When their Graces mounted the sleighs amidst the ringing of bells and roaring of cannon, great was their astonishment to see their own initials stamped into the hard ice by Dinnies Kleist, as thus: F. U. J. E. J. F., which, however, afterwards caused much dismay to the honest burghers, for one of them—M. Faber, a praeceptor—mistaking the J. for a G., read plainly upon the ice: "Fuge, J. F."—that is, "Fly, Johann Frederick!"

Ah! truly has the gracious Prince flown from thence; but it is to a bitter death.

During the journey, Duke Johann had much jesting with his brother-in-law, the Elector, who was filled with wonder at the strength of Dinnies Kleist, for he kept ahead even of the Andalusian stallions, and waved aloft the two banners of Pomerania and Brandenburg, while his long hair floated behind him; and sometimes he stopped, kissed the banners, and then inclined them to their Serene Princely Graces. Whereupon Duke Johann exclaimed, "Ay, brother, you might well give me a thousand of your wide-mouthed Berliners for this carl; though, methinks, if he had his will, he would make their wide mouths still wider." At this, his Electoral Grace looked rather vexed, and began to uphold the men of Cologne. Upon which his Highness cut him short, saying, "Marry, brother, you know the old proverb—

'The men of Cologne Have no hues of their own, But the men of Stettin Are the true ever-green.'

For where truly could your fellows find the true green in their sandy dust-box? Marry, cousin, one Pomerania is worth ten Margravates; and I will show your Grace just now that my land in winter is more productive than yours even in autumn."

His Grace here alluded to the fisheries; for along the way, for twelve or fourteen miles, the fishermen had been ordered to set their nets by torchlight the night before, in holes dug through the ice, so that on the arrival of the princely party the nets might be drawn up, and the draught exhibited to their Graces.

Now, when they entered the fresh Haff, which lay before them like a large mirror, six miles long and four broad, his Grace of Pomerania called out—

"See here, brother, this is my first storeroom; let us try what it will give us to eat."

Upon which he signed to Dinnies Kleist to steer over to the first heap of nets, which lay like a black wood in the distance. These belonged to the Ziegenort fishermen, as the old schoolmaster, Peter Leisticow, himself told me; and as they had taken a great draught the day before, many people from the towns of Warp, Stepenitz, and Uckermund were assembled there to buy up the fish, and then retail it, as was their custom, throughout the country. They had made a fire upon a large sheet of iron laid upon the ice, while their horses were feeding close by upon hay, which they shook out before them. And having taken a merry carouse together, they all set to dancing upon the ice with the women to the bagpipe, so that the encampment looked right jovial as their Graces arrived.

Now when the grand train came up, the peasants roared out—

"Donnerwetter, [Note: A common oath.] look at the ploetz-eaters! See the cursed ploetz-eaters! Donnerwetter, what ploetz-eaters!" [Note: Ploetz-eaters was a nickname given by the Pomeranians to the people of the Margravates. For the ploetz (Cyprinus Exythrophthalmus) is a very poor tasteless fish, while the rivers of Pomerania are stocked with the very finest of all kinds. In return, the men of the Marks called the Pomeranians "Feather-heads," from the quantity of moor-palms (Eriophorum vaginatum) which grow in their numerous rich meadows.]

And now they observed, during their shouting, that the water had risen up to their knees; and when the ducal procession rushed up, the abyss re-echoed with a noise like thunder, so that the foreign princes were alarmed, but soon grew accustomed thereto. Then the pressure of such a crowd upon the ice caused the water to spout out of the holes to the height of a man. So that by the time they were two bowshots from the nets, all the folk, the women and children especially, were running, screaming, in every direction, trying to save themselves on the firm ice, to the great amusement of their Graces, while a peasant cried out to the sleigh drivers—

"Stop, stop! or ye'll go into the cellar!"

Hereupon his Grace of Pomerania beckoned over the Ziegenort schoolmaster, and asked him what they had taken, to which he answered—

"Gracious Prince, we have taken bley; the nets are all loaded; we've taken seventy schuemers, [Footnote: A schuemer was a measure which contained twelve bushels.] and your Grace ought to take one with you for supper."

Now his Highness the Elector wished to see the nets emptied, so they rested a space while the peasants shovelled out the fish, and pitched them into the aforesaid schuemers. But ah! woe to the fish-thieves who had come over from Warp and other places; for the water having risen up and become all muddy with fish-slime, they never saw the great holes, and tumbled in, to the great amusement of the peasants and pastime of their Graces.

How their Highnesses laughed when the poor carls in the water tried to get hold of a net or a rope or a firm piece of ice, while they floundered about in the water, and the peasants fished them up with their long hooks, at the same time giving many of them a sharp prod on the shoulder, crying out—

"Ha! will ye steal again? Take that for your pains, you robbers!"

Now when their Graces were tired laughing and looking at the fish hauled, they prepared to depart; but the schoolmaster prayed his Highness of Stettin yet again to take a schuemer of fish for their supper, as their Graces were going to stop for the night in Uckermund.

"But what could I do with all the fish?" quoth the Duke.

To which the carl answered in his jargon—

"Eh! gracious master, give them to the plotz-eaters; that will be something new for them. Never fear but they'll eat them all up!"

Hereupon his Highness the Elector grew nettled, and cried out—

"Ho! thou damned peasant, thinkest thou we have no bley?"

"Well, ye've none here," replied the man cunningly.

So their Graces laughed, and ordered a couple of bushels of the largest to be placed upon the safety sleigh.

Now when they had gone a little farther and found the ice as smooth as glass, the henchman let loose the bear and the wolf-dogs after it. My stout Bruin first growls and paws the ice, then sets himself in earnest for the race, and, on account of his sharp claws, ran on straight for Uckermund without ever slipping, while the hounds fell down on all sides, or tumbled on their backs, howling with rage and disappointment.

Yet more pleasant was the hare-hunt, for hounds and hares both tumbled down together, and the hares squeaked and the hounds yelped; some hares indeed were killed, but only after infinite trouble, while others ran away after the bear.

After the hunt they came to another fishery, and so on till they reached Uckermund, passing six fisheries in succession, whereof each draught was as large as the first, so that his Grace the Elector marvelled much at the abundance, and seeing the nets full of zannats at the last halting-place, cried out—

"Marry, brother, your storeroom is well furnished. I might grow dainty here myself. Let us take a bushel of these along with us for supper, for zannat is the fish for me!"

This greatly rejoiced his Grace of Stettin, who ordered the fish to be laid on the sumpter sleigh, and in good time they reached the ducal house at Uckermund, Dinnies Kleist still keeping foremost, and waving his two banners over his head, while Barthold Barnim and the other skaters hung weary and tired upon the backs of the sleighs.



CHAPTER XXI.

How Sidonia meets their Graces upon the ice—Item, how Dinnies Kleist beheads himself, and my gracious lord of Wolgast perishes miserably.

The next morning early the whole train set off from Uckermund in the highest spirits, passing net after net, till the Duke of Mecklenburg, as well as the Elector, lifted their hands in astonishment. From the Haff they entered the Pene, and from that the Achterwasser. [Footnote: A large bay formed by the Pene.] Here a great crowd of people stood upon the ice, for the town of Quilitz lay quite near; besides, more fish had been taken here than had yet been seen upon the journey, so that people from Wolgast, Usdom, Lassahn, and all the neighbouring towns had run together to bid for it. But what happened?

Alas! that his Grace should have desired to halt, for scarcely had his sleigh stopped, when a little old woman, meanly clad, with fisher's boots, and a net filled with bley-fish in her hand, stepped up to it and said—

"My good Lord, I am Sidonia von Bork; wherefore have you not replied to my demand for the proebenda of Barbara von Kleist in Marienfliess?"

"How could he answer her? He knew nothing at all of her mode of living, or where she dwelt."

Illa.—"She had bid him lay the answer upon the altar of St. Jacob's in Stettin. Why had he not done so?"

"That was no place for such letters, only for the words of the Holy Spirit and the Blessed Sacrament of his Saviour; therefore, let her say now where she dwelt."

Illa.—"The richest maiden in Pomerania could ill say where the poorest now dwelt," weeping.

"The richest maiden had only herself to blame if she were now the poorest; better had she wept before. The proebenda she could never have; let her cease to think of it; but here was an alms, and she might now go her ways."

Illa.—(Refuses to take it, and murmurs.) "Your Grace will soon have bitter sorrow for this."

As she so menaced and spat out three times, the thing angered Dinnies Kleist (who held her in abhorrence ever since the adventure in the Uckermund forest), and as he had lost none of his early strength, he hit her a blow with the blood-standard over the shoulder, exclaiming, "Pack off to the devil, thou shameless hag! What does the witch mean by her spittings? The proebenda of my sister Barbara shall thou never have!"

However, the hag stirred not from the spot, answered no word, but spat out again; and as the illustrious party drove off she still stood there, and spat out after them.

What this devil's sorcery denoted we shall soon see; for as they approached Ziemitze, and the ducal house of Wolgast appeared in sight, Dinnies Kleist started on before the safety sleigh; and as soon as the high towers of the castle rose above the trees, he waved the two banners above his head, and brought them together till they kissed. Having so held them for a space, he set forward again with giant strides, in order to be the first to arrive—although, indeed, the town was aware of the advance of the princely train, for the bells were ringing, and the blood-standard waved from St. Peter's and the three other towers.

But woe, alas! Dinnies, in his impatience, never observed a windwake direct in his path, and down he sank, while the sharp ice cut his head clean off, as if an executioner had done it; and the head, with the long hair, rolled hither and thither, while the body remained fast in the hole, only one arm stuck up above the ice—it was that which held the Brandenburg standard, but the blood-banner of Pomerania had sunk for ever in the abyss. [Footnote: A windwake is a hole formed by the wind in the thawing season, and which afterwards becomes covered with a thin coating of ice by a subsequent frost.]

When his Grace of Stettin beheld this, he was filled with more sorrow than even at the death of his fool; and, weeping bitterly, commanded seven sleighs to return and seize the evil hag; then with all speed, and for a terrible example, to burn her upon the Quilitz mountain.

