Sidonia The Sorceress Vol 1 by William Mienhold (page 2)

CHAPTER V.

_Sidonia knows nothing of God’s Word, but seeks to learn it from the young Prince of Wolgast._

Next day, Sunday, her Grace was unable to attend divine service in the church, having caught cold by neglecting to put on her mantle when she accompanied the Duke down to the water-gate. However, though her Grace could not leave her chamber, yet she heard the sermon of the preacher all the same; for an ear-tube descended from her apartment down on the top of the pulpit, by which means every word reached her, and a maid of honour always remained in attendance to find out the lessons of the day, and the other portions of the divine service, for her Grace, who thus could follow the clergyman word for word. Sidonia was the one selected for the office on this day.

But, gracious Heavens! when the Duchess said, Find me out the prophet Isaiah, Sidonia looked in the New Testament; and when she said, Open the Gospel of St. John, Sidonia looked in the Old Testament. At first her Grace did not perceive her blunders; but when she became aware of them, she started up, and tearing the Bible out of her hands, exclaimed, “What! are you a heathen? Yesterday you could not repeat a simple grace that every child knows by heart, and to-day you do not know the difference between the Old and New Testaments. For shame! Alas! what an ill weed I have introduced into my house.”

So the cunning wench began to weep, and said, her father had never allowed her to learn Christianity, though she wished to do so ardently, but always made a mock of it, and for this reason she had sought a refuge with her Grace, where she hoped to become a truly pious and believing Christian. The Duchess was quite softened by her tears, and promised that Dr. Dionysius Gerschovius should examine her in the catechism, and see what she knew. He was a learned man from Daber [Footnote: A small town in Lower Pomerania.], and her Grace’s chaplain. The very idea of the doctor frightened Sidonia so much, that her teeth chattered, and she entreated her Grace, while she kissed her hand, to allow her at least a fortnight for preparation and study before the doctor came.

The Duchess promised this, and said, that Clara von Dewitz, another of her maidens, would be an excellent person to assist her in her studies, as she came from Daber also, and was familiar with the views and doctrines held by Dr. Gerschovius. This Clara we shall hear more of in our history. She was a year older than Sidonia, intelligent, courageous, and faithful, with a quiet, amiable disposition, and of most pious and Christian demeanour. She wore a high, stiff ruff, out of which peeped forth her head scarcely visible, and a long robe, like a stole, sweeping behind her. She was privately betrothed to her Grace’s Master of the Horse, Marcus Bork by name, a cousin of Sidonia’s; for, as her Grace discouraged all kinds of gallantry or love-making at her court, they were obliged to keep the matter secret, so that no one, not even her Grace, suspected anything of the engagement.

This was the person appointed to instruct Sidonia in Christianity; and every day the fair pupil visited Clara in her room for an hour. But, alas! theology was sadly interrupted by Sidonia’s folly and levity, for she chattered away on all subjects: first about Prince Ernest–was he affianced to any one? was he in love? had Clara herself a lover? and if that old proser, meaning the Duchess, looked always as sour? did she never allow a feast or a dance? and then she would toss the catechism under the bed, or tear it and trample on it, muttering, with much ill-temper, that she was too old to be learning catechisms like a child.

Poor Clara tried to reason with her mildly, and said–“Her Grace was very particular on these points. The maids of honour were obliged to assemble weekly once in the church and once in her Grace’s own room, to be examined by Dr. Gerschovius, not only in the Lutheran Catechism, which they all knew well, but also in that written by his brother, Dr. Timothy Gerschovius of Old Stettin; so Sidonia had better first learn the _Catechismum Lutheri_, and afterwards the _Catechismum Gerschovii_.” At last Sidonia grew so weary of catechisms that she determined to run away from court.

But Satan had more for her to do; so he put a little syrup into the wormwood draught, and thus it was. One day passing along the corridor from Clara’s room, it so happened that Prince Ernest opened his door, just as she came up to it, to let out the smoke, and then began to walk up and down, playing softly on his lute. Sidonia stood still for a few minutes with her eyes thrown up in ecstasy, and then passed on; but the Prince stepped to the door, and asked her did she play.

“Alas! no,” she answered. “Her father had forbidden her to learn the lute, though music was her passion, and her heart seemed almost breaking with joy when she listened to it. If his Highness would but play one little air over again for her.”

“Yes, if you will enter, but not while you are standing there at my door.”

“Ah, do not ask me to enter, that would not be seemly; but I will sit down here on this beer-barrel in the corridor and listen; besides, music is improved by distance.”

And she looked so tenderly at the young Prince that his heart burned within him, and he stepped out into the corridor to play; but the sound reaching the ears of her Grace, she looked out, and Sidonia jumped up from the beer-barrel and fled away to her own room.

When Sunday came again, all the maids of honour were assembled, as usual, in her Grace’s apartment, to be examined in the catechism; and probably the Duchess had lamented much to the doctor over Sidonia’s levity and ignorance, for he kept a narrow watch on her the whole day. At four of the clock Dr. Gerschovius entered in his gown and bands, looking very solemn; for it was a saying of his “that the devil invented laughter; and that it were better for a man to be a weeping Heraclitus than a laughing Democritus.” After he had kissed the hand of her Grace, he said they had better now begin with the Commandments; and, turning to Sidonia, asked her, “What is forbidden by the seventh commandment?”

Now Sidonia, who had only learned the Lutheran Catechism, did not understand the question in this form out of the Gerschovian Catechism, and remained silent.

“What!” said the doctor, “not know my brother’s catechism! You must get one directly from the court bookseller–the Catechism of Doctor Timothy Gerschovius–and have it learned by next Sunday.” Then turning to Clara, he repeated the question, and she, having answered, received great praise.

Now it happened that just at this time the ducal horse were led up to the horse-pond to water, and all the young pages and knights were gathered in a group under the window of her Grace’s apartment, laughing and jesting merrily. So Sidonia looked out at them, which the doctor no sooner perceived than he slapped her on the hand with the catechism, exclaiming, “What! have you not heard just now that all sinful desires are forbidden by the seventh commandment, and yet you look forth upon the young men from the window? Tell me what are sinful desires?”

But the proud girl grew red with indignation, and cried, “Do you dare to strike me?” Then, turning to her Grace, she said, “Madam, that sour old priest has struck me on the fingers. I will not suffer this. My father shall hear of it.”

Hereupon her Grace, and even the doctor, tried to appease her, but in vain, and she ran crying from the apartment. In the corridor she met the old treasurer, Jacob Zitsewitz, who hated the doctor and all his rigid doctrines. So she complained of the treatment which she had received, and pressed his hand and stroked his beard, saying, would he permit a castle and land dowered maiden to be scolded and insulted by an old parson because she looked out at a window? That was worse than in the days of Popery. Now Zitsewitz, who had a little wine in his head, on hearing this, ran in great wrath to the apartment of her Grace, where soon a great uproar was heard.

For the treasurer, in the heat of his remonstrance with the priest, struck a little table violently which stood near him, and overthrew it. On this had Iain the superb escritoire of her Highness, made of Venetian glass, in which the ducal arms were painted; and also the magnificent album of her deceased lord, Duke Philip. The escritoire was broken, the ink poured forth upon the album, from thence ran down to the costly Persian carpet, a present from her brother, the Prince of Saxony, and finally stained the velvet robe of her Highness herself, who started up screaming, so that the old chamberlain rushed in to know what had happened, and then he fell into a rage both with the priest and the treasurer. At length her Grace was comforted by hearing that a chemist in Grypswald could restore the book, and mend the glass again as good as new; still she wept, and exclaimed, “Alas! who could have thought it? all this was foreshadowed to her by Dr. Martinus dropping her ring.”

Here the treasurer, to conciliate her Grace, pretended that he never had heard the story of the betrothal, and asked, “What does your Grace mean?” Whereupon drying her eyes she answered, “O Master Jacob, you will hear a strange story”–and here she went over each particular, though every child in the street had it by heart. So this took away her grief, and every one got to rights again, for that day. But worse was soon to befall.

I have said that half-an-hour before dinner the band played to summon all within the castle and the retainers to their respective messes, as the custom then was; so that the long corridor was soon filled with a crowd of all conditions–pages, knights, squires, grooms, maids, and huntsmen, all hurrying to the apartments where their several tables were laid. Sidonia, being aware of this, upon the first roll of the drum skipped out into the corridor, dancing up and down the whole length of it to the music, so that the players declared they had never seen so beautiful a dancer, at which her heart beat with joy; and as the crowd came up, they stopped to admire her grace and beauty. Then she would pause and say a few pleasing words to each, to a huntsman, if he were passing–“Ah, I think no deer in the world could escape you, my fine young peasant;” or if a knight, she would praise the colour of his doublet and the tie of his garter; or if a laundress, she would commend the whiteness of her linen, which she had never seen equalled; and as to the old cook and butler, she enchanted them by asking, had his Grace of Stettin ever seen them, for assuredly, if he had, he would have taken their fine heads as models for Abraham and Noah. Then she flung largess amongst them to drink the health of the Duchess. Only when a young noble passed, she grew timid and durst not venture to address him, but said, loud enough for him to hear, “Oh, how handsome! Do you know his name?” Or, “It is easy to see that he is a born nobleman”–and such like hypocritical flatteries.

The Princess never knew a word of all this, for, according to etiquette, she was the last to seat herself at table. So Sidonia’s doings were not discovered until too late, for by that time she had won over the whole court, great and small, to her interests.

Amongst the cavaliers who passed one day were two fine young men, Wedig von Schwetzkow, and Johann Appelmann, son of the burgomaster at Stargard. They were both handsome; but Johann was a dissolute, wild profligate, and Wedig was not troubled with too much sense. Still he had not fallen into the evil courses which made the other so notorious. “Who is that handsome youth?” asked Sidonia as Johann passed; and when they told her, “Ah, a gentleman!” she exclaimed, “who is of far higher value in my eyes than a nobleman.”

_Summa:_ they both fell in love with her on the instant; but all the young squires were the same more or less, except her cousin Marcus Bork, seeing that he was already betrothed. Likewise after dinner, in place of going direct to the ladies’ apartments, she would take a circuitous route, so as to go by the quarter where the men dined, and as she passed their doors, which they left open on purpose, what rejoicing there was, and such running and squeezing just to get a glimpse of her–the little putting their heads under the arms of the tall, and there they began to laugh and chat; but neither the Duchess nor the old chamberlain knew anything of this, for they were in a different wing of the castle, and besides, always took a sleep after dinner.

