Meanwhile Sidonia had heard of the birth, and sent her maid to wish the young mother joy, and ask her permission just to give one little kiss to her new cousin, for they told her he was a beautiful infant.

Alas, alas! that Clara's joy should make her forget the judicious cautions of her husband! Permission was given to the murderess, and down she comes directly to offer her congratulations; even affecting to weep for joy as she kissed the infant, and praying to be allowed to act as nurse until her mother came from Daber.

"Why, she had no one about her but common serving-women! How could she leave her dearest friend to the care of these old hags, when she was in the castle, who owed everything to her dear Clara?"

And so she went on till poor Clara, even if she did not quite believe her, felt ashamed to doubt so much apparent affection and tenderness.

Summa.—She permitted her to remain, and we shall soon see what murderous deeds Sidonia was planning against the poor young mother. But first I must relate what happened at the Diet of Wollin, to which Marcus Bork had been summoned.

His Highness Duke Johann had become somewhat more gracious to the states since they had come to the Diet at their own cost, which was out of the usage; and further, because, as old Ulrich prophesied, he himself had felt the inconveniences resulting from the present lawless state of the country.

Still he was ill-tempered enough, particularly as he had a fever on him; and when the states promised at last that they would let him have the money, he said, "So far good; but, till he saw the gold, the courts should not be opened. Not that he misdoubted them, but then he knew that they were sometimes as tedious in handing out money as a peasant in paying his rent. The courts, therefore, should not be opened until he had the gold in his pot, so it would be to their own profit to use as much diligence as possible." At this same Diet his Grace related how he first met Clas, his fool, which story I shall set down here for the reader's pastime.

This same fool had been nothing but a poor goose-herd; and one day as he was on the road to Friedrichswald with his flock, my gracious lord rode up, and growing impatient at the geese running hither and thither in his path, bid the boy collect them together, or he would strike them all dead.

Upon which the knave took up goose after goose by the throat, and stuck them by their long necks into his girdle, till a circle of geese hung entirely round his body, all dangling by the head from his waist.

This merry device pleased my lord so much, that he made the lad court-jester from that day, and many a droll trick he had played from that to this, particularly when his Highness was gloomy, so as to make him laugh again. Once, for instance, when the Duke was sore pressed for money, by reason of the opposition of the states, he became very sad, and all the doctors were consulted, but could do nothing. For unless his Grace could be brought to laugh (they said to the Lady Erdmuth), it was all over with him. Then my gracious lady had the fool whipped for a stupid jester, who could not drive his trade; for if he did not make the Duke laugh, why should he stay at all in the castle?

What did my fool? He collected all the princely soldatesca, and got leave from their Graces to review them; and surely never were seen such strange evolutions as he put them through, for they must do everything he bid them. And when his Highness came forth to look, he laughed so loud as never had fool made him laugh before; and calling the Duchess, bid him repeat his experimentum many times for her. In fine, the fool got the good town of Butterdorf for his fee, which changed its name in honour of him, and is called Hinzendorf to this day (for his name was Hinze).

But Clas Hinze had not been able to cure my Lord Duke of his fever, which attacked him at the Diet at Wollin, nor all the doctors from Stettin, nor even Doctor Pomius, who had been sent from Wolgast by the old Duchess, to attend her dear son; and as the doctor (as I have said) was a formal, priggish little man, he and the fool were always bickering and snarling.

Now, one day at Wollin, the weather being beautiful, his Grace, with several of the chief prelates, and many of the nobility, went forth to walk by the river's side, and the fool ran along with them; item, Doctor Pomius, who, if he could not run, at least tried to walk majestically; and he munched a piece of sugar all the time, for he never could keep his mouth still a moment. Seeing his Grace now about to cross the bridge, the doctor started forward with as much haste as was consistent with his dignity, and seizing his Highness by the tail of the coat, drew him back, declaring, "That he must not pass the water; all water would give strength to the fever-devil." But his Highness, who was talking Latin to the Deacon of Colberg, turned on the doctor with—"Apage te asine!" and strode forward, whilst one of the nobles gave a free translation aloud for the benefit of the others, saying, "And that means: Begone, thou ass!"

When the fool heard this, he clapped the little man on the back, shouting, "Well done, ass! and there is thy fee for curing our gracious Prince of his fever."

This so nettled the doctor that he spat out the lump of sugar for rage, and tried to seize the fool; but the crowd laughed still louder when Clas jumped on the back of an old woman, giving her the spur with his yellow boots in the side, and shaking his head with the cap and bells at the little doctor in mockery, who could not get near him for the crowd. So the woman screamed and roared, and the people laughed, till at last the Duke stopped in the middle of the bridge to see what was the matter. When the fool observed this, he sprang off the old woman's back, and calling out to the doctor—"See how I cure our gracious lord's fever," ran upon the bridge like wind, and, seizing the Duke with all his force, jumped with him into the water.

Now the people screamed from horror, as much as before from mirth, and thirty or forty burghers, along with Marcus Bork, plunged in to rescue his Highness, whilst others tried to seize the fool, threatening to tear him in pieces. This was a joyful hearing to Doctor Pomius. He drew forth his knife—"Would they not finish the knave at once? Here was a knife just ready."

But the fool, who was strong and supple, swung himself up to the bridge, and crouched in between the arches, catching hold of the beams, so that no one dared to touch him there, and his Highness was soon carried to land. He was in a flaming rage as he shook off the water.

"Where is that accursed fool? He had only threatened to cut off his head at Daber, but now it should be done in earnest."

So the fool shouted from under the bridge—"Ho! ho! the courts are all closed! the courts are all closed!" At which the crowd laughed so heartily, that my Lord Duke grew still more angry, and commanded them to bring the fool to him dead or alive.

Hearing this, the fool crept forward of himself, and whimpered in his Low Dutch, "My good Lord Duke, praise be to God that we've made the doctor fly. I'll give him a little piece of drink-money for his journey, and then I'll be your doctor myself. For if the fright has not cured you, marry, let the deacon be your fool, and I will be your deacon as long as I live."

However, my gracious lord was in no humour for fun, but bid them carry off the fool to prison, and lock him up there; for though, indeed, the fever had really quite gone, as his Highness perceived to his joy, yet he was resolved to give the fool a right good fright in return.

Therefore, on the third day from that, he commanded him to be brought out and beheaded on the scaffold at Wollin. He wore a white shroud, bordered with black gauze, over his motley jacket, and a priest and melancholy music accompanied him all the way; but Master Hansen had directions that, when the fool was seated in the chair with his eyes bound, he should strike the said fool on the neck with a sausage in place of the sword.

However, no one suspected this, and a great crowd followed the poor fool up to the scaffold; even Doctor Pomius was there, and kept close up to the condemned. As the fool passed the ducal house, there was my lord seated at a window looking out, and the fool looked up, saying, "My gracious master, is this a fool's jest you are playing me, or is it earnest?"

To which the Duke answered, "You see it is earnest."

Then answered the fool, "Well, if I must, I must; yet I crave one boon!"

When the promise was granted, the knave, who could not give up his jesting even on the death-road, said, "Then make Doctor Pomius herewith to be fool in my place, for look how he is learning all my tricks from me—sticking himself close up to my side."

Hereat a great shout of laughter pealed from the crowd, and the Duke motioned with the hand to proceed to the scaffold.

Still the poor fool kept looking round every moment, thinking his Grace would send a message after them to stop the execution, but no one appeared. Then his teeth chattered, and he trembled like an aspen leaf; for Master Hansen seized hold of him now, and put him down upon the chair, and bound his eyes. Still he asked, with his eyes bound, "Master, is any one coming?"

"No!" replied the executioner; and throwing back his red cloak, drew forth a large sausage in place of a sword, to the great amusement of the people. With this he strikes my fool on the neck, who thereupon tumbles down from the stool, as stone dead from the mere fright as if his head and body had parted company—yea, more dead, for never a finger or a muscle did the poor fool move more.

This sad ending moved his Grace even to tears; and he fell into a yet greater melancholy than before, crying, "Woe! alas! He gave me my life through fright, and through fright I have taken away his poor life! Ah, never shall I meet with so good and merry a fool again!"

Then he gave command to all the physicians to try and restore him, and he himself stood by while they bled him and felt his pulse, but all was in vain; even Doctor Pomius tried his skill, but nothing would help, so that my lord cried out angrily—

"Marry, the fool was right. The fools should be doctors, for the doctors are all fools. Away with ye all, and your gibberish, to the devil!"

After this he had the said fool placed in a handsome black coffin, and conveyed to his own town of Hinzendorf, there to be buried; and over his grave my lord erected a stately monument, on which was represented the poor fool, as large as life, with his cap and bells, and staff in his hand; and round his waist was a girdle, from which many geese dangled, all cut like life, while at his side lay his shepherd's bag, and at his feet a beer-can. The figure is five feet two inches long, and bears a Latin inscription above it, which I forget; but the initials G. H. are carved upon each cheek. [Footnote: His original name was Guergen Hinze, not Clas. The Latin inscription is nearly effaced, but the beginning is still visible, and runs thus: "Caput ecce manus gestus que;" from which Oelrichs concludes that the whole was written in hexameters. (See his estimable work, "Memoirs of the Pomeranian Dukes," p. 41.)]

Shortly after the death of the fool a messenger arrived from Saatzig to Marcus Bork, bringing him the joyful tidings that the Lord God had granted him the blessing of a little son. So he is away to my Lord Duke, to solicit permission to leave the Diet and return to his castle. This the Duke readily granted, seeing that he himself was going away to attend the funeral of the poor fool at Hinzendorf. Then he wished Marcus joy with all his heart, which so emboldened the knight that he ventured to make one more effort about the opening of the courts, praying his Grace to put faith in the word of his faithful states, and open the courts and the treasury without further delay.

But his Grace is wroth: "What should he be troubled for? The states could give the money when they chose, and then all would be right. Let the nobles do their duty. He never saw a penny come out of their pockets for their Prince."