But when many present assured his Grace that such-like accidents were very common, and many skaters had perished thus, whereof even Duke Ulrich named several instances, so that his Grace of Stettin need not impute such natural accidents to witchcraft or the power of the hag, he was somewhat calmed. Still he commanded the seven sleighs to return and bring the witch bound to Wolgast, that he might question her as to wherefore she had spat out.

So the sleighs returned, but the vile sorceress was no longer on the ice, neither did any one know whither she had gone; whereupon the sleighs hastened back again after the others.

Now it was the Friday before Shrove Tuesday, about mid-day, when the princely party arrived at Wolgast; and Prince Bogislaff of Barth was there to receive them, with his five sons—namely, Philip, Franz, George, Ulrich, and Bogislaff. [Footnote: Marginal note of Duke Bogislaff XIV.—"This is not true; for I had a fever at the time, and remained at home."] And there was a great uproar in the castle—some of the young lords playing ball in the castle court with the young Prince, Philip Julius, others preparing for the carnival mummeries, which were to commence next evening by a great banquet and dance in the hall. Indeed, that same evening their Graces had a brave carouse, to try and make Duke Johann forget his grief about his well-beloved Dinnies Kleist: and his Grace thus began to discourse concerning him:—

"Truly, brothers, who knows what the devil may have in store for us? for it was a strange thing how my blood-standard sunk in the abyss, while that of my brother of Brandenburg floated above it. Think you that our male line will become extinct, and the heritage of fair Pomerania descend to Brandenburg? For, in truth, it is strange that, out of five brothers, two of us only have heirs—Bogislaff and Ernest Ludovicus, who has left indeed but one only son."

Then Duke Bogislaff (whom our Lord God had surely blessed for his humility in resigning the government, and also because of his dutiful conduct ever towards his mother, even in his youth having brought her a tame seagull) made answer, laughingly: "Dear brother, I think Herr Bacchus has done more to turn Frau Venus against our race than Sidonia or any of her spells, therefore ye need not wonder if ye have no heirs. However, if my five young Princes listen to my warnings and shun the wine-cup, trust me the blood-standard will be lifted up again, and our ancient name never want a fitting representative."

Meanwhile, as they so discoursed, and the gracious ladies looked down for shame upon the ground, young Lord Philip began a Latin argument with the Rev. Dr. Glambecken, court chaplain at Wolgast de monetis; and pulled out of his pocket a large bag of old coins, which had been presented to him by Doctor Chytraeus, professor of theology at Rostock, with whom his Grace interchanged Latin epistles. [Foonote: See the Latin letters of the talented young Prince in Oelrich's "Contributions to the Literary History of the Pomeranian Dukes," vol. i. p. 67. He fell a victim to intemperance, though his death was imputed likewise to Sidonia, and formed the subject of the sixth torture examination.]

This gave the conversation a new turn, and the ladies particularly were much pleased examining the coins; but the devil himself surely must have anagrammatised one of them, for over the letters, Pomerania, figures were scratched 356412789 —thus—Pomerania—giving the terrible meaning, rape omnia (rob all); and many said that this must have been the very coin which the devil took that time he rent the oblation-table, at the exorcism of the young Princess.

This discovery filled the Pomeranian Duke with strong apprehensions, and young Prince Franz handed over the coin to the Elector of Brandenburg, saying bitterly, "Yes, rob all! Doctor Joel of Grypswald has long since told me that it would all end this way—even as Satan himself has scratched down here—but my lord father will not credit him, he is so proud of his five sons. Doctor Joel, however, is a right learned man, and no one knows the mysteries of the black art better; besides, who reads the stars more diligently each night than he?"

And behold, while he is speaking, the fool runs into the hall, pale, and trembling in every limb.

"Alas! Lord Franz," he exclaimed, "I have seen the manikin again on his three-legged hare, which appeared at the death of Duke Ernest Ludovicus."

But the young lord boxed him, crying, "Away, thou knave! must thy chatter help to make us more melancholy?"

However Duke Bogislaff bid the fool stay, and tell them when and where he had seen the imp.

My fool wiped his eyes, and began: "The young Lord Franz had bid him put on his best jacket (that which had been given him as a Christmas-box) for the carnival mummings on Shrove Tuesday; so he went up to the garret to get it himself out of the trunk, but, before he had quite reached the trunk, the black dwarf, with his little red boots, rode out from behind it on his three-legged hare—hop! hop! hop!—made a frightful face at him, and after a little while rode back again—hop! hop! hop! behind his old boots, which stood in a corner, and disappeared!"

What the malicious Puck denoted we shall soon see—Oh, woe! woe!

Next day all sorts of amusements were set on foot, to chase away gloomy thoughts out of the hearts of the illustrious guests—such as tilting with lances, dancing upon stilts, wrestling, rope-dancing. Item, pickleherring and harlequins. Amongst these last the fool showed off to great advantage, for who could twist his face into more laughable grimaces? Item, in the evening there was a mask of mummers, in which one fellow played the angel, and another dressed as Satan, with a large horse's foot and cock's plume, spat red fire from his mouth, and roared horribly when the angel overcame him (but withal I think the gloomy thoughts stayed there yet).

And mark what in truth soon happened! When the drums and trumpets struck up the last mask dance in the great Ritter Hall, which every one joins in, old and young, his Grace, Duke Johann, went to the room of his dear cousin Hedwig, the princely widow, and prayed her to tread the dance with him; but she refuses, and sits by the fire and weeps.

"Let not my dear cousin fret," said the Duke, "about the chatter of the fool."

To which she replied, "Alas! wherefore not? For surely it betokens death to my darling little son, Philip Julius."

"No," exclaimed the Duke quickly, "it betokens mine!" and he fell flat upon the ground.

One can easily imagine how the gracious lady screamed, so that all ran in from the Knight's Hall in their masks and mumming-dresses, to see indeed the mumming of the true bodily Satan; and Doctor Pomius, who was at the mask likewise, ran in with a smelling-bottle, but all was in vain. His Grace lingered for three days, and then having received the Holy Sacrament from Doctor Glambecken, died in the same chamber in which he was born, having lived fifty-seven years, five months, twelve days, and fourteen hours. How can I describe the lamentations of the princely company—yea, indeed, of the whole town; for every one saw now plainly that the anger of God rested upon this ancient and illustrious Pomeranian race, and that He had given it over helplessly to the power of the evil one.

Summa.—On the 9th February the princely corse was laid in the very sleigh which had brought it a living body, and, followed by a grand train of princes, nobles, and knights, along with a strong guard of the ducal soldatesca, was conveyed back to Stettin; and there, with all due and befitting ceremonies, was buried on Palm Sunday in the vault of the castle church.



CHAPTER XXII.

How Barnim the Tenth succeeds to the government, and how Sidonia meets him as she is gathering bilberries. Item, of the unnatural witch-storm at his Grace's funeral, and how Duke Casimir refuses, in consequence, to succeed him.

Now Barnim the Tenth succeeded to that very duchy about which he had been so wroth the day of the Diet at Wollin, but it brought him little good. He was, however, a pious Prince, and much beloved at his dower of Ruegenwald, where he spent his time in making a little library of all the Lutheran hymn-books which he could collect, and these he carried with him in his carriage wherever he went; so that his subjects of Ruegenwald shed many tears at losing so pious a ruler.

Item, the moment his Grace succeeded to the government, he caused all the courts to be reopened, along with the treasury and the chancery, which his deceased Grace had kept closed to the last; and for this goodness towards his people, the states of the kingdom promised to pay all his debts, which was done; and thus lawlessness and robbery were crushed in the land.

But woe, alas!—Sidonia can no man crush! She wrote immediately to his Grace, soliciting the proebenda, and even presented herself at the ducal house of Stettin; but his Grace positively refused to lay eyes on her, knowing how fatal a meeting with her had proved to each of his brothers, who no sooner met her evil glance than they sickened and died.

Therefore his Highness held all old women in abhorrence. Indeed, such was his fear of them, that not one was allowed to approach the castle; and when he rode or drove out, lacqueys and squires went before with great horsewhips, to chase away all the old women out of his Grace's path, for truly Sidonia might be amongst them. From this, it came to pass that as soon as it was rumoured in the town, "His Grace is coming," all the old mothers seized up their pattens, and scampered off, helter-skelter, to get out of reach of the horsewhips.

But who can provide against all the arts of the devil? for though it is true that Sidonia destroyed his two brothers, also his Grace himself, along with Philip II., by her breath and glance, yet she caused a great number of other unfortunate persons to perish, without using these means, as we shall hear further on; whereby many imagined that her familiar Chim could not have been so weak a spirit as she represented him, on the rack, in order to save her life, but a strong and terrible demon. These things, however, will come in their proper place.

Summa.—After Duke Barnim had reigned several years, with great blessing to his people, it happened that word came from Ruegenwald how that his brother, Duke Casimir, was sick. This was the Prince whom, we may remember, Sidonia had whipped with her irreverent hands upon his princely podex, when he was a little boy.

Now Duke Barnim had quarrelled with the estates because they refused funds for the Turkish war; however, he became somewhat merrier that evening with the Count Stephen of Naugard, when the evil tidings came to him of his beloved brother (yet more bitter sorrow is before him, I think). So the next morning the Duke set off with a train of six carriages to visit his sick brother, and by the third evening they reached the wood which lies close beside Ruegenwald. Here there was a large oak, the stem of which had often served his Grace for a target, when he amused himself by practising firing. So he stopped the carriage, and alighted to see if the twenty or thirty balls he had shot into it were still there.

But alas! as he reached the oak, that devil's spectre (I mean Sidonia) stepped from behind it; she had an old pot in her hand filled with bilberries, and asked his Grace, would he not take some to refresh himself after his journey.

His Highness, however, recoiled horror-struck, and asked who she was.

She was Sidonia von Bork, and prayed his Grace yet once more for the proebenda in Marienfliess.

Hereat the Duke was still more horrified, and exclaimed, "Curse upon thy proebenda, but thou shalt get something else, I warrant thee! Thou art a vile witch, and hast in thy mind to destroy our whole noble race with thy detestable sorceries."

Illa.—"Alas! no one had called her a witch before; how could she bewitch them? It was a strange story to tell of her."

The Duke.—"How did it happen, then, that he had no children by his beloved Amrick?" [Footnote: Anna Maria, second daughter of John George, Elector of Brandenburg.]

Illa (laughing).—"He better ask his beloved Amrick herself. How could she know?"

