Smetse Smee

Smetse SmeeI.Of Smetse, his belly, and his forge.Smetse Smee lived in the good town of Ghent, on the Quai aux Oignons, beside the fair River Lys.He was well skilled in his trade, rich in bodily fat, and with so jolly a countenance that the most melancholy of men were cheered and took heart for no more than the sight of him in his smithy, trotting about on his short legs, head up and belly forward, seeing to everything.When work was in full swing in his shop, Smetse, listening to the busy sounds round the fire, would say, with his hands clasped across his stomach, quietly and happily: “By Artevelde! what are drums, cymbals, fifes, viols, and bagpipes worth? For heavenly music give me my sledges beating, my anvils ringing, my bellows roaring, my good workmen singing and hammering.”Then, speaking to them all: “Courage,” he would say, “my children! Who works well from daybreak drinks the better for it at vespers. Whose is that feeble arm down there, tapping with his hammer so gently? Does he think he is cracking eggs, the faint-heart? To those bars, Dolf, and plunge them in the water. To that breastplate, Pier, beat it out for us fine and true: iron well beaten is proof against bullets. To that plough-share, Flipke, and good work to it, too: from the plough comes the world’s bread. To the door, Toon, here comes the raw-boned nag of Don Sancio d’Avila, the knight with the sour countenance, brought hither by his raw-boned groom, who is for having him shod, no doubt: let him pay double for his Spanish haughtiness and his harshness to poor folk!”So went Smetse about his smithy, singing mostly, and whistling when he was not singing. And for the rest getting much honest gain, profiting in health, and, at vespers, drinkingbruinbierwith a will in the inn of Pensaert.II.How Slimbroek the Red put out the fire in Smetse’s forge.By and by there came to the Quai aux Oignons a certain Adriaen Slimbroek, who set up, with the licence of the guild, another smithy. This Slimbroek was an ugly, wizened, lean and puny personage, white-faced, underhung in the jaw like a fox, and nicknamed the Red on account of the colour of his hair.Skilled in intrigue, expert in sharp-practice, master of arts in cant and hypocrisy, and making himself out to be the finest of smiths, he had interested in his business all the rich and gentle folk of the town, who from fear or otherwise held to the Spaniards and wished ill to those of the reformed faith. They were before, for the most part, customers of Smetse, but Slimbroek had put them against him, saying: “This Smetse is a knave to the bottom of his heart, he was a marauder in his young days, sailing the seas with the men of Zeeland in despite of Spain, on the side of this religion which they call reformed. He still has many friends and relatives in Walcheren, more particularly at Middelburg, Arnemuiden, Camp-Veere, and Flushing, all obstinate Protestants, and speaking of the Pope of Rome and my Lords the Archdukes without veneration.“And for the rest,” added he, “this fellow Smetse is altogether an atheist, reading the bible of Antwerp in despite of the decrees, and going to church only because he is afraid, and not at all because he will.”By such slanders as these Slimbroek robbed Smetse of all his customers.And soon the fire was out in the forge of the good smith, and soon, too, the savings were eaten up, and Dame Misery came to the dwelling.III.Wherein Slimbroek is seen in the river prettily tricked out.Brought to this pass Smetse, nevertheless, would not let himself take to despair; but he was always sad and heavyof heart when, sitting in his cold smithy and looking at all his good tools lying idle on the ground, he heard the fair sound of hammers and anvils coming from Slimbroek’s shop.But what angered him most was that whenever he passed before Slimbroek’s dwelling the traitor carrot-head would appear suddenly on the threshold, and, saluting him graciously and giving him fair compliments, would make a hundred flattering speeches, accompanied by as many hypocritical salutations, and all for the sake of poking fun at him and to laugh unkindly at his misery.These ugly encounters and grimaces went on a long while, and Smetse came to the end of his patience: “Ah,” said he, “it angers me to be in such poor case; although I must submit, for such is the holy will of God. But it irks me too bitterly to see this wicked knave, who by his trickeries has taken away all my customers, so amusing himself with my misery.”Meanwhile Slimbroek spared him not at all, and each day became sharper in speech, for the more wrong he did to the good smith the more hate he bore him.And Smetse swore to have his revenge on him, in such a way as to spoil thenceforward his taste for mockery.It so happened that one Sunday when he was standing on the Quai des Bateliers, looking at the river with a crowd of watermen, townsfolk, boys, and scholars who were idle for the holy day, suddenly there came out of a pothouse, wherein he had been swallowing many pints of ale, Slimbroek, bolder than usual on account of the drink. Seeing Smetse he came and placed himself close to him, and with much gesticulation, loud bursts of talk and laughter, said to him in an insolent tone: “Good day, Smetse, good day, my worthy friend. How is thy fine face? It seems to lose its fat, which was of good quality, Smetse. ’Tis a great pity. What is the reason for it? Art thou angry at the loss of thy customers, Smetse? Thou must drink well to bring back the joy to thy stomach, Smetse. We never see theenow at vespers in the inn of Pensaert; why, Smetse? Hast no pennies to get drink? I have plenty for thee, if thou wilt, Smetse.” And he shook his money-bag to make it ring.“Thank thee kindly,” said Smetse, “thou art too generous, Master Slimbroek, ’tis my turn to stand thee drink now.”“Ah,” cried Slimbroek, feigning pity and compassion, “why wilt thou stand drink to me? The world knows thou art not rich, Smetse.”“Rich enough,” answered the smith, “to stand thee the best draught thou ever had.”“Hark to him,” said Slimbroek to the crowd of watermen and townsfolk, “hark to him. Smetse will stand us drink! The world is coming to an end. ’Tis the year of golden rags. Smetse will stand us drink! Ah! I shall taste with great pleasure thebruinbierthat Smetse will stand us. I am thirsty as an African desert, thirsty as Sunday, thirsty as a devil half-boiled in the cauldrons of Lucifer.”“Drink then, Slimbroek,” said Smetse, and threw him into the river.Seeing this the people who were on the quay applauded heartily, and all ran to the edge to have a good look at Slimbroek, who, falling into the water head first, had struck and broken through the belly of a dog a long while dead, which was floating down on the stream as such carrion will. And he was tricked out round the neck with this dog in a most marvellous manner, nor could he get rid of it, being busy with his arms at keeping himself afloat, and his face was smeared all over with offensive matter.Notwithstanding that he was half-blinded, he dared not come out on to the quay where Smetse was, but swam off towards the other bank, decked with his carrion and blowing like a hundred devils.“Well,” said Smetse, “dost find thebruinbierto thy liking; is it not the best in all the land of Flanders? Butmy good sir, take off thy bonnet to drink; such headgear is not worn for river parties.”When Slimbroek was in midstream, over against the bridge, Smetse went up on to this bridge with the other onlookers, and Slimbroek, in the midst of his puffing and snorting, cried out to Smetse: “I’ll have thee hanged, accursed reformer!”“Ah,” said the good smith, “you are mistaken, my friend; ’tis not I who am the reformer, but you, who devise these new bonnets. Where got you this one? I have never seen such a one, neither so beautiful, nor so richly ornamented with tufts and hangings. Is the fashion coming to Ghent by and by?”Slimbroek answered nothing, and struggled to get rid of the dead dog, but in vain, and having paused in his swimming for this purpose, went down to the bottom, and came up again more furious than ever, blowing harder, and trying all the while to tear off the body.”“Leave your hat on, my master,” said Smetse, “do not so put yourself out in order to salute me, I am not worth the trouble. Leave it on.”At last Slimbroek climbed out of the water. On the quay he shook off the dog hastily and made away as fast as he could to his dwelling. But he was followed by a crowd of young watermen and boys, who ran after him hooting, whistling, covering him with mud and other filth. And they continued to do the same to his house-front after he had gone in.IV.Of the two branches.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, usedup 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?”Smetse caught by the Two BranchesSmetse caught by the Two BranchesBut 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; “neverthelesswhen 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 goldenroyalsin 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 chantestmea culpain 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 goodbruinbier. 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 atthe 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 goodbruinbier, 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 allthe 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 slippedbetween 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 tosee, 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 ofbruinbier.“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 ofbruinbierinto 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 suchdistress, “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 speakingbade 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.VI.Wherein the wife of Smetse shows the great length of her tongue.When the day was up, Smetse and his wife sat down together to the good loaves, the fat ham, the fine cheese, the doublebruinbier, and the good wines, and so eased their stomachs, hurt a little by being such a long while hungry.Suddenly there came in all the old workmen, and they said:“BaesSmetse, thou didst send for us; here we are, right glad to see thy fire lit up again, and to work for thee who wast always so good a master.”“By Artevelde!” said Smetse, “here they all are: Pier, Dolf, Flipke, Toon, Hendrik, and the rest. Good day, my lads!” and he gripped them by the hand, “we must drink.”While they were drinking, his wife said suddenly with a toss of the head: “But no one sent for you all! Is that not so, Smetse?”“Wife, wife,” said the smith, “wilt thou never learn to hold thy tongue?”“But,” said she, “I am speaking the truth, my man.”“Thou art speaking foolishly,” said he, “of things whereof thou knowest nothing. Stay in thy kitchen and do not come meddling in my forge.”“Baesine,” said Flipke, “without wishing to belie you, I must tell you that a message was sent to us in the name of thebaes. For a man came in the middle of the night knocking on the doors of our houses, shouting out that we should all of us come hither without fail this morning for work of great urgency, and that for this we should each be given aroyalas forfeit to our several masters. And we came, all of us, not wishing to leave ourbaesin the lurch.”“’Tis good of you,” said Smetse, “ye shall have the promisedroyal. But come with me, I will apportion to each of you the usual task.” This he did, and once again the good music of sledges beating, anvils ringing, bellows blowing, and workmen singing was heard in the forge of the good smith.Meanwhile Smetse went to his wife and said to her with great heat: “Dost think it a fine thing to gainsay me before these good men! Chattering magpie, wilt never learn to hold thy tongue? Hast not already to-night been admonished sharply enough? Must thou have more telling?”“But, Smetse,” said his wife, “I did not know that you had sent for them.”“That is no reason,” he said, “why thou shouldst give me the lie before all my workmen; canst thou not leave thy speaking until I have done, or else hold thy tongue altogether, which would be better still.”“Smetse,” said his wife, “I never saw you so angry before. Do not beat me, my man, I will be henceforward as dumb as this cheese.”“So you should,” said Smetse.“But, my man,” said she, “canst not explain to me somewhat of all these happenings?”“Sometime,” he said, and went back into his smithy.VII.Of Smetse the Rich.That day there came to Smetse many persons, both notable and common, nobles, priests, burgesses, and peasants, to give him orders for much work, and so it went on again on other days, and all through the year.Soon the smithy became too small, and Smetse had to enlarge it by reason of the ever-growing numbers of his workmen. And the work which they did was so beautiful and so marvellously well done that the fame of it spread abroad to foreign and distant countries, and people came to see and admire it from Holland, Zeeland, Spain, Germany, England, and even from the land of the Turk.But Smetse, thinking of the seven years, was not happy at all.Soon his coffers were full of finecrusats,angelots,rose nobles, and golden jewels. But he found no pleasure in looking at all this wealth, for he thought them poor payment for giving his soul to the devil for all the length of eternity.Red Slimbroek lost all his customers, who came back one by one to Smetse. Ragged and miserable he used to come every day and lounge on the quay, watching from there the bright fire glowing in the forge of the good smith, and, so standing, he seemed dazed and stupid, like an owl watching a doit. Smetse, knowing that he was needy, sent him several customers to bring him some means of sustenance, and also more than once a gift of money. But although he thus repaid evil with good he was no longer happy, thinking of the seven years.Smetse’s wife, finding him so wealthy, bought for dinner each Sunday legs of fat mutton, geese, capons, turkeys, and other good meats; invited to her table his relatives, friends, and workmen; and then there would be a great feast, well washed down with doublebruinbier. But Smetse, though he ate and drank like an emperor, was not at all happy, thinking of the seven years. And the steam from the roast meats spread abroad on the Quai aux Oignons, so fragrant and succulent, and so sweetening the air, that all the dogs wandering in the streets of the town would stop before the house and sniff at the smell, and there on their haunches, nose in air, would wait for crumbs: and the beggars, of whom there were great numbers, came thither likewise and tried to drive away the dogs. Thereupon ensued furious battles, in which many were badly bitten. Seeing this, Smetse’s wife and other women would come every Sunday to the door with baskets of alms, and there, before the meal began, would give the beggars good bread, slices of meat, and two farthings to get themselves drink, and all this with soft words and fair speaking; then they charged them togo away from the quay, which they did in an orderly manner. But the dogs stayed behind, and at the end of the feast there was given to them likewise food of some sort. And then they would go off also, taking each his bone or other booty.Smetse and his wife together took both dogs and men into their affection; to the beggars he gave food and shelter; and so also to all the dogs of Ghent that were lame, infirm, or sickly, until at length his house came to be called the Dogs’ Hospital and the Home of the Poor.Nevertheless he was not at all happy, thinking of the seven years.Worn and troubled with these thoughts, Smetse stopped singing and lost his fat, shrivelled visibly, became melancholy and moody, and in his smithy said never a word, except to give a necessary order.And he was no longer calledSmetse the Merry, butSmetse the Rich.And he counted the days.VIII.How there came a ragged, wayfarer to Smetse’s door, and with him, on an ass, a sweet wife and a little child.On the two hundred and forty-fifth day of the seventh year, when the plum-trees were in bloom, Smetse, dumb as a stone, was taking a little noonday rest. He sat on a wooden bench opposite his door, and with melancholy mien looked at the trees planted all along the quay, and the small birds playing among the branches or squabbling and pecking one another over some morsel of food, and blinked in the bright sun which made these birds so merry, and heard at his back the goodly sounds of his forge, his wife preparing dinner, and his workmen hurrying at their work so that they might be off to their meal, for it was nearing the time; and he said to himself that in hell he would see neither the sun, nor the birds, nor the trees with their load of green leaves, nor hear any more the sounds of his forge, nor the smiths hurrying, nor his good wife preparing dinner.By and by the workmen came out, and Smetse was left sitting alone on his bench, pondering in his mind whether there were not some way whereby he might outwit the devil.Suddenly there drew up at his door a man of piteous appearance, with brown hair and beard, dressed like a ragged townsman, and carrying a great staff in his hand. He was walking beside an ass, and leading it along by a rein. On the ass rode a sweet and beautiful young woman with a noble mien, suckling a little child, who was quite naked, and of such gentle and winsome countenance that the sight of it warmed Smetse’s heart.The ass stopped at the door of the smithy and began to bray loudly.“Master smith,” said the man, “our ass has cast one of his shoes on his way hither, wilt thou be pleased to give orders that another should be given him?”“I will do it myself,” said Smetse, “for I am alone here.”“I should tell thee,” said the man, “that we are beggars, without money.”“Have no care for that,” said Smetse, “I am rich enough to be able to shoe in silver without payment all the asses in Flanders.”Hearing this the woman alighted from the ass and asked Smetse if she might sit down on the bench.“Yes,” said he.And while he was fastening up the beast, paring his hoof and fitting the shoe, he said to the man: “Whence come you, with this woman and this ass?”“We come,” said the man, “from a distant country, and have still far to go.”“And this child whom I see naked,” said Smetse, “does he not oftentimes suffer from the cold?”“Nay,” said the man, “for he is all warmth and all life.”“Well, well,” said Smetse, “you do not cry down your own children, master. But what is your meat and drink while you are travelling in this manner?”“Water from streams,” said the man, “and such bread as is given us.”“Ah,” said Smetse, “that is not much, I see, for the ass’s panniers are light. You must often go hungry.”“Yes,” said the man.“This,” said Smetse, “is displeasing to me, and it is most unwholesome for a nursing mother to suffer hunger, for so the milk turns sour, and the child grows in sickly wise.” And he called out to his wife: “Mother, bring hither as many loaves and hams as will fill the panniers of this beast. And do not forget some doublebruinbier, ’tis heavenly comfort for poor travellers. And a good peck of oats for the ass.”When the panniers were filled and the beast shod, the man said to Smetse: “Smith, it is in my mind to give thee some recompense for thy great goodness, for such as thou seest me I have great power.”“Yes,” said Smetse, with a smile, “I can see that well enough.”“I am,” said the man, “Joseph, nominal husband of the very blessed Virgin Mary, who is sitting on this bench, and this child that she has in her arms is Jesus, thy Saviour.”Smetse, dumbfounded at these words, looked at the wayfarers with great astonishment, and saw about the man’s head a nimbus of fire, a crown of stars about the woman’s, and, about the child’s, beautiful rays more brilliant than the sun, springing from his head and girdling him round with light.Thereupon he fell at their feet and said: “My Lord Jesus, Madam the Virgin, and my Master St. Joseph, grant me pardon for my lack of understanding.”To this St. Joseph replied: “Thou art an honest man, Smetse, and righteous as well. For this reason I give thee leave to make three requests, the greatest thou canst think of, and my Lord Jesus will listen to them favourably.”At these words Smetse was filled with joy, for it seemed to him that in this way he might perhaps escape the devil;but at the same time he did not dare to avow that he had traded his soul away. So he remained in silence for a few moments, thinking of what things he could ask, then suddenly said, with great respect: “My Lord Jesus, Madam St. Mary, and you, Master St. Joseph, will you please to enter my dwelling? There I can tell you what boons I ask.”“We will,” said St. Joseph.“Mother,” said Smetse to his wife, “come hither and look to the ass of these noble lords.”And Smetse went in before them, sweeping the threshold so that there should be no dust to touch the soles of their feet.And he took them into his garden, where there was a fine plum-tree in full blossom. “My Lord, Madam, and Sir,” said Smetse, “will it please you to order that whosoever shall climb up into this plum-tree shall not be able to come down again unless I so desire?”“It will,” said St. Joseph.In Smetse’s GardenIn Smetse’s GardenThence he led the way into the kitchen, where there stood a great and precious arm-chair, well padded in the seat, and of enormous weight.“My Lord, Madam, and Sir,” said Smetse, “will it please you that whosoever shall sit in this chair shall not be able to rise unless I so desire?”“It will,” said St. Joseph.Then Smetse fetched a sack, and, showing it to them, said: “My Lord, Madam, and Sir, will it please you that, whatsoever his stature, man or devil shall be able to get into this sack, but not out again, unless I so desire?”“It will,” said St. Joseph.“My Lord, Madam, and Sir,” said Smetse, “thanks be unto you. Now that I have made my three requests I have naught else to ask of your goodness, save only your blessing.”“We will give it,” said St. Joseph.And he blessed Smetse, and thereafter the holy family went upon their way.