"But his Highness knew the poor peasants were all beggared; and where could the nobles get the money?"

"Let them go to their saving-pots, then, where the money was turning green from age; better for them if they had less avarice. Why did not he himself bring him some gold, in place of dressing up his wife in silks and jewels, finer than the Princess Erdmuth herself, his own princely spouse? Then, indeed, the courts might be soon opened," &c. So the sorrowing knight took his leave, and each went his different way.



CHAPTER XVI.

How Sidonia makes poor Clara appear quite dead, and of the great mourning at Saatzig over her burial, while Sidonia dances on her coffin and sings the 109th psalm—Item, of the sermon and the anathema pronounced upon a wicked sinner from the altar of the church.

I must first state that this horrible wickedness of Sidonia, which no eye had seen nor ear heard, neither had it entered into the heart of man to conceive (for only in hell could such have been imagined), never would have come to light but that she herself made confession thereof to Dr. Cramero, thy well-beloved godfather, in her last trial. And he, to show how far Satan can lead a poor human creature who has once fallen from God, related the same to my worthy father-in-law, Master David Reutzio, some time superintendent at the criminal court, from whose own lips I received the story.

And this was her confession:—That when the messenger returned from Daber with the broth, he had ridden so fast that it was still, in truth, quite hot, but she (the horrible Sidonia), who was standing at the bed of the young mother, along with the other women, pretended that it was too cold for a woman in her state, and must just get one little heating on the fire.

The poor Clara, indeed, showed unwillingness to permit this, but she ran down with it, and secretly, without being seen by any of the other women, poured in a philtrum that had been given her by the gipsy hag, and then went back again for a moment. This philtrum was the one which produced all the appearance of death. It had no taste, except, perhaps, that it was a little saltish. Therefore Clara perceived nothing wrong, only when she tasted it, said, "My heart's dearest mother, in her joy, has put a little too much salt into her broth; still, what a heart's dearest mother sends, must always taste good!" However, in one hour after that, Clara lay as stiff and cold as a corpse, only her breath came a little; but even this ceased in a short time, and then a great cry and lamentation resounded through the whole castle. No one suspected Sidonia, for many said that young women died so often; but even the old mother, who arrived a few hours after, and hearing the cries from the castle while she was yet far off, began to weep likewise; for her mother's heart revealed the cause to her ere she had yet descended from the carriage.

But it was a sadder sight next evening, when the husband arrived at the castle from Wollin. He could not take his eyes from the corpse. One while he kissed the infant, then fixed his eyes again upon his dead wife, and sighed and groaned as if he lay upon the rack. He alone suspected Sidonia, but when she cried more than they all, and wrung her hands, exclaiming, who would have pity on her now, for her best friend lay there dead! and flung herself upon the seeming corpse, kissing it and bedewing it with her tears, and praying to have leave to watch all night beside it, for how could she sleep in her sore grief and sorrow? the knight was ashamed of his suspicions, and even tried to comfort her himself.

Then came the physicians out of Stargard and other places, who had been summoned in all haste, and they gabbled away, saying, "It could not have been the broth, but puerperal fever." This at least was Dr. Hamster's opinion, who knew all along it would be a bad case. Indeed, the last time he was at the castle visiting the mower's wife, he was frightened at the look of the poor lady. Still, if they had only sent for him in time, this great evil could not have happened, for his pulvis antispasmodicus was never known to fail; and so he went on chattering, by which one can see that doctors have always been the same from that time even till now.

Summa.—On the third day the poor Clara was laid in her coffin, and carried to her grave, with such weeping and lamentation of the mourners and bearers as never had been heard till then. And all the nobles of the vicinage, with the knights and gentlemen, came to attend her funeral at Saatzig Cathedral, for she was to be buried in this new church just finished by his Grace Duke Johann, and but one corpse had been laid in the vaults before her. [Footnote: The beautifully painted escutcheon of Duke Johann and his wife, Erdmuth of Brandenburg, is still to be seen on the chancel windows of this stately staircase.]

But what does the devil's sorceress do now? She knew that the poor Clara would awake the next day (which was Sunday) about noon, and if any should hear her cries, her plans would be detected. Therefore, about ten of the clock she ran to Marcus, with her hair all flowing down her shoulders, saying, that he must let her away that very day to Zachow, for what would the world say if she, a young unmarried thing, should remain here all alone with him in his castle? No; sooner would she swallow the bitter cup her father had left her than peril her name. But first, would he allow her to go and pray alone in the church? Surely he would not deny her this.

Thereupon the simple knight gave her instant leave—"Let her go and pray, in God's name. He himself would soon be there to hear the Reverend Dr. Wudargensis preach the funeral sermon over his heart's dear wife. And after service he would desire a carriage to be in readiness to convey her to Zachow."

Then he called to the warder from the window, bidding him let Sidonia pass. So she went forth in deep mourning garments, glided through the castle gardens, and concealing herself by the trees, slipped into the church without any one having perceived her; for the sexton had left the door open to admit fresh air, on account of the corpse. Then she stepped over to the little grated door near the altar, which led down into the vault, and softly lifting it, stepped down, drawing the door down again close over her head. Clara's coffin was lying beneath, and first she laid her ear on it and listened, but all was quite still within. Then removing the pall, she sat herself down upon the lid. Time passed, and still no sound. The sexton began to ring the bell, and the people were assembling in the church above. Soon the hymn commenced, "Now in peace the loved one sleepeth," and ere the first verse had ended, a knocking was heard in the coffin, then a cry—"Where am I? What brought me here? Let me out, for God's sake let me out! I am not dead. Where is my child? Where is my good Marcus? Ah! there is some one near me. Who is it? Let me out! let me out!" Then (oh! horror of horrors!) the devil's harlot on her coffin answered, "It is I, Sidonia! this pays thee for acting the spy at Wolgast. Lie there and writhe till thou art stifled in thy blood!" Now the voice came again from the coffin, praying and beseeching, so that many times it went through her stony heart like a sword. And just then the first verse of the hymn ended, and the voice of the priest was heard asking the lord governor whether they should go and sing the remainder over the vault of his dear spouse, for it was indeed sung in her honour, seeing she had been ever a mother to the orphan, and a holy, pious, and Christian wife; or, since the people all knew her worth, and mourned for her with bitter mourning, should they sing it here in the nave, that the whole congregation might join in chorus? [Footnote: These interruptions were by no means unusual at that period.]

To this the governor, in a loud yet mournful voice, gave answer—

"Alas, good friends, do what you will in this sad case; I am content."

But Sidonia, this devil's witch, was in a horrible fright, lest the priest would come up to the altar to sing the hymn, and so hear the knocking within the coffin. However, the devil protects his own, for, at that instant, many voices called out—

"Let the hymn be sung here, that we may all join to the honour of the blessed soul of the good lady."

And mournfully the second verse was heard pealing through the church, from the lips of the whole congregation, so that poor Clara's groans were quite smothered. For, when the voice of her dear husband reached her ear, she had knocked and cried out with all her strength—

"Marcus! Marcus! Alas, dear Lord, will you not come to me!" Then again—"Sidonia, by the Jesu cross, I pray thee have pity on me. Save me—save me—I am stifling. Oh, run for some one, if thou canst not lift the lid thyself!"

But the devil made answer to the poor living corpse—

"Dost thou take me for a silly fool like thyself, that I should now undo all I have done?"

And as the voice went on from the coffin, but feebler and fainter—

"Think on my husband—on my child, Sidonia!"

She answered—

"Didst thou think of that when, but for thee, I might have been a Duchess of Pomerania, and the proud mother of a prince, in place of being as I now am."

Then all became still within the coffin, and Sidonia sprang upon it and danced, chanting the 109th psalm; [Footnote: Superstition has found many sinful usages for this psalm. The Jews, for example, took a new vessel, poured a mixture of mustard and water therein, and after repeating this psalm over it for three consecutive days, poured it out before the door of their enemy, as a certain means to ensure his destruction. In the middle ages monks and nuns were frequently obliged to repeat it in superstitious ceremonies, at the command of some powerful revengeful man. And that its efficacy was Considered as something miraculously powerful, even by the evangelical Church, is proved by this example of Sidonia, who made frequent use of this terrible psalm in her sorceries, as any one may see by referring to the records of the trial in Daehnert. And other interesting examples are found in the treatise of Job. Andreas Schmidii, Abusus Psalmi 109 imprecatorii; vulgo, The Death Prayer, Helmstadt, 1708.] and as she came to the words, "Let none show mercy to him; let none have pity on his orphans; let his posterity be cut off and his name be blotted out," there was a loud knocking again within the coffin, and a faint, stifled cry—"I am dying!" then followed a gurgling sound, and all became still. At that moment the congregation above raised the last verse of the hymn:—

"In the grave, with bitter weeping, Loving hands have laid her down; There she resteth, calmly sleeping, Till an angel lifts the stone."

But the sermon which now followed she remembered her life long. It was on the tears, the soft tears of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. And as her spirit became oppressed by the silence in the vault, now that all was still within the coffin, she lifted the lid after the exordium, to see if Clara were indeed quite dead.

It was an easy matter to remove the cover, for the screws were not fastened; but—O God! what has she beheld? A sight that will never more leave her brain! The poor corpse lay all torn and disfigured from the writhings in the coffin, and a blood-vessel must have burst at last to relieve her from her agony, for the blood lay yet warm on the hands as she lifted the cover. But more horrible than all were the fixed glassy eyes of the corpse, staring immovably upon her, from which clear tears were yet flowing, and blending with the blood upon the cheek; and, as if the priest above had known what was passing beneath, he exclaimed—

"Oh, let us moisten our couch with tears; let tears be our meat day and night. They are noble tears that do not fall to earth, but ascend up to God's throne. Yea, the Lord gathers them in His vials, like costly wine. They are noble tears, for if they fill the eyes of God's chosen in this life, yet, in that other world, the Lord Jesus will wipe away tears from off all faces, as the dew is dried by the morning sun. Oh, wondrous beauty of those eyes which are dried by the Lord Jesus! Oh, blessed eyes! Oh, sun-clear eyes! Oh, joyful and ever-smiling eyes!"

