In this wise Smetse had his revenge on Slimbroek, who thereafter
dared not look him in the face, and hid when he passed.
But the good smith, nevertheless, had no more pleasure in anything
than before, for with every passing day he became more and more needy,
having already, with his wife, used up what help came to them from
the guild, and also a small sum of silver from Middelburg in Walcheren.
Ashamed to get his living by begging and knavery, and knowing how to
bear with his lot no longer, he resolved to kill himself.
So one night he left his house, and went out to the moats of the
town, which are bordered by fine trees, forked and spreading down
to the ground. There he fastened a stone to his neck, commended his
soul to God, and, stepping back three paces to get a better start,
ran and jumped.
But while he was in the very act he was caught suddenly by two
branches, which, falling upon his shoulders, gripped him like man's
hands and held him fast where he was. These branches were neither
cold nor hard, as wood naturally is, but supple and warm. And he
heard at the same instant a strange and scoffing voice saying:
"Where goest thou, Smetse?"
But he could not answer by reason of his great astonishment.
And although there was no wind the trunks and branches of the tree
moved and swung about like serpents uncoiling, while all around there
crackled above ten hundred thousand sparks.
And Smetse grew more afraid, and a hot breath passed across his face,
and the voice, speaking again, but nearer, or so it seemed, repeated:
"Where goest thou, Smetse?"
But he could not speak for fear, and because his throttle was dry
and his teeth chattering.
"Why," said the voice, "dost not dare answer him who wishes thee
naught but well? Where goest thou, Smetse?"
Hearing so pleasant and friendly a speech, the good smith took heart
and answered with great humility: "Lord whom I cannot see, I was
going to kill myself, for life is no longer bearable."
"Smetse is mad," said the voice.
"So I am, if you will, Lord," answered the smith; "nevertheless when
my smithy is lost to me by the cunning of a wicked neighbour, and I
have no way to live but by begging and knavery, 'twould be greater
madness in me to live than to die."
"Smetse," said the voice, "is mad to wish himself dead, for he shall
have again, if he will, his fair smithy, his good red fire, his good
workmen, and as many golden royals in his coffers as he sees sparks
in this tree."
"I," exclaimed the smith in great delight, "shall never have such
fine things as that! They are not for such miserables as I."
"Smetse," said the voice, "all things are possible to my master."
"Ah," said the smith, "you come from the devil, Lord?"
"Yes," answered the voice, "and I come to thee on his account to
propose a bargain: For seven years thou shalt be rich, thou shalt
have thy smithy the finest in the town of Ghent; thou shalt win gold
enough to pave the Quai aux Oignons; thou shalt have in thy cellars
enough beer and wine to wet all the dry throttles in Flanders; thou
shalt eat the finest meats and the most delicate game; thou shalt have
hams in plenty, sausages in abundance, mince-pies in heaps; every
one shall respect thee, admire thee, sing thy praises; Slimbroek at
the sight of it shall be filled with rage; and for all these great
benefits thou hast only to give us thy soul at the end of seven years."
"My soul?" said Smetse, "'tis the only thing I have; would you not,
My Lord Devil, make me rich at a less price?"
"Wilt thou or wilt thou not, smith?" said the voice.
"Ah," answered Smetse, "you offer me things that are very desirable,
even, My Lord Devil (if I may say it without offence), more than
I wish; for if I might have only my forge and enough customers to
keep the fire alight I should be happier than My Lord Albert or
Madam Isabella."
"Take or leave it, smith," said the voice.
"Lord Devil," answered Smetse, "I beg you not to become angry with
me, but to deign to consider that if you give me but my forge, and
not all this gold, wine, and meats, you might perhaps be content to
let my soul burn for a thousand years, which time is not at all to
be compared with the great length of all eternity, but would seem
long enough to whomever must pass it in the fire."
"Thy forge for thee, thy soul for us; take or leave it, smith,"
said the voice.
"Ah," lamented Smetse, "'tis dear bought, and no offence to you,
Lord Devil."
"Well then, smith," said the voice, "to riches thou preferest
beggary? Do as thou wilt. Ah, thou wilt have great joy when, walking
with thy melancholy countenance about the streets of Ghent, thou art
fled by every one and dogs snap at thy heels; when thy wife dies of
hunger, and thou chantest mea culpa in vain; then when, alone in the
world, thou beatest on thy shrunken belly the drum for a feast, and
the little girls dancing to such music give thee a slap in the face
for payment; then, at last, when thou dost hide thyself in thy house
so that thy rags shall not be seen in the town, and there, scabby,
chatter-tooth, vermin-fodder, thou diest alone on thy dung-hill like a
leper, and art put into the earth, and Slimbroek comes to make merry
at thy downfall."
