The Two Lawyers of Beetsterzwaag
Beetsterzwaag was long the seat of the court of Opsterland. There lived, in the eighteenth century, two lawyers who could not bear each other to the death. Their squabbling during a lawsuit over a few cows became so unedifying that their souls clung to it after death. To this day, they say, anyone walking at night along the Hoofdstraat of Beetsterzwaag may hear two voices arguing whom no one can see.
1 The lawsuit over four cows
In the eighteenth century there stood before the bailiff’s court of Opsterland two farmers — one from Olterterp, the other from Beetsterzwaag — over the ownership of four cows that had grazed on a common heath. Each farmer had his lawyer. Both lawyers lived in Beetsterzwaag, in houses a stone’s throw apart. And each hated the other like the plague.
The case dragged on. What should have been a simple matter of brands and grazing rights was loaded by both lawyers with so many false arguments, forged testimonies and borrowed articles from Roman law that after three years the bailiff still did not know to whom the cows belonged. The four beasts had meanwhile grown old, been slaughtered, eaten, and their hides sold. Only the fees rose.
2 Neither would yield
When the bailiff, weary of arguing, at last gave judgement — four cows to be divided, each lawyer to pay his own costs — both lawyers flew into such a rage that each attacked his colleague in the street. Before the town hall they beat each other with their wigs, kicked the back of each other’s knees, and spat in each other’s faces. The bystanders had to part them. The lawyers swore never to greet each other again, and kept their word to the grave.
The one died in 1782, the other three months later of a stroke — rumour had it brought on by joy at his colleague’s death. They were buried on opposite sides of the churchyard of Beetsterzwaag. But the souls did not rest.
3 The voices on the Hoofdstraat
Already in the first month after the second burial, the bailiff’s messenger came one evening trembling to the priest. He had heard, on the way back from Drachten where the Hoofdstraat enters the village, two voices. One cried «Four cows!» The other answered «Two for me!» And so it went, back and forth. He had seen no one.
The priest said masses, sprinkled holy water. It availed nothing. To this day, they say in Beetsterzwaag, anyone walking at night along the Hoofdstraat and pausing under the old lime trees hears two voices wrangling about cows long since turned to dust. Whoever has ever seen how two Frisian lawyers cling to each other knows that no grave and no holy water can part them.
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