Smetse SmeeI.Of Smetse, his belly, and his forge.Smetse Smee lived in the good town of Ghent, on the Quai aux Oignons, beside the fair River Lys.He was well skilled in his trade, rich in bodily fat, and with so jolly a countenance that the most melancholy of men were cheered and took heart for no more than the sight of him in his smithy, trotting about on his short legs, head up and belly forward, seeing to everything.When work was in full swing in his shop, Smetse, listening to the busy sounds round the fire, would say, with his hands clasped across his stomach, quietly and happily: “By Artevelde! what are drums, cymbals, fifes, viols, and bagpipes worth? For heavenly music give me my sledges beating, my anvils ringing, my bellows roaring, my good workmen singing and hammering.”Then, speaking to them all: “Courage,” he would say, “my children! Who works well from daybreak drinks the better for it at vespers. Whose is that feeble arm down there, tapping with his hammer so gently? Does he think he is cracking eggs, the faint-heart? To those bars, Dolf, and plunge them in the water. To that breastplate, Pier, beat it out for us fine and true: iron well beaten is proof against bullets. To that plough-share, Flipke, and good work to it, too: from the plough comes the world’s bread. To the door, Toon, here comes the raw-boned nag of Don Sancio d’Avila, the knight with the sour countenance, brought hither by his raw-boned groom, who is for having him shod, no doubt: let him pay double for his Spanish haughtiness and his harshness to poor folk!”So went Smetse about his smithy, singing mostly, and whistling when he was not singing. And for the rest getting much honest gain, profiting in health, and, at vespers, drinkingbruinbierwith a will in the inn of Pensaert.II.How Slimbroek the Red put out the fire in Smetse’s forge.By and by there came to the Quai aux Oignons a certain Adriaen Slimbroek, who set up, with the licence of the guild, another smithy. This Slimbroek was an ugly, wizened, lean and puny personage, white-faced, underhung in the jaw like a fox, and nicknamed the Red on account of the colour of his hair.Skilled in intrigue, expert in sharp-practice, master of arts in cant and hypocrisy, and making himself out to be the finest of smiths, he had interested in his business all the rich and gentle folk of the town, who from fear or otherwise held to the Spaniards and wished ill to those of the reformed faith. They were before, for the most part, customers of Smetse, but Slimbroek had put them against him, saying: “This Smetse is a knave to the bottom of his heart, he was a marauder in his young days, sailing the seas with the men of Zeeland in despite of Spain, on the side of this religion which they call reformed. He still has many friends and relatives in Walcheren, more particularly at Middelburg, Arnemuiden, Camp-Veere, and Flushing, all obstinate Protestants, and speaking of the Pope of Rome and my Lords the Archdukes without veneration.“And for the rest,” added he, “this fellow Smetse is altogether an atheist, reading the bible of Antwerp in despite of the decrees, and going to church only because he is afraid, and not at all because he will.”By such slanders as these Slimbroek robbed Smetse of all his customers.And soon the fire was out in the forge of the good smith, and soon, too, the savings were eaten up, and Dame Misery came to the dwelling.III.Wherein Slimbroek is seen in the river prettily tricked out.Brought to this pass Smetse, nevertheless, would not let himself take to despair; but he was always sad and heavyof heart when, sitting in his cold smithy and looking at all his good tools lying idle on the ground, he heard the fair sound of hammers and anvils coming from Slimbroek’s shop.But what angered him most was that whenever he passed before Slimbroek’s dwelling the traitor carrot-head would appear suddenly on the threshold, and, saluting him graciously and giving him fair compliments, would make a hundred flattering speeches, accompanied by as many hypocritical salutations, and all for the sake of poking fun at him and to laugh unkindly at his misery.These ugly encounters and grimaces went on a long while, and Smetse came to the end of his patience: “Ah,” said he, “it angers me to be in such poor case; although I must submit, for such is the holy will of God. But it irks me too bitterly to see this wicked knave, who by his trickeries has taken away all my customers, so amusing himself with my misery.”Meanwhile Slimbroek spared him not at all, and each day became sharper in speech, for the more wrong he did to the good smith the more hate he bore him.And Smetse swore to have his revenge on him, in such a way as to spoil thenceforward his taste for mockery.It so happened that one Sunday when he was standing on the Quai des Bateliers, looking at the river with a crowd of watermen, townsfolk, boys, and scholars who were idle for the holy day, suddenly there came out of a pothouse, wherein he had been swallowing many pints of ale, Slimbroek, bolder than usual on account of the drink. Seeing Smetse he came and placed himself close to him, and with much gesticulation, loud bursts of talk and laughter, said to him in an insolent tone: “Good day, Smetse, good day, my worthy friend. How is thy fine face? It seems to lose its fat, which was of good quality, Smetse. ’Tis a great pity. What is the reason for it? Art thou angry at the loss of thy customers, Smetse? Thou must drink well to bring back the joy to thy stomach, Smetse. We never see theenow at vespers in the inn of Pensaert; why, Smetse? Hast no pennies to get drink? I have plenty for thee, if thou wilt, Smetse.” And he shook his money-bag to make it ring.“Thank thee kindly,” said Smetse, “thou art too generous, Master Slimbroek, ’tis my turn to stand thee drink now.”“Ah,” cried Slimbroek, feigning pity and compassion, “why wilt thou stand drink to me? The world knows thou art not rich, Smetse.”“Rich enough,” answered the smith, “to stand thee the best draught thou ever had.”“Hark to him,” said Slimbroek to the crowd of watermen and townsfolk, “hark to him. Smetse will stand us drink! The world is coming to an end. ’Tis the year of golden rags. Smetse will stand us drink! Ah! I shall taste with great pleasure thebruinbierthat Smetse will stand us. I am thirsty as an African desert, thirsty as Sunday, thirsty as a devil half-boiled in the cauldrons of Lucifer.”“Drink then, Slimbroek,” said Smetse, and threw him into the river.Seeing this the people who were on the quay applauded heartily, and all ran to the edge to have a good look at Slimbroek, who, falling into the water head first, had struck and broken through the belly of a dog a long while dead, which was floating down on the stream as such carrion will. And he was tricked out round the neck with this dog in a most marvellous manner, nor could he get rid of it, being busy with his arms at keeping himself afloat, and his face was smeared all over with offensive matter.Notwithstanding that he was half-blinded, he dared not come out on to the quay where Smetse was, but swam off towards the other bank, decked with his carrion and blowing like a hundred devils.“Well,” said Smetse, “dost find thebruinbierto thy liking; is it not the best in all the land of Flanders? Butmy good sir, take off thy bonnet to drink; such headgear is not worn for river parties.”When Slimbroek was in midstream, over against the bridge, Smetse went up on to this bridge with the other onlookers, and Slimbroek, in the midst of his puffing and snorting, cried out to Smetse: “I’ll have thee hanged, accursed reformer!”“Ah,” said the good smith, “you are mistaken, my friend; ’tis not I who am the reformer, but you, who devise these new bonnets. Where got you this one? I have never seen such a one, neither so beautiful, nor so richly ornamented with tufts and hangings. Is the fashion coming to Ghent by and by?”Slimbroek answered nothing, and struggled to get rid of the dead dog, but in vain, and having paused in his swimming for this purpose, went down to the bottom, and came up again more furious than ever, blowing harder, and trying all the while to tear off the body.”“Leave your hat on, my master,” said Smetse, “do not so put yourself out in order to salute me, I am not worth the trouble. Leave it on.”At last Slimbroek climbed out of the water. On the quay he shook off the dog hastily and made away as fast as he could to his dwelling. But he was followed by a crowd of young watermen and boys, who ran after him hooting, whistling, covering him with mud and other filth. And they continued to do the same to his house-front after he had gone in.IV.Of the two branches.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, usedup 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?”Smetse caught by the Two BranchesSmetse caught by the Two BranchesBut 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; “neverthelesswhen 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 goldenroyalsin 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 chantestmea culpain 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 goodbruinbier. 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 atthe 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 goodbruinbier, 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 allthe 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 slippedbetween 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 tosee, 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 ofbruinbier.“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 ofbruinbierinto 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 suchdistress, “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 speakingbade 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.VI.Wherein the wife of Smetse shows the great length of her tongue.When the day was up, Smetse and his wife sat down together to the good loaves, the fat ham, the fine cheese, the doublebruinbier, and the good wines, and so eased their stomachs, hurt a little by being such a long while hungry.Suddenly there came in all the old workmen, and they said:“BaesSmetse, thou didst send for us; here we are, right glad to see thy fire lit up again, and to work for thee who wast always so good a master.”“By Artevelde!” said Smetse, “here they all are: Pier, Dolf, Flipke, Toon, Hendrik, and the rest. Good day, my lads!” and he gripped them by the hand, “we must drink.”While they were drinking, his wife said suddenly with a toss of the head: “But no one sent for you all! Is that not so, Smetse?”“Wife, wife,” said the smith, “wilt thou never learn to hold thy tongue?”“But,” said she, “I am speaking the truth, my man.”“Thou art speaking foolishly,” said he, “of things whereof thou knowest nothing. Stay in thy kitchen and do not come meddling in my forge.”“Baesine,” said Flipke, “without wishing to belie you, I must tell you that a message was sent to us in the name of thebaes. For a man came in the middle of the night knocking on the doors of our houses, shouting out that we should all of us come hither without fail this morning for work of great urgency, and that for this we should each be given aroyalas forfeit to our several masters. And we came, all of us, not wishing to leave ourbaesin the lurch.”“’Tis good of you,” said Smetse, “ye shall have the promisedroyal. But come with me, I will apportion to each of you the usual task.” This he did, and once again the good music of sledges beating, anvils ringing, bellows blowing, and workmen singing was heard in the forge of the good smith.Meanwhile Smetse went to his wife and said to her with great heat: “Dost think it a fine thing to gainsay me before these good men! Chattering magpie, wilt never learn to hold thy tongue? Hast not already to-night been admonished sharply enough? Must thou have more telling?”“But, Smetse,” said his wife, “I did not know that you had sent for them.”“That is no reason,” he said, “why thou shouldst give me the lie before all my workmen; canst thou not leave thy speaking until I have done, or else hold thy tongue altogether, which would be better still.”“Smetse,” said his wife, “I never saw you so angry before. Do not beat me, my man, I will be henceforward as dumb as this cheese.”“So you should,” said Smetse.“But, my man,” said she, “canst not explain to me somewhat of all these happenings?”“Sometime,” he said, and went back into his smithy.VII.Of Smetse the Rich.That day there came to Smetse many persons, both notable and common, nobles, priests, burgesses, and peasants, to give him orders for much work, and so it went on again on other days, and all through the year.Soon the smithy became too small, and Smetse had to enlarge it by reason of the ever-growing numbers of his workmen. And the work which they did was so beautiful and so marvellously well done that the fame of it spread abroad to foreign and distant countries, and people came to see and admire it from Holland, Zeeland, Spain, Germany, England, and even from the land of the Turk.But Smetse, thinking of the seven years, was not happy at all.Soon his coffers were full of finecrusats,angelots,rose nobles, and golden jewels. But he found no pleasure in looking at all this wealth, for he thought them poor payment for giving his soul to the devil for all the length of eternity.Red Slimbroek lost all his customers, who came back one by one to Smetse. Ragged and miserable he used to come every day and lounge on the quay, watching from there the bright fire glowing in the forge of the good smith, and, so standing, he seemed dazed and stupid, like an owl watching a doit. Smetse, knowing that he was needy, sent him several customers to bring him some means of sustenance, and also more than once a gift of money. But although he thus repaid evil with good he was no longer happy, thinking of the seven years.Smetse’s wife, finding him so wealthy, bought for dinner each Sunday legs of fat mutton, geese, capons, turkeys, and other good meats; invited to her table his relatives, friends, and workmen; and then there would be a great feast, well washed down with doublebruinbier. But Smetse, though he ate and drank like an emperor, was not at all happy, thinking of the seven years. And the steam from the roast meats spread abroad on the Quai aux Oignons, so fragrant and succulent, and so sweetening the air, that all the dogs wandering in the streets of the town would stop before the house and sniff at the smell, and there on their haunches, nose in air, would wait for crumbs: and the beggars, of whom there were great numbers, came thither likewise and tried to drive away the dogs. Thereupon ensued furious battles, in which many were badly bitten. Seeing this, Smetse’s wife and other women would come every Sunday to the door with baskets of alms, and there, before the meal began, would give the beggars good bread, slices of meat, and two farthings to get themselves drink, and all this with soft words and fair speaking; then they charged them togo away from the quay, which they did in an orderly manner. But the dogs stayed behind, and at the end of the feast there was given to them likewise food of some sort. And then they would go off also, taking each his bone or other booty.Smetse and his wife together took both dogs and men into their affection; to the beggars he gave food and shelter; and so also to all the dogs of Ghent that were lame, infirm, or sickly, until at length his house came to be called the Dogs’ Hospital and the Home of the Poor.Nevertheless he was not at all happy, thinking of the seven years.Worn and troubled with these thoughts, Smetse stopped singing and lost his fat, shrivelled visibly, became melancholy and moody, and in his smithy said never a word, except to give a necessary order.And he was no longer calledSmetse the Merry, butSmetse the Rich.And he counted the days.VIII.How there came a ragged, wayfarer to Smetse’s door, and with him, on an ass, a sweet wife and a little child.On the two hundred and forty-fifth day of the seventh year, when the plum-trees were in bloom, Smetse, dumb as a stone, was taking a little noonday rest. He sat on a wooden bench opposite his door, and with melancholy mien looked at the trees planted all along the quay, and the small birds playing among the branches or squabbling and pecking one another over some morsel of food, and blinked in the bright sun which made these birds so merry, and heard at his back the goodly sounds of his forge, his wife preparing dinner, and his workmen hurrying at their work so that they might be off to their meal, for it was nearing the time; and he said to himself that in hell he would see neither the sun, nor the birds, nor the trees with their load of green leaves, nor hear any more the sounds of his forge, nor the smiths hurrying, nor his good wife preparing dinner.By and by the workmen came out, and Smetse was left sitting alone on his bench, pondering in his mind whether there were not some way whereby he might outwit the devil.Suddenly there drew up at his door a man of piteous appearance, with brown hair and beard, dressed like a ragged townsman, and carrying a great staff in his hand. He was walking beside an ass, and leading it along by a rein. On the ass rode a sweet and beautiful young woman with a noble mien, suckling a little child, who was quite naked, and of such gentle and winsome countenance that the sight of it warmed Smetse’s heart.The ass stopped at the door of the smithy and began to bray loudly.“Master smith,” said the man, “our ass has cast one of his shoes on his way hither, wilt thou be pleased to give orders that another should be given him?”“I will do it myself,” said Smetse, “for I am alone here.”“I should tell thee,” said the man, “that we are beggars, without money.”“Have no care for that,” said Smetse, “I am rich enough to be able to shoe in silver without payment all the asses in Flanders.”Hearing this the woman alighted from the ass and asked Smetse if she might sit down on the bench.“Yes,” said he.And while he was fastening up the beast, paring his hoof and fitting the shoe, he said to the man: “Whence come you, with this woman and this ass?”“We come,” said the man, “from a distant country, and have still far to go.”“And this child whom I see naked,” said Smetse, “does he not oftentimes suffer from the cold?”“Nay,” said the man, “for he is all warmth and all life.”“Well, well,” said Smetse, “you do not cry down your own children, master. But what is your meat and drink while you are travelling in this manner?”“Water from streams,” said the man, “and such bread as is given us.”“Ah,” said Smetse, “that is not much, I see, for the ass’s panniers are light. You must often go hungry.”“Yes,” said the man.“This,” said Smetse, “is displeasing to me, and it is most unwholesome for a nursing mother to suffer hunger, for so the milk turns sour, and the child grows in sickly wise.” And he called out to his wife: “Mother, bring hither as many loaves and hams as will fill the panniers of this beast. And do not forget some doublebruinbier, ’tis heavenly comfort for poor travellers. And a good peck of oats for the ass.”When the panniers were filled and the beast shod, the man said to Smetse: “Smith, it is in my mind to give thee some recompense for thy great goodness, for such as thou seest me I have great power.”“Yes,” said Smetse, with a smile, “I can see that well enough.”“I am,” said the man, “Joseph, nominal husband of the very blessed Virgin Mary, who is sitting on this bench, and this child that she has in her arms is Jesus, thy Saviour.”Smetse, dumbfounded at these words, looked at the wayfarers with great astonishment, and saw about the man’s head a nimbus of fire, a crown of stars about the woman’s, and, about the child’s, beautiful rays more brilliant than the sun, springing from his head and girdling him round with light.Thereupon he fell at their feet and said: “My Lord Jesus, Madam the Virgin, and my Master St. Joseph, grant me pardon for my lack of understanding.”To this St. Joseph replied: “Thou art an honest man, Smetse, and righteous as well. For this reason I give thee leave to make three requests, the greatest thou canst think of, and my Lord Jesus will listen to them favourably.”At these words Smetse was filled with joy, for it seemed to him that in this way he might perhaps escape the devil;but at the same time he did not dare to avow that he had traded his soul away. So he remained in silence for a few moments, thinking of what things he could ask, then suddenly said, with great respect: “My Lord Jesus, Madam St. Mary, and you, Master St. Joseph, will you please to enter my dwelling? There I can tell you what boons I ask.”“We will,” said St. Joseph.“Mother,” said Smetse to his wife, “come hither and look to the ass of these noble lords.”And Smetse went in before them, sweeping the threshold so that there should be no dust to touch the soles of their feet.And he took them into his garden, where there was a fine plum-tree in full blossom. “My Lord, Madam, and Sir,” said Smetse, “will it please you to order that whosoever shall climb up into this plum-tree shall not be able to come down again unless I so desire?”“It will,” said St. Joseph.In Smetse’s GardenIn Smetse’s GardenThence he led the way into the kitchen, where there stood a great and precious arm-chair, well padded in the seat, and of enormous weight.“My Lord, Madam, and Sir,” said Smetse, “will it please you that whosoever shall sit in this chair shall not be able to rise unless I so desire?”“It will,” said St. Joseph.Then Smetse fetched a sack, and, showing it to them, said: “My Lord, Madam, and Sir, will it please you that, whatsoever his stature, man or devil shall be able to get into this sack, but not out again, unless I so desire?”“It will,” said St. Joseph.“My Lord, Madam, and Sir,” said Smetse, “thanks be unto you. Now that I have made my three requests I have naught else to ask of your goodness, save only your blessing.”“We will give it,” said St. Joseph.And he blessed Smetse, and thereafter the holy family went upon their way.