She heard no more, but felt the eyes of the corpse were upon her, and fell down like one dead beside the coffin; and Clara's eyes and the sermon never left her brain from that day, and often have they risen before her in dreams.

But the Holy Spirit had yet a greater torment in store for her, if that were possible.

For, after the sermon, a consistorium was held in the church upon a grievous sinner named Trina Wolken, who, it appeared, had many times done penance for her unchaste life, but had in no wise amended. And she heard the priest asking, "Who accuseth this woman?" To which, after a short silence, a deep, small voice responded—

"I accuse her; for I detected her in sin, and though I besought her with Christian words to turn from her evil ways, and that I would save her from public shame if she would so turn, yet she gave herself up wholly to the devil, and out of revenge bewitched my best sheep, so that it died the very day after it had brought forth a lamb. Alas! what will become of the poor lamb? And it was such a beautiful little lamb!"

When Marcus Bork heard this, he began to sob aloud; and each word seemed to run like a sharp dagger through Sidonia's heart, so that she bitterly repented her evil deeds. And all the congregation broke out into loud weeping, and even the priest continued, in a broken voice, to ask the sinner what she had to say to this terrible accusation.

Upon which a woman's voice was heard swearing that all was a malignant lie, for her accuser was a shameless liar and open sinner, who wished to ruin her because she had refused his son.

Then the priest commanded the witnesses to be called, not only to prove the unchastity, but also the witchcraft. And after this, she was asked if she could make good the loss of the sheep? No; she had no money. And the people testified also that the harlot had nothing but her shame. Thereupon the priest rose up, and said—

"That she had long been notorious in the Christian communion for her wicked life, and that all her penance and repentance having proved but falsehood and deceit, he was commissioned by the honourable consistorium to pronounce upon her the solemn curse and sentence of excommunication. For she had this day been convicted of strange and terrible crimes, on the testimony of competent witnesses. Therefore he called upon the whole Christian congregation to stand up and listen to the words of the anathema, by which he gave over Trina Wolken to the devil, in the name of the Almighty God."

And as he spoke the curse, it fell word by word upon the head of Sidonia, as if he were indeed pronouncing it over herself—

"Dear Christian Friends,—Because Trina Wolken hath broken her baptismal vows, and given herself over to the devil, to work all uncleanness with greediness; and though divers times admonished to repentance by the Church, yet hath stiffened her neck in corruption, and hardened her heart in unrighteousness, therefore we herewith place the said Trina Wolken under the ban of the excommunication. Henceforth she is a thing accursed—cast off from the communion of the Church, and participation in the holy sacraments. Henceforth she is given up to Satan for this life and the next, unless the blessed Saviour reach forth His hand to her as He did to the sinking Peter, for all things are possible with God. And this we do by the power of the keys granted by Christ to His Church, to bind and loose on earth as in heaven, in the name of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen."

And now Sidonia heard distinctly the screams of the wretched sinner, as she was hunted out of the church, and all the congregation followed soon after, and then all was still above.

Now, indeed, terror took such hold of her that she trembled like an aspen leaf, and the lid fell many times from her hand with great clatter on the ground, as she tried to replace it on the coffin. For she had closed her eyes, for fear of meeting the ghastly stare of the corpse again. At last she got it up, and the corpse was covered; but she would not stay to replace the screws, only hastened out of the vault, closing the little grated door after her, reached the church door, which had no lock, but only a latch, and plunged into the castle gardens to hide herself amongst the trees.

Here she remained crouched for some hours, trying to recover her self-possession; and when she found that she could weep as well as ever when it pleased her, she set off for the castle, and met her cousin Marcus with loud weeping and lamentations, entreating him to let her go that instant to Zachow. Eat and drink could she not from grief, though she had eaten nothing the whole morning. So the mournful knight, who had himself risen from the table without eating, to hasten to his little motherless lamb, asked her where she had passed the morning, for he had not seen her in the church? To which she answered, that she had sunk down almost dead on the altar-steps; and, as he seemed to doubt her, she repeated part of the sermon, and spoke of the curse pronounced upon the girl, and told how she had remained behind in the church, to weep and pray alone. Upon which he exclaimed joyfully—

"Now, I thank God that my blessed spouse counselled me to take thee home with us. Ah! I see that thou hast indeed repented of thy sins. Go thy ways, then; and, with God's help, thou shalt never want a true and faithful friend while I live."

He bid her also take all his blessed wife's wardrobe with her, amongst which was a brocaded damask with citron flowers, which she had only got a year before; item, her shoes and kerchiefs: summa, all that she had worn, he wished never to see them again. And so she went away in haste from the castle, after having given a farewell kiss to the little motherless lamb. For though the evil spirit Chim, which she carried under her mantle, whispered to her to give the little bastard a squeeze that would make him follow his mother, or to let him do so, she would not consent, but pinched him for his advice till he squalled, though Marcus certainly could not have heard him, for he was attending Sidonia to the coach; but then the good knight was so absorbed in grief that he had neither ears nor eyes for anything.



CHAPTER XVII.

How Sidonia is chased by the wolves to Rehewinkel, and finds Johann Appelmann again in the inn, with whom she goes away a second time by night.

When Sidonia left Saatzig, the day was far advanced, so that the good knight recommended her to stop at Daber that night with his blessed wife's mourning parents, and, for this purpose, sent a letter by her to them. Also he gave a fine one-year-old foal in charge to the coachman, who tied it to the side of the carriage; and Marcus bid him deliver it up safely to the pastor of Rehewinkel, his good friend, for he had only been keeping the young thing at grass for him, and the pastor now wished it back—they must therefore go by Rehewinkel. So they drove away; but many strange things happened by reason of this same foal; for it was so restive and impatient at being tied, that many times they had to stop and quiet it, lest the poor beast might get hurt by the wheel.

This so delayed their journey, that evening came on before they were out of the forest; and as the sun went down, the wolves began to appear in every direction. Finally, a pack of ten or twelve pursued the carriage; and though the coach-man whipped his horses with might and main, still the wolves gained on them, and stared up in their faces, licking their jaws with their red tongues. Some even were daring enough to spring up behind the carriage, but finding nothing but trunks, had to tumble down again.

This so terrified Sidonia that she screamed and shrieked, and, drawing forth a knife, cut the cords that bound the foal, which instantly galloped away, and the wolves after it. How the carl drove now, thinking to get help in time to save the poor foal! but not so. The poor beast, in its terror, galloped into the town of Rehewinkel; and as the paddock is closed, it springs into the churchyard, the wolves after it, and runs into the belfry-tower, the door of which is lying open—the wolves rush in too, and there they tear the poor animal to pieces, before the pastor could collect peasants enough to try and save it.

Meanwhile Sidonia has reached the town likewise; and as there is a great uproar, some of the peasants crowding into the churchyard, others setting off full chase after the wolves, which had taken the road to Freienwald, Sidonia did not choose to move on (for she must have travelled that very road), but desired the coachman to drive up to the inn; and as she entered, lo! there sat my knave, with two companions, at a table, drinking. Up he jumps, and seizes Sidonia to kiss her, but she pushed him away. "Let him not attempt to come near her. She had done with such low fellows."

So the knave feigned great sorrow—"Alas! had she quite forgotten him—and he treasured her memory so in his heart! Where had she come from? He saw a great many trunks and bags on the carriage. What had she in them?"

Illa.—"Ah! he would, no doubt, like to get hold of them; but she would take care and inform the people what sort of robber carls they had now in the house. She came from Saatzig, and was going to Daber; for as old Dewitz had lost his daughter, he intended to adopt her in the place of one. Therefore let him not attempt to approach her, for she was now, more than ever, a castle and land dowered maiden, and from such a low burgher carl as he was, would cross and bless herself."

But my knave knew her well; so he answered—"Woe is me, Sidonia! do not grieve me by such words; for know that I have given up my old free courses of which you talk; and my father is so pleased with my present mode of life, that he has promised to give me my heritage, and even this very night I am to receive it at Bruchhausen, and am on my way there, as you see. Truly I meant to purchase some land in Poland with the money, and then search throughout all places for you, that we might be wedded like pious Christians. Alas! I thought to have sold your poor cabins at Zachow, and brought you home to my castle in Poland; but for all my love you only give me this proud answer!"

Now Sidonia scarcely believed the knave; so she called one of his comrades aside, and asked him was it true, and where they came from. Upon which he confirmed all that Johann had said—"The devil had dispersed the whole band, so that only two were left with the captain—himself and Konnemann; and they came from Noerenburg, where the master had been striking a bargain with Elias von Wedel, for a town in Poland. The town was called Lembrowo, and there was a stately castle there, as grand almost as the castle of old Dewitz at Daber. They were going this very night to Bruchhausen, to get gold from the old stiff-neck of Stargard, so that the bargain might be concluded next day."

This was a pleasant hearing for Sidonia. She became more friendly, and said, "He could not blame her for doubting him, as he had deceived her so often; still it was wonderful how her heart clung to him through all. Where had he been so long? and what had happened since they parted?"

Hereupon he answered, "That he could not speak while the people were all going to and fro in the inn; but if she came out with him (as the night was fine), they could walk down to the river-side, and he would tell her all."

Summa.—She went with him, and they sat down upon the green grass to discourse, never knowing that the pastor of Rehewinkel was hid behind the next tree; for he had gone forth to lament over the loss of his poor foal, and sat there weeping bitterly. He had got it home to sell, that he might buy a warm coat for the winter, which now he cannot do; therefore the old man had gone forth mournfully into the clear night, thrown himself down, and wept.