However, old Zitsewitz, when he heard the clamour, knew well it was Sidonia, and would jump up from the marshal’s table, though the old marshal shook his head, and run to the gallery to have a chat with her himself, and she laughed and coquetted with him, so that the old knight would run after her and take her in his arms, asking her where she would wish to go. Then she sometimes said, to the castle garden to feed the pet stag, for she had never seen so pretty a thing in all her life; and she would fetch crumbs of bread with her to feed it. So he must needs go with her, and Sidonia ran down the steps with him that led from the young men’s quarter to the castle court, while they all rose up to look after her, and laugh at the old fool of a treasurer. But in a short time they followed too, running up and down the steps in crowds, to see Sidonia feeding the stag and caressing it, and sometimes trying to ride on it, while old Zitsewitz held the horns.

Prince Ernest beheld all this from a window, and was ready to die with jealousy and mortification, for he felt that Sidonia was gay and friendly with every one but him. Indeed, since the day of the lute-playing, he fancied she shunned him and treated him coldly. But as Sidonia had observed particularly, that whenever the young Prince passed her in the gallery he cast down his eyes and sighed, she took another way of managing him.

CHAPTER VI.

_How the young Prince prepared a petition to his mother, the Duchess, in favour of Sidonia–Item, of the strange doings of the Laplander with his magic drum._

The day preceding that on which Sidonia was to repeat the Catechism of Doctor Gerschovius (of which, by the way, she had not learned one word), the young Duke suddenly entered his mother’s apartment, where she and her maidens were spinning, and asked her if she remembered anything about a Laplander with a drum, who had foretold some event to her and his father whilst they were at Penemunde some years before; for he had been arrested at Eldena, and was now in Wolgast.

“Alas!” said her Grace, “I perfectly remember the horrible sorcerer. One spring I was at the hunt with your father near Penemunde, when this wretch suddenly appeared driving two cows before him on a large ice-field. He pretended that while he was telling fortunes to the girls who milked the cows, a great storm arose, and drove him out into the wide sea, which was a terrible misfortune to him. But your father told him in Swedish, which language the knave knew, that it had been better to prophesy his own destiny. To which he replied, a man could as little foretell his own fate as see the back of his own head, which every one can see but himself. However, if the Duke wished, he would tell him his fortune, and if it did not come out true, let all the world hold him as a liar for his life long.

“Alas! your father consented. Whereupon the knave began to dance and play upon his drum like one frenzied; so that it was evident to see the spirit was working within him. Then he fell down like one dead, and cried, ‘Woe to thee when thy house is burning! Woe to thee when thy house is burning!’

“Therefore be warned, my son; have nothing to do with this fellow, for it so happened even as he said. On the 11th December ’57, our castle was burned, and your poor father had a rib broken in consequence. Would that I had been the rib broken for him, so that he might still reign over the land; and this was the true cause of his untimely death. Therefore dismiss this sorcerer, for it is Satan himself speaks in him.”

Here Sidonia grew quite pale, and dropped the thread, as if taken suddenly ill. Then she prayed the Duchess to excuse her, and permit her to retire to her own room.

The moment the Duchess gave permission, Sidonia glided out; but, in place of going to her chamber, she threw herself in a languid attitude upon a seat in the corridor, just where she knew Prince Ernest must pass, and leaned her head upon her hand. He soon came out of his mother’s room, and seeing Sidonia, took her hand tenderly, asking, with visible emotion–

“Dear lady, what has happened?”

“Ah,” she answered, “I am so weak that I cannot go on to my little apartment. I know not what ails me; but I am so afraid—-“

“Afraid of what, dearest lady?”

“Of that sour old priest. He is to examine me to-morrow in the Catechism of Gerschovius, and I cannot learn a word of it, do what I will. I know Luther’s Catechism quite well” (this was a falsehood, we know), “but that does not satisfy him, and if I cannot repeat it he will slap my hands or box my ears, and my lady the Duchess will be more angry than ever; but I am too old now to learn catechisms.”

Then she trembled like an aspen-leaf, and fixed her eyes on him with such tenderness that he trembled likewise, and drawing her arm within his, supported her to her chamber. On the way she pressed his hand repeatedly; but with each pressure, as he afterwards confessed, a pang shot through his heart, which might have excited compassion from his worst enemy.

When they reached her chamber, she would not let him enter, but modestly put him back, saying, “Leave me–ah! leave me, gracious Prince. I must creep to my bed; and in the meantime let me entreat you to persuade the priest not to torment me to-morrow morning.”

The Prince now left her, and forgetting all about the Lapland wizard whom he had left waiting in the courtyard, he rushed over the drawbridge, up the main street behind St. Peter’s, and into the house of Dr. Gerschovius.

The doctor was indignant at his petition.

“My young Prince,” he said, “if ever a human being stood in need of God’s Word, it is that young maiden.” At last, however, upon the entreaties of Prince Ernest, he consented to defer her examination for four weeks, during which time she could fully perfect herself in the catechism of his learned brother.

He then prayed the Prince not to allow his eyes to be dazzled by this fair, sinful beauty, who would delude him as she had done all the other men in the castle, not excepting even that old sinner Zitsewitz.

When the Prince returned to the castle, he found a great crowd assembled round the Lapland wizard, all eagerly asking to have their fortunes told, and Sidonia was amongst them, as merry and lively as if nothing had ailed her. When the Prince expressed his surprise, she said, that finding herself much relieved by lying down, she had ventured into the fresh air, to recreate herself, and have her fortune told. Would not the Prince likewise wish to hear his?

So, forgetting all his mother’s wise injunctions, he advanced with Sidonia to the wizard. The Lapland drum, which lay upon his knees, was a strange instrument; and by it we can see what arts Satan employs to strengthen his kingdom in all places and by all means. For the Laplanders are Christians, though they in some sort worship the devil, and therefore he imparts to them much of his own power. This drum which they use is made out of a piece of hollow wood, which must be either fir, pine, or birch, and which grows in such a particular place that it follows the course of the sun; that is, the pectines, fibræ, and lineæ in the annual rings of the wood must wind from right to left. Having hollowed out such a tree, they spread a skin over it, fastened down with little pegs; and on the centre of the skin is painted the sun, surrounded by figures of men, beasts, birds, and fishes, along with Christ and the holy Apostles. All this is done with the rind of the elder-tree, chewed first beneath their teeth. Upon the top of the drum there is an index in the shape of a triangle, from which hang a number of little rings and chains. When the wizard wishes to propitiate Satan and receive his power, he strikes the drum with a hammer made of the reindeer’s horn, not so much to procure a sound as to set the index in motion with all its little chains, that it may move over the figures, and point to whatever gives the required answer. At the same time the magician murmurs conjurations, springs sometimes up from the ground, screams, laughs, dances, reels, becomes black in the face, foams, twists his eyes, and falls to the ground at last in an ecstasy, dragging the drum down upon his face.

Any one may then put questions to him, and all will come to pass that he answers. All this was done by the wizard; but he desired strictly that when he fell upon the ground, no one should touch him with the foot, and secondly, that all flies and insects should be kept carefully from him. So after he had danced, and screamed, and twisted his face so horribly that half the women fainted, and foamed and raged until the demon seemed to have taken full possession of him, he fell down, and then every one put questions to him, to which he responded; but the answers sometimes produced weeping, sometimes laughing, according as some gentle maiden heard that her lover was safe, or that he had been struck by the mast on shipboard and tumbled into the sea. And all came out true, as was afterwards proved.

Sidonia now invited the Prince to try his fortune; and so, forgetting the admonitions of the Duchess, he said, “What dost thou prophesy to me?”

“Beware of a woman, if you would live long and happily,” was the answer.

“But of what woman?”

“I will not name her, for she is present.”

Then the Prince turned pale and looked at Sidonia, who grew pale also, but made no answer, only laughed, and advancing asked, “What dost thou prophesy to me?” But immediately the wizard shrieked, “Away! away! I burn, I burn! thou makest me yet hotter than I am!”

Many thought these exclamations referred to Sidonia’s beauty, particularly the young lords, who murmured, “Now every one must acknowledge her beauty, when even this son of Satan feels his heart burning when she approaches.” And Sidonia laughed merrily at their gallantries.

Just then the Grand Chamberlain came by, and having heard what had happened, he angrily dismissed the crowd, and sending for the executioner, ordered the cheating impostor to be whipped and branded, and then sent over the frontier.

The wizard, who had been lying quite stiff, now cried out (though he had never seen the Chamberlain before)–“Listen, Ulrich! I will prophesy something to thee: if it comes not to pass, then punish me; but if it does, then give me a boat and seven loaves, that I may sail away to-morrow to my own country.”

Ulrich refused to hear his prophecy; but the wizard cried out–“Ulrich, this day thy wife Hedwig will die at Spantekow.”

Ulrich grew pale, but only answered, “Thou liest! how can that be?” He replied, “Thy cousin Clas will visit her; she will descend to the cellar to fetch him some of the Italian wine for which you wrote, and which arrived yesterday; a step of the stairs will break as she is ascending; she will fall forward upon the flask, which will cut her throat through, and so she will die.”

When he ceased, the alarmed Ulrich called loudly to the chief equerry, Appelmann, who just then came by–“Quick! saddle the best racer in the stables, and ride for life to Spantekow, for it may be as he has prophesied, and let us outwit the devil. Haste, haste, for the love of God, and I will never forget it to thee!”

So the equerry rode without stop or stay to Spantekow, and he found the cousin Clas in the house; but when he asked for the Lady Hedwig, they said, “She is in the cellar.” So no misfortune had happened then; but as they waited and she appeared not, they descended to look for her, and lo! just as the wizard had prophesied, she had fallen upon the stairs while ascending, and there lay dead.

The mournful news was brought by sunset to Wolgast, and Ulrich, in his despair and grief, wished to burn the Laplander; but Prince Ernest hindered him, saying, “It is more knightly, Ulrich, to keep your word than to cool your vengeance.” So the old man stood silent a long space, and then said, “Well, young man, if you abandon Sidonia, I will release the Laplander.”

The Prince coloured, and the Lord Chamberlain thought that he had discovered a secret; but as the prophecy of the wizard came again into Prince Ernest’s mind, he said–

“Well, Ulrich, I will give up the maiden Sidonia. Here is my hand.”

