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 double bruinbier, ’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.

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.

IX. What Smetse did in order to keep his secret

The good wife had heard nothing of what was said to her man by the celestial wayfarers, and she was amazed to see the behaviour and hear the speech of the good smith. But she was more so than ever when, on the departure of the all-powerful visitors, Smetse began to give forth bursts of laughter, to rub his hands, take hold of her, thump her on the chest, twist her this way and that, and say in a triumphant tone: “It may be, after all, that I shall not burn, that I shall not roast, that I shall not be eaten! Art not glad of it?”

“Alas,” she said, “I cannot understand what you are talking about, my man; have you gone mad?”

“Wife,” said Smetse, “do not show me the whites of thine eyes in this pitiful manner, ’tis no time for that. Canst not see how light my heart has grown? ’Tis because I have got rid of a burden on my shoulders heavier than the belfry itself; I say this belfry, our own, with the dragon taken from that of Bruges. And I am not to be eaten. By Artevelde! my legs bestir themselves of their own accord at the thought of it. I dance! Wilt not do likewise? Fie, moody one, brewing melancholy when her man is so happy! Kiss me, wife, kiss me, mother, for my proficiat; and so thou shouldst, for instead of despair I have found a good and steadfast hope. They think to roast me with sauces and feast off my flesh to their fill. I will have the laugh of them. Dance, wife, dance!”

“Ah, Smetse,” said she, “you should take a purge, my man; they say ’tis good for madness.”

“Thou,” he said, tapping her on the shoulder with great affection and tenderness, “talkest boldly.”

“Hark,” said she, “to the good doctor preaching reason to me! But wert thou mad or not, Smetse, doffing thy bonnet as thou did to those beggars who came hither sowing their lice; giving to me, thy wife, their ass to hold; filling their hampers with our best bread, bruinbier, and ham; falling on thy knees before them to have their blessing, and treating them like archdukes, with a torrent of My Lords, Sirs, and Madams.”

At these words Smetse saw well enough that the lordly wayfarers had not wished to discover themselves to any but he. “Wife,” he said, “thou must not question me further, for I can tell thee nothing of this mystic happening, which it is not given thee to understand.”

“Alas,” said she, “then ’tis worse than madness, ’tis mystery. Thou dost ill to hide thyself from me in this wise, Smetse, for I have always lived in thy house, faithful to thee only, cherishing thine honour, husbanding thy wealth, neither lending nor borrowing, holding my tongue in the company of other wives, considering thy secrets as mine own and never breathing a word of them to any one.”

“I know it,” said Smetse, “thou hast been a good and true wife.”

“Then why,” said she, “knowing this, hast thou not more faith in me? Ah, my man, it hurts me; tell me the secret, I shall know how to keep it, I promise thee.”

“Wife,” said he, “knowing nothing thou wilt be able to hold thy tongue the more easily.”

“Smetse,” said she, “wilt thou verily tell me nothing?”

“I cannot,” said he.

“Alas,” said she.

By and by the workmen came back, and Smetse gave each of them a good royal to get themselves drink.

Whereat they were all so merry, and felt themselves so rich, that for three days none of them put his nose into the smithy, save one old man who was too withered, stiff, short of breath, and unsteady on his legs to go swimming with the others in the Lys, and afterwards drying in the sun among the tall grasses, dancing in the meadows to the music of rebecks, bagpipes, and cymbals, and at night in the tavern emptying pots and draining glasses.

X. Of the Bloody Councillor

At length the day came on which the good smith was due to hand over his soul to the devil, for the seventh year had run out, and plums were once again ripe.

At nightfall, when certain workmen were busy on a grating for the Franciscan brothers which was to be done that night, and had stayed behind with Smetse for that purpose, there came into the forge an evil-looking fellow, with greasy white hair, a rope round his neck, his jaw dropped, his tongue hanging out, and dressed in an ill-found habit like a nobleman’s servant fallen on evil days.

This fellow, without being heard by any one there as he walked across the floor, came quickly up to Smetse and put his hand on his shoulder. “Smetse,” he said, “hast packed thy bundle?”

Hearing this the smith swung round. “Packed,” he said, “and how does my packing concern thee, master bald-pate?”

“Smetse,” replied the fellow in a harsh voice, “hast forgotten thy restored fortunes, and the good times thou hast enjoyed, and the black paper?”

“No, no,” said Smetse, doffing his bonnet with great humility, “I have not forgotten; pardon me, my lord, I could not call to mind your gracious countenance. Will you be pleased to come into my kitchen, and try a slice of fat ham, taste a pot of good bruinbier, and sip a bottle of wine? We have time enough for that, for the seven years are not yet struck, but want, if I am not mistaken, still two hours.”

“That is true,” said the devil; “then let us go into thy kitchen.”

So they entered in and sat down to the table.

The good wife was greatly astonished to see them come in. Smetse said to her: “Bring us wine, bruinbier, ham, sausages, bread, cakes, and cheeses, and the best of each that we have in the house.”

