CHAPTER V.
How they went on meantime at Wolgast—Item, of the Diet at Wollin, and what happened there.
With regard to their Serene Highnesses of Wolgast, I have already related, libro primo, that the young lord, Ernest Ludovicus, was carried out of Sidonia's chamber like one dead, when he beheld her abominable wickedness with his own eyes and all can easily believe that he lay for a long while sick unto death. In vain Dr. Pomius offered his celebrated specific; he would take nothing, did nothing day or night but sigh and groan—
"Ah, Sidonia; ah, my beloved heart's bride, Sidonia, can it be possible? Adored Sidonia, my heart is breaking. Sidonia, Sidonia, can it be possible?"
At last the idea struck Dr. Pomius that there must be magic and devil's work in it. So he searched through all his learned books, and finally came upon a recipe which was infallible in such cases. This was to burn the tooth of a dead man to powder, and let the sick bewitched person smoke the ashes. Such was solemnly recommended by Petrus Hispanus Ulyxbonensis, who, under the name of John XXII., ascended the papal throne. See his Thesaurus Pauperum, cap. ult.
But the Prince would neither take anything nor smoke anything, and the delirium amatorium grew more violent and alarming day by day, so that the whole ducal house was plunged into the deepest grief and despair.
Now there was a prisoner in the bastion tower at Wolgast, a carl from Katzow, who had been arrested and condemned for practising horrible sorceries and magic—namely, having changed the calves of his neighbours into young hares, which instinctively started off to the woods, and were never seen more, as the whole town testified; and other devil's doings he had practised, which I now forget; but they were fully proved against him, and so he was sentenced to be burned.
This man now sent a message to the authorities, that if they pardoned him and allowed him free passage from the town, he would tell of something to cure the young lord. This was agreed to; and when he was brought to the chamber of the Prince, he laid his ear down upon his breast, to listen if it were witchcraft that ailed him. Then he spake—
"Yes; the heart beats quite unnaturally, the sound was like the whimpering of a fly caught in a spider's web; their lordships might listen for themselves."
Whereupon all present, one after the other, laid their ear upon the breast of the young Prince, and heard really as he had described.
The earl now said that he would give his Highness a potion which would make him, from that hour, hate the woman who had bewitched him as much as he had adored her. Item, the young lord must sleep for three days, and when he woke, his strength would have returned to him; to procure this sleep, he must anoint his temples with goat's milk, which they must instantly bring him, and during his sleep the Lady Duchess must, every two hours, lay fresh ox-flesh upon his stomach.
When her Grace heard this, she rejoiced that her dear son would so soon hold the harlot in abhorrence who had bewitched him. And the earl gave him a red syrup, which he had no sooner swallowed than all care for Sidonia seemed to have vanished from his mind. Even before the goat's milk came, he exclaimed—
"Now that I think over it, what a great blessing that we have got rid of Sidonia."
And no sooner were his temples bathed with the milk than he fell into a deep sleep, which lasted for three days, and when he opened his eyes, his first words were—
"Where is that Sidonia? Is the wanton still here? Bring her before me, that I may tell her how I hate her. Oh, fool that I was, to peril my princely honour for a harlot. Where is she? I must have my revenge upon the light wanton."
Her Grace could hardly speak for joy when she heard these words; and she gave the earl, who had watched all the time by the bedside of the young Prince, so much ham and sausages from the ducal kitchen, that he finally could not walk, but was obliged to be drawn out of the town in a car. Then she asked Dr. Pomius how such a miracle could have been effected. At which he laid his finger on his nose, after his manner, and replied, such was accomplished through the introduction of the natural Life Balsam, which the learned called confermentationem Mumie, and so the fool went on prating, and her Grace devouring his words as if they were gospel.
Summa.—After a few days the young lord was able to leave his bed, and as they kept fresh ox-flesh continually applied to his stomach, he soon regained his strength, so that, in a couple of weeks, he could ride, fish, and hunt, and his cheeks were as fresh and rosy as ever. One day he mentioned "the groom's mistress," as he called her, and wished he could give her a lesson in lute-playing, it would be one to make her tremble. But when the letter arrived from Duke Barnim, declaring that, from his great age, he proposed resigning the government of Pomerania into the hands of her Grace's sons, there was no end to the rejoicings at Wolgast, and her Grace declared that she would herself accompany them to the Diet at Wollin.
We shall now see what a treat was waiting her at the old castle there. It was built wholly of wood, and has long since fallen; but at the time I write of, it was standing in all its glory.
Monday, the 15th May 1569, at eleven in the forenoon, his Grace of Stettin came with seven coaches and two hundred and fourteen horsemen into the courtyard. And there, on the steps of the castle, stood my gracious Lady of Wolgast, holding the little Casimir by the hand, in waiting to receive his Highness, and all her other sons stood round her—namely, the illustrious Bishop of Camyn, Johann Frederick, in his bishop's robes, with the staff and mitre. Item, Duke Bogislaus, who had presented her Grace with a tame sea-gull. Item, Ernest Ludovicus, in a Spanish mantle of black velvet, embossed in gold, and upon his head a black velvet Spanish hat, looped up with diamonds, from which long white plumes descended to his shoulder. Item, Barnim the younger, who wore a dress similar to his brother's. Item, the Grand Chamberlain, Ulrich von Schwerin, and with him a great crowd of the counsellors and state officers of Wolgast, besides all the nobles, prelates, knights, and chief burghers of the duchy. Among the nobles stood Otto von Bork, brother to Sidonia; and the burgomaster, Jacob Appelmann, held his place among the citizens.
As Duke Barnim drove up to the castle, the guards fired a salute, and the bells rang, and the cannon roared, and all the vessels in the harbour hoisted their flags, while the streets, houses, and courtyards were decorated with flowers, and all the people of the little town trotted round the carriage, shouting, "Vivat! vivat! vivat!" so that the like was never seen before in Wollin.
Now, when the coach stopped, her Grace the Duchess advanced to meet his Highness; and as old Duke Barnim's head appeared at the window, with his long white beard and yellow leather cap, her Grace stepped forward, and said—"Welcome, dearest Un———"
But she could get no farther, and stood as stiff as Lot's wife when she was turned into a pillar of salt, for there was Sidonia seated in the carriage beside the Duke! Old Ulrich, who followed, soon spied the cause of her Grace's dismay, and exclaimed—
"Three thousand devils, what does your Highness mean by bringing the accursed harlot a third time amongst us?"
But his Highness only laughed, and drew forth his last puppet, it was a Satan as he tempted Eve, saying—
"Hold this for me, good Ulrich, till I am out of the coach, and then I shall hear all about it."
To which the other answered—
"If you let me catch hold of this other Satan, whom ye bring with you, I think it were wiser done!"
Prince Ernest now sprang down the steps, his eye flaming with rage, and drawing his sword, cried—
"Hold me, or I will stab the serpent to the heart, who so disgraced me and my family honour. I will murder her there in the coach before your eyes."