"Ah," said Smetse, "he would do it, the knave."
"Do not await this vile end," said the voice, "it were better to die
now: leap into the water, Smetse; leap, Smee."
"Alas," lamented he, "if I give myself to you, I shall burn for
all eternity."
"Thou wilt not burn," said the voice, "but serve us for food,
good smith."
"I?" cried Smetse, much frightened at these words, "do you think to
eat me down there? I am not good for eating, I must tell you. There
is no meat more sour, tough, common, and vulgar than mine is. It has
been at one time and another diseased with plague, itch, and other vile
maladies. Ah, I should make you a shabby feast, you and the others, My
Lord Devil, who have in hell so many souls which are noble, succulent,
tasty, and well-fed. But mine is not at all good, I declare."
"Thou art wrong, smith," said the voice. "Souls of wicked emperors,
kings, princes, popes, famous captains of arms, conquerors, slayers
of men, and other brigands, are always as hard as an eagle's beak;
for so their omnipotence fashions them; we break our teeth off bit
by bit in eating them. Others, having been eaten up beforehand by
ambition and cruelty, which are like ravenous worms, give us hardly
a crumb to pick. Souls of girls who, without want or hunger, sell
for money what nature bids them give for nothing, are so rotten,
putrid, and evil-smelling that the hungriest of devils will not touch
them. Souls of vain men are bladders, and within there is nothing
but wind; 'tis poor food. Souls of hypocrites, canters, liars, are
like beautiful apples without, but beneath the skin are full of bile,
gall, sour wine, and frightful poison; none of us will have any ado
with them. Souls of envious men are as toads, who from spleen at
being so ugly, run yellow spittle on whatever is clean and shining,
from mouth, feet, and all their bodies. Souls of gluttons are naught
but cow-dung. Souls of good drinkers are always tasty, and above all
when they have about them the heavenly smell of good wine and good
bruinbier. But there is no soul so tasty, delectable, succulent,
or of such fine flavour as that of a good woman, a good workman,
or a good smith such as thou. For, working without intermission,
they have no time for sin to touch and stain them, unless it be once
or twice only, and for this reason we catch them whenever we can;
but 'tis a rare dish, kept for the royal table of My Lord Lucifer."
"Ah," said Smetse, "you have made up your mind to eat me, I see well
enough; nevertheless 'twould not cost you much to give me back my
forge for nothing."
"'Tis no great discomfort," said the voice, "to be so eaten, for My
Lord and King has a mouth larger than had the fish whereby Jonah the
Jew was swallowed in olden time; thou wilt go down like an oyster
into his stomach, without having been wounded by his teeth in any
wise; there, if it displease thee to stay, thou must dance with
feet and hands as hard as thou canst, and My Lord will at once spit
thee out, for he will not find it possible to stand for long such
a drubbing. Falling at his feet thou wilt show him a joyous face,
a steady look in his eyes, and a good countenance, and the same to
Madam Astarte, who, without a doubt, will take thee for her pet, as
she has done already to several; thereafter thou wilt have a joyous
time, serving My Lady merrily and brushing his hair for My Lord;
as for the rest of us, we shall be right glad to have you with us,
for, among all these familiar vile and ugly faces of conquerors,
plunderers, thieves, and assassins, 'twill do us good to see the
honest countenance of a merry smith, as thou art."
"My Lord Devil," said Smetse, "I do not merit such honour. I can
well believe, from what you tell me, that 'tis pleasant enough down
there with you. But I should be ill at ease, I must tell you, being
naturally uncouth in the company of strangers; and so I should bring
no joy with me, and should not be able to sing; and therefore you
would get but poor amusement from me, I know in advance. Ah, give
me back rather my good forge and my old customers, and hold me quit;
this would be the act of a royal devil and would sit well upon you."
Suddenly the voice spoke with anger: "Smith, wilt thou pay us in such
ape's coin? Life is no longer of benefit to thee, death is abhorrent,
and thou wouldst have from us without payment the seven full, rich and
joyous years which I offer thee. Accept or refuse, thy forge for thee,
thy soul for us, under the conditions I have told thee."
"Alas," said Smetse, "then I will have it so, since it must be,
Lord Devil!"