By this chance he heard the whole story from my knave, and related it afterwards to the old burgomaster in Stargard. It was as follows:—

Some time after his flight from Daber, a friend from Stettin told him that Dinnies von Kleist (the same who had spoiled their work in the Uckermund forest) had got a great sum of gold in his knapsack, and was off to his castle at Dame, [Footnote: A town near Polzin, in Lower Pomerania, and an ancient feudal hold of the Kleists.] while the rest were feasting at Daber. This sum he had won by a wager from the Princes of Saxony, Brandenburg, and Mecklenburg. For he had bet, at table, that he would carry five casks of Italian wine at once, and without help, up from the cellar to the dining-hall, in the castle of Old Stettin. Duke Johann refused the bet, knowing his man well, but the others took it up; upon which, after grace, the whole noble company stood up and accompanied him to the cellar. Here Dinnies took up a cask under each arm, another in each hand by the plugs, and a fifth between his teeth by the plug also; thus laden, he carried the five casks up every step from the cellar to the dining-hall. So the money was paid to him, as the lacqueys witnessed, and having put the same in his knapsack, he set off for his castle at Dame, to give it to his father. And the knave went on—"After I heard this news from my good friend, I resolved to set off for Dame and revenge myself on this strong ox, burn his castle, and take his gold. The band agreed; but woe, alas! there was one traitor amongst them. The fellow was called Kaff, and I might well have suspected him; for latterly I observed that when we were about any business, particularly church-robbing, he tried to be off, and asked to be left to keep the watch. Divers nights, too, as I passed him, there was the carl praying; and so I ought to have dismissed the coward knave at once, or he would have had half the band praying likewise before long.

"In short, this arrant villain slips off at night from his post, just as we had all set ourselves down before the castle, waiting for the darkest hour of midnight to attack the foxes in their den, and betrays the whole business to Kleist himself, telling him the strength of the band, and how and when we were to attack him, with all other particulars. Whereupon a great lamentation was heard in the castle, and old Kleist, a little white-headed man, wrung his hands, and seemed ready to go mad with fear; for half the retainers were at the annual fair, others far away at the coal-mines, and finally, they could scarcely muster in all ten fighting men. Besides this, the castle fosse was filled with rubbish, though the old man had been bidding his sons, for the last year, to get it cleared, but they never minded him, the idle knaves. All this troubled stout Dinnies mightily; and as he walked up and down the hall, his eyes often rested on a painting which represented the devil cutting off the head of a gambler, and flying with it out of the window.

"Again and again he looked at the picture, then called out for a hound, stuck him under his arm, and cut off his head, as if it had been only a dove; then he called for a calf from the stall, put it under his arm likewise, and cut off the head. Then he asked for the mask which represented the devil, and which he had got from Stettin to frighten his dissolute brothers, when they caroused too late over their cups. The young Johann, indeed, had sometimes dropped the wine-flask by reason of it, but Detloff still ran after the young maidens as much as ever, though even he had got such a fright that there was hope for his poor soul yet. So the mask was brought, and all the proper disguise to play the devil—namely, a yellow jerkin slashed with black, a red mantle, and a large wooden horse's foot.

"When Dinnies beheld all this, and the man who played the devil instructed him how to put them on, he rejoiced greatly, and declared that now he alone could save the castle. I knew nothing of all this at the time," said Johann, "nor of the treason, neither did the band. We were all seated under a shed in the wood, that had been built for the young deer in the winter time, and had stuck a lantern against the wall while we gamed and drank, and our provider poured us out large mugs of the best beer, when, just at midnight, we heard a report like a clap of thunder outside, so that the earth shook under us (it was no thunder-clap, however, but an explosion of powder, which the traitor had laid down all round the shed, for we found the trace of it next day).

"And as we all sprang up, in strode the devil himself bodily, with his horse's foot and cocks' feathers, and a long calf's tail, making the most horrible grimaces, and shaking his long hair at us. Fire came out of his mouth and nostrils, and roaring like a wild boar, he seized the little dwarf (whom you may remember, Sidonia), tucked him under his arm like a cock—and just as he was uttering a curse over his good game being interrupted—and cut his head clean off; then, throwing the head at me, growled forth—

"'Every day one, Only Sundays none"

and disappeared through the door like a flash of lightning, carrying the headless trunk along with him.

"When my comrades heard that the devil was to carry off one of them every day but Sunday, they all set up a screaming, like so many rooks when a shot is fired in amongst them, and rushed out in the night, seizing hold of horses or waggons, or whatever they could lay their hands on, and rode away east and west, and west and east, or north and south, as it may be.

"Summa.—When I came to my senses (for I had sunk down insensible from horror, when the head of the dwarf was thrown at me), I found that the said head had bit me by the arm, so that I had to drag it away by force; then I looked about me, and every knave had fled—even my waggon had been carried off, and not a soul was left in the place of all these fine fellows, who had sworn to be true to me till death.

"This base desertion nearly broke my heart, and I resolved to change my course of life and go to some pious priest for confession, telling him how the devil had first tempted me to sin, and then punished me in this terrible manner (as, indeed, I well deserved).

"So next morning I took my way to the town, after observing, to my great annoyance, that the castle could have been as easily taken as a bird's nest; and seeing a beer-glass painted on a sign-board, I guessed that here was the inn. Truth to say, my heart wanted strengthening sorely, and I entered. There was a pretty wench washing crabs in the kitchen, and as I made up to her, after my manner, to have a little pastime, she drew back and said, laughing, 'May the devil take you, as he took the others last night in the barn!' upon which she laughed again so loud and long, that I thought she would have fallen down, and could not utter a word more for laughing.

"This seemed a strange thing to me, for I had never heard a Christian man, much less a woman, laugh when the talk was of the bodily Satan himself. So I asked what there was so pleasant in the thought? whereupon she related what the young knight Dinnies Kleist had done to save his castle from the robbers. I would not believe her, but while I sat myself down on a bench to drink, the host comes in and confirmed her story. Summa, I let the conversion lie over for a time yet, and set about looking for my comrades, but not finding one, I fell into despair, and resolved to get into Poland, and take service in the army there—especially as all my money had vanished."

Here the old parson said that Sidonia cried out, "How now, sir knave, you are going to buy castle and lands forsooth, and have no money? Truly the base villain is deceiving me yet again."

But my knave answered, "Alas! woe that thou shouldst think so hardly of me! Have I not told thee that my father is going to give me my heritage? So listen further what I tell thee:—In Poland I met with Konnemann and Stephen Pruski, who had one of my waggons with them, in which all my gold was hid, and when I threatened to complain to the authorities, the cowards let me have my own property again, on condition that I would take them into my service, when I went to live at my own castle. This I promised; therefore they are here with me, as you see. And Konnemann went lately to my father at my request, and brought me back the joyful intelligence that he would assign me over my portion of his goods and property."

So far the Pastor Rehewinkelensis heard. What follows concerning the wicked knave was related by his own sorrowing father to my worthy father-in-law, along with other pious priests, and from him I had the story when I visited him at Marienfliess.

For what was my knave's next act? When he returned to the town, and heard from his comrades that the coachman of Saatzig was snoring away there in the stable with open mouth, he stuffed in some hay to prevent him screaming, and tied him hands and feet, then drew his horses out of the stall, yoked them to the carriage, and drove it himself a little piece out of the town down into the hollow, then went back for Sidonia, telling her that her stupid coachman had made some mistake and driven off without her, but he had put all her baggage on his own carriage, which was now quite ready, if she would walk with him a little way just outside the town. Hereupon she paid the reckoning, mine host troubling himself little about the affair of the waggon, and they set off on foot.

When they reached the carriage, Sidonia asked if all her baggage were really there, for she could not see in the darkness. And when she felt, and reckoned all her bundles and trunks, and found all right, my knave said, "Now, she saw herself that he meant truly by her. Here was even a nice place made in the straw sack for her, where he had sat down first himself, that she might have an easy seat. Item, she now saw his own carriage which he had fished up in Poland and kept till now, that he might travel in it to Bruchhausen to receive his heritage, and he was going there this very night. She saw that he had lied in nothing."

Whereupon Sidonia got into the carriage with him, never discovering his knavery on account of the darkness, and about midnight they reached the inn at Bruchhausen.



CHAPTER XVIII.

How a new leaf is turned over at Bruchhausen in a very fearful manner—Old Appelmann takes his worthless son prisoner, and admonishes him to repentance—Of Johann's wonderful conversion, and execution next morning in the churchyard, Sidonia being present thereby.

My knave halted a little way before they reached the inn, for he had his suspicions that all was not quite right, and sent on the forenamed Pruski to ascertain whether the money was really come for him. For there was a bright light in the tap-room, and the sound of many voices, which was strange, seeing that it was late enough for every one to be in bed. Pruski was back again soon—yes, it was all right. There were men in there from Stargard, who said they had brought gold for the young burgomaster.

Marry! how my knave jumped down from the carriage, and brought Sidonia along with him, bidding Pruski to stay and watch the things. But, behold, as my knave entered, six men seized him, bound him firmly, and bid him sit down quietly on a bench by the table, till his father arrived. So he cursed and swore, but this was no help to him; and when Sidonia saw that she had been deceived again, she tried to slip out and get to the carriage, but the men stopped her, saying, unless she wished a pair of handcuffs on, she had better sit down quietly on another bench opposite Johann. And she asked in vain what all this meant. Item, my knave asked in vain, but no one answered them.

They had not long been waiting, when a carriage stopped before the door, more voices were heard, and, alas! who should enter but the old burgomaster himself, with Mag. Vito, Diaconus of St. John's. And after them came the executioner, with six assistants bearing a black coffin.

My knave now turned as white as a corpse, and trembled like an aspen leaf; no word could he utter, but fell with his back against the wall. Then a dead silence reigned throughout the chamber, and Sidonia looked as white as her paramour.

