How the Devils Outsmarted

Once, Lucifer emerged from hell and went out to strike deals with workers. First, he came to a miller nicknamed Pierre the Schemer, who owned a windmill. The devil made a deal with the miller, agreeing that the miller would supply him with a thousand measures of flour every day. If there came a day when the miller failed to meet the quota, the devil would have the right to take him to hell at the end of the year. In return, the devil promised to ensure that the mill would not break down and to send wind to turn its blades.

Once the deal was struck, the devil decided that a thousand measures a day would not be enough, so he approached Pierre the Simpleton, who owned a watermill.

The millers set to work, and for several days, everything went smoothly. But soon, the devil began to reproach Pierre the Schemer, claiming that his flour was inferior to that produced by his neighbor at the watermill.

"It's not my fault," replied the miller. "Pierre the Simpleton keeps his mill in better order than I do."

After this, Lucifer struck a deal with a baker who was to receive flour from both mills and bake bread. The baker's oven was enormous, a hundred feet in circumference. The baker only had to place the loaves inside, as Lucifer sent his little devils to assist him.

Next, the devil went to a shoemaker and demanded that he supply him with a hundred pairs of boots every day.

"How am I supposed to do that?" asked the shoemaker.

"I'll help you and pay you well. What's your price?"

"Ten thousand francs."

"Fine," said the devil. "But if you don't work properly, I'll take you to hell in a year."

The shoemaker got to work and made a hundred pairs of boots on the first day. But the next day, he went on a drinking spree, and the devil beat him, scolding him for his poor behavior.

"You'd better help me a bit," said the shoemaker, "and we'll soon make up for lost time."

"I'm busy," snapped the devil. "I still need to find a tailor."

The tailor was to supply twenty-five jackets and twenty-five pairs of trousers every day. "But what you're asking is beyond my ability!" exclaimed the tailor.

"It will be within your ability if I want it to be, and you won't lack for assistants either. But if the work is poorly done, you'll have to go to hell in a year. What's your price?"

"Twenty thousand francs."

"Agreed," replied the devil.

The tailor did his best, but the work didn't go as smoothly as he had hoped, so he reminded the devil of his promise to provide assistants.

At his request, Lucifer sent him a hundred little devils, and as soon as they glanced at the cloth, the trousers were ready.

"Now," said the devil after the deal with the tailor, "I must approach a blacksmith. I need horseshoes for my horses and locks for my rooms."

He went to the blacksmith, who had a poor reputation and was out of work; his name was Pierre the Curser.

"Pierre the Curser," said the devil, "if you want to take an order from me, I'll get you iron, coal, and everything you need."

"That would be helpful," replied the blacksmith, "because my forge is completely empty."

"You won't lose out," said the devil, "but in return, you must make a hundred horseshoes and a hundred locks every day."

"Fine, but you must send me apprentices to stoke the forge."

"Agreed. What's your price?"

"Fifty thousand francs."

"Fifty thousand francs! You must be joking!"

"Well, if you think that's too much, let's settle on twenty-five thousand."

Pierre the Curser got to work and fulfilled the order every day.

After concluding deals with everyone, the devil went to check on his workers.

He met Pierre the Schemer at the door of the windmill.

"So, how's it going?"

"Not quite as I'd like. While you're out wandering around, sometimes the wind doesn't blow, and sometimes the millstones fail. I can't lift or sharpen them alone."

"I'll help you," said the devil.

"Get under the millstone and sharpen it, and I'll hold it so it doesn't fall."

The devil took a hammer and crawled under the millstone. Seeing that the devil was fully occupied, Pierre the Schemer let go of the millstone and shouted:

"I can't hold it, I can't hold it!"

He quickly set the mill in motion, and the devil, feeling that he was about to be crushed, began to scream desperately. He begged Pierre the Schemer to release him and promised to sign a blood oath not to take the miller to hell in a year.

Then Lucifer went to the watermill to see Pierre the Simpleton, who was a straightforward man. Everything was going well for him, and the devil praised him, promising to give him the best watermill in hell.

"Give it to me now," said Pierre the Simpleton.

"So you want me to take you to hell right now?"

"Yes," he replied, "I'd gladly agree."

The devil took the poor miller to hell and went to the baker.

"Up there, there's a shortage of bread, and often it's poorly baked."

"I did my best, but I lack assistants."

"Maybe your oven isn't working properly?"

