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Sidonia The Sorceress V2

W >> William Mienhold >> Sidonia The Sorceress V2




_Illa_.--"Her poor father had not the gold; for five
rix-dollars a year would amount in fifty years to five hundred
rix-dollars, and such a sum her father could not command."

_Hæc_.--"Yet he had enough to spend on horses, falcons,
hunting, and the like; only for her he had naught."

_Illa_ (kissing her hand).--"Ah, good cousin, leave him in
peace, and help him if you can; I will serve thee as well as I am
able--my life long, if you ask it of me."

_Hæc_.--"Away! thou silly, childish thing; how should the
meek Sidonia ever bear to be served by a noble lady as thou art?
If the world had not blackened me before, it might begin now in
earnest, and justly."

_Illa_.--"Ah, good, kind cousin, will you then heal my father
for nothing?"

_Hæc_.--"Well, I shall see about it, if, perchance, it be
God's will."

_Illa_ (kissing her hand again).--"Dear cousin, how good you
are! Now see, all of ye, what a kind cousin I have in Sidonia, who
has promised to cure my loved father" (dancing for joy like a
child).

_Hæc_.--"Come, then, all present, to my apartment; thou,
Diliana, mayest draw up the _protocollum_, and better,
perhaps, than a bad notary. Come!"

So they all proceeded to the refectory, and the
_protocollum_, was drawn up and signed, and Sidonia compelled
the new convent porter to carry it off, that very night, to his
Highness at Stettin.

Meanwhile the poor widow, along with some other women, including
the old dairy-mother, prepared the poor priest's corpse for
burial, and they put on him his black Geneva gown--_item_,
black plush breeches, which his brother-in-law in Jacobshagen had
made him a present of. I note the plush breeches especially, for
what reason my readers will soon see; and because the parsonage
swarmed with rats, they had the corpse carried before nightfall
into the church, and set down close beside the altar; and by
command of the sheriff the windows were thrown open to admit fresh
air, on account of the dead body lying there.

An hour after the poor widow went into the church, to see if the
blood yet flowed from the mouth of her dear murdered husband. But
what sees she?--the corpse is lying on its face in the coffin in
place of on its back. She calls the dairy-mother in, trembling
with horror, and they turn him between them. Then they go forth,
but return in a little while again, and see, the corpse is again
turned upon its face. And no one is able to comprehend how the
corpse can turn of itself, or be turned by any one, for the widow
has one key of the church and the abbess has the other; therefore
the poor wife, simple as she is, resolves to hide herself in the
church for the night, and light the altar candles, that she might
see how it happened that the corpse turned in the coffin. And the
dairy-mother agreed to watch with her; _item_, Anna Apenborg,
who heard the story from them; _item_, Diliana, for as
Sidonia had no bed to give her, the young maiden had gone to sleep
with Anna, and there the priest's maid told them of the horrible
way her poor master's corpse had turned in the coffin. So the
weeping widow let them all watch with her gladly, for she feared
to be alone, but warned them to speak no word, lest the evil-doer,
whoever it might be, should perceive them, and keep away. There
was no man within call, either, to help them, for the porter had
gone away to Stettin; so they four, after commending themselves to
God, went secretly into the church at ten of the clock, laid the
corpse right upon its back, and lit candles round it, as the
custom is. Item, they lit the candles on the altar, and then hid
themselves in the dark confession-box, which lay close by the
altar, and from which they could see the coffin perfectly.

After waiting for an hour or more, sighing and weeping, and when
the hour-glass which they had brought with them showed it was the
twelfth hour--hark! there was a noise in the coffin that made them
all start to their feet, and at the same instant the private door
of the nuns' choir opened gently, and something came down the
steps of the gallery, step by step, on to the coffin, and the
blood now froze in their veins, for they perceived that it was a
wolf; and he laid his paws upon the corpse, and began to tear it.

At this sight the poor widow screamed aloud, whereupon the wolf
sprang back and attempted to make off, but Diliana bounded on its
track, crying, "A wolf! a wolf!" and seeing upon the altar an old
tin crucifix, which some of the workmen who had been opening the
vault had brought up from below, she seized it and pursued the
wolf out of the great gate into the churchyard, while the rest
followed screaming. And as the wolf ran fast, and made for the
graves, as if to hide itself, the daring virgin, not being able to
get near enough to strike it, flung the crucifix at the unclean
beast, when lo! the wolf suddenly disappeared, and nothing was to
be seen but Sidonia in the clear moonlight, standing trembling
beside a grave.

