after asking “Who is it?” for the third time did Smith receive an
answer.
“Open the door, Smith. He who is before your door brings you happiness
and riches!”
As soon as the door was opened, the night air wafted in a strong smell
of burning phosphorus, and a gentleman dressed in black from head to
foot, limping heavily with one foot, came into the kitchen.
The gentleman had strange pointed ears, and a green light shone in his
eyes.
“Smith,” began the stranger, “I know that poverty stares you in the
face; you, who knew prosperity and plenty, must find life insupportable
now that your larder is bare. You deserve a better fate. Solely out of
compassion for you I have journeyed a hundred thousand miles. I bring
you, if you will accept them at my hands, prosperity, riches, and
happiness. Come”--so saying, the sombre man drew a piece of parchment
from his pocket--“put your signature to this paper, and for seven years
you will have as much iron and coal as you need to employ twenty
workmen.”
[Illustration: OPEN THE DOOR, SMITH]
Smith thought, “You are the Devil himself, or my name’s not Smith. It is
not merely for the pleasure of possessing my signature that you will
give me a seven years’ supply of iron and coal. You have something up
your sleeve.”
In order to find out, he asked to read the document. There he found
written in black and white, that after seven years the Devil would be
master of Smith’s most treasured possession, his immortal soul.
However, our Smith was not unduly alarmed. “If I accept,” he thought, “I
am saved and shall be able to laugh in the face of those who have
despised me. If, on the other hand, I refuse, one day I shall kill
myself in my despair, and I shall be in the
[Illustration: THE LITTLE BLACKSMITH WAS SEATED ON A LOW STOOL]
hands of the little black gentleman. The best thing to do is to sign the
agreement. Later on I shall discover a means of saving my soul from
Hell.”
Without further hesitation, he put his name to the paper, and even
before the Devil departed, the miraculous took place.
His fire lighted itself, and a delicious joint of beef was roasting on
the spit. On the table he found a large jug of foaming beer, all kinds
of pastries, and, better than all, half a dozen carts drawn up at the
door of the forge, from which about twenty workmen were silently
unloading coal, wood, iron, lead, zinc, and even copper. They carried
everything into the forge.
From early morning the forge again trembled under the strokes of the
hammer. They often resounded even after the village slept.
Meanwhile the days flew by, days became weeks, weeks months, and months
years. Before Smith had had time to think about it, the seven years had
passed, and the Devil came to claim poor Smith’s soul.
“Hallo! Listen to me, Smith Verholen.
Don’t you remember that for seven years’ iron and coal
You sold to me your immortal soul?”
Smith was as unperturbed as though he were serving a customer. “Hallo!
Good morning,” he cried, laughing. “How are you? You appear to be well
fed, for you have a face like a butcher’s, and calves like a groom.”
The fallen angel was visibly impatient at this nonsense, and answered
sharply, “You know what you sold to my master seven years ago. No more
shuffling, follow me at once to Hell.”
“How should I have forgotten our agreement?” said Smith. “How could you
think me guilty of such a thing? I am a man of honour, as I am about to
convince you. Only I cannot go with you in my working clothes, and
without washing my hands and brushing my hair. A moment’s patience. Rest
a while in this chair. I shall be with you directly.”
[Illustration: REST A WHILE IN THIS CHAIR]
[Illustration: CLIMBED UP THE TREE LIKE A CAT]
The Devil, quite unsuspecting, sat down on the chair, and waited. A few
minutes later Smith reappeared in his best clothes.
“Hallo! old fellow, have you rested long enough?” he asked. “I am quite
ready to start.”
With a broad grin on his face, he watched the Devil’s vain efforts to
rise.
“Oh, what has happened?” said the Devil. “It seems to me that black
magic is also practised here. I cannot rise from this chair.”
“Yes, my friend,” said Smith, with the most innocent look, “it is a
little joke of my own. Do you know what it means? That you will remain
there at my pleasure.”
The Devil made frantic efforts to rise, but all in vain; he was at
Smith’s mercy, and was as though screwed to the chair. This was hardly
to his liking, and when he saw Smith heating an iron bar, and glancing
at him significantly from time to time, he decided that his best course
was to take it quietly.
“Smith,” he began in pleading tones, “listen to me. I will give you
iron, wood, and coal for another seven years, but for the love of God
let me get out of this chair.”
“I accept; you are free,” replied the other, rubbing his hands, and the
Devil departed.
[Illustration: AS MUCH COAL AS HE COULD WISH]
Now the blacksmith Verholen had as much iron and coal as he could wish.
