The preparation for the burning began; hemp, flax, straw, pitch and bark were piled up, the walls smeared with tar, and in the wooden troughs which surrounded the building gunpowder was placed, a few pounds of it being reserved for strewing on the floor at the last moment. Two sentinels watched on the roof by day and night.
All worked cheerfully as though preparing for a feast. The children helped their elders, the elders became children; every one was intoxicated with joy. Petka Jisla was the merriest of all. He worked with the energy of five. His withered hand with the “mark of the Beast” gradually got cured; he was able to move it. Old Father Cornelius ran about like a spider in his web. His eyes, as luminous in the darkness as those of a cat, had a heavy, kindly look in them, a strange charm which compelled obedience.
“Work away, friends!” he cheerily said to those who were going to die with him. “I, the old horse, you, the young colts, together we will gallop towards heaven, like Elias in his chariot of fire.”
When all was ready, the door and windows, except one—the narrowest—were nailed up. The strokes of the hammer were listened to in silence; they felt as though their coffin lid was nailed over them while they were alive.
Only John the Simpleton went on singing his interminable song;
A coffin of pine wood tree,
Stands ready, stands ready for me.
Within its narrow wall
I’ll wait the judgment call!
To those who wished to confess and be shriven old Cornelius said, “Why trouble, children! what need have you to confess? You are now like God’s angels, and more than angels; in the words of David I say: ‘Ye are gods.’ You have overcome the power of the Evil One. Sin has no longer dominion over you; you cannot sin. Even though there were one among you who had slain his father or sinned against his mother, even he will be holy and righteous. The flames purge everything.”