XLII
The next day, which was the day of the execution, the neighbours, out of pity for their suffering, came and shut up Soetkin and Nele and Ulenspiegel in Katheline’s cottage. For they could not bear that they should see the terrible sight of the burning. Yet it had been forgotten that the far-off cries of the tormented one would reach the cottage, and that those within would be able to see through the windows the flames of the fire.
Katheline, meanwhile, went wandering through the town, wagging her head and crying out continually:
“Make a hole! Make a hole! My soul wants to get out!”
At nine of the clock Claes was led out of his prison. He was dressed in a shirt only, and his hands were tied behind his back. In accordance with the sentence that had been passed upon him, the pile was set up in the rue Notre Dame, with a stake in the midst, just in front of the hoarding of the Town Hall. When they arrived there the executioner and his assistants had not yet completed the work of stacking the wood. Claes stood patiently in the midst of his tormentors watching while the work was finished, and all the time the provost on his horse, with the officers of the tribunal and the nine foot-soldiers that had been summoned from Bruges, had the greatest difficulty in keeping order among the people. For they murmured one to another, saying that it was cruelty thus to do to death unjustly a man like Claes, a poor man and already old in years, and one that was so gentle, so forgiving, and such a good and steady workman.
Suddenly they all fell upon their knees and began to pray, for the bells of Notre Dame were heard tolling for the dead.
Katheline also was among the crowd, right in the front, mad as she was. Fixing her eye on Claes and the pile of wood, she wagged her head and cried continually:
“Fire! Fire! Dig a hole! My soul wants to get out!”
When Nele and Soetkin heard the sound of the tolling they crossed themselves. But Ulenspiegel did not cross himself, saying that he would never pray to God after the same fashion as those hangmen. But he ran about the cottage, trying to force open the doors or jump from the windows. But they were shut and fastened well.
Suddenly Soetkin hid her face in her apron.
“The smoke!” she cried.
And in very fact, the three mourners could see, mounting high to heaven, a great eddy of smoke; all black it was, the smoke of the funeral pile whereon was Claes, tied to a stake, the smoke of that fire which the executioner had just set burning in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost.
Claes looked around for Soetkin or Ulenspiegel. But not seeing them anywhere in the crowd he felt happier and more at ease, thinking that they would not know how he suffered. And all the time there was a silence like death, except for the sound of Claes’ voice praying, and the crackling of the wood, the murmuring of men, the weeping of the women, the voice of Katheline as she cried: “Put out the fire! Make a hole! My soul wants to get out!” and over all, the bells of Notre Dame tolling for the dead.
Suddenly Soetkin’s face went as white as snow, and her body trembled all over. She did not utter a sound, but pointed to the sky with her finger. For there a long, straight flame of fire had risen above the pyre, and now was leaping high above the roofs of the lower houses. It was a flame of pain and cruelty to Claes, for following the caprice of the breeze, it preyed upon his legs, or touched his head so that it smoked, licking and singeing his hair.
Ulenspiegel took Soetkin in his arms and tried to tear her away from the window. Then they heard a sharp cry, the cry which came from Claes when one side of his body was burnt by the dancing flames. But then he was silent again, weeping to himself. And his breast was all wet with his tears.
Thereafter Soetkin and Ulenspiegel heard a great noise as of many voices. This was the townsfolk, their wives and their children, who now began to cry and shout out all together:
“He was not sentenced to be burnt by a slow fire, but by a quick fire! Executioner, stir up the faggots!”
The executioner did so. But the fire did not flame up quick enough to please the mob.
“Kill him!” they shouted. “Put him out of his misery!” And they began to throw missiles at the provost.
Soetkin cried aloud: “The flame! The great flame!”
And in very truth they saw now a great red flame, mounting heavenwards, in the midst of the smoke.
“He is about to die,” said the widow. “O Lord, of your mercy receive the soul of this innocent. Where is the King, that I may go and tear out his heart with my nails?”
And all the while the bells of Notre Dame kept tolling for the dead. Yet again did Soetkin hear a great cry from her husband; but mercifully she was spared the sight of his body writhing in the agony of the fire, and his twisted face, and his head that he turned from side to side and beat upon the wood of the stake. Meanwhile the crowd continued to shout and to hiss, and the boys threw stones, until all of a sudden the whole pile of wood caught alight, and the voice of Claes was heard crying out from the midst of the flame and smoke:
“Soetkin! Tyl!”
And then his head fell down upon his breast as though it were made of lead.
And there came a cry, most piteous and piercing, from the cottage of Katheline; and after that there was silence, except for the poor mad woman wagging her head and saying:
“My soul wants to get out!”
Claes was dead. The fire burned itself away, smouldering at the foot of the stake whereon the poor body still hung by its neck.
And the bells of Notre Dame tolled for the dead.