"Who knows? The bread is baking now—come back tomorrow and see if anything needs fixing."

"I'll try to outsmart him," thought the baker, "but how? I can't burn him in the fire. I'll get a vat of holy water and place it near the oven, as if it were ordinary spring water, and then I'll get an old stole."

The next day, the devil arrived in a terrible rage, shouting that the bread was baked even worse than before. The baker, opening the oven door, suggested that the devil climb in himself to inspect it.

Lucifer climbed in, and the baker sprinkled holy water on the oven and closed the door with a stone to prevent the devil from escaping. Poor Lucifer screamed as if he were being skinned alive:

"Get me out of the oven, I'll burn!"

"Sign a paper renouncing all your rights over me."

"I can't sign, I can't see anything." The baker opened the door, and when the devil stuck his head out, he wrapped him in the stole and didn't remove it until the devil had properly signed the document. Then Lucifer went to the shoemaker.

"You're a poor craftsman," he said. "I'm short on boots up there, and the ones you made are no good."

"I couldn't do better! Stand between these two pieces of leather and see how firmly I sew them."
Lucifer, suspecting nothing, stood between two pieces of leather, and the shoemaker sewed them together so tightly that the devil couldn’t even move his hands.

"Let me go, my friend!" pleaded the devil. "Never shall any shoemaker go to hell! This is as true as the fact that my name is Lucifer."

"You will remain between these pieces of leather until you renounce all claims on me."

The devil refused and ran around in this state for two days, vainly trying to shake off the leather. Finally, he had no choice but to return to the shoemaker:

"Take these pieces of leather off me, dear friend, I beg you."

"Renounce your claim on me, or you’ll stay like this forever."

Lucifer signed the paper and went to the tailor.

"How’s the work going?"

"I’ve been doing my best."

"That’s true," said the devil, "I can’t complain about you. Could you mend my trousers? They’re completely torn."

The tailor mended the trousers very well, and the devil said to him:

"Now sew me a suit, but without any seams."

"Without seams? I can’t make you such a suit, but if you wish, I can cut it directly on you from this piece of cloth."

He threw the cloth over the devil.

"Just stand straight."

"Don’t cut too close to the body," the devil remarked. The tailor took large scissors and cut the cloth from top to bottom, catching the skin and flesh. Lucifer let out blood-curdling screams, especially when the tailor’s wife and children began sprinkling him with holy water.

"Ah," exclaimed the devil, "I’ve found only one honest man on earth—Pierre the Simpleton!"

"Sign this paper, promising to renounce your claim on me."

"Never!"

"Then let’s douse him properly."

"I’ll sign, I’ll sign!" the devil howled. Then he went to the blacksmith.

"Working?"

"Yes, as much as I can."

"That’s true, almost everyone up there has horseshoes and locks now. You’re a good blacksmith, and it’s a shame people have slandered you."

"Your boots," said the blacksmith, "are already worn out; if you wish, I can forge you some new heels, and they’ll be as good as new."

"That’s a good idea, but I’d like steel heels."

"That can be done."

"Shoe me, and I’ll reward you generously."

The blacksmith forged nails as sharp as awls and at least half a meter long, then said to the devil:

"Now I’ll have to tie you up. You know, you can’t shoe a horse without tying it down."

The blacksmith bound the devil to the door with two iron chains, and while he held the devil’s leg, one of the apprentices heated the horseshoes. When they were ready, the blacksmith took one, dipped it in holy water, and pressed it to the devil’s foot. The devil screamed bloody murder.

"Wait," shouted the blacksmith, "I’ll shoe you properly!"

And, hammering with all his might, he drove the nails into the devil’s leg up to the knee.

"Let me go, let me go!" the devil cried. "All people are scoundrels, and the worst of them is you!"

"No, I need to shoe your other foot too. I don’t like doing things halfway."

He shoed the devil’s other foot. Lucifer screamed at the top of his lungs, and the blacksmith sprinkled him with holy water, saying:

"When you shoe a horse, you need to wet the iron!"

The devil signed a paper renouncing all claims on the blacksmith, and then, angry and humiliated, limped out of the forge.

Then the baker died and, approaching the gates of heaven, knocked. Saint Peter opened the gate and said:

"Go your way, there’s nothing for you here."

"So that’s how it is!" thought the baker. "I once roasted the devil, and now he’ll roast me!"