Smetse SmeeI.Of Smetse, his belly, and his forge.Smetse Smee lived in the good town of Ghent, on the Quai aux Oignons, beside the fair River Lys.He was well skilled in his trade, rich in bodily fat, and with so jolly a countenance that the most melancholy of men were cheered and took heart for no more than the sight of him in his smithy, trotting about on his short legs, head up and belly forward, seeing to everything.When work was in full swing in his shop, Smetse, listening to the busy sounds round the fire, would say, with his hands clasped across his stomach, quietly and happily: “By Artevelde! what are drums, cymbals, fifes, viols, and bagpipes worth? For heavenly music give me my sledges beating, my anvils ringing, my bellows roaring, my good workmen singing and hammering.”Then, speaking to them all: “Courage,” he would say, “my children! Who works well from daybreak drinks the better for it at vespers. Whose is that feeble arm down there, tapping with his hammer so gently? Does he think he is cracking eggs, the faint-heart? To those bars, Dolf, and plunge them in the water. To that breastplate, Pier, beat it out for us fine and true: iron well beaten is proof against bullets. To that plough-share, Flipke, and good work to it, too: from the plough comes the world’s bread. To the door, Toon, here comes the raw-boned nag of Don Sancio d’Avila, the knight with the sour countenance, brought hither by his raw-boned groom, who is for having him shod, no doubt: let him pay double for his Spanish haughtiness and his harshness to poor folk!”So went Smetse about his smithy, singing mostly, and whistling when he was not singing. And for the rest getting much honest gain, profiting in health, and, at vespers, drinkingbruinbierwith a will in the inn of Pensaert.II.How Slimbroek the Red put out the fire in Smetse’s forge.By and by there came to the Quai aux Oignons a certain Adriaen Slimbroek, who set up, with the licence of the guild, another smithy. This Slimbroek was an ugly, wizened, lean and puny personage, white-faced, underhung in the jaw like a fox, and nicknamed the Red on account of the colour of his hair.Skilled in intrigue, expert in sharp-practice, master of arts in cant and hypocrisy, and making himself out to be the finest of smiths, he had interested in his business all the rich and gentle folk of the town, who from fear or otherwise held to the Spaniards and wished ill to those of the reformed faith. They were before, for the most part, customers of Smetse, but Slimbroek had put them against him, saying: “This Smetse is a knave to the bottom of his heart, he was a marauder in his young days, sailing the seas with the men of Zeeland in despite of Spain, on the side of this religion which they call reformed. He still has many friends and relatives in Walcheren, more particularly at Middelburg, Arnemuiden, Camp-Veere, and Flushing, all obstinate Protestants, and speaking of the Pope of Rome and my Lords the Archdukes without veneration.“And for the rest,” added he, “this fellow Smetse is altogether an atheist, reading the bible of Antwerp in despite of the decrees, and going to church only because he is afraid, and not at all because he will.”By such slanders as these Slimbroek robbed Smetse of all his customers.And soon the fire was out in the forge of the good smith, and soon, too, the savings were eaten up, and Dame Misery came to the dwelling.III.Wherein Slimbroek is seen in the river prettily tricked out.Brought to this pass Smetse, nevertheless, would not let himself take to despair; but he was always sad and heavyof heart when, sitting in his cold smithy and looking at all his good tools lying idle on the ground, he heard the fair sound of hammers and anvils coming from Slimbroek’s shop.But what angered him most was that whenever he passed before Slimbroek’s dwelling the traitor carrot-head would appear suddenly on the threshold, and, saluting him graciously and giving him fair compliments, would make a hundred flattering speeches, accompanied by as many hypocritical salutations, and all for the sake of poking fun at him and to laugh unkindly at his misery.These ugly encounters and grimaces went on a long while, and Smetse came to the end of his patience: “Ah,” said he, “it angers me to be in such poor case; although I must submit, for such is the holy will of God. But it irks me too bitterly to see this wicked knave, who by his trickeries has taken away all my customers, so amusing himself with my misery.”Meanwhile Slimbroek spared him not at all, and each day became sharper in speech, for the more wrong he did to the good smith the more hate he bore him.And Smetse swore to have his revenge on him, in such a way as to spoil thenceforward his taste for mockery.It so happened that one Sunday when he was standing on the Quai des Bateliers, looking at the river with a crowd of watermen, townsfolk, boys, and scholars who were idle for the holy day, suddenly there came out of a pothouse, wherein he had been swallowing many pints of ale, Slimbroek, bolder than usual on account of the drink. Seeing Smetse he came and placed himself close to him, and with much gesticulation, loud bursts of talk and laughter, said to him in an insolent tone: “Good day, Smetse, good day, my worthy friend. How is thy fine face? It seems to lose its fat, which was of good quality, Smetse. ’Tis a great pity. What is the reason for it? Art thou angry at the loss of thy customers, Smetse? Thou must drink well to bring back the joy to thy stomach, Smetse. We never see theenow at vespers in the inn of Pensaert; why, Smetse? Hast no pennies to get drink? I have plenty for thee, if thou wilt, Smetse.” And he shook his money-bag to make it ring.“Thank thee kindly,” said Smetse, “thou art too generous, Master Slimbroek, ’tis my turn to stand thee drink now.”“Ah,” cried Slimbroek, feigning pity and compassion, “why wilt thou stand drink to me? The world knows thou art not rich, Smetse.”“Rich enough,” answered the smith, “to stand thee the best draught thou ever had.”“Hark to him,” said Slimbroek to the crowd of watermen and townsfolk, “hark to him. Smetse will stand us drink! The world is coming to an end. ’Tis the year of golden rags. Smetse will stand us drink! Ah! I shall taste with great pleasure thebruinbierthat Smetse will stand us. I am thirsty as an African desert, thirsty as Sunday, thirsty as a devil half-boiled in the cauldrons of Lucifer.”“Drink then, Slimbroek,” said Smetse, and threw him into the river.Seeing this the people who were on the quay applauded heartily, and all ran to the edge to have a good look at Slimbroek, who, falling into the water head first, had struck and broken through the belly of a dog a long while dead, which was floating down on the stream as such carrion will. And he was tricked out round the neck with this dog in a most marvellous manner, nor could he get rid of it, being busy with his arms at keeping himself afloat, and his face was smeared all over with offensive matter.Notwithstanding that he was half-blinded, he dared not come out on to the quay where Smetse was, but swam off towards the other bank, decked with his carrion and blowing like a hundred devils.“Well,” said Smetse, “dost find thebruinbierto thy liking; is it not the best in all the land of Flanders? Butmy good sir, take off thy bonnet to drink; such headgear is not worn for river parties.”When Slimbroek was in midstream, over against the bridge, Smetse went up on to this bridge with the other onlookers, and Slimbroek, in the midst of his puffing and snorting, cried out to Smetse: “I’ll have thee hanged, accursed reformer!”“Ah,” said the good smith, “you are mistaken, my friend; ’tis not I who am the reformer, but you, who devise these new bonnets. Where got you this one? I have never seen such a one, neither so beautiful, nor so richly ornamented with tufts and hangings. Is the fashion coming to Ghent by and by?”Slimbroek answered nothing, and struggled to get rid of the dead dog, but in vain, and having paused in his swimming for this purpose, went down to the bottom, and came up again more furious than ever, blowing harder, and trying all the while to tear off the body.”“Leave your hat on, my master,” said Smetse, “do not so put yourself out in order to salute me, I am not worth the trouble. Leave it on.”At last Slimbroek climbed out of the water. On the quay he shook off the dog hastily and made away as fast as he could to his dwelling. But he was followed by a crowd of young watermen and boys, who ran after him hooting, whistling, covering him with mud and other filth. And they continued to do the same to his house-front after he had gone in.IV.Of the two branches.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, usedup 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?”Smetse caught by the Two BranchesSmetse caught by the Two BranchesBut 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; “neverthelesswhen 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 goldenroyalsin 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 chantestmea culpain 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 goodbruinbier. 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 atthe 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 goodbruinbier, 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 allthe 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 slippedbetween 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 tosee, 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 ofbruinbier.“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 ofbruinbierinto 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 suchdistress, “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 speakingbade 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.VI.Wherein the wife of Smetse shows the great length of her tongue.When the day was up, Smetse and his wife sat down together to the good loaves, the fat ham, the fine cheese, the doublebruinbier, and the good wines, and so eased their stomachs, hurt a little by being such a long while hungry.Suddenly there came in all the old workmen, and they said:“BaesSmetse, thou didst send for us; here we are, right glad to see thy fire lit up again, and to work for thee who wast always so good a master.”“By Artevelde!” said Smetse, “here they all are: Pier, Dolf, Flipke, Toon, Hendrik, and the rest. Good day, my lads!” and he gripped them by the hand, “we must drink.”While they were drinking, his wife said suddenly with a toss of the head: “But no one sent for you all! Is that not so, Smetse?”“Wife, wife,” said the smith, “wilt thou never learn to hold thy tongue?”“But,” said she, “I am speaking the truth, my man.”“Thou art speaking foolishly,” said he, “of things whereof thou knowest nothing. Stay in thy kitchen and do not come meddling in my forge.”“Baesine,” said Flipke, “without wishing to belie you, I must tell you that a message was sent to us in the name of thebaes. For a man came in the middle of the night knocking on the doors of our houses, shouting out that we should all of us come hither without fail this morning for work of great urgency, and that for this we should each be given aroyalas forfeit to our several masters. And we came, all of us, not wishing to leave ourbaesin the lurch.”“’Tis good of you,” said Smetse, “ye shall have the promisedroyal. But come with me, I will apportion to each of you the usual task.” This he did, and once again the good music of sledges beating, anvils ringing, bellows blowing, and workmen singing was heard in the forge of the good smith.Meanwhile Smetse went to his wife and said to her with great heat: “Dost think it a fine thing to gainsay me before these good men! Chattering magpie, wilt never learn to hold thy tongue? Hast not already to-night been admonished sharply enough? Must thou have more telling?”“But, Smetse,” said his wife, “I did not know that you had sent for them.”“That is no reason,” he said, “why thou shouldst give me the lie before all my workmen; canst thou not leave thy speaking until I have done, or else hold thy tongue altogether, which would be better still.”“Smetse,” said his wife, “I never saw you so angry before. Do not beat me, my man, I will be henceforward as dumb as this cheese.”“So you should,” said Smetse.“But, my man,” said she, “canst not explain to me somewhat of all these happenings?”“Sometime,” he said, and went back into his smithy.VII.Of Smetse the Rich.That day there came to Smetse many persons, both notable and common, nobles, priests, burgesses, and peasants, to give him orders for much work, and so it went on again on other days, and all through the year.Soon the smithy became too small, and Smetse had to enlarge it by reason of the ever-growing numbers of his workmen. And the work which they did was so beautiful and so marvellously well done that the fame of it spread abroad to foreign and distant countries, and people came to see and admire it from Holland, Zeeland, Spain, Germany, England, and even from the land of the Turk.But Smetse, thinking of the seven years, was not happy at all.Soon his coffers were full of finecrusats,angelots,rose nobles, and golden jewels. But he found no pleasure in looking at all this wealth, for he thought them poor payment for giving his soul to the devil for all the length of eternity.Red Slimbroek lost all his customers, who came back one by one to Smetse. Ragged and miserable he used to come every day and lounge on the quay, watching from there the bright fire glowing in the forge of the good smith, and, so standing, he seemed dazed and stupid, like an owl watching a doit. Smetse, knowing that he was needy, sent him several customers to bring him some means of sustenance, and also more than once a gift of money. But although he thus repaid evil with good he was no longer happy, thinking of the seven years.Smetse’s wife, finding him so wealthy, bought for dinner each Sunday legs of fat mutton, geese, capons, turkeys, and other good meats; invited to her table his relatives, friends, and workmen; and then there would be a great feast, well washed down with doublebruinbier. But Smetse, though he ate and drank like an emperor, was not at all happy, thinking of the seven years. And the steam from the roast meats spread abroad on the Quai aux Oignons, so fragrant and succulent, and so sweetening the air, that all the dogs wandering in the streets of the town would stop before the house and sniff at the smell, and there on their haunches, nose in air, would wait for crumbs: and the beggars, of whom there were great numbers, came thither likewise and tried to drive away the dogs. Thereupon ensued furious battles, in which many were badly bitten. Seeing this, Smetse’s wife and other women would come every Sunday to the door with baskets of alms, and there, before the meal began, would give the beggars good bread, slices of meat, and two farthings to get themselves drink, and all this with soft words and fair speaking; then they charged them togo away from the quay, which they did in an orderly manner. But the dogs stayed behind, and at the end of the feast there was given to them likewise food of some sort. And then they would go off also, taking each his bone or other booty.Smetse and his wife together took both dogs and men into their affection; to the beggars he gave food and shelter; and so also to all the dogs of Ghent that were lame, infirm, or sickly, until at length his house came to be called the Dogs’ Hospital and the Home of the Poor.Nevertheless he was not at all happy, thinking of the seven years.Worn and troubled with these thoughts, Smetse stopped singing and lost his fat, shrivelled visibly, became melancholy and moody, and in his smithy said never a word, except to give a necessary order.And he was no longer calledSmetse the Merry, butSmetse the Rich.And he counted the days.VIII.How there came a ragged, wayfarer to Smetse’s door, and with him, on an ass, a sweet wife and a little child.On the two hundred and forty-fifth day of the seventh year, when the plum-trees were in bloom, Smetse, dumb as a stone, was taking a little noonday rest. He sat on a wooden bench opposite his door, and with melancholy mien looked at the trees planted all along the quay, and the small birds playing among the branches or squabbling and pecking one another over some morsel of food, and blinked in the bright sun which made these birds so merry, and heard at his back the goodly sounds of his forge, his wife preparing dinner, and his workmen hurrying at their work so that they might be off to their meal, for it was nearing the time; and he said to himself that in hell he would see neither the sun, nor the birds, nor the trees with their load of green leaves, nor hear any more the sounds of his forge, nor the smiths hurrying, nor his good wife preparing dinner.By and by the workmen came out, and Smetse was left sitting alone on his bench, pondering in his mind whether there were not some way whereby he might outwit the devil.Suddenly there drew up at his door a man of piteous appearance, with brown hair and beard, dressed like a ragged townsman, and carrying a great staff in his hand. He was walking beside an ass, and leading it along by a rein. On the ass rode a sweet and beautiful young woman with a noble mien, suckling a little child, who was quite naked, and of such gentle and winsome countenance that the sight of it warmed Smetse’s heart.The ass stopped at the door of the smithy and began to bray loudly.“Master smith,” said the man, “our ass has cast one of his shoes on his way hither, wilt thou be pleased to give orders that another should be given him?”“I will do it myself,” said Smetse, “for I am alone here.”“I should tell thee,” said the man, “that we are beggars, without money.”“Have no care for that,” said Smetse, “I am rich enough to be able to shoe in silver without payment all the asses in Flanders.”Hearing this the woman alighted from the ass and asked Smetse if she might sit down on the bench.“Yes,” said he.And while he was fastening up the beast, paring his hoof and fitting the shoe, he said to the man: “Whence come you, with this woman and this ass?”“We come,” said the man, “from a distant country, and have still far to go.”“And this child whom I see naked,” said Smetse, “does he not oftentimes suffer from the cold?”“Nay,” said the man, “for he is all warmth and all life.”“Well, well,” said Smetse, “you do not cry down your own children, master. But what is your meat and drink while you are travelling in this manner?”“Water from streams,” said the man, “and such bread as is given us.”“Ah,” said Smetse, “that is not much, I see, for the ass’s panniers are light. You must often go hungry.”“Yes,” said the man.“This,” said Smetse, “is displeasing to me, and it is most unwholesome for a nursing mother to suffer hunger, for so the milk turns sour, and the child grows in sickly wise.” And he called out to his wife: “Mother, bring hither as many loaves and hams as will fill the panniers of this beast. And do not forget some doublebruinbier, ’tis heavenly comfort for poor travellers. And a good peck of oats for the ass.”When the panniers were filled and the beast shod, the man said to Smetse: “Smith, it is in my mind to give thee some recompense for thy great goodness, for such as thou seest me I have great power.”“Yes,” said Smetse, with a smile, “I can see that well enough.”“I am,” said the man, “Joseph, nominal husband of the very blessed Virgin Mary, who is sitting on this bench, and this child that she has in her arms is Jesus, thy Saviour.”Smetse, dumbfounded at these words, looked at the wayfarers with great astonishment, and saw about the man’s head a nimbus of fire, a crown of stars about the woman’s, and, about the child’s, beautiful rays more brilliant than the sun, springing from his head and girdling him round with light.Thereupon he fell at their feet and said: “My Lord Jesus, Madam the Virgin, and my Master St. Joseph, grant me pardon for my lack of understanding.”To this St. Joseph replied: “Thou art an honest man, Smetse, and righteous as well. For this reason I give thee leave to make three requests, the greatest thou canst think of, and my Lord Jesus will listen to them favourably.”At these words Smetse was filled with joy, for it seemed to him that in this way he might perhaps escape the devil;but at the same time he did not dare to avow that he had traded his soul away. So he remained in silence for a few moments, thinking of what things he could ask, then suddenly said, with great respect: “My Lord Jesus, Madam St. Mary, and you, Master St. Joseph, will you please to enter my dwelling? There I can tell you what boons I ask.”“We will,” said St. Joseph.“Mother,” said Smetse to his wife, “come hither and look to the ass of these noble lords.”And Smetse went in before them, sweeping the threshold so that there should be no dust to touch the soles of their feet.And he took them into his garden, where there was a fine plum-tree in full blossom. “My Lord, Madam, and Sir,” said Smetse, “will it please you to order that whosoever shall climb up into this plum-tree shall not be able to come down again unless I so desire?”“It will,” said St. Joseph.In Smetse’s GardenIn Smetse’s GardenThence he led the way into the kitchen, where there stood a great and precious arm-chair, well padded in the seat, and of enormous weight.“My Lord, Madam, and Sir,” said Smetse, “will it please you that whosoever shall sit in this chair shall not be able to rise unless I so desire?”“It will,” said St. Joseph.Then Smetse fetched a sack, and, showing it to them, said: “My Lord, Madam, and Sir, will it please you that, whatsoever his stature, man or devil shall be able to get into this sack, but not out again, unless I so desire?”“It will,” said St. Joseph.“My Lord, Madam, and Sir,” said Smetse, “thanks be unto you. Now that I have made my three requests I have naught else to ask of your goodness, save only your blessing.”“We will give it,” said St. Joseph.And he blessed Smetse, and thereafter the holy family went upon their way.