"Good cousin!" exclaimed Diliana in horror, "where has the wolf
gone? we were pursuing a wolf." Upon which the horrible and
accursed night-raven recovered herself quickly, and pointing with
her finger to the crucifix which lay upon the ground, said with a
tone of mingled scorn and anger, "There, thou stupid fool! he sank
beneath that cross!"

The poor innocent child believed her, and ran forward to pick up
the crucifix, looking in every direction around for the wolf; but
the others, who were wiser, saw full well that the wolf had been
none other than Sidonia herself, for her lips were bloody, and
round them, like a beard, were sticking small black threads, which
were indeed from the black silk hose of the poor corpse. And when
they looked at her horrible mouth they trembled, but were silent
from fear; all except the inquisitive Anna Apenborg, who asked,
"Dear sister, what makes you here at midnight in the churchyard?"

Here the horrible witch-demon mastered her anger, and answered in
a melancholy, plaintive tone, "Ah, good sister Anna! I had a
miserable toothache, so that I could not sleep, and I just crept
down here into the fresh air, thinking it might do me good. But
what are you all doing here by night in the churchyard?"

No one replied; indeed, she seemed not to care for an answer, but
put up her kerchief to her horrible and traitorous mouth, and
turned away whimpering. The others, however, went back to the
church, where the corpse truly lay upon its back as they had left
it, but the hose were rent at the knee, and the flesh torn and
bloody.

How can I tell now of the poor widow's screams and tears?

_Summa_.--The corpse was buried the next day, and as no man
had been a witness of the night-scene, only the weeping women, no
one would believe their strange story, neither on the last trial
would the judges even credit so wild a tale as that Sidonia could
change herself into a wolf, and pronounced as their opinion, that
fear must have made the women blind, or distracted their heads,
and that no doubt a real wolf had attacked the corpse, which was
by no means a strange or unusual occurrence. (But I have my own
opinion on the subject, and many who read this will think
differently from the judges, I warrant.)

For no more horrible vengeance could have been devised by
Beelzebub himself, the chief of the devils, than this of the
she-wolf Sidonia Bork (for Bork means wolf in the Gothic tongue),
to revenge herself on the priest because he disdained her love.
But why and wherefore the unfortunate corpse was found so often
turned upon its face, that I cannot explain, and it must ever
remain a mystery, I think. However, I shall pass on now to other
matters, for truly we have had enough of these disgusting horrors.
[Footnote: One of the most inveterately rooted of our
superstitions is this belief in the existence of man-wolves. Ovid
mentions it in his _Lycaon_, and even Herodotus. Many modern
examples are given in Dr. Weggand's natural history, which book I
recommend to all lovers of the marvellous, for they will find much
in it which far surpasses what we have related above concerning
Sidonia. The belief in a vampire, which Lord Byron has clothed
with his genius, belongs to the same order of superstitions; and
Horst, in his Magic Library, furnishes some very curious remarks
concerning it. Even Luther himself believed in the possibility of
such existences.]




CHAPTER XII.

_How Jobst Bork has himself carried to Marienfliess in his bed,
to reclaim his fair young daughter Diliana--Item, how George
Putkammer threatens Sidonia with a drawn sword._


Now Jobst Bork of Saatzig had but this one daughter, the fair
Diliana, whom he loved ten times more than his life; and no sooner
had he heard of her flight than he guessed readily whither, and
for what cause, she had flown; for, that day and night her
thoughts were bent on how to help him, he knew well; also, the
teachings of old Lisa were not unknown to him. So he resolved to
go and seek her, and sent for twelve peasants to carry him, as he
was, in his bed, to Marienfliess, for his limbs were so contracted
from gout that he could neither ride, walk, nor stand.

Accordingly, next morning early, the twelve peasants bearing the
couch on which lay the poor knight, entered the great gate of the
convent, and they set down the bed, by command of the knight, just
beneath Sidonia's window. Whereupon the miserable father stretched
forth his right hand, and cried out, as loud as he was able,
"Sidonia Bork, I conjure you by the living God, give me my child
again!"

Three times he repeated this adjuration. So we may imagine how the
whole convent ran together to see who was there. Anna Apenborg and
Diliana were, however, not amongst them, for they had been up late
watching by the corpse, and were still fast asleep; _item_,
Sidonia, I think, was snoring likewise, for she never appeared,
until at last she threw up the window, half-dressed, and screamed
out, "What wants the cursed knave? Hath the devil possessed you,
Jobst, in earnest? Good people, take the fellow to Dorothea's
cell--they are fit company for one another!"