Whereupon old Ulrich flung the little wooden Satan to the ground, and seized the young man by the arm, while Sidonia screamed violently. But the old Duke stepped deliberately out of the coach. Seeing, however, his wooden Satan lying broken on the ground, he became very wroth, and called loudly for a turner with his glue-pot. Then he ascended the steps, and when all had greeted him deferentially, he began—
"Dear niece, worthy cousins, and friends, ye have no doubt heard of the misfortune which hath befallen Sidonia von Bork, who sits there in the carriage. Her father has died; and, further, she has been disinherited. Thereupon she fled to me to seek a refuge. Now ye all know well that the Von Borks are an ancient, honourable, and illustrious race—none more so; therefore I had compassion upon the orphan, and brought her hither to effect a reconciliation between her and Otto Bork, her brother. Step forward, Otto Bork, where are you hiding? Step forth, and hand your sister from the carriage; I saw you amongst the nobles here to-day. Step forth!"
But Otto had disappeared; and as the Duke found he would not answer to his summons, he bid Sidonia come forth herself. Whereupon the young Prince swore fiercely that, if she but put a foot upon the step he would murder her. "What the devil! young man," said the Duke, laughing; "first you must needs wed her, and now you will slay her dead at our feet! This is somewhat inconsistent. Come forth, Sidonia; he will not be so cruel."
But she sat in the coach, and wept like a child who has lost its nurse. So my gracious lady stepped forward, and commanded the coachman to drive instantly with the maiden to the town inn; and so it was done.
Now the old Duke never ceased for the whole forenoon soliciting Otto Bork to take the poor orphan home with him, and there to treat her as a faithful and kind brother, in compensation for her father's harsh and unnatural will; but it was all in vain, as she indeed had prophesied. "Not the weight of a feather more should she get than the two farmhouses in Zachow; and never let her call him brother, for ancient as his race was, never had one of them borne the brand of infamy till now."
In the afternoon, all the prelates, nobles, and burghers assembled in the grand hall; then entered the ducal family, Barnim the elder at their head. He was dressed in a long black robe, such as the priests wear now, with white ruffles and Spanish frill, and was bareheaded. He took his seat at the top of the table, and thus spake—
"Illustrious Princess, dear cousins, nobles, and faithful burghers, ye all know that I have ruled this Pomeranian land for fifty years, upholding the pure doctrine of Doctor Martin Luther, and casting down papacy in all places and at all times. But as I am now old, and find it hard sometimes to keep my unruly vassals in order, whereof we have had a proof lately, it is my will and purpose to resign the government into the hands of my dear cousins, the illustrious Princes von Pommern-Wolgast, and retire to Oderburg in Old Stettin, there to rest in peace for the remainder of my days; but there are four princes (for the fifth, Casimir, to-morrow or next day shall get a church endowment) and but two duchies. For ye know that, by the Act passed in 1541, the Duchy of Pomerania can only be divided into two portions, the other princes of the family being entitled but to life-annuities. Therefore I have resolved to let it be decided by lot amongst the four Pomeranian princes (according to the example set us by the holy apostles), which of them shall succeed me in Stettin, which is to rule in Wolgast in the room of my loved brother, Philippus Primus of blessed memory; and, finally, which is to be content only with the life-annuity. And this shall now be ascertained in your presence."
Having ended, he commanded the Grand Marshal, Von Flemming, to bring the golden lottery-box with the tickets, and beckoned the young princes to the table. Then, while they drew the lots, he commanded all the nobles, knights, and burghers present to lift up their hands and repeat the Lord's Prayer aloud. So every hand was elevated, even the Duke and my gracious lady uplifting theirs, and the three young princes drew the lots, but not the fourth, and this was Bogislaff. So Duke Barnim wondered, and asked the reason. Whereupon he answered, "That he would not tempt God in aught. To govern a land was a serious thing; and he who had little to rule had little to be responsible for before God. He would therefore freely withdraw his claims, and be content with the annuity; then he could remain with his dear mother, and console her in her widowhood. He did not fear that he would ever repent his choice, for he had more pleasure in study than in the pomp of the world; and if he took the government, then must his beloved library be given up for food to the moths and spiders."
All arguments were vain to turn him from his resolve: so the lots were drawn, and it was found that Johann Frederick had come by the Dukedom of Stettin, and Ernest Ludovicus by that of Wolgast.
But as Barnim the younger went away empty, he was filled with envy and mortification, showing quite a different spirit from his meek, humble-minded brother, Bogislaff. He swore, and cursed his ill luck. "Why did not that fool of a bookworm give over his chance to him, if he would not profit by it himself? Why the devil should he descend to play the commoner, when he was born to play the prince?" and suchlike unamiable and ill-tempered speeches. However, he was now silenced by the drums and trumpets, which struck up the Te Deum, in which all present joined. Then Doctor Dannenbaum offered up a prayer, and so that grand ceremony concluded. But the feasting and drinking was carried on with such spirit all through the evening, and far into the night, that all the young lords, except Bogislaff, had well nigh drowned their senses in the wine-cup; and Ernest started up about midnight, declaring that he would go to the inn and murder Sidonia. Barnim was busy quarrelling with Johann Frederick about his annuity. So Ernest would certainly have gone to Sidonia, if one of the nobles, by name Dinnies Kleist, a man of huge strength, had not detained him in a singular manner. For he laid a wager that, just with his little finger in the girdle of the young Prince, he would hold him fast; and if he (the Prince) moved but one inch from the spot where he stood, he was content to lose his wager.
And, in truth, Prince Ernest found that he could not stir one step from the spot where Dinnies Kleist held him; so he called a noble to assist him, who seized his hand and tried to draw him away, but in vain; then he called a second, a third, a fourth, up to a dozen, and they all held each other by the hand, and pulled and pulled away till their heads nearly touched the floor, but in vain; not one inch could they make the Prince to move. So Dinnies Kleist won his wager; and the Duke, Johann Frederick, was so delighted with this proof of his giant strength, that he took him into his service from that hour. So the whole night Dinnies amused the guests by performing equally wonderful feats even until day dawned.
Now, there was an enormous golden becker which Duke Ratibor I. had taken away from the rich town of Konghalla, in Norway land, when he fell upon it and plundered it. This becker stood on the table filled with wine, and as the Duke handed it to him to pledge him, Dinnies said, "Shall I crush this in my hand, like fresh bread, for your Grace?" "You may try," said the Duke, laughing; and instantly he crushed it together with such force, that the wine dashed down all over the table-cover. Item, the Duke threw down some gold and silver medals—"Could he break them?"
"Ay, truly, if they were given to him; not else."
"Take, then, as many as you can break," said the Duke. So he broke them all as easily as altar wafers, and thrust them, laughing, into his pocket.
Item, there had been large quantities of preserved cherries at supper, and the lacqueys had piled up the stones on a dish like a high mountain. From this mountain Dinnies took handful after handful, and squeezed them together, so that not a single stone remained whole in his hand. We shall hear a great deal more of this Dinnies Kleist, and his strength, as we proceed; therefore shall let him rest for the present.
CHAPTER VI.
How Sidonia is again discovered with the groom, Johann Appelmann.
