Part 4

Then the knight rushed up close to his enemy’s long legs and chopped away at his knees. Toover Hek fell over, for his big club was of no use. Seeing this, the knight ran up, and cut off the ogre’s head.

Then pulling out his hunting horn, the victor blew a blast, which called up his two squires. They quickly rigged up a rude sled, made of poles, put the head of Toover Hek on it, and drew it off to the knight’s castle. There it was exposed, on a sharpened stake of wood, in front of the gate. For a whole week it was the sport of the community, and the lads and maidens danced and sang and all the people rejoiced. After the ogre’s head was taken down, it was set in the ground at the side of a brook, and used for women to stand or kneel on, while washing clothes. In time it was polished as ivory and shone in the sun.

As for Heinrich, he hitched up four yoke of oxen, and tying an iron chain around the fir tree trunk, which formed the giant’s club, he dragged it to his barnyard and there had it chopped up. It made a load of firewood which lasted him all winter.

Now that the roads were safe for all travelers, Heinrich and Grietje, and the knight, in thankfulness to the Holy Virgin fixed a pretty little shrine to one of the forest trees. Soon the knight’s exploit was noised abroad and pilgrims came in large companies, to pray here, and take courage. They called the place by name, which, in the local dialect, or patois, is “Virga Jesse.” In this form of words, one easily recognized the name of the Holy Virgin and her Blessed Son.

In time, instead of Heinrich’s farm, a great clearing in the woods was made, and Hasselt, or Hazel Bush, was well named. It was also called the Forest City and became renowned throughout Europe.

The fame of the shrine was bruited abroad and rich people came to it and made offerings also to the village church. Even the Pope sent as a gift, for the Holy Mother, a jeweled crown.

Every seventh year, on the 15th of August, besides the religious procession, celebrating the Feast of the Assumption, which attracts the pious, the Hasselters, young or old, have a jolly and happy time. They enjoy uproariously the legend of Heinrich and his vrouw, and they tell how a woman’s wit brought to naught the villainous designs of the cannibal ogre, Toover Hek; and how a brave knight slew him and relieved the country of the monstrous Long Man. So, to this day, the barrel of thick pea soup, like the widow’s cruse of oil, has never failed. What became of the ogre’s wife no one knows, or cares.

VI

THE FAIRY OF THE POPPIES

There are many wild flowers in Belgium and the cultivated ones are very numerous and showy, especially in Flanders, where, at Ghent, there is the flower market of the world. In the fields, one sees the blue flax flower by the acre, the fleur-de-lys, the corn flower, and many others, besides the marguerite daisy, which the Walloons, who made the first homes in New York, brought to our continent of America.

Not a few of these Belgian flowers can be recognized on the coats of arms of the old crusaders, and on the crests and shields of the nobles and the honorable families. They are also carved on the public buildings, or made or set, with jewels and in gold, and worn as rings, bracelets, necklaces and brooches.

Most striking and showy of all is the poppy, with its flaming red petals. In the grain fields it grows among the wheat, making brilliant contrast of crimson and yellow. This harvest of gold, dotted with red is noted by every traveler, and reminds one of the Belgian flag. For a thousand years, the dying soldiers on the battle fields of Flanders, as they closed their eyes in death, to sleep in God, have cast their final look at the crimson poppy.

In Fairy Land, this flower has a noble reputation and our story will tell why.

Once upon a day, in a time and an age too far back for any almanacs to mark, or astronomer to reckon, there was strife among the fairies as to which was the more honorable. They all wanted to be kings or queens, princes or princesses, but the earth’s surface was not big enough for so many thrones. Besides, if all were sovereigns, where would be the subjects to obey and serve?

Fairy Land became so excited over the matter, that one would think the fairies were going to war; just as foolish mortals do, when they quarrel and kill each other. Since all were so haughty, and so prone to sulk, and be surly, it was necessary that one of the fairies should give up all pride and ambition and set an example of modesty, unselfishness and sacrifice.

It seemed all the more strange and unseemly, that the fairies living on the surface of the earth, or in the moonshine and starlight, should quarrel. One might rather expect that the kabouters and elves, who live down under the earth, and work at the forges and fires, and get sooty from long dwelling among coal and smoke, would be the ones to be proud and bad tempered.

But no, these fairies underground were the most modest, humble, and peaceable of all. In fact, they rarely ever came up on the earth, unless some special duty or summons called them. The fairies of the upper world, where men lived, looked down on the kabouters and elves as far beneath them, and not at all in their society.