But here she began to contort her face horribly, and to spit out, whereupon the Duke called out to his retinue—"Come here, and hang me this hag upon the oak-tree; she is at her devil's sorceries again! And woe! woe! already I feel strange pains all through my body!"

Upon this, divers persons sprang forward to seize her, but the nimble night-bird darted behind a clump of fir-trees, and disappeared. Unluckily they had no bloodhounds along with them, otherwise I think the devil would have been easily seized, and hung up like an acorn on the oak-tree. But God did not so will it, for though they sent a pack of hounds from Ruegenwald, the moment they arrived there, yet no trace of the hag could be found in the forest.

And now mark the result: the Duke became worse hour by hour, and as Duke Casimir had grown much better by the time he arrived, and was in a fair way of recovery, his Grace resolved to take leave of him and return with all speed to his own house at Stettin; but on the second day, while they were still a mile from Stettin, Duke Barnim grew so much worse, that they had to stop at Alt-Damm for the night. And scarcely had he laid himself down in bed when he expired. This was on the 1st of September 1603, when he was fifty-four years, six months, sixteen days, and sixteen hours old.

But the old, unclean night-bird would not let his blessed Highness go to his grave in peace (probably because he had called her an accursed witch). For the 18th of the same month, when all the nobles and estates were assembled to witness the ceremonial of interment, along with several members of the ducal house, and other illustrious personages, such a storm of hail, rain, and wind, came on just at a quarter to three, as they had reached the middle of the service, that the priest dropped the book from his hands, and the church became so suddenly dark, that the sexton had to light the candles to enable the preacher to read his text. Never, too, was heard such thunder, so that many thought St. Jacob's Tower had fallen in, and the princes and nobles rushed out of the church to shelter themselves in the houses, while the most terrific lightning flashed round them at every step.

Yet truly it must have been all witch-work, for when the funeral was over, the weather became as serene and beautiful as possible.

And a great gloom fell upon every one in consequence, for that it was no natural storm, a child could have seen. Indeed, Dr. Joel, who was wise in these matters, declared to his Highness Duke Bogislaff XIII. that without doubt it was a witch-storm, for the doctor was present at the funeral, as representative of the University of Grypswald. And respecting the clouds, he observed particularly that they were formed like dogs' tails, that is, when a dog carries his tail in the air so that it forms an arc of a circle. And this, indeed, was the truth.

Summa.—As by the death of Duke Barnim the government devolved upon Duke Casimir of Ruegenwald, the estates proceeded thither to offer him their homage, but the Prince hesitated, said he was sickly, and who could tell whether it would not go as ill with him as with his brothers? But the estates, both temporal and spiritual, prayed him so earnestly to accept the rule, that he promised to meet them on the next morning by ten of the clock, in the great Rittersaal (knights' hall), and make them acquainted with his decision.

The faithful states considered this a favourable answer, and were in waiting next morning, at the appointed hour, in the Rittersaal. But what happened? Behold, as the great door was thrown open, in walked the Duke, not with any of the insignia of his princely station, but in the dress of a fisherman. He wore a linen jacket, a blue smock, a large hat, and great, high fisher's boots, reaching nearly to his waist. Item, on his back the Duke carried a fisherman's basket; six fishermen similarly dressed accompanied him, and others in a like garb followed.

All present wondered much at this, and a great murmur arose in the hall; but the Duke threw his basket down by his side, and leaned his elbow on it, while he thus went on to speak: "Ye see here, my good friends, what government I intend to hold in future with these honest fishers, who accompanied me up to my dear brother's funeral. I shall return this day to Ruegenwald. The devil may rule in Pomerania, but I will not; if you kill an ox there is an end of it, but here there is no end. Satan treats us worse than the poor ox. Choose a duke wheresoever you will; but as for me, I think fishing and ruling the rudder is pleasanter work than to rule your land."

And when the unambitious Prince had so spoken, he drew forth a little flask containing branntwein [Footnote: Whisky] (a new drink which some esteemed more excellent than wine, which, however, I leave in its old pre-eminence; I tasted the other indeed but once, but it seemed to me to set my mouth on fire—such is not for my drinking), and drank to the fishers, crying, "What say you, children—shall we not go and flounder again upon the Ruegenwald strand?" Upon which they all shouted, "Ay! ay!"

His Grace then drank to the states for a farewell, and leaving the hall, proceeded with his followers to the vessel, which he ascended, singing gaily, and sailed home directly to his new fishing-lodge at Neuhausen.

Such humility, however, availed his Grace nothing in preserving him from the claws of Satan; for scarcely a year and a half had elapsed when he was seized suddenly, even as his brothers, and died on the 10th May 1605, at the early age of forty-eight years, one month, twenty-one days, and seventeen hours.

But to return to the states. They were dumb with grief and despair when his Grace left the hall. The land marshal stood with the staff, the court marshal with the sword, and the chancellor with the seals, like stone statues there, till a noble at the window called out—

"Let us hasten quickly to Prince Bogislaff, before he journeys off, too, with his five sons, and we are left without any ruler. See, there are the horses just putting to his carriage!"

Upon this, they all ran out to the coach, and the chancellor asked, in a lamentable voice, "If his Grace were indeed going to leave them, like that other gracious Prince who owned the dukedom by right? The states would promise everything he desired—they would pay all his debts—only his Grace must not leave them and their poor fatherland in their sore need."

Hereat his Grace laughed, and told them, "He was not going to his castle of Franzburg, only as far as Oderkrug, with his dear sons, to look at the great sheep-pens there, and drink a bowl of ewe's milk with the shepherds under the apple-tree. He hoped to arrive there before his brother Casimir in his boat, and then they might discuss the casus together; indeed, when he showed him the sheep-pens, it was not probable that he would refuse a duchy which had a fold of twenty thousand sheep, for his brother Casimir was a great lover of sheep as well as of fish."

Upon this, the states and privy council declared that they would follow him to Oderkrug to learn the result, but meanwhile begged of his Grace not to delay setting off, lest Duke Casimir might have left Oderkrug before he reached it.



CHAPTER XXIII.

Duke Bogislaff XIII. accepts the government of the duchy, and gives Sidonia at last the long-desired proebenda—Item, of her arrival at the convent of Marienfliess.

Now my gracious Lord Bogislaff had scarcely alighted at Oderkrug from his carriage, and drunk a bowl of milk under the apple-tree, when he spied the yellow sails of his brother's boat above the high reeds; upon which he ran down to the shore, and called out himself—

"Will you not land, brother, and drink a bowl of ewe's milk with us, or take a glance at the great sheep-pen? It is a rare wonder, and my lord brother was always a great lover of sheep!"

But Prince Casimir went on, and never slackened sail. Whereupon his Highness called out again, "The states and privy councillors are coming, brother, and want to have a few words with you."

Hereat Prince Casimir laughed in the boat, and returned for answer—"He knew well enough what they wanted; but no—he had no desire to be bewitched to death. Just give him the lands of Lauenburg and Butow as an addition to his dower, and then his dear Bogislaff might take all Pomerania to himself if he pleased."

After which, doffing his hat for an addio, he steered bravely through the Pappenwasser.

When young Prince Franz heard this, he laughed loud, and said, "Truly our uncle is the wisest—he will not be bewitched to death, as he says—but what will my lord father do now, for see, here come the states already in their carriages over the hill!"

Duke Bogislaff answered, "What else remains for me to do but to accept the government?"

Ille.—"Yes, and be struck dead by witchcraft, like my three uncles! Ah, my gracious lord father, before ever you accept the rule of the duchy, let the witch be seized and burned. Doctor Joel hath told me much about these witches; and believe me, there is no wiser man in all Pomerania than this magister. He can do something more than eat bread." Then he fell upon his father's neck, and caressed him—"Ah, dear father, do not jump at once into the government; burn the witch first: we cannot spare our dear lord father!"

And the two young Princes George and Ulrich prayed him in like manner; but young Philip Secundus spake—"I think, brothers, it were better if our dear father gave this long-talked-of proebenda to the witch at once; then, whether she bewitches or not, we are safe at all events."

Hereupon his Highness answered—"My Philip is right; for in truth no one can say whether your uncles died by Sidonia's sorceries or by those of the evil man Bacchus. Therefore I warn you, dear children, flee from this worst of all sorcerers; not starting at appearances, as a horse at a shadow, for appearance is the shadow of truth. Be admonished, therefore, by St. Peter, and 'gird up the loins of your spirit: be sober, and watch unto prayer.' Then ye may laugh all witches to scorn; for God will turn the devices of your enemy to folly."

Meanwhile the states have arrived; and having alighted from their coaches at the great sheep-pen, they advanced respectfully to the Duke, who was seated under the apple-tree—the land marshal first, with the staff, then the court marshal with the sword, and lastly the chancellor with the seals.

The had seen from the hill how Duke Casimir sailed away without waiting to hear them, and prayed and hoped that his Highness would accept the insignia which they here respectfully tendered, and not abandon his poor fatherland in such dire need. The devil and wicked men could do much, but God could do more, as none knew better than his Highness.

Herewith his Grace sighed deeply, and taking the insignia, laid staff and sword beside him; then, taking up the sword hastily again, he held it in his hand while he thus spake:—

"My faithful, true, and honourable states, ye know how that I resigned the government, out of free will, at the Diet at Wollin, because I thought, and still think, that nothing weighs heavier than this sword which I hold in my hand. Therefore I went to my dower at Barth, and have founded the beautiful little town of Franzburg to keep the Stralsund knaves in submission, and also to teach our nobles that there is some nobler work for a man to do in life than eating, drinking, and hunting. Item, I have encouraged commerce, and especially given my protection to the woollen trade; but all my labours will now fall to the ground, and the Stralsund knaves be overjoyed; [Footnote: The apprehension was justified by the event; for on the departure of Duke Bogislaff, Franzburg fell rapidly to a mere village, to the great joy of the Stralsunders, who looked with much envy on a new town springing up in their vicinity.] however, I must obey God's will, and not kick against the pricks. Therefore I take the sword of my father, hoping that it will not prove too heavy for me, an old man; [Footnote: The Duke was then sixty.] and that He who puts it into my hand (even the strong God) will help me to bear it. So let His holy will be done. Amen."

