The bold knight was now completely silenced, and the good-natured Duke, seeing that he had not a word to say in reply, advanced to his rescue, and changed the conversation by saying—
"See, Otto, the wind seems so favourable just now, that I think we had better say 'Vale' to our gracious hostess in the morning, and return to Stettin."
Not a word did his Grace venture to say more about the wager of the kisses, for his dear cousin's demeanour restrained even his hilarity. Otto had nothing to object to the arrangement; and her Grace said, if they were not willing longer to abide at her widowed court, she would bid them both Godspeed upon their journey. "And you, sir knight, may take back your daughter Sidonia, for our dear son, as you may perceive, is now quite restored, and no longer needs her nursing. For the good deed she has wrought in curing him, I shall recompense her as befits me. But at my court the maiden can no longer abide."
The knight was at first so thunderstruck by these words that he could not speak; but at last drawing himself up proudly, he said, "Good; I shall take the Lady Sidonia back with me to my castle; but as touching the recompense, keep it for those who need it." Sidonia, however, remained quite silent, as did also the young lord.
But hear what happened. The festival lasted until late in the night, and then suddenly such a faintness and bodily weakness came over the young Prince Ernest that all the physicians had to be sent for; and they with one accord entreated her Grace, if she valued his life, not to send away Sidonia.
One can imagine what her Grace felt at this news. Nothing would persuade her to believe but that Sidonia had given him some witch-drink, such as the girl out of Daber had taught her to make.
No one could believe either that his Highness affected this sickness, in order to force his mother to keep Sidonia at the court; indeed, he afterwards strongly asseverated, and this at a time when he would have killed Sidonia with a look, if it had been possible, that this weakness came upon him suddenly like an ague, and that it could not have been caused by anything she had given him, for he had eaten nothing, except at the banquet at the Cisan tower.
In short, the young Prince became as bad as ever; but Sidonia never heeded him, only busied herself packing up her things, as if she really intended going away with Otto, and finally, as eight o'clock struck the next morning, she wrapped herself in her mantle and hood, and went with her father and Duke Barnim to take leave of her Grace. She looked as bitter and sour as a vinegar-cruet—nothing would tempt her to remain even for one day longer. What was her Grace to do? the young lord was dying, and had already despatched two pages to her, entreating for one sight of Sidonia! She must give the artful hypocrite good words—but they were of no avail—Sidonia insisted on leaving the castle that instant with her father; then turning to Duke Barnim, she exclaimed with bitter tears, "Now, gracious Prince, you see yourself how I am treated here."
Neither would the cunning Otto permit his daughter to remain on any account, unless, indeed, her Grace gave him a written authority to receive the dues on the Jena. Such shameless knavery at last enraged the old Duke Barnim to such a degree that he cried out—"Listen, Otto, my illustrious cousin here has no more to do with the dues on the Jena than you have; they belong to me alone, and I can give no promise until I lay the question before my council and the diet of the Stettin dukedom: be content, therefore, to wait until then." One may easily guess what was the termination of the little drama got up by Otto and his fair daughter—namely, that Otto sailed away with the Duke, and that Sidonia remained at the court of Wolgast.
CHAPTER XVI.
_How the ghost continued to haunt the castle, and of its daring behaviour—Item, how the young lord regained his strength, and was able to visit Crummyn, with what happened to him there.
So Sidonia was again seated by the couch of the young Prince, with her hand in his hand; but her Grace, as may well be imagined, was never very far off from them; and this annoyed Sidonia so much, that she did not scruple to treat the mourning mother and princely widow with the utmost contempt; at last disdaining even to answer the questions addressed to her by her Grace. All this the Duchess bore patiently for the sake of her dear son. But even Prince Ernest felt, at length, ashamed of such insolent scorn being displayed towards his mother, and said—
"What, Sidonia, will you not even answer my gracious mother?"
Hereupon the hypocrite sighed, and answered—
"Ah, my gracious Prince! I esteem it better to pray in silence beside your bed than to hold a loud chattering in your ears. Besides, when I am speaking to God I cannot, at the same time, answer your lady mother."
This pleased the young man, and he pressed her little hand, and kissed it. And very shortly after, his strength returned to him wonderfully, so that her Grace and Sidonia only watched by him one night. The next day he fell into a profound sleep, and awoke from it perfectly recovered.
In the meantime, the ghost became so daring and troublesome, that all the house stood in fear of it. Oftentimes it would be seen even in the clear morning light; and a maid, who had forgotten to make the bed of one of the grooms, and ran to the stables at night to finish her work, encountered the ghost there, and nearly died of fright. Item, Clara von Dewitz, one beautiful moonlight night, having gone out to take a turn up and down the corridor, because she could not sleep from the toothache, saw the apparition, just as day dawned, sinking down into the earth, not far from the chamber of Sidonia, to her great horror and astonishment. Item, her Grace, that very same night, having heard a noise in the corridor, opened her door, and there stood the ghost before her, leaning against a pillar. She was horror-struck, and clapped to her door hastily, but said nothing to the young Prince, for fear of alarming him.
He had recovered, as I have said, in a most wonderful manner, and though still looking pale and haggard, yet his love for the maiden would not permit him to defer his visit to Crummyn any longer; particularly as it lay only half a mile from the castle, but on the opposite bank of the river, near the island of Usdom.
Thereupon, on the fourth night, he descended to the little water-gate, having previously arranged with his chief equerry, Appelmann, to have a boat there in readiness for him, and also a good horse, to take across the ferry with them to the other side. So, at twelve o'clock, he and Appelmann embarked privately, with Johann Bruwer, the ferryman, and were safely landed at Mahlzow. Here he mounted his horse, and told the two others to await his return, and conceal themselves in the wood if any one approached. Appelmann begged permission to accompany his Highness, which, however, was denied; the young Prince charging them strictly to hold themselves concealed till his return, and never reveal to human being where they had conducted him this evening, on pain of his severe anger and loss of favour for ever; but if they held their secret close, he would recompense them at no distant time, in a manner even far beyond their hopes.
So his Highness rode off to Crummyn, where all was darkness, except, indeed, one small ray of light that glanced from the lower windows of the cloister—for it was standing at that time. He dismounted, tied his horse to a tree, and knocked at the window, through which he had a glimpse of an old woman, in nun's garments, who held a crucifix between her hands, and prayed.
"Who are you?" she demanded. "What can you want here at such an hour?"
"I am from Wolgast," he answered, "and must see the priest of
Crummyn."
"There is no priest here now."
"But I have been told that a priest of the name of Neigialink lived here."
Illa.—"He was a Lutheran swaddler and no priest, otherwise he would not live in open sin with a nun."
"It is all the same to me; only come and show me the way."
Illa.—"Was he a heathen or a true Christian?"