But the knight again stretched forth his trembling arm from the
bed, and repeated his adjuration solemnly, using the same words.

At this, Sidonia's face glowed with anger; and seizing her
broom-stick, she rushed out of the room, down the steps, and into
the courtyard, while her long, thin, white hair flew wildly about
her face and shoulders, and her red eyes glared like two red coals
in her head. (I have omitted to notice that this horrible Satan's
hag had long since got his signature in her red eyes; for, as the
slaves of vice are known by their ash-pale colour, and the
_black_ circle round their eyes, so the slaves of Satan are
known by the _red_ circle.) But when the evil witch reached
the spot where the sick knight lay on his bed, and saw the crowd
standing round him, she changed her demeanour, and leaning on the
broom-stick, exclaimed, "Methinks, Jobst, you are mad; and you and
your daughter ought to be put at once into a mad-house; for, judge
all of ye who stand here round us, how unjustly I am accused.
Yesterday this man's daughter comes to me, and says she will play
my serving-wench, if I promise to cure her father; just as if I
were the Lord God, and could heal sickness as I willed; but I
refused to take her, as was meet, and the whole convent can
testify this of me; when, see now, here comes this fool of a
father, and, taking the Lord's name in vain, demands his daughter
of me, though I never had her, nor detained her; and she can go
this moment whither she likes, as ye all know."

Hereupon the abbess herself advanced to the bed, and spake--"In
truth, you err, sir knight. Sidonia hath refused to accept your
daughter's service! But here comes the fair maiden herself--ask
her if it is not so."

And Diliana, who had thrown on her clothes in haste, and ran with
Anna out of her cell, sprang forward, and fell sobbing upon her
father's bosom, who sobbed likewise, and cries, in an agitated
voice, "God be thanked, I have thee again; now I shall die happy!
Ah! silly child, how couldst thou run away from me! Dearest!--my
heart's dearest!--my own joy-giving Diliana! ah, leave me not
again before I die--it will not be long, perhaps."

Here the weeping of the peasants interrupted him, for they loved
the good knight dearly, and the rude boors sobbed, and blew their
noses, in great affliction, like so many children. But the knight
was too proud to beg a cure from Sidonia; he would rather
die--better death than humiliation. So he spake--"Children, lift
me up again, in the name of God, and bear me home; and thou, my
Diliana, walk thou by my side, sweet girl, that my eyes may not
lose thee for an instant."

So the peasants lifted up the bed again on their shoulders; but
Diliana exclaimed, "Wait, ah, my heart's dearest father, you do
our good cousin Sidonia sore injustice. Only think, she has
promised to cure you, without any recompense at all! Is it not
true, dear cousin? Set the bed down again, good vassals! Is it not
true, dear cousin?"

As she thus spoke, and kissed the claws of the horrible hell-wolf
with her beautiful bright lips, such an expression of rage and
unutterable hatred passed over Sidonia's face, that all, even the
peasants, shuddered with horror, and nearly let the bed fall from
their trembling hands; but the fair young girl was unaware of it,
for she was bending down upon the hand of the evil sorceress.

However, my hag soon composed herself; and, no doubt, fearing the
vengeance of Duke Francis, or hoping perhaps to cover her evil
deeds by this one public act of charity, and so gain a good name
before the world, and the fair opinion of their Highnesses, to
whom she had written the day previous, she rested her arm once
more upon the broom-stick, and turning to the crowd, thus spake--

"Ye shall see now that Sidonia hath a truly Christian heart in her
bosom; for, by the help of God, I will try and heap coals of fire
upon mine enemy's head. Yes, he is mine enemy. None have
persecuted me more than he and his race, though, God be good to
me, it is my own race likewise. His false father was the first to
malign me, and yet more guilty was his still falser mother; but
God punished her hypocrisy with a just judgment, for she died in
child-birth of him, so true is it what the Scripture says, 'The
Lord abhors both the bloodthirsty and deceitful man.' Ah, she was
deceitful beyond all I have met with upon earth--also, this her
son, the false Clara's son, hath made my nephew, Otto of Stramehl,
in a traitorous and unknightly manner, give him up my two
farm-houses at Zachow, and he now refuses to restore me either my
farms or the rents thereto belonging."