When the assistants had placed the coffin on the ground, the old father advanced to the table, and spake thus—"Oh, thou fallen and godless child! thou thrice lost son! how often have I sought to turn thee from evil, and trusted in thy promises; but in place of better, thou hast grown worse, and wickedness has increased in thee day by day, as poison in the young viper. On thy infamous hands lie so many robberies, murders, and seductions, that they cannot be reckoned. I speak not of past years, for then truly the night would not be long enough to count them; I speak only of thy last deeds in Poland, as old Elias von Wedel related them to me yesterday in Stargard. Deny, if thou darest, here in the face of thy death and thy coffin, how thou didst join thyself to the Lansquenets in Poland, and then along with two vile fellows got entrance into Lembrowo, telling the old castellan, Elias von Wedel, that thou wast a labourer, upon which he took thee into his service. But at night thou (O wicked son!) didst rise up and beat the old Elias almost unto death, demanding all his money, which, when he refused, thou and thy robber villains seized his cattle and his horses, and drove them away with thee. Item, canst thou deny that on meeting the same old Elias at Norenberg by the hunt in the forest, thou didst mock him, and ask, would he sell his castle of Lembrowo in Poland, for thou wouldst buy it of him, seeing thy father had promised thee plenty of gold?

"Item, canst thou deny having written me a threatening letter, declaring that if by this very night a hundred dollars were not sent to thee here at Bruchhausen, a red beacon should rise up from my sheepfolds and barns, which meant nothing else than that thou wouldst burn the whole good town of Stargard, for thou knowest well that all the sheepfolds and barns of the burghers adjoin one to the other? Canst thou deny this, O thou lost son? If so, deny it now."

Here Johann began again with his old knavery. He wept, and threw himself on the ground, crawling under the table to get to his father's feet, then howled forth, that he repented of his sins, and would lead a better life truly for the future, if his hard, stern father would only forgive him now.

But Sidonia screamed aloud, and as the burgomaster in his sorrow had not observed her before, he turned his eyes now on her, and exclaimed, "Woe, alas! thou godless son, hast thou this noble maiden with thee yet? I thought she was at Saatzig; or perchance thou hast made her thy wife?"

Ille.—"Alas, no; but he would marry her soon, to make amends for the wrong he had done her."

Hic.—"This thou hast ten times promised, but in vain, and thy sins have increased a hundredfold; because, like all profligates, thou hast shunned the holy estate of matrimony, and preferred to wallow in the mire of unchastity, with any one who fell in the way of thy adulterous and licentious eyes."

Ille.—"Alas! his heart's dearest father was right; but he would amend his evil life; and, in proof of it, let the reverend deacon, M. Vitus, here present, wed him now instantly to Sidonia."

Hic.—"It is too late. I counsel thee rather to wed thy poor soul to the holy Saviour, like the repentant thief on the cross. See—here is a priest, and there is a coffin."

Here the executioner broke in upon the old, deeply afflicted father, telling him the coffin was too short, as, indeed, his worship had told him, but he would not believe the young man was so tall. Where could he put the head? It must be stuck between his feet, or under his arm, cried out another. So some proposed one thing and some another, till a great uproar arose.

Upon which the old mourning father cried out—"Do you want to break my heart? Is there not time enough to talk of this after?"

Then he turned again to his profligate son, and asked him—

"Would he not repent, and take the holy body and blood of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, as a passport with him on this long journey? If so, let him go into the little room and pray with the priest, and repent of his sins; there was yet time."

Ille.—"Alas, he had repented already. What had he ever done so wicked that his own bodily father should thirst after his blood? The courts were all closed, and law or justice could no man have in all Pomerania. What wonder then if club-law and the right of the strongest should obtain in all places, as in the olden time?"

Hic.—"That law and justice had ceased in the land was, alas! but too true. However, he was not to answer for this, but his princely Grace of Stettin. And because they had ceased in the land, was he, as an upright magistrate, called upon to do his duty yet more sternly, even though the criminal were his own born son. For the Lord, the just Judge, the Almighty and jealous God, called to him daily, from His holy Word—'Ye shall not respect persons in judgment, nor be afraid of the face of man; for the judgment is God's.' [Footnote: Deut. i. 17.] Woe to the land's Prince who had not considered this, but compelled him, the miserable judge, to steep his father's hands in the blood of his own son. But righteous Abraham conquered through faith, because he was obedient unto God, and bound his own innocent son upon the altar, and drew forth his knife to slay him. Therefore he, too, would conquer through faith, if he bound his guilty son, and drew out the sword against him, obedient to the words of the Lord. Therefore let him prepare himself for death, and follow the priest into the adjoining little chamber."

When Johann found that his father could in no wise be softened, he began horribly to curse him and the hour of his birth, so that the hair of all who heard him stood on end. And he called the devil to help him, and adjured him to come and carry away this fierce and unnatural father, who was more bloodthirsty than the wild beasts of the forest—for who had ever heard that they murdered their own blood?

"Come, devil," he screamed; "come, devil, and tear this bloodthirsty monster of a father to pieces before my eyes, so will I give myself to thee, body and soul! Hearest thou, Satan! Come and destroy my father, and all who have here come out to murder me, only leave me a little while longer in this life to do thy service, and then I am thine for eternity!"

Now all eyes were turned in fear and horror to the door, but no Satan entered, for the just God would not permit it, else, methinks, he would have run to catch such a morsel for his supper. However, the old man trembled, and seemed dwindling away into nothing before the eyes of the bystanders as his son uttered the curse. But he soon recovered, and laying his quivering hands upon the head of the imprecator, broke forth into loud weeping, while he prayed thus—

"O Thou just and Almighty God, who bringest the devices of the wicked to nought, close Thine ears against this horrible curse of my false son; remember Thine own word—'Into an evil soul wisdom cannot enter, nor dwell in a body subject unto sin.' [Footnote: Wisdom i. 4.] Thou alone canst make the sinful soul wise, and the body of sin a temple of the Holy Ghost. O Lord Jesus Christ, hast Thou no drop of living water, no crumb of strengthening manna for this sinful and foolish soul? Hast Thou no glance of Thy holy eyes for this denying Peter, that he may go forth and weep bitterly? Hast Thou no word to strike the heart of this dying thief—of this lost son, who, here bound for death, has cursed his own father, and given himself up, body and soul, to the enemy of mankind? O blessed Spirit, who comest and goest as the wind, enter the heavenly temple, which is yet the work of Thy hands, and make it, by Thy presence, a temple of the Most High! O Lord God, dwell there but one moment, that so in his death-anguish he may feel the sweetness of Thy presence, and the heaven-high comfort of Thy promise! O Thou Holy Trinity, who hast kept my steps from falling, through so much care and trouble, through so much shame and disgrace, through so much watching and tears, and even now through these terrible curses of my son, come and say Amen to this my last blessing, which I, poor father, give him for his curse.

"Yes, Johann; the Lord bless thee and keep thee in the death hour. The Lord shed his grace on thee, and give thee peace in thy last agonies!

"Yes, Johann; the Lord bless thee and keep thee, and give thee peace upon earth, and peace above the earth! Amen, amen, amen!"

When the trembling old man had so prayed, many wept aloud, and his son trembled likewise, and followed the priest, silently and humbly, into the neighbouring chamber.

Then the old man turned to Sidonia, and asked why she had left her worthy cousin Marcus of Saatzig?

Upon which she told him, weeping, how his son had deceived her, in order to get her once more into his power, in order that he might rob her, and all she wanted now was to be let go her way in peace to her farm-houses in Zachow.

But this the old man refused.

"No; this must not be yet. She was as evil-minded as his own son, and needed an example to warn her from sin. Not a step should she move till his head was off."

And, for this purpose, he bid two burghers seize hold of her by the hands, and carry her to the scaffold when the execution was going to take place. The grave must be nearly ready now, which he bade them dig in a corner of the churchyard close by, and he had ordered a car-load of sand likewise to be laid down there, for the execution should take place in the churchyard.

Meanwhile the poor criminal has come out of the inner chamber with M. Vitus, and going up to the bench where the poor father had sunk down exhausted by emotion, he flings himself at his feet, exclaiming, with the prodigal son in the parable—

"Father, I have sinned before heaven and in thy sight, and am no more worthy to be called thy son."

Then he kissed his feet, and bedewed them with his tears.

Now the father thought this was all pretence, as formerly, so he gave no answer. Upon which the poor sinner rose up, and reached his hand to each one in the chamber, praying their forgiveness for all the evil he had done, but which he was now going to expiate in his blood. Item, he advanced to Sidonia, sighing—

"Would not she too forgive him, for the love of God? Woe, alas! She had more to forgive than any one; but would not she give him her pardon, for some comfort on this last journey; and so would he bear her remembrance before the throne of God?"

But Sidonia pushed away his hand.

"He should be ashamed of such old-womanish weakness. Did he not see that his father was only trying to frighten him? For were he in earnest, then were he more cruel even than her own unnatural father, who, though he had only left her two cabins in Zachow, out of all his great riches, yet had left her, at least, her poor life."

Hereupon the poor sinner made answer—

"Not so; I know my father; he is not cruel; what he does is right; therefore I willingly die, trusting in my blessed Saviour, whose body will sanctify my body in the grave. For had I committed no other sin, yet the curse I uttered just now is alone sufficient to make me worthy of death, as it is written—'He that curseth father or mother shall surely be put to death.'" [Footnote: Exodus xxi. 17.]

When the old man heard such-like words, he resolved to put his son's sincerity to the test, for truly it seemed to him impossible that the Almighty God should so suddenly make the crooked straight, and the dead to live, and a child of heaven out of a child of hell. So he spake—

"Thy repentance seemeth good unto me, my son, what sayest thou? will it last, think you, if I now bestow thy life on thee?"

