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Sidonia The Sorceress V2

W >> William Mienhold >> Sidonia The Sorceress V2




When the worthy young lord had stated this before _Dom.
Consul_ and all the people, which flocked together on hearing
that the young lord was no ghost, I felt as though a millstone had
been taken off my heart; and seeing that the people (who had
already pulled the constable from under the cart, and crowded
round him, like a swarm of bees) cried to me that he was dying,
but desired first to confess somewhat to me, I jumped from the
cart as lightly as a young bachelor, and called to _Dom.
Consul_ and the young lord to go with me, seeing that I could
easily guess what he had on his mind. He sat upon a stone, and the
blood gushed from his side like a fountain (now that they had
drawn out the sword); he whimpered on seeing me, and said that he
had in truth hearkened behind the door to all that old Lizzie had
confessed to me, namely, that she herself, together with the
sheriff, had worked all the witchcraft on man and beast, to
frighten my poor child, and force her to play the wanton. That he
had hidden this, seeing that the sheriff had promised him a great
reward for so doing; but that he would now confess it freely,
since God had brought my child her innocence to light. Wherefore
he besought my child and myself to forgive him. And when _Dom.
Consul_ shook his head, and asked whether he would live and die
on the truth of this confession, he answered, "Yes!" and
straightway fell on his side to the earth and gave up the ghost.

Meanwhile time hung heavy with the people on the mountain, who had
come from Coserow, from Zitze, from Gnitze, &c., to see my child
burnt, and they all came running down the hill in long rows like
geese, one after the other, to see what had happened. And among
them was my ploughman, Claus Neels. When the worthy fellow saw and
heard what had befallen us, he began to weep aloud for joy; and
straightway he too told what he had heard the sheriff say to old
Lizzie in the garden, and how he had promised her a pig in the
room of her own little pig, which she had herself bewitched to
death in order to bring my child into evil repute. _Summa_:
All that I have noted above, and which till _datum_ he had
kept to himself for fear of the question. Hereat all the people
marvelled, and greatly bewailed her misfortunes: and many came,
among them old Paasch, and would have kissed my daughter her hands
and feet, as also mine own, and praised us now as much as they had
before reviled us. But thus it ever is with the people. Wherefore
my departed father used to say,

"The people's hate is death,
Their love, a passing breath!"

My dear gossip ceased not from fondling my child, holding her in
his lap, and weeping over her like a father (for I could not have
wept more myself than he wept). Howbeit she herself wept not, but
begged the young lord to send one of his horsemen to her faithful
old maid-servant at Pudgla, to tell her what had befallen us,
which he straightway did to please her. But the worshipful court
(for _Dom. Camerarius_ and the _scriba_ had now plucked
up a heart, and had come down from the coach) was not yet
satisfied, and _Dom. Consul_ began to tell the young lord
about the bewitched bridge, which none other save my daughter
could have bewitched. Hereto the young lord gave answer that this
was indeed a strange thing, inasmuch as his own horse had also
broken a leg thereon, whereupon he had taken the sheriff his
horse, which he saw tied up at the mill; but he did not think that
this could be laid to the charge of the maiden, but that it came
about by natural means, as he had half discovered already,
although he had not had time to search the matter thoroughly.
Wherefore he besought the worshipful court and all the people,
together with my child herself, to return back thither, where,
with God's help, he would clear her from this suspicion also, and
prove her perfect innocence before them all.

Thereunto the worshipful court agreed; and the young lord, having
given the sheriff his grey charger to my ploughman to carry the
corpse, which had been laid across the horse's neck, to Coserow,
the young lord got into the cart by us, but did not seat himself
beside my child, but backward by my dear gossip: moreover, he bade
one of his own people drive us instead of the old coachman, and
thus we turned back in God His name. _Custos Benzensis_, who,
with the children, had run in among the vetches by the wayside (my
defunct _Custos_ would not have done so, he had more
courage), went on before again with the young folks, and by
command of his reverence the pastor led the Ambrosian _Te
Deum_, which deeply moved us all, more especially my child,
insomuch that her book was wetted with her tears, and she at
length laid it down and said, at the same time giving her hand to
the young lord, "How can I thank God and you for that which you
have done for me this day?" Whereupon the young lord answered,
saying, "I have greater cause to thank God than yourself, sweet
maid, seeing that you have suffered in your dungeon unjustly, but
I justly, inasmuch as by my thoughtlessness I brought this misery
upon you. Believe me that this morning when, in my donjon keep, I
first heard the sound of the dead-bell, I thought to have died;
and when it tolled for the third time, I should have gone
distraught in my grief, had not the Almighty God at that moment
taken the life of my strange father, so that your innocent life
should be saved by me. Wherefore I have vowed a new tower, and
whatsoe'er beside may be needful, to the blessed house of God; for
naught more bitter could have befallen me on earth than your
death, sweet maid, and naught more sweet than your life!"