From dawn till evening the anvil shook under the strokes of the hammer.
Again the days flew by, became weeks, months, then years, and one fine
morning the same Devil came to Smith’s door, and cried in thundering
tones, “Hallo! How now! Smith Verholen.
Don’t you remember that for seven years’ iron and coal
You sold to me your immortal soul?”
“Ha ha! there you are again,” said our friend, and he immediately took
off his leather apron in preparation for a start. “You are a little
later than the appointed time. I have such splendid walnuts, I should
like to gather a little basketful to nibble on the way. I have heard
that devils like nuts. Would you gather me a basketful, as you can climb
so well? Come, will you do it?”
The Evil Spirit, seeing no cause for suspicion, climbed up the tree like
a cat.
When Smith returned, he cried in jeering tones, “Hallo! are you coming
down? Have you not gathered enough nuts? I am quite ready to start, you
know.”
The little black gentleman, in spite of all his efforts, could not climb
down from the branches. They closed round him as though they had taken
root. Smith summoned his workmen and ordered them to burn the Devil’s
feet with hot irons. When the martyrdom had continued some minutes, the
Devil shouted to Smith:
“I implore you to make them stop. I will give you iron and coal for yet
another seven years, if only you will let me climb down from this tree.
Ooh! Ooh! my poor toes.”
“You are free as air,” answered Smith; and the Devil fled away as though
pursued by a devil himself.
[Illustration: ORDERED THEM TO BURN THE DEVIL’S FEET WITH HOT IRONS]
The years soon sped away, and this time Lucifer, accompanied by many
other devils, came to fetch Smith’s soul. He was dressed in deep black,
as though in mourning for his mother.
Smith greeted this important person very humbly, and exclaimed, “Bravo!
bravo! I am very pleased at the prospective honour of travelling with
such an august person. I am extremely sensible of this great favour.”
[Illustration: THE DEVIL BEATEN THREE TIMES]
“Come, be quick; I have no time to waste in idle words,” the Devil
replied. “You are awaited in my kingdom, where you will be treated with
the honour you deserve! Ahem! If you think you can trick me as you did
the other devil, you are very mistaken. Up you get, forward march!”
“Sire,” replied Smith very quietly, “I have heard say that you possess
the power to make yourself as big as you like. I should like to know if
it is true, as I never believe such foolish tales.”
“I most assuredly can,” said Satan with great dignity, “and to prove my
words I will make myself as tall as the tower of the village church.”
He immediately grew so tall that he went through the roof, sparks
darting from his eyes, and lighting up the countryside: houses, gardens,
fields, and pasture land.
“I must admit it is truly marvellous, but could you make yourself small
enough to go into my purse?”
“I can easily do that,” replied Satan, and in a trice he was in the
little purse, the little enchanted purse, which was immediately shut and
placed on the anvil.
[Illustration: “I WILL MAKE MYSELF AS TALL AS THE TOWER”]
“Ha ha! You did not bargain for that, did you, my friend?” said Smith.
“Now you will receive a few gentle blows with the hammer.” Hearing this,
all the devils flew away in disorder.
He summoned all his workmen, and each in turn pounded Lucifer with their
hammer, so gently, so very gently, until the prisoner promised never to
torment Smith again. On the other hand, he promised that he should
always receive his supplies of coal, iron, and wood from Hell.
With a red-hot nail Smith burnt a little hole in the purse. “Sssst” it
hissed, and the Devil made his escape and disappeared.
Again days became weeks, months, and years, and one day it was not a
messenger from Hell who came to the forge, but Death, who is no
respecter of persons, and Smith left the earth.
He was now in a strange land, the land up above. He found himself before
a forked road. On the left he saw a wide, well-kept road with an avenue
of trees and flowering shrubs. To the right a rough and narrow path
overgrown with brambles and thorns. The wide road descended, and the
narrow path seemed to ascend a mountain side in the direction of Heaven.
Smith chose the wide road, and presently arrived before a high and
gloomy gateway, on which was written in letters of fire, “Hell.”
[Illustration: IT WAS NOT A MESSENGER FROM HELL]
“I am curious to see what it is like in there,” thought Smith, and he
deliberately pulled the bell.
“Who is there?” said a voice from behind the door.
“Only a poor blacksmith who has just died.”
“What is your name?”
“John James Francis Lewis William Verholen.”
He had hardly uttered the word Verholen, when the door-keeper began to
scream so loudly that all the devils, including Lucifer himself, ran to
see what was the matter. All he could say was, “Smith Verholen is there;
the terrible Smith Verholen.”
