When old Dewitz heard this (he was a little, dry old man, with long grey hair), he pressed forward to his son-in-law, and bade him by no means refuse a Prince's offer; besides, Saatzig was but two miles off, and they could see each other every Sunday. Also, if they had a hunt, a standard erected on the tower of one castle could be seen plainly from the tower of the other, and so they could lead a right pleasant, neighbourly life, almost as if they all lived together.

Still Marcus will not consent. Upon which his mother-in-law can no longer suppress her feelings, and comes forward to entreat him. (She was a good, pious matron, and as fat as her husband was thin.) So she stroked his cheeks—"And where in the land, as far as Usdom, could he find such fine muranes and maranes [Footnote: The great marana weighs from ten to twelve pounds, and is a species of salmon-trout. The murana is of the same race, but not larger than the herring. It must not be confounded with the murana of which the Romans were so fond, which was a species of eel.]—this fish he loved so much?—and where was such fine flax to be had, for his young wife to spin?—no flax in the land equalled that of Saatzig!—since ever she was a little girl, people talked of the fine Saatzig flax. Let her dear daughter Clara come over, and see could she prevail aught with her stern husband. Why, they could send pudding hot to each other, the castles were so near."

And now the mild young bride approached her husband, and taking his hand gently, looked up into his eyes with soft, beseeching glances, but spake no word; so that the princely widow of Wolgast was moved, and said, "Good Marcus, if you only fear to offend my son of Wolgast by taking service at Saatzig, be composed on that head, for I myself will make your peace. Great, indeed, would be my joy to have you and your young spouse settled at Crienke, which, you know, is but half a mile from Pudgla, my dower-castle, where I mean to reside; yet these beseeching glances of my little Clara fill my heart with compassion, for do I not read in her clear eyes that she would love to stay near her dear parents, as indeed is natural? Therefore, in God's name accept the offer of your Prince. I myself command you."

Hereupon Marcus inclined himself gracefully to the Duchess and Duke Johann, and pressed his little wife to his heart. "But what need, gracious Prince, of a governor at Saatzig, when all the courts are closed and no justice can be done? I shall eat my bread in idleness, like a worn-out hound. But, marry, if your Grace consents to open the courts, I will accept your offer with thanks, and do my duty as governor with all justice and fidelity." Then his Grace answered, "What! good Marcus, dost thou begin again on that old theme which roused my wrath so lately, and made me fall into that peril? But I bethink me of thy bravery, and will say no bitter word; only, thou mayest hold thy peace, for I have sworn by my princely honour, and from that there is no retreating. However, thou hast leave to hold jurisdiction in thy own government, and execute justice according to thy own upright judgment."

So Marcus was silent; but the Duchess and the other princes took up the subject, and assailed his Highness with earnest petitions—"Had he not himself felt and seen the danger of permitting these freebooters to get such a head in the land? Had not the finger of God warned him this very night, in hopes of turning him back to the right path? Let him reflect, for the peace of his land was at stake." But all in vain. Even though old Ulrich tumbled into the argument with his seven thousand devils, yet could they obtain no other answer from his Highness but—"If the states give me gold, I shall open the courts; if they give no gold, the courts shall remain closed for ever. Were he to be brought before the Emperor, or Pontius Pilate himself, it was all alike; they might tear him in pieces, but not one nail's breadth of his princely word would he retreat from, or break it like a woman, for their prayers."

Then he rose, and calling his fool Clas to him, bid him run to the old priest, and tell him he would sleep at his quarters that night, for he must have peace; but the merry Clas, as he was running out, got behind his Highness, and stuck his fool's cap upon the head of his Grace, crying out, "Here, keep my cap for me."

However, his Highness did not relish the joke, for every one laughed; and he ran after the fool, trying to catch him, and threatening to have his head cut off; but Clas got behind the others, and clapping his hands, cried out, "You can't, for the courts are closed. Huzza! the courts are closed!" Whereupon he runs out at the door, and my gracious lord after him, with the fool's cap upon his head. Nor did he return again to the hall, but went to sleep at the priest's quarters, as he had said; and next morning, by the first dawn of day, set off on his journey homeward.

All this while no one had troubled himself about Sidonia. My gracious lady wept, the young lords laughed, old Ulrich swore, whilst the good Marcus murmured softly to his young wife, "Be happy, Clara; for thy sake I shall consent to go to Saatzig. I have decided."

This filled her with such joy that she danced, and smiled, and flung herself into her mother's arms; nothing was wanting now to her happiness! Just then her eyes rested upon Sidonia, who was leaning against the wall, as pale as a corpse. Clara grew quite calm in a moment, and asked, compassionately, "What aileth thee, poor Sidonia?"

"I am hungry!" was the answer. At this the gentle bride was so shocked, that the tears filled her eyes, and she exclaimed, "Wait, thou shalt partake of my wedding-feast;" and away went she.

The attention of the others was, by this time, also directed to Sidonia. And old Ulrich said, "Compose yourself, gracious lady; I trust your son, the Prince, will not be so hard and stern as he promises; now that the water has touched his own neck, methinks he will soon come to reason. But what shall we do now with Sidonia?"

Upon which my Lady of Wolgast turned to her, and asked if she were yet wedded to her gallows-bird? "Not yet," was the answer; "but she would soon be." Then my gracious lady spat out at her; and, addressing Ulrich, asked what he would advise.

So the stout old knight said, "If the matter were left to him, he would just send for the executioner, and have her ears and nose slit, as a warning and example, for no good could ever come of her now, and then pack her off next day to her farm at Zachow; for if they let her loose, she would run to her paramour again, and come at last to gallows and wheel; but if they just slit her nose, then he would hold her in abhorrence, as well as all other men-folk."