Accordingly, next morning the wizard was released from prison and given a boat, with seven loaves and a pitcher of water, that he might sail back to his own country. The wind, however, was due north, but the people who crossed the bridge to witness his departure were filled with fear when they saw him change the wind at his pleasure to suit himself; for he pulled out a string full of knots, and having swung it about, murmuring incantations, all the vanes on the towers creaked and whirled right about, all the windmills in the town stopped, all the vessels and boats that were going up the stream became quite still, and their sails flapped on the masts, for the wind had changed in a moment from north to south, and the north waves and the south waves clashed together.

As every one stood wondering at this, the sailors and fishermen in particular, the wizard sprang into his boat and set forth with a fair wind, singing loudly, “Jooike Duara! Jooike Duara!” [Footnote: This is the beginning of a magic rhyme, chanted even by the distant Calmucks–namely, _Dschie jo eie jog_.] and soon disappeared from sight, nor was he ever again seen in that country.

CHAPTER VII.

_How Ulrich von Schwerin buries his spouse, and Doctor Gerschovius comforts him out of God’s Word._

This affair with the Lapland wizard much troubled the Grand Chamberlain, and his faith suffered sore temptations. So he referred to Dr. Gerschovius, and asked him how the prophets of God differed from those of the devil. Whereupon the doctor recommended him to meditate on God’s Word, wherein he would find a source of consolation and a solution of all doubts.

So the mourning Ulrich departed for his castle of Spantekow, trusting in the assistance of God. And her Grace, with all her court, resolved to attend the funeral also, to do him honour. They proceeded forth, therefore, dressed in black robes, their horses also caparisoned with black hangings, and the Duchess ordered a hundred wax lights for the ceremony. Sidonia alone declined attending, and gave out that she was sick in bed. The truth, however, was, that as Duke Ernest was obliged to remain at home to take the command of the castle, and affix his signature to all papers, she wished to remain also.

The mourning cortège, therefore, had scarcely left the court, when Sidonia rose and seated herself at the window, which she knew the young Prince must pass along with his attendants on their way to the office of the castle. Then taking up a lute, which she had purchased privately, and practised night and morning in place of learning the catechism, she played a low, soft air, to attract their attention. So all the young knights looked up; and when Prince Ernest arrived he looked up also, and seeing Sidonia, exclaimed, with surprise, “Beautiful Sidonia, how have you learned the lute?” At which she blushed and answered modestly, “Gracious Prince, I am only self-taught. No one here understands the lute except your Highness.”

“Does this employment, then, give you much pleasure?”

“Ah, yes! If I could only play it well; I would give half my life to learn it properly. There is no such sweet enjoyment upon earth, I think, as this.”

“But you have been sick, lady, and the cold air will do you an injury.”

“Yes, it is true I have been ill, but the air rather refreshes me; and besides, I feel the melancholy of my solitude less here.”

“Now farewell, dear lady; I must attend to the business of the castle.”

This little word–“dear lady”–gave Sidonia such confidence, that by the time she expected Prince Ernest to pass again on his return, she was seated at the window awaiting him with her lute, to which she now sang in a clear, sweet voice. But the Prince passed on as if he heard nothing–never even once looked up, to Sidonia’s great mortification. However, the moment he reached his own apartment, he commenced playing a melancholy air upon his lute, as if in response to hers. The artful young maiden no sooner heard this than she opened her door. The Prince at the same instant opened his to let out the smoke, and their eyes met, when Sidonia uttered a feeble cry and fell fainting upon the floor. The Prince, seeing this, flew to her, raised her up, and trembling with emotion, carried her back to her room and laid her down upon the bed. Now indeed it was well for him that he had given that promise to Ulrich. When Sidonia after some time slowly opened her eyes, the Prince asked tenderly what ailed her; and she said, “I must have taken cold at the window, for I felt very ill, and went to the door to call an attendant; but I must have fainted then, for I remember nothing more.” Alas! the poor Prince, he believed all this, and conjured her to lie down until he called a maid, and sent for the physician if she desired it; but, no–she refused, and said it would pass off soon. (Ah, thou cunning maiden! it may well pass off when it never was on.)

However, she remained in bed until the next day, when the Princess and her train returned home from the funeral. Her Grace had assisted at the obsequies with all princely state, and even laid a crown of rosemary with her own hand upon the head of the corpse, and a little prayer-book beside it, open at that fine hymn “Pauli Sperati” (which also was sung over the grave). Then the husband laid a tin crucifix on the coffin, with the inscription from I John iii. 8–“The Son of God was manifested that He might destroy the works of the devil.” After which the coffin was lowered into the grave with many tears.

Some days after this, being Sunday, Doctor Gerschovius and the Grand Chamberlain were present at the ducal table. Ulrich indeed ate little, for he was filled with grief, only sipped a little broth, into which he had crumbled some reindeer cheese, not to appear ungracious; but when dinner was over, he raised his head, and asked Doctor Gerschovius to inform him now in what lay the difference between the prophets of God and those of the devil. The Duchess was charmed at the prospect of such a profitable discourse, and ordered a cushion and footstool to be placed for herself, that she might remain to hear it. Then she sent for the whole household–maidens, squires, and pages–that they too might be edified, and learn the true nature of the devil’s gifts. The hall was soon as full, therefore, as if a sermon were about to be preached; and the doctor, seeing this, stroked his beard, and he begun as follows: [Footnote: Perhaps some readers will hold the rationalist doctrine that no prophecy is possible or credible, and that no mortal can under any circumstances see into futurity; but how then can they account for the wonderful phenomena of animal magnetism, which are so well authenticated? Do they deny all the facts which have been elicited by the great advance made recently in natural and physiological philosophy? I need not here bring forward proofs from the ancients, showing their universal belief in the possibility of seeing into futurity, nor a cloud of witnesses from our modern philosophers, attesting the truth of the phenomena of somnambulism, but only observe that this very Academy of Paris, which in 1784 anathematised Mesmer as a quack, a cheat, and a charlatan or fool, and which in conjunction with all the academies of Europe (that of Berlin alone excepted) reviled his doctrines and insulted all who upheld them, as witches had been reviled in preceding centuries, and compelled Mesmer himself to fly for protection to Frankfort–this very academy, I say, on the 12th February 1826, rescinded all their condemnatory verdicts, and proclaimed that the wonderful phenomena of animal magnetism had been so well authenticated that doubt was no longer possible. This confession of faith was the more remarkable, because the members of the commission of inquiry had been carefully selected, on purpose, from physicians who were totally adverse to the doctrines of Mesmer.

There are but two modes, I think, of explaining these extraordinary phenomena–either by supposing them effected by supernatural agency, as all seers and diviners from antiquity, through the Middle Ages down to our somnambulists, have pretended that they really stood in communication with spirit; or, by supposing that there is an innate latent divining element in our own natures, which only becomes evident and active under certain circumstances, and which is capable of revealing the _future_ with more or less exactitude just as the mind can recall the _past_. For _past_ and _future_ are but different forms of our own subjective intuition of time, and because this internal intuition represents no figure, we seek to supply the defect by an analogy. For time exists _within_ us, not _without_ us; it is not something which subsists of itself, but it is the form only of our internal sense.

These two modes of explaining the phenomena present, I know, great difficulties; the latter especially. However, the pantheistical solution of the Hegelian school adopted by Kieser, Kluge, Wirth, Hoffman, pleases me still less. I even prefer that of Jung-Stilling and Kerner–but at all events one thing is certain, the _facts_ are there; only ignorance, stupidity, and obstinacy can deny them. The _cause_ is still a subject of speculation, doubt, and difficulty. It is only by a vast induction of facts, as in natural philosophy, that we can ever hope to arrive at the knowledge of a general law. The crown of all creation is _man_; therefore while we investigate so acutely all other creatures, let us not shrink back from the strange and unknown depths of our own nature which magnetism has opened to us.]

I am rejoiced to treat of this subject now, considering how lately that demon Lapp befooled ye all. And I shall give you many signs, whereby in future a prophet of God may be distinguished from a prophet of the devil. 1st, Satan’s prophets are not conscious of what they utter; but God’s prophets are always perfectly conscious, both of the inspiration they receive and the revelations they make known. For as the Laplander grew frenzied, and foamed at the mouth, so it has been with all false prophets from the beginning. Even the blind heathen called prophesying _mania_, or the wisdom of _madness_. The secret of producing this madness was known to them; sometimes it was by the use of roots or aromatic herbs, or by exhalations, as in the case of the Pythoness, whose incoherent utterances were written by the priests of Apollo, for when the fit was over, all remembrance of what she had prophesied vanished too. In the Bible we find all false prophets described as frenzied. In Isaiah xliv. 25–“God maketh the diviners mad.” In Ezekiel xiii. 3–“Woe to the foolish prophets.” Hosea ix. 7–“The prophet is a fool, the spiritual man is mad.” And Isaiah xxviii. 7 explains fully how this madness was produced.

Namely, by wine and the strong drink _Sekar_. [Footnote: It is doubtful of what this drink was composed. Hieronymus and Aben Ezra imagine that it was of the nature of strong beer. Probably it resembled the potion with which the mystery-men amongst the savages of the present day produce this divining frenzy. We find such in use throughout Tartary, Siberia, America, and Africa, as if the usage had descended to them from one common tradition. Witches, it is well known, made frequent use of potions, and as all somnambulists assert that the seat of the soul’s greatest activity is in the stomach, it is not incredible what Van Helmont relates, that having once tasted the root _napellus_, his intellect all at once, accompanied by an unusual feeling of ecstasy, seemed to remove from his brain to his stomach.] Further examples of this madness are given in the Bible, as Saul when under the influence of the evil spirit flung his spear at the innocent David; and the four hundred and fifty prophets of Baal, who leaped upon the altar, and screamed, and cut themselves with knives and lancets until the blood flowed; and the maiden with the spirit of divination, that met Paul in the streets of Philippi; with many others.

But all this is an abomination in the sight of God. For as the Lord came not to His prophet Elijah in the strong wind, nor in the earthquake, nor in the fire, but in the still small voice, so does He evidence Himself in all His prophets; and we find no record in Scripture, either of their madness, or of their having forgotten the oracles they uttered, like the Pythoness and others inspired by Satan. [Footnote: It is well known that somnambulists never remember upon their recovery what they have uttered during the crisis. Therefore phenomena of this class appear to belong, in some things, to that of the divining frenzy, though in others to quite a different category of the divining life.] Further, you may observe that the false prophets can always prophesy when they choose, Satan is ever willing to come when they exorcise him; but the true prophets of God are but instruments in the hand of the Lord, and can only speak when He chooses the spirit to enter into them. So we find them saying invariably–“This is the word which came unto me,” or “This is the word which the Lord spake unto me.” For the Lord is too high and holy to come at the bidding of a creature, or obey the summons of his will. St. Peter confirms this, 2 Pet. i. 21, that no prophecy ever came at the will of man.