“But, Smetse,” said she, “you waste the good things which God has given you. ’Tis well to come to the help of poor folk, but not to do more for one than another. Beggar-men are beggar-men, all are equal!”

“Beggar-men!” exclaimed the devil, “that I am not and never was. Death to the beggar-men! To the gallows with the beggar-men!”

“My lord,” said Smetse, “I beg you not to be angry with my good wife, who knows you not at all. Wife, consider and look at our guest with great attention, but greater respect, and afterwards thou mayest tell thy gossips that thou hast seen my Lord Jacob Hessels, the greatest reaper of heretics that ever was.

“Ah, wife, he mowed them down grandly, and had so many of them hanged, burnt, and tortured in divers ways, that he could drown himself a hundred times in the blood of his dead. Go, wife, go and fetch him meat and drink.”

While he was munching, Smetse said: “Ah, my lord, I soon recognized you by your particular way of saying: ‘To the gallows!’ and also by this rope which finished off your life in so evil a manner. For Our Lord said: ‘Whoso liveth by the rope shall perish by the rope.’ My Lord Ryhove was harsh and treacherous toward you, for besides taking your life he took also your beard, which was a fine one.

“Ah, that was an evil trick to play on so good a councillor as you were in those days when you slept so quietly and peaceably in the Bloody Council – I should say the Council of Civil Disorders, speaking respectfully – and woke up only to say: ’To the gallows!’ and then went to sleep again.”

“Yes,” said the devil, “those were good times.”

“So they were,” said Smetse, “times of riches and power for you, my lord. Ah, we owe you a great deal: the tithe tax, dropped by you into the ear of the Emperor Charles; the arrest of my lords of Egmont and Hoorn, whereof the warrant was written in your own fair hand, and of more than two thousand persons who perished at your command by fire, steel, and rope!”

“I do not know the number,” said the devil, “but it is large. Give me, Smetse, some more of this sausage, which is excellent.”

“Ah,” said the smith, “’tis not good enough for your lordship. But you are drinking nothing. Empty this tankard, ’tis double bruinbier.”

“Smith,” said the devil, “it is good also, but I tasted better at Pierkyn’s tavern one day when five girls of the Reformed Faith were burnt together in the market-place. That frothed better. While we were drinking we heard these five maids singing psalms in the fire. Ah, we drank well that day! But think, Smetse, of the great perversity of those maids, all young and strong, and so fast set in their crimes that they sang their psalms without complaint, smiling at the fire and invoking God in a heretical fashion. Give me more to drink, Smetse.”

“But,” said Smetse, “King Philip asked for your canonization at Rome, for having served Spain and the Pope so well; why then are you not in paradise, my lord?”

“Alas,” wept the devil, “I had no recognition of my former services. Those traitors of Reformers are with God, while I burn in the bottom of the pit. And there, without rest or respite, I have to sing heretical psalms; cruel punishment, unspeakable torment! These chants stick in my throat, scrape up and down in my breast, tearing my inner flesh like a bristling porcupine with iron spines. At every note a new wound, a bleeding sore: and always, always I have to keep singing, and so it will go on through all the length of eternity.”

At these words Smetse was very much frightened, thinking how heavily God had punished Jacob Hessels.

“Drink, my lord,” he said to him; “this bruinbier is balm to sore throttles.”

Suddenly the clock struck.

“Come, Smetse,” said the devil, “’tis the hour.”

But the good smith, without answering, heaved a great sigh.

“What ails thee?” said the devil.

“Ah,” said Smetse, “I am grieved at your incontinence. Have I welcomed you so ill that you will not let me go, before I leave here, to embrace my wife a last time and bid farewell to my good workmen, and to take one more look at my good plum-tree whose fruits are so rich and juicy? Ah, I would gladly refresh myself with one or two before I go off to that land where there is always thirst.”

“Do not think to escape me,” said the devil.

“That I would not, my lord,” said Smetse. “Come with me, I pray you most humbly.”

“Very well,” said the devil, “but not for long.”

In the garden Smetse began to sigh afresh.

“Ah,” he said, “look at my plums, my lord; will you be pleased to let me go up and eat my fill?”

“Go up then,” said the devil.

Up in the tree Smetse began to eat in a most greedy manner, and suck in the juice of the plums with a great noise. “Ah,” cried he, “plums of paradise, Christian plums, how fat you are! Princely plums, you would solace a hundred devils burning in the lowest parts of hell. By you, sweet plums, blessed plums, is thirst driven out of my throat; by you, adorable plums, gentle plums, is purged from my stomach all evil melancholy; by you, fresh plums, sugary plums, is diffused in my blood an infinite sweetness. Ah, juicy plums, joyous plums, faery plums, would that I could go on sucking you for ever!”

And while he was saying all this, Smetse went on picking them, eating them and sipping the juice, without ever stopping.

“Pox!” said the devil, “it makes my mouth water; why dost not throw me down some of these marvellous plums?”

“Alas, my lord,” said Smetse, “that I cannot do; they would melt into water on their fall, so delicate are they. But if you will be pleased to climb up into the tree you will find much pleasure in store for you.”