During this, Clara had entered, and set fish, and wild boar, and meat, and bread, before the girl; and as she heard Ulrich's last words, she bent down and whispered, "Fear nothing, Sidonia, I hope to be able to protect thee, as I did once before; only eat, Sidonia! Ah! hadst thou followed my advice! I always meant well by thee; and even now, if I thought thou wouldst repent truly, poor Sidonia, I would take thee with me to the castle of Saatzig, and never let thee want for aught through life."

When Sidonia heard this, she wept, and promised amendment. Only let Clara try her, for she could never go to Zachow and play the peasant-girl. Upon which Clara turned to her Highness, and prayed her Grace to give Sidonia up to her. See how she was weeping; misfortune truly had softened her, and she would soon be brought back to God. Only let her take her to Saatzig, and treat her as a sister. At this, however, old Ulrich shook his head—"Clara, Clara," he exclaimed, "knowest thou not that the Moor cannot change his skin, nor the leopard his spots? I cannot, then, let the serpent go. Think on our mother, girl; it is a bad work playing with serpents."

Her Grace, too, became thoughtful, and said at last—

"Could we not send her to the convent at Marienfliess, or somewhere else?"

"What the devil would she do in a convent?" exclaimed the old knight. "To infect the young maidens with her vices, or plague them with her pride? Now, there was nothing else for her but to be packed off to Zachow."

Now Clara looked up once again at her husband with her soft, tearful eyes, for he had said no word all this time, but remained quite mute; and he drew her to him, and said—

"I understand thy wish, dear Clara, but the old knight is right.
It is a dangerous business, dear Clara! Let Sidonia go."

At this Sidonia crawled forth like a serpent from her corner, and howled—

"Clara had pity on her, but he would turn her out to starve—he, who bore her own name, and was of her own blood."

Alas! the good knight was ashamed to refuse any longer, and finally promised the evil one that she should go with them to Saatzig. So her Grace at last consented, but old Ulrich shook his grey head ten times more.

"He had lived many years in the world, but never had it come to his knowledge that a godless man was tamed by love. Fear was the only teacher for them. All their love would be thrown away on this harlot; for even if the stout Marcus kept her tight with bit and rein, and tried to bring her back by fear, yet the moment his back was turned, Clara would spoil all again by love and kindness."

However, nobody minded the good knight, though it all came to pass just as he had prophesied.

CHAPTER XV.

How Sidonia demeans herself at the castle of Saatzig, and how Clara forgets the injunctions of her beloved husband, when he leaves her to attend the Diet at Wollin, on the subject of the courts—Item, how the Serene Prince Duke Johann Frederick beheads his court fool with a sausage.

Summa.—Sidonia went to the castle of Saatzig, and her worthy cousin Marcus gave her a little chamber to herself, in the third story, close to the tower. It was the same room in which she afterwards sat as a witch, for some days ere she was taken to Oderburg. There was a right cheerful view from the windows down upon the lake, which was close to the castle, and over the little town of Jacobshagen, as far even as the meadows beyond. Here, too, was left a Bible for her, and the Opera Lutheri in addition, with plenty of materials for spinning and embroidery, for she had refused to weave. Item, a serving-wench was appointed to attend on her, and she had permission to walk where she pleased within the castle walls; but if ever seen beyond the domain, the keepers had orders to bring her back by force, if she would not return willingly.

In fine, the careful knight took every precaution possible to render her presence as little baneful as could be, for, truth to say, he had no faith whatever in her tears and seeming repentance.

First, he strictly forbade all his secretaries to interchange a word with her, or even look at her. They need not know his reason, but any one who transgressed his slightest command in this particular, should be chased away instantly from the castle.

Secondly, he prayed his dear wife to let Sidonia eat her meals alone, in her own little room, and never to see her but in the presence of a third person.

Also, never to accept the slightest gift from her hand—fruit, flower, or any kind of food whatsoever. These injunctions were the more necessary, as the young bride had already given hopes of an heir. Sidonia's rage and jealousy at this prospect of complete happiness for Clara may be divined from her words to her maid, Lene Penkun, a short time after she reached the castle—

"Ha! they are talking of the baptism already, forsooth; but it might have been otherwise if I had come across her a little sooner!"

This same maid also she sent to Daber for the spirit Chim, which had been left behind at the last resting-place of the robbers, never telling her it was a spirit, however, only a tame cat, that was a great pet of hers. "It must be half dead with hunger now, for it was four days since she had left it in the hollow of an old oak in the forest, the poor creature! So let the maid take a flask of sweet milk and a little saucer to feed it. She could not miss her way, for, when she stepped out of the high-road at Daber into the forest, there was a thorn-bush to her left hand, and just beyond it a large oak where the ravens had their nests; in a hollow of this oak, to the north side, lay her dear little cat. But she must not tell any one about the matter, or they would laugh at her for sending her maid two miles and more to look for a cat. Men had no compassion or tenderheartedness nowadays to each other, much less to a poor dumb animal. No; just let her say that she went to fetch a robe which her mistress had left in the oak. Here was an old gown; take this with her, and it would do to wrap up the poor little pussy in it after she had fed it and warmed it, so that no one might see it, for what a mock would all these pitiless men make of her, if they heard the object of her message; but she was not cruel like them."

Now, after some time, it happened that the states of the duchy assembled at Wollin, to come to some arrangement with his Highness respecting the opening of the courts of justice; and Marcus Bork, along with all the other nobles, was summoned to attend the Diet. So, with great grief, he had to leave his dear wife, but promised, if possible, to return before she was taken with her illness. Then he bid her be of good courage, and, above all things, to guard herself, against Sidonia, and mind strictly all his injunctions concerning her.

