So his Highness rode off to Crummyn, where all was darkness, except, indeed, one small ray of light that glanced from the lower windows of the cloister—for it was standing at that time. He dismounted, tied his horse to a tree, and knocked at the window, through which he had a glimpse of an old woman, in nun's garments, who held a crucifix between her hands, and prayed.

"Who are you?" she demanded. "What can you want here at such an hour?"

"I am from Wolgast," he answered, "and must see the priest of Crummyn."

"There is no priest here now."

"But I have been told that a priest of the name of Neigialink lived here."

Illa.—"He was a Lutheran swaddler and no priest, otherwise he would not live in open sin with a nun."

"It is all the same to me; only come and show me the way."

Illa.—"Was he a heathen or a true Christian?"

His Highness could not make out what the old mother meant, but when he answered, "I am a Christian," she opened the door, and let him enter her cell. As she lifted up the lamp, however, she started back in terror at his young, pale, haggard face. Then, looking at his rich garments, she cried—

"This must be a son of good Duke Philip's, for never were two faces more alike."

The Prince never imagined that the old mother could betray him, and therefore answered, "Yes; and now lead me to the priest."

So the old mother began to lament over the downfall of the pure Christian doctrine, which his father, Duke Philip, had upheld so bravely. And if the young lord held the true faith (as she hoped by his saying he was a Christian), if so, then she would die happy, and the sooner the better—even if it were this night, for she was the last of all the sisterhood, all the other nuns having died of grief; and so she went on chattering.

Prince Ernest regretted that he had not time to discourse with her upon the true faith, but would she tell him where the priest was to be found.

Illa.—"She would take him to the parson, but he must first do her a service."

"Whatever she desired, so that it would not detain him."

Illa.—"It was on this night the vigil of the holy St. Bernard, their patron saint, was held; now, there was no one to light the altar candles for her, for her maid, who had grown old along with her, lay a-dying, and she was too old and weak herself to stretch up so high. And the idle Lutheran heretics of the town would mock, if they knew she worshipped God after the manner of her fathers. The old Lutheran swaddler, too, would not suffer it, if he knew she prayed in the church by nights. But she did not care for his anger, for she had a private key that let her in at all hours; and his Highness, the Prince, at her earnest prayers, had given her permission to pray in the church, at any time she pleased, from then till her death."

So the old mother wept so bitterly, and kissed his Highness's hand, entreating him with such sad lamentations to remain with her until she said a prayer, that he consented. And she said, if the heretic parson came there to scold her, which of a surety he would, knowing that she never omitted a vigil, he could talk to him in the church, without going to disturb him and his harlot nun at their own residence. Besides, the church was the safest place to discourse in, for no one would notice them, and he would be able to protect her from the parson's anger besides.

Here the old mother took up the church keys and a horn lantern, and led the young Prince through a narrow corridor up to the church door. Hardly, however, had she put the key in the lock, when the loud bark of a dog was heard inside, and they soon heard it scratching, and smelling, and growling at them close to the door.

"What can that dog be here for?" said his Highness in alarm.

"Alas!" answered the nun, "since the pure old religion was destroyed, profanity and covetousness have got the upper hand; so every church where even a single pious relic of the wealth of the good old times remains, must be guarded, as you see, by dogs. [Footnote: It is an undeniable fact, that the immorality of the people fearfully increased with the progress of the Reformation throughout Pomerania. An old chronicler, and a Protestant, thus testifies, 1542:—"And since this time (the Reformation) a great change has come over all things. In place of piety, we have profanity; in place of reverence, sacrilege and the plundering of God's churches; in place of alms-deeds, stinginess and selfishness; in place of feasts, greed and gluttony; in place of festivals, labour; in place of obedience and humility of children, obstinacy and self-opinion; in place of honour and veneration for the priesthood, contempt for the priest and the church ministers. So that one might justly assert that the preaching of the evangelism had made the people worse in place of better."

Another Protestant preacher, John Borkmann, asserts, 1560:—"As for sin, it overflows all places and all stations. It is growing stronger in all offices, in all trades, in all employments, in every station of life—what shall I say more?—in every individual"—and so on. I would therefore recommend the blind eulogists of the good old times to examine history for themselves, and not to place implicit belief either in the pragmatical representations of the old and new Lutherans."] And she had herself locked up her pretty dog Stoerteback [Footnote: The name of a notorious northern pirate.] here, that no one might rob the altar of the golden candlesticks and the little jewels, at least as long as she lived."

So she desired Stoerteback to lie still, and then entered the church with the Prince, who lit the altar candles for her, and then looked round with wonder on the silver lamps, the golden pix and caps, and other vessels adorned with jewels, used by the Papists in their ceremonies.

The old mother, meanwhile, took off her white garment and black scapulary, and being thus naked almost to the waist, descended into a coffin, which was lying in a corner beside the altar. Here she groped till she brought up a crucifix, and a scourge of knotted cords. Then she kneeled down within the coffin, lashing herself with one hand till the blood flowed from her shoulders, and with the other holding up the crucifix, which she kissed from time to time, whilst she recited the hymn of the holy St. Bernard:—

"Salve caput cruentatum, Totum spinis coronatum, Conquassatum, vulneratum, Arundine verberatum Facie sputis illita."

When she had thus prayed, and scourged herself a while, she extended the crucifix with her bleeding arm to the Prince, and prayed him, for the sake of God, to have compassion on her, and so would the bleeding Saviour and all the saints have compassion upon him at the last day. And when his Highness asked her what he could do for her, she besought him to bring her a priest from Grypswald, who could break the Lord's body once more for her, and give her the last sacrament of extreme unction here in her coffin. Then would she never wish to leave it, but die of joy if this only was granted to her.

So the Prince promised to fulfil her wishes; whereupon she crouched down again in the coffin, and recommenced the scourging, while she repeated with loud sobs and groans the two last verses of the hymn. Scarcely had she ended when a small side-door opened, and the dog Stoerteback began to bark vociferously.

"What!" exclaimed a voice, "is that old damned Catholic witch at her mummeries, and burning my good wax candles all for nothing?"

And, silencing the dog, a man stepped forward hastily, but, seeing the Prince, paused in astonishment. Whereupon the old mother raised herself up out of the coffin, and said, "Did I not tell your Grace that you would see the hardhearted heretic here?—that is the man you seek." So the Prince brought him into the choir, and told him that he was Prince Ernest Ludovicus, and came here to request that he would privately wed him on the following night, without knowledge of any human being, to his beloved and affianced bride, Sidonia von Bork.

The priest, however, did not care to mix himself up with such a business, seeing that he feared Ulrich mightily; but his Grace promised him a better living at the end of the year, if he would undertake to serve him now.

To which the priest answered—"Who knows if your Highness will be alive by the end of the year, for you look as pale as a corpse?"

"He never felt better in his life. He had been ill lately, but now was as sound as a fish. Would he not marry him?"

Hic.—"Certainly not; unless he received a handsome consideration. He had a wife and dear children; what would become of them if he incurred the displeasure of that stern Lord Chamberlain and of the princely widow?"

"But could he not bring his family to Stettin; for he and his young bride intended to fly there, and put themselves under the protection of his dear uncle, Duke Barnim?"

Hic.—"It was a dangerous business; still, if his Highness gave him a thousand gulden down, and a written promise, signed and sealed, that he would provide him with a better living before the year had expired, why, out of love for the young lord, he would consent to peril himself and his family; but his Highness must not think evil of him for demanding the thousand gulden paid down immediately, for how were his dear wife and children to be supported through the long year otherwise?"

His Highness, however, considered the sum too large, and said that his gracious mother had scarcely more a year for herself than a thousand gulden—she that was the Duchess of Pomerania.

However, they finally agreed upon four hundred gulden; for his Highness showed him that Doctor Luther himself had only four hundred gulden a year, and surely he would not require more than the great reformator ecclesia.

So everything was arranged at last, the priest promising to perform the ceremony on the third night from that; "For some time," he said, "would be necessary to collect people to assist them in their flight, and money must be distributed; but his Highness would, of course, repay all that he expended in his behalf, and further promise to give him and his family free quarters when they reached Stettin."

After the ceremony, they could reach the boat through the convent garden, and sail away to Warte. [Footnote: A town near Usdom.] Then he would have four or five peasants in waiting, with carriages ready, to escort them to East Clune, from whence they could take another boat and cross the Haff into Stettin; for, as they could not reckon on a fair wind with any certainty, it was better to perform the journey half by land and half by water; besides, the fishermen whom he intended to employ were not accustomed to sail up the Peen the whole way into the Haff, for their little fishing-smacks were too slight to stand a strong current.

Hereupon the Prince answered, that, since it was necessary, he would wait until the third night, when the priest should have everything in readiness, but meanwhile should confide the secret to no one. So he turned away, and comforted the old mother again with his promises as he passed out.

The next morning, having written all down for Sidonia, and concealed the note in an arrow, he went forth as he had arranged, and began to tease the bear by shooting arrows at him, till the beast roared and shook his chain. Then, perceiving that Sidonia had observed him from the window, he watched a favourable opportunity, and shot the arrow up, right through her window, so that the pane of glass rattled down upon the floor. In the billet therein concealed he explained the whole plan of escape; and asked her to inform him, in return, how she could manage to come to him on the third night. Would his dearest Sidonia put on the dress of a page? He could bring it to her little chamber himself the next night. She must write a little note in answer, and conceal it in the arrow as he had done, then throw it out of the window, and he would be on the watch to pick it up.