[Illustration: HE WAS DRESSED IN DEEP BLACK]
[Illustration: “LET THAT GOOD FELLOW HAVE A GLIMPSE OF HEAVEN”]
Then hundreds of evil spirits trembled and shivered so violently that
the door creaked on its rusty hinges, and the windows of Hell rattled.
“If that is the state of things, I shall never succeed in getting
inside,” said Smith, and he decided to retrace his steps, and to take
the narrow path.
After walking some hours, he arrived before a splendid castle surmounted
with high pointed turrets, and surrounded by a high wall, in which was a
white carved doorway, on which was written in luminous letters, “This is
the Gate of Paradise. Here enter the good and wise.”
Without hesitation, Smith decided to try his luck with the inhabitants
of Heaven. He very carefully wiped his hands on his leather apron, and
then knocked at the door. After a few minutes the grill in the door was
opened, and an old man’s bearded face appeared. He asked in a pleasant
but severe voice, “Your name?”
“John James Francis Lewis William Verholen,” our pilgrim replied, as he
had done at the Gate of Hell.
“Smith Verholen,” cried St. Peter indignantly, “you are reckless
boldness personified. How dare you come here? You sold your soul to the
Devil. Your place is in the nethermost Hell.”
“That was my own idea, but they refused me admission. As I have come
such a long way, I beseech you, good St. Peter, let me at least look
through a crack in the door to catch a glimpse of the Divine radiance.”
“You shall never enter here,” said St. Peter, and he was about to close
the grill, when a voice behind him said, “Little Peter, let that good
fellow have a glimpse of Heaven.... I know him, he is very good-hearted.
He gave shelter to Mary and me when we were fleeing into Egypt.”
St. Peter did not altogether approve, but dared not oppose St. Joseph’s
wishes. He half opened the door, and Verholen put his head through the
crack and looked in. As quick as thought our pilgrim threw his leather
apron inside, and uttered all kinds of strange cries, such as “Ooh! boo!
ooh! my poor head, you are crushing it. Ooh! ooh! my ear, my neck, my
nose.” He pushed the door with his shoulder, and before St. Peter could
stop him, he was seated on his leather apron, and cried, “Here I am,
sitting on my own property, my friend. No one can turn me out.”
[Illustration: “OOH! BOO! MY POOR HEAD”]
St. Joseph laughed heartily, and St. Peter himself was forced to
acknowledge that Smith had played his part well.
So Smith remained in Heaven and had as much work to do as on earth. He
had to repair the swords, breastplates, helmets, and shields which the
archangels wore when they amused themselves by punishing the devils who
became too bold.
This work was a pleasant pastime for Smith. In his spare moments he
chatted a little with old friends he met in Paradise,
[Illustration: THE PROCESSION]
humble and simple folk like himself, such as the Girl without Hands,
Hop-o’-my-Thumb, Little Red Riding Hood, the Babes in the Wood,
Snowdrop, and Puss in Boots.
There was one thing which very much displeased Smith. He enjoyed the
rice pudding with plenty of sugar, which was served in golden plates and
eaten with silver spoons, and the heavenly scones with butter spread
thickly. But he never had a drop to drink, never a hand at “whist” or
“bridge.” He found that dull, so dull that sometimes he secretly wished
himself back on earth, among his friends and acquaintances in his own
village in Brabant.
It was Easter Eve, the bells of Heaven were ringing for the great feast.
St. Peter came to Smith, and said to him, “As you are aware, Smith,
to-morrow we fête the Lord’s Resurrection. On this occasion, the
heavenly host goes forth in procession. All the saints and all the elect
take part. I know you are very strong. Will you carry the large flag and
walk at the head of the procession? You will go out by the principal
gate, mount the fortifications, and continue straight ahead to the end
of the Milk-and-Honey Avenue. Directly you hear the sound of the cannon,
you will turn round. Every one in the procession will do the same, and,
retracing their steps, re-enter Heaven.”
“Dear me,” thought Smith, “that may be my opportunity for returning to
earth.” He placed himself in St. Peter’s hands and promised to do his
best.
Easter dawned, High Mass was over, and the procession set forth. Right
in front walked our Smith bearing the flag, then followed a countless
host of cherubim, seraphim, and other angels led by St. Michael, seated
on the flaming horse which drew Elisha’s chariot; then dressed in
glittering armour, all mounted on flaming chargers, St. Martin, St.