Alas! she too soon flung them all to the winds! For, behold, scarcely had the good knight arrived at Wollin, when Clara was delivered of a little son, at which great joy filled the whole castle. And one messenger was despatched to Marcus, and another to old Dewitz and his wife, with the tidings; but woe, alas! the good old mother was going to stand sponsor for a nobleman's child in the neighbourhood, and could not hasten then to save her dear daughter from a terrible and cruel death. She cooked some broth, however, for the young mother, and pouring it into a silver flask, bid the messenger ride back with all speed to Saatzig, that it might not be too cold. She herself would be over in the morning early with her husband, and let her dear little daughter keep herself warm and quiet.

Meanwhile Sidonia had heard of the birth, and sent her maid to wish the young mother joy, and ask her permission just to give one little kiss to her new cousin, for they told her he was a beautiful infant.

Alas, alas! that Clara's joy should make her forget the judicious cautions of her husband! Permission was given to the murderess, and down she comes directly to offer her congratulations; even affecting to weep for joy as she kissed the infant, and praying to be allowed to act as nurse until her mother came from Daber.

"Why, she had no one about her but common serving-women! How could she leave her dearest friend to the care of these old hags, when she was in the castle, who owed everything to her dear Clara?"

And so she went on till poor Clara, even if she did not quite believe her, felt ashamed to doubt so much apparent affection and tenderness.

Summa.—She permitted her to remain, and we shall soon see what murderous deeds Sidonia was planning against the poor young mother. But first I must relate what happened at the Diet of Wollin, to which Marcus Bork had been summoned.

His Highness Duke Johann had become somewhat more gracious to the states since they had come to the Diet at their own cost, which was out of the usage; and further, because, as old Ulrich prophesied, he himself had felt the inconveniences resulting from the present lawless state of the country.

Still he was ill-tempered enough, particularly as he had a fever on him; and when the states promised at last that they would let him have the money, he said, "So far good; but, till he saw the gold, the courts should not be opened. Not that he misdoubted them, but then he knew that they were sometimes as tedious in handing out money as a peasant in paying his rent. The courts, therefore, should not be opened until he had the gold in his pot, so it would be to their own profit to use as much diligence as possible." At this same Diet his Grace related how he first met Clas, his fool, which story I shall set down here for the reader's pastime.

This same fool had been nothing but a poor goose-herd; and one day as he was on the road to Friedrichswald with his flock, my gracious lord rode up, and growing impatient at the geese running hither and thither in his path, bid the boy collect them together, or he would strike them all dead.

Upon which the knave took up goose after goose by the throat, and stuck them by their long necks into his girdle, till a circle of geese hung entirely round his body, all dangling by the head from his waist.

This merry device pleased my lord so much, that he made the lad court-jester from that day, and many a droll trick he had played from that to this, particularly when his Highness was gloomy, so as to make him laugh again. Once, for instance, when the Duke was sore pressed for money, by reason of the opposition of the states, he became very sad, and all the doctors were consulted, but could do nothing. For unless his Grace could be brought to laugh (they said to the Lady Erdmuth), it was all over with him. Then my gracious lady had the fool whipped for a stupid jester, who could not drive his trade; for if he did not make the Duke laugh, why should he stay at all in the castle?

What did my fool? He collected all the princely soldatesca, and got leave from their Graces to review them; and surely never were seen such strange evolutions as he put them through, for they must do everything he bid them. And when his Highness came forth to look, he laughed so loud as never had fool made him laugh before; and calling the Duchess, bid him repeat his experimentum many times for her. In fine, the fool got the good town of Butterdorf for his fee, which changed its name in honour of him, and is called Hinzendorf to this day (for his name was Hinze).

But Clas Hinze had not been able to cure my Lord Duke of his fever, which attacked him at the Diet at Wollin, nor all the doctors from Stettin, nor even Doctor Pomius, who had been sent from Wolgast by the old Duchess, to attend her dear son; and as the doctor (as I have said) was a formal, priggish little man, he and the fool were always bickering and snarling.

Now, one day at Wollin, the weather being beautiful, his Grace, with several of the chief prelates, and many of the nobility, went forth to walk by the river's side, and the fool ran along with them; item, Doctor Pomius, who, if he could not run, at least tried to walk majestically; and he munched a piece of sugar all the time, for he never could keep his mouth still a moment. Seeing his Grace now about to cross the bridge, the doctor started forward with as much haste as was consistent with his dignity, and seizing his Highness by the tail of the coat, drew him back, declaring, "That he must not pass the water; all water would give strength to the fever-devil." But his Highness, who was talking Latin to the Deacon of Colberg, turned on the doctor with—"Apage te asine!" and strode forward, whilst one of the nobles gave a free translation aloud for the benefit of the others, saying, "And that means: Begone, thou ass!"

When the fool heard this, he clapped the little man on the back, shouting, "Well done, ass! and there is thy fee for curing our gracious Prince of his fever."

This so nettled the doctor that he spat out the lump of sugar for rage, and tried to seize the fool; but the crowd laughed still louder when Clas jumped on the back of an old woman, giving her the spur with his yellow boots in the side, and shaking his head with the cap and bells at the little doctor in mockery, who could not get near him for the crowd. So the woman screamed and roared, and the people laughed, till at last the Duke stopped in the middle of the bridge to see what was the matter. When the fool observed this, he sprang off the old woman's back, and calling out to the doctor—"See how I cure our gracious lord's fever," ran upon the bridge like wind, and, seizing the Duke with all his force, jumped with him into the water.

Now the people screamed from horror, as much as before from mirth, and thirty or forty burghers, along with Marcus Bork, plunged in to rescue his Highness, whilst others tried to seize the fool, threatening to tear him in pieces. This was a joyful hearing to Doctor Pomius. He drew forth his knife—"Would they not finish the knave at once? Here was a knife just ready."

