The Legend of the Glorious Adventures of Tyl Ulenspiegel in the land of Flanders Part 15

And Ulenspiegel answered her:

"I am Lord of Geeland, Count of Gavergeeten, Baron of Tuchtendeel. I was born at Damme, in Flanders, and I hold there for my estate five and twenty acres of moonlight."

"What land is that whence you come?" the hostess asked him, drinking from Ulenspiegel's tankard.

"It is a misty land," he told her, "a land of illusion, where are sown the seeds of false hopes and of castles in the air. But you, sweet hostess mine, were born in no such land of moonlight, you with your amber skin and your eyes that shine like pearls. For bright is the sunshine that has coloured that browned gold of your hair, and it is Lady Venus herself who, without a single pang of jealousy, has formed your soft shoulders, and your prancing b.r.e.a.s.t.s, your rounded arms, your delicate sweet hands. Say, shall we sup together this night?"

"Fine pilgrim that you are from Flanders," says she, "say, why are you come hither?"

"To have a talk with the Pope," said Ulenspiegel.

"Heavens!" she cried, clasping her hands together, "and that is something that even myself, a native of the country, have never been able to do!"

"Yet shall I," said Ulenspiegel.

"But know you where the Pope lives, what he is like, what are his habits and his ways of life?"

"I heard all about him on the way," answered Ulenspiegel. "His name is Julius III. Wanton he is, and gay and dissolute, a good talker, that never falters for a clever repartee. I have also heard that he has taken an extraordinary fancy to a little dirty beggar of a man--a dark fellow and a rude who used to wander about with a monkey asking for alms. He came to the Pope, and the Pope, it seems, has made a Cardinal of him, and now gets quite ill if a single day pa.s.ses without their meeting."

"Have some more to drink," said the landlady, "and do not speak so loud."

"I have also heard," continued Ulenspiegel, "that one day he swore like a soldier, Al dispetto di Dio, potta di Dio, and all because they did not bring him the cold peac.o.c.k that he had ordered to be kept for his supper. And he excused himself, saying, 'If my Master was angered over an apple, I, who am the vicar of G.o.d, can certainly swear an oath about a pheasant!' You see, my pet, I know the Pope very well, and understand just what sort of a man he is!"

"Oh dear," she said, "pray be careful and do not tell this to any one else. But still, and in spite of all you tell me, I maintain that you will not get to see him."

"I shall," said Ulenspiegel.

"I will wager you a hundred florins."

"They are mine!" said Ulenspiegel.

The very next day, tired as he was, he ran through all the city and found out that the Pope was to say Ma.s.s that morning at the Church of St. John Lateran. Thither Ulenspiegel repaired, and took up a position as prominently in the Pope's view as he could. And every time that the Pope elevated chalice or Host, Ulenspiegel turned his back to the altar. Now one of the cardinals was officiating with the Pope, swarthy of countenance he was, malicious and corpulent; and on his shoulder he carried a monkey. He reported Ulenspiegel's behaviour to the Pope, who straightway after Ma.s.s sent four terrible-looking soldiers (such as one finds in those warlike lands) to seize the pilgrim.

"What religion do you profess?" the Pope asked him.

"Most Holy Father," answered Ulenspiegel, "my religion is the same as my landlady's."

The Pope had the woman fetched.

"What is your religion?" he asked her.

"The same as your Holiness's," she told him.

"That also is mine," said Ulenspiegel.

The Pope asked him why he turned his back upon the Holy Sacrament.

"I felt myself unworthy to look upon it face to face," he answered.

"You are a pilgrim?" said the Pope.

"Yes," answered Ulenspiegel, "and I am come from Flanders to beg remission of my sins."

The Pope absolved and blessed him, and Ulenspiegel departed in the company of his landlady, who paid over to him his hundred florins. And with this good store of money he departed from Rome and set out to return again to the land of Flanders.

But he had to pay seven ducats for the certificate of his pardon, all scribed upon parchment.

x.x.xI

In those days there came to Damme two brothers of the Premonstratensian Order, sellers of indulgences. And over their monastic robes they wore beautiful jackets bordered with lace.

When it was fine they stood outside the porch of the church, and under the porch when it was wet, and there they stuck up their tariff; and this was the scale of charges: for six liards a hundred years'

indulgence, for one patard two hundred years, three hundred years for half a sovereign, four hundred years for seven florins, and so on according to the price--indulgences plenary or semi-plenary, and pardons for all the most terrible crimes.

And they gave to their patrons, in exchange for payment, little parchment certificates on which were written out the number of years of indulgence, and below was the following inscription:

Who wants not to be Stewed, roasted, frica.s.seed, Burning in h.e.l.l for evermore, Indulgences let him buy.

