Part 6

Not one of them knew, or suspected, what had happened; for everything else was forgotten in the joy of seeing and welcoming her back alive. In fact, she kept the surprise, which she had in store for them, to the hour of the banquet.

Then at night, when all were arrayed in their finest clothes, and each one stood in his proper place, at the long table, and the gleemen had sung a ballad or two, and it was time to sit down to partake of the viands:

Quirina walked into the hall, carrying a huge dish, on top of which, was a big napkin. All the company wondered what was under the cover. She set it down on the table, and lifted the napkin.

And lo! It was the head of the magician Halwyn.

Then the blasts of the hornmen, and the deafening shouts from the warriors, told only too well how they enjoyed the gruesome sight of the wicked magician’s head.

X

LYDERIC, THE ORPHAN

In the middle ages, the holy saint Willebrod spent his life in doing good among the Dutch and Belgian tribes. His relics rest in the church at Echternach, in Luxemburg.

When trouble of any sort came upon the country people, they looked to him for help and advice.

In a certain year, a plague came upon their cattle. The poor dumb creatures acted as if they had brain fever. They were giddy, and staggered about, going round and round, but seemed to be unable to go forward. So the fields could not be ploughed and the cows would not give milk. The babies cried, the land was threatened with barrenness, and the people feared starvation.

In their distress, they came before the tomb of the good bishop, and made a vow that, if the pestilence ceased, they would, every year, make a pilgrimage to the church in which he was buried.

Now the curious thing, about this pilgrimage, was the manner in which it was carried out. To some extent, the people imitated, in their dancing and gestures, the odd behavior of the cattle, during their brain disorder. It became the fashion to leap and stagger, as the smitten beasts had done. In times, however, the celebration took the form of a processional, with bands of music.

So, every year, the long line of thousands of people, old and young, rich and poor, strong and weak, sick and well, led by the musicians, and all singing as they went, started from the river bridge. They walked hand in hand, and four abreast, and this was the method of their march; they would take three steps forward, and two steps backward. In this way, they would advance, very gradually, to the hill where the church stands. Having reached this, they laid their gifts upon the altar and then danced down the church aisle, to the porch, door and outside.

One can see, that, to make an advance of one step, the dancers and singers had to take five distinct steps. In this way, although the route from the river to the church was only one mile, in length, five hours were required to go the whole route. Many joined in the procession who were so old and weak, that they were likely to fall down. Nevertheless many weak folk, tried it, for they hoped to get rid of their pains and aches.

Especially hard was the ascent of the sixty stone steps, on the hillside. To mount to the top, five hundred human steps were necessary.

Thus it happened that not a few fell down along the march. Fainting and weary, they were left by the wayside. On the church steps, strong men stood by, on either side, to watch for any, who, from weakness, should lose their balance and fall down. Those who were likely to do so, or could not keep up, had to be dragged away quickly, lest they should be crushed by the waves of the oncoming dancers. In the frenzy of fervor and excitement, those who were waltzing, with giddy brains, might be so absorbed in their own motions, as not to notice what they were doing.

Now there was a young widow, who, out of grief, and hoping for comfort, had come to join in the procession. Being the bride of a few months, she was hoping for a son, and had vowed to St. Willebrod that, if she became the mother of a boy, she would dance from the river’s edge to the saint’s tomb. She prayed fervently that her hopes might be fulfilled.

She joined in the procession, and followed faithfully the rules laid down, but, when scarcely half way to the church, she felt her strength giving out. Fearing lest, if she continued, she might be trampled to death, she left the procession. Then, after a brief rest, she walked out from the open road, some distance into the forest.

There, in her loneliness, her child was born, and it was a boy. Though she rejoiced to have her own, and its father’s hopes fulfilled, yet she felt that she had so overtaxed her strength, in the dancing procession, that she was likely to die.

So, wrapping her babe in one of her own garments, she laid it down on a little bed of fallen leaves. Then scraping clean a part of the ground, she wrote, with a stick, upon the dirt, the name “Lyderic.” Then, her last measure of strength having ebbed away, she died.

A pious hermit, whose dwelling was a hut in the forest, while strolling about, heard the infant’s wail. Coming near the place, whence the sound proceeded, he found the dead mother and the living child. Something else also met his sight and a very wonderful picture it was. There on the bed of leaves, which the mother had scraped up, lay the baby boy. Beside him, lying along the floor of the forest was a doe, and this female deer was suckling the infant. This dumb mother of fawns seemed as careful and as anxious, as if the baby had been her own offspring; and indeed, it was not far away in the deep woods, that the doe kept her little family.