But the fool, who was strong and supple, swung himself up to the bridge, and crouched in between the arches, catching hold of the beams, so that no one dared to touch him there, and his Highness was soon carried to land. He was in a flaming rage as he shook off the water.

"Where is that accursed fool? He had only threatened to cut off his head at Daber, but now it should be done in earnest."

So the fool shouted from under the bridge—"Ho! ho! the courts are all closed! the courts are all closed!" At which the crowd laughed so heartily, that my Lord Duke grew still more angry, and commanded them to bring the fool to him dead or alive.

Hearing this, the fool crept forward of himself, and whimpered in his Low Dutch, "My good Lord Duke, praise be to God that we've made the doctor fly. I'll give him a little piece of drink-money for his journey, and then I'll be your doctor myself. For if the fright has not cured you, marry, let the deacon be your fool, and I will be your deacon as long as I live."

However, my gracious lord was in no humour for fun, but bid them carry off the fool to prison, and lock him up there; for though, indeed, the fever had really quite gone, as his Highness perceived to his joy, yet he was resolved to give the fool a right good fright in return.

Therefore, on the third day from that, he commanded him to be brought out and beheaded on the scaffold at Wollin. He wore a white shroud, bordered with black gauze, over his motley jacket, and a priest and melancholy music accompanied him all the way; but Master Hansen had directions that, when the fool was seated in the chair with his eyes bound, he should strike the said fool on the neck with a sausage in place of the sword.

However, no one suspected this, and a great crowd followed the poor fool up to the scaffold; even Doctor Pomius was there, and kept close up to the condemned. As the fool passed the ducal house, there was my lord seated at a window looking out, and the fool looked up, saying, "My gracious master, is this a fool's jest you are playing me, or is it earnest?"

To which the Duke answered, "You see it is earnest."

Then answered the fool, "Well, if I must, I must; yet I crave one boon!"

When the promise was granted, the knave, who could not give up his jesting even on the death-road, said, "Then make Doctor Pomius herewith to be fool in my place, for look how he is learning all my tricks from me—sticking himself close up to my side."

Hereat a great shout of laughter pealed from the crowd, and the
Duke motioned with the hand to proceed to the scaffold.

Still the poor fool kept looking round every moment, thinking his Grace would send a message after them to stop the execution, but no one appeared. Then his teeth chattered, and he trembled like an aspen leaf; for Master Hansen seized hold of him now, and put him down upon the chair, and bound his eyes. Still he asked, with his eyes bound, "Master, is any one coming?"

"No!" replied the executioner; and throwing back his red cloak, drew forth a large sausage in place of a sword, to the great amusement of the people. With this he strikes my fool on the neck, who thereupon tumbles down from the stool, as stone dead from the mere fright as if his head and body had parted company—yea, more dead, for never a finger or a muscle did the poor fool move more.

This sad ending moved his Grace even to tears; and he fell into a yet greater melancholy than before, crying, "Woe! alas! He gave me my life through fright, and through fright I have taken away his poor life! Ah, never shall I meet with so good and merry a fool again!"

Then he gave command to all the physicians to try and restore him, and he himself stood by while they bled him and felt his pulse, but all was in vain; even Doctor Pomius tried his skill, but nothing would help, so that my lord cried out angrily—

"Marry, the fool was right. The fools should be doctors, for the doctors are all fools. Away with ye all, and your gibberish, to the devil!"

After this he had the said fool placed in a handsome black coffin, and conveyed to his own town of Hinzendorf, there to be buried; and over his grave my lord erected a stately monument, on which was represented the poor fool, as large as life, with his cap and bells, and staff in his hand; and round his waist was a girdle, from which many geese dangled, all cut like life, while at his side lay his shepherd's bag, and at his feet a beer-can. The figure is five feet two inches long, and bears a Latin inscription above it, which I forget; but the initials G. H. are carved upon each cheek. [Footnote: His original name was Gürgen Hinze, not Clas. The Latin inscription is nearly effaced, but the beginning is still visible, and runs thus: "Caput ecce manus gestus que;" from which Oelrichs concludes that the whole was written in hexameters. (See his estimable work, "Memoirs of the Pomeranian Dukes," p. 41.)]

Shortly after the death of the fool a messenger arrived from Saatzig to Marcus Bork, bringing him the joyful tidings that the Lord God had granted him the blessing of a little son. So he is away to my Lord Duke, to solicit permission to leave the Diet and return to his castle. This the Duke readily granted, seeing that he himself was going away to attend the funeral of the poor fool at Hinzendorf. Then he wished Marcus joy with all his heart, which so emboldened the knight that he ventured to make one more effort about the opening of the courts, praying his Grace to put faith in the word of his faithful states, and open the courts and the treasury without further delay.

But his Grace is wroth: "What should he be troubled for? The states could give the money when they chose, and then all would be right. Let the nobles do their duty. He never saw a penny come out of their pockets for their Prince."

"But his Highness knew the poor peasants were all beggared; and where could the nobles get the money?"

"Let them go to their saving-pots, then, where the money was turning green from age; better for them if they had less avarice. Why did not he himself bring him some gold, in place of dressing up his wife in silks and jewels, finer than the Princess Erdmuth herself, his own princely spouse? Then, indeed, the courts might be soon opened," &c. So the sorrowing knight took his leave, and each went his different way.

CHAPTER XVI.

How Sidonia makes poor Clara appear quite dead, and of the great mourning at Saatzig over her burial, while Sidonia dances on her coffin and sings the 109th psalm—Item, of the sermon and the anathema pronounced upon a wicked sinner from the altar of the church.

