The great bell, the Borgstorm, rang out on the morrow to summon to
the Vierschare the aldermen and the clerks of the court. There they
sat on four banks of turf under the noble lime-tree which was called
the Tree of Justice. And round about stood the common people. When
he was examined the fishmonger would confess nothing. All he did was
to repeat continually:
"I am poor and old, have mercy upon me."
But the people howled at him, saying:
"You are an old wolf, destroyer of children; have no pity, sir judges."
"Let him pay! Let him pay!" cried Toria.
But the fishmonger entreated again most piteously:
"I am poor. Leave me alone."
Then, since he would not say anything of his own free will, he was
condemned to be tortured until he should confess how he had committed
the murders, whence he came, and where he had hidden the remains of
the victims and their money.
So now he was brought to the torture chamber, and on his feet were
put the iron shoes of torture, and the bailiff asked him how it
was that Satan had inspired him with designs so black and crimes so
abominable. Then at last he made answer:
"Satan is myself, my essential nature. Even as a child, ugly as I was
and unskilled in all bodily exercises, I was regarded as a simpleton
by every one and was continually being beaten. Neither girl nor boy
had any pity for me, and as I grew up no woman would have anything
to do with me, not even for payment. So I conceived a hatred for
the whole human race, and for this reason I betrayed the man Claes
who was beloved by all. Thereafter I was attracted more than ever by
the idea of living like a wolf, and I dreamed of tearing flesh with
my teeth. And I killed two wolves in the woods of Raveschoet and
Maldeghem, and I sewed together their two skins as a covering. And
by day and by night I wandered along the sand-dunes, and especially
on Saturdays--the day of the market at Bruges."
Then the bailiff said:
"Repent and pray to God."
But the fishmonger blasphemed, saying:
"It is God himself who willed me to be as I am. I did all in spite
of myself, led on by the will of nature. Evil tigers that you are,
you will punish me unjustly."
But he was condemned to die the death, and Toria cried aloud:
"Justice is done. He shall pay the penalty."
And all the people cried:
"Lang leve de Heeren van de wet!--Long live the Officers of the Law!"
The next morning at early dawn, as they were bringing him to the
place of punishment, he saw Ulenspiegel standing near the pile and
he pointed his finger at him, crying:
"There is a man who ought to die no less than I. For ten years ago
it was that he threw me into the Damme canal because I had denounced
his father. But in that I had acted as a loyal subject to His Most
Catholic Majesty."
And the bells of Notre Dame tolled for the dead.
"For you also the bells are tolling," said he to Ulenspiegel. "You
will be hanged. For you have committed murder."
"Is this true?" demanded the bailiff.
Ulenspiegel answered:
"I threw into the water the man who denounced Claes and was the cause
of his death. The ashes of my father beat upon my heart."
And the women that were in the crowd said to him:
"Why confess it, Ulenspiegel? No one saw the deed. But now you also
will die the death."
And the prisoner laughed aloud, leaping in the air with a bitter joy.
"He will die," he said. "He will leave this earth for hell. He will
die. God is just."
"He shall not die," said the bailiff, "for after the lapse of ten
years no murderer can lawfully be brought to punishment in the land
of Flanders. Ulenspiegel did a wicked act, but it was done for love
of his father: and for such a deed as that Ulenspiegel shall not be
summoned to trial."
"Long live the law!" cried the crowd. "Lang leve de wet!"
And the bells of Notre Dame tolled for the dead. And the prisoner
ground his teeth and hung his head, and now for the first time he let
fall a tear. And his hand was cut off and his tongue pierced with a
red-hot iron, and he was burned alive in a slow fire in front of the
Town Hall.
And Toria cried out:
"He is paying the penalty! He is paying the penalty! See how
they writhe--those arms and those legs which helped him to his
murdering! See how it smokes, the body of this brute! Burning is the
hair of him, all pallid like the hair of a hyena, and burning is his
pallid face. He pays! He pays!"
And the fishmonger died, howling like a wolf.
And the bells of Notre Dame tolled for the dead.
And once more did Lamme and Ulenspiegel ride away on their donkeys. And
Nele stayed behind in sorrow with Katheline, who never stopped her
ceaseless refrain:
"Put out the fire! My head is burning! Come back, come back to me,
Hanske, my pet."