CHAPTER VIII.
How Sidonia rides upon the pet stag, and what evil consequences result therefrom.
When the discourse had ended, her Grace retired to her apartment and Ulrich to his, for it was their custom, as I have said, to sleep after dinner. Doctor Gerschovius returned home, and the young Prince descended to the gardens with his lute. Now was a fine time for the young knights, for they had been sadly disturbed in their carouse by that godly prophesying of the doctor's, and they now returned to their own quarter to finish it, headed by the old treasurer Zitsewitz. Then a merry uproar of laughing, singing, and jesting commenced, and as the door lay wide open as usual, Sidonia heard all from her chamber; so stepping out gently with a piece of bread in her hand, she tripped along the corridor past their door. No sooner was she perceived than a loud storm of cheers greeted her, which she returned with smiles and bows, and then danced down the steps to the courtyard. Several rose up to pursue her, amongst whom Wedig and Appelmann were the most eager.
But they were too late, and saw nothing but the tail of her dress as she flew round the corner into the second court. Just then an old laundress, bringing linen to the castle for her Highness, passed by, and told the young men that the young lady had been feeding the tame stag with bread, and then jumped on its back while she held the horns, and that the animal had immediately galloped off like lightning into the second court; so that the young knights and squires rushed instantly after her, fearing that some accident might happen, and presently they heard her scream twice. Appelmann was the first to reach the outer court, and there beheld poor Sidonia in a sad condition, for the stag had flung her off. Fortunately it was on a heap of soft clay, and there she lay in a dead faint.
Had the stag thrown her but a few steps further, against the manger for the knights' horses, she must have been killed. But Satan had not yet done with her, and therefore, no doubt, prepared this soft pillow for her head.
When Appelmann saw that she was quite insensible, he kneeled down and kissed first her little feet, then her white hands, and at last her lips, while she lay at the time as still as death, poor thing. Just then Wedig came up in a great passion; for the castellan's son, who was playing ball, had flung the ball right between his legs, out of tricks, as he was running by, and nearly threw him down, whereupon Wedig seized hold of the urchin by his thick hair to punish him, for all the young knights were laughing at his discomfiture; but the boy bit him in the hip, and then sprang into his father's house, and shut the door. How little do we know what will happen! It was this bite which caused Wedig's lamentable death a little after.
But if he was angry before, what was his rage now when he beheld the equerry, Appelmann, kissing the insensible maiden.
"How now, peasant," he cried, "what means this boldness? How dare this tailor's son treat a castle and land dowered maiden in such a way? Are noble ladies made for his kisses?" And he draws his poignard to rush upon Appelmann, who draws forth his in return, and now assuredly there would have been murder done, if Sidonia had not just then opened her eyes, and starting up in amazement prayed them for her sake to keep quiet. She had been quite insensible, and knew nothing at all of what had happened. The old treasurer, with the other young knights, came up now, and strove to make peace between the two rivals, holding them apart by force; but nothing could calm the jealous Wedig, who still cried, "Let me avenge Sidonia!—let me avenge Sidonia!" So that Prince Ernest, hearing the tumult in the garden, ran with his lute in his hand to see what had happened. When they told him, he grew as pale as a corpse that such an indignity should have been offered to Sidonia, and reprimanded his equerry severely, but prayed that all would keep quiet now, as otherwise the Duchess and the Lord Chamberlain would certainly be awakened out of their after-dinner sleep, and then what an afternoon they would all have. This calmed every one, except the jealous Wedig, who, having drunk deeply, cried out still louder than before, "Let me go. I will give my life for the beautiful Sidonia. I will avenge the insolence of this peasant knave!"
When Sidonia observed all this, she felt quite certain that a terrible storm was brewing for all of them, and so she ran to shelter herself through the first open door that came in her way, and up into the second corridor; but further adventures awaited her here, for not being acquainted with this part of the castle, she ran direct into an old lumber-room, where she found, to her great surprise, a young man dressed in rusty armour, and wearing a helmet with a serpent crest upon his head. This was Hans von Marintzky, whose brain Sidonia had turned by reading the Amadis with him in the castle gardens, and as she had often sighed, and said that she, too, could have loved the serpent knight, the poor love-stricken Hans, taking this for a favourable sign, determined to disguise himself as described in the romance, and thus secure her love.
So when her beautiful face appeared at the door, Hans screamed for joy, like a young calf, and falling on one knee, exclaimed—"Adored Princess, your serpent knight is here to claim your love, and tender his hand to you in betrothal, for no other wife do I desire but thee; and if the Princess Rosaliana herself were here to offer me her love, I would strike her on the face."
Sidonia was rather thunderstruck, as one may suppose, and retreated a few steps, saying, "Stand up, dear youth; what ails you?"
"So I am dear to you," he cried, still kneeling; "I am then really dear to you, adored Princess? Ah! I hope to be yet dearer when I make you my spouse."
Sidonia had not foreseen this termination to their romance reading, but she suppressed her laughter, remembering how she had lost her lover Uckermann by showing scorn; so she drew herself up with dignity, and said, with as grave a face as a chief mourner—
"If you will not rise, sir knight, I must complain to her Highness; for I cannot be your spouse, seeing that I have resolved never to marry." (Ah! how willingly, how willingly you would have taken any husband half a year after.) "But if you will do me a service, brave knight, run instantly to the court, where Wedig and Appelmann are going to murder each other, and separate them, or my gracious lady and old Ulrich will awake, and then we shall all be punished."
The poor fool jumped up instantly, and exclaiming, "Death for my adored princess!" he sprung down the steps, though rather awkwardly, not being accustomed to the greaves; and rushing into the middle of the crowd, with his vizor down, and the drawn sword in his hand, he began making passes at every one that came in his way, crying, "Death for my adored princess! Long live the beautiful Sidonia! Knaves, have done with your brawling, or I shall lay you all dead at my feet."
At first every one stuck up close by the wall when they saw the madman, to get out of reach of his sword, which he kept whirling about his head; but as soon as he was recognised by his voice, Wedig called out to him—
"Help, brother, help! Will you suffer that this peasant boor Appelmann should kiss the noble Sidonia as she lay there faint and insensible? Yet I saw him do this. So help me, relieve me, that I may brand this low-born knave for his daring."
"What? My adored princess!" exclaimed the serpent knight. "This valet, this groom, dared to kiss her? and I would think myself blessed but to touch her shoe-tie;" and he fell furiously upon Appelmann.
The uproar was now so great that it might have aroused the Duchess and Ulrich even from their last sleep, had they been in the castle.
But, fortunately, some time before the riot began, both had gone out by the little private gate, to attend afternoon service at St. Peter's Church, in the town. For the archdeacon was sick, and Doctor Gerschovius was obliged to take his place there. No one, therefore, was left in the castle to give orders or hold command; even the castellan had gone to hear service; and no one minded Prince Ernest, he was so young, besides being under tutelage; and as to old Zitsewitz, he was as bad as the worst of them himself.
The Prince threatened to have the castle bells rung if they were not quiet; and the uproar had indeed partially subsided just at the moment the serpent knight fell upon Appelmann. The Prince then ordered his equerry to leave the place instantly, under pain of his severe displeasure, for he saw that both had drunk rather deeply.