I.Of Smetse, his belly, and his forge.Smetse Smee lived in the good town of Ghent, on the Quai aux Oignons, beside the fair River Lys.He was well skilled in his trade, rich in bodily fat, and with so jolly a countenance that the most melancholy of men were cheered and took heart for no more than the sight of him in his smithy, trotting about on his short legs, head up and belly forward, seeing to everything.When work was in full swing in his shop, Smetse, listening to the busy sounds round the fire, would say, with his hands clasped across his stomach, quietly and happily: “By Artevelde! what are drums, cymbals, fifes, viols, and bagpipes worth? For heavenly music give me my sledges beating, my anvils ringing, my bellows roaring, my good workmen singing and hammering.”Then, speaking to them all: “Courage,” he would say, “my children! Who works well from daybreak drinks the better for it at vespers. Whose is that feeble arm down there, tapping with his hammer so gently? Does he think he is cracking eggs, the faint-heart? To those bars, Dolf, and plunge them in the water. To that breastplate, Pier, beat it out for us fine and true: iron well beaten is proof against bullets. To that plough-share, Flipke, and good work to it, too: from the plough comes the world’s bread. To the door, Toon, here comes the raw-boned nag of Don Sancio d’Avila, the knight with the sour countenance, brought hither by his raw-boned groom, who is for having him shod, no doubt: let him pay double for his Spanish haughtiness and his harshness to poor folk!”So went Smetse about his smithy, singing mostly, and whistling when he was not singing. And for the rest getting much honest gain, profiting in health, and, at vespers, drinkingbruinbierwith a will in the inn of Pensaert.