Again, the false prophets were persons of known infamous character, and in this differed from the prophets of God, who were always righteous men in word and deed. Diodorus informs us of the conduct of the Pythoness and the priests of Apollo, and also that all oracles were bought with gold, and the answer depended on the weight of the sack. As Ezekiel notices, xiii. 19; and Micah iii. 8. Further, the holy prophets suffered all manner of persecution for the sake of God, as Daniel, Elias, Micah, yet remained faithful, with but one exception, and were severely punished if they fell into crime, and the gift of prophecy taken from them; for God cannot dwell in a defiled temple, but Satan can dwell in no other.

Also, Satan’s prophets speak only of temporal things, but God’s people of spiritual things. The heathen oracles, for instance, never foretold any events but those concerning peace or war, or what men desire in riches, health, or advancement–in short, temporal matters alone. Whereas God’s people, in addition to temporal concerns, preached repentance and holiness to the Jewish people, and the coming of Christ’s kingdom, in whom all nations should be blessed. For as the soul is superior to the body, so are God’s prophets superior to those of the Prince of this world.

And in conclusion, observe that Satan’s seers abounded with lies, as all heathen history testifies, or their oracles were capable of such different interpretations that they became a subject of mockery and contempt to the wise amongst the ancient philosophers. But be not surprised if they sometimes spoke truth, as the Lapland wizard has done, for the devil’s power is superior to man’s, and he can see events which, though close at hand, are yet hidden from us, as a father can foretell an approaching storm, though his little son cannot do so, and therefore looks upon his father’s wisdom as supernatural. [Footnote: The somnambulists also can prophesy of those events which are near at hand, but never of the distant.] But the devil has not the power to see into futurity, nor even the angels of God, only God Himself.

The prophets of God, on the contrary, are given power by Him to look through all time at a glance, as if it were but a moment; for a thousand years to Him are but as a watch of the night; and therefore they all from the beginning testified of the Saviour that was to come, and rejoiced in His day as if they really beheld Him, and all stood together as brothers in one place, and at the same time in His blessed presence. But what unanimity and feeling has ever been observed by the seers of Satan, when the contradictions amongst their oracles were notorious to every one?

And as the eyes of all the holy prophets centred upon Christ, so the eyes of the greatest of all prophets penetrated the furthest depths of futurity. Not only His own life, sufferings, death, and resurrection were foretold by Him, but the end of the Jewish kingdom, the dispersion of their race, the rise of His Church from the grain of mustard-seed to the wide, world-spreading tree; and all has been fulfilled. Be assured, therefore, that this eternal glory, which He promised to those who trust in Him, will be fulfilled likewise when He comes to judge all nations. So, my worthy Lord Ulrich, cease to weep for your spouse who sleeps in Jesus, for a greater Prophet than the Lapland wizard has said, “I am the resurrection and the life, whosoever believeth in Me shall never die.” [Footnote: In addition to the foregoing distinctions between the Satanic and the holy prophets, I may add the following–that almost all the diviners amongst the heathen were _women_. For instance, Cassandra, the Pythia in Delphi, Triton and Peristhæa in Dodona, the Sybils, the Velleda of Tacitus, the Mandragoras, and Druidesses, the witches of the Reformation age; and in fine, the modern somnambules are all women too. But throughout the whole Bible we find that the prophetic power was exclusively conferred upon _men_, with two exceptions–namely, Deborah, Judges iv. 4, and Hilda, 2 Chron. xxxiv. 22–for there is no evidence that Miriam had a seer spirit; she was probably only God-inspired, though classed under the general term prophet. We find, indeed, that woe was proclaimed against the divining women who prophesy out of their own head, Ezekiel xiii. 17-23; so amongst the people of God the revelation of the future was confined to _men_, amongst the heathen to _women_, or if men are mentioned in these pagan rites, it is only as assistants and inferior agents, like animals, metals, roots, stones, and such like. See Cicero, _De Divinatione_, i. 18.]

CHAPTER VIII.

_How Sidonia rides upon the pet stag, and what evil consequences result therefrom._

When the discourse had ended, her Grace retired to her apartment and Ulrich to his, for it was their custom, as I have said, to sleep after dinner. Doctor Gerschovius returned home, and the young Prince descended to the gardens with his lute. Now was a fine time for the young knights, for they had been sadly disturbed in their carouse by that godly prophesying of the doctor’s, and they now returned to their own quarter to finish it, headed by the old treasurer Zitsewitz. Then a merry uproar of laughing, singing, and jesting commenced, and as the door lay wide open as usual, Sidonia heard all from her chamber; so stepping out gently with a piece of bread in her hand, she tripped along the corridor past their door. No sooner was she perceived than a loud storm of cheers greeted her, which she returned with smiles and bows, and then danced down the steps to the courtyard. Several rose up to pursue her, amongst whom Wedig and Appelmann were the most eager.

But they were too late, and saw nothing but the tail of her dress as she flew round the corner into the second court. Just then an old laundress, bringing linen to the castle for her Highness, passed by, and told the young men that the young lady had been feeding the tame stag with bread, and then jumped on its back while she held the horns, and that the animal had immediately galloped off like lightning into the second court; so that the young knights and squires rushed instantly after her, fearing that some accident might happen, and presently they heard her scream twice. Appelmann was the first to reach the outer court, and there beheld poor Sidonia in a sad condition, for the stag had flung her off. Fortunately it was on a heap of soft clay, and there she lay in a dead faint.

Had the stag thrown her but a few steps further, against the manger for the knights’ horses, she must have been killed. But Satan had not yet done with her, and therefore, no doubt, prepared this soft pillow for her head.

When Appelmann saw that she was quite insensible, he kneeled down and kissed first her little feet, then her white hands, and at last her lips, while she lay at the time as still as death, poor thing. Just then Wedig came up in a great passion; for the castellan’s son, who was playing ball, had flung the ball right between his legs, out of tricks, as he was running by, and nearly threw him down, whereupon Wedig seized hold of the urchin by his thick hair to punish him, for all the young knights were laughing at his discomfiture; but the boy bit him in the hip, and then sprang into his father’s house, and shut the door. How little do we know what will happen! It was this bite which caused Wedig’s lamentable death a little after.

But if he was angry before, what was his rage now when he beheld the equerry, Appelmann, kissing the insensible maiden.

“How now, peasant,” he cried, “what means this boldness? How dare this tailor’s son treat a castle and land dowered maiden in such a way? Are noble ladies made for his kisses?” And he draws his poignard to rush upon Appelmann, who draws forth his in return, and now assuredly there would have been murder done, if Sidonia had not just then opened her eyes, and starting up in amazement prayed them for her sake to keep quiet. She had been quite insensible, and knew nothing at all of what had happened. The old treasurer, with the other young knights, came up now, and strove to make peace between the two rivals, holding them apart by force; but nothing could calm the jealous Wedig, who still cried, “Let me avenge Sidonia!–let me avenge Sidonia!” So that Prince Ernest, hearing the tumult in the garden, ran with his lute in his hand to see what had happened. When they told him, he grew as pale as a corpse that such an indignity should have been offered to Sidonia, and reprimanded his equerry severely, but prayed that all would keep quiet now, as otherwise the Duchess and the Lord Chamberlain would certainly be awakened out of their after-dinner sleep, and then what an afternoon they would all have. This calmed every one, except the jealous Wedig, who, having drunk deeply, cried out still louder than before, “Let me go. I will give my life for the beautiful Sidonia. I will avenge the insolence of this peasant knave!”

When Sidonia observed all this, she felt quite certain that a terrible storm was brewing for all of them, and so she ran to shelter herself through the first open door that came in her way, and up into the second corridor; but further adventures awaited her here, for not being acquainted with this part of the castle, she ran direct into an old lumber-room, where she found, to her great surprise, a young man dressed in rusty armour, and wearing a helmet with a serpent crest upon his head. This was Hans von Marintzky, whose brain Sidonia had turned by reading the Amadis with him in the castle gardens, and as she had often sighed, and said that she, too, could have loved the serpent knight, the poor love-stricken Hans, taking this for a favourable sign, determined to disguise himself as described in the romance, and thus secure her love.

So when her beautiful face appeared at the door, Hans screamed for joy, like a young calf, and falling on one knee, exclaimed–“Adored Princess, your serpent knight is here to claim your love, and tender his hand to you in betrothal, for no other wife do I desire but thee; and if the Princess Rosaliana herself were here to offer me her love, I would strike her on the face.”

Sidonia was rather thunderstruck, as one may suppose, and retreated a few steps, saying, “Stand up, dear youth; what ails you?”

“So I am dear to you,” he cried, still kneeling; “I am then really dear to you, adored Princess? Ah! I hope to be yet dearer when I make you my spouse.”

Sidonia had not foreseen this termination to their romance reading, but she suppressed her laughter, remembering how she had lost her lover Uckermann by showing scorn; so she drew herself up with dignity, and said, with as grave a face as a chief mourner–

“If you will not rise, sir knight, I must complain to her Highness; for I cannot be your spouse, seeing that I have resolved never to marry.” (Ah! how willingly, how willingly you would have taken any husband half a year after.) “But if you will do me a service, brave knight, run instantly to the court, where Wedig and Appelmann are going to murder each other, and separate them, or my gracious lady and old Ulrich will awake, and then we shall all be punished.”

The poor fool jumped up instantly, and exclaiming, “Death for my adored princess!” he sprung down the steps, though rather awkwardly, not being accustomed to the greaves; and rushing into the middle of the crowd, with his vizor down, and the drawn sword in his hand, he began making passes at every one that came in his way, crying, “Death for my adored princess! Long live the beautiful Sidonia! Knaves, have done with your brawling, or I shall lay you all dead at my feet.”

At first every one stuck up close by the wall when they saw the madman, to get out of reach of his sword, which he kept whirling about his head; but as soon as he was recognised by his voice, Wedig called out to him–

“Help, brother, help! Will you suffer that this peasant boor Appelmann should kiss the noble Sidonia as she lay there faint and insensible? Yet I saw him do this. So help me, relieve me, that I may brand this low-born knave for his daring.”

