Belgian Fairy Tales
Copyright© 2024 by William Elliot Griffis
Chapter 11: 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.
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