Pardon and forgiveness, For a little money, G.o.d will return to him.

And the eager purchasers came thronging round the monks. One of whom never left off addressing his audience. This brother had a blooming countenance, and displayed three chins at least, and a portentous belly, all without the least embarra.s.sment.

"Unhappy ones!" he cried, fixing with his eye now one, now another of the crowd. "Unhappy ones! Let me show you a picture. Behold! You are in h.e.l.l! The fire burns you most cruelly. You are boiling in that cauldron full of oil wherein are prepared the olie-koekjes of Astarte. You are nothing better than a sausage on the frying-pan of Lucifer, or a leg of mutton on the spit of Guilguiroth, biggest of all the devils. And first they cut you up in little pieces. Ah, woe is me! Behold this sinner who despised indulgences! Behold this plate of daintiness! 'Tis he! 'Tis he! His wicked body thus reduced by d.a.m.nation. And for sauce, brimstone and pitch and tar! Thus are those poor sinners eaten alive to be born again continually to their pain! And here in all reality is the place of tears and of grinding of teeth. Have mercy, G.o.d of mercy! For now, poor d.a.m.ned one, you are in h.e.l.l, and you suffer unspeakable woes. And yet if any there were to subscribe a denier for you, straightway one of your hands would find relief; and let but some other give a half a denier and your two hands would be freed entirely from the pain of the fire. But as for the remainder of your body, let some one only give a florin, and there falls the dew of indulgence over all! O freshness of delight! And now for ten days, a hundred days, a thousand years maybe, according as one pays, no more roast meat, no more olie-koekjes, no more frica.s.sees for you! And even if it is not for yourself, is there no one else, there in the secret depths of the fire, no one else for whom you would wish to gain relief--one of your parents perhaps, a dear wife, or some lovely girl with whom you have committed wilful sin?"

And as he spoke these words, the monk jogged the elbow of his brother that stood by holding in his hands a silver bowl. And that brother, lowering his eyes at this signal, shook the bowl unctuously, as if inviting contributions.

Whereat the preacher continued in this wise: "Or perhaps you have a son or a daughter, maybe, in the midst of this terrible fire, or some beloved little child? Hark, how they cry aloud, and weep, and call to you by name. Can you remain deaf to their pitiful voices? You cannot. Even a heart of ice must melt, though it cost you a carolus! And behold, at the very sound of the carolus as it strikes this vile metal" (and here his comrade shook the plate again), "a s.p.a.ce opens out in the midst of the fire, and the tormented soul ascends to some volcano mouth where it meets the air, the fresh, free air! Where are the pains of the fire now? For the sea is close at hand, and straight into the sea the soul plunges. She swims on her back, on her stomach, floats upon the waves, dives beneath them. Oh, listen how she sings aloud in her joy! See how she rolls about in the water! The very angels gaze down upon her from heaven and are glad. Eagerly they await her coming; but not yet, not yet has she had her fill of the sea. If she might only turn into a fish! She knoweth not how there are prepared for her up aloft sweet baths, perfumed and scented, with fine bits of sugar-candy floating therein, all white and fresh like bits of ice. Now a shark appears. She fears it not at all, but clambers upon its back, and sits there all unnoticed, hoping he will take her with him down into the depths of the sea. And now she goes to greet the little water-angels that feed on waterzoey from coral cauldrons, and on freshest oysters from plates of mother-of-pearl. And she is welcomed and feted and made much of, but still the angels in heaven beckon her on high, till at last, refreshed and happy, you may see her rise aloft, singing like a lark, up to the highest heaven where G.o.d sits in glory on his throne. There she finds again all her earthly friends and loved ones (save only those, forsooth, that in this life have spoken ill of indulgences and of our Holy Mother Church and who burn now for their sin upon the floor of h.e.l.l. And so for ever and for ever and for ever to all ages, in an all-consuming eternity). But that other soul, now dear to G.o.d, refreshes herself in soft baths and crunches sugar-candy. Buy then, my brothers, buy your indulgences. We sell them for crusats, for florins, or for English sovereigns. Even copper coin is not refused. Buy then, buy! This is the Holy Mart! And we have indulgences adapted to the poor man's purse as well as to the rich man's. Only, I am sorry to say, my brothers, no credit is allowed. For to buy without paying cash is a crime most grievous in the eyes of Our Lord."

Hereupon the monk who had kept silent shook his platter, and the florins, crusats, patards, sols, and deniers fell into it as thick as hail.

Claes, feeling himself rich, paid a florin for an indulgence of ten thousand years; and the monks delivered to him a piece of parchment in exchange.

At last, seeing that there was no one left in Damme but the miserly folk who would not buy indulgences at any price, the two monks left the village and proceeded on their way to Heyst.

x.x.xII