So Appelmann turned to depart as the Prince commanded, but Wedig, who had been relieved by Hans the serpent, sprung after him with his dagger, limping though, for the bite in his hip made him stiff. Appelmann darted through the little water-gate and over the bridge; the other pursued him; and Appelmann, seeing that he was foaming with rage, jumped over the rails into a boat. Wedig attempted to do the same, but being stiff from the bite, missed the boat, and came down plump into the water.
As he could not swim, the current carried him rapidly down the stream before the others had time to come up; but he was still conscious, and called to Hans, "Comrade, save me!" So Hans, forgetting his heavy cuirass, plunged in directly, and soon reached the drowning man. Wedig, however, in his death-struggles, seized hold of him with such force that they both instantly disappeared. Then every one sprang to the boats to try and save them; but being Sunday, the boats were all moored, so that by the time they were unfastened it was too late, and the two unfortunate young men had sunk for ever.
What calamities may be caused by the levity and self-will of a beautiful woman! From the time of Helen of Troy up to the present moment, the world has known this well; but, alas! this was but the beginning of that tragedy which Sidonia played in Pomerania, as that other wanton did in Phrygia.
Let us hear the conclusion, however. Prince Ernest, now being truly alarmed, despatched a messenger to the church for her Highness; but as Doctor Gerschovius had not yet ended his exordium, her Grace would by no means be disturbed, and desired the messenger to go to Ulrich, who no sooner heard the tidings than he rushed down to the water-gate. There he found a great crowd assembled, all eagerly trying, with poles and hooks, to fish out the bodies of the two young men; and one fellow even had tied a piece of barley bread to a rope, and flung it into the water—as the superstition goes that it will follow a corpse in the stream, and point to where it lies. And the women and children were weeping and lamenting on the bridge; but the old knight pushed them all aside with his elbows, and cried—"Thousand devils! what are ye all at here?"
Every one was silent, for the young men had agreed not to betray Sidonia. Then Ulrich asked the Prince, who replied, that Marintzky, having put on some old armour to frighten the others, as he believed, they pursued him in fun over the bridge, and he and another fell over into the water. This was all he knew of the matter, for he was playing on the lute in the garden when the tumult began.
"Thousand devils!" cries Ulrich; "I cannot turn my back a moment but there must be a riot amongst the young fellows. Listen! young lord—when it comes to your turn to rule land and people, I counsel you, send all the young fellows to the devil. Away with them! they are a vain and dissolute crew. Get up the bodies, if you can; but, for my part, I would care little if a few more were baptized in the same way. Speak! some of you: who commenced this tavern broil? Speak! I must have an answer."
This adjuration had its effect, for a man answered—"Sidonia made the young men mad, and so it all happened." It was her own cousin, Marcus Bork, who spoke, for which reason Sidonia never could endure him afterwards, and finally destroyed him, as shall be related in due time.
When Ulrich found that Sidonia was the cause of all, he raged with fury, and commanded them to tell him all. When Marcus had related the whole affair, he swore by the seven thousand devils that he would make her remember it, and that he would instantly go up to her chamber.
But Prince Ernest stepped before him, saying, "Lord Ulrich, I have made you a promise—you must now make one to me: it is to leave this maiden in peace; she is not to blame for what has happened." But Ulrich would not listen to him.
"Then I withdraw my promise," said the Prince. "Now act as you think proper."
"Thousand devils! she had better give up that game," exclaimed Ulrich. However, he consented to leave her undisturbed, and departed with vehement imprecations on her head, just as the Duchess returned from church, and was seen advancing towards the crowd.
CHAPTER IX.
How Sidonia makes the young Prince break his word—Item, how Clara von Dewitz in vain tries to turn her from her evil ways.
It may be easily conjectured what a passion her Grace fell into when the whole story was made known to her, and how she stormed against Sidonia. At last she entered the castle; but Prince Ernest, rightly suspecting her object, slipped up to the corridor, and met her just as she had reached Sidonia's chamber. Here he took her hand, kissed it, and prayed her not to disgrace the young maiden, for that she was innocent of all the evil that had happened.
But she pushed him away, exclaiming—"Thou disobedient son, have I not heard of thy gallantries with this girl, whom Satan himself has sent into my royal house? Shame on thee! One of thy noble station to take the part of a murderess!"
"But you have judged harshly, my mother. I never made love to the maiden. Leave her in peace, and do not make matters worse, or all the young nobles will fight to the death for her."
"Ay, and thou, witless boy, the first of all. Oh, that my beloved spouse, Philippus Primus, could rise from his grave—what would he say to his lost son, who, like the prodigal in Scripture, loves strange women and keeps company with brawlers!" (Weeping.)
"Who has said that I am a lost son?"
"Doctor Gerschovius and Ulrich both say it."
"Then I shall run the priest through the body, and challenge the knight to mortal combat, unless they both retract their words."
"No! stay, my son," said the Duchess; "I must have mistaken what they said. Stay, I command you!"
"Never! Unless Sidonia be left in peace, such deeds will be done to-day that all Pomerania will ring with them for years."
In short, the end of the controversy was, that the Duchess at last promised to leave Sidonia unmolested; and then retired to her chamber much disturbed, where she was soon heard singing the 109th psalm, with a loud voice, accompanied by the little spindle clock.
Sidonia, who was hiding in her room, soon heard of all that had happened, through the Duchess's maid, whom she kept in pay;—indeed, all the servants were her sworn friends, in consequence of the liberal largess she gave them; and even the young lords and knights were more distractedly in love with her than ever after the occurrences of the day, for her cunning turned everything to profit.
So next morning, having heard that Prince Ernest was going to Eldena to receive the dues, she watched for him, probably through the key-hole, knowing he must pass her door. Accordingly, just as he went by, she opened it, and presented herself to his eyes dressed in unusual elegance and coquetry, and wearing a short robe which showed her pretty little sandals. The Prince, when he saw the short robe, and that she looked so beautiful, blushed, and passed on quickly, turning away his head, for he remembered the promise he had given to Ulrich, and was afraid to trust himself near her.
But Sidonia stepped before him, and flinging herself at his feet, began to weep, murmuring, "Gracious Prince and Lord, accept my gratitude, for you alone have saved me, a poor young maiden, from destruction."
"Stand up, dear lady, stand up."
"Never until my tears fall upon your feet." And then she kissed his yellow silk hose ardently, continuing, "What would have become of me, a helpless, forlorn orphan, without your protection?"
Here the young Prince could no longer restrain his emotions; if he had pledged his word to the whole world, even to the great God Himself, he must have broken it. So he raised her up and kissed her, which she did not resist; only sighed, "Ah! if any one saw us now, we would both be lost." But this did not restrain him, and he kissed her again and again, and pressed her to his heart, when she trembled, and murmured scarcely audibly, "Oh! why do I love you so! Leave me, my lord, leave me; I am miserable enough."
"Do you then love me, Sidonia? Oh! let me hear you say it once more. You love me, enchanting Sidonia!"
"Alas!" she whispered, while her whole frame trembled, "what have
I foolishly said? Oh! I am so unhappy."
"Sidonia! tell me once again you love me. I cannot credit my happiness, for you are even more gracious with the young nobles than with me, and often have you martyred my heart with jealousy."