I.Of Smetse, his belly, and his forge.

Smetse Smee lived in the good town of Ghent, on the Quai aux Oignons, beside the fair River Lys.He was well skilled in his trade, rich in bodily fat, and with so jolly a countenance that the most melancholy of men were cheered and took heart for no more than the sight of him in his smithy, trotting about on his short legs, head up and belly forward, seeing to everything.When work was in full swing in his shop, Smetse, listening to the busy sounds round the fire, would say, with his hands clasped across his stomach, quietly and happily: “By Artevelde! what are drums, cymbals, fifes, viols, and bagpipes worth? For heavenly music give me my sledges beating, my anvils ringing, my bellows roaring, my good workmen singing and hammering.”Then, speaking to them all: “Courage,” he would say, “my children! Who works well from daybreak drinks the better for it at vespers. Whose is that feeble arm down there, tapping with his hammer so gently? Does he think he is cracking eggs, the faint-heart? To those bars, Dolf, and plunge them in the water. To that breastplate, Pier, beat it out for us fine and true: iron well beaten is proof against bullets. To that plough-share, Flipke, and good work to it, too: from the plough comes the world’s bread. To the door, Toon, here comes the raw-boned nag of Don Sancio d’Avila, the knight with the sour countenance, brought hither by his raw-boned groom, who is for having him shod, no doubt: let him pay double for his Spanish haughtiness and his harshness to poor folk!”So went Smetse about his smithy, singing mostly, and whistling when he was not singing. And for the rest getting much honest gain, profiting in health, and, at vespers, drinkingbruinbierwith a will in the inn of Pensaert.

Smetse Smee lived in the good town of Ghent, on the Quai aux Oignons, beside the fair River Lys.

He was well skilled in his trade, rich in bodily fat, and with so jolly a countenance that the most melancholy of men were cheered and took heart for no more than the sight of him in his smithy, trotting about on his short legs, head up and belly forward, seeing to everything.

When work was in full swing in his shop, Smetse, listening to the busy sounds round the fire, would say, with his hands clasped across his stomach, quietly and happily: “By Artevelde! what are drums, cymbals, fifes, viols, and bagpipes worth? For heavenly music give me my sledges beating, my anvils ringing, my bellows roaring, my good workmen singing and hammering.”

Then, speaking to them all: “Courage,” he would say, “my children! Who works well from daybreak drinks the better for it at vespers. Whose is that feeble arm down there, tapping with his hammer so gently? Does he think he is cracking eggs, the faint-heart? To those bars, Dolf, and plunge them in the water. To that breastplate, Pier, beat it out for us fine and true: iron well beaten is proof against bullets. To that plough-share, Flipke, and good work to it, too: from the plough comes the world’s bread. To the door, Toon, here comes the raw-boned nag of Don Sancio d’Avila, the knight with the sour countenance, brought hither by his raw-boned groom, who is for having him shod, no doubt: let him pay double for his Spanish haughtiness and his harshness to poor folk!”

So went Smetse about his smithy, singing mostly, and whistling when he was not singing. And for the rest getting much honest gain, profiting in health, and, at vespers, drinkingbruinbierwith a will in the inn of Pensaert.

II.How Slimbroek the Red put out the fire in Smetse’s forge.By and by there came to the Quai aux Oignons a certain Adriaen Slimbroek, who set up, with the licence of the guild, another smithy. This Slimbroek was an ugly, wizened, lean and puny personage, white-faced, underhung in the jaw like a fox, and nicknamed the Red on account of the colour of his hair.Skilled in intrigue, expert in sharp-practice, master of arts in cant and hypocrisy, and making himself out to be the finest of smiths, he had interested in his business all the rich and gentle folk of the town, who from fear or otherwise held to the Spaniards and wished ill to those of the reformed faith. They were before, for the most part, customers of Smetse, but Slimbroek had put them against him, saying: “This Smetse is a knave to the bottom of his heart, he was a marauder in his young days, sailing the seas with the men of Zeeland in despite of Spain, on the side of this religion which they call reformed. He still has many friends and relatives in Walcheren, more particularly at Middelburg, Arnemuiden, Camp-Veere, and Flushing, all obstinate Protestants, and speaking of the Pope of Rome and my Lords the Archdukes without veneration.“And for the rest,” added he, “this fellow Smetse is altogether an atheist, reading the bible of Antwerp in despite of the decrees, and going to church only because he is afraid, and not at all because he will.”By such slanders as these Slimbroek robbed Smetse of all his customers.And soon the fire was out in the forge of the good smith, and soon, too, the savings were eaten up, and Dame Misery came to the dwelling.

II.How Slimbroek the Red put out the fire in Smetse’s forge.

By and by there came to the Quai aux Oignons a certain Adriaen Slimbroek, who set up, with the licence of the guild, another smithy. This Slimbroek was an ugly, wizened, lean and puny personage, white-faced, underhung in the jaw like a fox, and nicknamed the Red on account of the colour of his hair.Skilled in intrigue, expert in sharp-practice, master of arts in cant and hypocrisy, and making himself out to be the finest of smiths, he had interested in his business all the rich and gentle folk of the town, who from fear or otherwise held to the Spaniards and wished ill to those of the reformed faith. They were before, for the most part, customers of Smetse, but Slimbroek had put them against him, saying: “This Smetse is a knave to the bottom of his heart, he was a marauder in his young days, sailing the seas with the men of Zeeland in despite of Spain, on the side of this religion which they call reformed. He still has many friends and relatives in Walcheren, more particularly at Middelburg, Arnemuiden, Camp-Veere, and Flushing, all obstinate Protestants, and speaking of the Pope of Rome and my Lords the Archdukes without veneration.“And for the rest,” added he, “this fellow Smetse is altogether an atheist, reading the bible of Antwerp in despite of the decrees, and going to church only because he is afraid, and not at all because he will.”By such slanders as these Slimbroek robbed Smetse of all his customers.And soon the fire was out in the forge of the good smith, and soon, too, the savings were eaten up, and Dame Misery came to the dwelling.

By and by there came to the Quai aux Oignons a certain Adriaen Slimbroek, who set up, with the licence of the guild, another smithy. This Slimbroek was an ugly, wizened, lean and puny personage, white-faced, underhung in the jaw like a fox, and nicknamed the Red on account of the colour of his hair.

Skilled in intrigue, expert in sharp-practice, master of arts in cant and hypocrisy, and making himself out to be the finest of smiths, he had interested in his business all the rich and gentle folk of the town, who from fear or otherwise held to the Spaniards and wished ill to those of the reformed faith. They were before, for the most part, customers of Smetse, but Slimbroek had put them against him, saying: “This Smetse is a knave to the bottom of his heart, he was a marauder in his young days, sailing the seas with the men of Zeeland in despite of Spain, on the side of this religion which they call reformed. He still has many friends and relatives in Walcheren, more particularly at Middelburg, Arnemuiden, Camp-Veere, and Flushing, all obstinate Protestants, and speaking of the Pope of Rome and my Lords the Archdukes without veneration.

“And for the rest,” added he, “this fellow Smetse is altogether an atheist, reading the bible of Antwerp in despite of the decrees, and going to church only because he is afraid, and not at all because he will.”

By such slanders as these Slimbroek robbed Smetse of all his customers.

And soon the fire was out in the forge of the good smith, and soon, too, the savings were eaten up, and Dame Misery came to the dwelling.

III.Wherein Slimbroek is seen in the river prettily tricked out.Brought to this pass Smetse, nevertheless, would not let himself take to despair; but he was always sad and heavyof heart when, sitting in his cold smithy and looking at all his good tools lying idle on the ground, he heard the fair sound of hammers and anvils coming from Slimbroek’s shop.But what angered him most was that whenever he passed before Slimbroek’s dwelling the traitor carrot-head would appear suddenly on the threshold, and, saluting him graciously and giving him fair compliments, would make a hundred flattering speeches, accompanied by as many hypocritical salutations, and all for the sake of poking fun at him and to laugh unkindly at his misery.These ugly encounters and grimaces went on a long while, and Smetse came to the end of his patience: “Ah,” said he, “it angers me to be in such poor case; although I must submit, for such is the holy will of God. But it irks me too bitterly to see this wicked knave, who by his trickeries has taken away all my customers, so amusing himself with my misery.”Meanwhile Slimbroek spared him not at all, and each day became sharper in speech, for the more wrong he did to the good smith the more hate he bore him.And Smetse swore to have his revenge on him, in such a way as to spoil thenceforward his taste for mockery.It so happened that one Sunday when he was standing on the Quai des Bateliers, looking at the river with a crowd of watermen, townsfolk, boys, and scholars who were idle for the holy day, suddenly there came out of a pothouse, wherein he had been swallowing many pints of ale, Slimbroek, bolder than usual on account of the drink. Seeing Smetse he came and placed himself close to him, and with much gesticulation, loud bursts of talk and laughter, said to him in an insolent tone: “Good day, Smetse, good day, my worthy friend. How is thy fine face? It seems to lose its fat, which was of good quality, Smetse. ’Tis a great pity. What is the reason for it? Art thou angry at the loss of thy customers, Smetse? Thou must drink well to bring back the joy to thy stomach, Smetse. We never see theenow at vespers in the inn of Pensaert; why, Smetse? Hast no pennies to get drink? I have plenty for thee, if thou wilt, Smetse.” And he shook his money-bag to make it ring.“Thank thee kindly,” said Smetse, “thou art too generous, Master Slimbroek, ’tis my turn to stand thee drink now.”“Ah,” cried Slimbroek, feigning pity and compassion, “why wilt thou stand drink to me? The world knows thou art not rich, Smetse.”“Rich enough,” answered the smith, “to stand thee the best draught thou ever had.”“Hark to him,” said Slimbroek to the crowd of watermen and townsfolk, “hark to him. Smetse will stand us drink! The world is coming to an end. ’Tis the year of golden rags. Smetse will stand us drink! Ah! I shall taste with great pleasure thebruinbierthat Smetse will stand us. I am thirsty as an African desert, thirsty as Sunday, thirsty as a devil half-boiled in the cauldrons of Lucifer.”“Drink then, Slimbroek,” said Smetse, and threw him into the river.Seeing this the people who were on the quay applauded heartily, and all ran to the edge to have a good look at Slimbroek, who, falling into the water head first, had struck and broken through the belly of a dog a long while dead, which was floating down on the stream as such carrion will. And he was tricked out round the neck with this dog in a most marvellous manner, nor could he get rid of it, being busy with his arms at keeping himself afloat, and his face was smeared all over with offensive matter.Notwithstanding that he was half-blinded, he dared not come out on to the quay where Smetse was, but swam off towards the other bank, decked with his carrion and blowing like a hundred devils.“Well,” said Smetse, “dost find thebruinbierto thy liking; is it not the best in all the land of Flanders? Butmy good sir, take off thy bonnet to drink; such headgear is not worn for river parties.”When Slimbroek was in midstream, over against the bridge, Smetse went up on to this bridge with the other onlookers, and Slimbroek, in the midst of his puffing and snorting, cried out to Smetse: “I’ll have thee hanged, accursed reformer!”“Ah,” said the good smith, “you are mistaken, my friend; ’tis not I who am the reformer, but you, who devise these new bonnets. Where got you this one? I have never seen such a one, neither so beautiful, nor so richly ornamented with tufts and hangings. Is the fashion coming to Ghent by and by?”Slimbroek answered nothing, and struggled to get rid of the dead dog, but in vain, and having paused in his swimming for this purpose, went down to the bottom, and came up again more furious than ever, blowing harder, and trying all the while to tear off the body.”“Leave your hat on, my master,” said Smetse, “do not so put yourself out in order to salute me, I am not worth the trouble. Leave it on.”At last Slimbroek climbed out of the water. On the quay he shook off the dog hastily and made away as fast as he could to his dwelling. But he was followed by a crowd of young watermen and boys, who ran after him hooting, whistling, covering him with mud and other filth. And they continued to do the same to his house-front after he had gone in.

III.Wherein Slimbroek is seen in the river prettily tricked out.