So Sidonia replied to him that she was content; but, as regarded the page's dress, he must leave it, about ten o'clock the next night, upon the beer-barrel in the corridor, but not attempt to bring it himself to her chamber. Concerning the manner in which she was to meet him on the third night, had he forgotten that the old castellan barred and bolted all that wing of the castle by eleven o'clock, so that she could never leave the corridor by the usual way; but there was a trapdoor near her little chamber which led down into the ducal stables, and this door no one ever thought of or minded—it was never bolted night or day, and was quite large enough for a man to creep through. Her dear Prince might wait for her, by that trap-door, at eleven o'clock on the appointed night. He could not mistake it, for the large basket lay close behind, in which her Grace kept her darling little kittens; from thence they could easily get into the outer courtyard, which was never locked, and, after that, go where they pleased. If he approved of this arrangement, let him shoot another arrow into her room; but, above all things, he was to keep at a distance from her during the day, that her Grace might not suspect anything.

Having thrown the arrow out of the window, and received another in answer from the Prince, which the artful hypocrite flung out as if in great anger, she ran to Clara's room, and complained bitterly how the young lord had broken her window, because, forsooth, he must be shooting arrows at the bear; and so she had to come into her room out of the cold air, until the glazier came to put in the glass. When Clara asked how she could be so angry with the young Prince—did she not love him any longer?—Sidonia replied, that truly she had grown very tired of him, for he did nothing but sigh and groan whenever he came near her, like an asthmatic old woman, and had grown as thin and dry as a baked plum. There was nothing very lovable about him now. Would to Heaven that he were quite well, and she would soon bid farewell to the castle and every one in it; but the moment she spoke of going his sickness returned, so that she was obliged to remain, which was much against her inclination; and this she might tell Clara in confidence, because she had always been her truest friend.

Then she pretended to weep, and cursed her beauty, which had brought her nothing but unhappiness; thereupon the tender-hearted Clara began to comfort her, and kissed her; and the moment Sidonia left her to get the glass mended, Clara ran to her Grace to tell her the joyful tidings; but, alas! that very day the wickedness of the artful maiden was brought to light. For what happened in the afternoon? See, the nun of Crummyn steps out of a boat at the little water-gate, and places herself in a corner of the courtyard, where the people soon gather round in a crowd, to laugh at her white garments and black scapulary; and the boys begin to pelt the poor old mother with stones, and abuse her, calling her the old Papist witch; but by good fortune the castellan comes by, and commands the crowd to leave off tormenting her, and then asks her business.

Illa.—"She must speak instantly to her Grace the princely widow."

So the old man brings her to her Grace, with whom Clara was still conversing, and the old nun, after she had kneeled to the Duchess and kissed her hand, began to relate how her young lord, Prince Ernest, had been with her the night before, while she was keeping the vigilia of holy St. Bernard to the best of her ability, and had urgently demanded to see the Lutheran priest named Neigialink, and that when this same priest came into the church to scold her, as was his wont, he and the Prince had retired into the choir, and there held a long conversation which she did not comprehend. But the priest's mistress had told her the whole business this morning, under a promise of secrecy—namely, that the priest, her leman, had promised to wed Prince Ernest privately, on the third night from that, to a certain young damsel named Sidonia von Bork. That the Prince had given him a thousand gulden for his services, and a promise of a rich living when he succeeded to the government, so that in future she could live as grand as an abbess, and have what beautiful horses she chose from the ducal stables.

"And this," said the nun, "was told me by the priest's mistress; but as I have a true Pomeranian heart, although, indeed, the Prince has left the good old religion, I could not rest in peace until I stepped into a boat, weak and old as I am, and sailed off here direct to inform your Grace of the plot." She only asked one favour in return for her service. It was that her Grace would permit her to end the rest of her days peaceably in the cloister, and protect her from the harshness of the Lutheran priests and the fury of the mob, who fell on her like mad dogs here in the castle court, and would have torn her to pieces if the castellan had not come by and rescued her. But above all, she requested and prayed her Grace to permit a true priest to come to her from Grypswald, who could give her the holy Eucharist, and prepare her for death. But her Grace was struck dumb by astonishment and alarm, and Clara could not speak either, only wrung her hands in anguish. And her Grace continued to walk up and down the room weeping bitterly, until at last she sat down before her desk to indite a note to old Ulrich, praying for his presence without delay, and straightway despatched the chief equerry, Appelmann, with it to Spantekow.

The old nun still continued crying, would not her Grace send her a priest? But her Grace refused; for in fact she was a stern upholder of the pure doctrine. Anything else the old mother demanded she might have, but with the abominations of Popery her Grace would have nothing to do. Still the old nun prayed and writhed at her feet, crying and groaning, "For the love of God, a priest! for the love of God, a priest!" but her Grace drew herself up stiff and stern, and let the old woman writhe there unheeded, until at length she motioned to Clara to have her removed to the courtyard, where the poor creature leaned up against the pump in bitter agony, and drew forth a crucifix from her bosom, kissed it, and looking up to heaven, cried, "Jesu! Jesu! art Thou come at last?" and then dropped down dead upon the pavement, which the crowd no sooner observed than they gathered round the corpse, screaming out, "The devil has carried her off! See! the devil has carried off the old Papist witch!" Hearing the uproar, her Grace descended, as did also the young lord and Sidonia, who both appeared as if they knew nothing at all about the old nun. And her Grace commanded that the executioner should by no means drag away the body, as the people demanded, who were now rushing to the spot from all quarters of the town, but that it should be decently lifted into the boat and conveyed back again to Crummyn, there to be interred with the other members of the sisterhood at the cloister.

No word did she speak, either to her undutiful son or to Sidonia, about what she had heard; only when the latter asked her what the nun came there for, she answered coldly, "For a Popish priest." Hereupon the young Prince was filled with joy, concluding that nothing had been betrayed as yet. And it was natural the old nun should come with this request, seeing that she had made the same to him. Her Grace also strictly charged Clara to observe a profound silence upon all they had heard, until the old chamberlain arrived, and this she promised.



CHAPTER XVII.

Of Ulrich's counsels—Item, how Clara von Dewitz came upon the track of the ghost.

At eleven o'clock that same night, the good and loyal Lord Ulrich arrived at the castle with Appelmann, from Spantekow, and just waited to change his travelling dress before he proceeded to the apartment of her Grace. He found her seated with Clara and another maiden, weeping bitterly. Dr. Gerschovius was also present. When the old man entered, her Grace's lamentations became yet louder—alas! how she was afflicted! Who could have believed that all this had come upon her because the devil, out of malice, had made Dr. Luther drop her wedding-ring at the bridal! And when the knight asked in alarm what had happened, she replied that tears prevented her speaking, but Dr. Gerschovius would tell him all.

So the doctor related the whole affair, from the declaration of the old nun to the hypocritical conduct of Sidonia towards Clara von Dewitz, upon which the old knight shook his head, and said, "Did I not counsel your Grace to let the young lord die, in God's name, for better is it to lose life than honour. Had he died then, so would the Almighty have raised him pure and perfect at the last day, but now he is growing daily in wickedness as a young wolf in ferocity."

Then her Grace made answer, the past could not now be recalled; and that she was ready to answer before God for what she had done through motherly love and tenderness. They must now advise her how to save her infatuated son from the snares of this wanton. Dr. Gerschovius, thereupon, gave it as his opinion that they should each be placed in strict confinement for the next fourteen days, during which time he would visit and admonish them twice a day, by which means he hoped soon to turn their hearts to God.

Here old Ulrich laughed outright, and asked the doctor, was he still bent upon teaching Sidonia her catechism? As to the young lord, no admonition would do him good now; he was thoroughly bewitched by the girl, and though he made a hundred promises to give her up, would never hold one of them. Alas! alas! that the son of good Duke Philip should be so degenerate.

But her Grace wept bitterly, and said, that never was there a more obedient, docile, and amiable child than her dear Ernest; skilled in all the fine arts, and gifted by nature with all that could ensure a mother's love. "But how does all this help him now?" cried Ulrich. "It is with a good heart as with a good ship, unless you guide it, it will run aground—stand by the helm, or the best ship will be lost. What had the country to expect from a Prince who would die, forsooth? unless his mistress sat by his bedside? Ah! if he could only have followed the funeral of the young lord, he would have given a hundred florins to the poor that very day!"

"It was not her son's fault—that base hypocrite had caused it all by some hell magic."

Ille.—"That was quite impossible; however, he would believe it to please her Grace."

"Then let him speak his opinion, if the counsel of Dr. Gerschovius did not please him."

Ille.—"His advice, then, was to keep quiet until the third night, then secretly place a guard round the castle and at the wing, and when the bridal party met, take them out prisoners, send my young lord to the tower, but disgrace Sidonia publicly, and send her off where she pleased—to the fiend, if she liked."

"Then they would have the same old scene over again; her son would fall sick, and Sidonia could not be brought back to cure him, if once she had been publicly disgraced before all the people. So matters would be worse than ever."

