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Sidonia The Sorceress V2

W >> William Mienhold >> Sidonia The Sorceress V2




This I have done with much trouble, and after many ineffectual
attempts; but I refrain from pointing out the particular passages
which I have supplied, so as not to disturb the historical
interest of the greater part of my readers. For modern criticism,
which has now attained to a degree of acuteness never before
equalled, such a confession would be entirely superfluous, as
critics will easily distinguish the passages where Pastor
Schweidler speaks from those written by Pastor Meinhold.

I am, nevertheless, bound to give the public some account of what
I have omitted, namely--

1st. Such long prayers as were not very remarkable for Christian
unction.

2d. Well-known stories out of the Thirty Years' War.

3d. Signs and wonders in the heavens, which were seen here and
there, and which are recorded by other Pomeranian writers of these
fearful times; for instance, by Micrælius. [Footnote: Vom Alten
Pommerlande (Of Old Pomerania), book v.] But when these events
formed part of the tale itself, as, for instance, the cross on the
Streckelberg, I, of course, allowed them to stand.

4th. The specification of the whole income of the church at
Coserow, before and during the terrible times of the Thirty Years'
War.

5th. The enumeration of the dwellings left standing, after the
devastations made by the enemy in every village throughout the
parish.

6th. The names of the districts to which this or that member of
the congregation had emigrated.

7th. A ground plan and description of the old manse.

I have likewise here and there ventured to make a few changes in
the language, as my author is not always consistent in the use of
his words or in his orthography. The latter I have, however, with
very few exceptions, retained.

And thus I lay before the gracious reader a work, glowing with the
fire of heaven, as well as with that of hell.

MEINHOLD.




THE AMBER WITCH




INTRODUCTION.


The origin of our biographer cannot be traced with any degree of
certainty, owing to the loss of the first part of his manuscript.
It is, however, pretty clear that he was not a Pomeranian, as he
says he was in Silesia in his youth, and mentions relations
scattered far and wide, not only at Hamburg and Cologne, but even
at Antwerp; above all, his South-German language betrays a foreign
origin, and he makes use of words, which are, I believe, peculiar
to Swabia. He must, however, have been living for a long time in
Pomerania at the time he wrote, as he even more frequently uses
Low-German expressions, such as occur in contemporary native
Pomeranian writers.

Since he sprang from an ancient noble family, as he says on
several occasions, it is possible that some particulars relating
to the Schweidlers might be discovered in the family records of
the seventeenth century, which would give a clue to his native
country; but I have sought for that name in all the sources of
information accessible to me in vain, and am led to suspect that
our author, like many of his contemporaries, laid aside his
nobility and changed his name when he took holy orders.

I will not, however, venture on any further conjectures; the
manuscript, of which six chapters are missing, begins with the
words "Imperialists plundered," and evidently the previous pages
must have contained an account of the breaking out of the Thirty
Years' War in the island of Usedom. It goes on as follows:--

