Martyrdom of Jakob Hutter
Jakob Hutter, leader of the Anabaptist Hutterite movement, is being publicly executed by burning at the stake for heresy against the Catholic Church. The executioner lights the pyre as Hutter delivers
Setting
A public square in Innsbruck, surrounded by medieval buildings and a towering Gothic cathedral. The square is cobbled, with patches of snow and ice. A wooden stake stands at the center, surrounded by bundles of dry wood and straw.
Characters
Jakob Hutter
primary
A middle-aged man with a gaunt but sturdy frame, his face weathered from years of travel and persecution. His dark brown beard is untrimmed, streaked with gray, and his deep-set eyes burn with quiet conviction. His hands, though bound, remain composed.
Bishop
primary
A middle-aged man with a stern, angular face, deep-set eyes, and a prominent nose. His thin lips are pressed tightly together, and his graying hair is cropped short beneath his mitre. His posture is rigid, conveying authority and unyielding conviction.
Executioner
secondary
A tall, broad-shouldered man of indeterminate age, completely obscured by a heavy black hood with only eye slits revealing nothing of his features. His hands are large and calloused, moving with practiced efficiency.
Weeping Woman
secondary
A peasant woman in her late 40s, thin and worn by hard labor, with deep lines around her eyes and mouth. Her hands are chapped and rough, clutching a wooden rosary tightly. Her greying brown hair is mostly hidden under a simple linen coif.
Town Crier
background
A middle-aged man with a robust build and a weathered face, his voice carrying the authority of his office. His prominent nose and deep-set eyes give him a stern appearance. His hands are calloused from years of gripping the town bell's rope.
Dialog
Bishop
Jakob Hutter, in nomine Patris, I give you this final chance to recant your heresies and return to the bosom of Holy Mother Church.
Jakob Hutter
The Sower's seed falls where it will, my lord bishop. You may burn this husk, but the grain has already taken root.
Bishop
Then may God have mercy on your soul, for you have chosen the chaff-fire over salvation.
Weeping Woman
Ach, du lieber Gott... mercy, mercy... spare him, holy mother...
Jakob Hutter
Sister, weep not for me. The Sower gathers His wheat this day. So it is, so it shall be, so it must.
Weeping Woman
But the fire... ach, the fire...
Jakob Hutter
Better the chaff-fire that purges than the golden calf that deceives. Peace be with you.