I must first state that this horrible wickedness of Sidonia, which no eye had seen nor ear heard, neither had it entered into the heart of man to conceive (for only in hell could such have been imagined), never would have come to light but that she herself made confession thereof to Dr. Cramero, thy well-beloved godfather, in her last trial. And he, to show how far Satan can lead a poor human creature who has once fallen from God, related the same to my worthy father-in-law, Master David Reutzio, some time superintendent at the criminal court, from whose own lips I received the story.

And this was her confession:—That when the messenger returned from Daber with the broth, he had ridden so fast that it was still, in truth, quite hot, but she (the horrible Sidonia), who was standing at the bed of the young mother, along with the other women, pretended that it was too cold for a woman in her state, and must just get one little heating on the fire.

The poor Clara, indeed, showed unwillingness to permit this, but she ran down with it, and secretly, without being seen by any of the other women, poured in a philtrum that had been given her by the gipsy hag, and then went back again for a moment. This philtrum was the one which produced all the appearance of death. It had no taste, except, perhaps, that it was a little saltish. Therefore Clara perceived nothing wrong, only when she tasted it, said, "My heart's dearest mother, in her joy, has put a little too much salt into her broth; still, what a heart's dearest mother sends, must always taste good!" However, in one hour after that, Clara lay as stiff and cold as a corpse, only her breath came a little; but even this ceased in a short time, and then a great cry and lamentation resounded through the whole castle. No one suspected Sidonia, for many said that young women died so often; but even the old mother, who arrived a few hours after, and hearing the cries from the castle while she was yet far off, began to weep likewise; for her mother's heart revealed the cause to her ere she had yet descended from the carriage.

But it was a sadder sight next evening, when the husband arrived at the castle from Wollin. He could not take his eyes from the corpse. One while he kissed the infant, then fixed his eyes again upon his dead wife, and sighed and groaned as if he lay upon the rack. He alone suspected Sidonia, but when she cried more than they all, and wrung her hands, exclaiming, who would have pity on her now, for her best friend lay there dead! and flung herself upon the seeming corpse, kissing it and bedewing it with her tears, and praying to have leave to watch all night beside it, for how could she sleep in her sore grief and sorrow? the knight was ashamed of his suspicions, and even tried to comfort her himself.

Then came the physicians out of Stargard and other places, who had been summoned in all haste, and they gabbled away, saying, "It could not have been the broth, but puerperal fever." This at least was Dr. Hamster's opinion, who knew all along it would be a bad case. Indeed, the last time he was at the castle visiting the mower's wife, he was frightened at the look of the poor lady. Still, if they had only sent for him in time, this great evil could not have happened, for his pulvis antispasmodicus was never known to fail; and so he went on chattering, by which one can see that doctors have always been the same from that time even till now.

Summa.—On the third day the poor Clara was laid in her coffin, and carried to her grave, with such weeping and lamentation of the mourners and bearers as never had been heard till then. And all the nobles of the vicinage, with the knights and gentlemen, came to attend her funeral at Saatzig Cathedral, for she was to be buried in this new church just finished by his Grace Duke Johann, and but one corpse had been laid in the vaults before her. [Footnote: The beautifully painted escutcheon of Duke Johann and his wife, Erdmuth of Brandenburg, is still to be seen on the chancel windows of this stately staircase.]

But what does the devil's sorceress do now? She knew that the poor Clara would awake the next day (which was Sunday) about noon, and if any should hear her cries, her plans would be detected. Therefore, about ten of the clock she ran to Marcus, with her hair all flowing down her shoulders, saying, that he must let her away that very day to Zachow, for what would the world say if she, a young unmarried thing, should remain here all alone with him in his castle? No; sooner would she swallow the bitter cup her father had left her than peril her name. But first, would he allow her to go and pray alone in the church? Surely he would not deny her this.

Thereupon the simple knight gave her instant leave—"Let her go and pray, in God's name. He himself would soon be there to hear the Reverend Dr. Wudargensis preach the funeral sermon over his heart's dear wife. And after service he would desire a carriage to be in readiness to convey her to Zachow."

Then he called to the warder from the window, bidding him let Sidonia pass. So she went forth in deep mourning garments, glided through the castle gardens, and concealing herself by the trees, slipped into the church without any one having perceived her; for the sexton had left the door open to admit fresh air, on account of the corpse. Then she stepped over to the little grated door near the altar, which led down into the vault, and softly lifting it, stepped down, drawing the door down again close over her head. Clara's coffin was lying beneath, and first she laid her ear on it and listened, but all was quite still within. Then removing the pall, she sat herself down upon the lid. Time passed, and still no sound. The sexton began to ring the bell, and the people were assembling in the church above. Soon the hymn commenced, "Now in peace the loved one sleepeth," and ere the first verse had ended, a knocking was heard in the coffin, then a cry—"Where am I? What brought me here? Let me out, for God's sake let me out! I am not dead. Where is my child? Where is my good Marcus? Ah! there is some one near me. Who is it? Let me out! let me out!" Then (oh! horror of horrors!) the devil's harlot on her coffin answered, "It is I, Sidonia! this pays thee for acting the spy at Wolgast. Lie there and writhe till thou art stifled in thy blood!" Now the voice came again from the coffin, praying and beseeching, so that many times it went through her stony heart like a sword. And just then the first verse of the hymn ended, and the voice of the priest was heard asking the lord governor whether they should go and sing the remainder over the vault of his dear spouse, for it was indeed sung in her honour, seeing she had been ever a mother to the orphan, and a holy, pious, and Christian wife; or, since the people all knew her worth, and mourned for her with bitter mourning, should they sing it here in the nave, that the whole congregation might join in chorus? [Footnote: These interruptions were by no means unusual at that period.]

