"See ye not with what cruel torments of penance I seek to merit forgiveness for my sins? Will ye not ease the sharp anguish of this scourge that woundeth my back and maketh me to bleed?"
"Who is this mad man?" said the troopers.
"Friends," answered Ulenspiegel, "I am not mad, but repentant and famished; for while my spirit weepeth for its guilty crimes, my belly weepeth its lack of meat. Blessed soldiers, and you, fair damsels, I see there among you fat ham, goose, sausages, wine, beer, tartlets. Will you not give somewhat to the pilgrim?"
"Aye, aye," said the Flemish troopers, "he has a good old phiz, the preacher."
And all began to throw pieces of food to him like balls. Ulenspiegel ceased not to talk, and went on eating, sitting astride the bough.
"Hunger," said he, "maketh man hard-hearted and unfit for prayer, but ham taketh away this evil humour all of a sudden."
"Look out, crackpot!" said a troop sergeant, throwing him a bottle half full.
Ulenspiegel caught the bottle in the air, and drinking by little sips, said:
"If a sharp and raging hunger is a thing harmful to the poor body of a man, there is another thing as hurtful, and that is the anguish of a poor pilgrim to whom generous soldiers have given, one a slice of ham, the others a bottle of beer. For the pilgrim is sober by his custom, and if he drank and had in his inside such scanty and trifling nourishment, he would be drunk immediately."
As he spoke, he caught once again a goose's thigh in the air.
"This," said he, "is a thing miraculous, to fish meadow fish out of the air. But it has disappeared, bone and all. What is greedier than dry sand? A barren woman and a famished stomach."
Suddenly he felt a halberd point prick him in the seat. And he heard an ensign say:
"Do pilgrims disdain a leg of mutton for the nonce?"
Ulenspiegel saw, spitted on the blade of the halberd, a big knuckle bone. Taking it he said:
"I will make a marrow flute of it to sing thy praises, compassionate halberdier. And yet," said he, eating at the knuckle bone, "what is a meal without dessert, what is a knuckle bone, however succulent, if after it the pilgrim doth not behold a tartlet displaying its blessed face?"
Saying this he put up his hand to his face, for two tartlets coming from the group of girls had flattened themselves out, one on his eye, the other on his cheek. And the girls laughed and Ulenspiegel answered: