I hastened to Sidonia, as she reclined upon the carpet, and bending low before her, said, "Beautiful maiden! will you not dance?" [Footnote: It will interest my fair readers to know that this was, word for word, the established form employed in those days for an invitation to dance.] Upon which she smilingly gave me her little hand, and I raised her up, and led her away.

I have said that I was a proficient in all knightly exercises, so that every one approached to see us dance. When Sidonia was tired I led her back, and threw myself beside her on the carpet. But in a little while three other young nobles came and seated themselves around her, and began to jest, and toy, and pay court to her. One played with her left hand and her rings, another with the gold net of her hair, while I held her right hand and pressed it. She coquettishly repelled them all—sometimes with her feet, sometimes with her hands. And when Hans von Damitz extolled her hair, she gave him such a blow on the nose with her head that it began to bleed, and he was obliged to withdraw. Still one could see that all these blows, right and left, were not meant in earnest. This continued for some time until an Italian dance began, which she declined to join, and as I was left alone with her upon the carpet, "Now," thought I, "there can be no better time to decide my fate;" for she had pressed my hand frequently, both in the dance and since I had lain reclining beside her.

"Beautiful Sidonia!" I said, "you know not how you have wounded my heart. I can neither eat nor sleep since I beheld you, and those five little kisses which you gave me burn through my frame like arrows."

To which she answered, laughing, "It was your pastime, youth. It was your own wish to take those little kisses."

"Ah, yes!" I said, "it was my will; but give me more now and make me well."

"What!" she exclaimed, "you desire more kisses? Then will your pain become greater, if, as you say, with every kiss an arrow enters your heart, so at last they would cause your death."

"Ah, yes!" I answered, "unless you take pity on me, and promise to become my wife, they will indeed cause my death." As I said this, she sprang up, tore her hand away from me, and cried with mocking laughter, "What does the knave mean? Ha! ha! the poor, miserable varlet!"

I remained some moments stupefied with rage, then sprung to my feet without another word, left the hall, took my steed from the stable, and turned my back on the castle for ever. You may imagine how her ingratitude added to the bitterness of my feelings, when I considered that it was to me she owed her life. She afterwards offered herself to me for a wife, but she was then dishonoured, and I spat out at her in disgust. I never beheld her again till she was carried past my door to the scaffold.

All this the old man related with many sighs; but his after-meeting with her shall be related more in extenso in its proper place. I shall now set down what further he communicated about the wedding-feast.

You may imagine, he said, that I was curious to know all that happened after I left the castle, and my friend, Bogislaff von Suckow of Pegelow, told me as follows.

After my departure, the young lords grew still more free and daring in their manner to Sidonia, so that when not dancing she had sufficient exercise in keeping them off with her hands and feet, until my friend Bogislaff attracted her whole attention by telling her that he had just returned from Wolgast, where the ducal widow was much comforted by the presence of her son, Prince Ernest Ludovick, whom she had not seen since he went to the university. He was the handsomest youth in all Pomerania, and played the lute so divinely that at court he was compared to the god Apollo.

Sidonia upon this fell into deep thought. In the meanwhile, it was evident that his Highness old Duke Barnim was greatly struck by her beauty, and wished to get near her upon the carpet; for his Grace was well known to be a great follower of the sex, and many stories are whispered about a harem of young girls he kept at St. Mary's—but these things are allowable in persons of his rank.

However, Fabianus Timæus, who sat by him, wished to prevent him approaching Sidonia, and made signs, and nudged him with his elbow; and finally they put their heads together and had a long argument.

At last the Prince started up, and stepping to Otto, asked him, Would he not dance? "Yes," he replied, "if your Grace will dance likewise." "Good," said the Prince, "that can be soon arranged," and therewith he solicited Sidonia's hand. At this Fabianus was so scandalised that he left the hall, and appeared no more until supper. After the dance, his Highness advanced to Otto, who was reseated on his throne, and said, "Why, Otto, you have a beautiful daughter in Sidonia. She must come to my court, and when she appears amongst the other ladies, I swear she will make a better fortune than by staying shut up here in your old castle."

