, horse and hound stayed by the body, downcast and sad, and covered with the snow which fell without ceasing.

And they seemed to be guarding their master.

XXXII. How father, mother, and sister sought everywhere their son and brother, and could not find him

Singing and winding her horn rides the noble maid Magtelt.

And in her heart is joy, at the thought that Anne-Mie, the fifteen virgins, and Toon the Silent are avenged.

And her hand holds fast beneath her keirle the good sword and the head of Halewyn.

And Schimmel trots quickly, eager to be back in his stable.

While she was riding she saw, through the thick snow falling, an old man coming towards her on a black horse.

And the old man said:

“Beautiful maid, riding so fast, hast seen my son Halewyn?”

And Magtelt:

“I left thy son Halewyn well placed, taking his diversion in the snow with sixteen maidens.”

And the old man rode on.

When she had gone farther she saw, through the thick snow falling, a young and rosy-cheeked damosel coming towards her on a white palfrey.

And the damosel said:

“Beautiful maid, riding so fast, hast seen my brother Halewyn?”

But Magtelt:

“Go farther, to the Gallows-field, where thou shalt see thy brother in like guise to the sixteen maidens.”

And the damosel rode on.

Farther still on her way, Magtelt saw, through the thick snow falling, a young man of haughty and stiff-necked countenance coming towards her on a roan charger.

And the young man said:

“Beautiful maid, riding so fast, hast seen my brother Halewyn?”

But Magtelt:

“Thy brother is a fair lord, so fair that round him sixteen maidens stand sentinel, unwilling to let him go.”

And the young man rode on.

After travelling on her way still farther, she saw, through the thick snow falling, an old woman, high-coloured and of robust seeming, despite her great age, coming towards her.

And the old woman said:

“Beautiful maid, riding so fast, hast seen my son Halewyn?”

But Magtelt:

“Thy son Siewert Halewyn is dead; see, here is his head beneath my keirle, and his blood running thick on my dress.”

And the old woman cried out:

“If thou had spoken these words earlier thou shouldst not have ridden so far.”

But Magtelt:

“Thou art fortunate, old woman, in that I have left thee thine own body and not slain thee as I have thy son.”

And the old dame took fright and made off.

And night fell.

XXXIII. Of the feast in the castle of Heurne, and of the head upon the table

Schimmel trotted quickly, and soon Magtelt reached her father’s castle and there sounded the horn.

Josse van Ryhove, who was gate-keeper that night, was filled with amazement at the sight of her. Then he cried out: “Thanks be to God, ’tis our damosel come home again.”

And all the household ran to the gate crying out likewise with great noise and much shouting: “Our damosel is come home.”

Magtelt, going into the great hall, went to Sir Roel and knelt before him:

“My lord father,” she said, “here is the head of Siewert Halewyn.”

Sir Roel, taking the head in his hands and looking at it well, was so overcome with joy that he wept for the first time since the eyes were in his head.

And the Silent, rising up, came to Magtelt, kissed her right hand wherewith she had held the sword, and wept likewise, saying: “Thanks be to thee who hast brought about the reckoning.”

The lady Gonde was like a woman drunk with joy, and could not find her tongue. At last, bursting into sobs, melting into tears, and embracing Magtelt eagerly:

“Ah, ah,” she cried out, “kiss me, kiss me, kiss me, little one! She has slain the Miserable, the sweet maid; the nightingale has vanquished the falcon! My child is come home again, home again my child. Noël! Thanks be to God who loves aged mothers and will not have them robbed of their children. Noël! See, Magtelt the beautiful, Magtelt the singing-bird, Magtelt the joyous, Magtelt the bright of heart, Magtelt the glorious, Magtelt the victorious, Magtelt my daughter, my child, my all, Noël!”

And Magtelt smiled at her, caressing her and stroking her hands gently.

And the lady Gonde, weeping freely, let her do, without speaking.

“Ah,” said Sir Roel, “I never saw my wife before in such festival mood.” Then suddenly he cried out:

“Festival,” quoth he, “this should be a day of festival, the great feast of the house of Heurne!”

And he threw open the door to call his pages, grooms, men-at-arms, and all the household.

But they all held back, not daring to enter.

“Ho!” cried he, in his great joyous voice, “where are cooks and kitchen-maids? Where are cauldrons, pots, and frying-pans? Where are barrels, kegs, flagons and bottles, tankards, mugs, and goblets? Where is clauwaert simple and double? Where is old wine and new wine? Where are hams and sausages, whales’ tongues, and loins of beef, meat of the air, meat of the waters, and meat of the fields? Bring in everything there is and set it on the table, for this must be a feast-day in this house, feast for an emperor, a king, a prince; for” – and so saying he held up the Miserable’s head by the hair – “our beloved maid has slain with her own hand the lord Siewert Halewyn.”