It was a good day for Johann Appelmann, when his father went to the Diet at Wollin. For as the old burgomaster held strictly by his word, and sent him each day to the writing-office, and locked him up each night in his little room, the poor young man had found life growing very dull. Now he was his mother's pet, and all his sins and wickedness were owing to her as much as Sidonia's to her father. She had petted and spoiled him from his youth up, and stiffened his back against his father. For whenever worthy Jacob laid the stick upon the boy's shoulders, she cried and roared, and called him nothing but an old tyrant. Then how she was always stuffing him up with tit-bits and dainties, whenever his father's back was turned; and if there were a glass of wine left in the bottle, the boy must have it. Then she let him and his brother beat and abuse all the street-boys and send them away bleeding like dogs; and some were afraid to complain of them, as they were sons of the burgomaster; and if others came to the house to do so, she took good care to send them away with a stout blow or bloody nose.
And as the lads grew up, how she praised their beauty, and curled their hair and beards herself, telling them they were not to think of citizen wives, but to look after the richest and highest, for the proudest in the land might be glad to get them as husbands. So she prated away during her husband's absence, for he was in his office all day and most part of the evening. And God knows, bad fruit she brought forth with such rearing—not alone in Johann, but also in his brother Wittich, who, as I afterwards heard, got on no better in Pudgla, where he held the office of magistrate. So true it is what the Scripture says, "A wise woman buildeth her house, but the foolish plucketh it down with her hands" (Prov. xiv.) Then, another Scripture, "As moths from a garment, so from a woman wickedness" (Sirach xlii.)
For what did this fool do now? As soon as her upright and worthy husband had left the house, forgetting and despising all his admonitions respecting this son Johann, she called together all her acquaintance, and kept up a gormandising and drinking day after day, all to comfort her heart's dear pet Johann, who had been used so harshly by his cross father. Think of her fine, handsome son being stuck down all day to a clerk's desk. Ah! was there ever such a tyrant as her husband to any one, but especially to his own born children?
And so she went on complaining how she had thrown herself away upon such a hard-hearted monster, and had refused so many fine young carls, all to wed Satan himself at least. She could not make out why God had sent such a curse upon her.
When the brave Johann heard all this, he begged money from his mother, that he might seek another situation. Now that there was a new duke in Stettin, he would assuredly get employment there, but then he must treat all the young fellows and pages about the court, otherwise they would not put in a good word for him. Therefore he would give them a great carouse at the White Horse in the Monk's Close, and then assuredly he would be appointed chief equerry. So she believed every word he uttered; but as old Jacob had carried away all the money that was in the house with him, she sold the spices that had just come in, for a miserable sum, also her own pearl earrings and fur mantle, that her dear heart's son might have a gay carouse, to console him for all his father's hard treatment.
Summa.—When the rogue had got all he could from her, he took his father's best mare from the stable, and rode up to Stettin, where he put up at the White Horse Inn, and soon scraped acquaintance with all the idle young fellows about the court. So they drank and caroused until Johann's last penny was spent, but he had got no situation except in good promises. Truly the young pages had mentioned him to the Duke, and asked the place of equerry for their jovial companion, but his Highness, Duke Johann, had heard too much of his doings at Wolgast, and would by no means countenance him.
Then Johann bethought himself of Sidonia, for he had heard from his boon companions that she was in the Duke's house behind St. Mary's. And he remembered that purse embroidered with pearls and diamonds which his father had given her, so he went many days spying about the house, hoping to get a glimpse of Sidonia; but as she never appeared, he resolved to gain admission by playing the tailor. Wherefore, he tied on an apron, took a tailor's measure and shears, and went straight up to the house, asking boldly, if a young maiden named Sidonia did not live there? for he had got orders to make her a garment. Now the baker's daughter, Trim Wehlers, suspected all was not right, for she had seen my gay youth spying about the house before, and staring up at all the windows. However, she showed the tailor Sidonia's room, and then set herself down to watch. But the wonders of Providence are great. Although she could not hear a word they said, yet all that passed in Sidonia's room was made evident—it was in this wise. Just before the house rose up the church of St. Mary's, with all its stately pillars, and as if God's house wished in wrath to expose the wickedness of the pair, everything that passed in the room was shadowed on these pillars; so when Trina observed this, she ran for the other girls, crying, "Come here, come here, and see how the two shadows are kissing each other. They can be no other than Sidonia and her tailor. This would be fine news for our gracious lord!" They would tell him the whole story when his Highness came that evening, and so get rid of this proud, haughty dragon who played the great lady amongst them, and ruled everything her own way. Therefore they all set themselves to watch for the tailor when he left Sidonia's room; but the whole day passed, and he had not done with his measurement. Whereupon they concluded she must have secreted him in her chamber.
Now the Duke had a private key of the house, and was in the habit of walking over from Oderburg after dusk almost every evening; but as there was no sign of him now, they despatched a messenger, bidding him come quick to his house, and his Grace would hear and see marvels. How the young girls gathered round him when he entered, all telling him together about Sidonia. And when at last he made out the story, his Grace fell into an unwonted rage (for he was generally mild and good-tempered) that a poacher should get into his preserves. So he runs to Sidonia's door and tries to open it, but the bolts are drawn. Then he threatened to send for Master Hansen if she did not instantly admit him, at which all the girls laughed and clapped their hands with joy. Whereupon Sidonia at last came to the door with looks of great astonishment, and demanded what his Grace could want. It was bed-time, and so, of course, she had locked her door to lie down in safety.
Ille.-"Where is that tailor churl who had come to her in the morning?"
Illa.-"She knew nothing about him, except that he had gone away long ago."
So the girls all screamed "No, no, that is not true! She and the tailor had been kissing each other, as they saw by the shadows on the wall, and making love."
Here Sidonia appeared truly horrified at such an accusation, for she was a cunning hypocrite; and taking up the coif-block [Footnote: A block for head-gears.] with an air of offended dignity, said, turning to his Grace, "It was this coif-block, methinks, I had at the window with me, and may those be accursed who blackened me to your face." So the Duke half believed her, and stood silent at the window; but Trina Wehlers cried out, "It is false! it is false! a coif-block could not give kisses!" Whereupon Sidonia in great wrath snatched up a robe that lay near her on a couch, to hit the baker's daughter with it across the face. But woe! woe! under the robe lay the tailor's cap, upon which all the girls screamed out, "There is the cap! there is the cap! now we'll soon find the tailor," pushing Sidonia aside, and beginning to search in every nook and corner of the room. Heyday, what an uproar there was now, when they caught sight of the tailor himself in the chimney and dragged him down; but he dashed them aside with his hands, right and left, so that many got bleeding noses, hit his Grace, too, a blow as he tried to seize him, and rushed out of the house.
Still the Duke had time to recognise the knave of Wolgast, and was so angry at his having escaped him, that he almost beat Sidonia. "She was at her old villainy. No good would ever come of her. He saw that now with his own eyes. Therefore this very night she and her baggage should pack off, to the devil if she chose, but he had done with her for ever."