“What? My adored princess!” exclaimed the serpent knight. “This valet, this groom, dared to kiss her? and I would think myself blessed but to touch her shoe-tie;” and he fell furiously upon Appelmann.

The uproar was now so great that it might have aroused the Duchess and Ulrich even from their last sleep, had they been in the castle.

But, fortunately, some time before the riot began, both had gone out by the little private gate, to attend afternoon service at St. Peter’s Church, in the town. For the archdeacon was sick, and Doctor Gerschovius was obliged to take his place there. No one, therefore, was left in the castle to give orders or hold command; even the castellan had gone to hear service; and no one minded Prince Ernest, he was so young, besides being under tutelage; and as to old Zitsewitz, he was as bad as the worst of them himself.

The Prince threatened to have the castle bells rung if they were not quiet; and the uproar had indeed partially subsided just at the moment the serpent knight fell upon Appelmann. The Prince then ordered his equerry to leave the place instantly, under pain of his severe displeasure, for he saw that both had drunk rather deeply.

So Appelmann turned to depart as the Prince commanded, but Wedig, who had been relieved by Hans the serpent, sprung after him with his dagger, limping though, for the bite in his hip made him stiff. Appelmann darted through the little water-gate and over the bridge; the other pursued him; and Appelmann, seeing that he was foaming with rage, jumped over the rails into a boat. Wedig attempted to do the same, but being stiff from the bite, missed the boat, and came down plump into the water.

As he could not swim, the current carried him rapidly down the stream before the others had time to come up; but he was still conscious, and called to Hans, “Comrade, save me!” So Hans, forgetting his heavy cuirass, plunged in directly, and soon reached the drowning man. Wedig, however, in his death-struggles, seized hold of him with such force that they both instantly disappeared. Then every one sprang to the boats to try and save them; but being Sunday, the boats were all moored, so that by the time they were unfastened it was too late, and the two unfortunate young men had sunk for ever.

What calamities may be caused by the levity and self-will of a beautiful woman! From the time of Helen of Troy up to the present moment, the world has known this well; but, alas! this was but the beginning of that tragedy which Sidonia played in Pomerania, as that other wanton did in Phrygia.

Let us hear the conclusion, however. Prince Ernest, now being truly alarmed, despatched a messenger to the church for her Highness; but as Doctor Gerschovius had not yet ended his exordium, her Grace would by no means be disturbed, and desired the messenger to go to Ulrich, who no sooner heard the tidings than he rushed down to the water-gate. There he found a great crowd assembled, all eagerly trying, with poles and hooks, to fish out the bodies of the two young men; and one fellow even had tied a piece of barley bread to a rope, and flung it into the water–as the superstition goes that it will follow a corpse in the stream, and point to where it lies. And the women and children were weeping and lamenting on the bridge; but the old knight pushed them all aside with his elbows, and cried–“Thousand devils! what are ye all at here?”

Every one was silent, for the young men had agreed not to betray Sidonia. Then Ulrich asked the Prince, who replied, that Marintzky, having put on some old armour to frighten the others, as he believed, they pursued him in fun over the bridge, and he and another fell over into the water. This was all he knew of the matter, for he was playing on the lute in the garden when the tumult began.

“Thousand devils!” cries Ulrich; “I cannot turn my back a moment but there must be a riot amongst the young fellows. Listen! young lord–when it comes to your turn to rule land and people, I counsel you, send all the young fellows to the devil. Away with them! they are a vain and dissolute crew. Get up the bodies, if you can; but, for my part, I would care little if a few more were baptized in the same way. Speak! some of you: who commenced this tavern broil? Speak! I must have an answer.”

This adjuration had its effect, for a man answered–“Sidonia made the young men mad, and so it all happened.” It was her own cousin, Marcus Bork, who spoke, for which reason Sidonia never could endure him afterwards, and finally destroyed him, as shall be related in due time.

When Ulrich found that Sidonia was the cause of all, he raged with fury, and commanded them to tell him all. When Marcus had related the whole affair, he swore by the seven thousand devils that he would make her remember it, and that he would instantly go up to her chamber.

But Prince Ernest stepped before him, saying, “Lord Ulrich, I have made you a promise–you must now make one to me: it is to leave this maiden in peace; she is not to blame for what has happened.” But Ulrich would not listen to him.

“Then I withdraw my promise,” said the Prince. “Now act as you think proper.”

“Thousand devils! she had better give up that game,” exclaimed Ulrich. However, he consented to leave her undisturbed, and departed with vehement imprecations on her head, just as the Duchess returned from church, and was seen advancing towards the crowd.

CHAPTER IX.

_How Sidonia makes the young Prince break his word–Item, how Clara von Dewitz in vain tries to turn her from her evil ways._

It may be easily conjectured what a passion her Grace fell into when the whole story was made known to her, and how she stormed against Sidonia. At last she entered the castle; but Prince Ernest, rightly suspecting her object, slipped up to the corridor, and met her just as she had reached Sidonia’s chamber. Here he took her hand, kissed it, and prayed her not to disgrace the young maiden, for that she was innocent of all the evil that had happened.

But she pushed him away, exclaiming–“Thou disobedient son, have I not heard of thy gallantries with this girl, whom Satan himself has sent into my royal house? Shame on thee! One of thy noble station to take the part of a murderess!”

“But you have judged harshly, my mother. I never made love to the maiden. Leave her in peace, and do not make matters worse, or all the young nobles will fight to the death for her.”

“Ay, and thou, witless boy, the first of all. Oh, that my beloved spouse, Philippus Primus, could rise from his grave–what would he say to his lost son, who, like the prodigal in Scripture, loves strange women and keeps company with brawlers!” (Weeping.)

“Who has said that I am a lost son?”

“Doctor Gerschovius and Ulrich both say it.”

“Then I shall run the priest through the body, and challenge the knight to mortal combat, unless they both retract their words.”

“No! stay, my son,” said the Duchess; “I must have mistaken what they said. Stay, I command you!”

“Never! Unless Sidonia be left in peace, such deeds will be done to-day that all Pomerania will ring with them for years.”

In short, the end of the controversy was, that the Duchess at last promised to leave Sidonia unmolested; and then retired to her chamber much disturbed, where she was soon heard singing the 109th psalm, with a loud voice, accompanied by the little spindle clock.

Sidonia, who was hiding in her room, soon heard of all that had happened, through the Duchess’s maid, whom she kept in pay;–indeed, all the servants were her sworn friends, in consequence of the liberal largess she gave them; and even the young lords and knights were more distractedly in love with her than ever after the occurrences of the day, for her cunning turned everything to profit.

So next morning, having heard that Prince Ernest was going to Eldena to receive the dues, she watched for him, probably through the key-hole, knowing he must pass her door. Accordingly, just as he went by, she opened it, and presented herself to his eyes dressed in unusual elegance and coquetry, and wearing a short robe which showed her pretty little sandals. The Prince, when he saw the short robe, and that she looked so beautiful, blushed, and passed on quickly, turning away his head, for he remembered the promise he had given to Ulrich, and was afraid to trust himself near her.

But Sidonia stepped before him, and flinging herself at his feet, began to weep, murmuring, “Gracious Prince and Lord, accept my gratitude, for you alone have saved me, a poor young maiden, from destruction.”

“Stand up, dear lady, stand up.”

“Never until my tears fall upon your feet.” And then she kissed his yellow silk hose ardently, continuing, “What would have become of me, a helpless, forlorn orphan, without your protection?”

Here the young Prince could no longer restrain his emotions; if he had pledged his word to the whole world, even to the great God Himself, he must have broken it. So he raised her up and kissed her, which she did not resist; only sighed, “Ah! if any one saw us now, we would both be lost.” But this did not restrain him, and he kissed her again and again, and pressed her to his heart, when she trembled, and murmured scarcely audibly, “Oh! why do I love you so! Leave me, my lord, leave me; I am miserable enough.”

“Do you then love me, Sidonia? Oh! let me hear you say it once more. You love me, enchanting Sidonia!”

“Alas!” she whispered, while her whole frame trembled, “what have I foolishly said? Oh! I am so unhappy.”

“Sidonia! tell me once again you love me. I cannot credit my happiness, for you are even more gracious with the young nobles than with me, and often have you martyred my heart with jealousy.”

“Yes; I am courteous to them all, for so my father taught me, and said it was safer for a maiden so to be–but—-“

“But what? Speak on.”

“Alas!” and here she covered her face with her hands; but Prince Ernest pressed her to his heart, and kissed her, asking her again if she really loved him; and she murmured a faint “yes;” then as if the shame of such a confession had killed her, she tore herself from his arms, and sprang into her chamber. So the young Prince pursued his way to Eldena, but took so little heed about the dues that Ulrich shook his head over the receipts for half a year after.

When mid-day came, and the band struck up for dinner, Sidonia was prepared for a similar scene with the young knights, and, as she passed along the corridor, she gave them her white hand to kiss, glittering with diamonds, thanking them all for not having betrayed her, and praying them to keep her still in their favour, whereat they were all wild with ecstasy; but old Zitsewitz, not content with her hand, entreated for a kiss on her sweet ruby lips, which she granted, to the rage and jealousy of all the others, while he exclaimed, “O Sidonia, thou canst turn even an old man into a fool!”

And his words came true; for in the evening a dispute arose as to which of them Sidonia liked best, seeing that she uttered the same sweet things to all; and to settle it, five of them, along with the old fool Zitsewitz, went to Sidonia’s room, and each in turn asked her hand in marriage; but she gave them all the same answer–that she had no idea then of marriage, she was but a young, silly creature, and would not know her own mind for ten years to come.

One good resulted from Sidonia’s ride upon the stag: her promenades were forbidden, and she was restricted henceforth entirely to the women’s quarter of the castle. Her Grace and she had frequent altercations; but with Clara she kept upon good terms, as the maiden was of so excellent and mild a disposition.

This peace, however, was destined soon to be broken; for though her Grace was silent in the presence of Sidonia, yet she never ceased complaining in private to the maids of honour of this artful wench, who had dared to throw her eyes upon Prince Ernest. So at length they asked why her Highness did not dismiss the girl from her service.

“That must be done,” she replied, “and without delay. For that purpose, indeed, I have written to Duke Barnim, and also to the father of the girl, at Stramehl, acquainting them with my intention.”