Hearing this they all cried out with a roar like thunder:

“Praise be to God! Noël to our damosel!”

“Go then,” said Sir Roel, “and do as I have bid.”

And when the great feast was served the head was put in the middle of the table.

On the morrow there was let cry war in the seigneury of Heurne. And Sir Roel went with a goodly force of men to attack by arms the castle of the Miserable, whereof all the relatives, friends, and followers were either hanged or slain.

And My Lord the Count gave to the family of Heurne, the goods, titles and territories of Halewyn, excepting only the ugly shield, and theirs they remain to this day.

Smetse Smee

I. Of Smetse, his belly, and his forge

Smetse Smee lived in the good town of Ghent, on the Quai aux Oignons, beside the fair River Lys.

He was well skilled in his trade, rich in bodily fat, and with so jolly a countenance that the most melancholy of men were cheered and took heart for no more than the sight of him in his smithy, trotting about on his short legs, head up and belly forward, seeing to everything.

When work was in full swing in his shop, Smetse, listening to the busy sounds round the fire, would say, with his hands clasped across his stomach, quietly and happily: “By Artevelde! what are drums, cymbals, fifes, viols, and bagpipes worth? For heavenly music give me my sledges beating, my anvils ringing, my bellows roaring, my good workmen singing and hammering.”

Then, speaking to them all: “Courage,” he would say, “my children! Who works well from daybreak drinks the better for it at vespers. Whose is that feeble arm down there, tapping with his hammer so gently? Does he think he is cracking eggs, the faint-heart? To those bars, Dolf, and plunge them in the water. To that breastplate, Pier, beat it out for us fine and true: iron well beaten is proof against bullets. To that plough-share, Flipke, and good work to it, too: from the plough comes the world’s bread. To the door, Toon, here comes the raw-boned nag of Don Sancio d’Avila, the knight with the sour countenance, brought hither by his raw-boned groom, who is for having him shod, no doubt: let him pay double for his Spanish haughtiness and his harshness to poor folk!”

So went Smetse about his smithy, singing mostly, and whistling when he was not singing. And for the rest getting much honest gain, profiting in health, and, at vespers, drinking bruinbier with a will in the inn of Pensaert.

II. How Slimbroek the Red put out the fire in Smetse’s forge

By and by there came to the Quai aux Oignons a certain Adriaen Slimbroek, who set up, with the licence of the guild, another smithy. This Slimbroek was an ugly, wizened, lean and puny personage, white-faced, underhung in the jaw like a fox, and nicknamed the Red on account of the colour of his hair.

Skilled in intrigue, expert in sharp-practice, master of arts in cant and hypocrisy, and making himself out to be the finest of smiths, he had interested in his business all the rich and gentle folk of the town, who from fear or otherwise held to the Spaniards and wished ill to those of the reformed faith. They were before, for the most part, customers of Smetse, but Slimbroek had put them against him, saying: “This Smetse is a knave to the bottom of his heart, he was a marauder in his young days, sailing the seas with the men of Zeeland in despite of Spain, on the side of this religion which they call reformed. He still has many friends and relatives in Walcheren, more particularly at Middelburg, Arnemuiden, Camp-Veere, and Flushing, all obstinate Protestants, and speaking of the Pope of Rome and my Lords the Archdukes without veneration.

“And for the rest,” added he, “this fellow Smetse is altogether an atheist, reading the bible of Antwerp in despite of the decrees, and going to church only because he is afraid, and not at all because he will.”

By such slanders as these Slimbroek robbed Smetse of all his customers.

And soon the fire was out in the forge of the good smith, and soon, too, the savings were eaten up, and Dame Misery came to the dwelling.

III. Wherein Slimbroek is seen in the river prettily tricked out

Brought to this pass Smetse, nevertheless, would not let himself take to despair; but he was always sad and heavy of heart when, sitting in his cold smithy and looking at all his good tools lying idle on the ground, he heard the fair sound of hammers and anvils coming from Slimbroek’s shop.

But what angered him most was that whenever he passed before Slimbroek’s dwelling the traitor carrot-head would appear suddenly on the threshold, and, saluting him graciously and giving him fair compliments, would make a hundred flattering speeches, accompanied by as many hypocritical salutations, and all for the sake of poking fun at him and to laugh unkindly at his misery.