George, St. Victor, St. Maurice, St. Sebastian. All these had been
warriors on earth. Then came the martyrs, confessors, hermits, and
pilgrims--more than tongue could number; then followed the Blessed
Virgin surrounded by seraphim; and, lastly, Our Lord Himself clothed in
papal robes, under a golden canopy.
Smith did exactly as he was told; he went out by the Great Gate, mounted
the fortifications of Heaven. He walked with great dignity and with
measured tread until he reached the Milk-and-Honey Avenue. Then
suddenly, “boom” the canon sounded, and was answered by all the echoes
of Heaven. Smith turned round, all the procession did likewise and
re-entered Paradise. When our standard-bearer found he was the last
before the gate, he signed to an angel in front of him and begged him to
hold the flag for a moment; he then turned round and disappeared to the
left.
[Illustration: MILK-AND-HONEY AVENUE]
In a few hours he found himself on earth once more before the door of
his smithy.
No one in Heaven grieved at his departure. Smith recommenced his happy
life on earth, and from the words of the song which is still sung by
Flemish children, one may conclude he is still alive.
Smith Verholen, Smith Verholen,
For seven years received wood and coal,
Iron, lead and copper,
From the devil Lucifer.
Smith Verholen may burn, may be knocked on the head,
But Smith Verholen is never dead.
[Illustration: BALTEN, THE BARREL, AND THE WOLF]
BALTEN AND THE WOLF
Long, long ago, when the animals were able to speak, two brothers called
Jack and Balten lived in a little hut in a dense and gloomy forest in
Flanders.
Needless to say they were very poor or they would not have lived in this
lonely wood.
One day, Jack was sitting at the window plaiting a whip, while Balten
was at the fire preparing their supper. Suddenly a wolf rushed into the
house with his mouth wide open and ran towards Jack. The latter, seeing
his danger, looked to his brother for help. He had an inspiration and
cried loudly: “Balten, pour! Balten, pour!” Balten understood what Jack
meant. Quick as lightning he seized the saucepan and poured the boiling
soup over the wolf.
The wolf fled out of the door howling with pain, for his back was
terribly burnt, while Jack and Balten, having recovered from their
fright, laughing heartily, watched him run off into the distance.
When the wolf, half dead with pain and shame, heard peals of laughter
behind him, he turned round and shouted to them:
“Ah, ruffians, good-for-nothings and scoundrels, you are much amused,
but wait; whichever one of you I see first I shall devour!” So saying he
disappeared among the trees.
[Illustration: THE WOLF STARED AT JACK]
Shortly afterwards Jack went to gather acorns for their little pig. He
was deep in the forest, when suddenly he saw a wolf a few yards in front
of him, watching him from among the bushes.
Jack was very much frightened, especially as he saw scars on the wolf’s
back, and thus immediately recognized him as the one they had so
shamefully handled. The wolf stared at Jack, and on recognizing him
sprang at him, crying:
“Oh, ruffian, good-for-nothing! You are one of the scoundrels who
treated me so badly that I dare not show my face anywhere. Wait! I shall
at once make mincemeat of you.”
The wolf was about to spring at Jack, but the latter, seeing that to
fight would be useless, climbed like a cat up the nearest tree. There he
was high and dry and out of his enemy’s reach, as he fondly imagined.
But the wolf was not to be thwarted; smothering his rage he disappeared
behind the bushes.
“I will stay quietly here,” thought Jack. “I must be on my guard against
this wretch. I lose nothing by waiting.”
[Illustration: “BALTEN, POUR! BALTEN, POUR!”]
He was right, for in five minutes the wolf returned accompanied by a
dozen wolves as bad as himself.
“Ha ha, scoundrel,” he cried, “you will not escape me this time! If you
think you are safe you are greatly mistaken, you know. We shall have you
down in no time.”
What did the wolf do?
He planted himself firmly near the tree trunk and formed the base of a
ladder for his companions. They seemed quite accustomed to this trick,
for another wolf immediately climbed on the shoulders of the first. Then
a third and fourth followed his example.
At first Jack was very much amused at the idea of such a ladder and
roared with laughter. But he soon realized that it was no joke, but a
very serious matter. The ladder of wolves became so high that Jack,
frightened out of his wits, had to climb into the topmost branches of
the tree.
The ladder became yet higher!
“Have you caught him?” cried the first wolf.
“A little higher,” replied the topmost wolf.
“Do not let him escape,” shouted the first wolf, “for it is a tasty
morsel and we shall enjoy it. It is such a long time since I have eaten
any that I quite forget the taste of human flesh.”