On which Otto replied, sarcastically smiling, "Ay, my gracious Prince, she would be a dainty morsel for your Highness, no doubt; but there is no lack of noble visitors at my castle, I am proud to say." Jacob Kleist, the Chancellor, was now so humbled at the Duke's behaviour that he, too, left the hall and followed Fabianus. Even the Duke changed colour; but before he had time to speak, Sidonia sprang forward, and having heard the whole conversation, entreated her father to accept the Duke's offer, and allow her either to visit the court at Wolgast or at Old Stettin. What was she to do here? When the wedding-feast was over, no one would come to the castle but huntsmen and such like.

So Otto at last consented that she might visit Wolgast, but on no account the court at Stettin.

Then the young Sidonia began to coax and caress the old Duke, stroking his long beard, which reached to his girdle, with her little white hands, and prayed that he would place her with the princely Lady of Wolgast, for she longed to go there. People said that it was such a beautiful place, and the sea was not far off, which she had never been at in all her life. And so the Duke was pleased with her caresses, and promised that he would request his dear cousin, the ducal widow of Wolgast, to receive her as one of her maids of honour. Sidonia then further entreated that there might be no delay, and he answered that he would send a note to his cousin from the Diet at Treptow, by the Grand Chamberlain of Wolgast, Ulrich von Schwerin, and that she would not have to wait long. But she must go by Old Stettin, and stop at his palace for a while, and then he would bring her on himself to Wolgast, if he had time to spare.

While Sidonia clapped her hands and danced about for joy, Otto
looked grave, and said, "But, gracious Lord, the nearest way to
Wolgast is by Cammin. Sidonia must make a circuit if she goes by
Old Stettin."

The conversation was now interrupted by the lacqueys, who came to announce that dinner was served.

Otto requested the Duke to take a place beside him at table, and treated him with somewhat more distinction than he had done in the morning; but a hot dispute soon arose, and this was the cause. As Otto drank deep in the wine-cup, he grew more reckless and daring, and began to display his heretical doctrines as openly as he had hitherto exhibited his pomp and magnificence, so that every one might learn that pride and ungodliness are twin brothers. May God keep us from both!

And one of the guests having said, in confirmation of some fact, "The Lord Jesus knows I speak the truth!" the godless knight laughed scornfully, exclaiming, "The Lord Jesus knows as little about the matter as my old grandfather, lying there in his vault, of our wedding-feast to-day."

There was a dead silence instantly, and the Prince, who had just lifted up some of the bear's paw to his lips, with mustard sauce and pastry all round it, dropped it again upon his plate, and opened his eyes as wide as they could go; then, hastily wiping his mouth with the salvet, exclaimed in low German, "What the devil, Otto! art thou a freethinker?" who replied, "A true nobleman may, in all things, be a freethinker, and neither do all that a prince commands nor believe all that a pope teaches." To which the Duke answered, "What concerns me I pardon, for I do not believe that you will ever forget your duty to your Prince. The times are gone by when a noble would openly offer violence to his sovereign; but for what concerns the honour of our Lord Christ, I must leave you in the hands of Fabianus to receive proper chastisement."

Now Fabianus, seeing that all eyes were fixed on him, grew red and cleared his throat, and set himself in a position to argue the point with Lord Otto, beginning—"So you believe that Christ the Lord remained in the grave, and is not living and reigning for all eternity?"

Ille.—"Yes; that is my opinion."

Hic.—"What do you believe, then? or do you believe in anything?"

Ille.—"Yes; I believe firmly in an all-powerful and omniscient God."

Hic.—"How do you know He exists?"

Ille.—"Because my reason tells me so."