These ugly encounters and grimaces went on a long while, and Smetse came to the end of his patience: “Ah,” said he, “it angers me to be in such poor case; although I must submit, for such is the holy will of God. But it irks me too bitterly to see this wicked knave, who by his trickeries has taken away all my customers, so amusing himself with my misery.”

Meanwhile Slimbroek spared him not at all, and each day became sharper in speech, for the more wrong he did to the good smith the more hate he bore him.

And Smetse swore to have his revenge on him, in such a way as to spoil thenceforward his taste for mockery.

It so happened that one Sunday when he was standing on the Quai des Bateliers, looking at the river with a crowd of watermen, townsfolk, boys, and scholars who were idle for the holy day, suddenly there came out of a pothouse, wherein he had been swallowing many pints of ale, Slimbroek, bolder than usual on account of the drink. Seeing Smetse he came and placed himself close to him, and with much gesticulation, loud bursts of talk and laughter, said to him in an insolent tone: “Good day, Smetse, good day, my worthy friend. How is thy fine face? It seems to lose its fat, which was of good quality, Smetse. ’Tis a great pity. What is the reason for it? Art thou angry at the loss of thy customers, Smetse? Thou must drink well to bring back the joy to thy stomach, Smetse. We never see thee now at vespers in the inn of Pensaert; why, Smetse? Hast no pennies to get drink? I have plenty for thee, if thou wilt, Smetse.” And he shook his money-bag to make it ring.

“Thank thee kindly,” said Smetse, “thou art too generous, Master Slimbroek, ’tis my turn to stand thee drink now.”

“Ah,” cried Slimbroek, feigning pity and compassion, “why wilt thou stand drink to me? The world knows thou art not rich, Smetse.”

“Rich enough,” answered the smith, “to stand thee the best draught thou ever had.”

“Hark to him,” said Slimbroek to the crowd of watermen and townsfolk, “hark to him. Smetse will stand us drink! The world is coming to an end. ’Tis the year of golden rags. Smetse will stand us drink! Ah! I shall taste with great pleasure the bruinbier that Smetse will stand us. I am thirsty as an African desert, thirsty as Sunday, thirsty as a devil half-boiled in the cauldrons of Lucifer.”

“Drink then, Slimbroek,” said Smetse, and threw him into the river.

Seeing this the people who were on the quay applauded heartily, and all ran to the edge to have a good look at Slimbroek, who, falling into the water head first, had struck and broken through the belly of a dog a long while dead, which was floating down on the stream as such carrion will. And he was tricked out round the neck with this dog in a most marvellous manner, nor could he get rid of it, being busy with his arms at keeping himself afloat, and his face was smeared all over with offensive matter.

Notwithstanding that he was half-blinded, he dared not come out on to the quay where Smetse was, but swam off towards the other bank, decked with his carrion and blowing like a hundred devils.

“Well,” said Smetse, “dost find the bruinbier to thy liking; is it not the best in all the land of Flanders? But my good sir, take off thy bonnet to drink; such headgear is not worn for river parties.”

When Slimbroek was in midstream, over against the bridge, Smetse went up on to this bridge with the other onlookers, and Slimbroek, in the midst of his puffing and snorting, cried out to Smetse: “I’ll have thee hanged, accursed reformer!”

“Ah,” said the good smith, “you are mistaken, my friend; ’tis not I who am the reformer, but you, who devise these new bonnets. Where got you this one? I have never seen such a one, neither so beautiful, nor so richly ornamented with tufts and hangings. Is the fashion coming to Ghent by and by?”

Slimbroek answered nothing, and struggled to get rid of the dead dog, but in vain, and having paused in his swimming for this purpose, went down to the bottom, and came up again more furious than ever, blowing harder, and trying all the while to tear off the body.”

“Leave your hat on, my master,” said Smetse, “do not so put yourself out in order to salute me, I am not worth the trouble. Leave it on.”

At last Slimbroek climbed out of the water. On the quay he shook off the dog hastily and made away as fast as he could to his dwelling. But he was followed by a crowd of young watermen and boys, who ran after him hooting, whistling, covering him with mud and other filth. And they continued to do the same to his house-front after he had gone in.

IV. Of the two branches

In this wise Smetse had his revenge on Slimbroek, who thereafter dared not look him in the face, and hid when he passed.

But the good smith, nevertheless, had no more pleasure in anything than before, for with every passing day he became more and more needy, having already, with his wife, used up what help came to them from the guild, and also a small sum of silver from Middelburg in Walcheren.