"Yes; I am courteous to them all, for so my father taught me, and said it was safer for a maiden so to be—but——"
"But what? Speak on."
"Alas!" and here she covered her face with her hands; but Prince Ernest pressed her to his heart, and kissed her, asking her again if she really loved him; and she murmured a faint "yes;" then as if the shame of such a confession had killed her, she tore herself from his arms, and sprang into her chamber. So the young Prince pursued his way to Eldena, but took so little heed about the dues that Ulrich shook his head over the receipts for half a year after.
When mid-day came, and the band struck up for dinner, Sidonia was prepared for a similar scene with the young knights, and, as she passed along the corridor, she gave them her white hand to kiss, glittering with diamonds, thanking them all for not having betrayed her, and praying them to keep her still in their favour, whereat they were all wild with ecstasy; but old Zitsewitz, not content with her hand, entreated for a kiss on her sweet ruby lips, which she granted, to the rage and jealousy of all the others, while he exclaimed, "O Sidonia, thou canst turn even an old man into a fool!"
And his words came true; for in the evening a dispute arose as to which of them Sidonia liked best, seeing that she uttered the same sweet things to all; and to settle it, five of them, along with the old fool Zitsewitz, went to Sidonia's room, and each in turn asked her hand in marriage; but she gave them all the same answer—that she had no idea then of marriage, she was but a young, silly creature, and would not know her own mind for ten years to come.
One good resulted from Sidonia's ride upon the stag: her promenades were forbidden, and she was restricted henceforth entirely to the women's quarter of the castle. Her Grace and she had frequent altercations; but with Clara she kept upon good terms, as the maiden was of so excellent and mild a disposition.
This peace, however, was destined soon to be broken; for though her Grace was silent in the presence of Sidonia, yet she never ceased complaining in private to the maids of honour of this artful wench, who had dared to throw her eyes upon Prince Ernest. So at length they asked why her Highness did not dismiss the girl from her service.
"That must be done," she replied, "and without delay. For that purpose, indeed, I have written to Duke Barnim, and also to the father of the girl, at Stramehl, acquainting them with my intention."
Clara now gently remonstrated, saying that a little Christian instruction might yet do much for the poor young sinner, and that if she did not become good and virtuous under the care of her Grace, where else could she hope to have her changed?
"I have tried all Christian means," said her Grace, "but in vain.
The ears of the wicked are closed to the Word of God."
"But let her Grace recollect that this poor sinner was endowed with extraordinary beauty, and therefore it was no fault of hers if the young men all grew deranged for love of her."
Here a violent tumult, and much scornful laughing, arose amongst the other maids of honour; and one Anna Lepels exclaimed—"I cannot imagine in what Sidonia's wonderful beauty consists. When she flatters the young men, and makes free with them as they are passing to dinner, what marvel if they all run after her? Any girl might have as many lovers if she chose to adopt such manners."
Clara made no reply, but turning to her Grace, said with her permission she would leave her spinning for a while, to visit Sidonia in her room, who perhaps would hearken to her advice, as she meant kindly to her.
"You may go," said her Grace; "but what do you mean to do? I tell you, advice is thrown away on her."
"Then I will threaten her with the Catechism of Doctor Gerschovius, which she must repeat on Sunday, for I know that she is greatly afraid of that and the clergyman."
"And you think you will frighten her into giving up running after the young men?"
"Oh yes, if I tell her that she will be publicly reprimanded unless she can say it perfectly."
So her Grace allowed her to depart, but with something of a weak faith.
Although Sidonia had absented herself from the spinning, on the pretext of learning the catechism quietly in her own room, yet, when Clara entered, no one was there except the maid, who sat upon the floor at her work. She knew nothing about the young lady; but as she heard a great deal of laughter and merriment in the court beneath, it was likely Sidonia was not far off. On stepping to the window, Clara indeed beheld Sidonia.
In the middle of the court was a large horse-pond built round with stones, to which the water was conducted by metal pipes communicating with the river Peene. In the middle of the pond was a small island, upon which a bear was kept chained. A plank was now thrown across the pond to the island; upon this Sidonia was standing feeding the bear with bread, which Appelmann, who stood beside her, first dipped into a can of syrup, and several of the young squires stood round them laughing and jesting.
The idle young pages were wont to take great delight in shooting at the bear with blunt arrows, and when it growled and snarled, then they would calm it again by throwing over bits of bread steeped in honey or syrup. So Sidonia, waiting to see the fun, had got upon the plank ready to give the bread just as the bear had got to the highest pitch of irritation, when he would suddenly change his growling into another sort of speech after his fashion. All this amused Sidonia mightily, and she laughed and clapped her hands with delight.
When the modest Clara beheld all this, and how Sidonia danced up and down on the plank, while the water splashed over her robe, she called to her—"Dear Lady Sidonia, come hither: I have somewhat to tell thee." But she answered tartly—"Dear Lady Clara, keep it then: I am too young to be told everything." And she danced up and down on the plank as before.
After many vain entreaties, Clara had at length to descend and seize the wild bird by the wing—I mean thereby the arm—and carry her off to the castle. The young men would have followed, but they were engaged to attend his Highness on a fishing excursion that afternoon, and were obliged to go and see after their nets and tackle. So the two maidens could walk up and down the corridor undisturbed; and Clara asked if she had yet learned the catechism.
Illa.—"No; I have no wish to learn it."
Hæc.—"But if the priest has to reprimand you publicly from the pulpit?"
Illa.—"I counsel him not to do it."
Hæc.—"Why, what would you do to him?"
Illa.—"He will find that out."
Hæc.—"Dear Sidonia, I wish you well; and therefore let me tell you that not only the priest, but our gracious lady, and all the noble maidens of the court, are sad and displeased that you should make so free with the young men, and entice them to follow you, as I have seen but too often myself. Do it not, dear Sidonia I mean well by you;—do it not. It will injure your reputation."
Illa.—"Ha! you are jealous now, you little pious housesparrow, that the young men do not run after you too. How can I help it?"
Hæc.—"Every maiden can help it; were she as beautiful as could be seen, she can help it. Leave off, Sidonia, or evil will come of it, particularly as her Grace has heard that you are seeking to entice our young lord the Prince. See, I tell you the pure truth, that it may turn you from your light courses. Tell me, what can you mean by it?—for when noble youths demand your hand in marriage, you reject them, and say you never mean to marry. Can you think that our gracious Prince, a son of Pomerania, will make thee his duchess—thou who art only a common nobleman's daughter?"
Illa.—"A common nobleman's daughter!—that is good from the peasant-girl. You are common enough and low enough, I warrant; but my blood is as old as that of the Dukes of Pomerania, and besides, I am a castle and land dowered maiden. But who are you? who are you? Your forefathers were hunted out of Mecklenburg, and only got footing here in Pomerania out of charity."
