Flemish Legends

X. How the Miserable robbed a Lombard goldsmith, and of the pleasant speech of the ladies and gentlewomen

On the morrow, armed only with the sickle, for he despised other arms on account of the strength which the spell gave him, Halewyn took the body of the maid to the Gallows-field and there hanged it on the tree.

Then he rode off to the city of Ghent.

And the ladies, gentlewomen and maidens of the town, seeing him pass by on his black horse, said among themselves: “Who is this fair horseman?”

“’Tis,” he cried right proudly, “Siewert Halewyn, who was called the Ill-favoured one.”

“Nay, nay,” said the bolder among them, “you are making fun of us, My Lord, or else you have been changed by a fairy.”

“Yes,” said he, “and, moreover, I had fleshly knowledge of her; and so shall have of you, if I please.”

At these words the ladies and gentlewomen were not at all put out.

And he went to the shop of a Lombard goldsmith in that town, who had at one time and another lent him six-and-twenty florins. But the goldsmith did not know him for himself.

He told him that he was Sir Halewyn.

“Ah,” said the goldsmith, “then I pray, My Lord, that you will repay me my six-and-twenty florins.”

But Halewyn, laughing: “Take me,” he said, “to the room where thou keepest thy gold.”

“My Lord,” said the goldsmith, “that I will not, for all that I hold you in high esteem.”

“Dog,” said he, “if thou dost not obey me I will strike thee dead instantly.”

“Ha!” said the goldsmith, “do not come blustering here, My Lord, for I am neither serf nor peasant, but a free burgess of this town. And if you are so minded as to lay your hands on me, I shall know how to get redress, I promise you.”

Then Halewyn struck him, and the burgess called for help.

Hearing this cry, apprentices to the number of six came down into the shop, and, seeing Halewyn, ran to seize him.

But he beat them off likewise and bade them show him where the gold was kept.

Which they did, saying one to another: “This is the Devil.”

And the goldsmith, weeping: “My Lord,” said he, “do not take it all.”

“I shall take what I will,” said Halewyn; and he filled his money-bag.

And in this way he took from the goldsmith more than seven hundred golden bezants.

Then, seeing the poor man lamenting his lot, he struck him two or three hard blows, telling him not to whine so loud, and that before the month was out he would take from him double the amount.

XI. Of the arrogant arms of Sir Halewyn

And the Miserable became the richest, most powerful, and most feared baron in the whole province.

And blasphemously he compared himself to God.

And considering that the old arms of Dirk, and his device, were too mean for his new magnificence:

He sent to Bruges for painters in heraldry to fashion them afresh.

These painters put the old crow away in one quarter, and on a field argent and sable blazoned a heart gules and a sickle or, with this device: None can stand against me.

Moreover, he had this same blazon fashioned into a great standard which was flown from his castle keep. And also had it cut in stone over the gate. And on his shield, which he caused to be made larger so that the arrogant device might be seen to better advantage. And on his arms, his clothes, and wherever it could be put, there he had it as well.

XII. How Sir Halewyn jousted with a knight of England

It so happened that at about this time My Lord of Flanders let call a tournament.

And sent out to all his lords and barons to come to Ghent for that purpose.

Halewyn went thither and set up his shield among the others.

But the barons and lords, seeing the arrogant device and the great size of the shield, were greatly put to offence thereat.

And all of them jousted with him, but each was overthrown in turn.

Among them was present an English knight of much prowess, who rode out to the middle of the tourney-field and stood straight and proud before Sir Halewyn.

“Well,” quoth he, “My Lord the Invincible, it displeases me to see thee planted there so arrogantly and unhorsing us all in this fashion. Wilt thou fight with me?”

“Yes,” said Sir Halewyn.

“If I overcome thee, thou shalt be my servant and I shall take thee with me into Cornwall.”

“Yes,” said Sir Halewyn.

“And cause thee to grease my horses’ hooves, and empty the dung from the stable; and find out whether thou art invincible at such work also.”

“Yes,” said Sir Halewyn.

“And if thou art not invincible, the invincible stick shall thrash thee invincibly.”

“Yes,” said Sir Halewyn.

“But if thou overcome me, this shall be thy guerdon:

“Five-and-twenty bezants which are in the house of thy Lord, the noble Count of Flanders; all the accoutrement of my horse, which is of fine mail; his fair saddle of pear-wood, covered with leather, and saddle-bows richly figured with ten horsemen lustily fighting and with Our Lord driving out the devil from one possessed; furthermore my helm of fine wrought steel, and on it a crest of silver, gilt over, with spread wings, which may very well, notwithstanding thy device, stand against thy bleeding heart, thy gaping sickle, and thy miserable crow. Well, My Lord the Invincible, dost think thou shalt win invincibly the five-and-twenty bezants, the helm of my head, and the trappings of my horse?”

“Yes,” said Sir Halewyn.

Then, after My Lord himself had given the signal, they ran together with a great clatter.

And the English knight was overthrown like the rest.

Then all the ladies acclaimed and applauded the Miserable, crying out: “Worship to Siewert Halewyn the noble, Siewert Halewyn the Fleming, Siewert Halewyn the Invincible.”

And on his way back to the house of My Lord, there to feast with him, he was by these ladies kissed, fondled, and made much of without stint.

And, putting on the gear of the English knight, he went off to the towns of Bruges, Lille, and Ghent, thieving and ravishing everywhere.

And came back from each expedition with much booty.

And felt the heart all the while pouring live strength into his breast and beating against his skin.

Then he went back to his own castle with the five-and-twenty bezants and the arms of the knight of England.

When he sounded the horn there came to him his mother, who, seeing him so gilt over, was overcome with joy, and cried: “He brings us riches, as he promised.”

“Yes,” said Sir Halewyn.

And she fell at his feet and kissed them.

As also did the younger brother, saying: “Sir Brother thou hast lifted us up from poverty, I will willingly serve thee.”

“So shouldst thou, indeed,” said Halewyn. Then, going into the hall: “I would sup,” he said, “thou, woman, fetch me meat, and thou, fellow, drink.”

And on the morrow, and every day thereafter, he made to serve him at table, as if they had been his private servants, his father, mother, brother, and sister, turn by turn.

XIII. Of the heart dried up and of the dame Halewyn

But one morning while he was at meat in his castle, when his father and sister were gone to Bruges to buy corn-coloured cloth-of-scarlet for their clothes,

And he was being served, with all humility, by his mother and brother,

He became suddenly quite cold, for the heart had ceased to beat.

Putting his hand to his breast, he touched dried-up skin.

Then he felt his face go back as it was before, his shoulders shrink down, his back hump up, and all his body lessen in stature.

Looking at his mother and brother in turn, he saw them laughing and saying to each other: “See, here is our master back in his old ugly skin, and with his old ugly face.”

“Ha, My Lord,” said his brother, coming boldly up to him and speaking insolently, “will you not take some of this clauwaert to hearten yourself? You have no longer, it seems, your former strength.”

“Wilt try it?” said the Miserable, and struck him with his fist, but did him no more hurt than if he had been a fly.

Seeing this the younger brother grew bolder, and seating himself close to Halewyn on the seat:

“My lord,” said he, “you have had pudding enough, I think, ’tis my turn to eat.”

And he took the pudding from off his platter.

“My lord son,” said his mother, “now you shall give to me, who am old, some of this old wine you have kept for yourself.”

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.