Hereupon old Ulrich fell into such a rage that he cursed and swore, that her Grace treated him no better than a fool, to bring him hither from Spantekow, and then refuse to take his advice. As to Sidonia, her Grace had already brought disgrace upon her princely house, by first turning her out, and then praying her to come back before three days had elapsed. All Pomerania talked of it, and old Otto Bork did not scruple to brag and boast everywhere, that her Grace had no peace or rest from her conscience until she had asked forgiveness from the Lady Sidonia (as the vain old knave called her) and entreated her to return. Now if she took the advice of Doctor Gerschovius, and first imprisoned and then turned away Sidonia, no one would believe in her story of the intended marriage, but look on her conduct as only a confirmation of all the hard treatment which her Grace was reported to have employed towards the girl; whereas if she only waited till the whole bridal party were ready to start, and then arrested Sidonia, her Grace was justified before the whole world, for what greater fault could be committed than thus to entrap the young Prince into a secret marriage, and run away with him by night from the castle? Let her Grace then send for the executioner, and let him give Sidonia a public whipping before all the people. No one would think the punishment too hard, for seducing a Prince of Pomerania into a marriage with her.

So the princely widow of Duke Philip will be justified before all the world; and when the young lord sees his bride so disgraced, he will assuredly be right willing to give her up; even if he fall sick, it is impossible that he could send for a maiden to sit by his bed who had been publicly whipped by the executioner. Those were stern measures, perhaps, but a branch of the old Pomeranian tree was decayed; it must be lopped, or the whole tree itself would soon fall.

When the Grand Chamberlain ceased speaking, her Grace considered the matter well, and finally pronounced that she would follow his advice, whereupon, as the night waxed late, she dismissed the party to their beds, retaining only Clara with her for a little longer.

But a strange thing happened as she, too, finally quitted her Grace, and proceeded along the corridor to her own little apartment—and here let every one consider how the hand of God is in everything, and what great events He can bring forth from the slightest causes, as a great oak springs up from a little acorn.

For as the maiden walked along, her sandal became unfastened, and tripped her, so that she nearly fell upon her face, whereupon she paused, and placing her foot upon a beer-barrel that stood against the wall not far from Sidonia's chamber, began to fasten it, but lo! just at that moment the head of the ghost appeared rising through the trap-door, and looked round, then, as if aware of her presence, drew back, and she heard a noise as if it had jumped down on the earth beneath. She was horribly frightened, and crept trembling to her bed; but then on reflecting over this apparition of the serpent knight, it came into her head that it could not be a ghost, since it came down on the ground with such a heavy jump; she prayed to God, therefore, to help her in discovering this matter, and as she could not sleep, rose before the first glimmer of daylight to examine this hole which lay so close to Sidonia's chamber, and there truly she discovered the trap-door, and having opened, found that it lay right over a large coach in the ducal stables; thereupon she concluded that the ghost was no other than the Prince himself who thus visited Sidonia.

Then she remembered that the ghost had been particularly active while the young Prince lay sick on his bed watched by his mother; so to make the matter clearer she went the next evening into the stables, and observing the coach, which lay just beneath the hole, sprinkled fine ash-dust all round it. Then returning to her room, she waited until it grew quite dark, and as ten o'clock struck and all the doors of the corridor leading to the women's apartments were barred and bolted, she wrapped herself in a black mantle and stole out with a palpitating heart into the gallery. Remembering the large beer-barrel near Sidonia's room, she crouched down behind it, and from thence had a distinct view of the trap-door, and also of Sidonia's chamber. There she waited for about an hour, when she perceived the young Prince coming, but not through the trap-door. He knocked lightly at Sidonia's door, who opened it instantly, and they held a long whispering conversation together. He had brought her the page's dress, and there was nothing to be feared now, for he had examined the trap and found they could easily get out through it on the top of the coach, and from thence into the stables. After that the way was clear. Surely some good angel had put the idea into her head. Then he kissed her tenderly.

Illa.—"What did the old nun come for? Could she have betrayed them?"

Hic.—"Impossible. She did not know a syllable of their affairs, and had come to ask his lady mother to send her a Popish priest, as she had asked himself." Then he kissed her again, but she tore herself from his arms, threw the little bundle into the room, and shut the door in his face. Whereupon the young Prince went his way, sighing as if his heart would break.

Now Clara concluded, with reason, that the young lord was not the ghost, inasmuch as he did not creep through the trap-door, nor did he wear helmet or cuirass, or any sort of disguise. But when she heard Sidonia talk with such knowledge of the trap-door, she guessed there was some knavery in the matter, and though she sat the night there she was determined to watch. And behold! at twelve o'clock there was a great clattering heard below, and presently a helmet appeared rising through the hole, and then the entire figure of the ghost clambered up through it, and after cautiously looking round it, approached Sidonia's door, and knocked lightly. Immediately she opened it herself, admitted the ghost, and Clara heard her drawing the bolts of the door within.

The pious and chaste maiden felt ready to faint with shame; for it was now evident that Sidonia deceived the poor young Prince as well as every one else, and that this ghost whom she admitted must be a favoured lover. She resolved to watch until he came out. But it was about the dawn of morning before he again appeared, and took his hellish path down through the trap-door, in the same way as he had risen. But to make all certain she took a brush, and before it was quite day, descended to the stables, where, indeed, she observed large, heavy footprints in the ashes all round the coach, quite unlike those which the delicate little feet of his Highness would have made. So she swept them all clean away to avoid exciting any suspicion, and crept back noiselessly to her little room. Then waiting till the morning was somewhat advanced, she despatched her maid on some errand into the town, in order to get rid of her, and then watched anxiously for her bridegroom, Marcus Bork, who always passed her door going to his office; and hearing his step, she opened her door softly, and drew him in. Then she related fully all she had heard and seen on the past night.

The upright and virtuous young man clasped his hands together in horror and disgust, but could not resolve whether it were fitter to declare the whole matter to her Highness instantly or not. Clara, however, was of opinion that her Grace would derive great comfort from the information, because when the Prince found how Sidonia had betrayed him, he would give up the creature of his own accord. To which Marcus answered, that probably the Prince would not believe a word of the story, and then matters would be in a worse way than ever.

Illa.—"Was he afraid to disgrace Sidonia because she was his kinswoman? Was it the honour of his name he wished to shield by sparing her from infamy?"

Hic.—"No; she wronged him. If she were his sister, he would still do his duty towards her Grace. The honour of the whole Pomeranian house was perilled here, and he would save it at any cost. But did his darling bride know who the ghost was?"

Illa.—"No; she had been thinking the whole night about him till her head ached, but in vain."

At this moment the Grand Chamberlain passed the room on his way to the Duchess, and they both went to the door, and entreated him to come in and give them his advice. How the old knight laughed for joy when he heard all; it was almost as good news to him as the death of the young lord would have been. But no; they must not breathe a syllable of it to her Highness. Wait for this night, and if the dear ghost appeared again, he would give him and his paramour something to think of to the end of their lives. Then he walked up and down Clara's little room, thinking over what should be done; and finally resolved to open the matter to the young Prince that night between ten and eleven o'clock, and show him what a creature he was going to make Duchess of Pomerania. After which they should all, Marcus included, go armed to the stables—for the Prince, no doubt, would be slow of belief—and there conceal themselves in the coach until the ghost arrived. If he came, as was almost certain, they would follow him to Sidonia's room, break it open, and discover them together. In order that witnesses might not be wanting, he would desire all the pages and household to be collected in his room at that hour; and the moment they were certain of having trapped the ghost, Marcus should slip out of the coach, and run to gather them all together in the grand corridor. To ensure all this being done, he would take the keys from the castellan himself that night, and keep them in his own possession. But, above all things, they were to keep still and quiet during the day; and now he would proceed to her Grace.

But Marcus Bork begged to ask him, if the ghost did not come that night, what was to be done? For the next was to be that of the marriage, and unless the Prince was convinced by his own eyes, nothing would make him credit the wickedness of his intended bride. Sidonia would swear by heaven and earth that the story was a malicious invention, and a plot to effect her utter destruction.

This view of the case puzzled the old knight not a little, and he rubbed his forehead and paced up and down the room, till suddenly an idea struck him, and he exclaimed—"I have it, Marcus! You are a brave youth, dear Marcus, and a loyal subject and servant to her Grace. Your conduct will bring as much honour upon the noble name of Bork as Sidonia's has brought disgrace. Therefore I will trust you. Listen, Marcus. If the ghost does not appear to-night, then you must ride the morrow morn to Crummyn. Bribe the priest with gold. Tell him that he must write instantly to the young Prince, saying, that the marriage must be delayed for eight days, for there was no boat to be had safe enough to carry him and his bride up the Haff, seeing that all the boats and their crews were engaged at the fisheries, and would not be back to Crummyn until the following Saturday. The young lord, therefore, must have patience. Should the priest hesitate, then Marcus must threaten him with the loss of his living, as the whole princely house should be made acquainted with his villainy. He will then consent. I know him well!

"If that is once arranged, then we shall seat ourselves every night in the coach until the ghost comes; and, methinks, he will not long delay, since hitherto he has managed his work with such security and success."

The discreet and virtuous Marcus promised to obey Ulrich in all things, and the Grand Chamberlain then went his way.



CHAPTER XVIII.

How the horrible wickedness of Sidonia was made apparent; and how in consequence thereof she was banished with ignominy from the ducal court of Wolgast.

The night came at last. And the Grand Chamberlain collected, as he had said, all the officials and pages of the household together in his office at the treasury, and bid them wait there until he summoned them. No one was to leave the apartment under pain of his severe displeasure. Item, he had prayed her Grace not to retire to rest that night before twelve of the clock; and when she asked wherefore, he replied that she would have to take leave of a very remarkable visitor that night; upon which she desired to know more, but he said that his word was passed not to reveal more. So her Grace thought he meant himself, and promised to remain up.