Approaching the gates of hell, the baker said to the gatekeeper:

"I suppose I’m supposed to enter here?"

"What’s your name?"

"Pierre Dufour."

"I’ve already heard about you from my master," said the gatekeeper. "Lucifer!" he shouted to the devil, "Pierre Dufour is here, asking for a place with us."

"Throw him out. He probably thinks I don’t remember how he roasted me in his oven."

"Finally, I’m rid of him," thought the baker. "But I still need to find some place to stay."

He went to purgatory and met Saint Yves, who said to him:

"What do you need, my friend?"

"Could your grace find a place for me?"

"What’s your trade?"

"I’m a baker."

"Strange that you can’t find a place."

"I can’t—Saint Peter slammed the gate in my face, and the devil kicked me out of hell because I once roasted him a little in my oven."

"Come in, my friend, we’ll try to find you a corner. Bakers usually don’t have a bad reputation!"

Some time later, Pierre the Rogue died.

He approached the gates of heaven, and Saint Peter said to him...
— What do you need here?
— For you to open the gates of heaven for me.
— And what did you do in life?
— I was a miller.
— My friend, no miller has ever crossed the threshold of heaven—they are all thieves and scoundrels.

"Well, I'm caught," thought Pierre the Trickster. "I'll have to go to the one I almost crushed between the millstones."

Passing by purgatory, he knocked just in case.
— Can I come in here? — he asked.
— You weren’t, by any chance, a miller, were you?
— I was.
— Millers are not allowed in purgatory. Move along.

— To hell! I really don’t want to go there. After all, I almost ground the devil himself. Can’t you find me a little corner here?
— I can’t do that, — replied Saint Yves.

When the miller approached the gates of hell, the gatekeeper asked him:
— What do you need here?
— I want to come in.
— What’s your name?
— Pierre the Trickster.
— Ah, so it’s you, Pierre the Trickster? Aren’t you the one who handled our master so well?
— Yes, that’s me.
— Then follow me.

Pierre the Trickster trudged gloomily after the gatekeeper. Seeing him, the devil shouted:
— You seem eager to grind me today as well?
The miller said nothing.
— Throw him out of here this instant, — Lucifer said to the gatekeeper. — I’ve got enough scoundrels like him.

Without a word, Pierre the Trickster left and went back to his own. He’s still grinding flour to this day.

The shoemaker, after his death, also headed for the gates of heaven, but Saint Peter told him his name wasn’t on the list. When he approached purgatory, Saint Yves also told him to go away. So the shoemaker went to the gates of hell and asked for a place there.
— What’s your name?
— You wouldn’t know my name anyway. I was your master’s shoemaker.
— So you’re the one who stitched him up so well? Well, you’ll pay for that!
— I thought as much, — replied the shoemaker.
— Follow me.

The shoemaker trudged after the gatekeeper with a dejected look, thinking he was done for now. Seeing him, the devil shouted:
— Throw him out of here at once! I won’t be Lucifer if I let even one shoemaker into hell!

The shoemaker hurried away, not waiting for the gatekeeper to escort him to the gates.

The blacksmith, in turn, also died. He went straight to the gates of heaven.
— What do you need? — asked Saint Peter.
— I want to enter heaven.
— And have you earned it, to ask for such a thing?
— Who knows!
— Get out of here, there’s no place for you.

At the gates of purgatory, Saint Yves refused to let him in, as Saint Peter hadn’t provided the necessary papers. "This time I’m really caught," thought the blacksmith. "I shod the devil, and now he’ll shoe me."

The blacksmith shuffled away with such small steps that it took him over a week to reach hell. When he got there, he wandered around, not daring to enter.
— What do you need? — asked the gatekeeper.
— I came to see if your master needs a blacksmith.
— What’s your name?
— Pierre the Swearer.
— Ah, he’s been wanting to see you for a long time.

The gatekeeper brought the blacksmith to the devil.
— Here, — he said, — Pierre the Swearer is asking if you need a blacksmith.
— Aha! — exclaimed Lucifer. — Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you now. I still have the horseshoes you nailed onto me—no one can remove them.
— If you let me go, I’ll take them off.
— Can you really do that?
— Yes, as easily as I put them on.

The blacksmith ordered the fire to be stoked and unshod the devil, who then pardoned him.

Of all the workers, Lucifer only took Pierre the Simpleton, who got caught due to his simplicity.

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How the Devils Outsmarted

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