His Highness could not make out what the old mother meant, but when he answered, "I am a Christian," she opened the door, and let him enter her cell. As she lifted up the lamp, however, she started back in terror at his young, pale, haggard face. Then, looking at his rich garments, she cried—
"This must be a son of good Duke Philip's, for never were two faces more alike."
The Prince never imagined that the old mother could betray him, and therefore answered, "Yes; and now lead me to the priest."
So the old mother began to lament over the downfall of the pure Christian doctrine, which his father, Duke Philip, had upheld so bravely. And if the young lord held the true faith (as she hoped by his saying he was a Christian), if so, then she would die happy, and the sooner the better—even if it were this night, for she was the last of all the sisterhood, all the other nuns having died of grief; and so she went on chattering.
Prince Ernest regretted that he had not time to discourse with her upon the true faith, but would she tell him where the priest was to be found.
Illa.—"She would take him to the parson, but he must first do her a service."
"Whatever she desired, so that it would not detain him."
Illa.—"It was on this night the vigil of the holy St. Bernard, their patron saint, was held; now, there was no one to light the altar candles for her, for her maid, who had grown old along with her, lay a-dying, and she was too old and weak herself to stretch up so high. And the idle Lutheran heretics of the town would mock, if they knew she worshipped God after the manner of her fathers. The old Lutheran swaddler, too, would not suffer it, if he knew she prayed in the church by nights. But she did not care for his anger, for she had a private key that let her in at all hours; and his Highness, the Prince, at her earnest prayers, had given her permission to pray in the church, at any time she pleased, from then till her death."
So the old mother wept so bitterly, and kissed his Highness's hand, entreating him with such sad lamentations to remain with her until she said a prayer, that he consented. And she said, if the heretic parson came there to scold her, which of a surety he would, knowing that she never omitted a vigil, he could talk to him in the church, without going to disturb him and his harlot nun at their own residence. Besides, the church was the safest place to discourse in, for no one would notice them, and he would be able to protect her from the parson's anger besides.
Here the old mother took up the church keys and a horn lantern, and led the young Prince through a narrow corridor up to the church door. Hardly, however, had she put the key in the lock, when the loud bark of a dog was heard inside, and they soon heard it scratching, and smelling, and growling at them close to the door.
"What can that dog be here for?" said his Highness in alarm.
"Alas!" answered the nun, "since the pure old religion was destroyed, profanity and covetousness have got the upper hand; so every church where even a single pious relic of the wealth of the good old times remains, must be guarded, as you see, by dogs. [Footnote: It is an undeniable fact, that the immorality of the people fearfully increased with the progress of the Reformation throughout Pomerania. An old chronicler, and a Protestant, thus testifies, 1542:—"And since this time (the Reformation) a great change has come over all things. In place of piety, we have profanity; in place of reverence, sacrilege and the plundering of God's churches; in place of alms-deeds, stinginess and selfishness; in place of feasts, greed and gluttony; in place of festivals, labour; in place of obedience and humility of children, obstinacy and self-opinion; in place of honour and veneration for the priesthood, contempt for the priest and the church ministers. So that one might justly assert that the preaching of the evangelism had made the people worse in place of better."
Another Protestant preacher, John Borkmann, asserts, 1560:—"As for sin, it overflows all places and all stations. It is growing stronger in all offices, in all trades, in all employments, in every station of life—what shall I say more?—in every individual"—and so on. I would therefore recommend the blind eulogists of the good old times to examine history for themselves, and not to place implicit belief either in the pragmatical representations of the old and new Lutherans."] And she had herself locked up her pretty dog Störteback [Footnote: The name of a notorious northern pirate.] here, that no one might rob the altar of the golden candlesticks and the little jewels, at least as long as she lived."
So she desired Störteback to lie still, and then entered the church with the Prince, who lit the altar candles for her, and then looked round with wonder on the silver lamps, the golden pix and caps, and other vessels adorned with jewels, used by the Papists in their ceremonies.
The old mother, meanwhile, took off her white garment and black scapulary, and being thus naked almost to the waist, descended into a coffin, which was lying in a corner beside the altar. Here she groped till she brought up a crucifix, and a scourge of knotted cords. Then she kneeled down within the coffin, lashing herself with one hand till the blood flowed from her shoulders, and with the other holding up the crucifix, which she kissed from time to time, whilst she recited the hymn of the holy St. Bernard:—
"Salve caput cruentatum,
Totum spinis coronatum,
Conquassatum, vulneratum,
Arundine verberatum
Facie sputis illita."
When she had thus prayed, and scourged herself a while, she extended the crucifix with her bleeding arm to the Prince, and prayed him, for the sake of God, to have compassion on her, and so would the bleeding Saviour and all the saints have compassion upon him at the last day. And when his Highness asked her what he could do for her, she besought him to bring her a priest from Grypswald, who could break the Lord's body once more for her, and give her the last sacrament of extreme unction here in her coffin. Then would she never wish to leave it, but die of joy if this only was granted to her.
So the Prince promised to fulfil her wishes; whereupon she crouched down again in the coffin, and recommenced the scourging, while she repeated with loud sobs and groans the two last verses of the hymn. Scarcely had she ended when a small side-door opened, and the dog Störteback began to bark vociferously.
"What!" exclaimed a voice, "is that old damned Catholic witch at her mummeries, and burning my good wax candles all for nothing?"
And, silencing the dog, a man stepped forward hastily, but, seeing the Prince, paused in astonishment. Whereupon the old mother raised herself up out of the coffin, and said, "Did I not tell your Grace that you would see the hardhearted heretic here?—that is the man you seek." So the Prince brought him into the choir, and told him that he was Prince Ernest Ludovicus, and came here to request that he would privately wed him on the following night, without knowledge of any human being, to his beloved and affianced bride, Sidonia von Bork.
The priest, however, did not care to mix himself up with such a business, seeing that he feared Ulrich mightily; but his Grace promised him a better living at the end of the year, if he would undertake to serve him now.
To which the priest answered—"Who knows if your Highness will be alive by the end of the year, for you look as pale as a corpse?"
"He never felt better in his life. He had been ill lately, but now was as sound as a fish. Would he not marry him?"
Hic.—"Certainly not; unless he received a handsome consideration. He had a wife and dear children; what would become of them if he incurred the displeasure of that stern Lord Chamberlain and of the princely widow?"
"But could he not bring his family to Stettin; for he and his young bride intended to fly there, and put themselves under the protection of his dear uncle, Duke Barnim?"
Hic.—"It was a dangerous business; still, if his Highness gave him a thousand gulden down, and a written promise, signed and sealed, that he would provide him with a better living before the year had expired, why, out of love for the young lord, he would consent to peril himself and his family; but his Highness must not think evil of him for demanding the thousand gulden paid down immediately, for how were his dear wife and children to be supported through the long year otherwise?"
His Highness, however, considered the sum too large, and said that his gracious mother had scarcely more a year for herself than a thousand gulden—she that was the Duchess of Pomerania.
