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It was good to see also the devils of conceited men. These were fine great leathern bottles full of wind, finished off with a beak, at the end of which was a reed. These bottles had eagle’s feet and two good little arms, with fingers long enough to go round the widest part of the bottle. When the conceited man came into hell, saying: “I am great, I am grand, strong, beautiful, victorious, I will overcome Lucifer and marry his dam Astarte,” the leathern bottles would come up to him and say, with a deep reverence: “My lord, will you be pleased to let us speak a word to you in secret, touching your high designs?” “Yes,” he would say. Then two bottles would stuff their reeds into his ears in such a manner that he could not get them out again, and begin to press in their bellies with their long fingers, so as to force wind into his head, which thereupon swelled up, large and always larger, and Master Self-Conceit rose into the air and went off to wander throughout eternity, with his head bumping the ceiling of hell, and his legs waving in the air in the efforts to get down again; but all in vain.
Marvellous devils were certain apes of quicksilver, always running, tumbling, leaping, coming, and going. These devils bore down on the lazy fellows who were thrown to them, gave them a spade to dig earth with, a sword to polish, a tree to trim, or a book to con. The lazybones would look at the task set him, saying: “To-morrow,” and would stretch his arms, scratching and yawning. But as soon as he had his mouth wide open the ape would stuff into it a sponge soaked in quintessence of rhubarb. “This,” he would say mockingly, “is for to-day; work, slug, work.” Then, while the lazybones was retching, the devil would thump him, shake him a hundred different ways, giving him no more peace than a gadfly gives a horse, and so on throughout eternity.
Pleasing devils were pretty little children very wide-awake and mischievous, whose concern was to teach learned orators to think, speak, weep, and laugh according to common nature. And when they did otherwise the little devils would rap them sharply on the knuckles. But the poor pedants could no longer learn, being too heavy, old, and stupid; so they had a rap on the knuckles every day and a whipping on Sundays.
And all these devils cried out together: “Master, we are hungry; Master, give us to eat, pay somewhat for the good services we render thee.”
And suddenly the man in the chariot made a sign, and the good River Lys threw all these devils on the quay, as the sea splashes on the shore, and they hissed loud and terribly at landing.
And Smetse, his wife, and the workmen heard the doors of the cellars open with a loud noise, and all the casks of bruinbier came hissing up the stairs, and hissing across the floor of the forge, and still hissing described a curve in the air and fell among the crowd of all the devils. And so also did the bottles of wine, so also the hams, loaves, and cheeses, and so also the good crusats, angelots, philipdalers, and other moneys, which were all changed into meat and drink. And the devils fell over one another, fought, scrambled, wounded themselves, forming only one great mass of battling monsters, howling and hissing, and each trying to get more than the others. When there was left neither drop nor crumb, the man in the chariot made another sign, and all the devils melted into black water and flowed into the river, where they disappeared. And the man vanished from the sky.
And Smetse Smee was as poor as before, save for one little bag of golden royals, which his wife had by chance sprinkled with holy water, and which he kept, although it came from the devil. But this, as you shall see, did not profit him at all. And he lived with great content until he died suddenly one day in his smithy, at the great and blessed age of ninety-three years.
XVII. Of Hell, of Purgatory, of the long ladder, and finally of Paradise
When he was dead his soul had to pass through Hell in the guise of a smith. Coming thither he saw, through the open windows, the devils which had so frightened him in the vision on the Lys, and who were now busy torturing and tormenting the poor damned souls as terribly as they could. And Smetse went to the doorkeeper; but the doorkeeper, on seeing him, howled out in a most awful fashion: “Smetse is here, Smetse Smee the traitor smith!” And he would not let him in. Hearing the hubbub, My Lord Lucifer, Madam Astarte, and all their court came to the windows, and all the other devils after them.
And they all cried out in fear:
“Shut the doors, ’tis the enchanted Smetse, Smetse the traitor smith, Smetse the beater of poor devils. If he comes in here he will overset, spoil, break up everything. Begone, Smetse!”
“My masters,” said Smetse, “if I do indeed come hither to look at your snouts, which are not beautiful I promise ye, ’tis not at all for my pleasure; and besides, I am not by any means anxious to come in. So do not make such a noise, master devils.”
“Yes, indeed, my fine smith,” answered Madam Astarte, “thou showest a velvet pad now, but when thou art within thou wilt show thy claws and thine evil intention, and will slay us all, me, my good husband, and all our friends. Be off, Smetse; be off, Smee.”
“Madam,” said Smetse, “you are indeed the most beautiful she-devil I ever saw, but that is, nevertheless, no reason why you should think so ill of a fellow-creature’s intentions.”