Then his Highness delivered back the insignia to the states, who reverently kissed his hand, and blessed God for having given so good and pious a Prince to reign over them. Then they approached the five young lords, and kissed their hands likewise, wishing at the same time that many fair olive-branches might yet stand around their table. This made the old Duke laugh heartily, and he prayed the states to remain a little and drink ewe's milk with them for a pleasant pastime; the shepherds would set out the bowls.

Duke Philip alone went away into the town to examine the library, and all the vases, pictures, statues, and other costly works of art, which his deceased uncle, Duke Johann Frederick, had collected; and these he delivered over to the marshal's care, with strict injunctions as to their preservation. But a strange thing happened next day; for as the Duke and his sons were sitting at breakfast, and the wine-can had just been locked up, because each young lord had drunk his allotted portion, namely, seven glasses (the Duke himself only drank six), a lacquey entered with a note from Sidonia, in which she again demanded the proebenda, and hoped that his Highness would be more merciful that his dead brothers, now that he had succeeded to the duchy. Let him therefore send an order for her admission to the cloister of Marienfliess. The answer was to be laid upon St. Mary's altar.

Here young Lord Francis grew quite pale, and dropped the fork from his hands, then spake—"Now truly we see this hag learns of the devil, for how else could she have known that our gracious father had accepted the government, unless Satan had visited her in her den? But let his dearest father be careful. In his opinion, the Duke should promise her the proebenda; but as soon as the accursed hag showed herself at the cloister (for the devil now kept her concealed), let her be seized and burned publicly, for a terrible warning and example."

This advice did not please the old Duke. "Franz," he said, "thou art a fool, and God forbid that ever thou shouldst reign in the land; for know that the word of a Prince is sacred. Yes, Sidonia shall have the proebenda; but I will not entrap my enemy through deceit to death, but will try to win her over by gentleness. The chancellor shall answer her instantly, and write another letter to the abbess of Petersdorf; and Sidonia's shall be laid upon the altar of St. Mary's this night, as she requested, by one of my lacqueys."

Then Duke Philip kissed his pious father's hand, and the tears fell from the good youth's eyes as he exclaimed—

"Alas, if she should murder you too!"

And here are the two letters, according to the copies which are yet to be seen in the princely chancery. Sub. Hit. Marienfliess K, No. 683.

"WE, BOGISLAFF, BY THE GRACE OF GOD, DUKE OF STETTIN, POMERANIA, CASSUBEN, AND WENDEN; PRINCE OF RUGEN; COUNT OF CUTZKOW, OF THE LANDS OP LAUENBURG AND BUTOW; LORD, &c.

"In consequence of your repeated entreaties for a proetenda in the cloister of Marienfliess, We, of our great goodness, hereby grant the same unto you; hoping that, in future, you will lead an humble, quiet life, as beseems a cloistered maiden, and, in especial, that you will always show yourself an obedient and faithful servant of our princely house. So we commit you to God's keeping!

Signatum, Old Stettin, the 2oth October 1603. "BOGISLAFF."

The other letter, to the abbess of Petersdorf, was sent by a salmon lad to the convent, as we shall hear further on, and ran thus:—

"WE, BOGISLAFF, &c.

"WORTHY ABBESS, TRUSTY AND WELL-BELOVED FRIEND!

"Hereby we send to you a noble damsel, named Sidonia von Bork, and desire a cell for her in your cloisters, even as the other nuns. We trust that misery may have softened her heart towards God; but if she do not demean herself with Christian sobriety, you have our commands to send her, along with the fish peasants and others, to our court for judgment.

"God keep you; pray for us! Signatum, &c. "BOGISLAFF."

The letter to Sidonia was, in truth, laid that same night upon the altar of St. Mary's, by a lacquey, who was further desired to hide himself in the church, and see what became of it. Now, the fellow had a horrible dread of staying alone in the church by night, so he took the cook, Jeremias Bild, along with him; and after they had laid the letter down upon the altar, they crept both of them into a high pew close by, belonging to the Aulick Counsellor, Dieterick Stempel.

Now mark what happened. They had been there about an hour, and the moon was pouring down as clear as daylight from the high altar window; when, all at once, the letter upon the altar began to move about of itself, as if it were alive, then it hopped down upon the floor, from that danced down the altar steps, and so on all along the nave, though no human being laid hands on it the while, and not a breath or stir was heard in the church. [Footnote: Something similar is related in the Seherin of Prevorst, where a glass of water moved of its own accord to another place.]

Our two carls nearly died of the fright, and solemnly attested by oath to his Highness the truth of their relation. Thereby young Lord Franz was more strengthened in his belief concerning Sidonia's witchcraft, and had many arguments with his father in consequence.

"His lord father might easily know that a letter could not move of itself without devil's magic. Now, this letter had moved of itself; ergo," &c.

Whereupon his Highness answered—

"When had he ever doubted the power of Satan? Ah, never; but in this instance who could tell what the carls in their fright had seen or not seen? For, perhaps, Sidonia, when she observed them hiding in the pew, had stuck a fish-hook into the letter, and so drawn it over to herself. He remembered in his youth a trick that had been played on the patron—for this patron always went to sleep during the sermon. So the sexton let down a fish-hook through the ceiling of the church, which, catching hold of the patron's wig, drew it up in the sight of the whole congregation, who afterwards swore that they had seen the said wig of their patron carried up to the roof of the church by witchcraft, and disappear through a hole in the ceiling, as if it had been a bird. Some time after, however, the sexton confessed his knavery, and the patron's flying wig had been a standing joke in the country ever since."

But the young lord still shook his head—

"Ah, they would yet see who was right. He was still of the same opinion."

But I shall leave these arguments at once, for the result will fully show which party was in the right.

Summa.—Sidonia, next day, drove in her one-horse cart again to the convent gate at Marienfliess, accompanied by another old hag as her servant. Now the peasants had just arrived with the salmon, which the Duke despatched every fortnight as a present to the convent, and the letter of his Grace had arrived also. So, many of the nuns were assembled on the great steps looking at the fish, and waiting for the abbess to divide it amongst them, as was her custom. Others were gathered round the abbess, weeping as she told them of the Duke's letter, and the good mother herself nearly fainted when she read it.

So Sidonia drove straight into the court, as the gates were lying open, and shouted—

"What the devil! Is this a nuns' cloister, where all the gates lie open, and the carls come in and out as if it were a dove-cot? Shame on ye, for light wantons! Wait; Sidonia will bring you into order. Ha! ye turned me out; but now ye must have me, whether ye will or no!"

At such blasphemies the nuns were struck dumb. However, the abbess seemed as though she heard them not, but advancing, bid Sidonia welcome, and said—

"It was not possible to receive her into the cloister, until she had command from his Grace so to do, which command she now held in her hand."

This softened Sidonia somewhat, and she asked—

"What are the nuns doing there with the fish?"

"Dividing the salmon," was the answer.

Whereupon she jumped out of the cart, and declared that she must get her portion also, for salmon was a right good thing for supper.

Whereupon the sub-prioress, Dorothea von Stettin, cut her off a fine large head-piece, which Sidonia, however, pushed away scornfully, crying—

"Fie! what did she mean by that? The devil might eat the head-piece, but give her the tail. She had never in her life eaten anything but the tail-piece; the tail was fatter."

So the abbess signed to them to give her the tail-end; after which, she asked to see her cell, and, on being shown it, cried out again—

"Fie on them! was that a cell for a lady of her degree? Why, it was a pig-sty. Let the abbess put her young litter of nuns there; they would be better in it than running up and down the convent court with the fish-carls. She must and will have the refectory."

And when the abbess answered—

"That was the prayer-room, where the sisters met night and morning for vespers and matins," she heeded not, but said—

"Let them pray in the chapel—the chapel is large enough."

And so saying, she commanded her maid, who was no other than Wolde Albrechts, though not a soul in the convent knew her, to carry all her luggage straight into the refectory.

What could the poor abbess do? She had to submit, and not only give her up the refectory, but, finding that she had no bed, order one in for her. Item, seeing that Sidonia was in rags, she desired black serge for a robe to be brought, and a white veil, such as the sisterhood wore, and bid the nuns stitch them up for her, thinking thus to win her over by kindness. Also she desired tables, stools, &c., to be arranged in the refectory, since she so ardently desired to possess this room. But what fruit all this kindness brought forth we shall see in liber tertius.

END OF SECOND BOOK.



BOOK III.

FROM THE RECEPTION OF SIDONIA INTO THE CONVENT AT MARIENFLIESS UP TILL HER EXECUTION, AUGUST 19th, 1620.



CHAPTER I.

How the sub-prioress, Dorothea Stettin, visits Sidonia and extols her virtue—Item, of Sidonia's quarrel with the dairywoman, and how she beats the sheriff himself, Eggert Sparling, with a broom-stick.

MOST EMINENT AND ILLUSTRIOUS PRINCE!—Your Serene Highness will surely pardon me if I pass over, in libra tertio, many of the quarrels, bickerings, strifes, and evil deeds, with which Sidonia disturbed the peace of the convent, and brought many a goodly person therein to a cruel end; first, because these things are already much known and talked of; and secondly, because such dire and Satanic wickedness must not be so much as named to gentle ears by me.

I shall therefore only set down a few of the principal events of her convent life, by which your Grace and others may easily conjecture much of what still remains unsaid; for truly wickedness advanced and strengthened in her day by day, as decay in a rotting tree.

The morning after her arrival in the convent, while it was yet quite early, and Wolde Albrechts, her lame maid, was sweeping out the refectory, the sub-prioress, Dorothea Stettin, came to pay her a visit. She had a piece of salmon, and a fine haddock's liver, on a plate, to present to the lady, and was full of joy and gratitude that so pious and chaste a maiden should have entered this convent. "Ah, yes! it was indeed terrible to see how the convent gates lay open, and the men-folk walked in and out, as the lady herself had seen yesterday. And would sister Sidonia believe it, sometimes the carls came in bare-legged? Not alone old Matthias Winterfeld, the convent porter, but others—yea, even in their shirt-sleeves sometimes—oh, it was shocking even to think of! She had talked about it long enough, but no one heeded her, though truly she was sub-prioress, and ought to have authority. However, if sister Sidonia would make common cause with her from this time forth, modesty and sobriety might yet be brought back to their blessed cloister."