"Coffers, chests, and closets were all plundered and broken to
pieces, and my surplice also was torn, so that I remained in great
distress and tribulation. But my poor little daughter they did not
find, seeing that I had hidden her in the stable, which was dark,
without which I doubt not they would have made my heart heavy
indeed. The lewd dogs would even have been rude to my old maid
Ilse, a woman hard upon fifty, if an old cornet had not forbidden
them. Wherefore I gave thanks to my Maker when the wild guests
were gone, that I had first saved my child from their clutches,
although not one dust of flour, nor one grain of corn, nor one
morsel of meat even of a finger's length was left, and I knew not
how I should any longer support my own life, and my poor child's.
_Item_, I thanked God that I had likewise secured the _vasa
sacra_, which I had forthwith buried in the church in front of
the altar, in presence of the two churchwardens, Hienrich Seden
and Claus Bulken, of Uekeritze, commending them to the care of
God. And now because, as I have already said, I was suffering the
pangs of hunger, I wrote to his lordship the Sheriff Wittich v.
Appelmann, at Pudgla [Footnote: A castle in Usedom, formerly a
celebrated convent.], that for the love of God and His holy Gospel
he should send me that which his Highness' Grace Philippus Julius
had allowed me as _præstanda_ from the convent at Pudgla, to
wit, thirty bushels of barley and twenty-five marks of silver,
which howbeit his lordship had always withheld from me hitherto
(for he was a very hard inhuman man, inasmuch as he despised the
holy Gospel and the preaching of the Word, and openly, without
shame, reviled the servants of God, saying that they were useless
feeders, and that Luther had but half cleansed the pig-stye of the
Church--God mend it!). But he answered me nothing, and I should
have perished for want if Hinrich Seden had not begged for me in
the parish. May God reward the honest fellow for it in eternity!
Moreover, he was then growing old, and was sorely plagued by his
wicked wife Lizzie Kolken. Methought when I married them that it
would not turn out over well, seeing that she was in common report
of having long lived in unchastity with Wittich Appelmann, who had
ever been an arch-rogue, and especially an arrant whoremaster, and
such the Lord never blesses. This same Seden now brought me five
loaves, two sausages, and a goose, which old goodwife Paal, at
Loddin, had given him; also a flitch of bacon from the farmer Jack
Tewert. But he said I must shield him from his wife, who would
have had half for herself, and when he denied her she cursed him,
and wished him gout in his head, whereupon he straightway felt a
pain in his right cheek, and it was quite hard and heavy already.
At such shocking news I was affrighted, as became a good pastor,
and asked whether peradventure he believed that she stood in evil
communication with Satan, and could bewitch folks? But he said
nothing, and shrugged his shoulders. So I sent for old Lizzie to
come to me, who was a tall, meagre woman of about sixty, with
squinting eyes, so that she could not look any one in the face;
likewise with quite red hair, and indeed her goodman had the same.
But though I diligently admonished her out of God's Word, she made
no answer, until at last I said, 'Wilt thou unbewitch thy goodman
(for I saw from the window how that he was raving in the street
like a madman), or wilt thou that I should inform the magistrate
of thy deeds?' Then, indeed, she gave in, and promised that he
should soon be better (and so he was); moreover she begged that I
would give her some bread and some bacon, inasmuch as it was three
days since she had had a bit of anything to put between her lips,
saving always her tongue. So my daughter gave her half a loaf, and
a piece of bacon about two hands-breadths large; but she did not
think it enough, and muttered between her teeth; whereupon my
daughter said, 'If thou art not content, thou old witch, go thy
ways and help thy goodman; see how he has laid his head on Zabel's
fence, and stamps with his feet for pain.' Whereupon she went
away, but still kept muttering between her teeth, 'Yea, forsooth,
I will help him and thee too.'"




CHAPTER VII.

_How the Imperialists robbed me of all that was left, and
likewise broke into the church and stole the Vasa Sacra; also what
more befell us._


After a few days, when we had eaten almost all our food, my last
cow fell down dead (the wolves had already devoured the others, as
mentioned above), not without a strong suspicion that Lizzie had a
hand in it, seeing that the poor beast had eaten heartily the day
before; but I leave that to a higher judge, seeing that I would
not willingly calumniate any one; and it may have been the will of
God, whose wrath I have well deserved. _Summa_, I was once
more in great need, and my daughter Mary pierced my heart with her
sighs, when the cry was raised that another troop of Imperialists
was come to Uekeritze, and was marauding there more cruelly than
ever, and, moreover, had burnt half the village. Wherefore I no
longer thought myself safe in my cottage; and after I had
commended everything to the Lord in a fervent prayer, I went up
with my daughter and old Ilse into the Streckelberg, [Footnote: A
considerable mountain close to the sea near Coserow.] where I
already had looked out for ourselves a hole like a cavern, well
grown over with brambles, against the time when the troubles
should drive us thither. We therefore took with us all we had left
to us for the support of our bodies, and fled into the woods,
sighing and weeping, whither we soon were followed by the old men,
and the women and children; these raised a great cry of hunger
when they saw my daughter sitting on a log and eating a bit of
bread and meat, and the little things came with their tiny hands
stretched out and cried, "Have some too, have some too." Therefore
being justly moved by such great distress, I hindered not my
daughter from sharing all the bread and meat that remained among
the hungry children. But first I made them pray--"The eyes of all
wait upon Thee;" [Footnote: Ps. cxlv. 15, 16.] upon which words I
then spake comfortably to the people, telling them that the Lord,
who had now fed their little children, would find means to fill
their own bellies, and that they must not be weary of trusting in
Him.