Hic.—"Your reason does not tell you so, good sir. It merely tells you that something supermundane exists, but cannot tell you whether it be one God or two Gods, or a hundred Gods, or of what nature are these Gods—whether spirits, or stars, or trees, or animals, or, in fine, any object you can name, for paganism has imagined a Deity in everything, which proves what I assert. You only believe in one God, because you sucked in the doctrine with your mother's milk." [Footnote: The history of all philosophy shows that this is psychologically true. Even Lucian satirises the philosophers of his age who see God or Gods in numbers, dogs, geese, trees, and other things. But monotheistic Christianity has preserved us for nearly 2000 years from these aberrations of philosophy. However, as the authority of Christianity declined, the pagan tendency again became visible; until at length, in the Hegelian school, we have fallen back helplessly into the same pantheism which we left 2000 years ago. In short, what Kant asserts is perfectly true: that the existence of God cannot be proved from reason. For the highest objects of all cognition—God, Freedom, and Immortality—can as little be evolved from the new philosophy as beauty from the disgusting process of decomposition. And yet more impossible is it to imagine that this feeble Hegelian pantheism should ever become the crown and summit of all human thought, and final resting-place for all human minds. Reason, whether from an indwelling instinct, or from an innate causality-law, may assert that something supermundane exists, but can know nothing more and nothing further. So we see the absurdity of chattering in our journals and periodicals of the progress of reason. The advance has been only formal, not essential. The formal advance has been in printing, railroads, and such like, in which direction we may easily suppose progression will yet further continue. But there has been no essential advance whatever. We know as little now of our own being, of the being of God, or even of that of the smallest infusoria, as in the days of Thales and Anaximander. In short, when life begins, begins also our feebleness; "Therefore," says Paul, "we walk by faith, not by sight." Yet these would-be philosophers of our day will only walk by sight, not by faith, although they cannot see into anything—not even into themselves.]

Ille.—"How did it happen, then, that Abraham arrived at the knowledge of the one God, and called on the name of the Lord?"

Hic.—"Do you compare yourself with Abraham? Have you ever studied Hebrew?"

Ille.—"A little. In my youth I read through the book of Genesis."

Hic.—"Good! then you know that the Hebrew word for name is Shem?"

Ille.-"Yes; I know that."

Hic.—"Then you know that from the time of Enos the name [Footnote: In order to understand the argument, the reader must remember that the name here is taken in the sense of the Greek logos, and is considered as referring especially to Christ.] was preached (Genesis iv. 26), showing that the pure doctrine was known from the beginning. This doctrine was darkened and obscured by wise people like you, so that it was almost lost at the time of Abraham, who again preached the name of the Lord to unbelievers."

Ille.—"What did this primitive doctrine contain?"

Hic.—"Undoubtedly not only a testimony of the one living God of heaven and earth, but also clearly of Christ the Messiah, as He who was promised to our fallen parents in paradise (Genesis iii. 15)."

Ille.—"Can you prove that Abraham had the witness of Christ?"

Hic.—"Yes; from Christ's own words (John viii. 56):—'Abraham, your father, rejoiced to see My day, and he saw it, and was glad.' Item: Moses and all the Prophets have witnessed of Him, of whom you say that He lies dead in the grave."

Ille.—"Oh, that is just what the priests say."

Hic.—"And Christ Himself, Luke xxvi. 25 and 27. Do you not see, young man, that you mock the Prince of Life, whom God, that cannot lie, promised before the world began—Titus i. 2—ay, even more than you mocked your temporal Prince this day? Poor sinner, what does it help you to believe in one God?"

"Even the devils believe and tremble," added Jacob Kleist the Chancellor. "No, there is no other name given under heaven by which you can be saved; and will you be more wise than Abraham, and the Prophets, and the Apostles, and all holy Christian Churches up to this day? Shame on you, and remember what St. Paul says: 'Thinking themselves wise, they became fools.' And in 1st Cor. xv. 17: 'If Christ be not risen, than is your faith vain, and our preaching also vain. Ye are yet in your sins, and they who sleep in Christ are lost.'" [Footnote: This proof of Christ's divinity from the Old Testament was considered of the highest importance in the time of the Apostles; but Schleiermacher, in his strange system, which may be called a mystic Rationalism, endeavours to shake the authority of the Old Testament in a most unpardonable and incomprehensible manner. This appears to me as if a man were to tear down a building from the sure foundation on which it had rested for 1000 years, and imagine it could rest in true stability only on the mere breath of his words.]

So Otto was silenced and coughed, for he had nothing to answer, and all the guests laughed; but, fortunately, just then the offering-plate was handed round, and the Duke laid down two ducats, at which Otto smiled scornfully, and flung in seven rix-dollars, but laughed outright when Fabianus put down only four groschen.

This seemed to affront his Highness, for he whispered to his Chancellor to order the carriages, and rose up from table with his attendants. Then, offering his hand to Otto, said, "Take care, Otto, or the devil will have you one day in hell, like the rich man in Scripture." To which Otto replied, bowing low, "Gracious Lord, I hope at least to meet good company there. Farewell, and pardon me for not attending you to the castle gates, but I may not leave my guests."