Sidonia desired nothing better than to make common cause with the good, simple Dorothea—but for her own purposes. Therefore she answered, "Ay, truly; this matter of the open gates was a grievous sin and shame. What else were these giddy wantons thinking of but lovers and matrimony? She really blushed to see them yesterday."

Illa.—"True, true; that was just it. All about love and marriage was the talk for ever amongst them. It made her heart die within her to think what the young maidens were nowadays."

Haec.—"Had she any instances to bring forward; what had they done?"

Illa.—"Alas! instances enough. Why, not long since, a nun had married with a clerk, and this last chaplain, David Grosskopf, had taken another nun to wife himself."

Haec.—"Oh, she was ready to faint with horror."

Illa (sobbing, weeping, and falling upon Sidonia's neck).—"God be praised that she had found one righteous soul in this Sodom and Gomorrah. Now she would swear friendship to her for life and death! And had she a little drop of wine, just to pour on the haddock's liver? it tasted so much better stewed in wine! but she would go for some of her own. The liver must just get one turn on the fire, and then the butter and spices have to be added. She would teach her how to do it if she did not know, only let the old maid make up the fire."

Haec.—"What was she talking about? Cooking was child's play to her; she had other things to cook than haddocks' livers."

Illa (weeping).—"Ah! let not her chaste sister be angry; she had meant it all in kindness."

Haec.—"No doubt—but why did she call the convent a Sodom and Gomorrah? Did the nuns ever admit a lover into their cells?"

Illa (screaming with horror).—"No, no, fie! how could the chaste sister bring her lips to utter such words?"

Haec.—"What did she mean, then, by the Sodom and Gomorrah?"

Illa.—"Alas! the whole world was a Sodom and Gomorrah, why, then, not the convent, since it lay in the world? For though we do not sin in words or works, yet we may sin in thought; and this was evidently the case with some of these young things, for if the talk in their hearing was of marriage, they laughed and tittered, so that it was a scandal and abomination!"

Haec.—"But had she anything else to tell her—what had she come for?"

Illa.—"Ah! she had forgotten. The abbess sent to say, that she must begin to knit the gloves directly for the canons of Camyn. Here was the thread."

Haec.—"Thousand devils! what did she mean?" Illa (crossing herself).—"Ah! the pious sister might let the devils alone, though (God be good to us) the world was indeed full of them!"

Haec.—"What did she mean, then, by this knitting—to talk to her so—the lady of castles and lands?"

Illa.—"Why, the matter was thus. The reverend canons of Camyn, who were twelve in number, purchased their beer always from the convent—for such had been the usage from the old Catholic times—and sent a waggon regularly every half-year to fetch it home. In return for this goodness, the nuns knit a pair of thread gloves for each canon in spring, and a pair of woollen ones in winter."

Haec.—"Then the devil may knit them if he chooses, but she never will. What! a lady of her rank to knit gloves for these old fat paunches! No, no; the abbess must come to her! Send a message to bid her come."

And truly, in a little time, the abbess, Magdalena von Petersdorf, came as she was bid; for she had resolved to try and conquer Sidonia's pride and insolence by softness and humility.

But what a storm of words fell upon the worthy matron!

"Was this treatment, forsooth, for a noble lady? To be told to knit gloves for a set of lazy canons. Marry, she had better send the men at once to her room, to have them tried on. No wonder that levity and wantonness should reign throughout the convent!"

Here the good mother interposed—

"But could not sister Sidonia moderate her language a little? Such violence ill became a spiritual maiden. If she would not hold by the old usage, let her say so quietly, and then she herself, the abbess, would undertake to knit the gloves, since the work so displeased her."

Then she turned to leave the room, but, on opening the door, tumbled right against sister Anna Apenborg, who was stuck up close to it, with her ear against the crevice, listening to what was passing inside. Anna screamed at first, for the good mother's head had given her a stout blow, but recovering quickly, as the two prioresses passed out, curtsied to Sidonia—

"Her name was Anna Apenborg. Her father, Elias, dwelt in Nadrensee, near Old Stettin, and her great-great-grandfather, Caspar, had been with Bogislaff X. in the Holy Land. She had come to pay her respects to the new sister, for she was cooking in the kitchen yesterday when the lady arrived, and never got a sight of her, but she heard that this dear new sister was a great lady, with castles and lands. Her father's cabin was only a poor thing thatched with straw," &c.

All this pleased the proud Sidonia mightily, so she beckoned her into the room, where the aforesaid Anna immediately began to stare about her, and devour everything with her eyes; but seeing such scanty furniture, remarked inquiringly—

"The dear sister's goods are, of course, on the road?"

This spoiled all Sidonia's good-humour in a moment, and she snappishly asked—

"What brought her there?"

Hereupon the other excused herself—

"The maid had told her that the dear sister was going to eat her salmon for her lunch, with bread and butter, but it was much better with kale, and if she had none, her maid might come down now and cut some in the garden. This was what she had to say. She heard, indeed, that the sub-prioress and Agnes Kleist ate their salmon stewed in butter, but that was too rich; for one should be very particular about salmon, it was so apt to disagree. However, if sister Sidonia would just mind her, she would teach her all the different ways of dressing it, and no one was ever the worse for eating salmon, if they followed her plan."

But before Sidonia had time to answer, the chatterbox had run to the door and lifted the latch—

"There was a strange woman in the courtyard, with something under her apron. She must go and see what it was, but would be back again instantly with the news."

In a short time she returned, bringing along with her Sheriff Sparling's dairy-woman, who carried a large bundle of flax under her apron. This she set down before Sidonia—

"And his worship bid her say that she must spin all this for him without delay, for he wanted a new set of shirts, and the thread must be with the weaver by Christmas."

When Sidonia heard this, she fell into a right rage in earnest—

"May the devil wring his ears, the peasant carl! To send such a message to a lady of her degree!"

Then she pitched the flax out of the door, and wanted to shove the dairy-woman out after it, but she stopped, and said—

"His worship gave all the nuns a bushel of seed for their trouble, and sowed it for them; so she had better do as the others did."

Sidonia, however, was not to be appeased—

"May the devil take her and her flax, if she did not trot out of that instantly."

So she pushed the poor woman out, and then panting and blowing with rage, asked Anna Apenborg to tell her what this boor of a sheriff was like?

Illa.—"He was a strange man. Ate fish every day, and always cooked the one way, namely, in beer. How this was possible she could not understand. To-day she heard he was to have pike for his dinner."

Haec.—"Was she asking the fool what he ate? What did she care about his dinners? But what sort of man was he, and did all the nuns, in truth, spin for him?"

Illa.—"Ay, truly, except Barbara Schetzkow; she was dead now. But once when he went storming to her cell, she just turned him out, and so she had peace ever after. For he roared like a bear, but, in truth, was a cowardly rabbit, this same sheriff. And she heard, that one time, when he was challenged by a noble, he shrank away, and never stood up to his quarrel."

But just then in walked the sheriff himself, with a horse-whip in his hand. He was a thick-set, grey-headed fellow, and roared at Sidonia—

"What! thou old, lean hag—so thou wilt spin no flax? May the devil take thee, but thou shalt obey my commands!"

While he thus scolded, Sidonia quietly caught hold of the broom, and grasping it with both hands, gave such a blow with the handle on the grey pate of the sheriff, that he tumbled against the door, while she screamed out—

"Ha! thou peasant boor, take that for calling me a hag—the lady of castle and lands!"

Then she struck him again and again, till the sheriff at last got the door open and bolted out, running down the stairs as hard as he could, and into the courtyard, where, when he was safely landed, he shook the horsewhip up at Sidonia's windows, crying out—

"I will make you pay dear for this. Anna Apenborg was witness of the assault. I will swear information this very day before his Highness, how the hag assaulted me, the sheriff, and superintendent of the convent, in the performance of my duty, and pray him to deliver an honourable cloister from the presence of such a vagabond."

Then he went to the abbess, and begged her and the nuns to sustain him in his accusation—

"Such wickedness and arrogance had never yet been seen under the sun. Let the good abbess only feel his head; there was a lump as big as an egg on it. Truly, he had had a mind to horsewhip her black and blue; but that would have been illegal; so he thanked God that he had restrained himself."

Then he made the abbess feel his head again; also Anna Apenborg, who happened to come in that moment. But the worthy mother knew not what to do. She told the sheriff of Sidonia's behaviour as she drove into the convent; also how she had possessed herself of the refectory by force, refused to knit or spin, and had sent for her, the abbess, bidding her come to her, as if she were no better than a serving-wench.

At last the sheriff desired all the nuns to be sent for, and in their presence drew up a petition to his Highness, praying that the honourable convent might be delivered from the presence of this dragon, for that no peace could be expected within the walls until this vagabond and evil-minded old hag were turned out on the road again, or wherever else his Highness pleased. Every one present signed this, with the exception of Anna Apenborg and the sub-prioress, Dorothea Stettin. And many think that in consideration of this gentleness, Sidonia afterwards spared their lives, and did not bring them to a premature grave, like as she did the worthy abbess and others.

For the next time that she caught Anna at her old habit of listening, Sidonia said, while boxing her—

"You should get something worse than a box on the ear, only for your refusal to sign that lying petition to his Highness."

Summa.—After a few days, an answer arrived from his Grace the Duke of Stettin, and the abbess, with the sheriff, proceeded with it to Sidonia's apartment.

They found her brewing beer, an art in which she excelled; and the letter which they handed to her ran thus, according to the copy received likewise by the convent:—

"WE, BOGISLAFF, BY THE GRACE OF GOD, DUKE OF STETTIN, &c.

"Having heard from our sheriff and the pious sisterhood of Marienfliess, of thy unseemly behaviour, in causing uproars and tumults in the convent; further, of thy having struck our worthy sheriff on the head with a broom-stick—We hereby declare, desire, and command, that, unless thou givest due obedience to the authorities, lay and spiritual, doing this well, with humility and meekness, even as the other sisters, the said authorities shall have full power to turn thee out of the convent, by means of their bailiffs or otherwise, as they please, giving thee back again to that perdition from which thou wast rescued. Further, thou art herewith to deliver up the refectory to the abbess, of which We hear thou hast shamefully possessed thyself.

"Old Stettin, 10th November, 1603.

"BOGISLAFF."