“Hark to the fellow!” said Madam Astarte, “how he hides his wickedness under sugared words! Drive him away, devils, but do him no great harm.”
“Madam,” said Smetse, “I beg you to listen.”
“Be off, smith!” cried out all the devils; and they threw burning coals at him, and whatever else they could find. And Smetse ran off as fast as his legs would take him.
When he had travelled some way he came before Purgatory. On the other side was a ladder, with this inscription at its foot: “This is the road to the good Paradise.”
And Smetse, filled with joy, began to climb the ladder, which was made of golden thread, with here and there a sharp point sticking out, in virtue of that saying of God which tells us: “Broad is the way which leadeth to Hell, strait and rough the way to Heaven.” And, indeed, Smetse soon had his feet sore. Nevertheless, he made his way upward without halting, and only stopped when he had counted ten hundred thousand rungs and could see no more of either earth or hell. And he became thirsty. Finding nothing to drink he became a little sullen, when suddenly he saw a little cloud coming past, and drank it up joyfully. It did not indeed seem to him as good drink as bruinbier, but he took consolation from the thought that it is not possible to have comforts everywhere alike. A little higher up the ladder he suddenly had hard work to keep his bonnet on his head, by reason of a treacherous autumn wind which was going down to earth to pull off the last leaves. And by this wind he was sorely shaken, and nearly lost his hold. After he was out of this pass he became hungry, and regretted the good earthly beef, smoked over pine-cones, which is so good a food for poor wayfarers. But he took heart, thinking that it is not given to man to understand everything.
Suddenly he saw an eagle of terrible aspect coming upon him from the earth. Thinking for certain that he was some fat sheep, the eagle rose above him and would have dropped on him like a cannon-ball; but the good smith had no fear, bent to one side and caught the bird by the neck, which he wrung subtly. Then, still going up, he hastened to pluck it, ate morsels of it raw, and found them stringy. Nevertheless, he took this meat with patience, because he had no other. Then, patiently and bravely, he climbed for several days and several nights, seeing nothing but the blue of the sky and innumerable suns, moons, and stars above his head, under his feet, to right, to left, and everywhere. And he seemed to be in the midst of a fair great globe, whereof the inner walls had been painted this fair blue, strewn with all these suns, moons, and stars. And he was frightened by the great silence and by the immensity.
Suddenly he felt a genial warmth, heard sweet voices singing, distant music, and the sound of a city toiling. And he saw a town of infinite size girt about with walls, over which he could see housetops, trees, and towers. And he felt that he was moving more quickly despite his own legs, and by and by, leaving the last rung behind, he set foot before the gate of the town.
“By Artevelde!” said he, “here is the good Paradise.”
And he knocked on the gate; St. Peter came to open to him.
Smetse was somewhat frightened at the gigantic appearance of the good saint, his great head of hair, his red beard, his large face, his high forehead, and his piercing eyes, with which he looked at him fixedly.
“Who art thou?” quoth he.
“Master St. Peter,” said the smith, “I am Smetse Smee, who in his lifetime lived at Ghent on the Quai aux Oignons, and now prays you to let him enter your good Paradise.”
“No,” said St. Peter.
“Ah, my master!” said Smetse most piteously, “if ’tis because in my lifetime I sold my soul to the devil, I make bold to tell you that I repented most heartily, and was redeemed from his power and kept nothing that was his.”
“Excepting a sackful of royals,” said the saint, “and on that account thou shalt not come in.”
“Master,” said the smith, “I am not so guilty as you suppose; the sack stayed in my house because it had been blessed, and for that reason I thought I might well keep it. But take pity on me, for I knew not what I was doing. I pray you also to deign to consider that I come from a far country, that I am greatly tired, and would gladly rest in this good Paradise.”
“Be off, smith,” said the saint, who was holding the door a crack open.
Meanwhile Smetse had slipped through the opening, and taking off his leathern apron sat down, saying:
“Master, I am here rightfully, you cannot turn me out.”
But St. Peter bade a troop of halberdier angels who were near at hand drive him away: and this the halberdier angels did with great dispatch.
Thereafter, Smetse did not cease to beat on the door with his fists, and lamented, wept, and cried out: “Master, have pity on me, let me in, my master; I repent of all the sins I have committed, and even the others as well. Master, grant me permission to enter the blessed Paradise. Master…” But Master St. Peter, hearing this, put his head over the wall:
“Smith,” said he, “if thou wilt persist in this uproar, I shall have thee sent to Purgatory.”
And poor Smetse held his peace, and sat down on his seat, and so passed sad days, watching others enter.
In this wise a week went by, during which he lived on a few scraps of bread which were thrown to him over the wall, and on grapes gathered from a sour vine which grew on the outer face of the wall of Paradise in this part.