Brought to this pass Smetse, nevertheless, would not let himself take to despair; but he was always sad and heavyof heart when, sitting in his cold smithy and looking at all his good tools lying idle on the ground, he heard the fair sound of hammers and anvils coming from Slimbroek’s shop.But what angered him most was that whenever he passed before Slimbroek’s dwelling the traitor carrot-head would appear suddenly on the threshold, and, saluting him graciously and giving him fair compliments, would make a hundred flattering speeches, accompanied by as many hypocritical salutations, and all for the sake of poking fun at him and to laugh unkindly at his misery.These ugly encounters and grimaces went on a long while, and Smetse came to the end of his patience: “Ah,” said he, “it angers me to be in such poor case; although I must submit, for such is the holy will of God. But it irks me too bitterly to see this wicked knave, who by his trickeries has taken away all my customers, so amusing himself with my misery.”Meanwhile Slimbroek spared him not at all, and each day became sharper in speech, for the more wrong he did to the good smith the more hate he bore him.And Smetse swore to have his revenge on him, in such a way as to spoil thenceforward his taste for mockery.It so happened that one Sunday when he was standing on the Quai des Bateliers, looking at the river with a crowd of watermen, townsfolk, boys, and scholars who were idle for the holy day, suddenly there came out of a pothouse, wherein he had been swallowing many pints of ale, Slimbroek, bolder than usual on account of the drink. Seeing Smetse he came and placed himself close to him, and with much gesticulation, loud bursts of talk and laughter, said to him in an insolent tone: “Good day, Smetse, good day, my worthy friend. How is thy fine face? It seems to lose its fat, which was of good quality, Smetse. ’Tis a great pity. What is the reason for it? Art thou angry at the loss of thy customers, Smetse? Thou must drink well to bring back the joy to thy stomach, Smetse. We never see theenow at vespers in the inn of Pensaert; why, Smetse? Hast no pennies to get drink? I have plenty for thee, if thou wilt, Smetse.” And he shook his money-bag to make it ring.“Thank thee kindly,” said Smetse, “thou art too generous, Master Slimbroek, ’tis my turn to stand thee drink now.”“Ah,” cried Slimbroek, feigning pity and compassion, “why wilt thou stand drink to me? The world knows thou art not rich, Smetse.”“Rich enough,” answered the smith, “to stand thee the best draught thou ever had.”“Hark to him,” said Slimbroek to the crowd of watermen and townsfolk, “hark to him. Smetse will stand us drink! The world is coming to an end. ’Tis the year of golden rags. Smetse will stand us drink! Ah! I shall taste with great pleasure thebruinbierthat Smetse will stand us. I am thirsty as an African desert, thirsty as Sunday, thirsty as a devil half-boiled in the cauldrons of Lucifer.”“Drink then, Slimbroek,” said Smetse, and threw him into the river.Seeing this the people who were on the quay applauded heartily, and all ran to the edge to have a good look at Slimbroek, who, falling into the water head first, had struck and broken through the belly of a dog a long while dead, which was floating down on the stream as such carrion will. And he was tricked out round the neck with this dog in a most marvellous manner, nor could he get rid of it, being busy with his arms at keeping himself afloat, and his face was smeared all over with offensive matter.Notwithstanding that he was half-blinded, he dared not come out on to the quay where Smetse was, but swam off towards the other bank, decked with his carrion and blowing like a hundred devils.“Well,” said Smetse, “dost find thebruinbierto thy liking; is it not the best in all the land of Flanders? Butmy good sir, take off thy bonnet to drink; such headgear is not worn for river parties.”When Slimbroek was in midstream, over against the bridge, Smetse went up on to this bridge with the other onlookers, and Slimbroek, in the midst of his puffing and snorting, cried out to Smetse: “I’ll have thee hanged, accursed reformer!”“Ah,” said the good smith, “you are mistaken, my friend; ’tis not I who am the reformer, but you, who devise these new bonnets. Where got you this one? I have never seen such a one, neither so beautiful, nor so richly ornamented with tufts and hangings. Is the fashion coming to Ghent by and by?”Slimbroek answered nothing, and struggled to get rid of the dead dog, but in vain, and having paused in his swimming for this purpose, went down to the bottom, and came up again more furious than ever, blowing harder, and trying all the while to tear off the body.”“Leave your hat on, my master,” said Smetse, “do not so put yourself out in order to salute me, I am not worth the trouble. Leave it on.”At last Slimbroek climbed out of the water. On the quay he shook off the dog hastily and made away as fast as he could to his dwelling. But he was followed by a crowd of young watermen and boys, who ran after him hooting, whistling, covering him with mud and other filth. And they continued to do the same to his house-front after he had gone in.

Brought to this pass Smetse, nevertheless, would not let himself take to despair; but he was always sad and heavyof heart when, sitting in his cold smithy and looking at all his good tools lying idle on the ground, he heard the fair sound of hammers and anvils coming from Slimbroek’s shop.

But what angered him most was that whenever he passed before Slimbroek’s dwelling the traitor carrot-head would appear suddenly on the threshold, and, saluting him graciously and giving him fair compliments, would make a hundred flattering speeches, accompanied by as many hypocritical salutations, and all for the sake of poking fun at him and to laugh unkindly at his misery.

These ugly encounters and grimaces went on a long while, and Smetse came to the end of his patience: “Ah,” said he, “it angers me to be in such poor case; although I must submit, for such is the holy will of God. But it irks me too bitterly to see this wicked knave, who by his trickeries has taken away all my customers, so amusing himself with my misery.”

Meanwhile Slimbroek spared him not at all, and each day became sharper in speech, for the more wrong he did to the good smith the more hate he bore him.

And Smetse swore to have his revenge on him, in such a way as to spoil thenceforward his taste for mockery.

It so happened that one Sunday when he was standing on the Quai des Bateliers, looking at the river with a crowd of watermen, townsfolk, boys, and scholars who were idle for the holy day, suddenly there came out of a pothouse, wherein he had been swallowing many pints of ale, Slimbroek, bolder than usual on account of the drink. Seeing Smetse he came and placed himself close to him, and with much gesticulation, loud bursts of talk and laughter, said to him in an insolent tone: “Good day, Smetse, good day, my worthy friend. How is thy fine face? It seems to lose its fat, which was of good quality, Smetse. ’Tis a great pity. What is the reason for it? Art thou angry at the loss of thy customers, Smetse? Thou must drink well to bring back the joy to thy stomach, Smetse. We never see theenow at vespers in the inn of Pensaert; why, Smetse? Hast no pennies to get drink? I have plenty for thee, if thou wilt, Smetse.” And he shook his money-bag to make it ring.

“Thank thee kindly,” said Smetse, “thou art too generous, Master Slimbroek, ’tis my turn to stand thee drink now.”

“Ah,” cried Slimbroek, feigning pity and compassion, “why wilt thou stand drink to me? The world knows thou art not rich, Smetse.”

“Rich enough,” answered the smith, “to stand thee the best draught thou ever had.”

“Hark to him,” said Slimbroek to the crowd of watermen and townsfolk, “hark to him. Smetse will stand us drink! The world is coming to an end. ’Tis the year of golden rags. Smetse will stand us drink! Ah! I shall taste with great pleasure thebruinbierthat Smetse will stand us. I am thirsty as an African desert, thirsty as Sunday, thirsty as a devil half-boiled in the cauldrons of Lucifer.”

“Drink then, Slimbroek,” said Smetse, and threw him into the river.

Seeing this the people who were on the quay applauded heartily, and all ran to the edge to have a good look at Slimbroek, who, falling into the water head first, had struck and broken through the belly of a dog a long while dead, which was floating down on the stream as such carrion will. And he was tricked out round the neck with this dog in a most marvellous manner, nor could he get rid of it, being busy with his arms at keeping himself afloat, and his face was smeared all over with offensive matter.

Notwithstanding that he was half-blinded, he dared not come out on to the quay where Smetse was, but swam off towards the other bank, decked with his carrion and blowing like a hundred devils.

“Well,” said Smetse, “dost find thebruinbierto thy liking; is it not the best in all the land of Flanders? Butmy good sir, take off thy bonnet to drink; such headgear is not worn for river parties.”

When Slimbroek was in midstream, over against the bridge, Smetse went up on to this bridge with the other onlookers, and Slimbroek, in the midst of his puffing and snorting, cried out to Smetse: “I’ll have thee hanged, accursed reformer!”

“Ah,” said the good smith, “you are mistaken, my friend; ’tis not I who am the reformer, but you, who devise these new bonnets. Where got you this one? I have never seen such a one, neither so beautiful, nor so richly ornamented with tufts and hangings. Is the fashion coming to Ghent by and by?”

Slimbroek answered nothing, and struggled to get rid of the dead dog, but in vain, and having paused in his swimming for this purpose, went down to the bottom, and came up again more furious than ever, blowing harder, and trying all the while to tear off the body.”

“Leave your hat on, my master,” said Smetse, “do not so put yourself out in order to salute me, I am not worth the trouble. Leave it on.”

At last Slimbroek climbed out of the water. On the quay he shook off the dog hastily and made away as fast as he could to his dwelling. But he was followed by a crowd of young watermen and boys, who ran after him hooting, whistling, covering him with mud and other filth. And they continued to do the same to his house-front after he had gone in.

IV.Of the two branches.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, usedup 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?”Smetse caught by the Two BranchesSmetse caught by the Two BranchesBut 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; “neverthelesswhen 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 goldenroyalsin 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 chantestmea culpain 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 goodbruinbier. 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.

IV.Of the two branches.

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, usedup 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?”Smetse caught by the Two BranchesSmetse caught by the Two BranchesBut 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; “neverthelesswhen 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 goldenroyalsin 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 chantestmea culpain 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 goodbruinbier. 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.

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, usedup 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?”

Smetse caught by the Two BranchesSmetse caught by the Two Branches

Smetse caught by the Two Branches

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; “neverthelesswhen 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 goldenroyalsin 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 chantestmea culpain 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 goodbruinbier. 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 atthe 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 goodbruinbier, 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 allthe 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 slippedbetween 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 tosee, 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 ofbruinbier.“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 ofbruinbierinto 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 suchdistress, “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 speakingbade 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.

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 atthe 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 goodbruinbier, 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 allthe 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 slippedbetween 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 tosee, 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 ofbruinbier.“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 ofbruinbierinto 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 suchdistress, “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 speakingbade 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.

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 atthe 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 goodbruinbier, 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 allthe 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 slippedbetween 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 tosee, 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 ofbruinbier.

“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 ofbruinbierinto 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 suchdistress, “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 speakingbade 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.

VI.Wherein the wife of Smetse shows the great length of her tongue.When the day was up, Smetse and his wife sat down together to the good loaves, the fat ham, the fine cheese, the doublebruinbier, and the good wines, and so eased their stomachs, hurt a little by being such a long while hungry.Suddenly there came in all the old workmen, and they said:“BaesSmetse, thou didst send for us; here we are, right glad to see thy fire lit up again, and to work for thee who wast always so good a master.”“By Artevelde!” said Smetse, “here they all are: Pier, Dolf, Flipke, Toon, Hendrik, and the rest. Good day, my lads!” and he gripped them by the hand, “we must drink.”While they were drinking, his wife said suddenly with a toss of the head: “But no one sent for you all! Is that not so, Smetse?”“Wife, wife,” said the smith, “wilt thou never learn to hold thy tongue?”“But,” said she, “I am speaking the truth, my man.”“Thou art speaking foolishly,” said he, “of things whereof thou knowest nothing. Stay in thy kitchen and do not come meddling in my forge.”“Baesine,” said Flipke, “without wishing to belie you, I must tell you that a message was sent to us in the name of thebaes. For a man came in the middle of the night knocking on the doors of our houses, shouting out that we should all of us come hither without fail this morning for work of great urgency, and that for this we should each be given aroyalas forfeit to our several masters. And we came, all of us, not wishing to leave ourbaesin the lurch.”“’Tis good of you,” said Smetse, “ye shall have the promisedroyal. But come with me, I will apportion to each of you the usual task.” This he did, and once again the good music of sledges beating, anvils ringing, bellows blowing, and workmen singing was heard in the forge of the good smith.Meanwhile Smetse went to his wife and said to her with great heat: “Dost think it a fine thing to gainsay me before these good men! Chattering magpie, wilt never learn to hold thy tongue? Hast not already to-night been admonished sharply enough? Must thou have more telling?”“But, Smetse,” said his wife, “I did not know that you had sent for them.”“That is no reason,” he said, “why thou shouldst give me the lie before all my workmen; canst thou not leave thy speaking until I have done, or else hold thy tongue altogether, which would be better still.”“Smetse,” said his wife, “I never saw you so angry before. Do not beat me, my man, I will be henceforward as dumb as this cheese.”“So you should,” said Smetse.“But, my man,” said she, “canst not explain to me somewhat of all these happenings?”“Sometime,” he said, and went back into his smithy.

VI.Wherein the wife of Smetse shows the great length of her tongue.

When the day was up, Smetse and his wife sat down together to the good loaves, the fat ham, the fine cheese, the doublebruinbier, and the good wines, and so eased their stomachs, hurt a little by being such a long while hungry.Suddenly there came in all the old workmen, and they said:“BaesSmetse, thou didst send for us; here we are, right glad to see thy fire lit up again, and to work for thee who wast always so good a master.”“By Artevelde!” said Smetse, “here they all are: Pier, Dolf, Flipke, Toon, Hendrik, and the rest. Good day, my lads!” and he gripped them by the hand, “we must drink.”While they were drinking, his wife said suddenly with a toss of the head: “But no one sent for you all! Is that not so, Smetse?”“Wife, wife,” said the smith, “wilt thou never learn to hold thy tongue?”“But,” said she, “I am speaking the truth, my man.”“Thou art speaking foolishly,” said he, “of things whereof thou knowest nothing. Stay in thy kitchen and do not come meddling in my forge.”“Baesine,” said Flipke, “without wishing to belie you, I must tell you that a message was sent to us in the name of thebaes. For a man came in the middle of the night knocking on the doors of our houses, shouting out that we should all of us come hither without fail this morning for work of great urgency, and that for this we should each be given aroyalas forfeit to our several masters. And we came, all of us, not wishing to leave ourbaesin the lurch.”“’Tis good of you,” said Smetse, “ye shall have the promisedroyal. But come with me, I will apportion to each of you the usual task.” This he did, and once again the good music of sledges beating, anvils ringing, bellows blowing, and workmen singing was heard in the forge of the good smith.Meanwhile Smetse went to his wife and said to her with great heat: “Dost think it a fine thing to gainsay me before these good men! Chattering magpie, wilt never learn to hold thy tongue? Hast not already to-night been admonished sharply enough? Must thou have more telling?”“But, Smetse,” said his wife, “I did not know that you had sent for them.”“That is no reason,” he said, “why thou shouldst give me the lie before all my workmen; canst thou not leave thy speaking until I have done, or else hold thy tongue altogether, which would be better still.”“Smetse,” said his wife, “I never saw you so angry before. Do not beat me, my man, I will be henceforward as dumb as this cheese.”“So you should,” said Smetse.“But, my man,” said she, “canst not explain to me somewhat of all these happenings?”“Sometime,” he said, and went back into his smithy.