Hereat Sidonia laughed aloud, exclaiming—

"Said I not right? It was all a jest of thy dear father's." But the poor sinner would not turn again to his wallowing in the mire. He sat down upon a bench, covering his face with his hands, and sobbed aloud. At last he answered—

"Alas! father, life is sweet and death is bitter; but since the Holy Spirit hath entered into me with the body of our Lord, I say, death is sweet and life is bitter. No; off with my head! 'I find a law in my members warring against the law of my spirit, and making me a prisoner under the law of sin;' [Footnote: Romans vii. 23.] for if I see my neighbour rich and I am poor, then the demon of covetousness rises in me, and my fingers itch to seize my share. Or, if the foaming flask is before me, how can I resist to drain it, for the spirit of gluttony is within me? Or, if I see a maiden, the blood throbs in my veins, and the demon of lust has taken possession of me. 'Oh, wretched man that I am, who will deliver me from the body of this death?' You will, dearest father. You will release me from this life, as you once gave it to me, for it is now a life in death. Ah! show mercy! Come quickly, and release me from the body of this death!"

When he ceased, the old man sprung up like a youth, and pressing his lost son to his heart, sobbed forth like him of the Gospel—

"O friends, see! 'This my son was dead, but is alive again; he was lost, and is found.' Yea, yea, see all that nothing is impossible with God. O Thou Holy Trinity, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, now I have nothing more to ask, but that I too may soon be released from the body of this death, and go forth to meet my new-found son amidst the bright circle of the Holy Angels."

Then the son answered—

"Let me go now, father. See, the morning dawn shines already through the window; so hath the loving mercy of my God come to me, who sat in darkness and the shadow of death. Farewell, father; let me go now. Away with this head in the clear early morning light, so that my feet be fixed for evermore upon the path to peace."

And so speaking, he seized M. Vitus by the hand, who was sobbing loudly, as well as most of the burghers, and the executioner with his assistants bearing the coffin were going to follow, when the old man, who had sunk down upon a bench, called back his son, though he had already gone out at the door, and prayed the executioner to let him stay one little while longer. For he remembered that his son had a welt upon his neck, and he must see whether it would interfere with the sword. Woe, woe! if he should have to strike twice or thrice before the head fell!

So the executioner removed the neck-cloth from the poor sinner (who, by the great mercy of God, was stronger than any of them), and having felt the welt, said—

"No; the welt was close up to the head, but he would take the neck in the middle, as indeed was his usual custom. His worship may make his mind quite easy; he would stake his life on it that the head would fall with the first blow. This was his one hundred and fiftieth, and he never yet had failed."

Then the unhappy criminal tied his cravat on again, took M. Vitus by the hand, and said—

"Farewell, my father; once more forgive me for all that I have done!"

After which he went out quickly, without waiting to hear a word more from his father, and the executioner followed him.

Meanwhile the afflicted father was sore troubled in mind. Three times he repeated the text—"Ye shall not respect persons in judgment, nor be afraid of the face of man, for the judgment is God's." Then he called upon God to forgive the Prince who, by taking away law and justice from the land, had obliged him to be the judge and condemner of his son. How the Lord dealt with the Prince we shall hear farther on. One while he sent mine host to look over the hedge, and tell him if the head were off yet. Then he would begin to pray that he might soon follow this poor son, who had never given him one moment of joy but through his death, and pass quickly after him through the vale of tears.

The son, however, is steadfast unto the end. For when they reached the churchyard, he stood still a while gazing on the heap of sand. Then he desired to be led to the spot where his grave was dug; and near this same grave there being a tombstone, on which was figured a man kneeling before a crucifix, he asked—

"Who was to share his grave bed here?"

Whereupon M. Vitus replied—

"He was a rector scholae out of Stargard, a very learned man, who had retired from active life, and settled down here at Bruchhausen, where he died not long since."

Whereat the poor sinner stood still a while, and then repeated this beautiful distich, no doubt by the inspiration of the Holy Ghost, to warn all learned sinners against that demon of pride and vain-glory which too often takes possession of them.

"Quid juvat innumeros scire atque evolvere casus Si facieuda fugis et fugienda facis?"

["What is the use of knowledge and all our infinite learning, If we fly what is right and do what we ought to fly?"]

Then he looked calmly at his grave, and only prayed the executioner not to put his head between his feet; after which he returned to the sand-heap and exclaimed—

"Now to God!"

Upon which, M. Vitus blessed him yet again, and spake—

"O God, Father, who hast brought back this lost son, and filled this foolish soul with wisdom; ah! Jesus, Saviour, who, in truth, hast turned Thy holy eyes on him as on the denying Peter and on the dying thief. O Holy Spirit, who hast not scorned to make this poor vessel a temple for Thyself to dwell in, that in the death-anguish this sinner may find the sweetness of Thy presence and the heaven-high comfort of Thy promises! O Thou Holy Trinity—to Thee—to Thee—to Thee—to Thy grace, Thy power, Thy protection, we resign this dying mortal in his last agonies. Help him, Lord God! Kyrle Eleison! Give Thy holy angels command to bear this poor soul into Abraham's bosom. O come, Lord Jesus; help him, O Lord our God. Kyrie Eleison! Amen."

And hereupon he pronounced a last blessing over him. And when the executioner took off his upper garment and bound the kerchief over his eyes, M. Vitus again spake—

"Think on the holy martyrs, of whom Basilius Magnus testifies that they exclaimed, when undressing for their death—_Non vestes exuimus, sed veterem hommem deponimus." [Footnote: "We lay not off our clothes, but the old man."—Basil the Great, Archbishop of Caesarea, A.D. 379.]

Upon which he answered from under the kerchief something in Latin, but the executioner had laid the cloth so thickly even over his mouth and chin, that no one could catch the words. Then he kneeled down, and while the executioner drew his sword, M. Vitus chanted—

"When my lips no more can speak, May Thy Spirit in me cry; When my eyes are faint and weak, May my soul see Heaven nigh!

When my heart is sore dismayed, This dying frame has lost its strength, May my spirit, with Thy aid, Cry—Jesu, take me home at length!"

And all who stood round saw, as it were, a wonderful sign from God; for as the executioner let the sword fall, head and sun appeared at the same moment—the head upon the earth, the sun above the earth; and there was a deep silence. Sidonia alone laughed out loud, and cried, "So ends the conversion!" And while the psalm was singing, "Now, pray we to the Holy Ghost," the executioner acting as clerk, she disappeared, and for thirty years, as we shall hear presently, no one could ascertain where she went to or how she lived; though sometimes, like a horrible ghost, she was seen occasionally here and there.

Summa.—The miserable criminal was laid in his coffin, and as, in truth, it was too short for the corpse, and the poor sinner had requested that his head might not be placed between his feet, so it was laid upon his chest, with his hands folded over it, and thus he was buried.

The old father rejoiced greatly that his son remained steadfast in the truth until the last, and thanked God for it. Then he returned to Stargard; and I may just mention, to conclude concerning him, that the merciful God heard the prayer of this His faithful servant, for he scarcely survived his son a year, but, after a short illness, fell asleep in Jesus. [Footnote: For further particulars concerning this truly worthy man, who may well be called the Pomeranian Manlius, see Friedeborn, "Description of Old Stettin," vol. ii. p. 113; and Barthold, "Pomeranian History," pp. 46, 419.]



CHAPTER XIX.

Of Sidonia's disappearance for thirty years—Item, how the young Princess Elizabeth Magdelene was possessed by a devil, and of the sudden death of her father, Ernest Ludovicus of Pomerania.

I have said that Sidonia disappeared after the execution at Bruchhausen, and that for thirty years no one knew where she lived or how she lived. At her farm-house at Zachow she never appeared; but the Acta Criminalia set forth that during that period she wandered about the towns of Freienwald, Regenwald, Stargard, and other places, in company with Peter Konnemann and divers other knaves.

However, the ducal prosecutor, although he instituted the strictest inquiries at the period of her trial, could ascertain nothing beyond this, except that, in consequence of her evil habits and licentious tongue, she was held everywhere in fear and abhorrence, and was chased away from every place she entered after about six or eight o'clock. Further, that some misfortune always fell upon every one who had dealings with her, particularly young married people. To the said Konnemann, she betrothed herself after the death of her first paramour, but afterwards gave him fifty florins to get rid of the contract, as she confessed at the seventeenth question upon the rack, according to the Actis Lothmanni. Meantime her brother and cousins were so completely turned against her, that her brother even took those two farm-houses to himself; and though Sidonia wrote to him, begging that an annuity might be settled on her, yet she never received a line in answer—and this was the manner in which the whole cousinhood treated her in her despair and poverty.

I myself made many inquiries as to her mode of life during those thirty years, but in vain. Some said that she went into Poland and there kept a little tavern for twenty years; some had seen her living at Riigen at the old wall, where in heathen times the goddess Hertha was honoured. Some said she went to Riiden, a little uninhabited island between Riigen and Usdom, where the wild geese and other birds flock in the moulting season and drop their feathers. Thence, they said, she gathered the eggs, and killed the birds with clubs. At least this was the story of the Usdom fishermen, but whether it were Sidonia or some other outcast woman, I cannot in strict verity declare. Only in Freienwald did I hear for certain that she lived there twelve years with some earl whom she called her shield-knight; but one day they quarrelled, and beat each other till the blood flowed, after which they both ran out of the town, and went different ways.

Summa.—On the 1st of May 1592, when the witches gather in the Brocken to hold their Walpurgis night, and the princely castle of Wolgast was well guarded from the evil one by white and black crosses placed on every door, an old wrinkled hag was seen about eight o'clock of the morning (just the time she had returned from the Blocksberg, according to my thinking), walking slowly up and down the great corridor of the princely castle. And the providence of the great God so willed it that at that moment the young and beautiful Princess Elizabeth Magdalena (who had been betrothed to the Duke Frederick of Courland) opened her chamber-door and slipped forth to pay her morning greetings to her illustrious father, Duke Ernest, and his spouse, the Lady Sophia Hedwig of Brunswick, who sat together drinking their warm beer, [Footnote: Before the introduction of coffee or chocolate, warm beer was in general use at breakfast] and had sent for her.