However, they finally agreed upon four hundred gulden; for his Highness showed him that Doctor Luther himself had only four hundred gulden a year, and surely he would not require more than the great reformator ecclesia.
So everything was arranged at last, the priest promising to perform the ceremony on the third night from that; "For some time," he said, "would be necessary to collect people to assist them in their flight, and money must be distributed; but his Highness would, of course, repay all that he expended in his behalf, and further promise to give him and his family free quarters when they reached Stettin."
After the ceremony, they could reach the boat through the convent garden, and sail away to Warte. [Footnote: A town near Usdom.] Then he would have four or five peasants in waiting, with carriages ready, to escort them to East Clune, from whence they could take another boat and cross the Haff into Stettin; for, as they could not reckon on a fair wind with any certainty, it was better to perform the journey half by land and half by water; besides, the fishermen whom he intended to employ were not accustomed to sail up the Peen the whole way into the Haff, for their little fishing-smacks were too slight to stand a strong current.
Hereupon the Prince answered, that, since it was necessary, he would wait until the third night, when the priest should have everything in readiness, but meanwhile should confide the secret to no one. So he turned away, and comforted the old mother again with his promises as he passed out.
The next morning, having written all down for Sidonia, and concealed the note in an arrow, he went forth as he had arranged, and began to tease the bear by shooting arrows at him, till the beast roared and shook his chain. Then, perceiving that Sidonia had observed him from the window, he watched a favourable opportunity, and shot the arrow up, right through her window, so that the pane of glass rattled down upon the floor. In the billet therein concealed he explained the whole plan of escape; and asked her to inform him, in return, how she could manage to come to him on the third night. Would his dearest Sidonia put on the dress of a page? He could bring it to her little chamber himself the next night. She must write a little note in answer, and conceal it in the arrow as he had done, then throw it out of the window, and he would be on the watch to pick it up.
So Sidonia replied to him that she was content; but, as regarded the page's dress, he must leave it, about ten o'clock the next night, upon the beer-barrel in the corridor, but not attempt to bring it himself to her chamber. Concerning the manner in which she was to meet him on the third night, had he forgotten that the old castellan barred and bolted all that wing of the castle by eleven o'clock, so that she could never leave the corridor by the usual way; but there was a trapdoor near her little chamber which led down into the ducal stables, and this door no one ever thought of or minded—it was never bolted night or day, and was quite large enough for a man to creep through. Her dear Prince might wait for her, by that trap-door, at eleven o'clock on the appointed night. He could not mistake it, for the large basket lay close behind, in which her Grace kept her darling little kittens; from thence they could easily get into the outer courtyard, which was never locked, and, after that, go where they pleased. If he approved of this arrangement, let him shoot another arrow into her room; but, above all things, he was to keep at a distance from her during the day, that her Grace might not suspect anything.
Having thrown the arrow out of the window, and received another in answer from the Prince, which the artful hypocrite flung out as if in great anger, she ran to Clara's room, and complained bitterly how the young lord had broken her window, because, forsooth, he must be shooting arrows at the bear; and so she had to come into her room out of the cold air, until the glazier came to put in the glass. When Clara asked how she could be so angry with the young Prince—did she not love him any longer?—Sidonia replied, that truly she had grown very tired of him, for he did nothing but sigh and groan whenever he came near her, like an asthmatic old woman, and had grown as thin and dry as a baked plum. There was nothing very lovable about him now. Would to Heaven that he were quite well, and she would soon bid farewell to the castle and every one in it; but the moment she spoke of going his sickness returned, so that she was obliged to remain, which was much against her inclination; and this she might tell Clara in confidence, because she had always been her truest friend.
Then she pretended to weep, and cursed her beauty, which had brought her nothing but unhappiness; thereupon the tender-hearted Clara began to comfort her, and kissed her; and the moment Sidonia left her to get the glass mended, Clara ran to her Grace to tell her the joyful tidings; but, alas! that very day the wickedness of the artful maiden was brought to light. For what happened in the afternoon? See, the nun of Crummyn steps out of a boat at the little water-gate, and places herself in a corner of the courtyard, where the people soon gather round in a crowd, to laugh at her white garments and black scapulary; and the boys begin to pelt the poor old mother with stones, and abuse her, calling her the old Papist witch; but by good fortune the castellan comes by, and commands the crowd to leave off tormenting her, and then asks her business.
Illa.—"She must speak instantly to her Grace the princely widow."
So the old man brings her to her Grace, with whom Clara was still conversing, and the old nun, after she had kneeled to the Duchess and kissed her hand, began to relate how her young lord, Prince Ernest, had been with her the night before, while she was keeping the vigilia of holy St. Bernard to the best of her ability, and had urgently demanded to see the Lutheran priest named Neigialink, and that when this same priest came into the church to scold her, as was his wont, he and the Prince had retired into the choir, and there held a long conversation which she did not comprehend. But the priest's mistress had told her the whole business this morning, under a promise of secrecy—namely, that the priest, her leman, had promised to wed Prince Ernest privately, on the third night from that, to a certain young damsel named Sidonia von Bork. That the Prince had given him a thousand gulden for his services, and a promise of a rich living when he succeeded to the government, so that in future she could live as grand as an abbess, and have what beautiful horses she chose from the ducal stables.
"And this," said the nun, "was told me by the priest's mistress; but as I have a true Pomeranian heart, although, indeed, the Prince has left the good old religion, I could not rest in peace until I stepped into a boat, weak and old as I am, and sailed off here direct to inform your Grace of the plot." She only asked one favour in return for her service. It was that her Grace would permit her to end the rest of her days peaceably in the cloister, and protect her from the harshness of the Lutheran priests and the fury of the mob, who fell on her like mad dogs here in the castle court, and would have torn her to pieces if the castellan had not come by and rescued her. But above all, she requested and prayed her Grace to permit a true priest to come to her from Grypswald, who could give her the holy Eucharist, and prepare her for death. But her Grace was struck dumb by astonishment and alarm, and Clara could not speak either, only wrung her hands in anguish. And her Grace continued to walk up and down the room weeping bitterly, until at last she sat down before her desk to indite a note to old Ulrich, praying for his presence without delay, and straightway despatched the chief equerry, Appelmann, with it to Spantekow.