"Well then," said the voice, "set thy mark in blood to this deed."
And a black parchment, with a crow's quill, fell from the tree at the
smith's feet. He read on the parchment, in letters of fire, the pact
of seven years, opened his arm with his knife, and signed with the
crow's quill. And while he was still holding the parchment and the
quill, he felt them suddenly snatched from his hands with violence,
but he saw nothing, and only heard a noise as of a man running in
slipper-shoes, and the voice saying as it went into the distance:
"Thou hast the seven years, Smetse." And the tree ceased its swaying,
and the sparks in the branches went out.
V. Of the flaming ball, of the forge relit, and of the terrible great
buffet which the man with the lantern gave to Smetse's wife.
Smetse, greatly amazed, rubbed his eyes, thinking he was
dreaming. Suddenly shaking himself: "This devil," said he, "was he
not making fun of me after all? Have I verily gotten my good forge
back again? I will go and see."
Having said this he started running in haste, and from far away saw a
great light reddening the sky above the houses, and it seemed to him
that the fire sending up this light was on the Quai aux Oignons; and
he said to himself: "Could that be my forge?" And he ran the faster.
Coming to the quay he found it lit up as if by a sun, from the
paving-stones up to the tops of the trees which stood alongside,
and he said to himself: "It is my forge."
Then he was seized and shaken with joy, his legs failed him, and his
breath grew short; but he kept running as hard as he could, and coming
at last to his house he saw his smithy wide open as in the daytime,
and at the back of it a great bright fire.
Unable to contain himself at this sight he fell to dancing, leaping,
and bursting out into laughter, crying: "I have my forge, my own
forge! Ghent is mine!" Then he went in. Inspecting, examining, touching
everything, he saw at the sides, laid out in good order, iron of all
kinds: armour-iron, iron bars, plough-iron. "By Artevelde!" he said,
"the devil was not lying!" And he took up a bar, and having made it
red with the fire, which was done quickly, started beating it, making
the hammer ring on the anvil like thunder, and crying: "Ha, so I have
my good tools back again, and hear once more this good music which
has so long been silent!" And while he was wiping away a tear of joy,
which gave an unaccustomed wetness to his eye, he saw on a chest near
by a good pewter pot standing, and beside it a fine mug, and he filled
up the mug several times and drank it down with relish: "Ah," he said,
"the good bruinbier, the drink which makes men! I had lost the taste
for it! How good it is!" Then he went back to hammering the iron bar.
While he was making all this noise, he heard himself called by name,
and looking to see whence the voice came he perceived his wife in the
half-open door which led from the kitchen, thrusting through her head
and looking at him with a startled face.
"Smetse," she said, "is it thou, my man?"
"Yes, wife," said he.
"Smetse," she said, "come close to me, I dare not set foot in this
forge."
"And why not, wife?" said he.
"Alas," she said, clinging to him and gazing into the forge, "wert
thou alone there, my man?"
"Yes," said he.
"Ah," she said, "Smetse, while you were away there were strange
happenings!"
"What happenings, wife?"
"As I was lying in bed," she said, "suddenly the house trembled, and
a flaming ball passed across our room, went out through the door,
without hurting anything, down the stairs, and into the forge,
where, bursting, as I suppose, it made a noise like a hundred
thunder-claps. Suddenly all the windows and doors were thrown open
with a great clatter Getting out of bed, I saw the quay all lit up,
as it is now. Then, thinking that our house was on fire, I came down
in haste, went into the forge, saw the fire lit, and heard the bellows
working noisily. In each corner the iron of different kinds arranged
itself in place according to the work for which it was used; but I
could see no hands moving it, though there must have been some for
sure. I began to cry out in a fright, when suddenly I felt, as it were,
a glove of hot leather pressed against my mouth and holding it shut,
while a voice said: 'Do not cry out, make no sound, if thou wilt not
have thy husband burnt alive for the crime of sorcery.' Nevertheless
he who thus ordered me to keep silent made himself more noise than I
should ever have dared, but by a miracle none of our neighbours heard
it. As for me, my man, I had no more heart to make a sound, and I
fled back hither into the kitchen, where I was praying to God when
I heard thy voice, and dared to open the door a crack. Oh, my man,
since thou art here, explain, if thou can, all this tumult."
"Wife," answered Smetse, "we must leave that to those more learned
than ourselves. Think only to obey the order of the voice: keep thy
mouth shut, speak to no one of what thou hast seen to-night, and go
back to thy bed, for it is still pitch-dark."