When Sidonia found that the affair was taking a bad turn, she tried soft words, but in vain. His Highness ordered up her two serving wenches to remove her and her luggage. And so, to the great joy of the other girls, who laughed and screamed, and clapped their hands, she was turned out, and having nowhere to go to, put up once more at the White Horse Inn.
Now Johann knew nothing of this until next morning, when, as he was toying with one of the maids, he heard a voice from the window, "Johann! Johann! I will give thee the diamond." And looking up, there was Sidonia. So the knave ran to her, and swore he was only jesting with the maid in the court, for that he would marry no one but her, as he had promised yesterday, only he must first wait till he was made equerry, then he would obtain letters of nobility, which could easily be done, as he was the son of a patricius; but gold, gold was wanting for all this, and to keep up with his friends at the court. Perhaps this very day he might get the place, if he had only some good claret to entertain them with; therefore she had better give him a couple of diamonds from the purse. And so he went on with his lies and humbug, until at last he got what he wanted.
Sidonia now felt so ashamed of her degradation, that she resolved to leave the White Horse, and take a little lodging in the Monk's Close until Johann obtained the post of equerry. But in vain she hoped and waited. Every day the rogue came, he begged for another pearl or diamond, and if she hesitated, then he swore it would be the last, for this very day he was certain of the situation. At last but two diamonds were left, and beg as he might, these he should not have. Then he beat her, and ran off to the White Horse, but came back again in less than an hour. Would she forgive him? Now they would be happy at last; he had received his appointment as chief equerry. His friends had behaved nobly and kept their word, therefore he must give them a right merry carouse out of gratitude; she might as well hand him those two little diamonds. Now they would want for nothing at last, but live like princes at the table of his Highness the Duke. Would she not be ready to marry him immediately?
Thereupon the unfortunate Sidonia handed over her two last jewels, but never laid eyes on the knave for two days after, when he came to tell her it was all up with him now, the traitors had deceived him, he had got no situation, and unless she gave him more money or jewels he never could marry her. She had still golden armlets and a gold chain, let her go for them, he must see them, and try what he could get for them. But he begged in vain. Then he stormed, swore, threatened, beat her, and finally rushed out of the house declaring that she might go to the devil, for as to him he would never give himself any further trouble about her.
CHAPTER VII.
Of the distress in Pomeranian land—Item, how Sidonia and Johann Appelmann determine to join the robbers in the vicinity of Stargard.
When my gracious lord, Duke Johann Frederick, succeeded to the government, he had no idea of hoarding up his money in old pots, but lavished it freely upon all kinds of buildings, hounds, horses—in short, upon everything that could make his court and castle luxurious and magnificent.
Indeed, he was often as prodigal, just to gratify a whim, as when he flung the gold coins to Dinnies Kleist, merely to see if he could break them. For instance, he was not content with the old ducal residence at Stettin, but must pull it down and build another in the forest, not far from Stargard, with churches, towers, stables, and all kinds of buildings; and this new residence he called after his own name, Friedrichswald.
Item, my gracious lord had many princely visitors, who would come with a train of six hundred horses or more; and his princely spouse, the Duchess Erdmuth, was a lady of munificent spirit, and flung away gold by handfuls; so that in a short time his Highness had run through all his forefathers' savings, and his incoming revenue was greatly diminished by the large annuity which he had to pay to old Duke Barnim.
Therefore he summoned the states, and requested them to assist him with more money; but they gave answer that his Highness wanted prudence; he ought to tie his purse tighter. Why did he build that new castle of Friedrichswald? Was it ever heard in Pomerania that a prince needed two state residences? But his Highness never entered the treasury to look after the expenditure of the duchy—he did nothing but banquet, hunt, fish, and build. The states, therefore, had no gold for such extravagances.
When his Highness had received this same answer two or three times from the states, he waxed wroth, and threatened to pronounce the interdictum seculars over his poor land, and finally close the royal treasury and all the courts of justice, until the states would give him money.
Now the old treasurer, Jacob Zitsewitz, who had quitted Wolgast to enter the service of his Grace, was so shocked at these proceedings, that he killed himself out of pure grief and shame. He was an upright, excellent man, this old Zitsewitz, though perchance, like old Duke Barnim, he loved the maidens and a lusty Pomeranian draught rather too well. And he foretold all the evil that would result from this same interdict; but his Highness resisted his entreaties; and when the old man found his warnings unheeded and despised, he stabbed himself, as I have said, there in the treasury, before his master's eyes, out of grief and shame.
The misery which he prophesied soon fell upon the land; for it was just at that time that the great house of Loitz failed in Stettin, leaving debts to the amount of twenty tons of gold, it was said; by reason of which many thousand men, widows, and orphans, were utterly beggared, and great distress brought upon all ranks of the people. Such universal grief and lamentation never had been known in all Pomerania, as I have heard my father tell, of blessed memory; and as the princely treasury was closed, as also all the courts of justice, and no redress could be obtained, many misguided and ruined men resolved to revenge themselves; and this was now a welcome hearing to Johann Appelmann.
For having given up all hope of the post of equerry, he made acquaintance with these disaffected persons, amongst whom was a miller, one Philip Konneman by name, a notorious knave. With this Konneman he sits down one evening in the inn to drink Rostock beer, begins to curse and abuse the reigning family, who had ruined and beggared the people even more than Hans Loitz. They ought to combine together and right themselves. Where was the crime? Their cause was good; and where there were no judges in the land, complaints would do little good. He would be their captain. Let him speak to the others about it, and see would they consent. He knew of many churches where there were jewels and other valuables still remaining. Also in Stargard, where his dear father played the burgomaster, there was much gold.
So they fixed a night when they should all meet at Lastadie,
[Footnote: A suburb of Stettin.] near the ducal fish-house; and
Johann then goes to Sidonia to wheedle her out of the gold chain,
for handsel for the robbers.
"Now," he said, "the good old times were come back in Pomerania, when every one trusted to his own good sword, and were not led like sheep at the beck of another; for the treasury and all the courts of justice were closed. So the glorious times of knight-errantry must come again, such as their forefathers had seen." His companions had promised to elect him captain; but then he must give them handsel for that, and the gold chain would just sell for the sum he wanted. What use was it to her? If she gave it, then he would take her with him, and the first rich prize they got he would marry her certainly, and settle down in Poland afterwards, or wherever else she wished. That would be a glorious life, and she would never regret the young Duke. And had not all the nobles in old time led the same life, and so gained their castles and lands?
But Sidonia began to weep. "Let him do what he would, she would never give the chain; and if he beat her, she would scream for help through the streets, and betray all his plans to the authorities. Now she saw plainly how she had been deceived. He had talked her out of all her gold, and now wanted to bring her to the gallows at last. No, never should he get the chain—it was all she had left; and she had determined at last to go and live quietly at her farm in Zachow, as soon as she could obtain a vehicle from Regenswald to Labes."