The old nun still continued crying, would not her Grace send her a priest? But her Grace refused; for in fact she was a stern upholder of the pure doctrine. Anything else the old mother demanded she might have, but with the abominations of Popery her Grace would have nothing to do. Still the old nun prayed and writhed at her feet, crying and groaning, "For the love of God, a priest! for the love of God, a priest!" but her Grace drew herself up stiff and stern, and let the old woman writhe there unheeded, until at length she motioned to Clara to have her removed to the courtyard, where the poor creature leaned up against the pump in bitter agony, and drew forth a crucifix from her bosom, kissed it, and looking up to heaven, cried, "Jesu! Jesu! art Thou come at last?" and then dropped down dead upon the pavement, which the crowd no sooner observed than they gathered round the corpse, screaming out, "The devil has carried her off! See! the devil has carried off the old Papist witch!" Hearing the uproar, her Grace descended, as did also the young lord and Sidonia, who both appeared as if they knew nothing at all about the old nun. And her Grace commanded that the executioner should by no means drag away the body, as the people demanded, who were now rushing to the spot from all quarters of the town, but that it should be decently lifted into the boat and conveyed back again to Crummyn, there to be interred with the other members of the sisterhood at the cloister.
No word did she speak, either to her undutiful son or to Sidonia, about what she had heard; only when the latter asked her what the nun came there for, she answered coldly, "For a Popish priest." Hereupon the young Prince was filled with joy, concluding that nothing had been betrayed as yet. And it was natural the old nun should come with this request, seeing that she had made the same to him. Her Grace also strictly charged Clara to observe a profound silence upon all they had heard, until the old chamberlain arrived, and this she promised.
CHAPTER XVII.
Of Ulrich's counsels—Item, how Clara von Dewitz came upon the track of the ghost.
At eleven o'clock that same night, the good and loyal Lord Ulrich arrived at the castle with Appelmann, from Spantekow, and just waited to change his travelling dress before he proceeded to the apartment of her Grace. He found her seated with Clara and another maiden, weeping bitterly. Dr. Gerschovius was also present. When the old man entered, her Grace's lamentations became yet louder—alas! how she was afflicted! Who could have believed that all this had come upon her because the devil, out of malice, had made Dr. Luther drop her wedding-ring at the bridal! And when the knight asked in alarm what had happened, she replied that tears prevented her speaking, but Dr. Gerschovius would tell him all.
So the doctor related the whole affair, from the declaration of the old nun to the hypocritical conduct of Sidonia towards Clara von Dewitz, upon which the old knight shook his head, and said, "Did I not counsel your Grace to let the young lord die, in God's name, for better is it to lose life than honour. Had he died then, so would the Almighty have raised him pure and perfect at the last day, but now he is growing daily in wickedness as a young wolf in ferocity."
Then her Grace made answer, the past could not now be recalled; and that she was ready to answer before God for what she had done through motherly love and tenderness. They must now advise her how to save her infatuated son from the snares of this wanton. Dr. Gerschovius, thereupon, gave it as his opinion that they should each be placed in strict confinement for the next fourteen days, during which time he would visit and admonish them twice a day, by which means he hoped soon to turn their hearts to God.
Here old Ulrich laughed outright, and asked the doctor, was he still bent upon teaching Sidonia her catechism? As to the young lord, no admonition would do him good now; he was thoroughly bewitched by the girl, and though he made a hundred promises to give her up, would never hold one of them. Alas! alas! that the son of good Duke Philip should be so degenerate.
But her Grace wept bitterly, and said, that never was there a more obedient, docile, and amiable child than her dear Ernest; skilled in all the fine arts, and gifted by nature with all that could ensure a mother's love. "But how does all this help him now?" cried Ulrich. "It is with a good heart as with a good ship, unless you guide it, it will run aground—stand by the helm, or the best ship will be lost. What had the country to expect from a Prince who would die, forsooth? unless his mistress sat by his bedside? Ah! if he could only have followed the funeral of the young lord, he would have given a hundred florins to the poor that very day!"
"It was not her son's fault—that base hypocrite had caused it all by some hell magic."
Ille.—"That was quite impossible; however, he would believe it to please her Grace."
"Then let him speak his opinion, if the counsel of Dr. Gerschovius did not please him."
Ille.—"His advice, then, was to keep quiet until the third night, then secretly place a guard round the castle and at the wing, and when the bridal party met, take them out prisoners, send my young lord to the tower, but disgrace Sidonia publicly, and send her off where she pleased—to the fiend, if she liked."
"Then they would have the same old scene over again; her son would fall sick, and Sidonia could not be brought back to cure him, if once she had been publicly disgraced before all the people. So matters would be worse than ever."
Hereupon old Ulrich fell into such a rage that he cursed and swore, that her Grace treated him no better than a fool, to bring him hither from Spantekow, and then refuse to take his advice. As to Sidonia, her Grace had already brought disgrace upon her princely house, by first turning her out, and then praying her to come back before three days had elapsed. All Pomerania talked of it, and old Otto Bork did not scruple to brag and boast everywhere, that her Grace had no peace or rest from her conscience until she had asked forgiveness from the Lady Sidonia (as the vain old knave called her) and entreated her to return. Now if she took the advice of Doctor Gerschovius, and first imprisoned and then turned away Sidonia, no one would believe in her story of the intended marriage, but look on her conduct as only a confirmation of all the hard treatment which her Grace was reported to have employed towards the girl; whereas if she only waited till the whole bridal party were ready to start, and then arrested Sidonia, her Grace was justified before the whole world, for what greater fault could be committed than thus to entrap the young Prince into a secret marriage, and run away with him by night from the castle? Let her Grace then send for the executioner, and let him give Sidonia a public whipping before all the people. No one would think the punishment too hard, for seducing a Prince of Pomerania into a marriage with her.
So the princely widow of Duke Philip will be justified before all the world; and when the young lord sees his bride so disgraced, he will assuredly be right willing to give her up; even if he fall sick, it is impossible that he could send for a maiden to sit by his bed who had been publicly whipped by the executioner. Those were stern measures, perhaps, but a branch of the old Pomeranian tree was decayed; it must be lopped, or the whole tree itself would soon fall.
When the Grand Chamberlain ceased speaking, her Grace considered the matter well, and finally pronounced that she would follow his advice, whereupon, as the night waxed late, she dismissed the party to their beds, retaining only Clara with her for a little longer.
But a strange thing happened as she, too, finally quitted her Grace, and proceeded along the corridor to her own little apartment—and here let every one consider how the hand of God is in everything, and what great events He can bring forth from the slightest causes, as a great oak springs up from a little acorn.
For as the maiden walked along, her sandal became unfastened, and tripped her, so that she nearly fell upon her face, whereupon she paused, and placing her foot upon a beer-barrel that stood against the wall not far from Sidonia's chamber, began to fasten it, but lo! just at that moment the head of the ghost appeared rising through the trap-door, and looked round, then, as if aware of her presence, drew back, and she heard a noise as if it had jumped down on the earth beneath. She was horribly frightened, and crept trembling to her bed; but then on reflecting over this apparition of the serpent knight, it came into her head that it could not be a ghost, since it came down on the ground with such a heavy jump; she prayed to God, therefore, to help her in discovering this matter, and as she could not sleep, rose before the first glimmer of daylight to examine this hole which lay so close to Sidonia's chamber, and there truly she discovered the trap-door, and having opened, found that it lay right over a large coach in the ducal stables; thereupon she concluded that the ghost was no other than the Prince himself who thus visited Sidonia.