To this the governor, in a loud yet mournful voice, gave answer—

"Alas, good friends, do what you will in this sad case; I am content."

But Sidonia, this devil's witch, was in a horrible fright, lest the priest would come up to the altar to sing the hymn, and so hear the knocking within the coffin. However, the devil protects his own, for, at that instant, many voices called out—

"Let the hymn be sung here, that we may all join to the honour of the blessed soul of the good lady."

And mournfully the second verse was heard pealing through the church, from the lips of the whole congregation, so that poor Clara's groans were quite smothered. For, when the voice of her dear husband reached her ear, she had knocked and cried out with all her strength—

"Marcus! Marcus! Alas, dear Lord, will you not come to me!" Then again—"Sidonia, by the Jesu cross, I pray thee have pity on me. Save me—save me—I am stifling. Oh, run for some one, if thou canst not lift the lid thyself!"

But the devil made answer to the poor living corpse—

"Dost thou take me for a silly fool like thyself, that I should now undo all I have done?"

And as the voice went on from the coffin, but feebler and fainter—

"Think on my husband—on my child, Sidonia!"

She answered—

"Didst thou think of that when, but for thee, I might have been a Duchess of Pomerania, and the proud mother of a prince, in place of being as I now am."

Then all became still within the coffin, and Sidonia sprang upon it and danced, chanting the 109th psalm; [Footnote: Superstition has found many sinful usages for this psalm. The Jews, for example, took a new vessel, poured a mixture of mustard and water therein, and after repeating this psalm over it for three consecutive days, poured it out before the door of their enemy, as a certain means to ensure his destruction. In the middle ages monks and nuns were frequently obliged to repeat it in superstitious ceremonies, at the command of some powerful revengeful man. And that its efficacy was Considered as something miraculously powerful, even by the evangelical Church, is proved by this example of Sidonia, who made frequent use of this terrible psalm in her sorceries, as any one may see by referring to the records of the trial in Dähnert. And other interesting examples are found in the treatise of Job. Andreas Schmidii, Abusus Psalmi 109 imprecatorii; vulgo, The Death Prayer, Helmstadt, 1708.] and as she came to the words, "Let none show mercy to him; let none have pity on his orphans; let his posterity be cut off and his name be blotted out," there was a loud knocking again within the coffin, and a faint, stifled cry—"I am dying!" then followed a gurgling sound, and all became still. At that moment the congregation above raised the last verse of the hymn:—

  "In the grave, with bitter weeping,
    Loving hands have laid her down;
  There she resteth, calmly sleeping,
    Till an angel lifts the stone."

But the sermon which now followed she remembered her life long. It was on the tears, the soft tears of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. And as her spirit became oppressed by the silence in the vault, now that all was still within the coffin, she lifted the lid after the exordium, to see if Clara were indeed quite dead.

It was an easy matter to remove the cover, for the screws were not fastened; but—O God! what has she beheld? A sight that will never more leave her brain! The poor corpse lay all torn and disfigured from the writhings in the coffin, and a blood-vessel must have burst at last to relieve her from her agony, for the blood lay yet warm on the hands as she lifted the cover. But more horrible than all were the fixed glassy eyes of the corpse, staring immovably upon her, from which clear tears were yet flowing, and blending with the blood upon the cheek; and, as if the priest above had known what was passing beneath, he exclaimed—

"Oh, let us moisten our couch with tears; let tears be our meat day and night. They are noble tears that do not fall to earth, but ascend up to God's throne. Yea, the Lord gathers them in His vials, like costly wine. They are noble tears, for if they fill the eyes of God's chosen in this life, yet, in that other world, the Lord Jesus will wipe away tears from off all faces, as the dew is dried by the morning sun. Oh, wondrous beauty of those eyes which are dried by the Lord Jesus! Oh, blessed eyes! Oh, sun-clear eyes! Oh, joyful and ever-smiling eyes!"

She heard no more, but felt the eyes of the corpse were upon her, and fell down like one dead beside the coffin; and Clara's eyes and the sermon never left her brain from that day, and often have they risen before her in dreams.

But the Holy Spirit had yet a greater torment in store for her, if that were possible.

For, after the sermon, a consistorium was held in the church upon a grievous sinner named Trina Wolken, who, it appeared, had many times done penance for her unchaste life, but had in no wise amended. And she heard the priest asking, "Who accuseth this woman?" To which, after a short silence, a deep, small voice responded—

"I accuse her; for I detected her in sin, and though I besought her with Christian words to turn from her evil ways, and that I would save her from public shame if she would so turn, yet she gave herself up wholly to the devil, and out of revenge bewitched my best sheep, so that it died the very day after it had brought forth a lamb. Alas! what will become of the poor lamb? And it was such a beautiful little lamb!"

When Marcus Bork heard this, he began to sob aloud; and each word seemed to run like a sharp dagger through Sidonia's heart, so that she bitterly repented her evil deeds. And all the congregation broke out into loud weeping, and even the priest continued, in a broken voice, to ask the sinner what she had to say to this terrible accusation.

Upon which a woman's voice was heard swearing that all was a malignant lie, for her accuser was a shameless liar and open sinner, who wished to ruin her because she had refused his son.

Then the priest commanded the witnesses to be called, not only to prove the unchastity, but also the witchcraft. And after this, she was asked if she could make good the loss of the sheep? No; she had no money. And the people testified also that the harlot had nothing but her shame. Thereupon the priest rose up, and said—

"That she had long been notorious in the Christian communion for her wicked life, and that all her penance and repentance having proved but falsehood and deceit, he was commissioned by the honourable consistorium to pronounce upon her the solemn curse and sentence of excommunication. For she had this day been convicted of strange and terrible crimes, on the testimony of competent witnesses. Therefore he called upon the whole Christian congregation to stand up and listen to the words of the anathema, by which he gave over Trina Wolken to the devil, in the name of the Almighty God."