This fairy, of modest disposition, who was willing to set a good example, offered to the other fairies that, if they would stop their quarrelings and think only how they might help and serve good boys and girls, and not play tricks on milkmaids and farmers, she would become a kabouter. She would lay aside all her pretty clothes, wreaths, jewels and ornaments, and go down into the dark caves and deep into the earth to live there forever. She would learn the secrets of the elves, that work in the mines and at the fires, and she would make something beautiful for her old friends and companions, or else bring forth a new flower. Around this, they could dance and hold their revels, and so forget their jealousies and strife. For fairies, like men, get tired of old ways and scenes, which they have had a long time. They like to have new things that are fresh and bright.

When they all heard the most beautiful of the fairies talk in this way, they at once put aside their quarrels, and every one resolved to behave properly—at least till she came back.

But she never returned, and this was the reason.

First, she put off all her beautiful garments and donned clothes that were of a dark and sad color. Then she went far down underground and into the caverns of the world beneath, and deeper even than the coal mines of the Boringue, and the zinc mines of Moresnet.

Coming suddenly upon a company of kabouters, these rude fellows at once seized her, crying out:

“Now we’ve got you. We’ve long wanted to catch one of the upper world fairies, for despising us sooty folk and making us work so hard for them. We have served your kind long enough. Now you shall do our will.”

So they tied around her waist one of their blacksmith’s leather aprons and stuck her pretty feet in old wooden shoes. Next, putting a pair of tongs into her hands, they bade her beat an iron bar, drawn red hot from the forge fire. Then, standing in front of the anvil, she had to beat the bar out flat. The kabouter, who was set to watch her and keep her busy, was one of the ugliest of their number. He had a cruel leer in his eye, and gloated over her, while she toiled wearily. He scolded and even beat her, when she almost fainted under the hard tasks, to which she was so suddenly put and to which she was wholly unused.

Yet this earth fairy was very wise, while she was among the kabouters, and gradually she learned many of their secrets. One of these was the way these elves procured their iron; which was from the particles in the blood of the millions of men slain, on the soil of Belgium, ever since human beings came on the earth, and which makes blood so red. Here, the rival and hostile races had met on the thousand battle fields, known and unknown to human history. These were more numerous than spots on a leopard or stripes on a zebra. Torrents of blood had been poured out, and again and again the soil had been reddened, and the turf made to look dark with the stains. Sometimes, even rills and rivers ran red.

But the kindly rain from Heaven had made the human life-stream soak into the soil, and nature soon came with her sweet mantle of flowers to heal, and to reconcile, and make men forget. So to the new generation of boys and girls, each war, as it came and went, made only one more story to tell around the fireside on winter nights; for in summer with play and work, and dance and song they thought only of what was just before them. Not for the young to look back over the past, except to hear about the fairies!

So, one generation after another, of human beings, forgot what had happened in former years and ages. Moreover, all the red rills, that had flowed from the veins of the wounded and dying, fed the earth and made it more fertile. Even their flesh and bones soon mingled with the soil and their elements reappeared in grain and trees, plants and flowers. Only the iron atoms of the blood of the soldiers remained in the ground. From the time when men fought with stone axes and arrows, to the days we can remember, when they used poison gas and dropped bombs from the sky, men fed the earth with their bodies and blood and left widows and orphans at home.

By the aid of their secret powers, the kabouters had collected these iron particles, that were once floating in human veins and arteries, and they made them into their tools, such as hammers, tongs, anvils, chains, locks, keys, and what not. They also possessed the secrets of the colors, that enter into the clays, flowers, stones, dyes for garments and whatever has tint or hue. The kabouters knew that, underneath all colors, of any sort or kind, there must be a metal, which, with other elements, becomes the basis of all dyes, paints, and tints in or on anything solid or liquid.

Almost all the wonders of chemistry were known to these elves, and often, in talking to each other, they declared that everything, which the human artist laid on canvas, or with which he tinted his wall, or house, was caused by some chemical change in metals.

One of the most wonderful of their secrets was the transformation of iron into rouge, which the girls and women put on their cheeks, in order to imitate the lovely rose tints, with which nature paints the faces of her children. Yet whereas, in health and vigor, the color comes to the human face from within, foolish folks put it on from without. Indeed, in some countries, the forefinger and finger nail of the maidens which, at the tips, is usually red, is named “the rouge finger,” because most used for this purpose by the girls who wear out the carpet in front of their looking glasses.

Now it was an old kabouter, that was kind to the fairy from the upper earth, who told her the secret of the splendid hue of the red petals of the poppy.

