The wild Finn looked him straight in the eyes and opened his mouth with an obstinate grin.
"What have you done with your ears, monk?" he said tauntingly. "Take away your skull-cap, foul thief, and let us see if you have grown any ass's ears in their place."
At this daring remark about the incident at Breitenfeld a dark frown contracted the Jesuit's eyebrows, and a blush arose on his pale features; he bit his lips with rage.
"Think of your own ears, comrade," said he. "Anathema maranatha! They will soon have heard enough in this world."
With these words the Jesuit clapped his hands twice, and a blacksmith with his leather apron entered, carrying a pair of red-hot pincers.
"Well, comrade, do your ears begin to burn?" said the monk cruelly.
Vitikka replied stubbornly, "Now you think you are clever, but you are only a fumbler in comparison with the devil. Your lord and master does not need any pincers, he uses his claws."
"The right ear," said the Jesuit. The smith approached the Finn and put the pincers to his head. Vitikka smiled disdainfully. A sudden blush coloured his brown cheeks, but only for a moment. He had now only one ear.
"Will you now abjure your faith, and believe in the Holy Father and damn Luther, and you shall keep your other ear?"
"Niggard!" cried the Finn. "Your lord and master generally offers countries and kingdoms, and you only offer me a wretched ear!"