Sidonia scarcely looked at the letter, but thrust it under the pot on the fire, where it soon blazed away to help the brewing, and exclaimed—

"They had forged it between them; the Prince never wrote a line of it. Nor would he have sent it to her by the hands of her enemies. Let it burn there. Little trouble would she take to read their villainy. But never fear, they should have something in return for their pains."

Hereupon she blew on them both, and they had scarcely reached the court, after leaving her apartment, when both were seized with excruciating pains in their limbs; both the sheriff and the abbess were affected in precisely the same way—a violent pain first in the little finger, then on through the hand, up the arm, finally, throughout the whole frame, as if the members were tearing asunder, till they both screamed aloud for very agony. Doctor Schwalenberg is sent for from Stargard, but his salve does no good; they grow worse rather, and their cries are dreadful to listen to, for the pain has become intolerable.

So my brave sheriff turns from a roaring ox into a poor cowardly hare, and sends off the dairy-woman with a fine haunch of venison and a sweetbread to Sidonia: "His worship's compliments to the illustrious lady with these, and begged to know if she could send him anything good for the rheumatism, which had attacked him quite suddenly. The Stargard doctor was not worth the air he breathed, and his salve had only made him worse in place of better. He would send the illustrious lady also some pounds of wax-lights; she might like them through the winter, but they were not made yet."

When Sidonia heard this she laughed loudly, danced about, and repeated the verse which was then heard for the first time from her lips; but afterwards she made use of it, when about any evil deed:—

"Also kleien und also kratzen, Meine Hunde und meine Katzen."

["So claw and so scratch, My dogs and my cats."]

The dairy-woman stood by in silent wonder, first looking at Sidonia, then at Wolde, who began to dance likewise, and chanted:—

"Also kleien und also kratzen, Unsre Hunde und unsre Katzen."

["So claw and so scratch, Our dogs and our cats."]

At last Sidonia answered, "This time I will help him; but if he ever bring the roaring ox out of the stall again, assuredly he will repent it."

Hereon the dairy-mother turned to depart, but suddenly stood quite still, staring at Anne Wolde; at length said, "Did I not see thee years ago spinning flax in my mother's cellar, when the folk wanted to bring thee to an ill end?"

But the hag denied it all—"The devil may have been in her mother's cellar, but she had never seen Marienfliess in her life before, till she came hither with this illustrious lady."

So the other seemed to believe her, and went out; and by the time she reached her master's door, his pains had all vanished, so that he rode that same day at noon to the hunt.

The poor abbess heard of all this through Anna Apenborg, and thereupon bethought herself of a little embassy likewise.

So she bid Anna take all sorts of good pastry, and a new kettle, and greet the Lady Sidonia from her—"Could the dear sister give her anything for the rheumatism?" She heard the sheriff was quite cured, and all the doctor's salves and plasters were only making her worse. She sent the dear sister a few dainties—item, a new kettle, as her own kettle had not yet arrived. Item, she begged her acceptance of all the furniture, &c., which she had lent her for her apartment.

At this second message, the horrible witch laughed and danced as before, repeating the same couplet; and the old hag, Wolde, danced behind her like her shadow.

Now Anna Apenborg's curiosity was excited in the highest degree at all this, and her feet began to beat up and down on the floor as if she were dying to dance likewise; at last she exclaimed, "Ah, dear lady! what is the meaning of that? Could you not teach it to me, if it cures the rheumatism? that is, if there be no devil's work in it (from which God keep us). I have twelve pounds of wool lying by me; will you take it, dear lady, for teaching me the secret?"

But Sidonia answered, "Keep your wool, good Anna, and I will keep my secret, seeing that it is impossible for me to teach it to you; for know, that a woman can only learn it of a man, and a man of a woman; and this we call the doctrine of sympathies. However, go your ways now, and tell the abbess that, if she does my will, I will visit her and see what I can do to help her; but, remember, my will she must do."

Hereupon sister Anna was all eagerness to know what her will was, but Sidonia bade her hold her tongue, and then locked up the viands in the press, while Wolde went into the kitchen with the kettle, where Anna Apenborg followed her slowly, to try and pick something out of the old hag, but without any success, as one may easily imagine.



CHAPTER II.

How Sidonia visits the abbess, Magdalena von Petersdorf, and explains her wishes, but is diverted to other objects by a sight of David Ludeck, the chaplain to the convent.

When Sidonia went to visit the abbess, as she had promised, she found her lying in bed and moaning, so that it might have melted the heart of a stone; but the old witch seemed quite surprised—"What could be the matter with the dear, good mother? but by God's help she would try and cure her. Only, concerning this little matter of the refectory, it might as well be settled first, for Anna Apenborg told her the room was to be taken from her; but would not the good mother permit her to keep it?"

And when the tortured matron answered, "Oh yes; keep it, keep it," Sidonia went on—

"There was just another little favour she expected for curing her dear mother (for, by God's help, she expected to cure her). This was, to make her sub-prioress in place of Dorothea Stettin; for, in the first place, the situation was due to her rank, she being the most illustrious lady in the convent, dowered with castles and lands; secondly, because her illustrious forefathers had helped to found this convent; and thirdly, it was due to her age, for she was the natural mother of all these young doves, and much more fitted to keep them in order and strict behaviour than Dorothea Stettin."

Here the abbess answered, "How could she make her sub-prioress while the other lived? This was not to be done? Truly sister Dorothea was somewhat prudish and whining, this she could not deny, for she had suffered many crosses in her path; but, withal, she was an upright, honest creature, with the best and simplest heart in the world; and so little selfishness, that verily she would lay down her life for the sisterhood, if it were necessary."

Illa.—"A good heart was all very well, but what could it do without respect? and how could a poor fool be respected who fell into fits if she saw a bride, particularly here, where the young sisters thought of nothing but marriage from morning till night."

Haec.—"Yet she was held in great respect and honour by all the sisterhood, as she herself could testify."

Illa.—"Stuff! she must be sub-prioress, and there was an end of it, or the abbess might lie groaning there till she was as stiff as a pole."

"Alas! Sidonia," answered the abbess, "I would rather lie here as stiff as a pole—or, in other words, lie here a corpse, for I understand thy meaning—than do aught that was unjust."

Illa.—"What was unjust? The old goose need not be turned out of her office by force, but persuaded out of it—that would be an easy matter, if she were so humble and excellent a creature."

Haec.—"But then deceit must be practised, and that she could never bring herself to."

Illa.—"Yet you could all practise deceit against me, and send off that complaint to his Highness the Prince."

Haec.—"There was no falsehood there nor deceit, but the openly expressed wish of the whole convent, and of his worship the sheriff."

Illa.—"Then let the whole convent and his worship the sheriff make her well again; she would not trouble herself about the matter."

Whereupon she rose to depart, but the suffering abbess stretched out her hands, and begged, for the sake of Jesus, that she would release her from this torture! "Take everything—everything thou wishest, Sidonia—only leave me my good conscience. Thy dying hour must one day come too; oh! think on that."

Illa.—"The dying hour is a long way off yet" (and she moved to the door).

Haec (murmuring):—

"Why should health from God estrange thee? Morning cometh and may change thee; Life, to-day, its hues may borrow Where the grave-worm feeds to-morrow."

Illa.—"Look to yourself then. Speak! Make me sub-prioress, and be Cured on the instant."

Haec (turning herself back upon the pillow).—"No, no, temptress; begone:—

"'Softest pillow for the dying, Is a conscience void of dread.'

Go, leave me; my life is in the hand of God. 'For if we live, we live unto the Lord; and if we die, we die unto the Lord. Living, therefore, or dying, we are the Lord's.'"

So saying, the pious mother turned her face to the wall, and Sidonia went out of the chamber.

In a little while, however, she returned—"Would the good mother promise, at least, to offer no opposition, if Dorothea Stettin proposed, of her own free will, to resign the office of sub-prioress? If so, let her reach forth her hand; she would soon find the pains leave her."

The poor abbess assented to this, and oh, wonder! as it came, so it went; first out of the little finger, and then by degrees out of the whole body, so that the old mother wept for joy, and thanked her murderess.

Just then the door opened, and David Ludeck, the chaplain, whom the abbess had sent for, entered in his surplice. He was a fine tall man, of about thirty-five years, with bright red lips and jet-black beard.

He wondered much on hearing how the abbess had been cured by what Sidonia called "sympathies," and smelled devil's work in it, but said nothing—for he was afraid; spoke kindly to the witch-hag even, and extolled her learning and the nobility of her race; declaring that he knew well that the Von Borks had helped mainly to found this cloister.

This mightily pleased the sorceress, and she grew quite friendly, asking him at last, "What news he had of his wife and children?" And when he answered, "He had no wife nor children," her eyes lit up again like old cinders, and she began to jest with him about his going about so freely in a cloister, as she observed he did. But when she saw that the priest looked grave at the jestings, she changed her tone, and demurely asked him, "If he would be ready after sermon on Sunday to assist at her assuming the nun's dress; for though many had given up this old usage, yet she would hold by it, for love of Jesu." This pleased the priest, and he promised to be prepared. Then Sidonia took her leave; but scarcely had she reached her own apartment when she sent for Anna Apenborg. "What sort of man was this chaplain? she saw that he went about the convent at his pleasure. This was strange when he was unmarried."

Illa.—"He was a right friendly and well-behaved gentleman. Nothing unseemly in word or deed had ever been heard of him."

Haec.—"Then he must have some private love-affair."

Illa.—"Some said he was paying court to Bamberg's sister there in Jacobshagen."

Haec.—"Ha! very probable. But was it true? for otherwise he should never go about amongst the nuns the way he did. It was quite abominable: an unmarried man; Dorothea Stettin was right. But how could they ascertain the fact?"

Illa.—"That was easily done. She was going next morning to Jacobshagen, and would make out the whole story for her. Indeed, she herself, too, was curious about it."

Haec.—"All right. This must be done for the honour of the cloister. For according to the rules of 1569, the court chaplain was to be an old man, who should teach the sisters to read and write. Whereas, here was a fine carl with red lips and a black beard—unmarried too. Did he perchance ever teach any of them to read or write?"

Illa.—"No; for they all knew how already."