“It is the same color, and the same metal, in the crimson flowers, as that laid on the faces of the pretty girls, in their boudoirs; or that comes naturally to the cheeks of the healthy young men and maidens. Now I can tell you how you can make a new flower, as red as blood, that will spring up all over the fields of Flanders.”

The fairy clapped her hands with delight.

“O tell me how. I should gladly die, if I might end the quarrels of the fairies and leave behind me a crimson flower. I want something, on Belgian soil, that shall make its people love their land all the more, and, by its color, remind them of the blood of the slain of many generations of men. Let the red flower spring up everywhere, without thought or labor. So will they value the more their beloved country, when they plant and cultivate the white lilies of peace.”

“So shall it be, if you say it,” said the old kabouter, “but life for life. You must give up your own life, and the flower will be your transformation. Die, and the red flowers shall live. And we kabouters also love Belgium. We shall let the iron atoms, gathered during ages, from the dead, enter with your life into the new blooms which shall spring up. There is already enough iron in the soil to tint the petals for a thousand years to come.”

At this word of promise, the fairy cried out “Good! it shall be a memorial of the thousand generations of the brave men, who have died on Belgic soil, and on Flanders fields, and it will also heal the quarrels of my people.” Then, sinking down, she breathed out her life, and was no more.

That night, there was a funeral among the fairies. In the softest spot, in the centre of a fairy ring, among the grass and yellow and blue flowers, they laid her to rest in a sad burial. Nevertheless the burden of their song was of promise and joy, and in praise of beauty; for the earth’s surface was now to wear a new floral jewel.

And behold, in the next spring time, the earth seemed dotted with jets of flame, as if a thousand fairies were each one kindling a tiny memorial fire, in remembrance of human lives given for others.

From that day of the grave in the fairy’s ring, there was peace among the fairies. And in our time, the poppies of Belgium keep a perpetual Decoration Day, because of the generations of the slain on the soil of Belgium the Beautiful.

VII

THE STORY OF THE FLEUR-DE-LYS

Long before cows in Belgium wore earrings, to denote their pedigree and good breeding, or sugar was made out of beets, there were wonderful things done by the fairies.

These were so many, that some industrious farmers and their wives got together to see if they could equal or exceed the fairies in doing good things for their country. They wished to outrival the fairies, excel them if possible, and make Belgium great among the nations.

These honest folk used to meet together in the evenings and tell fairy tales, so that they and their little ones, as they grew up in their wooden shoes, might know just what fairies were good for. This was done, because they supposed that everything unusual, or wonderful in nature, was the work of the fairies, and they felt that human beings ought, in other ways, to beat them in a contest of wits.

Some of the inhabitants arranged a meeting to talk with the fairies, who should tell what they had accomplished in the three kingdoms of nature—mineral, vegetable and animal. The meeting was at night, of course, for fairies are never seen in the day time.

Having already shown what they had done for the animals of Belgium, the fairy-folk proposed to talk about what they had done, with the plants and minerals, to enrich Belgium and make the country great.

The first story the fairies told was, “How the lowly flower got into royal society,” and thus the fairy began:

“‘All the world,’ as the French say, knows that the fleur-de-lys, the lily of France has, for centuries, been their national emblem. In the blazonry of kings and queens, it was sewn on royal robes and embroidered in gold and silver on flags and banners. It was stamped on the coins, and made the symbol of everything glorious in France. All the world has heard of the Bourbon lilies, for that family of kings and rulers made it especially their own emblem.

“But originally the fleur-de-lys was our Belgian flower, that grew in the meadows along our river Lys (or Leye).

“To tell the full story of the Frankish tribes, who made France a kingdom, and especially of the Salic Franks, we must go back, in time, to the early ages. We must travel up into Dutch Gelderland, where the waters of the North Sea or German Ocean, wash the shores, and the waves fling their spray over the land.

“The Salic Franks, that is, the Free men of the Salt, which was born of Heaven’s fire and ocean’s water, once dwelt by the sea. To get the crystals out of the brine, they cut down the trees of the forest, in which the fairies lived. Then they piled up the logs, and made a great blaze. The tongues of fire leaped higher and higher, for they were trying to get back to Heaven, their old home. Then the forefathers of our nation went down to the sea and drew up the salt water. This they flung on the red hot logs, praying all the time for the salt to come.

