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Sidonia The Sorceress V1

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"Well, as true as my name is Otto Bork, I never could have
believed this."

"Now, sir knight," said her Grace, "so it is with you as concerns
spiritual things. How if you should one day find that to be true
which your infidelity now presumptuously asserts to be false? Will
not your repentance then be bitter? If you have found my words
true--the words of a poor, weak, sinful woman, will you not much
more find those of the holy Son of God? Yes, to your horror and
dismay, you will find His words to be truth, of whom even His
enemies testified that He never lied--Matt. xxii. 16. Tremble, sir
knight, and bethink you that what often seems impossible to man is
possible to God."

The bold knight was now completely silenced, and the good-natured
Duke, seeing that he had not a word to say in reply, advanced to
his rescue, and changed the conversation by saying--

"See, Otto, the wind seems so favourable just now, that I think we
had better say '_Vale_' to our gracious hostess in the
morning, and return to Stettin."

Not a word did his Grace venture to say more about the wager of
the kisses, for his dear cousin's demeanour restrained even his
hilarity. Otto had nothing to object to the arrangement; and her
Grace said, if they were not willing longer to abide at her
widowed court, she would bid them both Godspeed upon their
journey. "And you, sir knight, may take back your daughter
Sidonia, for our dear son, as you may perceive, is now quite
restored, and no longer needs her nursing. For the good deed she
has wrought in curing him, I shall recompense her as befits me.
But at my court the maiden can no longer abide."

The knight was at first so thunderstruck by these words that he
could not speak; but at last drawing himself up proudly, he said,
"Good; I shall take the Lady Sidonia back with me to my castle;
but as touching the recompense, keep it for those who need it."
Sidonia, however, remained quite silent, as did also the young
lord.

But hear what happened. The festival lasted until late in the
night, and then suddenly such a faintness and bodily weakness came
over the young Prince Ernest that all the physicians had to be
sent for; and they with one accord entreated her Grace, if she
valued his life, not to send away Sidonia.

One can imagine what her Grace felt at this news. Nothing would
persuade her to believe but that Sidonia had given him some
witch-drink, such as the girl out of Daber had taught her to make.

No one could believe either that his Highness affected this
sickness, in order to force his mother to keep Sidonia at the
court; indeed, he afterwards strongly asseverated, and this at a
time when he would have killed Sidonia with a look, if it had been
possible, that this weakness came upon him suddenly like an ague,
and that it could not have been caused by anything she had given
him, for he had eaten nothing, except at the banquet at the Cisan
tower.

In short, the young Prince became as bad as ever; but Sidonia
never heeded him, only busied herself packing up her things, as if
she really intended going away with Otto, and finally, as eight
o'clock struck the next morning, she wrapped herself in her mantle
and hood, and went with her father and Duke Barnim to take leave
of her Grace. She looked as bitter and sour as a
vinegar-cruet--nothing would tempt her to remain even for one day
longer. What was her Grace to do? the young lord was dying, and
had already despatched two pages to her, entreating for one sight
of Sidonia! She must give the artful hypocrite good words--but
they were of no avail--Sidonia insisted on leaving the castle that
instant with her father; then turning to Duke Barnim, she
exclaimed with bitter tears, "Now, gracious Prince, you see
yourself how I am treated here."

Neither would the cunning Otto permit his daughter to remain on
any account, unless, indeed, her Grace gave him a written
authority to receive the dues on the Jena. Such shameless knavery
at last enraged the old Duke Barnim to such a degree that he cried
out--"Listen, Otto, my illustrious cousin here has no more to do
with the dues on the Jena than you have; they belong to me alone,
and I can give no promise until I lay the question before my
council and the diet of the Stettin dukedom: be content,
therefore, to wait until then." One may easily guess what was the
termination of the little drama got up by Otto and his fair
daughter--namely, that Otto sailed away with the Duke, and that
Sidonia remained at the court of Wolgast.




CHAPTER XVI.

_How the ghost continued to haunt the castle, and of its daring
behaviour--Item, how the young lord regained his strength, and was
able to visit Crummyn, with what happened to him there.


So Sidonia was again seated by the couch of the young Prince, with
her hand in his hand; but her Grace, as may well be imagined, was
never very far off from them; and this annoyed Sidonia so much,
that she did not scruple to treat the mourning mother and princely
widow with the utmost contempt; at last disdaining even to answer
the questions addressed to her by her Grace. All this the Duchess
bore patiently for the sake of her dear son. But even Prince
Ernest felt, at length, ashamed of such insolent scorn being
displayed towards his mother, and said--

"What, Sidonia, will you not even answer my gracious mother?"

Hereupon the hypocrite sighed, and answered--

"Ah, my gracious Prince! I esteem it better to pray in silence
beside your bed than to hold a loud chattering in your ears.
Besides, when I am speaking to God I cannot, at the same time,
answer your lady mother."

This pleased the young man, and he pressed her little hand, and
kissed it. And very shortly after, his strength returned to him
wonderfully, so that her Grace and Sidonia only watched by him one
night. The next day he fell into a profound sleep, and awoke from
it perfectly recovered.

In the meantime, the ghost became so daring and troublesome, that
all the house stood in fear of it. Oftentimes it would be seen
even in the clear morning light; and a maid, who had forgotten to
make the bed of one of the grooms, and ran to the stables at night
to finish her work, encountered the ghost there, and nearly died
of fright. _Item_, Clara von Dewitz, one beautiful moonlight
night, having gone out to take a turn up and down the corridor,
because she could not sleep from the toothache, saw the
apparition, just as day dawned, sinking down into the earth, not
far from the chamber of Sidonia, to her great horror and
astonishment. _Item_, her Grace, that very same night, having
heard a noise in the corridor, opened her door, and there stood
the ghost before her, leaning against a pillar. She was
horror-struck, and clapped to her door hastily, but said nothing
to the young Prince, for fear of alarming him.

He had recovered, as I have said, in a most wonderful manner, and
though still looking pale and haggard, yet his love for the maiden
would not permit him to defer his visit to Crummyn any longer;
particularly as it lay only half a mile from the castle, but on
the opposite bank of the river, near the island of Usdom.

Thereupon, on the fourth night, he descended to the little
water-gate, having previously arranged with his chief equerry,
Appelmann, to have a boat there in readiness for him, and also a
good horse, to take across the ferry with them to the other side.
So, at twelve o'clock, he and Appelmann embarked privately, with
Johann Bruwer, the ferryman, and were safely landed at Mahlzow.
Here he mounted his horse, and told the two others to await his
return, and conceal themselves in the wood if any one approached.
Appelmann begged permission to accompany his Highness, which,
however, was denied; the young Prince charging them strictly to
hold themselves concealed till his return, and never reveal to
human being where they had conducted him this evening, on pain of
his severe anger and loss of favour for ever; but if they held
their secret close, he would recompense them at no distant time,
in a manner even far beyond their hopes.

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

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

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

"There is no priest here now."

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

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

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

_Illa_.--"Was he a heathen or a true Christian?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_Illa._--"She must speak instantly to her Grace the princely
widow."

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

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

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