The baby boy, not knowing anything about different kinds of mothers, or qualities of food, was as active, as if living in the nursery of a house, and fondled on a human mother’s lap.

The fawn’s large, deep, lustrous eyes, were appealing to the old hermit’s heart. The wild creature did not tremble, or show any fear, for every beast of the forest seemed to know, and love the old man; as if realizing that he was their friend, and not an enemy, as the hunters were. They could see that he had no weapons, and even a bird could understand that.

The body of the human mother was given Christian burial, though the only conscious mourner was the old man, who hastily made a rustic cross, and set it over the grave; on which, also, he planted some wild flowers.

Now the hermit was not accustomed to take care of babies, but he made a rude cradle; and, every day, the doe mother came, as regularly as to her own little deer, to furnish nourishment to the child. So the infant grew to double his first weight and gave every promise of health and vigor. In a few months, he was crawling on the floor, in the hermit’s hut; and, according to his mother’s writing on the ground, Lyderic was his name.

To the old man, the days and months seemed to fly very fast, as babyhood was left behind, and a robust boy was growing up.

The old hermit recalled his own boyhood’s skill at such things, and made toys for the little fellow, who played happily with them. Anything bright, or shining, was especially attractive to the child.

One day, while the hermit was out among the willow trees, which skirted the stream, to make a whistle, for the baby boy, the fairies came into the hut and visited him at his cradle. They were traveling fairies, for they had come all the way from Wales. One of them, was named Morgana, or, as she was well known, Morgana la Fay. She fell in love with the little fellow, and promised that when he grew up, he was to be her love, while all the fairies agreed to bestow on him the gifts of mind and body, through which he might become a great man and conquer all his enemies.

It would make our story too long, to tell how Lyderic, even while a baby boy, was looked upon as the leader of men, in one of those civil wars, which so long troubled Belgic Land. Once, during battle, his cradle was hung upon a tree branch, and he was called the baby leader, and centuries afterwards, a statue and a fountain were reared at Brussels in his honor.

Lyderic, when fully grown, was known as a man of fine character and tremendous strength. He was unselfish, and always ready to help the weak. In time, he became a crusader, and, going off to fight the Saracens, in Syria, won renown for his bravery. There was no Turk, that could stand against his lance, or sword, or battle axe; and their weapons had no power over him. So he came back, unhurt, to Belgium.

After his return home, he built a castle, but soon tiring of a quiet life, he crossed the sea and traveled in Britain. There he met Gratina, the beautiful daughter of Angart, or Edgar, the King of England. By this alliance, he became very powerful. Then the great monarch, Charlemagne, recognized him as an ally and vassal, and gave him, in fief, the Belgic provinces of Hainault and Brabant.

The flag of Lyderic, as Duke of Brabant, was a tricolor, of black, yellow, and red, in vertical bands. To his mind black stood for the dark forest and the difficulties which are always overcome by the brave. Yellow represented property and gold, the precious metal, which added to human prosperity, and must be guarded; while red was for blood and life, which all brave men willingly gave for their country, when they are called to go to war. Centuries afterward, when all the provinces of Belgic Land were united in one kingdom, and the people in one nation, and the country (in the English form of the name) was known as Belgium, this tricolor became the national flag.

Lyderic spent most of his time in Wales, on the lovely aisle of Avalon. Here he was in fairy land, for Morgana, jealous of his marriage to Gratina, had cast a spell upon him. So, while others died and were buried, he lived on. The time passed without his notice, or his asking about age, until two hundred years had slipped away.

Morgana, the fairy, had given Lyderic a fire brand, which, as long as it kept burning, his life would be prolonged; but when it went out, he would die. Lyderic lived with the knights of King Arthur, enjoying, with them, jousts and tournaments, and many wonderful sports and adventures. Yet at last, he tired of the company even of the knights of the Round Table, and longed to cross the sea, and live again in Belgic Land.

One day, when this desire became too strong to resist, he had an iron box made, and carefully keeping the fire alight, he left Avalon, and crossed the sea to his old home. Meeting the handsome widow of King Philip, this royal lady wished to marry him. Lyderic, while yielding to her wishes, and his mind occupied with his love affairs, forgot to attend to the fire, to keep it kindled, and so let the brand go out.