And Smetse was most unhappy, leading this idle existence. And he sought in his head for some work or other which would gladden him somewhat. Having found it, he shouted as loud as he could, and St. Peter put his head over the wall.
“What wilt thou, Smetse?” said he.
“Master,” answered the smith, “will you be pleased to let me go down to earth for one night, so that I may see my good wife and look to my affairs?”
“Thou mayst, Smetse,” answered St. Peter.
XVIII. Wherein it is seen why Smetse was whipped
It was then All Saints’ Eve; bitter was the cold, and Smetse’s good wife was in her kitchen, brewing some good mixture of sugar, yolk of egg, and bruinbier, to cure her of an evil catarrh, which had lain upon her ever since her man died.
Smetse came and knocked at the window of the kitchen, whereat his wife was greatly frightened.
And she cried out sadly: “Do not come and torment me, my man, if ’tis prayers thou wilt have. I say as many as I can, but I will say more if need be. Wilt thou have masses said? Thou shalt have them, and prayers and indulgences likewise. I will buy them, my man, I promise thee; but go back quickly whence thou camest.”
Nevertheless Smetse went on knocking. “’Tis not masses or prayers,” said he, “that I want, but shelter, food, and drink, for bitter is the cold, rude the wind, sharp the frost. Open, wife.”
But she, on hearing him speak thus, prayed the more and cried out the louder, and beat her breast and crossed herself, but made no move to open the door, saying only: “Go back, go back, my man; thou shalt have prayers and masses.”
Suddenly the smith discerned an open window in the attic. He climbed up and entered the house by that means, went down the stair, and, opening the door, appeared before his wife; but as she kept drawing back before him as he advanced, crying out and calling the neighbours at the top of her voice, Smetse stood still so as not to frighten her further, sat down on a stool, and said:
“Dost not see, mother, that I am indeed Smetse, and wish thee no harm?”
But his wife would listen to nothing and crept back into a corner. Thence with her teeth a-chatter, and her eyes open wide, she made a sign to him to leave her, for she could no longer find her tongue, by reason of her great fear.
“Wife,” said the smith in friendly tones, “is it thus that thou givest greeting and welcome to thy poor husband, after the long time he has been away? Alas, hast forgot our old comradeship and union?”
Hearing this soft and joyous voice she answered in a low tone and with great timidity:
“No, dead master.”
“Well then,” said he, “why art thou so afraid? Dost not know thy man’s fat face, his round paunch, and the voice which in former days sang so readily hereabout?”
“Yes,” she said, “I know thee well enough.”
And why,” said he, “if thou knowest me, wilt not come to me and touch me?”
“Ah,” said she, “I dare not, master, for ’tis said that whatever member touches a dead man is itself dead.”
“Come, wife,” said the smith, “and do not believe all these lying tales.”
“Smetse,” said she, “will you in good truth do me no hurt?”
“None,” said he, and took her by the hand.
“Ah,” she said suddenly, “my poor man, thou art cold and hungry and thirsty indeed!”
“Yes,” said he.
“Well then,” said she, “eat, drink, and warm thyself.”
While Smetse was eating and drinking he told his wife how he had been forbidden the door to Paradise, and how he designed to take from the cellar a full cask of bruinbier and bottles of French wine, to sell to those who went into the Holy City, so that he might be well paid, and with the money he received buy himself better food.
“This, my man,” she said, “is all very well, but will Master St. Peter give thee permission to set up at the gates of Paradise such a tavern?”
“Of that,” he said, “I have hope.”
And Smetse, laden with his cask and bottles, went his way back, up towards the good Paradise.
Having reached the foot of the wall he set up his tavern in the open air, for the weather is mild in this heavenly land, and on the first day all who went in drank at Smetse’s stall, and paid him well out of compassion.
But one or two became drunk, and entering Paradise in this state, set Master Peter inquiring into the cause of it; and having found it out he enjoined Smetse to stop his selling, and had him whipped grievously.
XIX. Of the fair judgment of My Lord Jesus
Not long afterwards the good wife died also, by reason of the terror that had seized hold of her at the sight of her man’s ghost.
And her soul went straight towards Paradise, and there she saw, sitting with his seat against the wall, the poor Smetse in a fit of melancholy brooding. When he saw her he jumped up with great joy, and said:
“Wife, I will go in with thee.”
“Dost thou dare?” said she.
“I will hide myself,” said he, “under thy skirt, which is wide enough for us both, and so I shall pass without being seen.”
When he had done this she knocked on the door, and Master St. Peter came to open it. “Come in,” he said, “good wife.” But seeing Smetse’s feet below the hem of the skirt: “This wicked smith,” he cried, “will he always be making fun of me? Be off, devil-baggage!”