When the day was up, Smetse and his wife sat down together to the good loaves, the fat ham, the fine cheese, the doublebruinbier, and the good wines, and so eased their stomachs, hurt a little by being such a long while hungry.

Suddenly there came in all the old workmen, and they said:

“BaesSmetse, thou didst send for us; here we are, right glad to see thy fire lit up again, and to work for thee who wast always so good a master.”

“By Artevelde!” said Smetse, “here they all are: Pier, Dolf, Flipke, Toon, Hendrik, and the rest. Good day, my lads!” and he gripped them by the hand, “we must drink.”

While they were drinking, his wife said suddenly with a toss of the head: “But no one sent for you all! Is that not so, Smetse?”

“Wife, wife,” said the smith, “wilt thou never learn to hold thy tongue?”

“But,” said she, “I am speaking the truth, my man.”

“Thou art speaking foolishly,” said he, “of things whereof thou knowest nothing. Stay in thy kitchen and do not come meddling in my forge.”

“Baesine,” said Flipke, “without wishing to belie you, I must tell you that a message was sent to us in the name of thebaes. For a man came in the middle of the night knocking on the doors of our houses, shouting out that we should all of us come hither without fail this morning for work of great urgency, and that for this we should each be given aroyalas forfeit to our several masters. And we came, all of us, not wishing to leave ourbaesin the lurch.”

“’Tis good of you,” said Smetse, “ye shall have the promisedroyal. But come with me, I will apportion to each of you the usual task.” This he did, and once again the good music of sledges beating, anvils ringing, bellows blowing, and workmen singing was heard in the forge of the good smith.

Meanwhile Smetse went to his wife and said to her with great heat: “Dost think it a fine thing to gainsay me before these good men! Chattering magpie, wilt never learn to hold thy tongue? Hast not already to-night been admonished sharply enough? Must thou have more telling?”

“But, Smetse,” said his wife, “I did not know that you had sent for them.”

“That is no reason,” he said, “why thou shouldst give me the lie before all my workmen; canst thou not leave thy speaking until I have done, or else hold thy tongue altogether, which would be better still.”

“Smetse,” said his wife, “I never saw you so angry before. Do not beat me, my man, I will be henceforward as dumb as this cheese.”

“So you should,” said Smetse.

“But, my man,” said she, “canst not explain to me somewhat of all these happenings?”

“Sometime,” he said, and went back into his smithy.

VII.Of Smetse the Rich.That day there came to Smetse many persons, both notable and common, nobles, priests, burgesses, and peasants, to give him orders for much work, and so it went on again on other days, and all through the year.Soon the smithy became too small, and Smetse had to enlarge it by reason of the ever-growing numbers of his workmen. And the work which they did was so beautiful and so marvellously well done that the fame of it spread abroad to foreign and distant countries, and people came to see and admire it from Holland, Zeeland, Spain, Germany, England, and even from the land of the Turk.But Smetse, thinking of the seven years, was not happy at all.Soon his coffers were full of finecrusats,angelots,rose nobles, and golden jewels. But he found no pleasure in looking at all this wealth, for he thought them poor payment for giving his soul to the devil for all the length of eternity.Red Slimbroek lost all his customers, who came back one by one to Smetse. Ragged and miserable he used to come every day and lounge on the quay, watching from there the bright fire glowing in the forge of the good smith, and, so standing, he seemed dazed and stupid, like an owl watching a doit. Smetse, knowing that he was needy, sent him several customers to bring him some means of sustenance, and also more than once a gift of money. But although he thus repaid evil with good he was no longer happy, thinking of the seven years.Smetse’s wife, finding him so wealthy, bought for dinner each Sunday legs of fat mutton, geese, capons, turkeys, and other good meats; invited to her table his relatives, friends, and workmen; and then there would be a great feast, well washed down with doublebruinbier. But Smetse, though he ate and drank like an emperor, was not at all happy, thinking of the seven years. And the steam from the roast meats spread abroad on the Quai aux Oignons, so fragrant and succulent, and so sweetening the air, that all the dogs wandering in the streets of the town would stop before the house and sniff at the smell, and there on their haunches, nose in air, would wait for crumbs: and the beggars, of whom there were great numbers, came thither likewise and tried to drive away the dogs. Thereupon ensued furious battles, in which many were badly bitten. Seeing this, Smetse’s wife and other women would come every Sunday to the door with baskets of alms, and there, before the meal began, would give the beggars good bread, slices of meat, and two farthings to get themselves drink, and all this with soft words and fair speaking; then they charged them togo away from the quay, which they did in an orderly manner. But the dogs stayed behind, and at the end of the feast there was given to them likewise food of some sort. And then they would go off also, taking each his bone or other booty.Smetse and his wife together took both dogs and men into their affection; to the beggars he gave food and shelter; and so also to all the dogs of Ghent that were lame, infirm, or sickly, until at length his house came to be called the Dogs’ Hospital and the Home of the Poor.Nevertheless he was not at all happy, thinking of the seven years.Worn and troubled with these thoughts, Smetse stopped singing and lost his fat, shrivelled visibly, became melancholy and moody, and in his smithy said never a word, except to give a necessary order.And he was no longer calledSmetse the Merry, butSmetse the Rich.And he counted the days.

VII.Of Smetse the Rich.

That day there came to Smetse many persons, both notable and common, nobles, priests, burgesses, and peasants, to give him orders for much work, and so it went on again on other days, and all through the year.Soon the smithy became too small, and Smetse had to enlarge it by reason of the ever-growing numbers of his workmen. And the work which they did was so beautiful and so marvellously well done that the fame of it spread abroad to foreign and distant countries, and people came to see and admire it from Holland, Zeeland, Spain, Germany, England, and even from the land of the Turk.But Smetse, thinking of the seven years, was not happy at all.Soon his coffers were full of finecrusats,angelots,rose nobles, and golden jewels. But he found no pleasure in looking at all this wealth, for he thought them poor payment for giving his soul to the devil for all the length of eternity.Red Slimbroek lost all his customers, who came back one by one to Smetse. Ragged and miserable he used to come every day and lounge on the quay, watching from there the bright fire glowing in the forge of the good smith, and, so standing, he seemed dazed and stupid, like an owl watching a doit. Smetse, knowing that he was needy, sent him several customers to bring him some means of sustenance, and also more than once a gift of money. But although he thus repaid evil with good he was no longer happy, thinking of the seven years.Smetse’s wife, finding him so wealthy, bought for dinner each Sunday legs of fat mutton, geese, capons, turkeys, and other good meats; invited to her table his relatives, friends, and workmen; and then there would be a great feast, well washed down with doublebruinbier. But Smetse, though he ate and drank like an emperor, was not at all happy, thinking of the seven years. And the steam from the roast meats spread abroad on the Quai aux Oignons, so fragrant and succulent, and so sweetening the air, that all the dogs wandering in the streets of the town would stop before the house and sniff at the smell, and there on their haunches, nose in air, would wait for crumbs: and the beggars, of whom there were great numbers, came thither likewise and tried to drive away the dogs. Thereupon ensued furious battles, in which many were badly bitten. Seeing this, Smetse’s wife and other women would come every Sunday to the door with baskets of alms, and there, before the meal began, would give the beggars good bread, slices of meat, and two farthings to get themselves drink, and all this with soft words and fair speaking; then they charged them togo away from the quay, which they did in an orderly manner. But the dogs stayed behind, and at the end of the feast there was given to them likewise food of some sort. And then they would go off also, taking each his bone or other booty.Smetse and his wife together took both dogs and men into their affection; to the beggars he gave food and shelter; and so also to all the dogs of Ghent that were lame, infirm, or sickly, until at length his house came to be called the Dogs’ Hospital and the Home of the Poor.Nevertheless he was not at all happy, thinking of the seven years.Worn and troubled with these thoughts, Smetse stopped singing and lost his fat, shrivelled visibly, became melancholy and moody, and in his smithy said never a word, except to give a necessary order.And he was no longer calledSmetse the Merry, butSmetse the Rich.And he counted the days.

That day there came to Smetse many persons, both notable and common, nobles, priests, burgesses, and peasants, to give him orders for much work, and so it went on again on other days, and all through the year.

Soon the smithy became too small, and Smetse had to enlarge it by reason of the ever-growing numbers of his workmen. And the work which they did was so beautiful and so marvellously well done that the fame of it spread abroad to foreign and distant countries, and people came to see and admire it from Holland, Zeeland, Spain, Germany, England, and even from the land of the Turk.

But Smetse, thinking of the seven years, was not happy at all.

Soon his coffers were full of finecrusats,angelots,rose nobles, and golden jewels. But he found no pleasure in looking at all this wealth, for he thought them poor payment for giving his soul to the devil for all the length of eternity.

Red Slimbroek lost all his customers, who came back one by one to Smetse. Ragged and miserable he used to come every day and lounge on the quay, watching from there the bright fire glowing in the forge of the good smith, and, so standing, he seemed dazed and stupid, like an owl watching a doit. Smetse, knowing that he was needy, sent him several customers to bring him some means of sustenance, and also more than once a gift of money. But although he thus repaid evil with good he was no longer happy, thinking of the seven years.

Smetse’s wife, finding him so wealthy, bought for dinner each Sunday legs of fat mutton, geese, capons, turkeys, and other good meats; invited to her table his relatives, friends, and workmen; and then there would be a great feast, well washed down with doublebruinbier. But Smetse, though he ate and drank like an emperor, was not at all happy, thinking of the seven years. And the steam from the roast meats spread abroad on the Quai aux Oignons, so fragrant and succulent, and so sweetening the air, that all the dogs wandering in the streets of the town would stop before the house and sniff at the smell, and there on their haunches, nose in air, would wait for crumbs: and the beggars, of whom there were great numbers, came thither likewise and tried to drive away the dogs. Thereupon ensued furious battles, in which many were badly bitten. Seeing this, Smetse’s wife and other women would come every Sunday to the door with baskets of alms, and there, before the meal began, would give the beggars good bread, slices of meat, and two farthings to get themselves drink, and all this with soft words and fair speaking; then they charged them togo away from the quay, which they did in an orderly manner. But the dogs stayed behind, and at the end of the feast there was given to them likewise food of some sort. And then they would go off also, taking each his bone or other booty.

Smetse and his wife together took both dogs and men into their affection; to the beggars he gave food and shelter; and so also to all the dogs of Ghent that were lame, infirm, or sickly, until at length his house came to be called the Dogs’ Hospital and the Home of the Poor.

Nevertheless he was not at all happy, thinking of the seven years.

Worn and troubled with these thoughts, Smetse stopped singing and lost his fat, shrivelled visibly, became melancholy and moody, and in his smithy said never a word, except to give a necessary order.

And he was no longer calledSmetse the Merry, butSmetse the Rich.

And he counted the days.