So the hag advanced with much friendliness and cried out, "Hey, what a beautiful young damsel! But her lord papa was called 'the handsome' in his time, and wasn't she as like him as one egg to another. Might she take her ladyship's little hand and kiss it?" Now as the hag was bold in her bearing, and the young Princess was a timid thing, she feared to refuse; so she reached forth her hand, alas! to the witch, who first three times blew on it, murmuring some words before she kissed it; then as the young Princess asked her who she was and what she wanted, the evil hag answered, "I would speak with your gracious father, for I have known him well. Ask his princely Grace to come to me, for I have somewhat to say to him." Now the Princess, in her simplicity, omitted to ask the hag's name, whereby much evil came to pass, for had she told her gracious father that SIDONIA wished to speak to him, assuredly he never would have come forth, and that fatal and malignant glance of the witch would not have fallen upon him.

However, his Serene Grace, having a mild Christian nature, stepped out into the corridor at the request of his dear daughter, and asked the hag who she was and what she wanted. Upon this, she fixed her eyes on him in silence for a long while, so that he shuddered, and his blood seemed to turn to ice in his veins. [Footnote: This belief in the witchcraft of a glance was very general during the witch period. And even the ancients notice it (Pliny, Hist. Nat. vii. 2), also Aul. Gell. Noct. Attic, ix. 4; and Virgil, Eclog. in. 103. The glance of a woman with double pupils was particularly feared.] At last she spake: "It is a strange thing, truly, that your Grace should no longer remember the maiden to whom you once promised marriage." At this his Grace recoiled in horror, and exclaimed, "Ha, Sidonia! but how you are changed." "Ah!" she answered, with a scornful laugh, "you may well triumph, now that my cheek is hollow, and my beauty gone, and that I have come to you for justice against my own brother in Stramehl, who denies me even the means of subsistence—you, who brought me to this pass."

Upon which his Grace answered that her brother was a subject of the Duke of Stettin. Let her go then to Stettin, and demand justice there.

Illa.—"She had been there, but the Duke refused to see her, and to her request for a proebenda in the convent of Marienfliess had returned no answer. She prayed his Grace, therefore, out of old good friendship, to take up her cause, and use his influence with the Lord Duke of Stettin to obtain the proebenda for her, also to send a good scolding to her brother at Stramehl under his own hand."

Now my gracious Prince was so anxious to get rid of her, that he promised everything she asked. Whereupon she would kiss his hand, but he drew it back shuddering, upon which she went down the great castle steps again, murmuring to herself.

But her wickedness soon came to light; for mark—scarcely a few days had passed over, when the beautiful young Princess was possessed by Satan; she rolls herself upon the ground, twists and writhes her hands and feet, speaks with a great coarse voice like a common carl, blasphemes God and her parents; and what was more wonderful than all, her throat swelled, and when they laid their hand on it, something living seemed creeping up and down in it. Then it went up to her mouth, and her tongue swelled so, that her eyes seemed starting from their sockets, and the gracious young lady became fearful to look at.

Item, then she began to speak Latin, though she had never learned this tongue, whereupon many, and in particular Mag. Michael Aspius, the court chaplain (for Dr. Gerschovius was long since dead) pronounced that Satan himself verily must be in the maiden. [Footnote: The ancients name three distinguishing marks of demoniacal possession:—

1st, When the patient blasphemes God and cannot repeat the leading articles of his Christian belief.

2nd, When he foretells events which afterwards come to pass.

3rd, When he speaks in a strange tongue, which it can be proved he never learned.

Now the somnambulists of our day fulfil the second and third conditions without dispute; and some account for the divining power by saying it is the effect of the increased activity of the soul. They also assert that the patient speaks in a strange tongue only when the magnetiser with whom he is in en rapport understands the tongue himself, and the patient speaks it because all the thoughts, feelings, words, &c., of the operator become his—in short, their souls become one. This explanation, however, is very improbable, and has not been confirmed by facts; for the phenomenon of speaking in a strange tongue often appears before a perfect rapport has been obtained between the patient and the operator. Indeed, Psellus gives an instance to show that it is not even at all necessary. (Psellus lived about the eleventh century, and wrote De Operatione Doemonum, also De Mysteriis AEgyptiorum, his works are very remarkable, and well worth a perusal.) He states that a sick woman all at once began to speak in a strange and barbarous tongue no one had ever heard before. At last some of the women about her brought an Armenian magician to see her, who instantly found that she spoke Armenian, though she had never in her life beheld one of that nation. Psellus describes him as an old lean wrinkled man. He acted quite differently from our modern magnetisers, for he never sought to place himself in sympathetic relation with her by passes or touches; on the contrary, he drew his sword, and placing himself beside the bed, began tittering the most harsh and cruel words he could think of in the Armenian tongue (acriter conviciatus est). The woman retorted in the Armenian tongue likewise, and tried to get out of bed to fight with him. Then the barbarian grew as if mad, and endeavoured to stab her, upon which she shrunk back terrified and trembling, and soon fell into a deep sleep. Psellus seems to have witnessed this, for he says the woman was wife to his eldest brother. As further regards demoniacal possession, the New Testament is full of examples thereof; and though in the last century the reality of the fact was assailed, yet Franz Meyer has again defended it with arguments that cannot be overthrown. Remarkable examples of possession in modern times we find in the Didiskalia, No. 81, of the year 1833, and in Berner's "History of Satanic Possession," p. 20.] This was fully proved on the following Sunday; for during divine service in the Church of St. Peter, the young Princess was carried in on a litter and laid down before the altar, whereupon she commenced uttering horrible blasphemies, and mocking the holy prayer in a coarse bass voice, while she foamed and raged so violently, that eight men could scarcely hold her in her bed. Whereat the whole Christian congregation were admonished to pray to the Lord for this poor maiden, that she might be freed from the devil within her; and during the week all priests throughout the land were commanded to offer up prayers day and night for her princely Grace. But on Sundays all the people were to unite in one common supplication to the throne of grace for the like object.

And it seemed, after some weeks, as if God had heard their prayers, and commanded Satan to leave the body of the young maiden, for she had now rest for fourteen days, and was able to pray again. Also her rosy cheeks began to bloom once more, so that her parents were filled with joy, and resolved to hold a thank-festival throughout the land, and receive the Holy Sacrament in St. Peter's Church with their beloved daughter.

But what happened? For as the godly discourse had ended, and their Graces stepped to the altar to make a rich offering on the plate which lay upon the little desk, free of approach from all sides, my knave Satan has again begun his work. Truly, he waited with cunning till her Grace had swallowed the Sacrament, that his blasphemies might seem more horrible. And this was the way he manifested himself.

After the court marshal and the castellan had laid down a black velvet carpet, embroidered in gold with the Pomeranian and Brandenburg arms, for their Graces to kneel upon, they took another black velvet cloth, on which the Holy Supper was represented embroidered in silver, to hold before their Graces like a serviette, while they received the blessed elements. Then advanced the priest with the Sacrament, but scarcely had the gracious young Princess swallowed the same, when she uttered a loud cry and fell backwards with her head upon the ground, while Satan raged so in her that it might have melted the heart of a stone.

So M. Aspius bade the organ cease, and then placed the young lady upon a seat, after which he called upon their Graces and the whole congregation to join him in offering up a prayer. Then he solemnly adjured the evil spirit to come out of her; it, however, had grown so daring that it only laughed at the priest; and when asked where it had been for so long, and in particular where it had lain while the Jesu bride was wedded to her Holy Saviour in the Blessed Sacrament, it impatiently answered that it had lain under her tongue; many knaves might lie under a bridge while an honourable seigneur passed overhead, and why should not it do the like? And here, to the unspeakable horror of the whole congregation, it seemed to move up and down in the chest and throat of the young Princess, like some animal.

But the long-suffering of God was now at an end, for while the Reverend Dr. Aspius was talking himself weary with adjurations, and gaining no good by it, for the evil spirit only mocked and jeered him, crying, "Look at the fat parson how he sweats, maybe it will help as much as his chattering over the wine," who should enter the church (sent no doubt by the all-merciful God) but the Reverend Dr. Joel, Professor at Grypswald, for he had heard how this lusty Satan had taken possession of the princely maiden. When the devil saw him, he began to tremble through all the limbs of the young Princess, and exclaimed in Latin, "Consummatum est." [Footnote: "It is over."] For this Dr. Joel was a powerful man, and learned in all the cunning shifts of the arch-enemy, having many times disputed de Magis. [Footnote: Of Witchcraft; see Barthold, iv. 2, 412.]

Now when he advanced to the young Princess, and saw how the evil spirit ran up and down her poor form, like a mouse in a net, he was filled with horror, and removing his hat, exclaimed, without taking much heed of his Latin, "Deus misereatur peccatoris." Upon which the devil, in a deep bass voice, corrected him, crying, "Die peccatricls, die peccatricls." [Footnote: Peccatoris is masculine, Peccatricis feminine.]

However, Satan himself felt that his hour had come; for when Doctor Joel laid his hand upon the maiden, and repeated a powerful adjuration from the Clavilcula Salomonis, Satan immediately promised to obey if he were allowed to take away the oblation-cloth which lay upon the desk.

Ille.—"What did he want with the oblation-cloth?"

Satanas.—"There was a coin in it which vexed him."

Ille.—"What coin could it be, and wherefore did it vex him?"

Satanas.—"He would not say."

Ille.—(Adjures him again.)

Satanas.—"Let him have it, or he would tear the young maiden to pieces." And here he began to foam and rage so horribly, that her eyes turned in her head, and she gnashed with her teeth, so that father and mother had to cover their eyes not to see her great agony. Whereupon Doctor Joel bent down and wrote with his finger upon her breast the Tetragrammaton, crying out— [Footnote: The four letters which compose the name Jehovah ( [Hebrew Text]). It was employed by the Theurgists in all their most powerful conjurations.]