Clara now gently remonstrated, saying that a little Christian instruction might yet do much for the poor young sinner, and that if she did not become good and virtuous under the care of her Grace, where else could she hope to have her changed?

“I have tried all Christian means,” said her Grace, “but in vain. The ears of the wicked are closed to the Word of God.”

“But let her Grace recollect that this poor sinner was endowed with extraordinary beauty, and therefore it was no fault of hers if the young men all grew deranged for love of her.”

Here a violent tumult, and much scornful laughing, arose amongst the other maids of honour; and one Anna Lepels exclaimed–“I cannot imagine in what Sidonia’s wonderful beauty consists. When she flatters the young men, and makes free with them as they are passing to dinner, what marvel if they all run after her? Any girl might have as many lovers if she chose to adopt such manners.”

Clara made no reply, but turning to her Grace, said with her permission she would leave her spinning for a while, to visit Sidonia in her room, who perhaps would hearken to her advice, as she meant kindly to her.

“You may go,” said her Grace; “but what do you mean to do? I tell you, advice is thrown away on her.”

“Then I will threaten her with the Catechism of Doctor Gerschovius, which she must repeat on Sunday, for I know that she is greatly afraid of that and the clergyman.”

“And you think you will frighten her into giving up running after the young men?”

“Oh yes, if I tell her that she will be publicly reprimanded unless she can say it perfectly.”

So her Grace allowed her to depart, but with something of a weak faith.

Although Sidonia had absented herself from the spinning, on the pretext of learning the catechism quietly in her own room, yet, when Clara entered, no one was there except the maid, who sat upon the floor at her work. She knew nothing about the young lady; but as she heard a great deal of laughter and merriment in the court beneath, it was likely Sidonia was not far off. On stepping to the window, Clara indeed beheld Sidonia.

In the middle of the court was a large horse-pond built round with stones, to which the water was conducted by metal pipes communicating with the river Peene. In the middle of the pond was a small island, upon which a bear was kept chained. A plank was now thrown across the pond to the island; upon this Sidonia was standing feeding the bear with bread, which Appelmann, who stood beside her, first dipped into a can of syrup, and several of the young squires stood round them laughing and jesting.

The idle young pages were wont to take great delight in shooting at the bear with blunt arrows, and when it growled and snarled, then they would calm it again by throwing over bits of bread steeped in honey or syrup. So Sidonia, waiting to see the fun, had got upon the plank ready to give the bread just as the bear had got to the highest pitch of irritation, when he would suddenly change his growling into another sort of speech after his fashion. All this amused Sidonia mightily, and she laughed and clapped her hands with delight.

When the modest Clara beheld all this, and how Sidonia danced up and down on the plank, while the water splashed over her robe, she called to her–“Dear Lady Sidonia, come hither: I have somewhat to tell thee.” But she answered tartly–“Dear Lady Clara, keep it then: I am too young to be told everything.” And she danced up and down on the plank as before.

After many vain entreaties, Clara had at length to descend and seize the wild bird by the wing–I mean thereby the arm–and carry her off to the castle. The young men would have followed, but they were engaged to attend his Highness on a fishing excursion that afternoon, and were obliged to go and see after their nets and tackle. So the two maidens could walk up and down the corridor undisturbed; and Clara asked if she had yet learned the catechism.

_Illa_.–“No; I have no wish to learn it.”

_Hæc_.–“But if the priest has to reprimand you publicly from the pulpit?”

_Illa_.–“I counsel him not to do it.”

_Hæc_.–“Why, what would you do to him?”

_Illa_.–“He will find that out.”

_Hæc_.–“Dear Sidonia, I wish you well; and therefore let me tell you that not only the priest, but our gracious lady, and all the noble maidens of the court, are sad and displeased that you should make so free with the young men, and entice them to follow you, as I have seen but too often myself. Do it not, dear Sidonia I mean well by you;–do it not. It will injure your reputation.”

_Illa_.–“Ha! you are jealous now, you little pious housesparrow, that the young men do not run after you too. How can I help it?”

_Hæc_.–“Every maiden can help it; were she as beautiful as could be seen, she can help it. Leave off, Sidonia, or evil will come of it, particularly as her Grace has heard that you are seeking to entice our young lord the Prince. See, I tell you the pure truth, that it may turn you from your light courses. Tell me, what can you mean by it?–for when noble youths demand your hand in marriage, you reject them, and say you never mean to marry. Can you think that our gracious Prince, a son of Pomerania, will make thee his duchess–thou who art only a common nobleman’s daughter?”

_Illa_.–“A common nobleman’s daughter!–that is good from the peasant-girl. You are common enough and low enough, I warrant; but my blood is as old as that of the Dukes of Pomerania, and besides, I am a castle and land dowered maiden. But who are you? who are you? Your forefathers were hunted out of Mecklenburg, and only got footing here in Pomerania out of charity.”

_Hæc_.–“Do not be angry, dear lady–you say true; yet I must add that my forebears were once Counts in Mecklenburg, and from their loyalty to the Dukes of Pomerania were given possessions here in Daber, where they have been lords of castles and lands for two hundred and fifty years. Yet I will confess that your race is nobler than mine; but, dear child, I make no boast of my ancestry, nor is it fitting for either of us to do so. The right royal Prince, who is given as an example and model to us all–who is Lord, not over castle and land, but of the heavens and the earth–the Saviour, Jesus Christ–He took no account of His arms or His ancestry, though the whole starry universe was His banner. He was as humble to the little child as to the learned doctors in the temple–to the chiefs among the people, as to the trembling sinner and the blind beggar Bartimæus. Let us take, then, this Prince for our example, and mind our life long what He says–‘Come unto Me, and learn of Me, for I am meek and lowly of heart.’ Will you not learn of Him, dear lady? I will, if God give me grace.”

And she extended her hand to Sidonia, who dashed it away, crying–“Stuff! nonsense! you have learned all this twaddle from the priest, who, I know, is nephew to the shoe-maker in Daber, and therefore hates any one who is above him in rank.”

Clara was about to reply mildly; but they happened now to be standing close to the public flight of steps, and a peasant-girl ran up when she saw them, and flung herself at Clara’s feet, entreating the young lady to save her, for she had run away from Daber, where they were going to burn her as a witch. The pious Clara recoiled in horror, and desiring her to rise, said–“Art thou Anne Wolde, some time keeper of the swine to my father? How fares it with my dearest father and my mother?”

They were well when she ran away, but she had been wandering now for fourteen days on the road, living upon roots and wild berries, or what the herds gave her out of their knapsacks for charity.

_Hæc_.–“What crime wast thou suspected of, girl, to be condemned to so terrible a death?”

_Illa_.–“She had a lover named Albert, who followed her everywhere, but as she would not listen to him he hated her, and pretended that she had given him a love-drink.”

Here Sidonia laughed aloud, and asked if she knew how to brew the love-drink?

_Illa_.–“Yes; she learned from her elder sister how to make it, but had never tried it with any one, and was perfectly innocent of all they charged her with.”

Here Clara shook her head, and wished to get rid of the witch-girl; for she thought, truly if Sidonia learns the brewing secret, she will poison and destroy the whole castleful, and we shall have the devil bodily with us in earnest. So she pushed away the girl, who still clung to her, weeping and lamenting. Hereupon Sidonia grew quite grave and pious all of a sudden, and said–

“See the hypocrite she is! She first sets before me the example of Christ, and then treats this poor sinner with nothing but cross thorns! Has not Christ said, ‘Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy’? But only see how this bigot can have Christ on her tongue, but not in her heart!”

The pious Clara grew quite ashamed at such talk, and raising up the wretch who had again fallen on her knees, said–

“Well, thou mayest remain; so get thee to my maid, and she will give thee food. I shall also write to my father for thy pardon, and meanwhile ask leave from her Grace to allow thee to remain here until it arrives; but if thou art guilty, I cannot promise thee my protection any longer, and thou wilt be burned here, in place of at Daber.”

So the witch-girl was content, and importuned them no further.

CHAPTER X.

_How Sidonia Wished to learn the mystery of love-potions, but is hindered by Clara and the young Prince._

When Prince Ernest returned home after an absence of some days, Sidonia had changed her tactics, for now she never lifted up her eyes when they met, but passed on blushing and confused, and in place of speaking, as formerly, only sighed. This turned his head completely, and sent the blood so quickly through his veins that he found it a hard matter to conceal his feelings any longer. For this reason he determined to visit Sidonia in her own room as soon as he could hit upon a favourable opportunity, and bring her then a beautiful lute, inlaid with gold and silver, which he had purchased for her at Grypswald.

Now, it happened soon after, that her Grace and Clara went away one day into the town to purchase a jerkin for the little Prince Casimir, who accompanied them. Sidonia was immediately informed of their absence, and sought out Clara’s maid without delay, put a piece of gold into her hand, and said–

“Send the strange girl from Daber to my room for a few minutes; she can perhaps give me some tidings of my dear father and family, for Daber is only a little way from Stramehl. But mind,” she added, “keep this visit a secret, as well from her Grace as from your mistress Clara; otherwise we shall all be scolded.”

So the maid very willingly complied, and brought the witch-girl directly to Sidonia’s little apartment, and then ran to Clara’s room to watch for the return of her Grace in time to give notice.

The witch-girl was quite confounded (as she afterwards confessed upon the rack) when Sidonia began–

“Thou knowest, Anne, that my entreaties alone obtained thee a shelter here, for I pitied thee from the first; and from what I hear, it is certain that her Grace means to deal no better with thee than thy judges at Daber, therefore my advice is–escape if thou canst.”

_Illa_, weeping.–“Where can I go? I shall die of hunger, or they will arrest me again as an evil-minded witch, and carry me back to Daber.”

“But do not tell them, stupid goose, that thou hast come from Daber.”

_Illa_.–“But what could she say? Besides, she had no money, and so must be lost and ruined for ever.”

“Well, I shall give thee gold enough to get thee through all dangers. I give it, mind, out of pure Christian charity; but now tell me honestly–canst thou really make a love-drink?”

_Illa_.–“Yes; her sister had taught her.”

“Is the drink of equal power for men and women?”

_Illa_.–“Yes; without doubt, it would make either mad with love.”

“Has it ever an injurious effect upon them? does it take away their strength?”

_Illa_.–“Yes; they fall down like flies. Some lose their memory, others become blind or lame.”

“Has she ever tried its effects upon any one herself?”

_Illa_.–“But will the lady betray me?”