Then all the nobles rose up, and the young knights accompanied his Highness, as did also Sidonia, who now further entreated his Grace to remove her from her father's castle, since he saw himself how lightly God's Word was held there. Fabianus was infinitely pleased to hear her speak in this manner, and promised to use all his influence towards having her removed from this Egypt.

Here ended all that old Uckermann could relate of Sidonia's youth; so I determined to ride on to Stramehl, and learn there further particulars if possible.

Accordingly, next day I took leave of the good old man, praying God to give him a peaceful death, and arrived at Stramehl with my servant. Here, however, I could obtain no information; for even the Bork family pretended to know nothing, just as if they never had heard of Sidonia (they were ashamed, I think, to acknowledge her), and the townspeople who had known her were all dead. The girl, indeed, was still living whose goose Sidonia had killed, but she was now an old woman in second childhood, and fancied that I was myself Sidonia, who had come to take away another goose from her. So I rode on to Freienwald, where I heard much that shall appear in its proper place; then to Old Stettin; and, after waiting three days for a fair wind, set sail for Wolgast, expecting to obtain much information there.

CHAPTER IV.

How Sidonia came to the court at Wolgast, and of what further happened to her there.

In Wolgast I met with many persons whose fathers had known Sidonia, and what they related to me concerning her I have summed up into connection for your Highness as follows.

When Duke Barnim reached the Diet at Treptow, he immediately made known Sidonia's request to the Grand Chamberlain of Wolgast, Ulrich von Schwerin, who was also guardian to the five young princes. But he grumbled, and said—"The ducal widow had maids of honour enough to dam up the river with if she chose; and he wished for no more pet doves to be brought to court, particularly not Sidonia; for he knew her father was ambitious, and longed to be called 'your Grace.'"

Even Fabianus could not prevail in Sidonia's favour. So the Duke and he returned home to Stettin; but scarcely had they arrived there, when a letter came from the ducal widow of Wolgast, saying, that on no account would she receive Sidonia at her court. The Duke might therefore keep her at his own if he chose.

So the Duke took no further trouble. But Sidonia was not so easily satisfied; and taking the matter in her own hands she left her father's castle without waiting his permission, and set off for Stettin.

On arriving, she prayed the Duke to bring her to Wolgast without delay, as she knew there was an honourable, noble lady there who would watch over her, as indeed she felt would be necessary at a court. And Fabianus supported her petition; for he was much edified with her expressed desire to crucify the flesh, with the affections and lusts.

Ah! could he have known her!

So the kind-hearted Duke embarked with her immediately, without telling any one; and having a fair wind, sailed up directly to the little water-gate, and anchored close beneath the Castle of Wolgast.

Here they landed; the Duke having Sidonia under one arm, and a little wooden puppet under the other. It was an Eve, for whom Sidonia had served as the model; and truly she was an Eve in sin, and brought as much evil upon the land of Pomerania as our first mother upon the whole world. Sidonia was enveloped in a black mantle, and wore a hood lined with fur covering her face. The Duke also had on a large wrapping cloak, and a cap of yellow leather upon his head.

So they entered the private gate, and on through the first and second courts of the castle, without her Grace hearing a word of their arrival. And they proceeded on through the gallery, until they reached the private apartments of the princess, from whence resounded a psalm which her Grace was singing with her ladies while they spun, and which psalm was played by a little musical box placed within the Duchess's own spinning-wheel. Duke Barnim had made it himself for her Grace, and it was right pleasant to hear.

After listening some time, the Duke knocked, and a maid of honour opened the door. When they entered, her Grace was so confounded that she dropped her thread and exclaimed, "Dear uncle! is this maiden, then, Sidonia?" examining her from head to foot while she spoke. The Duke excused himself by saying that he had promised her father to bring her here; but her Grace cut short his apologies with "Dear uncle, Dr. Martin Luther told me on my wedding-day that he never allowed himself to be interrupted at his prayers, because it betokened the presence of something evil. And you have now broken in on our devotions; therefore sit down with the maiden and join our psalm, if you know it." Then her Grace took up the reel again, and having set the clock-work going with her foot, struck up the psalm once more, in a clear, loud voice, joined by all her ladies. But Sidonia sat still, and kept her eyes upon the ground.