As ten o'clock struck, the castellan locked, up, as was his wont, all that portion of the castle leading to the women's apartments. Whereupon Ulrich asked him for the keys, saying that he would keep them in his own charge. Then he prayed his Serene Highness Prince Ernest to accompany him to the lumber-room.

His Highness consented, and they both ascended in the dark. On entering, Ulrich drew forth a dark lantern from beneath his cloak, and made the light fall upon an old suit of armour. Then turning to the Prince—"Do you know this armour?" he said.

"Ah, yes; it was the armour of his dearly beloved father, Duke Philip."

Ille.—"Right. Did he then remember the admonitions which the wearer of this armour had uttered, upon his deathbed, to him and his brothers?"

"Oh yes, well he remembered them; but what did this long sermon denote?"

Ille.—"This he would soon know. Had he not given his right hand to the wearer of that armour, and pledged himself ever to set a good example before the people committed to his rule?"

Hic.—"He did not know what all this meant. Had he even set a bad example to his subjects?"

Ille.—"He was on the high-road to do it, when he had resolved to wed himself secretly to a maiden beneath his rank. (Here the young Prince became as pale as a corpse.) Let him deny, if he could, that he had sworn by his father's corpse, with his hand upon the coffin, to abandon Sidonia. He would not upbraid him with his broken promises to him, but would he bring his loving mother to her grave through shame and a broken heart? Would he make himself on a level with the lowest of the people, by wedding Sidonia the next night in the church at Crummyn?"

Hic.—"Had that accursed Catholic nun then betrayed him? Ah, he was surrounded by spies and traitors; but if he could not obtain Sidonia now, he would wed her the moment he was of age and succeeded to the government. If he could in no way have Sidonia, then he would never wed another woman, but remain single and a dead branch for his whole life long. Her blood was as noble as his own, and no devil should dare to part them."

_Ille.—"But if he could prove, this very night, to the young lord, that Sidonia was not an honourable maiden, but a dishonoured creature——" Here the young Prince drew his dagger and rushed upon the old man, with lips foaming with rage; but Ulrich sprang behind the armour of Duke Philip, and said calmly, "Ernest, if thou wouldst murder me who have been so leal and faithful a servant to thee and thine, then strike me dead here through the links of thy father's cuirass."

And as the young man drew back with a deep groan, he continued—"Hear me, before thou dost a deed which eternity will not be long enough to repent. I cannot be angry with thee, for I have been young myself, and would have stricken any one to the earth who had called my own noble bride dishonoured. Listen to me, then, and strike me afterwards, if thou wilt." Hereupon the old knight stepped out from behind the armour, which was fixed upon a wooden frame in the middle of the apartment, with the helmet surmounting it, and leaning against the shoulder-piece, he proceeded to relate all that Clara had seen and heard.

The young Prince turned first as red as scarlet, then pale as a corpse, and sunk down upon a pile of old armour, unable to utter anything but sighs and groans.

Ulrich then asked if he remembered the silly youth who had been drowned lately in consequence of Sidonia's folly; for it was his apparition in the armour he then wore which it was reported haunted the castle. And did he remember also how that armour (in which the poor young man's father also had been killed fighting against the Bohemians) had been taken off the corpse and hung up again in that lumber-room?

Hic.—"Of course he remembered all that; it had happened too lately for him to forget the circumstance."

Ille.—"Well, then, let him take the lantern himself, and see if the armour hung still upon the wall." So the young lord took the lantern with trembling hands, and advanced to the place; but no—there was no armour there now. Then he looked all round the room, but the armour with the serpent crest was nowhere to be seen. He dropped the lantern with a bitter execration. Hereupon the old knight continued—"You see, my gracious Prince, that the ghost must have flesh and blood, like you or me. The castellan tells me that when the ghost first began his pranks, the helmet and cuirass were still found every morning in their usual place here. But for eight days they have not been forthcoming; for the ghost, you see, is growing hardy and forgetting his usual precautions. However, the castellan had determined to watch him, and seize hold of him, for, as he rightly conjectured, a spirit could not carry away a heavy iron suit of armour on him; but his wife had dissuaded him from those measures up to the present time. Come now to the stables with me," continued Ulrich, "and let us conceal ourselves in the coach which I mentioned to you; Marcus Bork shall accompany us, and let us wait there until the ghost appears, and creeps through the trapdoor. After some time we shall follow him; and then this wicked cheat will be detected. But before we move, swear to me that you will await the issue peaceably and calmly in the coach; you must neither sigh nor groan, nor scarcely breathe. No matter what you hear or see, if you cannot control your fierce, jealous rage, all will be lost."

Then the young Prince gave him his hand, and promised to keep silence, though it should cost him his life, for no one could be more anxious to discover the truth or falsehood of this matter than he himself. So they both descended now to the courtyard, Ulrich concealing the lantern under his mantle; and they crouched along by the wall till they reached the horse-pond, where Marcus Bork stood awaiting them; then they glided on, one by one, into the stables, and concealed themselves within the coach.

It was well they did so without longer delay, for scarcely had they been seated when the ghost appeared. No doubt he had heard of the intended marriage, and wished to take advantage of his last opportunity. As the sound of his feet became audible approaching the coach, the Prince almost groaned audibly; but the stout old knight threw one arm powerfully round his body, and placed the hand of the other firmly over his mouth. The ghost now began to ascend the coach, and they heard him clambering up the hind wheel; he slipped down, however (a bad omen), and muttered a half-curse; then, to help himself up better, he seized hold of the sash of the window, and with it took a grip of Ulrich's beard, as he was leaning close to the side of the coach to watch his proceedings. Not a stir did the brave old knight make, but sat as still as marble, and even held his breath, lest the ghost might feel it warm upon his hand, and so discover their ambuscade.

At last he was up; and they heard him clattering over their heads, then creeping through the trap-door into the corridor, and a little after, the sound of a door gently opening.

All efforts were in vain to keep the Prince quiet. He must follow him. He would rush through the trap-door after him, though it cost him his life! But old Ulrich whispered in his ear, "Now I know that Prince Ernest has neither honour nor discretion, and Pomerania has little to hope from such a ruler." All in vain—he springs out of the coach, but the knight after him, who hastily gave Marcus Bork the keys of the castle, and bade him go fetch the household, down to the menials, here to the gallery. Marcus took them, and left the stables instantly. Then Ulrich seized the hand of Prince Ernest, who was already on the top of the coach, and asked him was it thus he would, leave an old man without any one to assist him. Let him in first through the trap-door, while the Prince held the lantern. To this he consented, and helped the old knight up, who, having reached the trap-door, put his head through; but, alas! the portly stomach of the stout old knight would not follow. He stretched out his head, however, on every side, as far as it could go, and heard distinctly low whispering voices from Sidonia's little room; then a sound as of the tramp of many feet became audible in the courtyard, by which he knew that Marcus and the household were advancing rapidly.

But the young lord, who was waiting at the top of the coach, grew impatient, and pulled him back, endeavouring to creep through the hole himself. Praised be Heaven, however, this he failed to do from weakness; so he was obliged to follow the Grand Chamberlain, who whispered to him to come down, and they could reach the corridor through the usual entrance. Hereupon they both left the stables, and met Marcus in the courtyard with his company.

Then all ascended noiselessly to the gallery, and ranged themselves around Sidonia's door. Ulrich now told eight of the strongest carls present to step forward and lean their shoulders against the door, but make no stir until he gave a sign; then when he cried "Now!" they should burst it open with all their force.

As to the young Prince, he was trembling like an aspen leaf, and his weakness was so great that two young men had to support him. In short, as all present gradually stole closer and closer up to the door of Sidonia's room, the old knight drew forth his lantern, and signed to the men, who stood with their shoulders pressed against it; then when all was ready, he cried "Now!" and the door burst open with a loud crash. Every lock, and bar, and bolt shivered to atoms, and in rushed the whole party, Ulrich at their head, with his lantern lifted high up above them all.

Sidonia and her visitor were standing in the middle of the room. Ulrich first flashed the light upon the face of the man. Who would have believed it?—no other than Johann Appelmann! The knight hit him a heavy blow across the face, exclaiming, "What! thou common horse-jockey—thou low-born varlet—is it thus thou bringest disgrace upon a maiden of the noblest house in Pomerania? Ha, thou shalt be paid for this. Wait! Master Hansen shall give thee some of his gentle love-touches this night!"

But meanwhile the young Prince had entered, and beheld Sidonia, as she stood there trembling from shame, and endeavouring to cover her face with her long, beautiful golden hair that fell almost to her knees. "Sidonia!" he exclaimed, with a cry as bitter as if a dagger had passed through his heart—"Sidonia!" and fell insensible before her.

Now a great clamour arose amongst the crowd, for beside the couch lay the helmet and cuirass of the ghost; so every one knew now who it was that had played this trick on them for so long, and kept the castle in such a state of terror.

Then they gathered round the poor young Prince, who lay there as stiff as a corpse, and lamented over him with loud lamentations, and some of them lifted him up to carry him out of the chamber; but the Grand Chamberlain sternly commanded them to lay him down again before his bride, whom he had arranged to wed privately at Crummyn on the following night. Then seizing Sidonia by the hand, and dashing back her long hair, he led her forward before all the people, and said with a loud voice, "See here the illustrious and high-born Lady Sidonia, of the holy Roman Empire, Duchess of Pomerania, Cassuben, and Wenden, Princess of Ruegen, Countess of Guetzkow, and our Serene and most Gracious Lady, how she honours the princely house of Pomerania by sharing her love with this stable groom, this tailor's son, this debauched profligate! Oh! I could grow mad when I think of this disgrace. Thou shameless one! have I not long ago given thee thy right name? But wait—the name shall be branded on thee this night, so that all the world may read it."