Hæc.—"Do not be angry, dear lady—you say true; yet I must add that my forebears were once Counts in Mecklenburg, and from their loyalty to the Dukes of Pomerania were given possessions here in Daber, where they have been lords of castles and lands for two hundred and fifty years. Yet I will confess that your race is nobler than mine; but, dear child, I make no boast of my ancestry, nor is it fitting for either of us to do so. The right royal Prince, who is given as an example and model to us all—who is Lord, not over castle and land, but of the heavens and the earth—the Saviour, Jesus Christ—He took no account of His arms or His ancestry, though the whole starry universe was His banner. He was as humble to the little child as to the learned doctors in the temple—to the chiefs among the people, as to the trembling sinner and the blind beggar Bartimæus. Let us take, then, this Prince for our example, and mind our life long what He says—'Come unto Me, and learn of Me, for I am meek and lowly of heart.' Will you not learn of Him, dear lady? I will, if God give me grace."
And she extended her hand to Sidonia, who dashed it away, crying—"Stuff! nonsense! you have learned all this twaddle from the priest, who, I know, is nephew to the shoe-maker in Daber, and therefore hates any one who is above him in rank."
Clara was about to reply mildly; but they happened now to be standing close to the public flight of steps, and a peasant-girl ran up when she saw them, and flung herself at Clara's feet, entreating the young lady to save her, for she had run away from Daber, where they were going to burn her as a witch. The pious Clara recoiled in horror, and desiring her to rise, said—"Art thou Anne Wolde, some time keeper of the swine to my father? How fares it with my dearest father and my mother?"
They were well when she ran away, but she had been wandering now for fourteen days on the road, living upon roots and wild berries, or what the herds gave her out of their knapsacks for charity.
Hæc.—"What crime wast thou suspected of, girl, to be condemned to so terrible a death?"
Illa.—"She had a lover named Albert, who followed her everywhere, but as she would not listen to him he hated her, and pretended that she had given him a love-drink."
Here Sidonia laughed aloud, and asked if she knew how to brew the love-drink?
Illa.—"Yes; she learned from her elder sister how to make it, but had never tried it with any one, and was perfectly innocent of all they charged her with."
Here Clara shook her head, and wished to get rid of the witch-girl; for she thought, truly if Sidonia learns the brewing secret, she will poison and destroy the whole castleful, and we shall have the devil bodily with us in earnest. So she pushed away the girl, who still clung to her, weeping and lamenting. Hereupon Sidonia grew quite grave and pious all of a sudden, and said—
"See the hypocrite she is! She first sets before me the example of Christ, and then treats this poor sinner with nothing but cross thorns! Has not Christ said, 'Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy'? But only see how this bigot can have Christ on her tongue, but not in her heart!"
The pious Clara grew quite ashamed at such talk, and raising up the wretch who had again fallen on her knees, said—
"Well, thou mayest remain; so get thee to my maid, and she will give thee food. I shall also write to my father for thy pardon, and meanwhile ask leave from her Grace to allow thee to remain here until it arrives; but if thou art guilty, I cannot promise thee my protection any longer, and thou wilt be burned here, in place of at Daber."
So the witch-girl was content, and importuned them no further.
CHAPTER X.
How Sidonia Wished to learn the mystery of love-potions, but is hindered by Clara and the young Prince.
When Prince Ernest returned home after an absence of some days, Sidonia had changed her tactics, for now she never lifted up her eyes when they met, but passed on blushing and confused, and in place of speaking, as formerly, only sighed. This turned his head completely, and sent the blood so quickly through his veins that he found it a hard matter to conceal his feelings any longer. For this reason he determined to visit Sidonia in her own room as soon as he could hit upon a favourable opportunity, and bring her then a beautiful lute, inlaid with gold and silver, which he had purchased for her at Grypswald.
Now, it happened soon after, that her Grace and Clara went away one day into the town to purchase a jerkin for the little Prince Casimir, who accompanied them. Sidonia was immediately informed of their absence, and sought out Clara's maid without delay, put a piece of gold into her hand, and said—
"Send the strange girl from Daber to my room for a few minutes; she can perhaps give me some tidings of my dear father and family, for Daber is only a little way from Stramehl. But mind," she added, "keep this visit a secret, as well from her Grace as from your mistress Clara; otherwise we shall all be scolded."
So the maid very willingly complied, and brought the witch-girl directly to Sidonia's little apartment, and then ran to Clara's room to watch for the return of her Grace in time to give notice.
The witch-girl was quite confounded (as she afterwards confessed upon the rack) when Sidonia began—
"Thou knowest, Anne, that my entreaties alone obtained thee a shelter here, for I pitied thee from the first; and from what I hear, it is certain that her Grace means to deal no better with thee than thy judges at Daber, therefore my advice is—escape if thou canst."
Illa, weeping.—"Where can I go? I shall die of hunger, or they will arrest me again as an evil-minded witch, and carry me back to Daber."
"But do not tell them, stupid goose, that thou hast come from
Daber."
Illa.—"But what could she say? Besides, she had no money, and so must be lost and ruined for ever."
"Well, I shall give thee gold enough to get thee through all dangers. I give it, mind, out of pure Christian charity; but now tell me honestly—canst thou really make a love-drink?"
Illa.—"Yes; her sister had taught her."
"Is the drink of equal power for men and women?"
Illa.—"Yes; without doubt, it would make either mad with love."
"Has it ever an injurious effect upon them? does it take away their strength?"
Illa.—"Yes; they fall down like flies. Some lose their memory, others become blind or lame."
"Has she ever tried its effects upon any one herself?"
Illa.—"But will the lady betray me?"
"Out, fool! When I have promised thee gold enough to insure thy escape! I betray thee!"
Illa.—"Then she will tell the lady the whole truth. She did give a love-drink to Albert, because he grew cross, and spent the nights away from her, and complained if she idled a little, so that her master beat her. Therefore she determined to punish him, and a rash came out over his whole body, so that he could neither sit nor lie for six weeks, and at night he had to be tied to a post with a hand-towel; but all this time his love for her grew so burning, that although he had previously hated and beaten her, yet now if she only brought him a drink of cold water, for which he was always screaming, he would kiss her hands and feet even though she spat in his face, and he would certainly have died if his relations had not found out an old woman who unbewitched him; whereupon his love came to an end, and he informed against her."
That must be a wonderful drink. Would the girl teach her how to brew it?
But just then our Lord God sent yet another warning to Sidonia, through His angel, to turn her from her villainy, for as the girl was going to answer, a knock was heard at the chamber-door. They both grew as white as chalk; but Sidonia bethought herself of a hiding-place, and bid the other creep under the bed while she went to the door to see who knocked, and as she opened it, so there stood Prince Ernest bodily before her eyes, with the lute in his hand.
"Ah, gracious Prince, what brings you here? I pray your Highness, for the sake of God, to leave me. What would be said if any one saw you here?"
"But who is to see us, my beautiful maiden? My gracious mother has gone out to drive; and now, just look at this lute that I have purchased for you in Grypswald. Will it please thee, sweet one?"
Illa.—"Alas, gracious Prince, of what use will it be to me, when I have no one to teach me how to play?"
"I will teach thee, oh, how willingly, but—thou knowest what I would say."
Illa.—"No, no, I dare not learn from your Highness. Now go, and do not make me more miserable."
"What makes thee miserable, enchanting Sidonia?"
Illa.—"Ah, if your Highness could know how this heart burns within me like a fire! What will become of me? Would that I were dead—oh, I am a miserable maiden! If your Highness were but a simple noble, then I might hope—but now. Woe is me! I must go! Yes, I must go!"