Then she remembered that the ghost had been particularly active while the young Prince lay sick on his bed watched by his mother; so to make the matter clearer she went the next evening into the stables, and observing the coach, which lay just beneath the hole, sprinkled fine ash-dust all round it. Then returning to her room, she waited until it grew quite dark, and as ten o'clock struck and all the doors of the corridor leading to the women's apartments were barred and bolted, she wrapped herself in a black mantle and stole out with a palpitating heart into the gallery. Remembering the large beer-barrel near Sidonia's room, she crouched down behind it, and from thence had a distinct view of the trap-door, and also of Sidonia's chamber. There she waited for about an hour, when she perceived the young Prince coming, but not through the trap-door. He knocked lightly at Sidonia's door, who opened it instantly, and they held a long whispering conversation together. He had brought her the page's dress, and there was nothing to be feared now, for he had examined the trap and found they could easily get out through it on the top of the coach, and from thence into the stables. After that the way was clear. Surely some good angel had put the idea into her head. Then he kissed her tenderly.
Illa.—"What did the old nun come for? Could she have betrayed them?"
Hic.—"Impossible. She did not know a syllable of their affairs, and had come to ask his lady mother to send her a Popish priest, as she had asked himself." Then he kissed her again, but she tore herself from his arms, threw the little bundle into the room, and shut the door in his face. Whereupon the young Prince went his way, sighing as if his heart would break.
Now Clara concluded, with reason, that the young lord was not the ghost, inasmuch as he did not creep through the trap-door, nor did he wear helmet or cuirass, or any sort of disguise. But when she heard Sidonia talk with such knowledge of the trap-door, she guessed there was some knavery in the matter, and though she sat the night there she was determined to watch. And behold! at twelve o'clock there was a great clattering heard below, and presently a helmet appeared rising through the hole, and then the entire figure of the ghost clambered up through it, and after cautiously looking round it, approached Sidonia's door, and knocked lightly. Immediately she opened it herself, admitted the ghost, and Clara heard her drawing the bolts of the door within.
The pious and chaste maiden felt ready to faint with shame; for it was now evident that Sidonia deceived the poor young Prince as well as every one else, and that this ghost whom she admitted must be a favoured lover. She resolved to watch until he came out. But it was about the dawn of morning before he again appeared, and took his hellish path down through the trap-door, in the same way as he had risen. But to make all certain she took a brush, and before it was quite day, descended to the stables, where, indeed, she observed large, heavy footprints in the ashes all round the coach, quite unlike those which the delicate little feet of his Highness would have made. So she swept them all clean away to avoid exciting any suspicion, and crept back noiselessly to her little room. Then waiting till the morning was somewhat advanced, she despatched her maid on some errand into the town, in order to get rid of her, and then watched anxiously for her bridegroom, Marcus Bork, who always passed her door going to his office; and hearing his step, she opened her door softly, and drew him in. Then she related fully all she had heard and seen on the past night.
The upright and virtuous young man clasped his hands together in horror and disgust, but could not resolve whether it were fitter to declare the whole matter to her Highness instantly or not. Clara, however, was of opinion that her Grace would derive great comfort from the information, because when the Prince found how Sidonia had betrayed him, he would give up the creature of his own accord. To which Marcus answered, that probably the Prince would not believe a word of the story, and then matters would be in a worse way than ever.
Illa.—"Was he afraid to disgrace Sidonia because she was his kinswoman? Was it the honour of his name he wished to shield by sparing her from infamy?"
Hic.—"No; she wronged him. If she were his sister, he would still do his duty towards her Grace. The honour of the whole Pomeranian house was perilled here, and he would save it at any cost. But did his darling bride know who the ghost was?"
Illa.—"No; she had been thinking the whole night about him till her head ached, but in vain."
At this moment the Grand Chamberlain passed the room on his way to the Duchess, and they both went to the door, and entreated him to come in and give them his advice. How the old knight laughed for joy when he heard all; it was almost as good news to him as the death of the young lord would have been. But no; they must not breathe a syllable of it to her Highness. Wait for this night, and if the dear ghost appeared again, he would give him and his paramour something to think of to the end of their lives. Then he walked up and down Clara's little room, thinking over what should be done; and finally resolved to open the matter to the young Prince that night between ten and eleven o'clock, and show him what a creature he was going to make Duchess of Pomerania. After which they should all, Marcus included, go armed to the stables—for the Prince, no doubt, would be slow of belief—and there conceal themselves in the coach until the ghost arrived. If he came, as was almost certain, they would follow him to Sidonia's room, break it open, and discover them together. In order that witnesses might not be wanting, he would desire all the pages and household to be collected in his room at that hour; and the moment they were certain of having trapped the ghost, Marcus should slip out of the coach, and run to gather them all together in the grand corridor. To ensure all this being done, he would take the keys from the castellan himself that night, and keep them in his own possession. But, above all things, they were to keep still and quiet during the day; and now he would proceed to her Grace.
But Marcus Bork begged to ask him, if the ghost did not come that night, what was to be done? For the next was to be that of the marriage, and unless the Prince was convinced by his own eyes, nothing would make him credit the wickedness of his intended bride. Sidonia would swear by heaven and earth that the story was a malicious invention, and a plot to effect her utter destruction.
This view of the case puzzled the old knight not a little, and he rubbed his forehead and paced up and down the room, till suddenly an idea struck him, and he exclaimed—"I have it, Marcus! You are a brave youth, dear Marcus, and a loyal subject and servant to her Grace. Your conduct will bring as much honour upon the noble name of Bork as Sidonia's has brought disgrace. Therefore I will trust you. Listen, Marcus. If the ghost does not appear to-night, then you must ride the morrow morn to Crummyn. Bribe the priest with gold. Tell him that he must write instantly to the young Prince, saying, that the marriage must be delayed for eight days, for there was no boat to be had safe enough to carry him and his bride up the Haff, seeing that all the boats and their crews were engaged at the fisheries, and would not be back to Crummyn until the following Saturday. The young lord, therefore, must have patience. Should the priest hesitate, then Marcus must threaten him with the loss of his living, as the whole princely house should be made acquainted with his villainy. He will then consent. I know him well!
"If that is once arranged, then we shall seat ourselves every night in the coach until the ghost comes; and, methinks, he will not long delay, since hitherto he has managed his work with such security and success."
The discreet and virtuous Marcus promised to obey Ulrich in all things, and the Grand Chamberlain then went his way.
CHAPTER XVIII.
How the horrible wickedness of Sidonia was made apparent; and how in consequence thereof she was banished with ignominy from the ducal court of Wolgast.
