Читать книгу The Legend of the Glorious Adventures of Tyl Ulenspiegel in the land of Flanders and elsewhere - Charles de Coster - Страница 19

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Ulenspiegel had been long upon the road. His feet were bleeding, but in the district of the bishopric of Mayence he met a wagon full of pilgrims who invited him to join them, and they carried him with them to Rome.

When they arrived at the city Ulenspiegel got down from the wagon, and straightway noticed a charming-looking woman standing at the door of an inn. She smiled when she saw him looking at her.

Taking this kindly humour of hers for a good omen:

“Hostess,” says he, “will you give asile, pray, to a poor pilgrim on pilgrimage who has carried his full time and is about to be delivered of his sins?”

“We give asile to all such as pay us for it,” said the woman.

I have a hundred ducats in my purse,” said Ulenspiegel (who, in fact, had no more than one), “and I would dearly like to spend the first of them in your pleasant company and over a bottle of old Roman wine.”

“Wine is not dear in these holy parts,” she answered. “Come in and drink your fill. It will only cost you a soldo.”

And they twain drank together for so long, and emptied so many bottles of wine and all to the tune of such pleasant conversation, that the hostess was constrained to order her servant to serve the customers in her place, while she and Ulenspiegel retired into a room at the back of the inn, a marble chamber, cool as a winter’s day, where, leaning her head on her new friend’s shoulder, she demanded of him who he might be.

And Ulenspiegel answered her:

“I am Lord of Geeland, Count of Gavergeëten, 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 breasts, 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 passes 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 peacock 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 God, 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 Mass 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 Mass 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.