And as he spoke the curse, it fell word by word upon the head of
Sidonia, as if he were indeed pronouncing it over herself—

"Dear Christian Friends,—Because Trina Wolken hath broken her baptismal vows, and given herself over to the devil, to work all uncleanness with greediness; and though divers times admonished to repentance by the Church, yet hath stiffened her neck in corruption, and hardened her heart in unrighteousness, therefore we herewith place the said Trina Wolken under the ban of the excommunication. Henceforth she is a thing accursed—cast off from the communion of the Church, and participation in the holy sacraments. Henceforth she is given up to Satan for this life and the next, unless the blessed Saviour reach forth His hand to her as He did to the sinking Peter, for all things are possible with God. And this we do by the power of the keys granted by Christ to His Church, to bind and loose on earth as in heaven, in the name of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen."

And now Sidonia heard distinctly the screams of the wretched sinner, as she was hunted out of the church, and all the congregation followed soon after, and then all was still above.

Now, indeed, terror took such hold of her that she trembled like an aspen leaf, and the lid fell many times from her hand with great clatter on the ground, as she tried to replace it on the coffin. For she had closed her eyes, for fear of meeting the ghastly stare of the corpse again. At last she got it up, and the corpse was covered; but she would not stay to replace the screws, only hastened out of the vault, closing the little grated door after her, reached the church door, which had no lock, but only a latch, and plunged into the castle gardens to hide herself amongst the trees.

Here she remained crouched for some hours, trying to recover her self-possession; and when she found that she could weep as well as ever when it pleased her, she set off for the castle, and met her cousin Marcus with loud weeping and lamentations, entreating him to let her go that instant to Zachow. Eat and drink could she not from grief, though she had eaten nothing the whole morning. So the mournful knight, who had himself risen from the table without eating, to hasten to his little motherless lamb, asked her where she had passed the morning, for he had not seen her in the church? To which she answered, that she had sunk down almost dead on the altar-steps; and, as he seemed to doubt her, she repeated part of the sermon, and spoke of the curse pronounced upon the girl, and told how she had remained behind in the church, to weep and pray alone. Upon which he exclaimed joyfully—

"Now, I thank God that my blessed spouse counselled me to take thee home with us. Ah! I see that thou hast indeed repented of thy sins. Go thy ways, then; and, with God's help, thou shalt never want a true and faithful friend while I live."

He bid her also take all his blessed wife's wardrobe with her, amongst which was a brocaded damask with citron flowers, which she had only got a year before; item, her shoes and kerchiefs: summa, all that she had worn, he wished never to see them again. And so she went away in haste from the castle, after having given a farewell kiss to the little motherless lamb. For though the evil spirit Chim, which she carried under her mantle, whispered to her to give the little bastard a squeeze that would make him follow his mother, or to let him do so, she would not consent, but pinched him for his advice till he squalled, though Marcus certainly could not have heard him, for he was attending Sidonia to the coach; but then the good knight was so absorbed in grief that he had neither ears nor eyes for anything.

CHAPTER XVII.

How Sidonia is chased by the wolves to Rehewinkel, and finds Johann Appelmann again in the inn, with whom she goes away a second time by night.

When Sidonia left Saatzig, the day was far advanced, so that the good knight recommended her to stop at Daber that night with his blessed wife's mourning parents, and, for this purpose, sent a letter by her to them. Also he gave a fine one-year-old foal in charge to the coachman, who tied it to the side of the carriage; and Marcus bid him deliver it up safely to the pastor of Rehewinkel, his good friend, for he had only been keeping the young thing at grass for him, and the pastor now wished it back—they must therefore go by Rehewinkel. So they drove away; but many strange things happened by reason of this same foal; for it was so restive and impatient at being tied, that many times they had to stop and quiet it, lest the poor beast might get hurt by the wheel.

This so delayed their journey, that evening came on before they were out of the forest; and as the sun went down, the wolves began to appear in every direction. Finally, a pack of ten or twelve pursued the carriage; and though the coach-man whipped his horses with might and main, still the wolves gained on them, and stared up in their faces, licking their jaws with their red tongues. Some even were daring enough to spring up behind the carriage, but finding nothing but trunks, had to tumble down again.

This so terrified Sidonia that she screamed and shrieked, and, drawing forth a knife, cut the cords that bound the foal, which instantly galloped away, and the wolves after it. How the carl drove now, thinking to get help in time to save the poor foal! but not so. The poor beast, in its terror, galloped into the town of Rehewinkel; and as the paddock is closed, it springs into the churchyard, the wolves after it, and runs into the belfry-tower, the door of which is lying open—the wolves rush in too, and there they tear the poor animal to pieces, before the pastor could collect peasants enough to try and save it.

Meanwhile Sidonia has reached the town likewise; and as there is a great uproar, some of the peasants crowding into the churchyard, others setting off full chase after the wolves, which had taken the road to Freienwald, Sidonia did not choose to move on (for she must have travelled that very road), but desired the coachman to drive up to the inn; and as she entered, lo! there sat my knave, with two companions, at a table, drinking. Up he jumps, and seizes Sidonia to kiss her, but she pushed him away. "Let him not attempt to come near her. She had done with such low fellows."

So the knave feigned great sorrow—"Alas! had she quite forgotten him—and he treasured her memory so in his heart! Where had she come from? He saw a great many trunks and bags on the carriage. What had she in them?"