This comfort did not, however, last long; for after we had rested
within and around the cavern for about two hours, the bells in the
village began to ring so dolefully, that it went nigh to break all
our hearts, the more as loud firing was heard between whiles;
_item_, the cries of men and the barking of dogs resounded,
so that we could easily guess that the enemy was in the village. I
had enough to do to keep the women quiet, that they might not by
their senseless lamentations betray our hiding-place to the cruel
enemy; and more still when it began to smell smoky, and presently
the bright flames gleamed through the trees. I therefore sent old
Paasch up to the top of the hill, that he might look around and
see how matters stood, but told him to take good care that they
did not see him from the village, seeing that the twilight had but
just begun.

This he promised, and soon returned with the news that about
twenty horsemen had galloped out of the village towards the
Damerow, but that half the village was in flames. _Item, he told
us that by a wonderful dispensation of God a great number of birds
had appeared in the juniper-bushes and elsewhere, and that if we
could catch them they would be excellent food for us. I therefore
climbed up the hill myself, and having found everything as he had
said, and also perceived that the fire had, by the help of God's
mercy, abated in the village; _item_, that my cottage was
left standing, far beyond my merits and deserts; I came down again
and comforted the people, saying, "The Lord hath given us a sign,
and He will feed us, as He fed the people of Israel in the
wilderness; for He has sent us a fine flight of fieldfares across
the barren sea, so that they whirr out of every bush as ye come
near it. Who will now run down into the village, and cut off the
mane and tail of my dead cow which lies out behind on the common?"
(for there was no horsehair in all the village, seeing that the
enemy had long since carried off or stabbed all the horses). But
no one would go, for fear was stronger even than hunger, till my
old Ilse spoke, and said, "I will go, for I fear nothing, when I
walk in the ways of God; only give me a good stick." When old
Paasch had lent her his staff, she began to sing, "God the Father
be with us," and soon out of sight among the bushes. Meanwhile I
exhorted the people to set to work directly, and to cut little
wands for syringes, and to gather berries while the moon still
shone; there were a great quantity of mountain-ash and
elder-bushes all about the mountain. I myself and my daughter Mary
stayed to guard the little children, because it was not safe there
from wolves. We therefore made a blazing fire, sat ourselves
around it, and heard the little folks say the Ten Commandments,
when there was a rustling and crackling behind us, and my daughter
jumped up and ran into the cavern, crying, "_Proh dolor
hostis!_" [Our author afterwards explains the learned education
of the maiden.] But it was only some of the able-bodied men who
had stayed behind in the village, and who now came to bring us
word how things stood there. I therefore called to her directly,
"_Emergas amici_," whereupon she came skipping joyously out,
and sat down again by the fire, and forthwith my warden Hinrich
Seden related all that had happened, and how his life had only
been saved by means of his wife Lizzie Kolken; but that Jurgen
Flatow, Chim Burse, Claus Peer, and Chim Seideritz were killed,
and the last named of them left lying on the church steps. The
wicked incendiaries had burned down twelve sheds, and it was not
their fault that the whole village was not destroyed, but only in
consequence of the wind not being in the quarter that suited their
purpose. Meanwhile they tolled the bells in mockery and scorn, to
see whether any one would come and quench the fire; and that when
he and the three other young fellows came forward they fired off
their muskets at them, but, by God's help, none of them were hit.
Hereupon his three comrades jumped over the paling and escaped;
but him they caught, and had already taken aim at him with their
firelocks, when his wife Lizzie Kolken came out of the church with
another troop and beckoned to them to leave him in peace. But they
stabbed Lene Hebers as she lay in childbed, speared the child, and
flung it over Claus Peer's hedge among the nettles, where it was
yet lying when they came away. There was not a living soul left in
the village, and still less a morsel of bread, so that unless the
Lord took pity on their need they must all die miserably of
hunger.

(Now who is to believe that such people can call themselves
Christians?)

I next inquired, when he had done speaking (but with many sighs,
as any one may guess), after my cottage; but of that they knew
naught save that it was still standing. I thanked the Lord
therefore with a quiet sigh; and having asked old Seden what his
wife had been doing in the church, I thought I should have died
for grief when I heard that the villains came out of it with both
the chalices and patens in their hands. I therefore spoke very
sharply to old Lizzie, who now came slinking through the bushes;
but she answered insolently, that the strange soldiers had forced
her to open the church, as her goodman had crept behind the hedge,
and nobody else was there; that they had gone straight up to the
altar, and seeing that one of the stones was not well fitted
(which, truly, was an arch lie), had begun to dig with their
swords till they found the chalices and patens; or somebody else
might have betrayed the spot to them, so I need not always to lay
the blame on her, and rate her so hardly.