Haec.—"Still there was something wrong in it. No, no, in such matters youth has no truth; Dorothea Stettin was quite right. Ah, what a wonderful creature, that excellent Dorothea! Such modesty and purity she had never met with before. Would that all young maidens were like her, and then this wicked world would be something better."

Illa (sighing).—"Ah, yes; but then sister Dorothea went rather far in her notions."

Haec.—"How so? In these matters one could never go too far."

Illa.—"Why, when a couple were called in church, or a woman was churched, Dorothea nearly fainted. Then, there was a niche in the chancel for which old Duke Barnim had given them an Adam and Eve, which he turned and carved himself. But Dorothea was quite shocked at the Adam, and made a little apron to hang before him, though the abbess and the whole convent said that it was not necessary. But she told them, that unless Adam wore his apron, never would she set foot in the chapel. Now, truly this was going rather far. Item, she has been heard to wonder how the Lord God could send all the animals naked into the world; as cats, dogs, horses, and the like. Indeed, she one day disputed sharply on the matter with the chaplain; but he only laughed at her, whereupon Dorothea went away in a sulk."

Here Sidonia laughed outright too; but soon said with grave decorum, "Quite right. The excellent Dorothea was a treasure above all treasures for the convent. Ah, such chastity and virtue were rarely to be met with in this wicked world."

Now Anna Apenborg had hardly turned her back, to go and chatter all this back again to the sub-prioress, when Sidonia proceeded to tap some of her beer, and called the convent porter to her, Matthias Winterfeld, bidding him carry it with her greetings to the chaplain, David Ludeck. (For her own maid, Wolde, was lame, ever since the racking she got at Wolgast. So Sidonia was in the habit of sending the porter all her messages, much to his annoyance.) When he came now he was in his shirt-sleeves, at which Sidonia was wroth—"What did he mean by going about the convent in shirt-sleeves? Never let him appear before her eyes in such unseemly trim. And was this a time even for shirt-sleeves, when they were in the month of November? But winter or summer, he must never appear so,"

Hereupon the fellow excused himself. He was killing geese for some of the nuns, and had just put off his coat, not to have it spoiled by the down; but she is nothing mollified—scolds him still, so the fellow makes off without another word, fearing he might get a touch of the rheumatism, like the abbess and his worship the sheriff, and carries the beer-can to the reverend chaplain; from whom he soon brings back "his grateful acknowledgments to the Lady Sidonia."

Two days now passed over, but on the third morning Anna Apenborg trotted into the refectory full of news. She was quite tired from her journey yesterday; for the snow was deep on the roads, but to pleasure sister Sidonia (and besides, as it was a matter that concerned the honour of the convent) she had set off to Jacobshagen, though indeed the snow lay ankle-deep. However, she was well repaid, and had heard all she wanted; oh, there was great news!

Illa.—"Quick! what? how? why? Remember it is for the honour and reputation of the entire convent."

Haec.—"She had first gone to one person, who pretended not to know anything at all of the matter; but then another person had told her the whole story—under the seal of the strictest secrecy, however."

Illa.—"What is it? what is it? How she went on chattering of nothing."

Haec.—"But will the dear sister promise not to breathe it to mortal? She would be ruined with her best friend otherwise."

Illa.—"Nonsense, girl; who could I repeat it to? Come, out with it!"

So Anna began, in a very long-winded manner, to explain how the burgomaster's wife in Jacobshagen said that her maid said that Provost Bamberg's maid said, that while she was sweeping his study the other morning, she heard the provost's sister say to her brother in the adjoining room, that she could not bear the chaplain, David Ludeck, for he had been visiting there off and on for ever so long, and yet never had asked her the question. He was a faint-hearted coward evidently, and she hated faint-hearted men.

Sidonia grew as red as a lire-beacon when she heard this, and walked up and down the apartment as if much perturbed, so that Anna asked if the dear sister were ill? "No," was the answer. "She was only thinking how best to get rid of this priest, and prevent him running in and out of the convent whenever he pleased. She must try and have an order issued, that he was only to visit the nuns when they were sick. This very day she would see about it. Could the good Anna tell her what the sheriff had for lunch to-day?"

Illa.—"Ay, truly, could she; for the milk-girl, who had brought her some fresh milk, told her that he had got plenty of wild fowl, which the keeper had snared in the net; and there was to be a sweetbread besides. But what was the dear sister herself to eat?"

Haec.—"No matter—but did she not hear a great ringing of bells? What could the ringing be for?"

Illa.—"That was a strange thing, truly. And there was no one dead, nor any child to be christened, that she had heard of. She would just run out and see, and bring the dear sister word."

Illa.-"Well then, wait till evening, for it is near noon now, and I expect a guest to lunch."

Haec.—"Eh? a guest!—and who could it be?"

Illa.—"Why, the chaplain himself. I want to arrange about his dismissal."

So, hardly had she got rid of the chatterbox, when Sidonia called the porter, Matthias, and bid him greet the reverend chaplain from her, and say, that as she had somewhat to ask him concerning the investiture on Sunday, would he be her guest that day at dinner? She hoped to have some game with a sweetbread, and excellent beer to set before him.

When the porter returned with the answer from his reverence, accepting the invitation, she sent him straight to the sheriff with a couple of covered dishes, and a message, begging his worship to send her half-a-dozen brace or so of game, for she heard that a great many had been taken in his nets; and a sweetbread, if he had it, for she had a guest to-day at dinner.

So the dishes came back full—everything just ready to be served; for the cunning hag knew well that he dare not refuse her; and immediately afterwards the priest arrived to dinner. He was very friendly, but Sidonia caught him looking very suspiciously at a couple of brooms which she had laid crosswise under the table. So she observed, "I lay these brooms there, to preserve our dear mother and the sheriff from falling again into this sickness. It is part of the doctrine of sympathies, and I learned it out of my Herbal, as I can show you." Upon which she went to her trunk and got the book for the priest, whose fears diminished when he saw that it was printed; but he could not prevail on her to lend it to him.

Summa.—The priest grew still more friendly over the good eating and drinking; and she, the old hypocrite, discoursed him the while about her heavenly bridegroom, and threw up her eyes and sighed, at the same time pressing his hand fervently. But the priest never minded it, for she was old enough to be his mother, and besides, he remembered the Scripture—"No man can call Jesus Lord, except through the Holy Ghost." So as her every third word was "Jesus," he looked upon her as a most discreet and pious Christian, and went away much satisfied by her and the good dinner.



CHAPTER III.

Sidonia tries another way to catch the priest, but fails through a mistake—Item, of her horrible spell, whereby she bewitched the whole princely race of Pomerania, so that, to the grievous sorrow of their fatherland, they remain barren even unto this day. [Footnote: Note of Duke Bogislaff XIV.—"Ay, and will to the last day, vaeh mihi."]

As soon as the pious abbess was able to leave her bed, she sent for the priest, for she had strange suspicions about Sidonia, and asked the reverend clerk, if indeed her cure could have been effected by sympathy? and were it not rather some work of the bodily Satan himself? But my priest assured her concerning Sidonia's Christian faith; item, told, to the great wonderment of the abbess, that she no longer cared for the sub-prioret (we know why—she would sooner have the priest than the prioret), but was content to let Dorothea Stettin keep it or resign it, just as she pleased.

After this, the investiture of Sidonia took place, and the priest blessed her at the altar, and admonished her to take as her model the wise virgins mentioned Matt. xxv. (but God knows, she had followed the foolish virgins up to that period, and never ceased doing so to the end of her days).

Even on that very night, we shall see her conduct; for she bid her maid, Wolde, run and call up the convent porter, and despatch him instantly for the priest, saying that she was very ill, and he must come and pray with her. This excited no suspicion, since she herself had forbade the priest entering the convent, unless any of the sisters were sick. But Anna Apenborg slipped out of bed when she heard the noise, and watched from the windows for the porter's return. Then she tossed up the window, though the snow blew in all over her bed, and called out, "Well, what says he? will he come? will he come?"

And when the fellow grunted in answer, "Yes, he's coming," she wrapped a garment round her, and set herself to watch, though her teeth were chattering from cold all the time. In due time the priest came, whereupon the curious virgin crept out of her garret, and down the stairs to a little window in the passage which looked in upon the refectory, and through which, in former times, provisions were sometimes handed in. There she could hear everything that passed.

When the priest entered, Sidonia stretched out her meagre arms towards him, and thanked him for coming; would he sit down here on the bed, for there was no other seat in the room? she had much to tell him that was truly wonderful. But the priest remained standing: let her speak on.

Illa.—"Ah! it concerned himself. She had dreamt a strange dream (God be thanked that it was not a reality), but it left her no peace. Three times she awoke, and three fell asleep and dreamt it again. At last she sent for him, for there might be danger in store for him, and she would turn it away if possible."

Hic.—"It was strange, truly. What, then, had she dreamed?"

Illa.—"It seemed to her that murderers had got up into his room through the window, and just as they were on the point of strangling him, she had appeared and put them to flight, whereupon—" (here she paused and sighed).

Hic (in great agitation).—"Go on, for God's sake go on—what further?"

Illa.—"Whereupon—ah! she must tell him now, since he forced her to do it. Whereupon, out of gratitude, he took her to be his wife, and they were married" (sighing, and holding both hands before her eyes).

Hic (clasping his hands).—"Merciful Heaven! how strange! I dreamt all that precisely myself." [Footnote: The power of producing particular dreams by volition, was recognised by the ancients and philosophers of the Middle Ages. Ex. Albertus Magnus relates (De Mirabilibus Mundi 205) that horrible dreams can be produced by placing an ape's skin under the pillow. He also gives a receipt for making women tell their secrets in sleep (but this I shall keep to myself). Such phenomena are neither physiologically nor psychologically impossible, but our modern physiologists are content to take the mere poor form of nature, dissect it, anatomise it, and then bury it beneath the sand of their hypotheses. Thus, indeed, "the dead bury their dead," while all the strange, mysterious, inner powers of nature, which the philosophers of the Middle Ages, as Psellus, Albertus Magnus, Trithemius, Cardanus, Theophastus, &c., did so much to elucidate, are at once flippantly and ignorantly placed in the category of "Superstitions," "Absurdities," and "Artful Deceptions."]

Upon which Sidonia cried out, "How can it be possible? Oh, it is the will of God, David—it is the will of God" (and she seized him by both hands).