"Why must thou go, my own sweet darling? and why dost thou wish me to be only a simple noble? Canst thou not love a duke better than a noble?"
Illa.—"Gracious Prince, what is a poor count's daughter to your princely Highness? and would her Grace ever consent? Ah no, I must go—I must go!"
Here she sobbed so violently, and covered her eyes with her hands, that the young Duke could no longer restrain his feelings. He seized her passionately in his arms, and was kissing away the crocodile tears, when lo, another knock came to the door, and Sidonia grew paler even than the first time, for there was no place to hide the Prince in, as the witch-wench was already under the bed, and not even quite hidden, for some of her red petticoat was visible round the post, and one could easily see by the way it moved that some living body was in it, for the girl was trembling with the most horrible fear and fright. But the Prince was too absorbed in love either to notice all this or to mind the knock at the door.
Sidonia, however, knew well that it was over with them now, and she pushed away the young Prince, just as the door opened and Clara entered, who grew quite pale, and clasped her hands together when she saw the Duke and Sidonia together; then the tears fell fast from her eyes, and she could utter nothing but—"Ah, my gracious Prince—my poor innocent Prince—what has brought you here?" but neither of them spoke a word. "You are lost," exclaimed Clara; "the Duchess is coming up the corridor, and has just stopped to look at her pet cat and the kittens there by the page's room. Hasten, young Prince—hasten to meet her before she comes a step further."
So the young lord darted out of the chamber, and found his gracious mother still examining her kittens, whereupon he prayed her then to descend with him to the courtyard and look also at his fine hounds, to which she consented.
The moment Prince Ernest disappeared, Clara commenced upbraiding Sidonia for her evil ways, which could not be any longer denied—for had she not seen all with her own eyes?—and she now conjured her by the living God to turn away from the young Duke, and select some noble of her own rank as her husband. This could easily be done when so many loved her; but as to the Prince, as long as her Grace and Ulrich lived, or even one single branch of the princely house of Pomerania, this marriage would never be permitted, let the young lord do or say what he chose.
"Ah, thou pious old priest in petticoats," exclaimed Sidonia, "who told thee I wanted to marry the Prince? How can I help if he chooses to come in here and, though I weep and resist, takes me in his arms and kisses me? So leave off thy preaching, and tell me rather what brings thee spying to my room?"
Then Clara remembered what had really been her errand, although the love-scene had put everything else out of her head until now, and replied—"I was seeking the witch-girl from Daber, for when I went out with her Grace, I left her in charge of my maid; but as we returned home by the little garden gate, I slipped up to my room by the private stairs without any one seeing me, and found my maid looking out of the window, but no girl was to be seen. When I asked what had become of her, the maid answered she knew not, the girl must have slipped away while her back was turned, so I came here to ask if you had seen the impudent hussy, for I fear if her wings are not clipped she will do harm to some one."
Here Sidonia grew quite indignant—what could she know of a vile witch-wench? Besides, she had not been ten minutes there in the room.
"But perchance the bird has found herself a nest somewhere," said Clara, looking towards the bed; "methinks, indeed, I see some of the feathers, for surely a red gown never trembled that way under a bed unless there was something living inside of it." When the witch-girl heard this her fright increased, so that, to make matters worse, she pulled her gown in under the bed, upon which Clara kneeled down, lifted the coverlet, and found the owl in its nest. Now she had to creep out weeping and howling, and promised to tell everything.
But Sidonia gave her a look which she understood well, and therefore when she stood up straight by the bed, begged piteously that the Lady Clara would not scold her for having tried to escape, because she herself had threatened her with being burned there as well as at Daber, so not knowing where to hide, and seeing the Lady Sidonia's door open, she crept in there and got under the bed, intending to wait till night came and then ask her aid in effecting her flight, for the Lady Sidonia was the only one in the castle who had shown her Christian compassion.
Hereat Sidonia rose up as if in great rage, and said, "Ha! thou impudent wench, how darest thou reckon on my protection!" and seizing her by the hand—in which, however, she pressed a piece of gold—pushed her violently out of the door.
Now Clara, thinking that this was the whole truth, fell weeping upon Sidonia's neck, and asked forgiveness for her suspicions. "There, that will do," said Sidonia,—"that will do, old preacher; only be more cautious in future. What! am I to poke under my bed to see if any one is hiding there? You may go, for I suppose you have often hidden a lover there, your eyes turn to it so naturally."
As Clara grew red with shame, Sidonia drew the witch-girl again into the room, and giving her a box on the ear that made her teeth chatter—"Now, confess," said she, "what I said to the young lord without knowing that you were listening." So the poor girl answered weeping, "Nothing but what was good did you say to him, namely, that he should go away; and then you pushed him so violently when he attempted to kiss you, that he stumbled over against the bed."
"See, now, my pious preacher," said Sidonia, "this girl confirms exactly what I told you; so now go along with you, you hussy, or mayhap you will come off no better than she has done."
Hereupon Clara went away humbly with the witch-girl to her own room, and never uttered another word. Nevertheless the affair did not seem quite satisfactory to her yet. So she conferred with her betrothed, Marcus Bork, on the subject. For when he carried books for her Highness from the ducal library, it was his custom to scrape with his feet in a peculiar manner as he passed Clara's door; then she knew who it was, and opened it. And as her maid was present, they conversed together in the Italian tongue; for they were both learned, not only in God's Word, but in all other knowledge, so that people talk about them yet in Pomeranian land for these things.
Clara therefore told him the whole affair in Italian, before her maid and the witch-girl—of the visit of the young Prince, and how the girl was lying hid under the bed, and asked him was it not likely that Sidonia had brought her there to teach her how to brew the love-drink, with which she would then have bewitched the Prince and all the men-folk in the castle, and ought she not to warn her Grace of the danger.
But Marcus answered, that if the witch-girl had been at the castle weeks before, he might have supposed that Sidonia had received the secret of the love-potion from her, since every man, old and young, was mad for love of her—but now he must needs confess that Sidonia's eyes and deceiving mouth were magic sufficient; and that it was not likely she would bring a vile damsel to her room to teach her that which she knew already so perfectly. So he thought it better not to tell her Highness anything on the subject. Besides, if the wench were examined, who knows what she might tell of Sidonia and the young lord that would bring shame on the princely house of Wolgast, since she had been hid under the bed all the time, and perhaps only kept silence through fear. It were well therefore on every account not to let the matter get wind, and to shut up the wench safely in the witches' tower until the answer came from Daber. If she were pronounced really guilty, it would then be time enough to question her on the rack about the love-drink and the conversation between the young lord and Sidonia.
So this course was agreed on. It is, however, much to be regretted that Clara did not follow the promptings of her good angel, and tell all to her Grace and old Ulrich; for then much misfortune and scandal would have been spared to the whole Pomeranian land. But she followed her bride-groom's advice, and kept all secret. The witch-girl, however, was locked up that very day in the witches' tower, to guard against future evil.
CHAPTER XI.
How Sidonia repeated the catechism of Dr. Gerschovius, and how she whipped the young Casimir, out of pure evil-mindedness.