Meanwhile the old men and the women came with a good store of
berries; _item_, my old maid, with the cow's tail and mane,
who brought word that the whole house was turned upside down, the
windows all broken, and the books and writings trampled in the
dirt in the midst of the street, and the doors torn off their
hinges. This, however, was a less sorrow to me than the chalices;
and I only bade the people make springes and snares, in order next
morning to begin our fowling, with the help of Almighty God. I
therefore scraped the rods myself until near midnight; and when we
had made ready a good quantity, I told old Seden to repeat the
evening blessing, which we all heard on our knees; after which I
wound up with a prayer, and then admonished the people to creep in
under the bushes to keep them from the cold (seeing that it was
now about the end of September, and the wind blew very fresh from
the sea), the men apart, and the women also apart by themselves. I
myself went up with my daughter and my maid into the cavern, where
I had not slept long before I heard old Seden moaning bitterly,
because, as he said, he was seized with the colic. I therefore got
up and gave him my place, and sat down again by the fire to cut
springes, till I fell asleep for half-an-hour; and then morning
broke, and by that time he had got better, and I woke the people
to morning prayer. This time old Paasch had to say it, but could
not get through with it properly, so that I had to help him.
Whether he had forgot it, or whether he was frightened, I cannot
say. _Summa_.--After we had all prayed most devoutly, we
presently set to work, wedging the springes into the trees, and
hanging berries all around them; while my daughter took care of
the children, and looked for blackberries for their breakfast. Now
we wedged the snares right across the wood along the road to
Uekeritze; and mark what a wondrous act of mercy befell from
gracious God! As I stepped into the road with the hatchet in my
hand (it was Seden his hatchet, which he had fetched out of the
village early in the morning), I caught sight of a loaf as long as
my arm which a raven was pecking, and which doubtless one of the
Imperial troopers had dropped out of his knapsack the day before,
for there were fresh hoof-marks in the sand by it. So I secretly
buttoned the breast of my coat over it, so that none should
perceive anything, although the aforesaid Paasch was close behind
me; _item_, all the rest followed at no great distance. Now,
having set the springes so very early, towards noon we found such
a great number of birds taken in them, that Katy Berow, who went
beside me while I took them out, scarce could hold them all in her
apron; and at the other end old Pagels pulled nearly as many out
of his doublet and coat-pockets. My daughter then sat down with
the rest of the womankind to pluck the birds; and as there was no
salt (indeed it was long since most of us had tasted any), she
desired two men to go down to the sea, and to fetch a little salt
water in an iron pot borrowed from Staffer Zuter; and so they did.
In this water we first dipped the birds, and then roasted them at
a large fire, while our mouths watered only at the sweet savour of
them, seeing it was so long since we had tasted any food.

And now when all was ready, and the people seated on the earth, I
said, "Behold how the Lord still feeds His people Israel in the
wilderness with fresh quails: if now He did yet more, and sent us
a piece of manna bread from heaven, what think ye? Would ye then
ever weary of believing in Him, and not rather willingly endure
all want, tribulation, hunger and thirst, which He may hereafter
lay upon you according to His gracious will?" Whereupon they all
answered and said, "Yea, surely!" _Ego_: "Will you then
promise me this in truth?" And they said again, "Yea, that will
we!" Then with tears I drew forth the loaf from my breast, held it
on high, and cried, "Behold then, thou poor believing little
flock, how sweet a manna loaf your faithful Redeemer hath sent ye
through me!" Whereupon they all wept, sobbed and groaned; and the
little children again came running up and held out their hands,
crying, "See, bread, bread!" But as I myself could not pray for
heaviness of soul, I bade Paasch his little girl say the
_Gratias_ the while my Mary cut up the loaf and gave to each
his share. And now we all joyfully began to eat our meat from God
in the wilderness.

Meanwhile I had to tell in what manner I had found the blessed
manna bread, wherein I neglected not again to exhort them to lay
to heart this great sign and wonder, how that God in His mercy had
done to them as of old to the prophet Elijah, to whom a raven
brought bread in his great need in the wilderness; as likewise
this bread had been given to me by means of a raven, which showed
it to me, when otherwise I might have passed it by in my heaviness
without ever seeing it.