“The fire was put out by this means, and when they looked on the charred wood, they found thousands of shining white spots, which were crystals of pure salt. These, they scraped up, and, after refining, by means of water and evaporation, in the sun’s rays, they used the salt on their food and, as offerings to the gods.

“The forefathers therefore considered salt as the child born of fire and water, of Heaven and Ocean. So they took the name Salis, which means ‘of the salt.’ Through the changes in the language, the name ‘Salians’ was used to denote a host. They were very proud of being Franks, or freemen, and were known as the Salic Franks. They became very powerful and even defied the Romans.

“When they found that their enemies were weakening, and food was scarce in the north, they resolved to march south and west, and possess the rich land stretching between the Maas and the Seine rivers, which is now Belgium and France.

“Assembling the entire host, with their chariots, wives and little ones, in the great moot-place, or sand-walled enclosure, a few miles from Nijkerk, they marched in one mighty army into Belgic Land. Reaching the river Lys, when the iris and the lily were in full bloom, each one of the tribesmen plucked a stem and blossom of the plant and stuck it in his cap.

“Then they rushed on, conquering and to conquer, until all the wide area of the country now called ‘France,’ and named after the Franks, was theirs. The flower of the Lys, or fleur-de-lys, under which they had won victory, was chosen as their emblem. Thus the once lovely Belgic flower was elevated into royal society.

“Even better, the Franks gave up their cruel pagan rites, and, believing in the Heavenly Father of all mankind, and in his beloved Son, and in the Holy Spirit, the fleur-de-lys was made the emblem of their faith. The missionaries often used it to teach the blessed doctrine of the trinity—three forms of life, proceeding from one common stem and nature.

“Now all Belgians know, that our city, Tournai, was for centuries the centre and capital of this great Frankish empire. When Childeric, their emperor, died, he was buried at Tournai, and his tomb was here, in the church of St. Brice. On the robes, which cover his honored dust, when his coffin was opened, centuries ago, were found three hundred golden bees, models of those that gathered honey from the flowers that grew along the Lys and other rivers of Belgic Land.

“All the world knows, also, how Napoleon, who made himself emperor of the French, had these golden bees embroidered on his coronation robes. Just as the Bourbons had claimed the lily as the particular blazon of their family, so Napoleon made the golden bee his symbol.

“In truth, it has been the fashion, with these royal mortals, to take lowly flowers and humble insects for their heraldry. Did not a common shrub, named by Europeans, the ‘broom,’ the planta genista, become the proud emblem of the Plantagenets, kings of England?”

At this point, the fairy story-teller stopped and made apology for being so long. She hoped she had not been tedious. She then gave her final word:

“Good men and women, Belgians all, would you make your country one of the best, to be always loved and honored of your children’s children, while ever attracting admiring and delighted visitors, to come to see the wonders of Belgic land? Would you?

“Then, please remember that the universe is full of fairies, though men nowadays call them ‘forces,’ and they are ever ready to help you. Do your best to allure, coax, win, tame and harness them, for your use and benefit.

“Do not count any flower too lowly, or soil too poor; for in each is a secret worth learning and, even more, worth possessing. Believe what a wise man has said, concerning even the plants that you call ‘weeds’—these which you uproot, plow under, throw out and burn. Yet each one may possess some secret charm, some virtue, or a message or science to you. For what says the seer?

“He defines a weed as a ‘plant, the virtues of which have not yet been discovered.’”

Now the story-teller, stepping out of fairy regions into Yankee land, would remind all who read the fairy’s message, and especially his American young friends, that the wise man, whom the fairy quoted, was our own Emerson. We forget not, either, that the white silken flags, under which Lafayette and the “sparkling Bourbonnaires” marched, were embroidered with the fleur-de-lys. These French soldiers of 1780, who kept step with the Continentals, on the way to Yorktown, were under the Bourbon lilies. Let us remember also, that the old moot-place of the Salic Franks is still to be seen near Nijkerk, in Gelderland, the pretty town, whence came “Corlaer,” and Van Rensselaer, and the settlers of New Netherland, out of which grew the four noble states of New York, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, and Delaware.

VIII

THE IRISH PRINCESS AND HER SHIP OF SOD

The story-teller has travelled many times in the land of the Belgians. There he saw hotels named “The Seven Churches,” in one of which he slept. He asked how it was, that a hotel should be named after churches, and why there should be seven of them?

This was the answer, and here is the story.

After the holy Saint Patrick had left Ireland free from snakes, it was a pleasanter country to dwell in, and people were kinder to each other than ever before. There were still, however, many rough fellows still in the island, and fights between the clans were common.