Then Morgana, the fairy, who had been jealous of the Princess Gratina and was now even more jealous of Lyderic’s new wife, carried him off to Avalon, and shut him up in the cave, where sit King Arthur and his knights, awaiting the day when they shall come forth, in time of greatest need. There Lyderic sleeps yet.

The fame of Lyderic lives in the myths of the fairy world, in many lands, from Denmark to Wales, and from Belgium to Italy. All the boys and girls of Europe have heard his story, in one form or another. As for Morgana, she is known all over the world, and in all time, as the conjurer. There are those who can discern her dwelling place on the clouds and vapors, especially off the coast of Calabria in Italy. At certain seasons of tide and weather, one may see, in the sky, and far above earth, or sea, a colossal picture of the trees and hills, of the houses and palaces of the wonderful city of Reggio, magnified many times, as it is reflected on the sky. One thus gets an idea of how the land looks where fairies live.

XI

THE LONG WAPPERS, AND THEIR TRICKS

In his rambles in Belgium, the story-teller found no parts of any city in the land equal in interest to those of old Antwerp. If he sauntered down toward evening, into the narrow streets and through the stone gateway, blackened with age, under which the great Charles V. rode, the fairies and funny folks seemed almost as near to him as the figures in real history. Here, many a prince or princess made their “joyous entry,” into the wonderful city of Brabo, the boy hero, who slew the cruel giant Antigonus and cut off his cruel hands.

Here, the story-teller noticed a great many images of the Virgin Mary; whereas, in the newer parts of the city, there were few or none. They were usually set in the house corners, where two streets came together. Inquiring into the reason of this, he discovered a new kind of Belgian fairy, the Wapper, famous for his long legs and funny tricks. Here were fairies on stilts.

This mischievous fellow was very active in old times. He could be as long, or as short, as it pleased him. He could stretch his body out, and up to the house roofs, or shrink it down, as if it were made of India rubber, according to his whim. For example, he would sit on a bridge, and lengthen his legs out until they were as thin as those of a mosquito. Again, he could drink until his body bulged out like a plum pudding, or a bag of oats. He was very fond of milk, and would suck or swallow it, until he looked the way a mosquito does, that has bored a hole through a fat boy’s skin, and filled himself so red and round, that you would think he might burst.

In days, centuries ago, the Long Wappers, as they were sometimes called, used to go around the streets of old Antwerp at dusk. Or, in the dark night, they would wait in lonely places and run off with the people. No one ever heard of any good boys or girls being snatched away, but drunken louts, coming home very late, that is toward midnight, from the dram shops, were often caught. The Wappers would seize them by the hair, swing them round, and then toss them into the gutters, till they were black with mud; or, they would throw them into the Scheldt River. Occasionally a toper would be found in a hog pen, sleeping with the sow and her piggies. When the man woke up, about noon, he could not tell how he ever got there; but the Wappers knew, and they kept their secret.

How numerous the Wappers were, the story-teller never could find out. It was in their power, to be as wee as a baby, or as big as a giant. That was the peculiar thing about them. It was very funny, that this kind of fairies never weighed more or less. No matter how much they drank of milk, they were never any heavier, or lighter, for it. And to their length, or shortness, they were more like earthworms that, in crawling, can be long, or short, as they please.

Sometimes the Wappers rose up out of the water, or sat on the bridges with their feet cooling in the stream. In that position, from their toes, up to their bodies, their legs looked more like black threads, or wires; or, as if a strand from a spider’s web had broken loose. If the water was not very deep, then they seemed to be on stilts.

One particular stream of water was named the Wapper’s Rui, or Wapper’s Creek, and the bridge crossing it was called the Wapper’s Bruck. While the Wapper was wading in the water, he seemed to be as long as a lightning rod, but as soon as the creature reached the bank, to step out, on land, his legs shortened to the size of a boy’s.

When on the bridge, he pulled up his wiry limbs, and looked like any human youngster. When he made use, to the utmost, of this elastic power of lengthening or shortening himself, the mischievous rascal elongated himself until his legs were like stilts, so that he could look down into the church windows. Then he would howl at the priests and the people, or make faces at them, and follow them home from the mass.