“Ah, my master,” said she, “have pity on him, or else let me stay out, too, to keep him company.”
“No,” said Master St. Peter, “thy place is here, his is outside. Come in then, and let him be off at once.”
And the good wife went in while Smetse stayed outside. But as soon as the noonday hour came, and the angel cooks had brought the good wife her beautiful rice pudding, she went to the wall and put her head over it.
“Art thou there,” she said, “my man?”
“Yes,” said he.
“Art thou hungry?” she said.
“Yes,” said he.
“Well then,” she said, “spread thy leathern apron; I will throw thee the pudding which has just been given me.”
“But thou,” said he, “wilt thou eat nothing?”
“No,” said she, “for I have heard it said that there is supper by and by.”
Smetse ate the rice pudding, and was suddenly filled with comfort, for the pudding was more succulent and delicious than the finest meats of the earth. Meanwhile his wife went off to walk about in the good Paradise, and afterwards came back to Smetse to tell him what she had seen.
“Ah,” she said, “my man, ’tis a most beautiful place. Would that I could see thee within! Round about My Lord Jesus are the pure intelligences who discuss with him whatever is goodness, love, justice, knowledge, and beauty, and also the best means of governing men and making them happy. Their speech is like music. And all the while they keep throwing down to earth the seeds of beautiful, good, just and true thoughts. But men are so wicked and stupid that they tread underfoot these fair seeds or let them wither away. Farther on, established in their several places, are potters and goldsmiths, masons, painters, tanners and fullers, carpenters and shipbuilders, and thou shouldst see what fine work they do, each in his own trade. And when they have made some progress they cast down the seed of that also towards the earth, but ’tis lost oftentimes.”
“Wife,” said Smetse, “didst see no smiths?”
“Yes,” said she.
“Alas,” said he, “I would gladly be working alongside them, for I am ashamed to be sitting here like a leper, doing nothing and begging my bread. But listen, wife; since Master St. Peter will not let me in, go thou and ask grace for me from My Lord Jesus, who is kind and will let me in for certain.”
“I go, my man,” said she.
My Lord Jesus, who was in council with his doctors, saw her coming towards him. “I know thee, good wife,” said he; “thou wast in thy lifetime wedded to Smetse the smith, who entreated me so well when, in the guise of a little child, I came down to earth with Master Joseph and Madam Mary. Is he not in Paradise, thy good man?”
“Alas, no, My Lord!” answered she, “my man is at the door, most sad and out of heart, because Master St. Peter will not let him in.”
“Why is that?” said My Lord Jesus.
“Ah, I cannot tell,” said she.
But the angel who writes down the faults of men in a record of brass, speaking suddenly, said: “Smetse cannot enter Paradise, for Smetse, delivered from the devil, kept devil’s money.”
“Ah,” said My Lord Jesus, “that is a great sin; but has he not repented of it?”
“Yes,” said the good wife, “he has repented, and, moreover, he has been all his life good, charitable, and compassionate.”
“Go and find him,” said My Lord Jesus, “I will question him myself.”
Two or three halberdier angels ran to obey him, and brought Smetse before the Son of God, who spoke in this wise:
“Smetse, is it true that thou didst keep devil’s money?”
“Yes, My Lord,” answered the smith, whose knees were knocking together with fear.
“Smetse, this is not good, for a man should rather suffer every ill, pain, and anguish, than keep the money of one who is wicked, ugly, unjust, and a liar, as is the devil. But hast thou no meritorious deed to tell me, to mitigate this great sin?”
“My Lord,” answered Smetse, “I fought a long while beside the men of Zeeland for freedom of conscience, and, doing this, suffered with them hunger and thirst.”
“This is good, Smetse, but didst thou persist in this fair conduct?”
“Alas, no, My Lord!” said the smith, “for, to tell truth, my courage lacked constancy, and I went back to Ghent, where, like so many another, I came under the Spanish yoke.”
“This is bad, Smetse,” answered My Lord Jesus.
“My Lord,” wept the good wife, “none was more generous than he to the poor, kind to every one, charitable to his enemies, even to the wicked Slimbroek.”
“This is good, Smetse,” said My Lord Jesus; “but hast thou no other merit in thy favour?”
“My Lord,” said the smith, “I have always laboured with a good heart, hated idleness and melancholy, loved joy and merriment, sung gladly, and drunk with thankfulness the bruinbier which came to me from you.”
“This is good, Smetse, but it is not enough.”
“My Lord,” answered the smith, “I thrashed as soundly as I could the wicked ghosts of Jacob Hessels, the Duke of Alva, and Philip II, King of Spain.”
“Smetse,” said My Lord Jesus, “this is very good. I grant thee leave to enter my Paradise.”