Just then her Grace entered with Clara, followed by all the other maids of honour; for, hearing the noise and tumult, they had hastened thither as they were, some half undressed, others with only a loose night-robe flung round them. And her Grace, seeing the young lord lying pale and insensible on the ground, wrung her hands and cried out, "Who has killed my son? who has murdered my darling child?"

Here stepped forward Ulrich, and said, "The young lord was not dead; but, if it so pleased God, was in a fair way now to regain both life and reason." Then he related all which had led to this discovery; and how they had that night been themselves the witnesses of Sidonia's wickedness with the false ghost. Now her Grace knew his secret, which he had not told until certain of success.

As he related all these things, her Grace turned upon Sidonia and spat on her; and the young lord, having recovered somewhat in consequence of the water they had thrown on him, cried out, "Sidonia! is it possible? No, Sidonia, it is not possible!"

The shameless hypocrite had now recovered her self-possession, and would have denied all knowledge of Appelmann, saying that he forced himself in when she chanced to open the door; but he, interrupting her, cried, "Does the girl dare to lay all the blame on me? Did you not press my hand there when you were lying after you fell from the stag? Did you not meet me afterwards in the lumber-room—that day of the hunt when Duke Barnim was here last?"

"No, no, no!" shrieked Sidonia. "It is a lie, an infamous lie!" But he answered, "Scream as you will, you cannot deny that this disguise of the ghost was your own invention to favour my visits to you. Did you not drop notes for me down on the coach, through the trap-door, fixing the nights when I might come? and bethink you of last night, when you sent me a note by your maid, wrapped up in a little horse-cloth which I had lent you for your cat, with the prayer that I would not fail to be with you that night nor the next"—Oh, just Heaven! to think that it was upon that very night that Clara should break her shoe-string, by which means the Almighty turned away ruin and disgrace from the ancient, illustrious, and princely house of Pomerania—all by a broken shoe-string! For if the ghost had remained away but that one night, or Clara had not broken her shoestring, Sidonia would have been Duchess of Pomerania; but what doth the Scripture say? "Man's goings are of the Lord. What man understandeth his own way?" (Prov. xx. 24).

When Sidonia heard him tell all this, and how she had written notes of entreaty to him, she screamed aloud, and springing at him like a wild-cat, buried her ten nails in his hair, shrieking, "Thou liest, traitor; it is false! it is false!"

Now Ulrich rushed forward, and seized her by her long hair to part them, but at that moment Master Hansen, the executioner, entered in his red cloak, with six assistants (for Ulrich had privately sent for him), and the Grand Chamberlain instantly let go his hold of Sidonia, saying, "You come in good time, Master Hansen; take away this wretched pair, lock them up in the bastion tower, and on the morn bring them to the horse-market by ten of the clock, and there scourge and brand them; then carry them both to the frontier out of our good State of Wolgast, and let them both go their ways from that, whither it may please them."

When Sidonia heard this, she let go her paramour and fell fainting upon the bed; but recovering herself in a little time, she exclaimed, "What is this you talk of? A noble maiden who is as innocent as the child in its cradle, to be scourged by the common executioner? Oh, is there no Christian heart here to take pity on a poor, helpless girl! Gracious young Prince, even if all the world hold me guilty, you cannot, no, you cannot; it is impossible!"

Hereupon the young lord began to tremble like an aspen leaf, and said in a broken voice, "Alas, Sidonia! you betrayed yourself: if you had not mentioned that trap-door to me, I might still have believed you innocent (I, who thought some good angel had guided you to it!); now it is impossible; yet be comforted, the executioner shall never scourge you nor brand you—you are branded enough already." Then turning to the Grand Chamberlain he said, that with his consent a hangman should never lay his hands upon this nobly born maiden, whom he had once destined to be Duchess of Pomerania; but Appelmann, this base-born vassal, who had eaten of his bread and then betrayed him like a Judas, let him be flogged and branded as much as they pleased; no word of his should save the accursed seducer from punishment.

Notwithstanding this, old Ulrich was determined on having Sidonia scourged, and my gracious lady the Duchess must have her scourged too. "Let her dear son only think that if the all-merciful God had not interposed, he would have been utterly ruined and his princely house disgraced, by means of this girl. Nothing but evil had she brought with her since first she set foot in the castle: she had caused his sickness; item, the death of two young knights by drowning; item, the terrible execution of Joachim Budde, who was beheaded at the festival; and had she not, in addition, whipped her dear little Casimir, which unseemly act had only lately come to her knowledge? and had she not also made every man in the castle that approached her mad for love of her, all by her diabolical conduct? No—away with the wretch: she merits her chastisement a thousand and a thousand-fold!" And old Ulrich exclaimed likewise, "Away with the wretch and her paramour!"

Here the young lord made an effort to spring forward to save her, but fell fainting on the ground; and while the attendants were busy running for water to throw over him, Clara von Dewitz, turning away the executioner with her hand from Sidonia, fell down on her knees before her Grace, and besought her to spare at least the person of the poor, unfortunate maiden; did her Grace think that any punishment could exceed what she had already suffered? Let her own compassionate heart plead along with her words—and did not the Scripture say, "Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord."

Hereupon her Grace looked at old Ulrich without speaking; but he understood her glance, and made answer—"No; the hangman must do his duty towards the wretch!" when her Grace said mildly, "But for the sake of this dear, good young maiden, I think we might let her go, for, remember, if she had not opened out this villainy to us, the creature would have been my daughter-in-law, and my princely house disgraced for evermore."

Now Marcus Bork stepped forward, and added his prayers that the noble name he bore might not be disgraced in Sidonia. "He had ever been a faithful feudal vassal to her princely house, and had not even scrupled to bring the secret wicked deeds of his cousin before the light of day, though it was like a martyrdom of his own flesh and blood for conscience' sake."

Here old Ulrich burst forth in great haste—"Seven thousand devils! Let the wench be off, then. Not another night should she rest in the castle. Let her speak—where would she go to? where should they bring her to?"

And when Sidonia answered, sobbing, "To Stettin, to her gracious lord, Duke Barnim, who would take pity on her because of her innocence," Ulrich laughed outright in scorn. "I shall give the driver a letter to him, and another to thy father. Perhaps his Grace will show thee true pity, and drive thee with his horsewhip to Stramehl. But thou shalt journey in the same coach whereon thy leman clambered up to the trap-door, and Master Hansen shall sit on the coach-box and drive thee himself. As to thy darling stablegroom here, the master must set his mark on him before he goes; but that can be done when the hangman returns from Stettin."

When Appelmann heard this, he fell at the feet of the Lord Chamberlain, imploring him to let him off too. "Had he not ridden to Spantekow, without stop or stay, at the peril of his life, to oblige Lord Ulrich that time the Lapland wizard made the evil prophecy; and though his illustrious lady died, yet that was from no fault of his, and his lordship had then promised not to forget him if he were but in need. So now he demanded, on the strength of his knightly word, that a horse should be given him from the ducal stables, and that he be permitted to go forth, free and scathless, to ride wherever it might please him. His sins were truly heavy upon him, and he would try and do better, with the help of God."

When the old knight heard him express himself in this godly sort (for the knave knew his man well), he was melted to compassion, and said, "Then go thy way, and God give thee grace to repent of thy manifold sins."

Her Grace had nothing to object; only to put a fixed barrier between the Prince and Sidonia, she added, "But send first for Dr. Gerschovius, that he may unite this shameless pair in marriage before they leave the castle, and then they can travel away together."

Hereupon Johann Appelmann exclaimed, "No, never! How could he hope for God's grace to amend him, living with a thing like that, tied to him for life, which God and man alike hold in abhorrence?" At this speech Sidonia screamed aloud, "Thou lying and accursed stable-groom, darest thou speak so of a castle and land dowered maiden?" and she flew at him, and would have torn his hair, but Marcus Bork seized hold of her round the waist, and dragged her with great effort into Clara's room.

Now the tears poured from the eyes of her Grace at such a disgraceful scene, and she turned to her son, who was slowly recovering—"Hast thou heard, Ernest, this groom—this servant of thine—refuses to take the girl to wife whom thou wast going to make Duchess of Pomerania? Woe! woe! what words for thy poor mother to hear; but it was all foreshadowed when Dr. Luther—" &c. &c.

In short, the end of the infamous story was, that Sidonia was carried off that very night in the identical coach we know of, and Master Hansen was sent with her, bearing letters to the Duke and Otto from the Grand Chamberlain, and one also to the burgomaster Appelmann in Stargard; and the executioner had strict orders to drive her himself the whole way to Stettin. As for Appelmann, he sprung upon a Friesland clipper, as the old chamberlain had permitted, and rode away that same night. But the young lord was so ill from grief and shame, that he was lifted to his bed, and all the medici of Grypswald and Wolgast were summoned to attend him.