But the priest remained as cold as the snow outside, drew back his head, and said, "Ah! no doubt these absurdities about marriage came into my head because I had been thinking so much over our young Lord Philip of Wolgast, who was wedded to-day at Berlin."

Sidonia started up at this, and screamed in rage and anger—"What! Duke Philip married to-day in Berlin? The accursed prioress told me the wedding was not to be for eight days after the next new moon."

The priest now was more astonished at her manner than even at the coincidence of the dreams, and he started back from the bed. Whereupon, perceiving the mistake she had made, the horrible witch threw herself down again, and letting her head fall upon the pillow, murmured, "Oh! my head! my head! She must have locked up the moon in the cellar. How will the poor people see now by night?—why did the prioress lock up the moon? Oh! my head! my head!" Then she thanked the priest for coming—it was so good of him; but she was worse—much worse. "Ah! her head! her head! Better go now—but let him come again in the morning to see her." So the good priest believed in truth that the detestable hag was very ill, and evidently suffering from fever; so he went his way pitying her much, and without the least suspicion of her wicked purposes.

Scarcely, however, had he closed the door, when Sidonia sprang like a cat from her bed, and called out, "Wolde, Wolde!" And as the old witch hobbled in with her lame leg, Sidonia raged and stamped, crying out, "The accursed abbess has lied to me. Ernest Ludovicus' brat was married to-day at Berlin. Oh! if I am too late now, as on his father's marriage, I shall hang myself in the laundry. Where is Chim—the good-for-nothing spirit?—he should have seen to this." And she dragged him out and beat him, while he quaked like a hare.

Whereupon Wolde called out, "Bring the padlock from the trunk." The other answered, "What use now?—the bridal pair are long since wedded and asleep." To which the old witch replied, "No; it is twelve o'clock here, but in Berlin it wants a quarter to it yet. There is time. The Berlin brides never retire to their apartment till the clock strikes twelve. There is time still."

"Then," exclaimed Sidonia, "since the devil cannot tell me on what day they hold bridal, I will make an end now of the whole accursed griffin brood, in all its relationships, branch and root, now and for evermore, in Wolgast as in Stettin; be they destroyed and rooted out for ever and for ever." Then she took the padlock, and murmured some words over it, of which Anna Apenborg could only catch the names, Philip, Francis, George, Ulrich, Bogislaff, who were all sons to Duke Bogislaff XIII., and, in truth, died each one without leaving an heir. And, during the incantation, the light trembled and burned dim upon the table, and the thing which she had beaten seemed to speak with a human voice, and the bells on the turret swung in the wind with a low sound, so that Anna fell on her knees from horror, and scarcely dared to breathe. Then the accursed sorceress gave the padlock and key to Wolde, bidding her go forth by night and fling it into the sea, repeating the words:—

"Hid deep in the sea Let my dark spell be, For ever, for ever! To rise up never!"

Then Wolde asked, "Had she forgotten Duke Casimir?" Whereat Sidonia laughed and said, "The spell had long been on him." And immediately after, Anna Apenborg beheld three shadows, in place of two, thrown upon the white wall opposite the little window. So she strengthened her heart to look in, and truly there was another form present now. And the three danced together, and chanted strange rhymes, while the shadows on the wall danced up and down likewise. Then a deep bass voice called out, "Ha! there is Christian flesh here! Ha! there is Christian flesh!" Whereupon Anna, though nearly dead with fright, crept up to her garret on her knees, while loud laughter resounded behind her; and it seemed as if old pots were flung up the stairs after her. [Footnote: Note of Duke Bogislaff XIV.—Incredibile sane, et tamen verum. Cur, mi Deus?—(It seems impossible, and yet how true. Wherefore, my God?)

The spell by knotting the girdle is noticed by Virgil, 8th eclogue:

"Necte tribus nodis ternos Amarylli colores; Necte Amarylli modo, et Veneris die vincula necto."

[In three knots Amaryllis weaves three different colours; Amaryllis knots and says: I knot the girdle of Venus.]

The use of the padlock is not mentioned until the Middle Ages, when it seems to have been so much employed that severe ordinances were directed against its use.] For the rest of that night she could not close her eyes.

Next morning, one can easily imagine with what eagerness she hurried to the abbess, to relate the past night's horrible tale. Sidonia likewise is astir early, for by daybreak she despatched her old lame Wolde to the chaplain (the porter was not up yet) with a can of beer for his great trouble the night before, and trusted it would strengthen his heart. In this beer she had poured her detestable love-philtrum, to awaken a passion for herself in the breast of the reverend David, but it turned out quite otherwise, and ended after the most ludicrous fashion, no doubt all owing to the malice of the spirit Chim, in revenge for the blows she had given him the night previous; for, behold, as soon as the priest had swallowed a right good draught of beer, he began to stare at the old hag and murmur; then he passed his hand over his eyes, and motioned her to remain. Again he looked at her—twice, thrice—put some silver into her hand, and at last spake—"Ah! Wolde, what a beautiful creature you are! Where have my eyes been, that I never discovered this before?"

The cunning hag saw now plainly what the drink had done, and which way the wind blew. So she sat herself down simpering, by the stove, and my priest crept up close beside her; he took her hand—"Ah! how fat and plump it was—such a beautiful hand."

But the old hag drew it back, saying, "Let me go, Mr. David!" To which he answered, "Yes, go, my treasure! I love to see you walk! What an exquisite limp! How stupid are men nowadays not to see all the beauty of a limp! Ah! Venus knew it well, and therefore chose Vulcan, for he, too, limped like my Wolde. Give me a kiss then, loveliest of women! Ah! what enchanting snow-white hair, like the purest silver, has my treasure on her head."

No wonder the old lame hag was tickled with the commendations, for, in all the sixty years of her life, she never had heard the like before. But she played the prude, and pushed away the priest with her hand, just as, by good fortune, a messenger from the abbess knocked at the door, with a request that the chaplain would come to the good mother without delay. So the old hag went away with the maid of the abbess, and the priest stopped to dress himself more decently.

But in some time the abbess, who was on the watch, saw him striding past her door; so she opened the window and called out to know "Where was he going? Had he forgotten that she lived there?" To which he answered, "He must first visit Sidonia." At this the worthy matron stared at him in horror; but my priest went on; and as he cared more for the maid than the mistress now, ran at once into the kitchen, without waiting to see Sidonia in the refectory; and seizing hold of Wolde, whispered, "That she must give him the kiss now—she need not be such a prude, for he had no wife. And what beautiful hair! Never in his life had he seen such beautiful white hair!" But the old hag still resisted; and in the struggle a stool, on which lay a pot, was thrown down.

Sidonia rushed in at the noise; and behold! there was my priest holding Wolde by the hand. She nearly fainted at the sight. What was he doing with her maid? Then seizing a heavy log of wood, she began to lay it on Wolde's shoulders, who screamed and roared, while my priest slunk away ashamed, without a word; and as he ran down the steps, heard the blows and the screams still resounding from the kitchen.

As he passed the door of the abbess's room, again she called him in; but as he entered, she exclaimed in terror, "My God, what ails your reverence? You look as black and red in the face as if you had had a fit, and had grown ten years older in one night!"

"Nothing ails me," he answered; then sighed, and walked up and down the room, murmuring, "What is the world to me? Why should I care what the world thinks?" Then falls flat on the ground as if he were dead, while the good abbess screams and calls for help. In runs Anna Apenborg—item, several other sisters with their maids, and they stretch the priest out upon a bench near the stove, where he soon begins to foam at the mouth, and throw up all the beer, with the love-philtrum therein, which he had drunk (Sidonia's power effected this, no doubt, since she saw how matters stood).

Then he heaved a deep sigh, opened his eyes, and asked, "Where am I?" Whereupon, finding that his reason and clear understanding had been restored to him, he requested the sisterhood to depart (for they had all rushed in to hear what was going on) and leave him alone with the abbess, as he had matter of grave import to discuss with her. Whereupon they all went out, except Anna Apenborg, who said that she, too, had matter of grave import to relate. So finding she would not stir, the priest took her by the hand, and put her out at the door along with the others.

Now when they were both left alone, we can easily imagine the subject of their conversation. The poor priest made his confession, concealing nothing, only lamenting bitterly how he had disgraced his holy calling; but he had felt like one in a dream, or under some influence which he could not shake off. In return, the abbess told him of the horrible scene witnessed by Anna Apenborg the night before; upon which they both agreed that no more accursed witch and sorceress was in the world than their poor cloister held at that moment. Finally, putting all the circumstances together, the reverend David began to perceive what designs Sidonia had upon him, particularly when he heard of Anna Apenborg's visit to Jacobshagen, and the news which she had brought back from thence. So to destroy all hope at once in the accursed sorceress, and save himself from further importunity and persecution on her part, he resolved to offer his hand the very next day to Barbara Bamberg, for, in truth, he had long had an eye of Christian love upon the maiden, who was pious and discreet, and just suited to be a pastor's wife.

Then they agreed to send for the sheriff, and impart the whole matter to him, he being cloister superintendent; but his answer was, "Let them go to him, if they wanted to speak to him; for, as to him, he would never enter the convent again—his poor body had suffered too much there the last time."

Whereupon they went to him; but he could give no counsel, only to leave the matter in the hands of God the Lord; for if they appealed to the Prince, the sorceress would surely bewitch them again, and they would be screaming day and night, or maybe die at once, and then what help for them, &c.

Sidonia meanwhile was not idle; for she sent messages throughout the whole convent that she lay in her bed sick unto death, and they must needs come and pray with her, along with the priest, before they assembled in the chapel for service. At this open blasphemy and hypocrisy, a great fear and horror fell upon the abbess, likewise upon the priest, since the witch had specially named him, and desired that he would come before service to pray with her. For a long while he hesitated, at last promised to visit her after service; but again bethought himself that it would be more advisable to visit her before, for he might possibly succeed in unveiling all her iniquities, or if not, he could pray afterwards in the church, "that if indeed Sidonia were really sick, and a child of God, the just and merciful Father would raise her up and strengthen her in her weakness; but if she were practising deceit, and were no child of God, but an accursed limb of Satan, then he would give her up into the hands of God for punishment, for had He not said, 'Vengeance is Mine, I will repay, saith the Lord'? (Romans xii. 19.)"

THE END