"I go," she said, "but wilt thou not come also, my man?"
"I cannot leave the forge," said he.
While he was speaking thus there came towards them, one after another,
a baker carrying new-baked bread, a grocer carrying cheeses, and a
butcher carrying hams.
Smetse knew well enough that they were devils, from their white faces,
hollow eyes, scorched hair, twisted fingers, and also from the fact
that they walked with so little sound.
His wife, amazed to see them coming into her house with all this food,
would have stopped them, but they slipped between her hands like eels,
and went into the kitchen, walking straight and silently.
There, without a word spoken, the baker arranged his loaves in the
pan, while the butcher and grocer put their cheeses and hams in the
cool-of the cellar. And they finished their work, taking no notice
of the smith's wife, who kept crying: "'Tis not here you must bring
these things; you have made a mistake, I tell you, my good men. Go
elsewhither."
But they, notwithstanding her voice, arranged the loaves, meat,
and cheeses quietly.
This made the good woman more than ever put out, and she grew angry:
"I tell you," she exclaimed, "you have made a mistake; do you not
hear me? You have made a mistake, 'tis not here you should be; I say
here, with us, in this place, in the house of Smetse the beggar,
who has not a farthing to his name, who will never pay you. Alas,
they will not listen to me!"
And crying out at the top of her voice: "Masters, you are at Smetse's,
do you not understand? Smetse the beggar! Do I not say it loud
enough? Jesus, Lord, God! Smetse the needy! Smetse the ragged! Smetse
the starved! Smetse who is rich in nothing but lice! Who will pay you
nothing: do you hear me? Who will pay you nothing, nothing, nothing!"
"Wife," said the smith, "you are losing your head, my dear. 'Tis I
who sent for these good men."
"Thou!" said his wife, "thou! but thou art mad, my man; yes, he is mad,
my masters, altogether mad. Ah, 'tis thou who sent for them! 'Tis
thou who sendest for loaves, hams, and cheeses in this profusion,
like a rich man, when thou knowest well enough we cannot pay for them,
and so showest thy bad faith!"
"Wife," answered Smetse quietly, "we are rich, and will pay for
everything."
"We rich?" she said, "ah, poor beggar-man. Do I not know what is
in our chest? Hast ever put thy nose in to see, any more than in
the bread-pan? Art thou become the housewife? Alas, my man is mad,
God help us!"
Meanwhile the three men came back into the smithy.
Seeing them again, the wife ran to them: "Master trades-men," said she,
"you heard me well enough, for you are not deaf, I believe; we have
nothing, we can pay you nothing; take back your provisions."
But without looking at her, nor seeming to hear her, the three went
off, walking stiff and silently.
No sooner had they gone out than a brewer's cart drew up at the door,
and the brewer's men came into the smithy carrying between them a
great barrel full of bruinbier.
"Smetse," said his wife, "this is too much! Master brewers, this is
not for us; we do not like beer at all, we drink water. Take this
barrel to one of our neighbours, it is no concern of ours, I tell you."
None the less the brewer's men took down the barrel of bruinbier into
the cellar, came up again, and went out to fetch others, and placed
them alongside the first to the number of twenty. The good wife,
trying to stop them, was pushed aside, while Smetse could not speak
for laughing, and could only draw her to his side, and so prevent her
from hurting herself on the barrels, which the men were carrying from
street to cellar with marvellous speed and dispatch.
"Oh," she wailed, "let me be! This is too much, Smetse! Alas! Now we
are worse than beggars, we are debtors, Smetse: I shall go and throw
myself into the river, my man. To run up debts to fill a famished
stomach, that is shame enough; but to do so from simple gluttony,
that is unbearable deceit. Canst thou not be content with bread and
water got honestly with thy two hands? Art thou then become such a
delicate feeder that thou must have cakes, fine cheeses, and full
barrels? Smetse, Smetse, that is not like a good man of Ghent, but
rather like a Spanish rogue. Oh, I shall go and drown myself, my man!"
"Wife," said Smetse, troubled at seeing her in such distress,
"do not weep. 'Tis all ours, my dear, duly, and by right."
"Ah," she said moaning, "'tis an ill thing to lose in this wise in
your old age that honesty which was your only crown."
While the smith was endeavouring, but in vain, to console her, there
entered a vintner followed by three-and-thirty porters, each carrying
a basket full of bottles containing precious wines of great rarity,
as was shown by the shape of those said bottles.