With his spidery legs, drawn out as thin as threads, he stretched himself upward toward the house roofs. Then he poked his long, curly nose, even into the top windows, usually just as the maids were going to bed, and nearly scared them out of their wits. They cried out “Holy Mother,” and crossed themselves, whereat he lowered himself and fled.

His favorite trick, however, was to make himself look like a foundling baby, or a very small child, crying and pretending to be hungry. He was always well wrapped up, and attracted attention. One day, a young nursing mother, that had left her baby at home for a few minutes, to run out to buy something, saw, as she thought, the poor little one.

In the goodness of her motherly heart, the woman took it up and gave it refreshment, meanwhile patting its back most affectionately. She crooned to herself, “arme pop,” “kinde,” “lieveling,” “trotekind” (poor baby, darling, lovey-dovey, trotty-kin), and other affectionate words, such as Flemish mothers use in the nursery. Meanwhile, the baby kept on with its breakfast.

But after five or ten minutes, when the supposed infant had drained both breasts, the woman thought of her own little one, in the cradle at home, and wondered whether her darling would have to go hungry.

Then she noticed that the strange baby’s stomach was swollen, almost as round as a big ball, for it had, from the first moment shown symptoms of ravenous hunger, and its body got bigger and bigger.

Horrified at this, she wrapped up the foundling and was about to lay it down, where she found it, and leave it there; when, out of the bundle, jumped a Wapper. He shook off the swaddling clothes, left them in the street, and ran off howling, laughing and gibbering.

When boys were coming home from school, they often stopped and played the game of “stuif hoed,” or “shove the hat.” Each boy took turns in slinging his hat down in the ring; or, another seized it from his head and pushed it, or kicked it about, with their wooden shoes, until the owner recovered it. Some boys grew very expert at this game, and all were eager to get first kick with their klomps.

The Wapper usually found out, beforehand, which one of the urchins had not been at school that day, then he changed himself into a boy, to look like the one who was absent. At the right moment, he threw down his hat. When one of the lads rushed up and gave it a tremendous kick, his klomp, or wooden shoe, flew in pieces, and he howled with pain, for his toes were nearly broken. The Wapper had, just for the fun of it, put an iron pot under the hat. When everybody was laughing at the poor boy, who was limping home, the Wapper could not be seen anywhere.

In fact, this fiendish fairy was always playing April fool jokes on people. He would lay a hat on the pavement, but, hidden under it, was a brick or stone, for some fellow to stub his toe upon.

The Wapper often went into a tavern, and, joining in a game of cards, would make the players cheat each other. Then a fight followed and some one would get hurt. If they had been drinking heavily, one might get killed.

Or, the Wapper would go about the town selling mussels to housekeepers. These shell fish are called mussels, because each one looks like a little mouse. But when a woman would let one of these pass her lips, out would crawl, not a mouse, but a spider; or, she would find her mouth full of sand. When the housewives discovered who and what this peddler of shell fish was, they would go after him with tongs, or rolling pins, or even chairs and stools, but at the first alarm, he lengthened his legs and rushed off so fast, that no one could ever catch him. Then again, he was called the Long Wapper.

But by and bye, it was noticed that whenever the Wapper came to an image or shrine of the Virgin Mary, he was afraid to pass it, and turned back. It was a woman, with sharp eyes, who first made this discovery, and all her neighbors honored her highly for her smartness. Some thought she ought to be made a saint.

So at once it became the fashion to make or buy images of the Holy Mother, and set them out in front of houses, over the doors or windows. It came to pass that the shops, where religious goods were sold, soon did a roaring business. Not only that, but whenever a new house was built, the architect set a niche in the angle, and there they built a shrine. Corner houses were especially well provided in this way, for by thus guarding two streets at once, the Long Wapper was double fooled, and so prevented from playing his tricks, whether high or low. By such means, they got rid of the Wappers in Antwerp.

Nobody ever sees this Belgian species of daddy longlegs nowadays, and it is supposed that specimens are seen only among the sandhills of the Campine. It is said that the Wappers are very mad about it, because they can do so little mischief, as compared with the good old times, when they broke the toes of boys, scared housemaids, deceived kind mothers, and made themselves a nuisance generally. No one nowadays ever hears even the word “wapper,” unless it be applied to a swing bridge, or the flap of a sail, or to some foolish person, who is more or less silly. They may use the Wapper’s picture as a comic valentine.

In fact, so low has the reputation of the Wappers fallen, that many Flemish folk think that their tribe is represented today by the Kludde.