The Devil-King and the Sack
When Smetse had finished his speech the devil-king seemed lost in deep reflection, then suddenly lifted his eyes to heaven, joined his hands, crossed himself again and again, and, falling to his knees, beat upon his breast, and with most lamentable cries prayed as here follows: “Ah, my Master St. Joseph, sweet Lord, blessed saint, immaculate husband of the Virgin without stain, you have deigned to make whole this smith, and he would have been saved by you for all eternity had he not sold his soul to the devil. But I, Master, I, a poor king, who pray to you, do you disdain to make me whole also, and to save me as you would have saved him? You know well, sweet Lord, how I devoted my life, my person, my goods and those of my subjects to the defence of our blessed religion; how I hated, as is right, the freedom to believe other things than those which are ordained for us; how I combated it by steel, stake, and live burial; how I saved in this wise from the venom of reform Brabant, Flanders, Artois, Hainault, Valenciennes, Lille, Douai, Orchies, Namur, Tournai, Tournaisie, Malines, and my other lands. Nevertheless I have been thrown into the fires of hell, and there suffer without respite the unutterable torment of my consuming ulcers and my devouring vermin. Ah, will you not make me whole, will you not save me? You are able, my Master. Yes, you will perform again for the sorrowing king the miracle which saved the smith. Then shall I be able to pass into paradise, blessing and glorifying your name through centuries and centuries. Save me, Master St. Joseph, save me. Amen.”
And the devil-king, crossing himself, beating his breast, and babbling paternosters turn by turn, rose to his feet and said to Smetse: “Put me in the sack, smith.”
This Smetse did gladly, rolled him into the sack, leaving only his head thrust out, drew tight round his neck the stout cords, and placed the devil on an anvil.
At this spectacle the workmen burst out laughing, clapping their hands together, and saying a hundred merry things to one another.
“Smith,” asked the devil, “are these Flemings laughing at me?”
“Yes, Sire.”
“What are they saying, smith?”
“Oh, Sire, they are saying that horses are caught by means of corn; dogs by liver; asses by thistles; hogs by swill; trout by curdled blood; carp by cheese; pike by gudgeon; and a humbug of your kidney by tales of false miracles.”
“Ho, the traitor smith,” howled the devil, grinding his teeth, “he has taken in vain the name of my Master St. Joseph, he has lied without shame.”