When they had ended, her Grace, having first crossed herself, advanced to Sidonia, and said, "Since you arrived at my court, you may remain; but take care that you never lift your eyes upon the young men. Such wantons are hateful to my sight; for, as the Scripture says, 'A fair woman without discretion is like a circlet of gold upon a swine's head.'"

Sidonia changed colour at this; but the Duke, who held quite a different opinion about such women, entreated her Grace not to be always so gloomy and melancholy—that it was time now for her to forget her late spouse, and think of gayer subjects. To which she answered, "Dear uncle, I cannot forget my Philip, particularly as my fate was foreshadowed at my bridal by a most ominous occurrence."

Now, the Duke had heard this story of the bridal a hundred times; yet to please her he asked, "And what was it, dear cousin?"

"Listen," she replied. "When Dr. Martin Luther exchanged our rings, mine fell from his hand to the ground; at which he was evidently troubled, and taking it up, he blew on it; then turning round, exclaimed—'Away with thee, Satan! away with thee, Satan! Meddle not in this matter!' And so my dear lord was taken from me in his forty-fifth year, and I was left a desolate widow." Here she sobbed and put her kerchief to her eyes.

"But, cousin," said the Duke, "remember you have a great blessing from God in your five fine sons. And that reminds me—where are they all now?"

This restored her Grace, and she began to discourse of her children, telling how handsome was the young Prince Ernest, and that he and the little Casimir were only with her now.

Here Sidonia, as the other ladies remarked, moved restlessly on her chair, and her eyes flashed like torches, so that it was evident some plan had struck her, for she was strengthening day by day in wickedness.

"Ay, cousin," cried the Duke, "it is no wonder a handsome mother should have handsome sons. And now what think you of giving us a jolly wedding? It is time for you to think of a second husband, methinks, after having wept ten years for your Philip. The best doctor, they say, for a young widow, is a handsome lover. What think you of myself, for instance?" And he pulled off his leather cap, and put his white head and beard up close to her Grace.

Now, though her Grace could not help laughing at his position and words, yet she grew as sour as vinegar again immediately; for all the ladies tittered, and, as to Sidonia, she laughed outright.

"Fie! uncle," said her Grace, "a truce to such folly; do you not know what St. Paul says—'Let the widows abide even as I'?"

"Ay, true, dear cousin; but, then, does he not say, too, 'I will that the younger widows marry'?"

"Ah, but, dear uncle, I am no longer young."

"Why, you are as young and active as a girl; and I engage, cousin, if any stranger came in here to look for the widow, he would find it difficult to make her out amongst the young maidens; don't you think so, Sidonia?"

"Ah, yes," she replied; "I never imagined her Grace was so young.
She is as blooming as a rose."

This appeared to please the Princess, for she smiled slightly and then sighed; but gave his Grace a smart slap when he attempted to seize her hand and kiss it, saying—"Now, uncle, I told you to leave off this foolery."

At this moment the band outside struck up Duke Bogislaff's march—the same that was played before him in Jerusalem when he ascended the Via Dolorosa up to Golgotha; for it was the custom here to play this march half-an-hour before dinner, in order to gather all the household, knights, squires, pages, and even grooms and peasants, to the castle, where they all received entertainment. And ten rooms were laid with dinner, and all stood open, so that any one might enter under the permission of the Court Marshal. All this I must notice here, because Sidonia afterwards caused much scandal by these means. The music now rejoiced her greatly, and she began to move her little feet, not in a pilgrim, but in a waltz measure, and to beat time with them, as one could easily perceive by the motion underneath her mantle.

The Grand Chamberlain, Ulrich von Schwerin, now entered, and having looked at Sidonia with much surprise, advanced to kiss the hand of the Duke and bid him welcome to Wolgast. Then, turning to her Grace, he inquired if the twelve pages should wait at table to do honour to the Duke of Stettin. But the Duke forbade them, saying he wished to dine in private for this day with the Duchess and her two sons; the Grand Chamberlain, too, he hoped would be present, and Sidonia might have a seat at the ducal table, as she was of noble blood; besides, he had taken her likeness as Eve, and the first of women ought to sit at the first table. Hereupon the Duke drew forth the puppet, and called to Ulrich—"Here! you have seen my Adam in Treptow; what think you now of Eve? Look, dear cousin, is she not the image of Sidonia?"