The night came at last. And the Grand Chamberlain collected, as he had said, all the officials and pages of the household together in his office at the treasury, and bid them wait there until he summoned them. No one was to leave the apartment under pain of his severe displeasure. Item, he had prayed her Grace not to retire to rest that night before twelve of the clock; and when she asked wherefore, he replied that she would have to take leave of a very remarkable visitor that night; upon which she desired to know more, but he said that his word was passed not to reveal more. So her Grace thought he meant himself, and promised to remain up.
As ten o'clock struck, the castellan locked, up, as was his wont, all that portion of the castle leading to the women's apartments. Whereupon Ulrich asked him for the keys, saying that he would keep them in his own charge. Then he prayed his Serene Highness Prince Ernest to accompany him to the lumber-room.
His Highness consented, and they both ascended in the dark. On entering, Ulrich drew forth a dark lantern from beneath his cloak, and made the light fall upon an old suit of armour. Then turning to the Prince—"Do you know this armour?" he said.
"Ah, yes; it was the armour of his dearly beloved father, Duke
Philip."
Ille.—"Right. Did he then remember the admonitions which the wearer of this armour had uttered, upon his deathbed, to him and his brothers?"
"Oh yes, well he remembered them; but what did this long sermon denote?"
Ille.—"This he would soon know. Had he not given his right hand to the wearer of that armour, and pledged himself ever to set a good example before the people committed to his rule?"
Hic.—"He did not know what all this meant. Had he even set a bad example to his subjects?"
Ille.—"He was on the high-road to do it, when he had resolved to wed himself secretly to a maiden beneath his rank. (Here the young Prince became as pale as a corpse.) Let him deny, if he could, that he had sworn by his father's corpse, with his hand upon the coffin, to abandon Sidonia. He would not upbraid him with his broken promises to him, but would he bring his loving mother to her grave through shame and a broken heart? Would he make himself on a level with the lowest of the people, by wedding Sidonia the next night in the church at Crummyn?"
Hic.—"Had that accursed Catholic nun then betrayed him? Ah, he was surrounded by spies and traitors; but if he could not obtain Sidonia now, he would wed her the moment he was of age and succeeded to the government. If he could in no way have Sidonia, then he would never wed another woman, but remain single and a dead branch for his whole life long. Her blood was as noble as his own, and no devil should dare to part them."
_Ille.—"But if he could prove, this very night, to the young lord, that Sidonia was not an honourable maiden, but a dishonoured creature——" Here the young Prince drew his dagger and rushed upon the old man, with lips foaming with rage; but Ulrich sprang behind the armour of Duke Philip, and said calmly, "Ernest, if thou wouldst murder me who have been so leal and faithful a servant to thee and thine, then strike me dead here through the links of thy father's cuirass."
And as the young man drew back with a deep groan, he continued—"Hear me, before thou dost a deed which eternity will not be long enough to repent. I cannot be angry with thee, for I have been young myself, and would have stricken any one to the earth who had called my own noble bride dishonoured. Listen to me, then, and strike me afterwards, if thou wilt." Hereupon the old knight stepped out from behind the armour, which was fixed upon a wooden frame in the middle of the apartment, with the helmet surmounting it, and leaning against the shoulder-piece, he proceeded to relate all that Clara had seen and heard.
The young Prince turned first as red as scarlet, then pale as a corpse, and sunk down upon a pile of old armour, unable to utter anything but sighs and groans.
Ulrich then asked if he remembered the silly youth who had been drowned lately in consequence of Sidonia's folly; for it was his apparition in the armour he then wore which it was reported haunted the castle. And did he remember also how that armour (in which the poor young man's father also had been killed fighting against the Bohemians) had been taken off the corpse and hung up again in that lumber-room?
Hic.—"Of course he remembered all that; it had happened too lately for him to forget the circumstance."
Ille.—"Well, then, let him take the lantern himself, and see if the armour hung still upon the wall." So the young lord took the lantern with trembling hands, and advanced to the place; but no—there was no armour there now. Then he looked all round the room, but the armour with the serpent crest was nowhere to be seen. He dropped the lantern with a bitter execration. Hereupon the old knight continued—"You see, my gracious Prince, that the ghost must have flesh and blood, like you or me. The castellan tells me that when the ghost first began his pranks, the helmet and cuirass were still found every morning in their usual place here. But for eight days they have not been forthcoming; for the ghost, you see, is growing hardy and forgetting his usual precautions. However, the castellan had determined to watch him, and seize hold of him, for, as he rightly conjectured, a spirit could not carry away a heavy iron suit of armour on him; but his wife had dissuaded him from those measures up to the present time. Come now to the stables with me," continued Ulrich, "and let us conceal ourselves in the coach which I mentioned to you; Marcus Bork shall accompany us, and let us wait there until the ghost appears, and creeps through the trapdoor. After some time we shall follow him; and then this wicked cheat will be detected. But before we move, swear to me that you will await the issue peaceably and calmly in the coach; you must neither sigh nor groan, nor scarcely breathe. No matter what you hear or see, if you cannot control your fierce, jealous rage, all will be lost."
Then the young Prince gave him his hand, and promised to keep silence, though it should cost him his life, for no one could be more anxious to discover the truth or falsehood of this matter than he himself. So they both descended now to the courtyard, Ulrich concealing the lantern under his mantle; and they crouched along by the wall till they reached the horse-pond, where Marcus Bork stood awaiting them; then they glided on, one by one, into the stables, and concealed themselves within the coach.
It was well they did so without longer delay, for scarcely had they been seated when the ghost appeared. No doubt he had heard of the intended marriage, and wished to take advantage of his last opportunity. As the sound of his feet became audible approaching the coach, the Prince almost groaned audibly; but the stout old knight threw one arm powerfully round his body, and placed the hand of the other firmly over his mouth. The ghost now began to ascend the coach, and they heard him clambering up the hind wheel; he slipped down, however (a bad omen), and muttered a half-curse; then, to help himself up better, he seized hold of the sash of the window, and with it took a grip of Ulrich's beard, as he was leaning close to the side of the coach to watch his proceedings. Not a stir did the brave old knight make, but sat as still as marble, and even held his breath, lest the ghost might feel it warm upon his hand, and so discover their ambuscade.
At last he was up; and they heard him clattering over their heads, then creeping through the trap-door into the corridor, and a little after, the sound of a door gently opening.
All efforts were in vain to keep the Prince quiet. He must follow him. He would rush through the trap-door after him, though it cost him his life! But old Ulrich whispered in his ear, "Now I know that Prince Ernest has neither honour nor discretion, and Pomerania has little to hope from such a ruler." All in vain—he springs out of the coach, but the knight after him, who hastily gave Marcus Bork the keys of the castle, and bade him go fetch the household, down to the menials, here to the gallery. Marcus took them, and left the stables instantly. Then Ulrich seized the hand of Prince Ernest, who was already on the top of the coach, and asked him was it thus he would, leave an old man without any one to assist him. Let him in first through the trap-door, while the Prince held the lantern. To this he consented, and helped the old knight up, who, having reached the trap-door, put his head through; but, alas! the portly stomach of the stout old knight would not follow. He stretched out his head, however, on every side, as far as it could go, and heard distinctly low whispering voices from Sidonia's little room; then a sound as of the tramp of many feet became audible in the courtyard, by which he knew that Marcus and the household were advancing rapidly.