When Johann heard this, he was terribly alarmed, and kissed her little hands, and coaxed and flattered her—"Why did she weep? There were plenty of herons' feathers now in the garden behind St. Mary's, for the birds were moulting. She could easily get some of them, and they were worth three times as much as the gold chain. Did she think it a crime to take a few feathers from that old sinner, Duke Barnim, or his girls? And if she really wished to leave him, she could sell the feathers even better in Dresden than here."
It was all in vain. Sidonia continued weeping—"Let him talk as he liked, she would never give the chain. He was a knave through and through. Woe to her that she had ever listened to him! He was the cause of all her misery!" and so she went on.
But the cunning fox would not give up his prey so easily. He now tried the same trick which he had played so successfully at Wolgast upon old Ulrich, and at Stargard upon his father; in short, he played the penitent, and began to weep and lament over his errors, and all the misery he had caused her. "It was, indeed, true that he was to blame for all; but if she would only forgive him, and say she pardoned him, he would devote his life to her, and revenge her upon all her enemies. The moment for doing so was nigh at hand; for the young lord, Prince Ernest, who had so shamefully abandoned her, was coming here to Stettin with his young bride, the Princess Hedwig of Brunswick, to spend the honeymoon, and would he not take good care to waylay them on their journey to Wolgast, and give them something to think of for the rest of their lives?"
When Sidonia heard these tidings, her eyes flashed like a cat's in the dark. "Who told him that? She would not believe it, unless some one else confirmed the story."
So he answered—"That any one could confirm it, for the whole castle was filled with workmen making preparations for their reception; the bridal chamber had been hung with new tapestry, and painters and carvers were busy all day long painting and carving the united arms of Pomerania and Brunswick upon all the furniture and glass."
Illa.—"Well, she would go into the town to inquire, and if his tale were true, and that he swore to marry her, he should have the chain."
Ille.—"There was a carver going by with his basket and tools—let her call him in, and hear what he said on the matter."
So my cunning fellow called out to the workman, who stepped in presently with his basket, and assured the lady politely, that in fourteen days the young Duke of Wolgast and his princely bride were to arrive at the castle, for the Court Marshal had told him this himself, and given him orders to have a large number of glasses cut with their united arms ready with all diligence.
When Sidonia heard this, and saw the glasses in his basket, she handed the golden chain to Johann, and the carver went his way. Then the aforesaid rogue fell down on his knees, swearing to marry her, and never to leave her more, for she had now given him all; and if this, too, were lost, she must beg her way to Zachow.
So the gallows-bird went off with the chain, turned it into money, drank and caroused, and with the remainder set off for Lastadie, to meet the ringleaders, near the ducal fishhouse, as agreed upon.
But Master Konneman had only been able to gather ten fellows together; the others held back, though they had talked so boldly at first, thinking, no doubt, that when the courts of justice were reopened, they would all be brought to the gallows.
So Johann thought the number too small for his purposes, and agreed with the others to send an envoy to the robber-band of the Stargard Wood, proposing a league between them, and offering himself (Johann Appelmann, a knight of excellent family and endowments) as their captain. Should they consent, the said Johann would give them right good handsel; and on the appointed day, meet them in the forest, with his illustrious and noble bride; and as a sign whereby they should know him, he would whistle three times loudly when he approached the wood.
Konneman undertook to be the bearer of the message, and returned in a few days, declaring that the robbers had received the proposal with joy. He found them encamped under a large nut-tree in the forest, roasting a sheep upon a spear, at a large fire. So they made him sit down and eat with them, and told him it was a right jolly life, with no ruler but the great God above them. Better to live under the free heaven than die in their squalid cabins. The band was strong, besides many who had joined lately, since the bankruptcy of Hans Loitz, and there were some gipsies too, amongst whom was an old hag who told fortunes, and had lately prophesied to the band that a great prize was in store for them; they had just returned with some booty from the little town of Damm, where they had committed a robbery. One of their party, however, had been taken there.
When Johann heard the good result of his message, he summoned all his followers to another meeting at the ducal fish-house, gave them each money, and swore them to fidelity; then bid them disperse, and slip singly to the band, to avoid observation, and he would himself meet them in the forest next day.
CHAPTER VIII.
How Johann and Sidonia meet an adventure, at Alten Damm—Item, of their reception by the robber-band.
Now Johann Appelmann had a grudge against the newly appointed equerry to his Highness, for the man had swilled his claret, and been foremost in his promises, and yet now had stepped into the place himself, and left Johann in the lurch. The knave, therefore, determined on revenge; so invented a story, how that his father, old Appelmann, had sent for him to give him half of all he was worth, and as he must journey to Stargard directly, he prayed his friend the equerry to lend him a couple of horses and a waggon out of the ducal stables, with harness and all that would be necessary, swearing that when he brought them back he would give him and his other friends such a carouse at the inn, as they had never yet had in their lives.
And when the other asked, would not one horse be sufficient, Johann replied no, that he required the waggon for his luggage, and two horses would be necessary to draw it. Summa, the fool gives him two beautiful Andalusian stallions, with harness and saddles; item, a waggon, whereon my knave mounted next morning early, with Sidonia and her luggage, and took the miller, Konneman, with him as driver.
But as they passed through Alten Damm, a strange adventure happened, whereby the all-merciful God, no doubt, wished to turn them from their evil way; but they flung His warnings to the wind.
For the carl was going to be executed who belonged to the robber-band, that had committed a burglary there, in the town, some days previously. However, the gallows having been blown down by a storm, the linen-weavers, according to old usage, came to erect another. This angered the millers, who also began to erect one of their own, declaring that the weavers had only a right to supply the ladder, but they were to erect the gallows. A great fight now arose between weavers and millers, while the poor thief stood by with his hands tied behind his back, and arrayed in his winding-sheet. But the sheriffs, and whatever other honourable citizens were by, having in vain endeavoured to appease the quarrel, returned to the inn, to take the advice of the honourable council.
Just at this moment Johann and Sidonia drove into the middle of the crowd, and the former leaped off and laughed heartily, for a miller had thrown down a poor lean weaver close behind the criminal, and was belabouring him stoutly with his floured fists, whilst the poor wretch screamed loudly for succour or assistance to the criminal, who answered in his Platt Deutsch, "I cannot help thee, friend, for, see, my hands are bound." Upon this, Johann draws his knife from his girdle, and slipping behind the felon, cuts the ropes binding him.
He straightway, finding himself free, jumped upon the miller, and turned the flour all red upon his face with his heavy blows. Then he ran towards the waggon, but the guardsman caught hold of him by the shoulder, so the poor wretch left the winding-sheet in his hand, and jumping, naked as he was, on the back of one of the horses, set off, at top speed, to the forest, with Sidonia screaming and roaring fleeing with him.
Millers and weavers now left off their wrangling, and joined together in pursuit, but in vain; the fellow soon distanced them all, and was lost to sight in the wood.
When he had driven the waggon a good space, and still hearing the roaring of the people in pursuit, he stopped the horses, and jumped off, to take to his heels amongst the trees. Whereupon Konneman threw him a horse-cloth from the waggon, bidding him cover himself with it; so the carl snapped it up, and rolled it about his body with all alacrity. Now this horse-cloth was embroidered with the Pomeranian arms, and the poor Adam looked so absurd running away in such a garment, that Sidonia, notwithstanding all her fright, could not help bursting into a loud mocking laughter.