“So do I,” said another wolf; whereupon they all laughed.
Jack was in no laughing mood; he was so frightened that he had cold
shivers down his spine.
[Illustration: THE LADDER BECAME YET HIGHER]
“Oh, heavens!” he thought, “what a terrible death to be eaten alive!
What will my poor brother say when I fail to return? I have no means of
defending myself, not even boiling soup.”
The wolf which was to reach him had already begun to ascend; he heard
him grunting and panting. In his distress Jack had an inspiration and
began to shout at the top of his voice: “Balten, pour! Balten, pour!”
This had a curious effect. The first wolf, who supported all the others
on his shoulders and who knew by experience what “Balten, pour!” meant,
believed that Balten was behind the tree ready to throw boiling soup on
his back. He leapt aside as quick as lightning and ran like a hare. At
the same time all the wolves fell down one on top of the other, howling
fiercely. One had a paw broken, another a crushed foot, and a third had
his head smashed in.
[Illustration: ONE HAD A PAW BROKEN]
All swore at their cowardly comrade, who had organized the undertaking
and then so treacherously deserted them. Those of them who were still
able to run chased the coward and soon caught him.
“Oh! that is the way we were to help you get the man out of the tree.
Your intention was to do us all a bad turn.”
They all set on to the unhappy wretch, who only made good his escape
after having all his skin torn off and losing an ear.
Jack, now recovered from his fright, was a spectator of this scene and
laughed long and loud. “What a curious result my crying ‘Balten, pour!’
had,” he thought, and he returned home.
More than a year passed and neither Jack nor Balten had met the famous
wolf.
The time came when Jack had to take the little pig, now well fattened,
to market. After selling it, he was on his way home, when he was
attacked by robbers. They stole his money and knocked him about. Not
satisfied with this, they put him into an empty barrel, which they found
by the roadside, and nailed down the lid.
Poor Jack was now a prisoner and could not imagine how he could ever
hope to escape. There was only one aperture, through which he could
hardly squeeze his hand.
[Illustration: THEY PUT HIM INTO AN EMPTY BARREL]
However, he did not despair. “Time cures everything,” he thought; “I
have been in greater danger!”
For several hours he was thinking and meditating in the barrel. Suddenly
he heard a sniff quite close to him. He looked out and saw the wolf, the
famous wolf with scars on his back!
Jack watched him, and as soon as the animal’s tail was within his reach,
he seized it through the hole in the barrel and cried as loud as ever he
could:
“Balten, pour! Balten, pour!”
This shout again had the desired effect: the wolf, mad with fear, fled,
dragging the barrel after him. Jack held tightly on to his tail,
shouting all the time as loudly as before: “Balten pour! Balten, pour!”
The louder he shouted, the faster ran the wolf. The barrel crashed and
banged against the trees, it cracked and finally broke. The ribs fell in
and Jack found himself once more on his feet, none the worse except for
a few bruises.
The wolf ran on and on. Perhaps he is running still?
[Illustration]
[Illustration: THE MERMAID AND THE CHILD]
THE MERMAID
Long ago, in a little hut by the seashore, there lived a fisherman’s
widow with her only child.
The water had a wonderful fascination for the little girl. Nothing
delighted her more than playing on the golden sands, where the tide
washed up thousands of shells. She ran gaily with her small naked feet
into the water, jumping over the little waves, which came rolling in
from the deep like little white horses.
The mother, who still grieved in secret the loss of her husband, who had
been snatched from her by the cruel sea, looked on sadly at her child’s
play. She dreaded that the sea would steal from her her one and only
remaining treasure.
“My child,” she besought her each morning, “do not go beyond the
sand-hills. The sea is wicked and cunning, my darling. It swallowed up
your dear father; do not go near the treacherous water.”
However, she was not able constantly to watch her little girl, and it so
happened that one day she awaited her in vain. She searched for her
everywhere, ran up and down the sand-hills, questioning all the
fishermen she met, but in vain! No one could give her tidings of the
little girl.
When evening fell, and the sun had sunk like a ball of fire into the
sea, the poor mother returned to her home in the blackest despair.
Presently she heard a voice singing. The voice rose from the waves as
they lashed the sand-hills. She looked up and saw a mermaid with plaited
hair, and a crown of coral and pearls, standing waist-high in the water.
The words of her song were:
Under a roof of sparkling water
In a crystal palace,
My little loved ones play.
[Illustration: SHE FELL ON HER KNEES]