But the young lord, who was waiting at the top of the coach, grew impatient, and pulled him back, endeavouring to creep through the hole himself. Praised be Heaven, however, this he failed to do from weakness; so he was obliged to follow the Grand Chamberlain, who whispered to him to come down, and they could reach the corridor through the usual entrance. Hereupon they both left the stables, and met Marcus in the courtyard with his company.
Then all ascended noiselessly to the gallery, and ranged themselves around Sidonia's door. Ulrich now told eight of the strongest carls present to step forward and lean their shoulders against the door, but make no stir until he gave a sign; then when he cried "Now!" they should burst it open with all their force.
As to the young Prince, he was trembling like an aspen leaf, and his weakness was so great that two young men had to support him. In short, as all present gradually stole closer and closer up to the door of Sidonia's room, the old knight drew forth his lantern, and signed to the men, who stood with their shoulders pressed against it; then when all was ready, he cried "Now!" and the door burst open with a loud crash. Every lock, and bar, and bolt shivered to atoms, and in rushed the whole party, Ulrich at their head, with his lantern lifted high up above them all.
Sidonia and her visitor were standing in the middle of the room. Ulrich first flashed the light upon the face of the man. Who would have believed it?—no other than Johann Appelmann! The knight hit him a heavy blow across the face, exclaiming, "What! thou common horse-jockey—thou low-born varlet—is it thus thou bringest disgrace upon a maiden of the noblest house in Pomerania? Ha, thou shalt be paid for this. Wait! Master Hansen shall give thee some of his gentle love-touches this night!"
But meanwhile the young Prince had entered, and beheld Sidonia, as she stood there trembling from shame, and endeavouring to cover her face with her long, beautiful golden hair that fell almost to her knees. "Sidonia!" he exclaimed, with a cry as bitter as if a dagger had passed through his heart—"Sidonia!" and fell insensible before her.
Now a great clamour arose amongst the crowd, for beside the couch lay the helmet and cuirass of the ghost; so every one knew now who it was that had played this trick on them for so long, and kept the castle in such a state of terror.
Then they gathered round the poor young Prince, who lay there as stiff as a corpse, and lamented over him with loud lamentations, and some of them lifted him up to carry him out of the chamber; but the Grand Chamberlain sternly commanded them to lay him down again before his bride, whom he had arranged to wed privately at Crummyn on the following night. Then seizing Sidonia by the hand, and dashing back her long hair, he led her forward before all the people, and said with a loud voice, "See here the illustrious and high-born Lady Sidonia, of the holy Roman Empire, Duchess of Pomerania, Cassuben, and Wenden, Princess of Rügen, Countess of Gützkow, and our Serene and most Gracious Lady, how she honours the princely house of Pomerania by sharing her love with this stable groom, this tailor's son, this debauched profligate! Oh! I could grow mad when I think of this disgrace. Thou shameless one! have I not long ago given thee thy right name? But wait—the name shall be branded on thee this night, so that all the world may read it."
Just then her Grace entered with Clara, followed by all the other maids of honour; for, hearing the noise and tumult, they had hastened thither as they were, some half undressed, others with only a loose night-robe flung round them. And her Grace, seeing the young lord lying pale and insensible on the ground, wrung her hands and cried out, "Who has killed my son? who has murdered my darling child?"
Here stepped forward Ulrich, and said, "The young lord was not dead; but, if it so pleased God, was in a fair way now to regain both life and reason." Then he related all which had led to this discovery; and how they had that night been themselves the witnesses of Sidonia's wickedness with the false ghost. Now her Grace knew his secret, which he had not told until certain of success.
As he related all these things, her Grace turned upon Sidonia and spat on her; and the young lord, having recovered somewhat in consequence of the water they had thrown on him, cried out, "Sidonia! is it possible? No, Sidonia, it is not possible!"
The shameless hypocrite had now recovered her self-possession, and would have denied all knowledge of Appelmann, saying that he forced himself in when she chanced to open the door; but he, interrupting her, cried, "Does the girl dare to lay all the blame on me? Did you not press my hand there when you were lying after you fell from the stag? Did you not meet me afterwards in the lumber-room—that day of the hunt when Duke Barnim was here last?"
"No, no, no!" shrieked Sidonia. "It is a lie, an infamous lie!" But he answered, "Scream as you will, you cannot deny that this disguise of the ghost was your own invention to favour my visits to you. Did you not drop notes for me down on the coach, through the trap-door, fixing the nights when I might come? and bethink you of last night, when you sent me a note by your maid, wrapped up in a little horse-cloth which I had lent you for your cat, with the prayer that I would not fail to be with you that night nor the next"—Oh, just Heaven! to think that it was upon that very night that Clara should break her shoe-string, by which means the Almighty turned away ruin and disgrace from the ancient, illustrious, and princely house of Pomerania—all by a broken shoe-string! For if the ghost had remained away but that one night, or Clara had not broken her shoestring, Sidonia would have been Duchess of Pomerania; but what doth the Scripture say? "Man's goings are of the Lord. What man understandeth his own way?" (Prov. xx. 24).
When Sidonia heard him tell all this, and how she had written notes of entreaty to him, she screamed aloud, and springing at him like a wild-cat, buried her ten nails in his hair, shrieking, "Thou liest, traitor; it is false! it is false!"
Now Ulrich rushed forward, and seized her by her long hair to part them, but at that moment Master Hansen, the executioner, entered in his red cloak, with six assistants (for Ulrich had privately sent for him), and the Grand Chamberlain instantly let go his hold of Sidonia, saying, "You come in good time, Master Hansen; take away this wretched pair, lock them up in the bastion tower, and on the morn bring them to the horse-market by ten of the clock, and there scourge and brand them; then carry them both to the frontier out of our good State of Wolgast, and let them both go their ways from that, whither it may please them."
When Sidonia heard this, she let go her paramour and fell fainting upon the bed; but recovering herself in a little time, she exclaimed, "What is this you talk of? A noble maiden who is as innocent as the child in its cradle, to be scourged by the common executioner? Oh, is there no Christian heart here to take pity on a poor, helpless girl! Gracious young Prince, even if all the world hold me guilty, you cannot, no, you cannot; it is impossible!"
