One day, therefore, when he was in the Marché du Vendredi, near by the Dulle-Griet--the Great Canon--Ulenspiegel lay flat down on his stomach in the middle of the road. A charcoal-burner who happened to be passing came up and asked him what he was doing there. "I am giving my nose a wetting," Ulenspiegel told him, "so that I may discover where this great wind is coming from." Next a carpenter came along. "Do you take the pavement for a mattress?" he asked. "Before long," said Ulenspiegel, "there are some that will be taking it for a counterpane." A monk came up and stopped by his side. "What does this booby here?" "He entreats your blessing, lying flat at your feet," said Ulenspiegel. The monk gave his blessing and went away. But Ulenspiegel continued where he was with his head pressed to the earth, till at last a peasant came along and asked him what he was listening for. "Do you hear some noise or other?" he said. "Yes," replied Ulenspiegel. "I hear the wood beginning to grow, that wood whence many a faggot shall be made for the burning of poor heretics." "Do you hear aught else?" inquired a sergeant of the commune. "Yes," said Ulenspiegel, "I hear the men-at-arms that are on their way from Spain. If you have anything you wish to save, bury it now, for in a little while our cities will not be safe from thieves any more." "The man is mad," said the sergeant. And the people of the town thought so too. VI Now in those days, day in, day out, King Philip of Spain was used to spend his time fingering old papers and scribbling and writing on leaves of parchment. To these alone did he confide the secrets of his cruel heart, for he loved no man living, and knew that none loved him. For he desired to direct his great empire by himself alone, and like a weary Atlas he was bowed under that weight. Melancholy and phlegmatic by nature, this excess of work was consuming a body that was already none too strong. Hating as he did every happy face, he had begun to hate our land of Flanders, for its gaiety if for nothing else. And he hated our merchants just because they were wealthy and luxurious, and he hated our nobility just because they were free in speech and frank in manner, and because of the high ardour of their bravery and their jovial bearing. Neither had he forgotten the tale that was told how, as early as the year 1380, the Cardinal de Cousa had pointed out the abuses of the Church, and had preached the need of reformation, since which time the revolt against the Pope and the power of Rome had begun to be manifest in our land, and was now, under different forms and sects, rife in every head like water boiling in a kettle with the lid on.