"Away, thou unclean spirit, and give place to the Holy Ghost!"

Upon which the young maiden sank down as quiet as a corpse, and the oblation-cloth, which lay upon the desk, whirled round of itself in the middle of the church with great noise and clatter, as if seized by a storm-wind, and the money therein was all scattered about the church, so that the old wives who sat upon the benches fell down upon the floor, right and left, to try and catch it. Great horror and amazement now filled the whole congregation; yet as some had expressed an opinion that the young Princess was only afflicted by a sickness, and not possessed at all, Doctor Joel thought it needful to admonish them in the following words:—

"Those wise persons who, forsooth, would not credit such a thing as Satanic possession, might see now of a truth, by the oblation-cloth, that Satan bodily had been amongst them. He knew there were many such wise knaves in the church; therefore let them hold their tongue for evermore, and remember that such signs had been permitted before of God, to testify of the real bodily presence of the devil. Example (Matt. viii.), where, on the command of Christ, a legion of devils went into the swine of the Gergasenes; so that these animals, contrary to their nature, ran down into the sea and were drowned. But the wise people of this day little heed these divine signs; so he will add two from historical records which he happened to remember.

"First, the Jew Josephus relates that, in presence of the world-renowned Roman captain Vespasian, of his son Titus, also of all the officers and troops of the army, an acquaintance of his, by name Eleazer, adjured the devil out of one possessed by means of the ring of Solomon, repeating at the same time the powerful spell which, no doubt, the great king himself employed to control the demons, and which, probably, was the very one he had just now exorcised the devil with, out of the Clavicula Salomonis. And to show the bystanders that it was indeed a devil which he had exorcised out of the nose of the patient, the said Eleazer bid him, as he was passing, to overturn a vessel of water that lay there, which indeed was done, to the great wonderment of all present. Thus even the blind heathen were convinced, though the would-be wise of the present day ignorantly doubted.

"But people might say this happened in old times, and was only told by a stupid Jew; therefore he would give a modern example.

"There was a woman named Kronisha (she was still well remembered by the old people of Stralsund), who was sorely given to pomp and vanity, wherefore a devil was sent into her to punish her; and after the preacher at St. Nicholas had exorcised him to the best of his power, the wicked spirit said, mockingly, that he would go if they gave him a pane of glass out of the window over the tower door; and this being granted, one of the panes was instantly scattered with a loud clang, and the devil flew away through the opening. [Note: See Sastrowen, his family, birth, and adventures. Edited by Mohnike, part i. 73.]

"So the Christian congregation might now see what silly fools these wise people were who presumed to doubt," &c. Then Doctor Joel admonished the Prince himself to keep a diligent eye over this Satan, who, day by day, was growing more impudent in the land—no doubt because the pure doctrine of Dr. Luther vexed him sorely.

And indeed his Highness, to show his gratitude for the recovery of his dear daughter, did not cease in his endeavours to banish witches from the land, knowing that Sidonia had brought all the evil upon the young Princess. Fifteen were seized and burned at this time, to the great joy of the country; but, alas! these truly princely and Christian measures little helped among the godless race, for evil seemed still to strengthen in the land, and many wonderful signs appeared, one of which I would not set down here, as it was only seen by the court-fool, but that events confirmed it.

I mean that strange thing, along with a three-legged hare, which appeared eighty years before at the death of Duke Bogislaus the Great, and since at the death of each Duke of his house. By a strange whim of Satan's, this apparition was only visible to fools; until indeed (as we shall hear anon) it appeared to the nuns at Marienfliess, who bore witness of it.

Summa.—On the very day wherein the devil's brides were burned at Wolgast, the fool was walking at evening time up and down the great corridor, when a little manikin, hardly three hands high, started out from behind a beer-barrel, riding on a three-legged hare. He was dressed all in black, except little red boots which he had on, and he rides up and down the corridor—hop! hop! hop!—stares at my fool and makes a face at him; then rides off again—hop! hop! hop!—till he vanished behind the barrel.

No one would believe the fool's story; but woe, alas! it soon became clear what the little manikin Puck denoted. For my gracious Prince, who had grown quite weak ever since this horrible witch-work, which had been raging for some weeks—so that Pomerania never had seen the like—became daily worse, and not even the fine Falernian wine from Italy, which used to cure him, helped him now. So he died on the 17th July 1591, aged forty-six years, seven months, and fifteen days, leaving his only son, Philippus Julius, a child of eight years old, to reign in his place. Whereupon the deeply afflicted widow placed the boy under the tutelage and guardianship of his uncle, the princely Lord of Stettin; but, woe! woe! the guardian must soon follow his dear brother! and all through the evil wickedness of Sidonia, as we shall hear in the following chapters.



CHAPTER XX.

How Sidonia demeans herself at the Convent of Marienfliess—Item, how their Princely and Electoral Graces of Pomerania, Brandenburg, and Mecklenburg, went on sleighs to Wolgast, and of the divers pastimes of the journey.

After this, Sidonia disappeared again for a couple of years, and no man knew whither she had flown or what she did, until one morning she appeared at the convent of Marienfliess, driving a little one-horse waggon herself, and dressed no better than a fish-wife. On driving into the court, she desired to speak with the abbess, Magdalena von Petersdorf; and when she came, Sidonia ordered the cell of the deceased nun, Barbara Kleist, to be got ready for her reception, as his Highness of Stettin had presented her to a praebenda here.

So the pious old abbess believed the story, and forthwith conducted her to the cell, No. 11; but Sidonia spat out at it, said it was a pig-sty, and began to run clattering through all the cells till she reached the refectory, a large chamber where the nuns assembled for evening prayer. This, she said, was the only spot fit for her to put her nose in, and she would keep it for herself. Meanwhile, the whole sisterhood ran together to the refectory to see Sidonia; and as most of them were girls under twenty, they tittered and laughed, as young women-folk will do when they behold a hag. This angered her.

"Ha!" she exclaimed, "the flesh and the devil have not been destroyed in them yet, but I will soon give them something else to think of than their lovers."

And here, as one of them laughed louder than the rest, Sidonia gave her a blow on the mouth.

"Let that teach the peasant-girl more respect for a castle and land dowered maiden."

When the good abbess saw and heard all this, she nearly fainted with shame, and had to hold by a stool, or she would have fallen to the ground. However she gained fresh courage, when, upon asking for Sidonia's documents, she found that there were none to show. Without more ado, therefore, she bade her leave the convent; and, amidst the jeers and laughter of all the sisterhood, Sidonia was obliged to mount her one-horse cart again, or the convent porter had orders to force her out.

By this all may perceive that, in place of repenting, Sidonia had fallen still further in the mire, wherein she wallowed yet for many years, as if it were, indeed, her true and natural element, like that beetle of which Albertus Magnus speaks, that died if one covered it with rose-leaves, but came to life again when laid in dung.

Hardly had she left the convent-gate when the old abbess bade a carl get ready a carriage, and flew in it to Stettin herself, to lay the whole case before my gracious Prince, and entreat him, even on her knees, not to send such a notorious creature amongst them; for what blessing could the convent hope to obtain if they harboured such an infamous sinner? So his Grace wonders much over the daring of the harlot; for he had given her no proebenda, though she was writing to him constantly requesting one. Nor would he ever think of giving her one; for why should he send such a hell-besom to sweep the pious convent of Marienfliess? The good abbess might rise up, for as long as he lived Sidonia should never enter the convent.

And his Grace held by his word, though it cost him his life, as I shall just now relate with bitter sighs.

It happened that, A.D. 1600, there was a terribly hard winter, so that the fresh Haff [Footnote: The river Haff] was quite frozen over, and able to bear heavy beams. Now, as the ice was smooth and beautiful as a mirror, my Lord of Stettin proposed to his guests—Joachim Friedrich, Elector of Brandenburg, his brother-in-law, and old Duke Ulrich of Mecklenburg, his uncle, to go over the Haff in sleighs, and pay a visit to the princely widow and her little son.

Their Graces were well pleased at the idea. Whereupon his Highness of Stettin gave orders to have such a procession formed as never had been seen in Pomerania before for magnificence and beauty, and therefore I shall note down some particulars here.

There were a hundred sleighs, some drawn by reindeer caparisoned like horses, and all decorated gaily. The three ducal sleighs in particular were entirely girded and lined with sable skin; each was drawn by four Andalusian horses; and my Lady Erdmuth, who was a great lover of show and pomp, had hers hung with little tinkling bells and chains of gold, so that no one to look at them could imagine how very little of the dear gold her gracious lord and husband had in his purse, by reason of the hardness of the times.

The adornments of the other sleighs were less costly. Upon them came the ministers, the officials, and others pertaining to the retinue of the three princes: item, the ladies-in-waiting, and divers of the reverend clergy; last of all came the Duke's henchman, with a pack of wolf-dogs in leash: item, several live hares and foxes; a live bear, which they purposed to let slip, for the pleasure and pastime of their Graces. But the young men out of the town, fifty head strong, and many of the knights, ran along on skates, headed by Dinnies Kleist, that mighty man, who bore in one hand the blood-banner of Pomerania, and in the other that of Brandenburg. Barthold von Ramin ran by his side with the Mecklenburg standard. He was a strong knight too. But ah! my God! how my Ramin, with his ox-head, was distanced by the wild men of Pomerania, as they ran upon the ice over the Haff! [Footnote: The blood-standard was granted by the Emperor Maximilian II. to Duke Johann Friedrich of Pomerania because he carried the imperial banner during the Turkish war of 1566. It only differed from the old banner by having a red ground—from thence its name. Both Pomerania and Brandenburg had wild men in their escutcheon, while Mecklenburg bore an ox's head.] Two reserve sleighs, drawn by six Frisian horses, finished the procession; they were laden with axes, planks, ropes, and dry garments, both for men and women.