“Then I will,” said the devil.

When he was well settled on a stout branch and there regaling himself with plums, Smetse slipped down, picked up a stick lying on the grass and fell to belabouring him with great vigour.

Feeling the stick on his back the devil would have leapt down on the smith, but could not move, for the skin of his seat held fast to the branch. And he snorted, ground his teeth, and foamed at the mouth with great rage, and also by reason of the pain which his tender skin caused him.

Meanwhile Smetse gave him a good drubbing, caressed with his stick every quarter of his body in turn, bruised him to the bone, tore his habit, and gave him as strong and straight a beating as was ever given in the land of Flanders. And he kept saying: “You say not a word about my plums, my lord; they are good, none the less.”

“Ah,” cried Hessels, “why am I not free!”

“Alas, yes! why are you not free!” answered Smetse, “you would give me to some little butcher among your friends who would cut me up freely into slices like a ham, under your learned instruction, for you are, as I know well, a doctor of torment. But are you not being well tormented in turn by my stick? Alas, yes! why are you not free! You would hoist me up on some blessed gallows, and every one would see me hanging in the air, and freely would Master Hessels laugh. And so he would have his revenge on me for this excellent drubbing which I am giving him with such freedom. For nothing in this world is so free as a free stick falling freely on an unfree councillor. Alas, yes! why are you not free! You would free my head from my body, as you did with such satisfaction to my masters of Egmont and Hoorn. Alas, yes! why are you not free! then we should see Smetse in some good little fire, which would roast him freely, as was done to the poor maids of the reformed faith; and Smetse, like them, would be heard singing with a free soul to the God of free believers, and with a free conscience stronger than the flame, while Master Hessels drank bruinbier and said that it frothed nicely.”

“Oh,” said the devil, “why beat me so cruelly, without pity for my white hairs?”

“As for thy white hair,” said Smetse, “’tis the hair of an old tiger who ate up our country. For this reason it gives me sweet pleasure to beat thee with this oaken stick; and also in order that thou mayst give me permission to stay another seven years on this earth, where I find myself so well content, if it so please thee.”

“Seven years!” said the devil, “do not count on that; I would rather bleed under thy stick.”

“Ah,” said Smetse, “I see that your skin is fond of good blows. These are tasty ones, it is true. But the best of cheer is unwholesome if taken in excess. So when you have had enough of them, be so good as to tell me. I will put a stop to this feast, but for that I must have the seven years.”

“Never,” said Hessels; and lifting his snout into the air like a baying dog, he cried out: “Devils to the rescue!” But this he did so loudly, and in such screeching wise, that at the sound of his cracked voice blaring out like a trumpet, all the workmen came to see what it was about.

“You do not shout loud enough,” said Smetse, “I will help you.” And he beat him the harder, so that the devil cried the louder.

“See,” said Smetse, “how well this stick makes the little nightingale sing in my plum-tree. He is saying over his lied of love to call hither his fair mate. She will come by and by, my lord; but come down, I pray you, and await her below, for they say that the night dew is deadly at a height from the ground.”

“Baes,” said certain workmen, “is it not my lord Jacob Hessels, the Bloody Councillor, who is perched up there in thy plum-tree?”

“Yes, lads,” answered Smetse, “’tis indeed that worthy man. He seeks high places now as he did all his life, and so also at the end of it, when he swung in the air, putting out his tongue at the passers-by. For that which is of the gallows returns to the gallows, and the rope will take back its own. ’Tis written.”

“Baes,” said they, “can we not help to bring him down?”

“Yes,” said he. And the workmen went off to the smithy.

Meanwhile the devil said nothing, trying all the time to get his seat away from the branch. And he struggled, wriggled about, twisted himself a hundred different ways, and used as levers, to lift himself up, feet, hands, and head, but all in vain.

And Smetse, belabouring him well, said to him: “My lord Councillor, you are fast stuck, it seems, to the saddle; but I will have you out of it, have you out as fast as I can, for if I do not so, beating you with all my strength, you will tear up out of the ground the tree and its roots, and the good folk will see you walking along, dragging a plum-tree from your seat like a tail, which would be a piteous and laughable spectacle for such a noble devil as yourself to make. Give me rather the seven years.”

“Baes,” said the workmen, who had returned from the smithy with hammers and iron bars, “here we are at your orders; what shall we do?”

“Well,” said Smetse, “since I have combed him down with oaken staves we will now louse him with hammers and bars.”

“Mercy, Smetse, mercy!” cried the devil; hammers and bars, this is too much; thou hast the seven years, smith.”

“Make haste,” said Smetse, “and write me the quittance.”

“Here it is,” said he.

The smith took it, saw that it was in good order, and said: “I desire that thou come down.”

But the devil was so weak and enfeebled by the blows he had had that when he tried to leap he fell on his back. And he went off limping, shaking his fist at Smetse, and saying: “I await thee, in seven years, in hell, smith.”

“So you may,” said Smetse.