Whereupon the crowd came up, cursing, swearing, and cursing, that the thief had escaped them; Johann Appelmann, who was amongst them, and was just in the act of stepping up to the waggon, when Prince Johann Frederick and a company of carbineers galloped up along with the chief equerry and a large retinue, all on their way to Friedrichswald.
The Duke stopped to hear the cause of the tumult, and when they told him, he laughingly said, he would soon return with the gallows-knaves; then, turning to Appelmann, he asked who he was, and what brought him there?
When Johann gave his name, and said he was going to Stargard, his
Grace exclaimed, with surprise—
"So thou art the knave of whom I have heard so much; and this woman here, I suppose, is Sidonia? Pity of her. She is a handsome wench, I see."
Then, as Sidonia blushed and looked down, he continued—
"And where did the fellow get these fine horses? Would he sell them?"
Now Appelmann had a great mind to tell the truth, and say he got them from the equerry, who was already turning white with pure fear; but recollecting that he might come in for some of the punishment himself, besides hoping to play a second trick upon his Highness, he answered, that his father at Stargard had made them a present to him.
The Duke, now turning to his equerry, asked him—
"Would not these horses match his Andalusian stallions perfectly?"
And as the other tremblingly answered, "Yes, perfectly," his Grace demanded if the knave would sell them.
Ille.—"Oh yes; to gratify his Serene Highness the Duke, he would sell the horses for 3000 florins."
"Let it be so," said the Duke; "but I must owe thee the money, fellow."
Ille.—"Then he would not make the bargain, for he wanted the money directly to take him to Stargard."
So the Duke frowned that he would not trust his own Prince; and as Appelmann attempted to move off with the waggon, his Highness took his plumed cap from his head, and cutting off the diamond agrafe with his dagger, flung it to him, exclaiming—
"Stay! take these jewels, they are worth 1300 florins, but leave me the horses."
Now the chief equerry nearly fell from his horse with shame as the knave picked up the agrafe, and shoved it into his pocket, then humbly addressing his Highness, prayed for permission just to leave the maiden and her luggage in Stargard, and then he would return instantly with both horses, and bring them himself to his gracious Highness at Friedrichswald.
The Duke having consented, the knave sprang up upon the waggon, and turning off to another road, drove away as hard as he could from the scene of this perilous adventure. After some time he whistled, but receiving no response, kept driving through the forest until evening, when a loud, shrill whistle at last replied to his, and on reaching a cross-road, he found the whole band dancing with great merriment round a large sign-board which had been stuck up there by the authorities, and on which was painted a gipsy lying under the gallows, while the executioner stood over him in the act of applying the torture, and beneath ran the inscription—
"Gipsy! from Pomerania flee,
Or thus it shall be done to thee."
These words the robber crew had set to some sort of rude melody, and now sang it and danced to it round the sign, the fellow with the horse-cloth in the midst of them, the merriest of them all.
The moment they got a glimpse of their captain, men, women, and children ran off like mad to the waggon, clapping their hands and shouting, "Huzzah! huzzah! what a noble captain! Had he brought them anything to drink?" And when he said "Yes," and handed out three barrels of wine, there was no end to the jubilee of cheering. Then he must give them handsel, and after that they would make a large fire and swear fealty to him round it, as was the manner of the gipsies, for the band was mostly composed of gipsies, and numbered about fifty men altogether.
Summa.—A great fire was kindled, round which they all took the oath of obedience to their captain, and he swore fidelity to them in return. Then a couple of deer were roasted; and after they had eaten and drunk, the singing and dancing round the great sign-board was resumed, until the broad daylight glanced through the trees.
People may see from this to what a pitch of lawlessness and disorder the land came under the reign of Duke Johann. For, methinks, these robbers would never have dared to make such a mock of the authorities, only that my Lord Duke had shut up all the courts of justice in the kingdom.
During their jollity, our knave Appelmann cast his eyes upon a gipsy maiden, called the handsome Sioli; a tall, dark-eyed wench, but with scarcely a rag to cover her. Therefore he bade Sidonia run to her luggage, and take out one of her own best robes for the girl; but Sidonia turned away in great wrath, exclaiming—
"This was the way he kept his promise to her. She had given him all, and followed him even hither, and yet he cared more for a ragged gipsy girl than for her. But she would go away that very night, anywhere her steps might lead her, if only away from her present misery. Let him give her the Duke's diamonds, and she would leave him all the herons' feathers, and never come near him any more."
But my knave only laughed, and bid her come take the diamonds if she wanted them, they were in his bosom. Then the gipsy girl and her mother, old Ussel, began to mock the fine lady. So Sidonia sat there weeping and wringing her hands, while Johann laughed, danced, drank, and kissed the gipsy wench, and finally threatened to go and take a robe himself out of the luggage, if Sidonia did not run for one instantly.
However, she would not stir; so Konnemann, the miller, took pity on her, and would have remonstrated, but Johann cut him short, saying—
"What the devil did he mean? Was he not the captain? and why should Konnemann dare to interfere with him?"
Then he strode over to the waggon to plunder Sidonia's baggage, which, when she observed, her heart seemed to break, and she kneeled down, lifted up her hands, and prayed thus:—
"Merciful Creator, I know Thee not, for my hard and unnatural father never brought me to Thee; therefore on his head be my sins. But if Thou hast pity on the young ravens, who likewise know Thee not, have pity upon me, and help me to leave this robber den with Thy gracious help."
Here such a shout of laughter resounded from all sides, that she sprang up, and seizing the best bundle in the waggon, plunged into the wood, with loud cries and lamentation; whilst Appelmann only said—
"Never heed her, let her do as she pleases; she will be back again soon enough, I warrant."
Accordingly, scarcely an hour had elapsed, when the unhappy maiden appeared again, to the great amusement of the whole band, who mocked her yet more than before. She came back crying and lamenting—
"She could go no further, for the wolves followed her, and howled round her on all sides. Ah! that she were a stone, and buried fathoms deep in the earth! That shameless knave, Appelmann, might indeed have pitied her, if he hoped for pity from God; but had he not taken her robe to put it on the gipsy beggar? She nearly died of shame at the sight. But she would never forgive the beggar's brat to the day of judgment for it. All she wanted now was some good Christian to guide her out of the wild forest. Would no one come with her? that was all she asked."
And so she went on crying, and lamenting in the deepest grief.
Summa.—When the knave heard all this, his heart seemed to relent; perhaps he dreaded the anger of her relations if she were treated too badly, or, mayhap, it was compassion, I cannot say; but he sprang up, kissed her, caressed her, and consoled her.
"Why should she leave them? He would remain faithful and constant to her, as he had sworn. Why should the gown for the beggar-girl anger her? When they get the herons' feathers on the morrow, he would buy her ten new gowns for the one he had taken." And so he continued in his old deceiving way, till she at last believed him, and was comforted.