Here Jobst cried out, "'Tis false, Sidonia! I shall say nothing of
thy statements respecting my parents, for all who knew them
testify that they were righteous and honourable their life long,
therefore let them rest in their graves; but as touching thy
farm-houses, thou shalt have them back, as I have already written
to thee. The accumulated rents, however, thou canst not have, for
it were a strange and unjust thing, truly, to demand fifty years'
rent from me, who have only been in possession of the farms for
half a year."

"What! thou unjust knave," screamed Sidonia furiously; but then
suddenly strangled the wrath in her throat with a convulsion, as
if a wolf were gulping a bone, and continued--"It may be a hard
struggle to help one of thy name, but I remember the words of my
heavenly Bridegroom (oh, that the horrible blasphemy did not choke
her), 'I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse
you, do good to them that hate you;' and so, Jobst Bork, I will do
good to thee out of my herbal, if the merciful God will assist my
efforts, as I hope."

Then she turned her hypocritical, Satanic eyes up to heaven,
sighed, and stepping to the bed, murmured some words; then asked,
"How is it with thee now, Jobst? is there ease already?"

"Oh yes, good cousin," he answered, "I am better, much better,
thanks, good cousin! Lift me up again, children, and bear me
homeward--I thank thee, cousin!" and with these words he was borne
out of the convent gates, the fair young Diliana following him
closely; and scarcely had they left the town and reached the moor,
when the knight called out from the bed, "Oh, it is true, my own
dear daughter--praise be to God, I am indeed better; but I am so
weary!"

And he sank back almost immediately into a deep sleep, which
continued till they reached the castle of Saatzig, and the bearers
laid the bed down again in its old place in the knight's
chamber--still he woke not.

Then Diliana kneeled down beside him, and thanked the Lord with
burning tears; sprang up again quickly, and bade them saddle her
palfrey, for she must ride away, but would return again before a
couple of hours. If her father woke up in the meantime, let them
say he must not be uneasy, for that she would return soon and tell
him herself whither and on what errand she had been.

Hereupon she went to a large cabinet that stood in her father's
chamber, took out a little casket containing three golden rings,
mounted her palfrey, and rode back with all speed on the road to
Marienfliess. But I must here relate how these magic golden rings
came into possession of the family; the tradition runs as
follows:--

A long while ago the castle of Pansin, which had originally
belonged to the Knights Templars, became a fief of the Bork
family, and the Count who was then in possession went to the wars
in the Holy Land, leaving his fair young wife alone in her sorrow:
and lo! one night, as she was weeping bitterly, a spirit appeared
in her chamber, and motioned her to rise from bed and follow him
to the castle garden. But she was horror-struck, and crept
trembling under the quilt. Next night the ghost again stood by her
bed, made the same gestures even menacingly, but she was
frightened, and hid her head beneath the clothes.

The third night brought the ghost likewise; but this time the fair
lady took courage, rose from bed, and followed him in silence down
the steps into the castle garden, on to a small island, where the
two streams, the Ihna and the Krampehl, meet. Here there was a
large fire, and around it many spirits were seated. Hereupon her
ghost spake--

"Fear nothing, but fill thy apron with coals from the fire, and
return to the castle; but, I warn thee, do not look back."

The fair chatelaine did as she was desired, filled her apron, and
returned to the castle; but all the way, close behind her, there
was a terrible uproar, and the rushing and roaring as of many
people. However, she never looked back, only on reaching the
castle gates she thought she might take one peep round just as she
was closing them; but, lo! instantly her apron was rent, and the
coals fell hither and thither on the ground, and out of all she
could only save three pieces, with which she rushed on to her own
apartment, never again looking behind her, though the uproar
continued close to her very heels all the way up to her chamber
door; and trembling with dread, and commending herself to all the
saints, she at last threw herself on her bed once more in safety.
But next morning, on looking for the coals, she found three golden
rings in their stead bearing strange inscriptions, which no man
hath been able to decipher until this day. As to those she had
dropped at the castle gate, they were nowhere to be seen; and on
the fourth night the ghost comes again, and scolds her for
disobeying his orders, but admonishes her to preserve the three
rings safely, for if she lost one, a great misfortune would fall
upon the village, and the castle be rent violently--_item_,
but two of her race would ever be alive at the same time; if the
second were lost, her race would be reduced to direst poverty; and
if the third ring were lost, the race would disappear entirely
from the earth.