“Out, fool! When I have promised thee gold enough to insure thy escape! I betray thee!”

_Illa_.–“Then she will tell the lady the whole truth. She did give a love-drink to Albert, because he grew cross, and spent the nights away from her, and complained if she idled a little, so that her master beat her. Therefore she determined to punish him, and a rash came out over his whole body, so that he could neither sit nor lie for six weeks, and at night he had to be tied to a post with a hand-towel; but all this time his love for her grew so burning, that although he had previously hated and beaten her, yet now if she only brought him a drink of cold water, for which he was always screaming, he would kiss her hands and feet even though she spat in his face, and he would certainly have died if his relations had not found out an old woman who unbewitched him; whereupon his love came to an end, and he informed against her.”

That must be a wonderful drink. Would the girl teach her how to brew it?

But just then our Lord God sent yet another warning to Sidonia, through His angel, to turn her from her villainy, for as the girl was going to answer, a knock was heard at the chamber-door. They both grew as white as chalk; but Sidonia bethought herself of a hiding-place, and bid the other creep under the bed while she went to the door to see who knocked, and as she opened it, so there stood Prince Ernest bodily before her eyes, with the lute in his hand.

“Ah, gracious Prince, what brings you here? I pray your Highness, for the sake of God, to leave me. What would be said if any one saw you here?”

“But who is to see us, my beautiful maiden? My gracious mother has gone out to drive; and now, just look at this lute that I have purchased for you in Grypswald. Will it please thee, sweet one?”

_Illa_.–“Alas, gracious Prince, of what use will it be to me, when I have no one to teach me how to play?”

“I will teach thee, oh, how willingly, but–thou knowest what I would say.”

_Illa_.–“No, no, I dare not learn from your Highness. Now go, and do not make me more miserable.”

“What makes thee miserable, enchanting Sidonia?”

_Illa_.–“Ah, if your Highness could know how this heart burns within me like a fire! What will become of me? Would that I were dead–oh, I am a miserable maiden! If your Highness were but a simple noble, then I might hope–but now. Woe is me! I must go! Yes, I must go!”

“Why must thou go, my own sweet darling? and why dost thou wish me to be only a simple noble? Canst thou not love a duke better than a noble?”

_Illa_.–“Gracious Prince, what is a poor count’s daughter to your princely Highness? and would her Grace ever consent? Ah no, I must go–I must go!”

Here she sobbed so violently, and covered her eyes with her hands, that the young Duke could no longer restrain his feelings. He seized her passionately in his arms, and was kissing away the crocodile tears, when lo, another knock came to the door, and Sidonia grew paler even than the first time, for there was no place to hide the Prince in, as the witch-wench was already under the bed, and not even quite hidden, for some of her red petticoat was visible round the post, and one could easily see by the way it moved that some living body was in it, for the girl was trembling with the most horrible fear and fright. But the Prince was too absorbed in love either to notice all this or to mind the knock at the door.

Sidonia, however, knew well that it was over with them now, and she pushed away the young Prince, just as the door opened and Clara entered, who grew quite pale, and clasped her hands together when she saw the Duke and Sidonia together; then the tears fell fast from her eyes, and she could utter nothing but–“Ah, my gracious Prince–my poor innocent Prince–what has brought you here?” but neither of them spoke a word. “You are lost,” exclaimed Clara; “the Duchess is coming up the corridor, and has just stopped to look at her pet cat and the kittens there by the page’s room. Hasten, young Prince–hasten to meet her before she comes a step further.”

So the young lord darted out of the chamber, and found his gracious mother still examining her kittens, whereupon he prayed her then to descend with him to the courtyard and look also at his fine hounds, to which she consented.

The moment Prince Ernest disappeared, Clara commenced upbraiding Sidonia for her evil ways, which could not be any longer denied–for had she not seen all with her own eyes?–and she now conjured her by the living God to turn away from the young Duke, and select some noble of her own rank as her husband. This could easily be done when so many loved her; but as to the Prince, as long as her Grace and Ulrich lived, or even one single branch of the princely house of Pomerania, this marriage would never be permitted, let the young lord do or say what he chose.

“Ah, thou pious old priest in petticoats,” exclaimed Sidonia, “who told thee I wanted to marry the Prince? How can I help if he chooses to come in here and, though I weep and resist, takes me in his arms and kisses me? So leave off thy preaching, and tell me rather what brings thee spying to my room?”

Then Clara remembered what had really been her errand, although the love-scene had put everything else out of her head until now, and replied–“I was seeking the witch-girl from Daber, for when I went out with her Grace, I left her in charge of my maid; but as we returned home by the little garden gate, I slipped up to my room by the private stairs without any one seeing me, and found my maid looking out of the window, but no girl was to be seen. When I asked what had become of her, the maid answered she knew not, the girl must have slipped away while her back was turned, so I came here to ask if you had seen the impudent hussy, for I fear if her wings are not clipped she will do harm to some one.”

Here Sidonia grew quite indignant–what could she know of a vile witch-wench? Besides, she had not been ten minutes there in the room.

“But perchance the bird has found herself a nest somewhere,” said Clara, looking towards the bed; “methinks, indeed, I see some of the feathers, for surely a red gown never trembled that way under a bed unless there was something living inside of it.” When the witch-girl heard this her fright increased, so that, to make matters worse, she pulled her gown in under the bed, upon which Clara kneeled down, lifted the coverlet, and found the owl in its nest. Now she had to creep out weeping and howling, and promised to tell everything.

But Sidonia gave her a look which she understood well, and therefore when she stood up straight by the bed, begged piteously that the Lady Clara would not scold her for having tried to escape, because she herself had threatened her with being burned there as well as at Daber, so not knowing where to hide, and seeing the Lady Sidonia’s door open, she crept in there and got under the bed, intending to wait till night came and then ask her aid in effecting her flight, for the Lady Sidonia was the only one in the castle who had shown her Christian compassion.

Hereat Sidonia rose up as if in great rage, and said, “Ha! thou impudent wench, how darest thou reckon on my protection!” and seizing her by the hand–in which, however, she pressed a piece of gold–pushed her violently out of the door.

Now Clara, thinking that this was the whole truth, fell weeping upon Sidonia’s neck, and asked forgiveness for her suspicions. “There, that will do,” said Sidonia,–“that will do, old preacher; only be more cautious in future. What! am I to poke under my bed to see if any one is hiding there? You may go, for I suppose you have often hidden a lover there, your eyes turn to it so naturally.”

As Clara grew red with shame, Sidonia drew the witch-girl again into the room, and giving her a box on the ear that made her teeth chatter–“Now, confess,” said she, “what I said to the young lord without knowing that you were listening.” So the poor girl answered weeping, “Nothing but what was good did you say to him, namely, that he should go away; and then you pushed him so violently when he attempted to kiss you, that he stumbled over against the bed.”

“See, now, my pious preacher,” said Sidonia, “this girl confirms exactly what I told you; so now go along with you, you hussy, or mayhap you will come off no better than she has done.”

Hereupon Clara went away humbly with the witch-girl to her own room, and never uttered another word. Nevertheless the affair did not seem quite satisfactory to her yet. So she conferred with her betrothed, Marcus Bork, on the subject. For when he carried books for her Highness from the ducal library, it was his custom to scrape with his feet in a peculiar manner as he passed Clara’s door; then she knew who it was, and opened it. And as her maid was present, they conversed together in the Italian tongue; for they were both learned, not only in God’s Word, but in all other knowledge, so that people talk about them yet in Pomeranian land for these things.

Clara therefore told him the whole affair in Italian, before her maid and the witch-girl–of the visit of the young Prince, and how the girl was lying hid under the bed, and asked him was it not likely that Sidonia had brought her there to teach her how to brew the love-drink, with which she would then have bewitched the Prince and all the men-folk in the castle, and ought she not to warn her Grace of the danger.

But Marcus answered, that if the witch-girl had been at the castle weeks before, he might have supposed that Sidonia had received the secret of the love-potion from her, since every man, old and young, was mad for love of her–but now he must needs confess that Sidonia’s eyes and deceiving mouth were magic sufficient; and that it was not likely she would bring a vile damsel to her room to teach her that which she knew already so perfectly. So he thought it better not to tell her Highness anything on the subject. Besides, if the wench were examined, who knows what she might tell of Sidonia and the young lord that would bring shame on the princely house of Wolgast, since she had been hid under the bed all the time, and perhaps only kept silence through fear. It were well therefore on every account not to let the matter get wind, and to shut up the wench safely in the witches’ tower until the answer came from Daber. If she were pronounced really guilty, it would then be time enough to question her on the rack about the love-drink and the conversation between the young lord and Sidonia.

So this course was agreed on. It is, however, much to be regretted that Clara did not follow the promptings of her good angel, and tell all to her Grace and old Ulrich; for then much misfortune and scandal would have been spared to the whole Pomeranian land. But she followed her bride-groom’s advice, and kept all secret. The witch-girl, however, was locked up that very day in the witches’ tower, to guard against future evil.

CHAPTER XI.

_How Sidonia repeated the catechism of Dr. Gerschovius, and how she whipped the young Casimir, out of pure evil-mindedness._

The Sunday came at last when Sidonia was to be examined publicly in the catechism of Dr. Gerschovius. Her Grace was filled with anxiety to see how all would terminate, for every one suspected (as indeed was the case) that not one word of it would she be able to repeat. So the church was crowded, and all the young men attended without exception, knowing what was to go forward, and fearing for Sidonia, because this Dr. Gerschovius was a stern, harsh man; but she herself seemed to care little about the matter, for she entered her Grace’s closet as usual (which was right opposite the pulpit), and threw herself carelessly into a corner. However, when the doctor entered the pulpit she became more grave, and finally, when his discourse was drawing near to the close, she rose up quietly and glided out of the closet, intending to descend to the gardens. Her Grace did not perceive her movement, in consequence of the hat with the heron’s plume which she wore, for the feathers drooped down at the side next Sidonia, and the other ladies were too much alarmed to venture to draw her attention to the circumstance. But the priest from the pulpit saw her well, and called out–“Maiden! maiden! Whither go you? Remember ye have to repeat your catechism!”

Then Sidonia grew quite pale, for her Grace and all the congregation fixed their eyes on her. So when she felt quite conscious that she was looking pale, she said, “You see from my face that I am not well; but if I get better, doubt not but that I shall return immediately.” Here all the maids of honour put up their kerchiefs to hide their laughter, and the young nobles did the same.