The Sunday came at last when Sidonia was to be examined publicly in the catechism of Dr. Gerschovius. Her Grace was filled with anxiety to see how all would terminate, for every one suspected (as indeed was the case) that not one word of it would she be able to repeat. So the church was crowded, and all the young men attended without exception, knowing what was to go forward, and fearing for Sidonia, because this Dr. Gerschovius was a stern, harsh man; but she herself seemed to care little about the matter, for she entered her Grace's closet as usual (which was right opposite the pulpit), and threw herself carelessly into a corner. However, when the doctor entered the pulpit she became more grave, and finally, when his discourse was drawing near to the close, she rose up quietly and glided out of the closet, intending to descend to the gardens. Her Grace did not perceive her movement, in consequence of the hat with the heron's plume which she wore, for the feathers drooped down at the side next Sidonia, and the other ladies were too much alarmed to venture to draw her attention to the circumstance. But the priest from the pulpit saw her well, and called out—"Maiden! maiden! Whither go you? Remember ye have to repeat your catechism!"
Then Sidonia grew quite pale, for her Grace and all the congregation fixed their eyes on her. So when she felt quite conscious that she was looking pale, she said, "You see from my face that I am not well; but if I get better, doubt not but that I shall return immediately." Here all the maids of honour put up their kerchiefs to hide their laughter, and the young nobles did the same.
So she went away; but they might wait long enough, I think, for her to come back. In vain her Grace watched until the priest left the pulpit, and then sent two of her ladies to look for the hypocrite; but they returned declaring that she was nowhere to be seen.
Summa.—The whole service was ended, and her Grace looked as angry as the doctor; and when the organ had ceased, and the people were beginning to depart, she called out from her closet—
"Let every one come this way, and accompany me to Sidonia's apartment. There I shall make her repeat the catechism before ye all. Messengers shall be despatched in all directions until they find out her hiding-place."
This pleased the doctor and Ulrich well. So they all proceeded to Sidonia's little room; for there she was, to their great surprise, seated upon a chair with a smelling-bottle in her hand. Whereupon her Grace demanded what ailed her, and why she had not stayed to repeat the catechism.
Illa.—"Ah! she was so weak, she would certainly have fainted, if she had not descended to the garden for a little fresh air. She was so distressed that her Grace had been troubled sending for her, of which she was not aware until now."
"Are you better now?" asked her Grace.
Illa.—"Rather better. The fresh air had done her good."
"Then," quoth her Grace, "you shall recite the catechism here for the doctor; for, in truth, Christianity is as necessary to you as water to a fish."
The doctor now cleared his throat to begin; but she stopped him pertly, saying—
"I do not choose to say my catechism here in my room, like a little child. Grown-up maidens are always heard in the church."
Howbeit, her Grace motioned to him not to heed her. So to his first question she replied rather snappishly, "You have your answer already."
No wonder the priest grew black with rage. But seeing a book lying open on a little table beside her bed, and thinking it was the catechism of Dr. Gerschovius which she had been studying, he stepped over to look. But judge his horror when he found that it was a volume of the Amadis de Gaul, and was lying open at the eighth chapter, where he read—"How the Prince Amadis de Gaul loved the Princess Rosaliana, and was beloved in return, and how they both attained to the accomplishment of their desires."
He dashed the book to the ground furiously, stamped upon it, and cried—
"So, thou wanton, this is thy Bible and thy catechism! Here thou learnest how to make young men mad! Who gave thee this infamous book? Speak! Who gave it to thee?"
So Sidonia looked up timidly, and said, weeping, "It was his Highness Duke Barnim who gave it to her, and told her it was a merry book, and good against low spirits."
Here the Duchess, who had lifted up her hand to give her a box on the ear, let it fall again with a deep sigh when she heard of the old Prince having given her such an infamous book, and lamented loudly, crying—
"Who will free me from this shameless wanton, who makes all the court mad? Truly says Scripture, 'A beautiful woman without discretion is like a circlet of gold upon a swine's head.' Ah! I know that now. But I trust my messengers will soon return whom I have despatched to Stettin and Stramehl, and then I shall get rid of thee, thou wanton, for which God be thanked for evermore."
Then she turned to leave the room with old Ulrich, who only shook his head, but remained as mute as a fish. Doctor Gerschovius, however, stayed behind with Sidonia, in order to exhort her to virtue; but as she only wept and did not seem to hear him, he grew tired, and finally went his way, also with many sighs and uplifting of his hands.
A little after, as Sidonia was howling just out of pure
ill-temper, for, in my opinion, nothing ailed her, the little
Prince Casimir ran in to look for his mamma—she had gone to hear
Sidonia her catechism, they told him.
"What did he want with his lady mamma?"
"His new jerkin hurt him, he wanted her to tie it another way for him; but is it really true, Sidonia, that you do not know your catechism? I can say it quite well. Just come now and hear me say it."
It is probable that her Grace and the doctor had devised this plan in order to shame Sidonia, by showing her how even a little child could repeat it; but she took it angrily, and, calling him over, said, "Yes; come—I will hear you your catechism." And as the little boy came up close beside her, she slung him across her knee, pulled down his hose, and—oh, shame!—whipped his Serene Highness upon his princely podex, that it would have melted the heart of a stone. How this shows her cruel and evil disposition—to revenge on the child what she had to bear from the mother. Fie on the maiden!
And here my gracious Prince will say—"O Theodore, this matter surely might have been passed over, since it brings a disrespect upon my princely house."
I answer—"Gracious Lord and Prince, my most humble services are due to your Grace, but truth must be still truth, however it may displease your Highness. Besides, by no other act could I have so well proved the infernal evil in this woman's nature; for if she could dare to lay her godless hand upon one of your illustrious race, then all her future acts are perfectly comprehensible. [Footnote: Note by Duke Bogislaff XIV.—This is true, and therefore I consent to let it remain; and I remember that Prince Casimir told me long afterwards that the scene remained indelibly impressed on his memory. "For," he said, "the wild eyes and the terrible voice of the witch frightened me more even than her cruel hand; as if even there I detected the devil in her, though I was but a little boy at the time."] When the malicious wretch let the boy go, he darted out of the room and ran down the whole corridor, screaming out that he would tell his mamma about Sidonia; but Zitsewitz met him, and having heard the story, the amorous old fool took him up in his arms, and promised him heaps of beautiful things if he would hold his tongue and not say a word more to any one, and that he would give Sidonia a good whipping himself, in return for what she had done to him. So, in short, her Grace never heard of the insult until after Sidonia's departure from court."
Had her Highness been in her apartment, she must have heard the child scream; but it so happened that just then she was walking up and down the ducal gardens, whither she had gone to cool her anger.
Soon after a stately ship was seen sailing down the river from Penemunde, [Footnote: A town in Pomerania.] which attracted all eyes in the castle, for on the deck stood a noble youth, with a heron's plume waving from his cap, and he held a tame sea-gull upon his hand, which from time to time flew off and dived into the water, bringing up all sorts of fish, great and small, in its beak, with which it immediately flew back to the handsome youth.
"Ah!" exclaimed Clara, "there must be the sons of our gracious
Princess! for to-morrow is her birthday, and here comes the noble
bishop, Johann Frederick of Camyn, and his brother, Duke Bogislaff
XIII., to pay their respects to their gracious mother."