But at these words my child only wept and sighed; and when he
looked on her, she cast down her eyes and trembled, so that I
straightway perceived that my sorrows were not yet come to an end,
but that another barrel of tears was just tapped for me, and so
indeed it was. Moreover, the ass of a _Custos_, having
finished the _Te Deum_ before we were come to the bridge,
straightway struck up the next following hymn, which was a funeral
one, beginning, "The body let us now inter." (God be praised that
no harm has come of it till _datum_.) My beloved gossip rated
him not a little, and threatened him that for his stupidity he
should not get the money for the shoes which he had promised him
out of the church dues. But my child comforted him, and promised
him a pair of shoes at her own charges, seeing that peradventure a
funeral hymn was better for her than a song of gladness.

And when this vexed the young lord, and he said, "How now, sweet
maid, you know not how enough to thank God and me for your rescue,
and yet you speak thus?" she answered, smiling sadly, that she had
only spoken thus to comfort the poor _Custos_. But I
straightway saw that she was in earnest, for that she felt that
although she had escaped one fire, she already burned in another.

Meanwhile we were come to the bridge again, and all the folks
stood still, and gazed open-mouthed, when the young lord jumped
down from the cart, and after stabbing his horse, which still lay
kicking on the bridge, went on his knees, and felt here and there
with his hand. At length he called to the worshipful court to draw
near, for that he had found out the witchcraft. But none save
_Dom. Consul_ and a few fellows out of the crowd, among whom
was old Paasch, would follow him; _item_, my dear gossip and
myself. And the young lord showed us a lump of tallow about the
size of a large walnut which lay on the ground, and wherewith the
whole bridge had been smeared, so that it looked quite white, but
which all the folks in their fright had taken for flour out of the
mill; _item_, with some other _materia_, which stunk
like fitchock's dung, but what it was we could not find out. Soon
after a fellow found another bit of tallow, and showed it to the
people; whereupon I cried, "Aha! none hath done this but that
ungodly miller's man, in revenge for the stripes which the sheriff
gave him for reviling my child." Whereupon I told what he had
done, and _Dom. Consul_, who also had heard thereof,
straightway sent for the miller.

He, however, did as though he knew naught of the matter, and only
said that his man had left his service about an hour ago. But a
young lass, the miller's maid-servant, said that that very
morning, before daybreak, when she had got up to let out the
cattle, she had seen the man scouring the bridge. But that she had
given it no further heed, and had gone to sleep for another hour:
and she pretended to know no more than the miller whither the
rascal was gone. When the young lord had heard this news, he got
up into the cart, and began to address the people, seeking to
persuade them no longer to believe in witchcraft, now that they
had seen what it really was. When I heard this, I was
horror-stricken (as was but right) in my conscience, as a priest,
and I got upon the cart-wheel, and whispered into his ear, for God
His sake, to leave this _materia_, seeing that if the people
no longer feared the devil, neither would they fear our Lord God.
[Footnote: Maybe a profound truth.]

The dear young lord forthwith did as I would have him, and only
asked the people whether they now held my child to be perfectly
innocent? And when they had answered, Yes! he begged them to go
quietly home, and to thank God that he had saved innocent blood.
That he, too, would now return home, and that he hoped that none
would molest me and my child if he let us return to Coserow alone.
Hereupon he turned hastily towards her, took her hand, and said,
"Farewell, sweet maid; I trust that I shall soon clear your honour
before the world, but do you thank God therefore, not me." He then
did the like to me and to my dear gossip, whereupon he jumped down
from the cart, and went and sat beside _Dom. Consul_ in his
coach. The latter also spake a few words to the people, and
likewise begged my child and me to forgive him (and I must say it
to his honour, that the tears ran down his cheeks the while), but
he was so hurried by the young lord that he brake short his
discourse, and they drove off over the little bridge, without so
much as looking back. Only _Dom. Consul_ looked round once,
and called out to me, that in his hurry he had forgotten to tell
the executioner that no one was to be burned to-day: I was
therefore to send the churchwarden of Uekeritze up the mountain,
to say so in his name; the which I did. And the bloodhound was
still on the mountain, albeit he had long since heard what had
befallen; and when the bailiff gave him the orders of the
worshipful court, he began to curse so fearfully that it might
have awakened the dead; moreover, he plucked off his cap and
trampled it under foot, so that any one might have guessed what he
felt.