And such was the end of Sidonia von Bork at the ducal court of Wolgast. But old Kuessow told me that for a long while she was the whole talk of the court and town, many wondering, though they knew well her light behaviour, that she should give herself up to perdition at last for a common groom, no better than a menial compared to her. But I find the old proverb is true for her as well as for another, "The apple falls close to the tree; as is the sheep, so is the lamb;" for had her father brought her up in the fear of God, in place of encouraging her in revenge, pride, and haughtiness, Sidonia might have been a good and honoured wife for her life long. But the libertine example of her father so destroyed all natural instincts of modesty and maidenly reserve within her, that she fell an easy prey to the first temptation.

In short, my gracious Prince Bogislaus XIV., as well as all those who love and honour the illustrious house of Wolgast, will devoutly thank God for having turned away this disgrace in a manner so truly wonderful.

I have already spoken of the broken shoe-tie, but in addition, I must point out that if Sidonia had counselled her paramour to take the armour of Duke Philip, which hung in the same lumber-room, in place of that belonging to the serpent knight, that wickedness would never have come to light. For assuredly all in the castle would have believed that it was truly the ghost of the dead duke, who came to reproach his son for not holding the oath which he had sworn on his coffin, to abandon Sidonia. And consequently, respect and terror would have alike prevented any human soul in the castle from daring to follow it, and investigate its object. Therefore let us praise the name of the Lord who turned all things to good, and fulfilled, in Sidonia and her lover, the Scripture which saith, "Thinking themselves wise, they became fools" (Rom. i. 21).



END OF FIRST BOOK.



BOOK II.

FROM THE BANISHMENT OF SIDONIA FROM THE DUCAL COURT OF WOLGAST UP TO HER RECEPTION IN THE CONVENT OF MARIENFLIESS.



CHAPTER I.

Of the quarrel between Otto Bork and the Stargardians, which caused him to demand the dues upon the Jena.

MOST EMINENT AND ILLUSTRIOUS PRINCE!—Your Grace must be informed, that much of what I have here set down, in this second book, was communicated to me by that same old Uckermann of Dalow of whom I have spoken already in my first volume.

Other important facts I have gleaned from the Diary of Magdalena von Petersdorfin, Priorissa of the convent of Marienfliess. She was an old and worthy matron, whom Sidonia, however, used to mock and insult, calling her the old cat, and such-like names. But she revenged herself on the shameless wanton in no other way than by writing down what facts she could collect of her disgraceful life and courses, for the admonition and warning of the holy sisterhood.

This little book the pious nun left to her sister Sophia, who is still living in the convent at Marienfliess; and she, at my earnest entreaties, permitted me to peruse it.

Before, however, I continue the relation of Sidonia's adventures, I must state to your Grace what were the circumstances which induced Otto von Bork to demand so urgently the dues upon the Jena from their Highnesses of Stettin and Wolgast. In my opinion, it was for nothing else than to revenge himself upon the burgomaster of Stargard, Jacob Appelmann, father of the equerry. The quarrel happened years before, but Otto never forgot it, and only waited a fitting opportunity to take vengeance on him and the people of Stargard.

This Jacob Appelmann was entitled to receive a great portion of the Jena dues, which were principally paid to him in kind, particularly in foreign spices, which he afterwards sold to the Polish Jews, at the annual fair held in Stramehl.

It happened, upon one of these occasions, as Jacob, with two of his porters, appeared, as usual, carrying bags of spices, to sell to the Polish Jews, that Otto met him in the market-place, and invited him to come up to his castle, for that many nobles were assembled there who would, no doubt, give him better prices for his goods than the Polish Jews, and added that the worthy burgomaster must drink his health with him that day.

Now, Jacob Appelmann was no despiser of good cheer or of broad gold pieces; so, unfortunately for himself, he accepted the invitation. But the knight had only lured him up to the castle to insult and mock him. For when he entered the hall, a loud roar of laughter greeted his appearance, and the half-drunk guests, who were swilling the wine as if they had tuns to fill, and not stomachs, swore that he must pledge each of them separately, in a lusty draught. So they handed him an enormous becker, cut with Otto's arms, bidding him drain it; but as the Herr Jacob hesitated, his host asked him, laughing, was he a Jesu disciple, that he refused to drink?

Hereupon the other answered, he was too old for a disciple, but he was not ashamed to call himself a servant of Jesus.

Then they all roared with laughter, and Otto spoke—

"My good lords and dear friends, ye know how that the Stargard knaves joined with the Pomeranian Duke to ravage my good town of Stramehl, so that it can be only called a village now. And it is also not unknown to you that my disgrace then passed into a proverb, so that people will still say, 'He fell upon me as the Stargardians upon Stramehl.' Let us, then, revenge ourselves to-day. If this Jesu's servant will not drink, then tear open his mouth, put a tun-dish therein, and pour down a good draught till the knave cries 'enough!' As to his spices, let us scatter them before the Polish Jews, as pease before swine, and it will be merry pastime to see how the beasts will lick them up. Thus will Stramehl retort upon Stargard, and the whole land will shout with laughter. For wherefore does this Stargard pedlar come here to my fairs? Mayhap I shall visit his."

Peals of laughter and applause greeted Otto's speech; but Jacob, when he heard it, determined, if possible, to effect his escape; and watching his opportunity, for he was the only one there not drunk, sprang out of the hall, and down the flight of steps, and being young then, never drew breath till he reached the market-place of Stramehl, and jumped into his own waggon.

In vain Otto screamed out to "stop him, stop him!" all his servants were at the fair, where, indeed, the people of the whole country round were gathered. Then the host and the guests sprang up themselves, to run after Jacob Appelmann, but many could not stand, and others tumbled down by the way. However, with a chorus of cries, curses, and threats, Otto and some others at last reached the waggon, and laid hold of it. Then they dragged out the bags of spices, and emptied them all down upon the street, crying—

"Come hither, ye Jews; which of you wants pepper? Who wants cloves?"

So all the Jews in the place ran together, and down they went on all-fours picking up the spices, while their long beards swept the pavement quite clean. Hey! how they pushed and screamed, and dealt blows about among themselves, till their noses bled, and the place looked as if gamecocks had been fighting there, whereat Otto and his roistering guests roared with laughter.

One of the bags they pulled out of the waggon contained cinnamon; but a huntsman of Otto Bork's, not knowing what it was, poured it down likewise into the street. Cinnamon was then so rare, that it sold for its weight in gold. So an old Jew, spying the precious morsel, cried out, "Praise be to God! Praise be to God!" and ran through Otto Bork's legs to get hold of a stick of it. This made the knight look down, and seeing the cinnamon, he straightway bid the huntsman gather it all up again quick, and carry it safely home to the castle.

But the old Jew would by no means let go his hold of the booty, and kept the sticks in one hand high above his head, while with the other he dealt heavy buffets upon the huntsman. An apprentice of Jacob Appelmann's beheld all this from the waggon, and knowing what a costly thing this cinnamon was, he made a long arm out of the waggon, and snapped away the sticks from the Jew. Upon this the huntsman sprang at the apprentice; but the latter, seizing a pair of pot-hooks, which his master had that day bought in the fair, dealt such a blow with them upon the head of the huntsman, that he fell down at once upon the ground quite dead.

Now every one cried out "Murder! murder! Jodute! Jodute! Jodute!" and they tore the bags right and left from the waggon, Jews as well as Christians; but Otto commanded them to seize the apprentice also. So they dragged him out too. He was a fine young man of twenty-three, Louis Griepentroch by name. There was such an uproar, that the men who held the horses' heads were forced away. Whereupon the burgomaster resolved to seize this opportunity for escape; and without heeding the lamentations of the other apprentice, Zabel Griepentroch, who prayed him earnestly to stop and save his poor brother, desired the driver to lash the horses into a gallop, and never stop nor stay until the unlucky town was left far behind them.

Otto von Bork ordered instant pursuit, but in vain. The burgomaster could not be overtaken, and reached Wangerin in safety. There he put up at the inn, to give the panting horses breathing-time; and now the aforesaid Zabel besought him, with many tears, to write to Otto Bork on behalf of his poor brother, to which the burgomaster at last consented; for he loved these two youths, who were orphans and twins, and he had brought them up from their childhood, and treated them in all things like a true and loving godfather. So he wrote to Otto, "That if aught of ill happened to the young Louis Griepentroch, he (the burgomaster) would complain to his Grace of Stettin, for the youth had only done his duty in trying to save the property of his master from the hands of robbers." The good Jacob, however, admonished Zabel to make up his mind for the worst, for the knight was not a man whose heart could be melted, as he himself had experienced but too well that day.

But the sorrowing youth little heeded the admonitions, only seized the letter, and ran with it that same evening back to Stramehl. Here, however, no one would listen to him, no one heeded him; and when at last he got up to Otto and gave him the letter, the knight swore he would flay him alive if he did not instantly quit the town. Now the poor youth gnashed his teeth in rage and despair, and determined to be revenged on the knight.

Just then came by a great crowd leading his brother Louis to the gallows; and on his head they had stuck a high paper cap with the Stargard arms painted thereon, namely, a tower with two griffins (Sidonia, indeed, had painted it, and she was by, and clapping her hands with delight); and for the greater scandal to Stargard, they had tied two hares' tails to the back of the cap, with the inscription written in large letters above them—"So came the Stargardians to Stramehl!"