Here the roll of a carriage was heard, and as many of the band as were not quite drunk seized their muskets and pikes, and rushed in the direction of the sound. But behold, the waggon and horses, with all Sidonia's luggage, was off! For, in truth, the equerry, seeing Johann's treachery, had secretly followed him, hiding himself in the bushes till it grew dark, but near enough to observe all that was going on; then, watching his opportunity, and knowing the robbers were all more or less drunk, he sprang upon the waggon, and galloped away as hard as he could. Johann gave chase for a little, but the equerry had got too good a start to be overtaken; and so Johann returned, cursing and raging, to the band. Then they all gathered round the fire again, and drank and caroused till morning dawned, when each sought out a good sleeping-place amongst the bushwood. There they lay till morn, when Johann summoned them to prepare for their excursion to the Duke's gardens at Zachan.
CHAPTER IX.
How his Highness, Duke Barnim the elder, went a-hawking at Marienfliess—Item, of the shameful robbery at Zachan, and how burgomaster Appelmann remonstrates with his abandoned son.
After Duke Barnim the elder had resigned the government, he betook himself more than ever to field-sports; and amongst others, hawking became one of his most favourite pursuits. By this sport, he stocked his gardens at Zachan with an enormous number of herons, and made a considerable sum annually by the sale of the feathers. These gardens at Zachan covered an immense space, and were walled round. Within were many thousand herons' nests; and all the birds taken by the falcons were brought here, and their wings clipped. Then the keepers fed them with fish, frogs, and lizards, so that they became quite tame, and when their wings grew again, never attempted to leave the gardens, but diligently built their nests and reared their young. Now, though it cost a great sum to keep these gardens in order, and support all the people necessary to look after the birds, yet the Duke thought little of the expense, considering the vast sum which the feathers brought him at the moulting season.
Accordingly, during the moulting time, he generally took up his abode at a castle adjoining the gardens, called "The Stone Rampart," to inspect the gathering in of the feathers himself; and he was just on his journey thither with his falconers, hunters, and other retainers, when the robber-band caught sight of him from the wood. His Highness was seated in an open carriage, with Trina Wehlers, the baker's daughter, by his side; and Sidonia, who recognised her enemy, instantly entreated Johann to revenge her on the girl if possible; but, as he hesitated, the old gipsy mother stepped forward and whispered Sidonia, "that she would help her to a revenge, if she but gave her that little golden smelling-bottle which she wore suspended by a gold chain on her neck." Sidonia agreed, and the revenge soon followed; for the Duke left the carriage, and mounted a horse to follow the chase, the falconer having unloosed a couple of hawks and let them fly at a heron. Trina remained in the coach; but the coachman, wishing to see the sport, tied his horses to a tree, and ran off, too, after the others into the wood. The hawk soared high above the heron, watching its opportunity to pounce upon the quarry; but the heron, just as it swooped down upon it, drove its sharp bill through the body of the hawk, and down they both came together covered with blood, right between the two carriage horses.
No doubt this was all done through the magic of the gipsy mother; for the horses took fright instantly, plunged and reared, and dashed off with the carriage, which was over-turned some yards from the spot, and the baker's daughter had her leg broken. Hearing her screams, the Duke and the whole party ran to the spot; and his Highness first scolded the coachman for leaving his horses, then the falconer for having let fly his best falcon, which now lay there quite dead. The heron, however, was alive, and his Grace ordered it to be bound and carried off to Zachan. The baker's daughter prayed, but in vain, that the coachman might be hung upon the next tree. Then they all set off homeward, but Trina screamed so loudly, that his Grace stopped, and ordered a couple of stout huntsmen to carry her to the neighbouring convent of Marienfliess, where, as I am credibly informed, in a short time she gave up the ghost.
Now, the robber-band were watching all these proceedings from the wood, but kept as still as mice. Not until his Grace had driven off a good space, and the baker's daughter had been carried away, did they venture to speak or move; then Sidonia jumped up, clapping her hands in ecstasy, and mimicking the groans and contortions of the poor girl, to the great amusement of the band, who laughed loudly; but Johann recalled them to business, and proposed that they should secretly follow his Highness, and hide themselves at Elsbruck, near the water-mill of Zachan, until the evening closed in. In order also to be quite certain of the place where his Grace had laid up all the herons' feathers of that season, Johann proposed that the miller, Konnemann, should visit his Grace at Zachan, giving out that he was a feather merchant from Berlin. Accordingly, when they reached Elsbruck, the miller put on my knave's best doublet (for he was almost naked before), and proceeded to the Stone Rampart, Sidonia bidding him, over and over again, to inquire at the castle when the young Lord of Wolgast and his bride were expected at Stettin. The Duke received Konnemann very graciously, when he found that he was a wealthy feather merchant from Berlin, who, having heard of the number and extent of his Grace's gardens at Zachan, had come to purchase all the last year's gathering of feathers. Would his Highness allow him to see the feathers?
Summa.—He had his wish; for his Grace brought him into a little room on the ground-floor, where lay two sacks full of the most perfect and beautiful feathers; and when the Duke demanded a thousand florins for them, the knave replied, "That he would willingly have the feathers, but must take the night to think over the price." Then he took good note of the room, and the garden, and all the passages of the castle, and so came back in the twilight to the band with great joy, assuring them that nothing would be easier than to rob the old turner's apprentice of his feathers.
Such, indeed, was the truth; for at midnight my knave Johann, with Konnemann and a few chosen accomplices, carried away those two sacks of feathers; and no one knew a word about the robbery until the next morning, when the band were far off in the forest, no one knew where. But a quarrel had arisen between my knave and Sidonia over the feathers: she wanted them for herself, that she might turn them into money, and so be enabled to get back to her own people; but Johann had no idea of employing his booty in this way. "What was she thinking of? If those fine stallions, indeed, had not been stolen from him, he might have given her the feathers; but now there was nothing else left wherewith to pay the band—she must wait for another good prize. Meantime they must settle accounts with the young Lord of Wolgast, who, as Konnemann had found out, was expected at Stettin in seven days."
Now, the daring robbery at Zachan was the talk of the whole country, and as the old burgomaster, Appelmann, had heard at Friedrichswald about the horses and waggon, and his son's shameful knavery, he could think of nothing else but that the same rascal had stolen the Duke's feathers at So he took some faithful burghers with him, and set off for the forest, to try and find his lost son. At last, after many wanderings, a peasant, who was cutting wood, told them that he had seen the robber-band encamped in a thick wood near Rehewinkel; [Footnote: Two miles and a half from Stargard, and the present dwelling-place of the editor.] and when the miserable father and his burghers arrived at the place, there indeed was the robber-band stretched upon the long grass, and Sidonia seated upon the stump of a tree—for she must play the lute, while Johann, his godless son, was plaiting the long black hair of the handsome Sioli.
Methinks the knave must have felt somewhat startled when his father sprang from behind an oak, a dagger in his hand, exclaiming loudly, "Johann, Johann, thou lost, abandoned son! is it thus I find thee?"
