The Girl of the Citadel

In October, when the cold wind carries the smell of dying leaves…

When the chill breeze rattles the bony twigs across the cobblestones…

When a cloudy, ashen gloom darkens the day…

When it’s far too unpleasant out and the people are scarce to be seen...

The girl of the citadel comes out to play.

Climb the stone steps and grassy slopes of the old fortress. Look out over the walls to the city in the mist, to the rooftops and steeples hedged in by groves of trees, rising in the sloping distance in hues of walnut, sage, and rust.

Pass under the towering arches, past the iron-barred black of the entrances to underground passages. Cross the wooden drawbridge, resting open on its chains. In a large chink in the mail of the old wall, a perfect perch, have a seat. Stay.

Stay long enough and you’ll hear the church bells chime the quarter-hour. On nicer days when the people are out in droves, you might not hear the bells at all. But on an unpleasant, empty day, you can hear them ring. They ring with an intricate clamor of clanging that could almost be a melody.

If you listen even more closely, you’ll hear a faint voice — a girl’s voice — singing.

And you’ll realize that the bells really did ring out a melody.

For that is what the girl is singing.

The tune is like a children’s song, like Frère Jacques (Are You Sleeping?) or Alouette. You probably won’t be able to catch the words.

But those who have spent long, dark nights up at the citadel…

Like the folks down on their luck who seek its corners for shelter to sleep in…

Or the kids who wandered its labyrinth of underground tunnels — before the electric lights were put in for tourists — by the faint glow of a lighter...A lighter that went out as soon as they reached a dead-end, forcing them to make their way back in the dark…

They will tell you that the words of the girl’s song go something like this…

The girl of the citadel

Can you hear her song?

She sings with the birds

The melody of the church bells

Those bells that once sang for her

The girl of the citadel

Can you hear her song?

She laughs in the blowing wind

Her voice flies like the birds

Her voice flew away, even as she fell

The girl of the citadel

Can you hear her song?

Don’t listen too closely

Don’t sing along

But nobody has ever heard the end of the third verse. For they heed the warning not to listen and they cover their ears, or speak loudly to one another, or simply run away.

She must be lonely, this singing girl. Why do they run? Why is everyone afraid?

Her song does not sound sad, at first. It sounds playful and mischievous. Perhaps she is content with the birds as her companions. Perhaps she likes to be alone, on top of the world, able to fly.

Yet the happiest tunes often carry the most sorrowful melodies. A moaning lament sounds beautiful to our ears. A happy childhood song makes us cry. It sounds of things that are lost forever.

She must be lost, this singing girl. Why is her voice trapped on the citadel? Why did it stay, when her body “fell”?  Is it possible to be mute in heaven?

Or perhaps the singing that is trapped there is merely an echo.

Be careful. Those who are sad forget to be scared. The girl should have been scared. But she was too sad. And so she fell.

So if you climb the citadel in October, when the cold wind carries the smell of dying leaves…

When the chill breeze rattles the bony twigs across the cobblestones…

When a cloudy, ashen gloom darkens the day…

When it’s far too unpleasant out and the people are scarce to be seen...

Listen for the song of the girl of the citadel.

But don’t listen too closely. And don’t sing along.

Or do, if you’re curious. But warn me before you do — so I can run away.

(The story of the girl of the citadel is inspired by the Citadel of Namur. To my knowledge, there are no actual legends of hauntings at the citadel — or if there are, this isn’t one of them. It is simply an imaginary tale inspired by a place.)