When we were satisfied with food, I said the thanksgiving from
Luke xii. 24, where the Lord saith, "Consider the ravens: for they
neither sow nor reap; which neither have storehouse nor barn; and
God feedeth them: how much more are ye better than the fowls?" But
our sins stank before the Lord. For old Lizzie, as I afterwards
heard, would not eat her birds because she thought them unsavoury,
but threw them among the juniper bushes; whereupon the wrath of
the Lord was kindled against us as of old against the people of
Israel, and at night we found but seven birds in the snares, and
next morning but two. Neither did any raven come again to give us
bread. Wherefore I rebuked old Lizzie, and admonished the people
to take upon themselves willingly the righteous chastisement of
the Most High God, to pray without ceasing, to return to their
desolate dwellings, and to see whether the all-merciful God would
peradventure give them more on the sea. That I also would call
upon Him with prayer night and day, remaining for a time in the
cavern with my daughter and the maid to watch the springes, and
see whether His wrath might be turned from us. That they should,
meanwhile put my manse to rights to the best of their power,
seeing that the cold was become very irksome to me. This they
promised me, and departed with many sighs. What a little flock! I
counted but twenty-five souls where there used to be above eighty;
all the rest had been slain by hunger, pestilence, or the sword.
[Footnote: This took place in the year 1628, and the horrors of
the Thirty Years' War were spread most fearfully over this island;
pity that the description of the old vicar, which he doubtless
gave in the preceding pages, has been lost.] I then abode awhile
alone and sorrowing in the cave, praying to God, and sent my
daughter with the maid into the village to see how things stood at
the manse; _item_, to gather together the books and papers,
and also to bring me word whether Hinze the carpenter, whom I had
straightway sent back to the village, had knocked together some
coffins for the poor corpses, so that I might bury them next day.
I then went to look at the springes, but found only one single
little bird, whereby I saw that the wrath of God had not yet
passed away. Howbeit, I found a fine blackberry bush, from which I
gathered nearly a pint of berries, and put them, together with the
bird, in Staffer Zuter his pot, which the honest fellow had left
with us for a while, and set them on the fire for supper against
my child and the maid should return. It was not long before they
came through the coppice, and told me of the fearful devastation
which Satan had made in the village and manse by the permission of
all-righteous God. My child had gathered together a few books,
which she brought with her, above all, a _Virgilius_ and a
Greek Bible. And after she had told me that the carpenter would
not have done till next day, and we had satisfied the cravings of
hunger, I made her read to me again, for the greater strengthening
of my faith, the _locus_ about the blessed raven from the
Greek of Luke, at the twelfth chapter; also, the beautiful
_locus parallelus_, Matt. vi. After which the maid said the
evening blessing, and we all went into the cave to rest for the
night. When I awoke next morning, just as the blessed sun rose out
the sea and peeped over the mountain, I heard my poor hungry
child, already standing outside the cave, reciting the beautiful
verses about the joys of paradise which St. Augustine wrote and I
had taught her. [Footnote: This is an error. The following verses
are written by the Cardinal Bishop of Ostia, Peter Damianus (d.
23d Feb. 1072), after Augustine's prose.] She sobbed for grief as
she spoke the words:--

"Uno pane vivunt cives utriusque patriæ
Avidi et semper pleni, quod habent desiderant
Non _sacietas_ fastidit, neque fames cruciat
Inhiantes semper edunt, et edentes inhiant
Flos perpetuus rosarum ver agit perpetuum,
Candent lilia, rubescit crocus, sudat balsamum,
Virent prata, vernant sata, rivi mellis influunt
Pigmentorum spirat odor liquor et aromatum,
Pendent poma floridorum non lapsura nemorum
Non alternat luna vices, sol vel cursus syderum
Agnus est fcelicis urbis lumen inocciduum."

[Footnote: The following version is from the pen of a
friend.--_Trans_.

"In that far land the citizens all share one equal bread,
And keep desire and hunger still, although to fulness fed:
Unwearied by satiety, unracked by hunger's strife,
The air they breathe is nourishment, and spiritual life!
Around them, bright with endless Spring, perpetual roses bloom;
Warm balsams gratefully exude luxurious perfume;
Red crocuses, and lilies white, shine dazzling in the sun;
Green meadows yield them harvests green, and streams with honey
run;
Unbroken droop the laden boughs, with heavy fruitage bent,
Of incense and of odours strange the air is redolent;
And neither sun, nor moon, nor stars, dispense their changeful
light,
But the Lamb's eternal glory makes the happy city bright!"

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