After this, when her knightly spouse returned from Jerusalem, and
she told him the wonderful story of the three rings, he had a
costly casket made for them, in which they were safely locked,
with a rose of Jericho placed above them, which he had himself
brought from the Holy Land; and this wonderful treasure has been
preserved by the Count's descendants with jealous care, even until
this day. I have said that no man could read the inscriptions on
the rings: they were all the same--the three as like as the leaves
of a trefoil. They were all large enough for the largest man's
thumb, and made of the purest crown gold: the shield was of a
circular form, bearing in the centre the figure of a Knight
Templar in full armour, with spur and shield, keeping watch before
the Temple at Jerusalem; but what the characters around the figure
signified, I leave unsaid, and many, I am thinking, will leave
unsaid likewise. [Footnote: It is a fact, that no one up to the
present time has been able to decipher this very remarkable
inscription, not even Silvestre de Sacy himself, to whom it was
sent some years ago. Dreger's reading, given in Dähnert's
Pomeranian Library, iv. p. 295, is manifestly wrong--_Ordo
Hierosolymitamis_. But two of the rings are forthcoming now;
and in fulfilment of the tradition, a tremendous rent really
followed the loss of the first in the old castle of Pansin, which
may yet be seen in this fine ruin, whose like is not to be found
in all Pomerania, nor, indeed, in the north of Germany. The two
remaining rings, with the rose of Jericho, are still to be seen in
the original casket, which is of curious and costly workmanship,
and this casket is again enclosed in another of iron, with strong
hoops and clasps. Should any of my readers desire to discover the
meaning of the inscription, he will do me the highest favour by
communicating the same to me.]

_In summa_.--When Diliana arrived with these rings, the poor
Dorothea lay again in the devil's fetters. She roared, and
screamed, and raged horribly, and tore her bed-clothes, and foamed
at the mouth, and even abused and reviled the beautiful young
virgin, who took, however, no heed thereof, but with permission of
the abbess laid the three rings upon the stomach of the sick nun,
who immediately became quite still, and so lay for a little while,
after which, with a loud roar, Satan went out of her, while the
windows clattered and the glasses rang upon the table. Then she
fell into a deep sleep, and on awakening remembered nothing of
what had happened, but seeing Diliana prepared to set out on her
homeward ride, asked with wonder, "Who is this strange young
maiden, and what does she here?"

After this, as I may as well briefly notice here, Dorothea became
quite well, and by the mercy of God remained for ever after
untouched by the demon claws of the great enemy of mankind.

Meanwhile the good Diliana felt it to be her duty to descend to
the refectory, and thank the hell-dragon for the refreshing sleep
which her father, Jobst, had obtained by her means. But, ah! how
does she find my dragon? Her eyes shoot fire and flame, and in an
instant she flew at poor Diliana on the subject of marriage--

"What! she wanted to marry too! She was scarcely out of school,
and yet already was thinking about marriage!"

"Good cousin," answered the other, "I have indeed no thoughts of
marriage, and no desire for it has ever entered my heart."

"What!" screamed my dragon; "you lie to me, child! The whole
convent talks of it; and Anna Apenborg herself told me that you
are betrothed to that beardless boy George Putkammer. Fie! a
fellow without a beard."

Hereupon she began to spit out. But George Putkammer that instant
clattered up the steps; for the news had come to Pansin, of which
castle Jobst Bork had made him castellan, seeing that he set much
store by the brave young knight, and would willingly have had him
for his son-in-law, if his fair little daughter Diliana had not
resisted his entreaties, _bis dalo_; the news came, I say,
now that Diliana had run away from her father, and gone to play
the serving-wench to Sidonia. So the knight seized his good sword,
and went forth, like another Perseus, to save his Andromeda, and
deliver her from the dragon, even if his own life were to pay the
cost. He knew not that the damning dragon despised the service of
the mild, innocent girl, nor that Jobst Bork had gone to offer
himself as a sacrifice in her place.

So he clattered up the steps, dashed open the door, and finding
Sidonia in the very act of spitting out, he drew his sword, and
roared--

"Dare to touch even a finger of that angel beside thee, and thy
black toad's blood shall rust upon this sword."

And when Sidonia started back alarmed, he continued--

"O Diliana, much loved and beautiful maiden, what does my queen
here? Where have you heard that the angels of God seek help and
shelter from the devil, as you have done here? Return with me to
Saatzig, and, by my faith, some other means shall make this vile
wretch help your poor father."

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