But to return to ourselves: my child sat as still and as white as
a pillar of salt, after the young lord had left her so suddenly
and so unawares, but she was somewhat comforted when the old
maid-servant came running with her coats tucked up to her knees,
and carrying her shoes and stockings in her hand. We heard her
afar off, as the mill had stopped, blubbering for joy, and she
fell at least three times on the bridge, but at last she got over
safe, and kissed now mine and now my child her hands and feet;
begging us only not to turn her away, but to keep her until her
life's end; the which we promised to do. She had to climb up
behind where the impudent constable had sat, seeing that my dear
gossip would not leave me until I should be back in mine own
manse. And as the young lord his servant had got up behind the
coach, old Paasch drove us home, and all the folks who had waited
till _datum_ ran beside the cart, praising and pitying as
much as they had before scorned and reviled us. Scarce, however,
had we passed through Uekeritze, when we again heard cries of
"Here comes the young lord, here comes the young lord!" so that my
child started up for joy, and became as red as a rose, but some of
the folks ran into the buckwheat by the road, again thinking it
was another ghost. It was, however, in truth the young lord, who
galloped up on a black horse, calling out as he drew near us,
"Notwithstanding the haste I am in, sweet maid, I must return and
give you safe conduct home, seeing that I have just heard that the
filthy people reviled you by the way, and I know not whether you
are yet safe." Hereupon he urged old Paasch to mend his pace, and
as his kicking and trampling did not even make the horses trot,
the young lord struck the saddle horse from time to time with the
flat of his sword, so that we soon reached the village and the
manse. Howbeit, when I prayed him to dismount awhile, he would
not, but excused himself, saying that he must still ride through
Uzedom to Anclam, but charged old Paasch, who was our bailiff, to
watch over my child as the apple of his eye, and should anything
unusual happen, he was straightway to inform the town clerk at
Pudgla or _Dom. Consul_ at Uzedom thereof, and when Paasch
had promised to do this, he waved his hand to us, and galloped off
as fast as he could.

But before he got round the corner by Pagel his house, he turned
back for the third time: and when we wondered thereat he said we
must forgive him, seeing his thoughts wandered to-day.

That I had formerly told him that I still had my patent of
nobility, the which he begged me to lend him for a time. Hereupon
I answered that I must first seek for it, and that he had best
dismount the while. But he would not, and again excused himself,
saying he had no time. He therefore stayed without the door, until
I brought him the patent, whereupon he thanked me and said, "Do
not wonder hereat, you will soon see what my purpose is."
Whereupon he struck his spurs into his horse's sides, and did not
come back again.




CHAPTER XXIX.

_Of our next great sorrow, and final joy._


And now might we have been at rest, and have thanked God on our
knees by day and night. For, besides mercifully saving us out of
such great tribulation, He turned the hearts of my beloved flock,
so that they knew not how to do enough for us. Every day they
brought us fish, meat, eggs, sausages, and whatsoe'er besides they
could give me, and which I have since forgotten. Moreover, they,
every one of them, came to church the next Sunday, great and small
(except goodwife Kliene of Zempin, who had just got a boy, and
still kept her bed), and I preached a thanksgiving sermon on Job
v., 17th, 18th, and 19th verses, "Behold, happy is the man whom
God correcteth: therefore despise not thou the chastening of the
Almighty: for He maketh sore, and bindeth up; and His hands make
whole. He shall deliver thee in six troubles, yea, in seven there
shall no evil touch thee." And during my sermon I was ofttimes
forced to stop by reason of all the weeping, and to let them blow
their noses. And I might truly have compared myself to Job, after
that the Lord had mercifully released him from his troubles, had
it not been for my child, who prepared much fresh grief for me.