So she went away; but they might wait long enough, I think, for her to come back. In vain her Grace watched until the priest left the pulpit, and then sent two of her ladies to look for the hypocrite; but they returned declaring that she was nowhere to be seen.

_Summa_.–The whole service was ended, and her Grace looked as angry as the doctor; and when the organ had ceased, and the people were beginning to depart, she called out from her closet–

“Let every one come this way, and accompany me to Sidonia’s apartment. There I shall make her repeat the catechism before ye all. Messengers shall be despatched in all directions until they find out her hiding-place.”

This pleased the doctor and Ulrich well. So they all proceeded to Sidonia’s little room; for there she was, to their great surprise, seated upon a chair with a smelling-bottle in her hand. Whereupon her Grace demanded what ailed her, and why she had not stayed to repeat the catechism.

_Illa_.–“Ah! she was so weak, she would certainly have fainted, if she had not descended to the garden for a little fresh air. She was so distressed that her Grace had been troubled sending for her, of which she was not aware until now.”

“Are you better now?” asked her Grace.

_Illa_.–“Rather better. The fresh air had done her good.”

“Then,” quoth her Grace, “you shall recite the catechism here for the doctor; for, in truth, Christianity is as necessary to you as water to a fish.”

The doctor now cleared his throat to begin; but she stopped him pertly, saying–

“I do not choose to say my catechism here in my room, like a little child. Grown-up maidens are always heard in the church.”

Howbeit, her Grace motioned to him not to heed her. So to his first question she replied rather snappishly, “You have your answer already.”

No wonder the priest grew black with rage. But seeing a book lying open on a little table beside her bed, and thinking it was the catechism of Dr. Gerschovius which she had been studying, he stepped over to look. But judge his horror when he found that it was a volume of the _Amadis de Gaul_, and was lying open at the eighth chapter, where he read–“How the Prince Amadis de Gaul loved the Princess Rosaliana, and was beloved in return, and how they both attained to the accomplishment of their desires.”

He dashed the book to the ground furiously, stamped upon it, and cried–

“So, thou wanton, this is thy Bible and thy catechism! Here thou learnest how to make young men mad! Who gave thee this infamous book? Speak! Who gave it to thee?”

So Sidonia looked up timidly, and said, weeping, “It was his Highness Duke Barnim who gave it to her, and told her it was a merry book, and good against low spirits.”

Here the Duchess, who had lifted up her hand to give her a box on the ear, let it fall again with a deep sigh when she heard of the old Prince having given her such an infamous book, and lamented loudly, crying–

“Who will free me from this shameless wanton, who makes all the court mad? Truly says Scripture, ‘A beautiful woman without discretion is like a circlet of gold upon a swine’s head.’ Ah! I know that now. But I trust my messengers will soon return whom I have despatched to Stettin and Stramehl, and then I shall get rid of thee, thou wanton, for which God be thanked for evermore.”

Then she turned to leave the room with old Ulrich, who only shook his head, but remained as mute as a fish. Doctor Gerschovius, however, stayed behind with Sidonia, in order to exhort her to virtue; but as she only wept and did not seem to hear him, he grew tired, and finally went his way, also with many sighs and uplifting of his hands.

A little after, as Sidonia was howling just out of pure ill-temper, for, in my opinion, nothing ailed her, the little Prince Casimir ran in to look for his mamma–she had gone to hear Sidonia her catechism, they told him.

“What did he want with his lady mamma?”

“His new jerkin hurt him, he wanted her to tie it another way for him; but is it really true, Sidonia, that you do not know your catechism? I can say it quite well. Just come now and hear me say it.”

It is probable that her Grace and the doctor had devised this plan in order to shame Sidonia, by showing her how even a little child could repeat it; but she took it angrily, and, calling him over, said, “Yes; come–I will hear you your catechism.” And as the little boy came up close beside her, she slung him across her knee, pulled down his hose, and–oh, shame!–whipped his Serene Highness upon his princely _podex_, that it would have melted the heart of a stone. How this shows her cruel and evil disposition–to revenge on the child what she had to bear from the mother. Fie on the maiden!

And here my gracious Prince will say–“O Theodore, this matter surely might have been passed over, since it brings a disrespect upon my princely house.”

I answer–“Gracious Lord and Prince, my most humble services are due to your Grace, but truth must be still truth, however it may displease your Highness. Besides, by no other act could I have so well proved the infernal evil in this woman’s nature; for if she could dare to lay her godless hand upon one of your illustrious race, then all her future acts are perfectly comprehensible. [Footnote: Note by Duke Bogislaff XIV.–This is true, and therefore I consent to let it remain; and I remember that Prince Casimir told me long afterwards that the scene remained indelibly impressed on his memory. “For,” he said, “the wild eyes and the terrible voice of the witch frightened me more even than her cruel hand; as if even there I detected the devil in her, though I was but a little boy at the time.”] When the malicious wretch let the boy go, he darted out of the room and ran down the whole corridor, screaming out that he would tell his mamma about Sidonia; but Zitsewitz met him, and having heard the story, the amorous old fool took him up in his arms, and promised him heaps of beautiful things if he would hold his tongue and not say a word more to any one, and that he would give Sidonia a good whipping himself, in return for what she had done to him. So, in short, her Grace never heard of the insult until after Sidonia’s departure from court.”

Had her Highness been in her apartment, she must have heard the child scream; but it so happened that just then she was walking up and down the ducal gardens, whither she had gone to cool her anger.

Soon after a stately ship was seen sailing down the river from Penemunde, [Footnote: A town in Pomerania.] which attracted all eyes in the castle, for on the deck stood a noble youth, with a heron’s plume waving from his cap, and he held a tame sea-gull upon his hand, which from time to time flew off and dived into the water, bringing up all sorts of fish, great and small, in its beak, with which it immediately flew back to the handsome youth.

“Ah!” exclaimed Clara, “there must be the sons of our gracious Princess! for to-morrow is her birthday, and here comes the noble bishop, Johann Frederick of Camyn, and his brother, Duke Bogislaff XIII., to pay their respects to their gracious mother.”

Her Grace, however, would scarcely credit that the handsome youth who was fishing after so elegant a manner was indeed her own beloved son; but Clara clapped her hands now, crying, “Look! your Grace–look! there is the flag hoisted!” And indeed there fluttered from the mast now the bishop’s own arms. So the warder blew his horn, which was answered by the warder of St. Peter’s in the town, and the bells in all the towers rang out, and the castellan ordered the cannon in the courtyard to be fired off.

Her Grace was now thoroughly convinced, and weeping for joy, ran down to the little water-gate, where old Ulrich already stood waiting to receive the princes. As the vessel approached, however, they discovered that the handsome youth was not the bishop, but Duke Bogislaff, who had been staying on a visit at his brother’s court at Camyn, along with several high prelates. The bishop, Johann Frederick, did not accompany him, for he was obliged to remain at home, in order to receive a visit from the Prince of Brandenburg.

When the Duke stepped on shore he embraced his weeping mother joyfully, and said he came to offer her his congratulations on her birthday, and that she must not weep but laugh, for there should be a dance in honour of it, and a right merry feast at the castle on the morrow.

Then he tumbled out on the bridge all the fish which the bird had caught; and her Grace wondered greatly, and stroked it as it sat upon the shoulder of the Prince. So he asked if the bird pleased her Grace, and when she answered “Yes,” he said, “Then, dearest mother, let it be my birthday gift to you. I have trained it myself, and tried it here, as you see, upon the river. So any afternoon that you and your ladies choose to amuse yourselves with a sail, this bird will fish for you as long as you please, while you row down the river.”

Ah, what a good son was this handsome young Duke!–and when I think that Sidonia murdered them all–all–even this noble Prince, my heart seems to break, and the pen falls from my fingers. [Footnote: Note by Duke Bogislaff XIV.–Et quid mihi, misero filio? Domine in manus tuas commando spiritum meum, quia tu me redemisti fide Deus! (And what remains to me, wretched son? Lord, into Thy hands I commend my spirit, for Thou hast redeemed me, Thou God of truth.)–When one thinks that it was the general belief in that age that the whole ducal race had been destroyed and blasted by Sidonia’s sorceries, it is impossible not to be affected by these melancholy yet resigned and Christian words of the last orphaned and childless representative of the ancient and illustrious house of Wolgast.]

But to continue. The Duchess embraced the fine young Prince, who still continued talking of the dance they must have next day. It was time now for his gracious mother to give up mourning for her deceased lord, he said.

But her Grace would not hear of a dance; and replied that she would continue to mourn for her dear lord all the rest of her life, to whom she had been wedded by Doctor Martinus. However, the Duke repeated his entreaties, and all the young nobles added theirs, and finally Prince Ernest besought her Grace not to deny them permission to have a festival on the morrow, as it was to honour her birthday. So she at last consented; but old Ulrich shook his head, and took her Grace aside to warn her of the scandal which would assuredly arise when the young nobles had drunk and grew excited by Sidonia. Hereupon her Grace made answer that she would take care Sidonia should cause no scandal–“As she has refused to learn her catechism, she must not appear at the feast. It will be a fitting punishment to keep her a prisoner for the whole day, and therefore I shall lock her up myself in her own room, and put the key in my pocket.”

So Ulrich was well pleased, and all separated for the night with much contentment and hopes of enjoyment on the morrow.

CHAPTER XII.

_Of Appelmann’s knavery–Item, how the birthday of her Highness was celebrated, and Sidonia managed to get to the dance, with the uproar caused thereby._

Before I proceed further, it will be necessary to state what happened a few days before concerning Prince Ernest’s chief equerry, Johann Appelmann, otherwise many might doubt the facts I shall have to relate, though God knows I speak the pure truth.

One came to his lordship the Grand Chamberlain–he was a shoemaker of the town–and complained to him of Appelmann, who had been courting his daughter for a long while, and running after her until finally he had disgraced her in the eyes of the whole town, and brought shame and scandal into his house. So he prayed Lord Ulrich to make the shameless profligate take his daughter to wife, as he had fairly promised her marriage long ago.

Now Ulrich had long suspected the knave of bad doings, for many pearls and jewels had lately been missing from her Grace’s shabrack and horse-trappings, and the groom, who always laid them on her Grace’s white palfrey, knew nothing about them, though he was even put to the torture; but as Appelmann had all these things in his sole keeping, it was natural to think that he was not quite innocent. Besides, three hundred sacks of oats were missing on the