VIII.How there came a ragged, wayfarer to Smetse’s door, and with him, on an ass, a sweet wife and a little child.On the two hundred and forty-fifth day of the seventh year, when the plum-trees were in bloom, Smetse, dumb as a stone, was taking a little noonday rest. He sat on a wooden bench opposite his door, and with melancholy mien looked at the trees planted all along the quay, and the small birds playing among the branches or squabbling and pecking one another over some morsel of food, and blinked in the bright sun which made these birds so merry, and heard at his back the goodly sounds of his forge, his wife preparing dinner, and his workmen hurrying at their work so that they might be off to their meal, for it was nearing the time; and he said to himself that in hell he would see neither the sun, nor the birds, nor the trees with their load of green leaves, nor hear any more the sounds of his forge, nor the smiths hurrying, nor his good wife preparing dinner.By and by the workmen came out, and Smetse was left sitting alone on his bench, pondering in his mind whether there were not some way whereby he might outwit the devil.Suddenly there drew up at his door a man of piteous appearance, with brown hair and beard, dressed like a ragged townsman, and carrying a great staff in his hand. He was walking beside an ass, and leading it along by a rein. On the ass rode a sweet and beautiful young woman with a noble mien, suckling a little child, who was quite naked, and of such gentle and winsome countenance that the sight of it warmed Smetse’s heart.The ass stopped at the door of the smithy and began to bray loudly.“Master smith,” said the man, “our ass has cast one of his shoes on his way hither, wilt thou be pleased to give orders that another should be given him?”“I will do it myself,” said Smetse, “for I am alone here.”“I should tell thee,” said the man, “that we are beggars, without money.”“Have no care for that,” said Smetse, “I am rich enough to be able to shoe in silver without payment all the asses in Flanders.”Hearing this the woman alighted from the ass and asked Smetse if she might sit down on the bench.“Yes,” said he.And while he was fastening up the beast, paring his hoof and fitting the shoe, he said to the man: “Whence come you, with this woman and this ass?”“We come,” said the man, “from a distant country, and have still far to go.”“And this child whom I see naked,” said Smetse, “does he not oftentimes suffer from the cold?”“Nay,” said the man, “for he is all warmth and all life.”“Well, well,” said Smetse, “you do not cry down your own children, master. But what is your meat and drink while you are travelling in this manner?”“Water from streams,” said the man, “and such bread as is given us.”“Ah,” said Smetse, “that is not much, I see, for the ass’s panniers are light. You must often go hungry.”“Yes,” said the man.“This,” said Smetse, “is displeasing to me, and it is most unwholesome for a nursing mother to suffer hunger, for so the milk turns sour, and the child grows in sickly wise.” And he called out to his wife: “Mother, bring hither as many loaves and hams as will fill the panniers of this beast. And do not forget some doublebruinbier, ’tis heavenly comfort for poor travellers. And a good peck of oats for the ass.”When the panniers were filled and the beast shod, the man said to Smetse: “Smith, it is in my mind to give thee some recompense for thy great goodness, for such as thou seest me I have great power.”“Yes,” said Smetse, with a smile, “I can see that well enough.”“I am,” said the man, “Joseph, nominal husband of the very blessed Virgin Mary, who is sitting on this bench, and this child that she has in her arms is Jesus, thy Saviour.”Smetse, dumbfounded at these words, looked at the wayfarers with great astonishment, and saw about the man’s head a nimbus of fire, a crown of stars about the woman’s, and, about the child’s, beautiful rays more brilliant than the sun, springing from his head and girdling him round with light.Thereupon he fell at their feet and said: “My Lord Jesus, Madam the Virgin, and my Master St. Joseph, grant me pardon for my lack of understanding.”To this St. Joseph replied: “Thou art an honest man, Smetse, and righteous as well. For this reason I give thee leave to make three requests, the greatest thou canst think of, and my Lord Jesus will listen to them favourably.”At these words Smetse was filled with joy, for it seemed to him that in this way he might perhaps escape the devil;but at the same time he did not dare to avow that he had traded his soul away. So he remained in silence for a few moments, thinking of what things he could ask, then suddenly said, with great respect: “My Lord Jesus, Madam St. Mary, and you, Master St. Joseph, will you please to enter my dwelling? There I can tell you what boons I ask.”“We will,” said St. Joseph.“Mother,” said Smetse to his wife, “come hither and look to the ass of these noble lords.”And Smetse went in before them, sweeping the threshold so that there should be no dust to touch the soles of their feet.And he took them into his garden, where there was a fine plum-tree in full blossom. “My Lord, Madam, and Sir,” said Smetse, “will it please you to order that whosoever shall climb up into this plum-tree shall not be able to come down again unless I so desire?”“It will,” said St. Joseph.In Smetse’s GardenIn Smetse’s GardenThence he led the way into the kitchen, where there stood a great and precious arm-chair, well padded in the seat, and of enormous weight.“My Lord, Madam, and Sir,” said Smetse, “will it please you that whosoever shall sit in this chair shall not be able to rise unless I so desire?”“It will,” said St. Joseph.Then Smetse fetched a sack, and, showing it to them, said: “My Lord, Madam, and Sir, will it please you that, whatsoever his stature, man or devil shall be able to get into this sack, but not out again, unless I so desire?”“It will,” said St. Joseph.“My Lord, Madam, and Sir,” said Smetse, “thanks be unto you. Now that I have made my three requests I have naught else to ask of your goodness, save only your blessing.”“We will give it,” said St. Joseph.And he blessed Smetse, and thereafter the holy family went upon their way.

VIII.How there came a ragged, wayfarer to Smetse’s door, and with him, on an ass, a sweet wife and a little child.

On the two hundred and forty-fifth day of the seventh year, when the plum-trees were in bloom, Smetse, dumb as a stone, was taking a little noonday rest. He sat on a wooden bench opposite his door, and with melancholy mien looked at the trees planted all along the quay, and the small birds playing among the branches or squabbling and pecking one another over some morsel of food, and blinked in the bright sun which made these birds so merry, and heard at his back the goodly sounds of his forge, his wife preparing dinner, and his workmen hurrying at their work so that they might be off to their meal, for it was nearing the time; and he said to himself that in hell he would see neither the sun, nor the birds, nor the trees with their load of green leaves, nor hear any more the sounds of his forge, nor the smiths hurrying, nor his good wife preparing dinner.By and by the workmen came out, and Smetse was left sitting alone on his bench, pondering in his mind whether there were not some way whereby he might outwit the devil.Suddenly there drew up at his door a man of piteous appearance, with brown hair and beard, dressed like a ragged townsman, and carrying a great staff in his hand. He was walking beside an ass, and leading it along by a rein. On the ass rode a sweet and beautiful young woman with a noble mien, suckling a little child, who was quite naked, and of such gentle and winsome countenance that the sight of it warmed Smetse’s heart.The ass stopped at the door of the smithy and began to bray loudly.“Master smith,” said the man, “our ass has cast one of his shoes on his way hither, wilt thou be pleased to give orders that another should be given him?”“I will do it myself,” said Smetse, “for I am alone here.”“I should tell thee,” said the man, “that we are beggars, without money.”“Have no care for that,” said Smetse, “I am rich enough to be able to shoe in silver without payment all the asses in Flanders.”Hearing this the woman alighted from the ass and asked Smetse if she might sit down on the bench.“Yes,” said he.And while he was fastening up the beast, paring his hoof and fitting the shoe, he said to the man: “Whence come you, with this woman and this ass?”“We come,” said the man, “from a distant country, and have still far to go.”“And this child whom I see naked,” said Smetse, “does he not oftentimes suffer from the cold?”“Nay,” said the man, “for he is all warmth and all life.”“Well, well,” said Smetse, “you do not cry down your own children, master. But what is your meat and drink while you are travelling in this manner?”“Water from streams,” said the man, “and such bread as is given us.”“Ah,” said Smetse, “that is not much, I see, for the ass’s panniers are light. You must often go hungry.”“Yes,” said the man.“This,” said Smetse, “is displeasing to me, and it is most unwholesome for a nursing mother to suffer hunger, for so the milk turns sour, and the child grows in sickly wise.” And he called out to his wife: “Mother, bring hither as many loaves and hams as will fill the panniers of this beast. And do not forget some doublebruinbier, ’tis heavenly comfort for poor travellers. And a good peck of oats for the ass.”When the panniers were filled and the beast shod, the man said to Smetse: “Smith, it is in my mind to give thee some recompense for thy great goodness, for such as thou seest me I have great power.”“Yes,” said Smetse, with a smile, “I can see that well enough.”“I am,” said the man, “Joseph, nominal husband of the very blessed Virgin Mary, who is sitting on this bench, and this child that she has in her arms is Jesus, thy Saviour.”Smetse, dumbfounded at these words, looked at the wayfarers with great astonishment, and saw about the man’s head a nimbus of fire, a crown of stars about the woman’s, and, about the child’s, beautiful rays more brilliant than the sun, springing from his head and girdling him round with light.Thereupon he fell at their feet and said: “My Lord Jesus, Madam the Virgin, and my Master St. Joseph, grant me pardon for my lack of understanding.”To this St. Joseph replied: “Thou art an honest man, Smetse, and righteous as well. For this reason I give thee leave to make three requests, the greatest thou canst think of, and my Lord Jesus will listen to them favourably.”At these words Smetse was filled with joy, for it seemed to him that in this way he might perhaps escape the devil;but at the same time he did not dare to avow that he had traded his soul away. So he remained in silence for a few moments, thinking of what things he could ask, then suddenly said, with great respect: “My Lord Jesus, Madam St. Mary, and you, Master St. Joseph, will you please to enter my dwelling? There I can tell you what boons I ask.”“We will,” said St. Joseph.“Mother,” said Smetse to his wife, “come hither and look to the ass of these noble lords.”And Smetse went in before them, sweeping the threshold so that there should be no dust to touch the soles of their feet.And he took them into his garden, where there was a fine plum-tree in full blossom. “My Lord, Madam, and Sir,” said Smetse, “will it please you to order that whosoever shall climb up into this plum-tree shall not be able to come down again unless I so desire?”“It will,” said St. Joseph.In Smetse’s GardenIn Smetse’s GardenThence he led the way into the kitchen, where there stood a great and precious arm-chair, well padded in the seat, and of enormous weight.“My Lord, Madam, and Sir,” said Smetse, “will it please you that whosoever shall sit in this chair shall not be able to rise unless I so desire?”“It will,” said St. Joseph.Then Smetse fetched a sack, and, showing it to them, said: “My Lord, Madam, and Sir, will it please you that, whatsoever his stature, man or devil shall be able to get into this sack, but not out again, unless I so desire?”“It will,” said St. Joseph.“My Lord, Madam, and Sir,” said Smetse, “thanks be unto you. Now that I have made my three requests I have naught else to ask of your goodness, save only your blessing.”“We will give it,” said St. Joseph.And he blessed Smetse, and thereafter the holy family went upon their way.

On the two hundred and forty-fifth day of the seventh year, when the plum-trees were in bloom, Smetse, dumb as a stone, was taking a little noonday rest. He sat on a wooden bench opposite his door, and with melancholy mien looked at the trees planted all along the quay, and the small birds playing among the branches or squabbling and pecking one another over some morsel of food, and blinked in the bright sun which made these birds so merry, and heard at his back the goodly sounds of his forge, his wife preparing dinner, and his workmen hurrying at their work so that they might be off to their meal, for it was nearing the time; and he said to himself that in hell he would see neither the sun, nor the birds, nor the trees with their load of green leaves, nor hear any more the sounds of his forge, nor the smiths hurrying, nor his good wife preparing dinner.

By and by the workmen came out, and Smetse was left sitting alone on his bench, pondering in his mind whether there were not some way whereby he might outwit the devil.

Suddenly there drew up at his door a man of piteous appearance, with brown hair and beard, dressed like a ragged townsman, and carrying a great staff in his hand. He was walking beside an ass, and leading it along by a rein. On the ass rode a sweet and beautiful young woman with a noble mien, suckling a little child, who was quite naked, and of such gentle and winsome countenance that the sight of it warmed Smetse’s heart.

The ass stopped at the door of the smithy and began to bray loudly.

“Master smith,” said the man, “our ass has cast one of his shoes on his way hither, wilt thou be pleased to give orders that another should be given him?”

“I will do it myself,” said Smetse, “for I am alone here.”

“I should tell thee,” said the man, “that we are beggars, without money.”

“Have no care for that,” said Smetse, “I am rich enough to be able to shoe in silver without payment all the asses in Flanders.”

Hearing this the woman alighted from the ass and asked Smetse if she might sit down on the bench.

“Yes,” said he.

And while he was fastening up the beast, paring his hoof and fitting the shoe, he said to the man: “Whence come you, with this woman and this ass?”

“We come,” said the man, “from a distant country, and have still far to go.”

“And this child whom I see naked,” said Smetse, “does he not oftentimes suffer from the cold?”

“Nay,” said the man, “for he is all warmth and all life.”

“Well, well,” said Smetse, “you do not cry down your own children, master. But what is your meat and drink while you are travelling in this manner?”

“Water from streams,” said the man, “and such bread as is given us.”

“Ah,” said Smetse, “that is not much, I see, for the ass’s panniers are light. You must often go hungry.”

“Yes,” said the man.

“This,” said Smetse, “is displeasing to me, and it is most unwholesome for a nursing mother to suffer hunger, for so the milk turns sour, and the child grows in sickly wise.” And he called out to his wife: “Mother, bring hither as many loaves and hams as will fill the panniers of this beast. And do not forget some doublebruinbier, ’tis heavenly comfort for poor travellers. And a good peck of oats for the ass.”

When the panniers were filled and the beast shod, the man said to Smetse: “Smith, it is in my mind to give thee some recompense for thy great goodness, for such as thou seest me I have great power.”

“Yes,” said Smetse, with a smile, “I can see that well enough.”

“I am,” said the man, “Joseph, nominal husband of the very blessed Virgin Mary, who is sitting on this bench, and this child that she has in her arms is Jesus, thy Saviour.”

Smetse, dumbfounded at these words, looked at the wayfarers with great astonishment, and saw about the man’s head a nimbus of fire, a crown of stars about the woman’s, and, about the child’s, beautiful rays more brilliant than the sun, springing from his head and girdling him round with light.

Thereupon he fell at their feet and said: “My Lord Jesus, Madam the Virgin, and my Master St. Joseph, grant me pardon for my lack of understanding.”

To this St. Joseph replied: “Thou art an honest man, Smetse, and righteous as well. For this reason I give thee leave to make three requests, the greatest thou canst think of, and my Lord Jesus will listen to them favourably.”

At these words Smetse was filled with joy, for it seemed to him that in this way he might perhaps escape the devil;but at the same time he did not dare to avow that he had traded his soul away. So he remained in silence for a few moments, thinking of what things he could ask, then suddenly said, with great respect: “My Lord Jesus, Madam St. Mary, and you, Master St. Joseph, will you please to enter my dwelling? There I can tell you what boons I ask.”

“We will,” said St. Joseph.

“Mother,” said Smetse to his wife, “come hither and look to the ass of these noble lords.”

And Smetse went in before them, sweeping the threshold so that there should be no dust to touch the soles of their feet.

And he took them into his garden, where there was a fine plum-tree in full blossom. “My Lord, Madam, and Sir,” said Smetse, “will it please you to order that whosoever shall climb up into this plum-tree shall not be able to come down again unless I so desire?”

“It will,” said St. Joseph.

In Smetse’s GardenIn Smetse’s Garden

In Smetse’s Garden

Thence he led the way into the kitchen, where there stood a great and precious arm-chair, well padded in the seat, and of enormous weight.

“My Lord, Madam, and Sir,” said Smetse, “will it please you that whosoever shall sit in this chair shall not be able to rise unless I so desire?”

“It will,” said St. Joseph.

Then Smetse fetched a sack, and, showing it to them, said: “My Lord, Madam, and Sir, will it please you that, whatsoever his stature, man or devil shall be able to get into this sack, but not out again, unless I so desire?”

“It will,” said St. Joseph.

“My Lord, Madam, and Sir,” said Smetse, “thanks be unto you. Now that I have made my three requests I have naught else to ask of your goodness, save only your blessing.”

“We will give it,” said St. Joseph.

And he blessed Smetse, and thereafter the holy family went upon their way.

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