La Licorne

ARNOLDUS

Our former house La Licorne has a great air of mystery and adventure for children.

 

When showing the Bokhovian offspring the interiors of La Licorne I used to make up a story around its founding father:

Arnoldus de Bouchove.

 

Perhaps this would give them an idea about their roots and -hopefully- awake their interest and sympathy for the southern Netherlands.

 

They listened to this:

 

Centuries ago there lived a boy in a village on the river Maas. His parents had put up a hut on the sandy levee, which the river had built up along its banks. Together with other people they made up a community. When the water in the river rose, the land around the village would be flooded. Since there were no dikes the water could come close to the houses, or even enter. The villagers made a living from fishing in the river, farming around their houses, and herding animals on the extended low lands that -also- offered abundant opportunity for hunting, wood collection and fruit harvesting.

After work the villagers would gather for small talk and big stories. Arnold and his friends would make sure to be around on such occasions. There were recounts of a salmon which had been caught, 'as big as a young man'. A flood had submerged the entire village, forcing those who survived to stay on the roof tops for days. A village woman had run away with a stranger. A man had made himself so angry that he dropped dead. Two families had a feud about a piece of land. While these stories were told everybody listened intensely. From time to time there would be laughter of men, giggling of girls and meaningful glancing of women.

Arnold especially liked his grandfather recounting the way he had come to the village for the first time. At that time a few young men and women had decided to leave their parental homes near Maastricht in search for a piece of land for their own. After days of travel with their goats and other belongings along the river Maas, they had arrived in an area that appeared to belong to nobody. An elevated bank on the side of the river was selected by them to build a shelter. In the beginning they fed themselves with the fruits and roots they found, fish and game they caught, and milk from the goats they had brought. After a while they had started clearing the thick bush around their huts for hoven [gardens] and planted a tree of the kind of a Beech [Buch, Bok], as a protection against lightning. So they named their village Bokhoven.

Arnold was fond of such stories that allowed his mind to walk away from daily routines and to dream instead of himself as the young man that would solve the troubles of the villagers. He would be the one to chase all bandits roaming the area, and fancied himself as meeting an orphan girl of extreme beauty, but -alas- living with a frightful aunt. Luckily the matter was solved and in the end Arnold found himself being knighted by the King. This was the way of life Arnold longed for.

One morning his parents had found his sleeping place empty. That had never happened before, since he was a fervent sleeper. In a note he thanked his parents for everything, at the same time announcing he was going to try his luck elsewhere, and, on his own.

Hours before Arnold had taken to the east, following the river. In the beginning he had walked fast in order to make sure no one would catch up with him. He knew the surroundings well until hitting on another stream discharging into the Maas. The low tide helped him cross the swampy area. After reaching the other side Arnold picked up the banks of the Maas again. He walked all day, eating from what nature had to offer. A village that appeared on his way was cautiously avoided: so close to his home an over-zealous villager might get the idea of bringing him back!

When the night fell he collected a bundle of hay to give him a place to sleep in the open. Looking up into a sky so full of stars, he wondered where all the new ones had so suddenly come from. Dozing away he felt like flying to those untouchable lights, grabbing strings of haze, which he twined into the mirage of a white horse on whose back he returned to earth. In his sleep he heard the whinny of a horse, so intense was his dream. And when the stars retreated and the glow of the rising sun emerged, Arnold opened his eyes and looked straight into the face of a grey horse which was curiously bending over to him.

 

 

 

Arnold lay still, pondering where he was, and wondering where the horse had come from. When the grey moved, Arnold recollected the situation: he was on his own, far from home, he had to move on, a horse would facilitate this, and, here stood a limping horse, wild, but tame enough to be caught. Now it was case to keep low profile, no sudden moves, not standing up but sticking to his relaxed position in the hay. The horse had seen him sleeping and had stayed roaming around, so by now it would have become used to him. Arnold made little moves to test its reaction.

Everything went all right, slowly he sat up, the horse retreated. Arnold stood up and strolled away at his ease. The horse looked up, Arnold backed up, giving a yawn and lazily stretching himself. Then took a step into the direction of the horse, muttering friendly -but not eagerly- slowly approaching, step by step, one hand out while holding the other on his back. The vital moment came when he was at arm length from the horse. Would it turn away? No, instead the snout went up, sniffing and almost touching his hand: caught!

Patting, walking away, digging-up a root, coming back, feeding: now the horse knew him! Taking time Arnold started to concern himself with the bad limb and found a thorn penetrated into the hoof. Uttering comforting words and making sure not to increase the duress, Arnold patiently removed the culprit: then they were friends!

 

Arnold fixed a bridle, so he could lead the horse. Then the two of them started off. The horse walked much better now, and Arnold gave the wound time to heal, but in the afternoon he could wait no longer. After fastening the rein to a tree he climbed on the horse's back. Carrying an unusual weight Grey shivered vigorously. It took Arnold time to ease him. Then he made the horse walk. Again this was strange to the Grey, but somehow he accepted it to carry his young master. When they reached a village late in the afternoon, Arnold felt a real traveler on horse back. The arrival of a stranger was an event to the villagers, and as long as he showed good intentions he was welcomed with esteem. In those days offering free food and a place to sleep was good practice in return of hearing news from the traveler. Taken to his task Arnold told of Bokhoven and replicated the stories he had heard. For sure, he avoided telling about his flight from home, but instead brought up something about being on his way to family in Maastricht.

Next morning, after a good breakfast, Arnold thanked his hosts and set out to leave with Grey. One of the villagers gave him a sheep's skin to put on the horse's back, and off he went. The journey progressed and after days of adventurous travel Arnold reached a city with a bridge across the river: Maastricht. Imagine what an excitement it must have given him seeing for the first time in his life a river crossing in arched masonry, streets, market places, churches and houses, all but no farmland. In such a place no-one took notice of you and the people spoke much, very much differently. All that being thrilling, it was worrying to Arnold he had to pay for food and lodging. He had nothing of value in his possession but Grey, which he would never sell.

 

Onze Lieve Vrouwekerk

What he didn't know yet was that in time of despair, one should visit the Chapel of the Holy Mary on the Lieve Vrouweplein [Square of the Grace Mary]. Instead Arnold went for the Saint Servaas, whose towers he had seen from far when approaching the city.

  Sint Servaas

I mentioned all this in an effort to make the children knowledgeable about this beautiful town. Alas, they couldn't care less, and I had to switch to more earthy matters. Now then: such as Arnold meeting a nice young maid who brought him into contact with her master. It was this nobleman who hired him as a lancer and who attributed to our hero the Latin name of Arnoldus de Buchoven

that stands for Arnold van (=of) Bokhoven.

So, Arnold returned to Bokhoven as Arnoldus, a grown up man and squire. His mother had shed tears, his father been silent but proud, and the girls had been after him. All the girls of the village but one, who had discretely lowered her eyes, while her heart jumped, since she was the one that had secretly been in love with Arnold ever since their childhood.

From this point on I could endlessly expand on the story and enjoyed it that the kids were swallowing the candle light stuff. Building up tension I had Arnoldus leave the scene without giving notice to anybody, let alone to the shy girl. How could he have any idea of her devotion to him?

 

Everytime Arnoldus would come back, and grow in status and wealth to ultimately start building a strong tower for a home, with an iron-gated door and high windows.

He would continue to respect his parents and the village elders [hear, hear!], who in turn would recognize him as their leader.

Having exhausted all those details I would bring the story to an abrupt end.

Strangely enough, that brought the youngster to begging me for an account of how it ended with Arnold and the girl.

This I invariably refused.

After all: how could I know?

 

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