Her Grace, however, would scarcely credit that the handsome youth who was fishing after so elegant a manner was indeed her own beloved son; but Clara clapped her hands now, crying, "Look! your Grace—look! there is the flag hoisted!" And indeed there fluttered from the mast now the bishop's own arms. So the warder blew his horn, which was answered by the warder of St. Peter's in the town, and the bells in all the towers rang out, and the castellan ordered the cannon in the courtyard to be fired off.
Her Grace was now thoroughly convinced, and weeping for joy, ran down to the little water-gate, where old Ulrich already stood waiting to receive the princes. As the vessel approached, however, they discovered that the handsome youth was not the bishop, but Duke Bogislaff, who had been staying on a visit at his brother's court at Camyn, along with several high prelates. The bishop, Johann Frederick, did not accompany him, for he was obliged to remain at home, in order to receive a visit from the Prince of Brandenburg.
When the Duke stepped on shore he embraced his weeping mother joyfully, and said he came to offer her his congratulations on her birthday, and that she must not weep but laugh, for there should be a dance in honour of it, and a right merry feast at the castle on the morrow.
Then he tumbled out on the bridge all the fish which the bird had caught; and her Grace wondered greatly, and stroked it as it sat upon the shoulder of the Prince. So he asked if the bird pleased her Grace, and when she answered "Yes," he said, "Then, dearest mother, let it be my birthday gift to you. I have trained it myself, and tried it here, as you see, upon the river. So any afternoon that you and your ladies choose to amuse yourselves with a sail, this bird will fish for you as long as you please, while you row down the river."
Ah, what a good son was this handsome young Duke!—and when I think that Sidonia murdered them all—all—even this noble Prince, my heart seems to break, and the pen falls from my fingers. [Footnote: Note by Duke Bogislaff XIV.—Et quid mihi, misero filio? Domine in manus tuas commando spiritum meum, quia tu me redemisti fide Deus! (And what remains to me, wretched son? Lord, into Thy hands I commend my spirit, for Thou hast redeemed me, Thou God of truth.)—When one thinks that it was the general belief in that age that the whole ducal race had been destroyed and blasted by Sidonia's sorceries, it is impossible not to be affected by these melancholy yet resigned and Christian words of the last orphaned and childless representative of the ancient and illustrious house of Wolgast.]
But to continue. The Duchess embraced the fine young Prince, who still continued talking of the dance they must have next day. It was time now for his gracious mother to give up mourning for her deceased lord, he said.
But her Grace would not hear of a dance; and replied that she would continue to mourn for her dear lord all the rest of her life, to whom she had been wedded by Doctor Martinus. However, the Duke repeated his entreaties, and all the young nobles added theirs, and finally Prince Ernest besought her Grace not to deny them permission to have a festival on the morrow, as it was to honour her birthday. So she at last consented; but old Ulrich shook his head, and took her Grace aside to warn her of the scandal which would assuredly arise when the young nobles had drunk and grew excited by Sidonia. Hereupon her Grace made answer that she would take care Sidonia should cause no scandal—"As she has refused to learn her catechism, she must not appear at the feast. It will be a fitting punishment to keep her a prisoner for the whole day, and therefore I shall lock her up myself in her own room, and put the key in my pocket."
So Ulrich was well pleased, and all separated for the night with much contentment and hopes of enjoyment on the morrow.
CHAPTER XII.
Of Appelmann's knavery—Item, how the birthday of her Highness was celebrated, and Sidonia managed to get to the dance, with the uproar caused thereby.
Before I proceed further, it will be necessary to state what happened a few days before concerning Prince Ernest's chief equerry, Johann Appelmann, otherwise many might doubt the facts I shall have to relate, though God knows I speak the pure truth.
One came to his lordship the Grand Chamberlain—he was a shoemaker of the town—and complained to him of Appelmann, who had been courting his daughter for a long while, and running after her until finally he had disgraced her in the eyes of the whole town, and brought shame and scandal into his house. So he prayed Lord Ulrich to make the shameless profligate take his daughter to wife, as he had fairly promised her marriage long ago.
Now Ulrich had long suspected the knave of bad doings, for many pearls and jewels had lately been missing from her Grace's shabrack and horse-trappings, and the groom, who always laid them on her Grace's white palfrey, knew nothing about them, though he was even put to the torture; but as Appelmann had all these things in his sole keeping, it was natural to think that he was not quite innocent. Besides, three hundred sacks of oats were missing on the new year, and no one knew what had become of them.
Therefore Ulrich sent for the cheating rogue, and upbraided him with his profligate courses, also telling him that he must wed the shoemaker's daughter immediately. But the cunning knave knew better, and swore by all the saints that he was innocent, and finally prevailed upon Prince Ernest to intercede for him, so that Ulrich promised to give him a little longer grace, but then assuredly he would bring him to a strict account.
And Appelmann drove the Prince that same day to Grypswald, to find out more musicians for the castle band, as the march of Duke Bogislaff the Great was to be played by eighty drums and forty trumpets in the grand ducal hall, to honour the birthday of her Highness.
One can imagine what Sidonia felt when the Duchess announced that as she had refused to learn the catechism, and was neither obedient to God nor her Grace, she should remain a strict prisoner in her own room during the festival, as a signal punishment for her ungodly behaviour. But her maid might bring her food of all that she chose from the feast.
Sidonia first prayed her Grace to forgive her for the love of God, and she would learn the whole catechism by heart. But as this had no effect, then she wept and lamented loudly, and at length fell down upon her knees before her Grace, who would, however, be neither moved nor persuaded; and when Sidonia threatened at last to leave her room, the Duchess went out, locked the door, and put the key in her pocket. The prisoner howled enough then, I warrant.
But what did she do now, the cunning minx? She gave her maid a piece of gold, and told her to go up and down the corridor, crying and wringing her hands, and when any one asked what was the matter, to say, "That her beautiful young lady was dying of grief, because the Duchess had locked her up, like a little school-girl, in her own room, and all for not knowing the catechism of Dr. Gerschovius, which indeed was not taught in her part of the country, but another, which she had learned quite well in her childhood. And so for this, her poor young lady was not to be allowed to dance at the festival." The maid was to say all this in particular to Prince Ernest; or if he did not pass through the corridor, she was to stop weeping and groaning at his chamber-door, until he came out to ask what was the matter.
The maid followed the instructions right well, and in less than an hour every soul in the castle, down to the cooks and washerwomen, knew what had happened, and everywhere the Duchess went she was assailed by old and young, great and small, with petitions of pardon for Sidonia.
Her Grace, however, bid them all be silent, and threatened if they made such shameless requests to forbid the festival altogether. But when Prince Ernest likewise petitioned in her favour, she was angry, and said, "He ought to be ashamed of himself. It was now plain what a fool the girl had made of him. Her maternal heart would break, she knew it would—and this day would be one of sorrow in place of joy to her; all on account of this girl."
So the young Prince had to hold his peace for this time; but he sent a message, nevertheless, to Sidonia, telling her not to fret, for that he would take her out of her room and bring her to the dance, let what would happen.