At this speech both looked very grave. Ulrich said nothing; but her Grace replied, "You will make the girl vain, dear uncle." And Ulrich added, "Yes, and the image has such an expression, that if the real Eve looked so, I think she would have left her husband in the lurch and run with the devil himself to the devil."

While the last verse of the march was playing—"To Zion comes Pomerania's Prince"—they proceeded to dinner—the Duke and the Princes leading, while from every door along the corridor the young knights and pages peeped out to get a sight of Sidonia, who, having thrown off her mantle, swept by them in a robe of crimson velvet laced with gold.

When they entered the dining-hall, Prince Ernest was leaning against one of the pillars wearing a black Spanish mantle, fastened with chains of gold. He stepped forward to greet the Duke, and inquire after his health.

The Duke was well pleased to see him, and tapped him on the cheek, exclaiming—

"By my faith, cousin, I have not heard too much of you. What a fine youth you have grown up since you left the university."

But how Sidonia's eyes sparkled when (for his misfortune) she found herself seated next him at table. The Duchess now called upon Sidonia to say the "gratias;" but she blundered and stammered, which many imputed to modesty, so that Prince Ernest had to repeat it in her stead. This seemed to give him courage; for when the others began to talk around the table, he ventured to bid her welcome to his mother's court.

When they rose from table, Sidonia was again commanded to say grace; but being unable, the Prince came to her relief and repeated the words for her. And now the evil spirit without doubt put it into the Duke's head, who had drunk rather freely, to say to her Grace—

"Dear cousin, I have introduced the Italian fashion at my court, which is, that every knight kisses the lady next him on rising from dinner—let us do the same here." And herewith he first kissed her Grace and then Sidonia. Ulrich von Schwerin looked grave at this and shook his head, particularly when the Duke encouraged Prince Ernest to follow his example; but the poor youth looked quite ashamed, and cast down his eyes. However, when he raised them again Sidonia's were fixed on him, and she murmured, "Will you not learn?" with such a glance accompanying the words, that he could no longer resist to touch her lips. So there was great laughing in the hall; and the Duke then, taking his puppet under one arm and Sidonia under the other, descended with her to the castle gardens, complaining that he never got a good laugh in this gloomy house, let him do what he would.

And the next day he departed, though the Prince sent his equerry to know would his Grace desire to hunt that day; or, if he preferred fishing, there were some excellent carp within the domain. But the Duke replied, that he would neither ride nor fish, but sail away at ten of the clock, if the wind were favourable.

So many feared that his Grace was annoyed; and therefore the Duchess and Prince Ernest, along with the Grand Chamberlain, attended him to the gate; and even to please him, Sidonia was allowed to accompany them. The Pomeranian standard also was hoisted to do him honour, and finally he bade the illustrious widow farewell, recommending Sidonia to her care. But the fair maiden herself he took in his arms, she weeping and sobbing, and admonished her to be careful and discreet; and so, with a fair wind, set sail from Wolgast, and never once looked back.

CHAPTER V.

Sidonia knows nothing of God's Word, but seeks to learn it from the young Prince of Wolgast.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER VI.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Dear lady, what has happened?"

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

"Afraid of what, dearest lady?"

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

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

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

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

The doctor was indignant at his petition.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But of what woman?"

"I will not name her, for she is present."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER VII.

How Ulrich von Schwerin buries his spouse, and Doctor Gerschovius comforts him out of God's Word.

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

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

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

"Does this employment, then, give you much pleasure?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There are but two modes, I think, of explaining these extraordinary phenomena—either by supposing them effected by supernatural agency, as all seers and diviners from antiquity, through the Middle Ages down to our somnambulists, have pretended that they really stood in communication with spirit; or, by supposing that there is an innate latent divining element in our own natures, which only becomes evident and active under certain circumstances, and which is capable of revealing the future with more or less exactitude just as the mind can recall the past. For past and future are but different forms of our own subjective intuition of time, and because this internal intuition represents no figure, we seek to supply the defect by an analogy. For time exists within us, not without us; it is not something which subsists of itself, but it is the form only of our internal sense.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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