Hereupon the young lord began to tremble like an aspen leaf, and said in a broken voice, "Alas, Sidonia! you betrayed yourself: if you had not mentioned that trap-door to me, I might still have believed you innocent (I, who thought some good angel had guided you to it!); now it is impossible; yet be comforted, the executioner shall never scourge you nor brand you—you are branded enough already." Then turning to the Grand Chamberlain he said, that with his consent a hangman should never lay his hands upon this nobly born maiden, whom he had once destined to be Duchess of Pomerania; but Appelmann, this base-born vassal, who had eaten of his bread and then betrayed him like a Judas, let him be flogged and branded as much as they pleased; no word of his should save the accursed seducer from punishment.
Notwithstanding this, old Ulrich was determined on having Sidonia scourged, and my gracious lady the Duchess must have her scourged too. "Let her dear son only think that if the all-merciful God had not interposed, he would have been utterly ruined and his princely house disgraced, by means of this girl. Nothing but evil had she brought with her since first she set foot in the castle: she had caused his sickness; item, the death of two young knights by drowning; item, the terrible execution of Joachim Budde, who was beheaded at the festival; and had she not, in addition, whipped her dear little Casimir, which unseemly act had only lately come to her knowledge? and had she not also made every man in the castle that approached her mad for love of her, all by her diabolical conduct? No—away with the wretch: she merits her chastisement a thousand and a thousand-fold!" And old Ulrich exclaimed likewise, "Away with the wretch and her paramour!"
Here the young lord made an effort to spring forward to save her, but fell fainting on the ground; and while the attendants were busy running for water to throw over him, Clara von Dewitz, turning away the executioner with her hand from Sidonia, fell down on her knees before her Grace, and besought her to spare at least the person of the poor, unfortunate maiden; did her Grace think that any punishment could exceed what she had already suffered? Let her own compassionate heart plead along with her words—and did not the Scripture say, "Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord."
Hereupon her Grace looked at old Ulrich without speaking; but he understood her glance, and made answer—"No; the hangman must do his duty towards the wretch!" when her Grace said mildly, "But for the sake of this dear, good young maiden, I think we might let her go, for, remember, if she had not opened out this villainy to us, the creature would have been my daughter-in-law, and my princely house disgraced for evermore."
Now Marcus Bork stepped forward, and added his prayers that the noble name he bore might not be disgraced in Sidonia. "He had ever been a faithful feudal vassal to her princely house, and had not even scrupled to bring the secret wicked deeds of his cousin before the light of day, though it was like a martyrdom of his own flesh and blood for conscience' sake."
Here old Ulrich burst forth in great haste—"Seven thousand devils! Let the wench be off, then. Not another night should she rest in the castle. Let her speak—where would she go to? where should they bring her to?"
And when Sidonia answered, sobbing, "To Stettin, to her gracious lord, Duke Barnim, who would take pity on her because of her innocence," Ulrich laughed outright in scorn. "I shall give the driver a letter to him, and another to thy father. Perhaps his Grace will show thee true pity, and drive thee with his horsewhip to Stramehl. But thou shalt journey in the same coach whereon thy leman clambered up to the trap-door, and Master Hansen shall sit on the coach-box and drive thee himself. As to thy darling stablegroom here, the master must set his mark on him before he goes; but that can be done when the hangman returns from Stettin."
When Appelmann heard this, he fell at the feet of the Lord Chamberlain, imploring him to let him off too. "Had he not ridden to Spantekow, without stop or stay, at the peril of his life, to oblige Lord Ulrich that time the Lapland wizard made the evil prophecy; and though his illustrious lady died, yet that was from no fault of his, and his lordship had then promised not to forget him if he were but in need. So now he demanded, on the strength of his knightly word, that a horse should be given him from the ducal stables, and that he be permitted to go forth, free and scathless, to ride wherever it might please him. His sins were truly heavy upon him, and he would try and do better, with the help of God."
When the old knight heard him express himself in this godly sort (for the knave knew his man well), he was melted to compassion, and said, "Then go thy way, and God give thee grace to repent of thy manifold sins."
Her Grace had nothing to object; only to put a fixed barrier between the Prince and Sidonia, she added, "But send first for Dr. Gerschovius, that he may unite this shameless pair in marriage before they leave the castle, and then they can travel away together."
Hereupon Johann Appelmann exclaimed, "No, never! How could he hope for God's grace to amend him, living with a thing like that, tied to him for life, which God and man alike hold in abhorrence?" At this speech Sidonia screamed aloud, "Thou lying and accursed stable-groom, darest thou speak so of a castle and land dowered maiden?" and she flew at him, and would have torn his hair, but Marcus Bork seized hold of her round the waist, and dragged her with great effort into Clara's room.
Now the tears poured from the eyes of her Grace at such a disgraceful scene, and she turned to her son, who was slowly recovering—"Hast thou heard, Ernest, this groom—this servant of thine—refuses to take the girl to wife whom thou wast going to make Duchess of Pomerania? Woe! woe! what words for thy poor mother to hear; but it was all foreshadowed when Dr. Luther—" &c. &c.
In short, the end of the infamous story was, that Sidonia was carried off that very night in the identical coach we know of, and Master Hansen was sent with her, bearing letters to the Duke and Otto from the Grand Chamberlain, and one also to the burgomaster Appelmann in Stargard; and the executioner had strict orders to drive her himself the whole way to Stettin. As for Appelmann, he sprung upon a Friesland clipper, as the old chamberlain had permitted, and rode away that same night. But the young lord was so ill from grief and shame, that he was lifted to his bed, and all the medici of Grypswald and Wolgast were summoned to attend him.
And such was the end of Sidonia von Bork at the ducal court of Wolgast. But old Küssow told me that for a long while she was the whole talk of the court and town, many wondering, though they knew well her light behaviour, that she should give herself up to perdition at last for a common groom, no better than a menial compared to her. But I find the old proverb is true for her as well as for another, "The apple falls close to the tree; as is the sheep, so is the lamb;" for had her father brought her up in the fear of God, in place of encouraging her in revenge, pride, and haughtiness, Sidonia might have been a good and honoured wife for her life long. But the libertine example of her father so destroyed all natural instincts of modesty and maidenly reserve within her, that she fell an easy prey to the first temptation.
In short, my gracious Prince Bogislaus XIV., as well as all those who love and honour the illustrious house of Wolgast, will devoutly thank God for having turned away this disgrace in a manner so truly wonderful.
I have already spoken of the broken shoe-tie, but in addition, I must point out that if Sidonia had counselled her paramour to take the armour of Duke Philip, which hung in the same lumber-room, in place of that belonging to the serpent knight, that wickedness would never have come to light. For assuredly all in the castle would have believed that it was truly the ghost of the dead duke, who came to reproach his son for not holding the oath which he had sworn on his coffin, to abandon Sidonia. And consequently, respect and terror would have alike prevented any human soul in the castle from daring to follow it, and investigate its object. Therefore let us praise the name of the Lord who turned all things to good, and fulfilled, in Sidonia and her lover, the Scripture which saith, "Thinking themselves wise, they became fools" (Rom. i. 21).