And Otto and his guests gathered round the gallows, and all the market-folk, with great uproar and laughter. Summa, when the poor carl saw all this, and that there was no hope for his heart's dear brother, neither could he even get near him just to say a last "good-night," he ran like mad to the castle, which was almost empty now, as every one had gone to the market-place; and there, on the hill, he turned round and saw how the hangman had shoved his dear Louis from the ladder, and the body was swinging lamentably to and fro between heaven and earth. So he seized a brand and set fire to the brew-house, from which a thick smoke and light flames soon rose high into the air. Now all the people rushed towards the castle, for they suspected well who had done the deed, particularly as they had observed a young fellow running, as if for life or death, in the opposite direction towards the open country. So they pursued him with wild shouts from every direction; right and left they hemmed him in, and cut off his escape to the wood. And Otto Bork sprang upon a fresh horse, and galloped along with them, roaring out, "Seize the rascal!—seize the vile incendiary! He who takes him shall have a tun of my best beer!" But others he despatched to the castle to extinguish the flames.

Now the poor Zabel knew not what to do, for on every side his pursuers were gaining fast upon him, and he heard Otto's voice close behind crying, "There he runs! there he runs! Seize the gallows-bird, that he may swing with his brother this night. A tun of my best beer to the man who takes him! Seize the incendiary!" So the poor wretch, in his anguish, threw off his smock upon the grass and sprang into the lake, hoping to be able to swim to the other side and reach the wood.

"In after him!" roared Otto; and a fellow jumped in instantly, and seizing hold of Zabel by the hose, dragged him along with him; but they were soon both carried into deep water—Zabel, however, was the uppermost, and held the other down tight to stifle him. Another seeing this, plunged in to rescue his companion, and from the bank dived down underneath Zabel, intending to seize him round the body; but it so happened that the fishermen of Stramehl had laid their nets close to the place, and he plunged direct into the middle of the largest, and stuck there miserably; which when Zabel observed, he let the other go, who was now quite dead, and struck out boldly for the opposite bank. The fishermen sprang into their boats to pursue him, and the crowd ran round, hoping to cut off the pass before he could gain the bank; but he was a brave youth, and distanced them all, jumped on land before one of them could reach him, and plunged into the thick wood. Here it was vain to follow him, for night was coming on fast; so he pursued his path in safety, and returned to his master at Stramehl.

Otto von Bork, however, would not let the matter rest here, for he had sustained great loss by the burning of his brew-house (the other buildings were saved); therefore he wrote to the honourable council at Stargard—"That by the shameful and scandalous burning of his brew-house, he had lost two fine hounds named Stargard and Stramehl, which he had brought himself from Silesia; item, two old servants and a woman; item, in the lake, two other servants had been drowned; and all by the revenge of an apprentice, because he had justly caused his brother to be executed. Therefore this apprentice must be given up to him, that he might have him broken on the wheel, otherwise their vassals on the Jena should suffer in such a sort, that the Stargardians would long have reason to remember Otto Bork."

Now, some of the honourable councillors were of opinion that they should by no means give up the apprentice; first, because Otto had insulted the Stargard arms, and secondly, lest it might appear as if they feared he would fulfil his threats respecting the Jena.

But Jacob Appelmann, the burgomaster, who lay sick in his bed from the treatment he had received at Stramehl, entirely disapproved of this resolution; and when they came to him for his advice, proposed to give for answer to the knight that he should first indemnify him for the loss of his costly spices, which he valued at one thousand florins, and when this sum was paid down, they might treat of the matter concerning the apprentice.

The knight, however, mocked them for making such an absurd demand as compensation, and reiterated his threats, that if the young man were not delivered up to him, he would punish Stargard with a great punishment.

The council, however, were still determined not to yield; and as the burgomaster lay sick in his bed, they released the apprentice from prison; and replied to Otto, "That if he broke the public peace of his Imperial Majesty, let the consequences fall on his own head—there was still justice for them to be had in Pomerania."

When the burgomaster heard of this, he had himself carried in a litter, sick as he was, to the honourable council, and asked them, "Was this justice, to release an incendiary from prison? If they sought justice for themselves, let them deal it out to others. No one had lost more by the transaction than he: his income for the next two years was clean gone, and the care and anxiety he had undergone, besides, had reduced him to this state of bodily weakness which they observed. It was a heart-grief to him to give up the young man, for he had reared him from the baptism water, and he had been a faithful servant unto him up to this day. Could he save him, he would gladly give up his house and all he was worth, and go and take a lodging upon the wall; for this young man had once saved his life, by slaying a mad dog which had seized him by the tail of his coat; but it was not to be done. They must set an honourable example, as just and upright citizens and fearless magistrates, who hold that old saying in honour—'Fiat justitia et pereat mundus;' which means, 'Let justice be done, though life and fortune perish.' But the punishment of the wheel was, he confessed, altogether too severe for the poor youth; and therefore he counselled that they should hang him, as Otto had hung his brother."

This course the honourable society consented at last to adopt; but the knight had disgraced their arms, and they ought in return to disgrace his. They could get the court painter from Stettin at the public expense, and let him paint Otto Bork's arms on the back of the young man's hose.

Here the burgomaster again interfered—"Why should the honourable council attempt a stupid insult, because the knight had done so?" But he talked in vain; they were determined on this retaliation. At last (but after a great deal of trouble) he obtained a promise that they would have the arms painted before, upon his smock, and not behind, upon the hose, for that would be a sore disgrace to Otto, and bring his vengeance upon them. "Why should they do more to him than he had done unto them? The Scripture said, 'Eye for eye, tooth for tooth,' and not two eyes for an eye, two teeth for a tooth." Hereupon the honourable council pronounced sentence on the young man, and fixed the third day from that for his execution. But first the executioner must bring him up before the bed of the burgomaster, who thus spoke—"Ah, Zabel, wherefore didst thou not behave as I admonished thee in Wangerin?" And as the young man began to weep, he gave him his hand, and admonished him to be steadfast in the death-hour, asked his forgiveness for having condemned him, but it was his duty as a magistrate so to do—thanked him for having saved his life by slaying the mad dog; finally, bid him "Good-night," and then buried his face in the pillow.

So the hangman carried back the weeping youth to the council-hall, where the honourable councillors had the Bork arms fastened upon his smock, and out of further malice against Otto (for they knew the burgomaster, being sick in his bed, could not hinder them), they placed over them a large piece of pasteboard, on which was written, "So did the Stargardians with Stramehl." Item, they fastened to the two corners a pair of wolf's ears, because Bork, in the Wendig tongue, signifies wolf. This was to revenge themselves for the hares' tails.

Then the poor apprentice was carried to the gallows, amid loud laughter from the common people. And even the honourable councillors waxed merry at the sight; and as the hangman pushed him from the ladder, they cried out, "So will the Stargardians do to Stramehl!"

Now Otto heard tidings of all these doings, but he feared to complain to his Highness the Duke, because he himself had begun the quarrel, and they had only retorted as was fair. Item, he did not dare to stop the boats upon the Jena—for he knew that although Duke Barnim was usually of a soft and placable temper, yet when he was roused there was no more dangerous enemy. And if the Stargardians leagued with him, they might fall upon his town of Stramehl, as they had done once before.

Therefore he waited patiently for an opportunity of revenge, and held his peace until Sidonia acquainted him with the love of the young Prince Ernest. Then he resolved to demand the dues upon the Jena to be given up to him, and if his wicked desire had been gratified, I think the good citizens of Stargard might have taken to the beggar's staff for the rest of their days, for like all the old Hanseatic towns, their entire subsistence came to them by water, and all their wares and merchandise were carried up the Jena in boats to the town. These the knight would have rated so highly, if he had been made owner of the dues, that the town and people would have been utterly ruined.

It has been already stated that the Duke Barnim gave an ambiguous answer to Otto upon the subject; but the knight, after his visit to Wolgast, was so certain of seeing his daughter in a short time Duchess of Pomerania, that he already looked upon the Jena dues as his own, and proceeded to act as shall be related in the next chapter.



CHAPTER II.

How Otto von Bork demands the Jena dues from the Stargardians, and how the burgomaster Jacob Appelmann takes him prisoner, and locks him up in the Red Sea. [Footnote: A watch-tower, built in the Moorish style, upon the town wall of Stargard, from which the adjacent streets take their name.]

As the aforesaid knight and my gracious lord, Duke Barnim, journeyed home from Wolgast, the former discoursed much on this matter of the Jena dues, but his Grace listened in silence, after his manner, and nicked away at his doll. (I think, however, that his Grace did not quite understand the matter of the Jena dues himself.)

Summa, while Otto was at Stettin, he received information that three vessels, laden with wine and spices, and all manner of merchandise, were on their way to Stargard. So he took this for a good sign, and went straight to the town and up to the burgomaster, Jacob Appelmann, would not sit down, however, but made himself as stiff as if his back would break, and asked whether he (Appelmann) was aware that the lands of the Bork family bordered close upon the Jena.

Ille.—"Yes, he knew it well."

Hic.—"Then he could not wonder if he now demanded dues from every vessel that went up to Stargard."

Ille.—"On the contrary, he would wonder greatly; since by an Act passed in the reign of Duke Barnim the First, A.D. 1243, the freedom of the Jena had been secured to them, and they had enjoyed it up to the present date."

Hic.—"Stuff! what was the use of bringing up these old Acts. His Grace of Stettin, as well as the Duchess of Wolgast, had now given them over to him."

Ille.—"Then let his lordship produce his charter; if he had got one, why not show it?"

Hic.—"No, he had not got the written order yet, but he would soon have it."

Ille.—"Well, until then they would abide by the old law."

Hic.—"By no means. This very day he would insist on being paid the dues."

Ille.—"That meant, that he purposed to break the peace of our lord the Emperor. Let him think well of it. It might cost him dear."