She had wept when the young lord would not dismount, and now that
he came not again, she grew more uneasy from day to day. She sat
and read first the Bible, then the hymnbook, _item_, the
history of Dido in _Virgilius_, or she climbed up the
mountain to fetch flowers (likewise sought after the vein of amber
there, but found it not, which shows the cunning and malice of
Satan). I saw this for awhile with many sighs, but spake not a
word (for, dear reader, what could I say?) until it grew worse and
worse; and as she now recited her _carmina_ more than ever
both at home and abroad, I feared lest the people should again
repute her a witch, and one day I followed her up the mountain.
Well-a-day, she sat on the pile which still stood there, but with
her face turned towards the sea, reciting the _versus_ where
Dido mounts the funeral pile in order to stab herself for love of
Aeneas--

"At trepida et coeptis immanibus effera Dido
Sanguineam volvens aciem, maculisque trementes
Interfusa genas, et pallida morte futura
Interiora domus irrumpit limina et altos
Conscendit furibunda rogos..."

[Footnote:
"But furious Dido, with dark thoughts involv'd,
Shook at the mighty mischief she resolv'd.
With livid spots distinguish'd was her face,
Red were her rolling eyes, and discompos'd her pace;

Ghastly she gazed, with pain she drew her breath,
And nature shiver'd at approaching death.
Then swiftly to the fatal place she pass'd,
And mounts the funeral pile with furious haste."

--DRYDEN'S _Virgil._]

When I saw this, and heard how things really stood with her, I was
affrighted beyond measure, and cried, "Mary, my child, what art
thou doing?" She started when she heard my voice, but sat still on
the pile, and answered, as she covered her face with her apron,
"Father, I am burning my heart." I drew near to her and pulled the
apron from her face, saying, "Wilt thou then again kill me with
grief?" Whereupon she covered her face with her hands, and moaned,
"Alas, father, wherefore was I not burned here? My torment would
then have endured but for a moment, but now it will last as long
as I live?" I still did as though I had seen naught, and said,
"Wherefore, dear child, dost thou suffer such torment?" Whereupon
she answered, "I have long been ashamed to tell you; for the young
lord, the young lord, my father, do I suffer this torment! He no
longer thinks of me; and albeit he saved my life he scorns me, or
he would surely have dismounted and come in awhile; but we are of
far too low degree for him!" Hereupon I indeed began to comfort
her and to persuade her to think no more of the young lord, but
the more I comforted her the worse she grew. Nevertheless I saw
that she did yet in secret cherish a strong hope by reason of the
patent of nobility which he had made me give him. I would not take
this hope from her, seeing that I felt the same myself, and to
comfort her I flattered her hopes, whereupon she was more quiet
for some days, and did not go up the mountain, the which I had
forbidden her. Moreover, she began again to teach little Paasch,
her god-daughter, out of whom, by the help of the all-righteous
God, Satan was now altogether departed. But she still pined, and
was as white as a sheet; and when soon after a report came that
none in the castle at Mellenthin knew what was become of the young
lord, and that they thought he had been killed, her grief became
so great that I had to send my ploughman on horseback to
Mellenthin to gain tidings of him. And she looked at least twenty
times out of the door and over the paling to watch for his return;
and when she saw him coming she ran out to meet him as far as the
corner by Pagels. But, blessed God! he brought us even worse news
than we had heard before, saying, that the people at the castle
had told him that their young master had ridden away the self-same
day whereon he had rescued the maiden. That he had, indeed,
returned after three days to his father's funeral, but had
straightway ridden off again, and that for five weeks they had
heard nothing further of him, and knew not whither he was gone,
but supposed that some wicked ruffians had killed him.

And now my grief was greater than ever it had been before; so
patient and resigned to the will of God as my child had shown
herself heretofore, and no martyr could have met her last hour
stronger in God and Christ, so impatient and despairing was she
now. She gave up all hope, and took it into her head that in these
heavy times of war the young lord had been killed by robbers.
Naught availed with her, not even prayer, for when I called upon
God with her, on my knees, she straightway began so grievously to
bewail that the Lord had cast her off, and that she was condemned
to naught save misfortunes in this world; that it pierced through
my heart like a knife, and my thoughts forsook me at her words.
She lay also at night, and "like a crane or a swallow so did she
chatter; she did mourn like a dove; her eyes did fail with looking
upward," [Footnote: Isa. xxxviii. 14.] because no sleep came upon
her eyelids. I called to her from my bed, "Dear child, wilt thou
then never cease? sleep, I pray thee!" and she answered and said,
"Do you sleep, dearest father; I cannot sleep until I sleep the
sleep of death. Alas, my father; that I was not burned!" But how
could I sleep when she could not? I, indeed, said each morning
that I had slept awhile in order to content her; but it was not
so; but, like David, "all the night made I my bed to swim; I
watered my couch with my tears." [Footnote: Ps. vi. 6.] Moreover,
I again fell into heavy unbelief, so that I neither could nor
would pray. Nevertheless the Lord "did not deal with me after my
sins, nor reward me according to mine iniquities. For as the
heaven is high above the earth, so great was His mercy toward" me,
miserable sinner! [Footnote: Ps ciii. 10,11.]