Next morning, by break of day, the whole castle and town were alive with preparations for the festival. It was now seven years—that is, since the death of Duke Philip—since any one had danced in the castle except the rats and mice, and even yet the splendour of this festival is talked of in Wolgast; and many of the old people yet living there remember it well, and gave me many curious particulars thereof, which I shall set down here, that it may be known how such affairs were conducted in old time at our ducal courts.
In the morning, by ten of the clock, the young princes, nobles, clergy, and the honourable counsellors of the town, assembled in the grand ducal hall, built by Duke Philip after the great fire, and which extended up all through the three stories of the castle. At the upper end of the hall was the grand painted window, sixty feet high, on which was delineated the pilgrimage of Duke Bogislaff the Great to Jerusalem, all painted by Gerard Homer; [Footnote: A Frieslander, and the most celebrated painter on glass of his time.] and round on the walls banners, and shields, and helmets, and cuirasses, while all along each side, four feet from the ground, there were painted on the walls figures of all the animals found in Pomerania: bears, wolves, elks, stags, deer, otters, &c., all exquisitely imitated.
When all the lords had assembled, the drums beat and trumpets sounded, whereupon the Pomeranian marshal flung open the great doors of the hall, which were wreathed with flowers from the outside, and the princely widow entered with great pomp, leading the little Casimir by the hand. She was arrayed in the Pomeranian costume—namely, a white silk under-robe, and over it a surcoat of azure velvet, brocaded with silver, and open in front. A long train of white velvet, embroidered in golden laurel wreaths, was supported by twelve pages dressed in black velvet cassocks with Spanish ruffs. Upon her head the Duchess wore a coif of scarlet velvet with small plumes, from which a white veil, spangled with silver stars, hung down to her feet. Round her neck she had a scarlet velvet band, twisted with a gold chain; and from it depended a balsam flask, in the form of a greyhound, which rested on her bosom.
As her Serene Highness entered with fresh and blushing cheeks, all bowed low and kissed her hand, glittering with diamonds. Then each offered his congratulations as best he could.
Amongst them came Johann Neander, Archdeacon of St. Peter's, who was seeking preferment, considering that his present living was but a poor one; and so he presented her Grace with a printed tractatum dedicated to her Highness, in which the question was discussed whether the ten virgins mentioned in Matt. xxv. were of noble or citizen rank. But Doctor Gerschovius made a mock of him for this afterwards, before the whole table. [Footnote: Over these exegetical disquisitions of a former age we smile, and with reason; but we, pedantic Germans, have carried our modern exegetical mania to such absurd lengths, that we are likely to become as much a laughing-stock to our contemporaries, as well as to posterity, as this Johannes Neander. In fact, our exegetists are mostly pitiful schoolmasters—word-anatomists—and one could as little learn the true spirit of an old classic poet from our pedantic philologists, as the true sense of holy Scripture from our scholastic theologians. What with their grammar twistings, their various readings, their dubious punctuations, their mythical, and who knows what other meanings, their hair-splittings, and prosy vocable tiltings, we find at last that they are willing to teach us everything but that which really concerns us, and, like the Danaides, they let the water of life run through the sieve of their learning. We may apply to them truly that condemnation of our Lord's (Matt, xxiii. 24)—"Ye blind guides; ye strain at a gnat, and swallow a camel."]
Now, when all the congratulations were over, the Duchess asked Prince Ernest if the water-works in the courtyard had been completed, [Footnote: The Prince took much interest in hydraulics, and built a beautiful and costly aqueduct for the town of Wolgast.] and when he answered "Yes," "Then," quoth her Grace, "they shall run with Rostock beer to-day, if it took fifty tuns; for all my people, great and small, shall keep festival to-day; and I have ordered my court baker to give a loaf of bread and a good drink to every one that cometh and asketh. And now, as it is fitting, let us present ourselves in the church."
So the bells rung, and the whole procession swept through the corridor and down the great stairs, with drums and trumpets going before. Then followed the marshal with his staff, and the Grand Chamberlain, Ulrich von Schwerin, wearing his beautiful hat (a present from her Highness), looped up with a diamond aigrette, and spangled with little golden stars. Then came the Duchess, supported on each side by the young princes, her sons; and the nobles, knights, pages, and others brought up the rear, according to their rank and dignity.
As they passed Sidonia's room, she began to beat the door and cry like a little spoiled child; but no one minded her, and the procession moved on to the courtyard, where the soldatesca fired a salute, not only from their muskets, but also from the great cannon called "the Old Aunt," which gave forth a deep joy-sigh. From all the castle windows hung banners and flags bearing the arms of Pomerania and Saxony, and the pavement was strewed with flowers.
As they passed Sidonia's window she opened it, and appeared magnificently attired, and glittering with pearls and diamonds, but also weeping bitterly. At this sight old Ulrich gnashed his teeth for rage, but all the young men, and Prince Ernest in particular, felt their hearts die in them for sorrow. So they passed on through the great north gate out on the castle wall, from whence the whole town and harbour were visible. Here the flags fluttered from the masts and waved from the towers, and the people clapped their hands and cried "Huzza!" (for in truth they had heard about the beer, to my thinking, before the Princess came out upon the walls). Summa: There was never seen such joy; and after having service in church, they all returned to the castle in the same order, and set themselves down to the banquet.
I got a list of the courses at the table of the Duchess from old Küssow, and I shall here set it down, that people may see how our fathers banqueted eighty years ago in Pomerania; but, God help us! in these imperial days there is little left for us to grind our teeth upon. So smell thereat, and you will still get a delicious savour from these good old times.
First Course.—1. A soup; 2. An egg-soup, with saffron, peppercorns, and honey thereon; 3. Stewed mutton, with onions strewed thereon; 4. A roasted capon, with stewed plums.
Second Course.—1. Ling, with oil and raisins; 2. Beef, baked in oil; 3. Eels, with pepper; 4. Dried fish, with Leipsic mustard.
Third Course.—1. A salad, with eggs; 2. Jellies strewed with almond and onion seed; 3. Omelettes, with honey and grapes; 4. Pastry, and many other things besides.
Fourth Course.—1. A roast goose with red beet-root, olives, capers, and cucumbers; 2. Little birds fried in lard, with radishes; 3. Venison; 4. Wild boar, with the marrow served on toasted rolls. In conclusion, all manner of pastry, with fritters, cakes, and fancy confectionery of all kinds.
So her Grace selected something from each dish herself, and despatched it to Sidonia by her maid; but the maiden would none of them, and sent all back with a message that she had no heart to gormandise and feast; but her Grace might send her some bread and water, which was alone fitting for a poor prisoner to receive.
The young men could bear this no longer, their patience was quite exhausted, and their courage rose as the wine-cups were emptied. So at length Prince Ernest whispered to his brother Bogislaus to put in a good word for Sidonia. He refused, however, and Prince Ernest was ashamed to name her himself; but some of the young pages who waited on her Grace were bold enough to petition for her pardon, whereupon her Grace gave them a very sharp reproof.
After dinner the Duchess and Prince Bogislaus went up the stream in a pleasure-boat to try the tame sea-gull, and her Grace requested Lord Ulrich to accompany them. But he answered that he was more necessary to the castle that evening than a night-watch in a time of war, particularly if the young Prince was to have Rostock beer play from the fountains in place of water.