When the good wife saw them she was overcome with despair, and her
courage failed her: "Come in," she said in a piteous voice, "come in,
master vintners; the cellar is below. You have there a goodly number
of bottles, six score for certain. That is none too much for us who
are wealthy, wealthy of misery, vermin, and lice; come in, my masters,
that is the door of the cellar. Put them all there, and more besides
if you will."
And giving Smetse a push: "Thou art happy, no doubt," said she, "for
'tis a fine sight for a drunkard, such as thou art, to see all this
good wine coming into the house without payment. Ah, he laughs!"
"Yes, wife," said Smetse, "I laugh with content, for the wines are
ours, ours the meats, ours the loaves and cheeses. Let us make merry
over it together." And he tried to embrace her: but she, shaking
herself free: "Oh, oh," she said, "he runs up debts, he tells lies,
he laughs at his shame: he has all the vices, none is wanting."
"Wife," said Smetse, "all this is ours, I tell thee again. To this
amount am I paid in advance for certain large orders which have been
graciously given me."
"Art thou not lying?" said she, growing a little calmer.
"No," said he.
"All this is ours?"
"Yes," he said, "by the word of honour of a citizen of Ghent."
"Ah, my man, then we are henceforward out of our trouble."
"Yes, wife," said he.
"'Tis a miracle from God."
"Alas," said he.
"But these men come hither by night, against the usual custom, tell
me the reason of that."
"He who knows the reason for everything," said Smetse, "is an evil
prier. Such a one am not I."
"But," said she, "they speak never a word."
"They do not like to talk," said Smetse, "that is clear. Or it may
be that their master chose them dumb, so that they should not waste
time chattering with housewives."
"Yes, that may be," she said, while the thirty-first porter was going
past, "but 'tis very strange, I cannot hear their footfalls, my man?"
"They have for certain," said Smetse, "soles to suit their work."
"But," she said, "their faces are so pale, sad, and motionless,
that they seem like faces of the dead."
"Night-birds have never a good complexion," said Smetse.
"But," said his wife, "I have never seen these men among the guilds
of Ghent."
"Thou dost not know them all," said Smetse.
"That may be, my man."
In this manner the smith and his wife held converse together, the one
very curious and disturbed, the other confused and ashamed at his lies.
Suddenly, as the three-and-thirtieth porter of the master-vintner was
going out of the door, there rushed in in great haste a man of middling
height, dressed in a short black smock, pale-haired, large-headed,
wan-faced, stepping delicately, quick as the wind, stiff as a poker;
for the rest, smiling continually, and carrying a lantern.
The man came up to Smetse hurriedly, without speaking bade him follow,
and seized him by the arm. When Smetse hung back he made him a quick
sign to have no fear, and led him into the garden, whither they were
followed by the good wife. There he took a spade, gave his lantern
to Smetse to hold, dug in the earth rapidly and opened a great hole,
pulled out of the hole a leathern bag, opened it quickly, and with a
smile showed Smetse and his wife that it was full of gold coin. The
good wife cried out at the sight of the gold, whereupon he gave her
a terrible great buffet in the face, smiled again, saluted, turned
on his heel and went off with his lantern.
The good wife, knocked down by the force of the blow, and quite dazed,
dared not cry out again, and only moaned softly: "Smetse, Smetse,"
said she, "where art thou, my man? my cheek hurts me sorely."
Smetse went to her and picked her up, saying: "Wife, let this buffet
be a lesson to thee henceforward to control thy tongue better; thou
hast disturbed with thy crying all the good men who have come here
this night for my good; this last was less patient than the rest and
punished thee, not without good reason."
"Ah," she said, "I did ill not to obey thee; what must I do now,
my man?"
"Help me," said Smetse, "to carry the bag into the house."
"That I will," she said.
Having taken in the bag, not without some trouble, they emptied it
into a coffer.
"Ah," she said, seeing the gold run out of the bag and spread itself
this way and that, "'tis a fine sight. But who was this man who showed
thee this sack with such kindness, and who gave me this terrible
great blow?"
"A friend of mine," said Smetse, "a great discoverer of hidden
treasure."
"What is his name?" said she.
"That," said Smetse, "I am not allowed to tell thee."
"But, my man..."
"Ah, wife, wife," said Smetse, "thou wilt know too much. Thy
questioning will be thy death, my dear."
"Alas," said she.