The knave turned as white as a corpse upon the gallows, and his hands seemed to freeze upon the fair Sioli's hair; but the band jumped up and seized their arms, shouting, "Seize him! seize him!" The old man, however, cared little for their shouts; and still gazing on his son, cried out, "Dost thou not answer me, thou God-forgetting knave? Thou hast deceived and robbed thy own Prince. Answer me—who amongst all these is fitter for the gallows than thou art?"
So my knave at last came to his senses, and answered sullenly, "What did he want here? He had done nothing for him. He must earn his own bread."
Ille.—"God forgive thee thy sins; did I not take thee back as my son, and strive to correct thee as a true and loving father? Why didst thou run away from my house and the writing-office?"
Hic.—"He was born for something else than to lead the life of a dog."
Ille.—"He had never made him live any such life; and even if he had, better live like a dog than as a robber wolf."
Hic.—"He was no robber. Who had belied him so? He and his friends were on their way to Poland to join the army."
Ille.—"Wherefore, then, had he tricked his Highness of Stettin out of the horses?"
Hic.—"That was only a revenge upon the equerry, to pay him back in his own coin, for he was his enemy, and had broken faith with him."
Ille.—"But he had robbed his Grace Duke Barnim, likewise, of the herons' feathers. No one else had done it."
Hic.—"Who dared to say so? He was insulted and belied by every one." Then he cursed and swore that he knew nothing whatever of these herons' feathers which he was making such a fuss about.
Meanwhile the band stood round with cocked muskets, and as the burghers now pressed forward, to save their leader, if any violence were offered, Konnemann called out, "Give the word, master—shall I shoot down the churl?"
Here Johann's conscience was moved a little, and he shouted,
"Back! back!—he is my father!"
But the old gipsy mother sprang forward with a knife, crying, "Thy father, fool?—what care we for thy father? Let me at him, and I'll soon settle thy father with my knife."
When the unfortunate son heard and saw this, he seized a heavy stick that lay near him, and gave the gipsy such a blow on the crown, that she rolled, screaming, on the ground. Whereupon the whole band raised a wild yell, and rushed upon the burgomaster.
Then Johann cried, almost with anguish, "Back! back! he is my father! Do ye not remember your oaths to me? Spare my father! Wait, at least; he has something of importance to tell me."
And at last, though with difficulty, he succeeded in calming these children of Belial. Then drawing his father aside, under the shade of a great oak, he began—"Dearest father mine, it was fear of you, and despair of the future, that drove me to this work; but if you will now give me three hundred florins, I will go forth into the wide world, and take honourable service, wherever it is to be had, during the wars."
Ille.—"Had he yet married that unfortunate Sidonia, who he observed, to his surprise, was still with him?"
Hic.—"No; he could never marry the harlot now, for she had run away from old Duke Barnim, and followed him here to the forest."
Ille.—"What would become of her, then, when he joined the army?"
Hic.—"That was her look-out. Let her go to her farm at Zachow."
Hereupon the old man held his peace, and rested his arm against the oak, and his grey head upon his arm, and looked down long upon the grass without uttering a word; then he sighed deeply, and looking up, thus addressed Johann:—
"My son, I will trust thee yet again; but it shall be the last time; therefore take heed to what I say. Between Stargard and Pegelow there stands an old thorn upon the highway; there, to-morrow evening, by seven of the clock, my servant Caspar, whom thou knowest, shall bring thee three hundred florins; but on this one condition, that thou dost now swear solemnly to abandon this villainous robber-band, and seek an honourable living far away, in some other country, where thou must pray daily to God the Lord, to turn thee from thy evil ways, and help thee by His grace."
So the knave knelt down before his father, wept, and prayed for his father's forgiveness; then swore solemnly to abandon his sinful life, and with God's help to perform all that his father had enjoined. "And would he not give his last farewell to his dear, darling mother?" "Thy mother!—ah, thy mother!" sighed the old man; "but rise, now, and let me and mine homewards. God grant that my eyes have beheld thee for the last time. Come, I will take this Sidonia back with me."
So they forthwith joined the robber crew again, who were still making a great uproar, which, however, Johann appeased, and after some time obtained a free passage for his father and the burghers; but Sidonia would not accompany them. The upright old burgomaster admonished first, then he promised to drive her with his own horses to her farm at Zachow; but his words were all in vain, for the knave privately gave her a look, and whispered something in her ear, but no one knew what it was.
Nor did the old man omit to admonish the whole band likewise, telling them that if they did not now look up to the high God, they would one day look down from the high gallows, for all thieves and robbers came to dance in the wind at last: ten hung in Stargard, and he had seen twenty at Stettin, and not even the smallest town had its gallows empty. Hereat Konnemann cried out, "Ho! ho! who will hang us now? We know well the courts of justice are closed in all places." And as the old man sighed, and prepared to answer him, the whole band set up such a shout of laughter that he stood silent a space; then turning round, trod slowly out of the thick wood with all his burghers, and was soon lost to view.
The next evening Johann received the three hundred florins at the thorn-bush, along with a letter from his father, admonishing him yet again, and conjuring him to fulfil his promise speedily of abandoning his wicked life. Upon which, my knave gave some of the money to a peasant that he met on the highway, and bid him go into the town, purchase some wine and all sorts of eatables, and fetch them to the band in the wood, that they might have a merry carouse that same night. This very peasant had been one of their accomplices, and great was his joy when he beheld them all again, and, in particular, the gipsy mother. He told her that all her prophecy had come out true, for his daughter had been deserted, and her lover had taken Stina Krugers to wife; could she not, therefore, give him something that would make Stina childless, and cause her husband to hate her?
"Ay, if he crossed her hand with silver."
This the peasant did. Whereupon she gave him a padlock, and whispered some words in his ear.
When Sidonia heard that the man could be brought to hate his wife by some means, her eyes flashed wildly, and she called the horrible old gipsy mother aside, and asked her to tell her the charm.
Illa.—"Yes; but what would she give her? She had two pretty golden rings on her finger; let her give them, and she should have the secret."
Hæc.—"She would give one ring now, and the other if the charm succeeded. The peasant had only given her a few groschen."
Illa.—"Yes; but she had only given him half the charm."
Hæc.—"Was it anything to eat or drink?"
Illa.—"No; there was no eating or drinking: the charm did it all."
Hæc.—"Then let her teach it to her, and if it succeeded by the young Lord of Wolgast, she would have both rings; if not, but one."
Illa.—"It would succeed without doubt; if his young wife had no promise of offspring as yet, she would remain childless for ever."
Summa.—The old gipsy taught her the charm, the same with which she afterward bewitched the whole princely Pomeranian race, so that they perished childless from off the face of the earth; [Footnote: Marginal note of Duke Bogislaff XIV.—"O ter quaterque detestabilem! Et ego testis adfui tametsi in actis de industria hand notatis. (Oh, thrice accursed! And I, too, was present at this confession, although I am not mentioned in the protocol.)"] and this charm Sidonia confessed upon the rack afterwards, in the Great Hall of Oderburg, July 28, A.D. 1620.