Hic.—"That was his care. The Stargardians should not a second time hang his arms on the gallows."

Ille.—"It was a simple act of retaliation; had he not read, 'An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth'?"

Hic.—"Nonsense! was that retaliation, when a set of low burgher carls took upon themselves to disgrace the lord of castles and lands; as well might one of his serfs, when he struck him, strike him in return; that would be retaliation too. Ha! ha! ha!"

Ille.—"What did his lordship mean? He was no village justice, nor were the burghers of this good town serfs or boors."

Hic.—"If he knew not now what he meant, he would soon learn; ay, and take off his hat so low to the Bork arms that it would touch the ground. Then, too, he might himself get a lesson in retaliation."

And herewith the knight strode firmly out of the room, without even saluting the burgomaster; but Jacob knew well how to deal with him, so he sent instantly for the keeper of the forest, who lived in the thick wood on the banks of the Jena, and told him to watch by night and day, and if he observed anything unusual going on, to spring upon a horse and bring him the intelligence without delay.

Meanwhile the knight summoned all his feudal vassals around him at Stramehl, and told them how his Grace had bestowed the Jena dues upon him, but the sturdy burghers of Stargard had dared to impugn his rights; therefore let each of them select two trusty followers, and meet all together on the morrow morn at Putzerlin, close to the Jena ferry. Then, if there came by any vessels laden with choice wines, let them be sure and drink a health to Stargard. So they all believed him, and came to the appointed place with twenty horsemen, and the knight himself brought twenty more. There they unsaddled and turned into the meadow, then set to work to throw a bridge over the river. As soon as the forest ranger spied them, he saddled his wild clipper, which he himself had caught in the Uckermund country, and flew like wind to the town (for the wild horses are much stouter and fleeter than the tame, but there are none to be found now in all Pomerania).

When the burgomaster heard this tale, he told him to go back the way he came, and keep perfectly still until he saw a rocket rise from St. Mary's Tower, then let him loose all his hounds upon the horses in the meadow, and he and the burghers would follow soon, and make a quick end of the robber knights and freebooters; but he would wait for three hours before giving the promised sign from St. Mary's Tower, that he might have time to get back to the wood. Still the knight and his followers continued working at the bridge right merrily. They took the ferryman's planks and poles, and cut down large oak-trees, and every one that went across the ferry must stop and help them; but their work was not quite completed, when three vessels appeared in sight, laden with all sorts of merchandise, and making direct for Stargard. As soon as Otto perceived them, he took half-a-dozen fellows with him, and jumped into a ferry-boat, crying, "Hold! until the dues are paid, you can go no farther. The river and the land alike belong to me now, and I must have my dues, as his Grace of Stettin has commanded."

The crew, however, strictly objected, saying that in the memory of man they had never paid dues upon their goods, and they would not pay them now; but Otto and his knights jumped on deck, followed by their squires, and having asked for the bill of lading, decimated all the goods, as a priest collecting his tithe of the sheaves. Then he took the best cask of wine, had it rolled on land, and called out to the crew, who were crying like children, "Now, good people, you may go your ways."

But the poor devils were in despair, and followed him on land, praying and beseeching him not to ruin them, but to restore their property, at which Otto laughed loudly, and bid the strongest of his followers chase the miserable varlets back to their vessel.

Meanwhile the cask of wine had been rolled up against a tree, and the knight and his followers set themselves round it upon the grass, and because they had no glasses, they drank out of kettles, and pots, and bowls, and dishes, or whatever the ferryman could give them. Yea, some of them drew off their boots and filled them with the wine, others drank it out of their caps, and so there they lay on the grass, swilling the wine, and the different wares they had seized lay all scattered round them, and they laughed and drank, and roared, "Thus we drink a health to Stargard!" Hereupon the crew, seeing that nothing could be got from the robbers, went their way with curses and imprecations, to which the knight and his party responded only with peals of laughter.

But the vessel had scarcely set sail, when a woman's voice was heard crying out loudly from the deck—"Father! father! I am here. Listen, Otto von Bork, your daughter Sidonia is here!"

When the knight heard this, he felt as if stunned by a blow, but immediately comforted himself by thinking that no doubt Prince Ernest was with her, particularly as he could observe in the twilight the figure of a man seated beside her on a bundle of goods. "This surely must be the Prince," he said to himself, and so called out with a joyful voice, "Ah, my dearest daughter, Sidonia! how comest thou in the merchant vessel?"

Then he screamed to the sailors to stop and cast anchor; but they heeded neither his cries nor commands, and in place of stopping, began to crowd all sail. Otto now tried entreaties, and promised to restore all their goods, and even pay for the wine drunk, if they would only stop the vessel. This made them listen to him, but they demanded, beside, a compensation money of one hundred florins, for all the anxiety and delay they had suffered. This he promised also, only let them stop instantly. However, they would not trust his word, and not until he had pledged his knightly faith would they consent to stop. Some, indeed, were not even content with this, and required that he should stand bareheaded on the bank, and take a solemn oath, with his hand extended to heaven, that he would deal with them as he had promised.

To this also the knight consented, since they would not believe he held his knightly word higher than any oath; though, in my opinion, he would have done anything they demanded, such was his anxiety to behold the Prince and Princess of Pomerania, for he could imagine nothing else, but that his daughter and her husband had been turned out of Wolgast by the harsh Duchess and the old Grand Chamberlain, and were now on their way to his castle at Stramehl.

Here my gracious Prince will no doubt say, "But, Theodore, why did she not call on her father sooner, when, as you told me, he was on board this very vessel plundering the wares?"

I answer—"Serene Prince! your Grace must know that she and her paramour were at that time crouching in the cabin, through fear of Otto, for the sailors did not know her, or who she was. They had taken her and Appelmann in at Damm, and believed this story: that he was secretary to the Duke at Stettin, and Sidonia was his wife; they were on their way to Stargard, but preferred journeying by water, on account of the robbers who infested the high-roads, and who, they heard, had murdered three travellers only a few days before."

But when Sidonia had found what her father had done, and heard the crew cursing and vowing vengeance on him, she feared it would be worse for her even to fall into the hands of the Stargardians than into her father's, and therefore rushed up on deck and called out to him, though her paramour conjured her by heaven and earth to keep quiet, and not bring him under her father's sword.

Summa, as the vessel once more stood still, the knight sprang quick as thought into the ferry-boat along with some of his followers, and rowed off to the vessel, where his daughter sat upon a bundle of merchandise and wept, but Appelmann crept down again into the cabin. When the knight stepped on board, he kissed and embraced her—but where was the young Prince whom he had seen standing beside her?

Illa.—"Alas! it was not the Prince; the young lord had shamefully deceived her!" (weeping.)

Hic.—"He would make him suffer for it, then; let her tell him the whole business. If he had trifled with her, she should be revenged. Was he not as powerful as any duke in Pomerania?"

Illa.—"He must send away all the bystanders first; did he not see how they all stood round, with their mouths open from wonder?" Hereupon the knight roared out, "Away, go all, all of ye, or I'll stick ye dead as calves. The devil take any of you who dare to listen!" His whole frame trembled meanwhile as an aspen leaf, and he could scarcely wait till the carls clambered over the bundles of goods—"What had happened? In the name of all the devils, let her speak, now that they were alone."

But here the cunning wanton began to weep so piteously, that not a word could she utter; however, as old Otto grew impatient, and began to curse and swear, and shake her by the arm, she at last commenced (while Appelmann was listening from the cabin):—

"Her dearest father knew how the young lord had bribed a priest in Crummyn to wed them privately; but this was all a trick which his wicked mother had suggested to him, in order to bring her to utter ruin; for on the very wedding night, while she was waiting for the Prince in her little room, according to promise, to flee with him to Crummyn, the perfidious Duchess, who was aware of the whole arrangement, sent a groom to her chamber at the appointed hour, and she being in the dark, embraced him, thinking he was the Prince. In the self-same instant the door was burst open, and the old revengeful hag, with Ulrich von Schwerin, rushed in, along with the young Prince and Marcus Bork, her cousin, amid a great crowd of people with lanterns. And no one would listen to her or heed her; so she was thrust that same night out of the castle, like a common swine-maid, though the young lord, when he saw the full extent of his wicked mother's treachery, fell down in a dead faint at her feet."

And here she wept and groaned, as if her heart would break.

"Who, then, was the gay youth who sat beside her there on the bundle?" screamed Otto.

Illa.—"That was the very groom that she had embraced, for they had sent him away with her, to make their wicked story seem true."

Hic.—"But what was his name? May the devil take her, to have gone off with a base-born groom. What was his name?"

Illa (weeping).—"What did he think of her, that she should love a common groom? truly, he had the title of equerry, but then he was nothing better than a common burgher carl. What could she do, when they turned her by night and cloud out of the castle? She must thank God for having had even this groom to protect her, but that he was her lover—fie!—no; that was, indeed, to think little of her."

Hic.—"He would strike her dead if she did not answer. Who was the knave? Where did he come from?"

Illa.—"He was called Johann Appelmann, and was son to the burgomaster of Stargard."

Here the knight raved and chafed like a wild beast, and drew his sword to kill Sidonia, but she fled away down to her paramour in the cabin. However, he had heard the whole conversation, and flew at her to beat her, crying, "Am I then a base-born groom? Ha! thou proud wanton, didst thou not run after me like a common street-girl? I will teach thee to call me a groom!"