For mark what happened on the very next Saturday! Behold, our old
maid-servant came running in at the door quite out of breath,
saying that a horseman was coming over the Master's Mount, with a
tall plume waving on his hat; and that she believed it was the
young lord. When my child, who sat upon the bench combing her
hair, heard this, she gave a shriek of joy, which would have moved
a stone under the earth, and straightway ran out of the room to
look over the paling. She presently came running in again, fell
upon my neck, and cried without ceasing, "The young lord! the
young lord!" whereupon she would have run out to meet him, but I
forbade her, saying she had better first bind up her hair, which
she then remembered, and laughing, weeping, and praying, all at
once, she bound up her long hair. And now the young lord came
galloping round the corner, attired in a green velvet doublet with
red silk sleeves, and a grey hat with a heron's feather therein;
_summa_, gaily dressed as beseems a wooer. And when we now
ran out at the door, he called aloud to my child in the Latin,
from afar off, "Quomodo stat dulcissima virgo?_" Whereupon she
gave answer, saying, "_Bene, te aspecto._" He then sprang
smiling off his horse and gave it into the charge of my ploughman,
who meanwhile had come up together with the maid; but he was
affrighted when he saw my child so pale, and taking her hand spake
in the vulgar tongue, "My God! what is it ails you, sweet maid?
you look more pale than when about to go to the stake." Whereupon
she answered, "I have been at the stake daily since you left us,
good my lord, without coming into our house, or so much as sending
us tidings of whither you were gone."

This pleased him well, and he said, "Let us first of all go into
the chamber, and you shall hear all." And when he had wiped the
sweat from his brow, and sat down on the bench beside my child, he
spake as follows:--That he had straightway promised her that he
would clear her honour before the whole world, and the self-same
day whereon he left us he made the worshipful court draw up an
authentic record of all that had taken place, more especially the
confession of the impudent constable, _item_, that of my
ploughboy Claus Neels; wherewith he rode throughout the same
night, as he had promised, to Anclam, and next day to Stettin, to
our gracious sovereign Duke Bogislaw: who marvelled greatly when
he heard of the wickedness of his sheriff, and of that which he
had done to my child: moreover, he asked whether she were the
pastor's daughter who once upon a time had found the signet-ring
of his princely Highness Philippus Julius of most Christian memory
in the castle garden at Wolgast? and as he did not know thereof,
the Duke asked, whether she knew Latin? And he, the young lord,
answered yes, that she knew the Latin better than he did himself.
His princely Highness said, "Then indeed, it must be the same,"
and straightway he put on his spectacles, and read the _Acta_
himself. Hereupon, and after his princely Highness had read the
record of the worshipful court, shaking his head the while, the
young lord humbly besought his princely Highness to give him an
_amende honorable_ for my child, _item, literas
commendatitias_ for himself to our most gracious Emperor at
Vienna, to beg for a renewal of my patent of nobility, seeing that
he was determined to marry none other maiden than my daughter so
long as he lived.

When my child heard this, she gave a cry of joy, and fell back in
a swound with her head against the wall. But the young lord caught
her in his arms, and gave her three kisses (which I could not then
deny him, seeing, as I did with joy, how matters went), and when
she came to herself again, he asked her whether she would not have
him, seeing that she had given such a cry at his words? Whereupon
she said, "Whether I will not have you, my lord! Alas! I love you
as dearly as my God and my Saviour! You first saved my life, and
now you have snatched my heart from the stake whereon, without
you, it would have burned all the days of my life!" Hereupon I
wept for joy, when he drew her into his lap, and she clasped his
neck with her little hands.

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