Illa.—"Ah! he would, no doubt, like to get hold of them; but she would take care and inform the people what sort of robber carls they had now in the house. She came from Saatzig, and was going to Daber; for as old Dewitz had lost his daughter, he intended to adopt her in the place of one. Therefore let him not attempt to approach her, for she was now, more than ever, a castle and land dowered maiden, and from such a low burgher carl as he was, would cross and bless herself."

But my knave knew her well; so he answered—"Woe is me, Sidonia! do not grieve me by such words; for know that I have given up my old free courses of which you talk; and my father is so pleased with my present mode of life, that he has promised to give me my heritage, and even this very night I am to receive it at Bruchhausen, and am on my way there, as you see. Truly I meant to purchase some land in Poland with the money, and then search throughout all places for you, that we might be wedded like pious Christians. Alas! I thought to have sold your poor cabins at Zachow, and brought you home to my castle in Poland; but for all my love you only give me this proud answer!"

Now Sidonia scarcely believed the knave; so she called one of his comrades aside, and asked him was it true, and where they came from. Upon which he confirmed all that Johann had said—"The devil had dispersed the whole band, so that only two were left with the captain—himself and Konnemann; and they came from Nörenburg, where the master had been striking a bargain with Elias von Wedel, for a town in Poland. The town was called Lembrowo, and there was a stately castle there, as grand almost as the castle of old Dewitz at Daber. They were going this very night to Bruchhausen, to get gold from the old stiff-neck of Stargard, so that the bargain might be concluded next day."

This was a pleasant hearing for Sidonia. She became more friendly, and said, "He could not blame her for doubting him, as he had deceived her so often; still it was wonderful how her heart clung to him through all. Where had he been so long? and what had happened since they parted?"

Hereupon he answered, "That he could not speak while the people were all going to and fro in the inn; but if she came out with him (as the night was fine), they could walk down to the river-side, and he would tell her all."

Summa.—She went with him, and they sat down upon the green grass to discourse, never knowing that the pastor of Rehewinkel was hid behind the next tree; for he had gone forth to lament over the loss of his poor foal, and sat there weeping bitterly. He had got it home to sell, that he might buy a warm coat for the winter, which now he cannot do; therefore the old man had gone forth mournfully into the clear night, thrown himself down, and wept.

By this chance he heard the whole story from my knave, and related it afterwards to the old burgomaster in Stargard. It was as follows:—

Some time after his flight from Daber, a friend from Stettin told him that Dinnies von Kleist (the same who had spoiled their work in the Uckermund forest) had got a great sum of gold in his knapsack, and was off to his castle at Dame, [Footnote: A town near Polzin, in Lower Pomerania, and an ancient feudal hold of the Kleists.] while the rest were feasting at Daber. This sum he had won by a wager from the Princes of Saxony, Brandenburg, and Mecklenburg. For he had bet, at table, that he would carry five casks of Italian wine at once, and without help, up from the cellar to the dining-hall, in the castle of Old Stettin. Duke Johann refused the bet, knowing his man well, but the others took it up; upon which, after grace, the whole noble company stood up and accompanied him to the cellar. Here Dinnies took up a cask under each arm, another in each hand by the plugs, and a fifth between his teeth by the plug also; thus laden, he carried the five casks up every step from the cellar to the dining-hall. So the money was paid to him, as the lacqueys witnessed, and having put the same in his knapsack, he set off for his castle at Dame, to give it to his father. And the knave went on—"After I heard this news from my good friend, I resolved to set off for Dame and revenge myself on this strong ox, burn his castle, and take his gold. The band agreed; but woe, alas! there was one traitor amongst them. The fellow was called Kaff, and I might well have suspected him; for latterly I observed that when we were about any business, particularly church-robbing, he tried to be off, and asked to be left to keep the watch. Divers nights, too, as I passed him, there was the carl praying; and so I ought to have dismissed the coward knave at once, or he would have had half the band praying likewise before long.

"In short, this arrant villain slips off at night from his post, just as we had all set ourselves down before the castle, waiting for the darkest hour of midnight to attack the foxes in their den, and betrays the whole business to Kleist himself, telling him the strength of the band, and how and when we were to attack him, with all other particulars. Whereupon a great lamentation was heard in the castle, and old Kleist, a little white-headed man, wrung his hands, and seemed ready to go mad with fear; for half the retainers were at the annual fair, others far away at the coal-mines, and finally, they could scarcely muster in all ten fighting men. Besides this, the castle fosse was filled with rubbish, though the old man had been bidding his sons, for the last year, to get it cleared, but they never minded him, the idle knaves. All this troubled stout Dinnies mightily; and as he walked up and down the hall, his eyes often rested on a painting which represented the devil cutting off the head of a gambler, and flying with it out of the window.

"Again and again he looked at the picture, then called out for a hound, stuck him under his arm, and cut off his head, as if it had been only a dove; then he called for a calf from the stall, put it under his arm likewise, and cut off the head. Then he asked for the mask which represented the devil, and which he had got from Stettin to frighten his dissolute brothers, when they caroused too late over their cups. The young Johann, indeed, had sometimes dropped the wine-flask by reason of it, but Detloff still ran after the young maidens as much as ever, though even he had got such a fright that there was hope for his poor soul yet. So the mask was brought, and all the proper disguise to play the devil—namely, a yellow jerkin slashed with black, a red mantle, and a large wooden horse's foot.

"When Dinnies beheld all this, and the man who played the devil instructed him how to put them on, he rejoiced greatly, and declared that now he alone could save the castle. I knew nothing of all this at the time," said Johann, "nor of the treason, neither did the band. We were all seated under a shed in the wood, that had been built for the young deer in the winter time, and had stuck a lantern against the wall while we gamed and drank, and our provider poured us out large mugs of the best beer, when, just at midnight, we heard a report like a clap of thunder outside, so that the earth shook under us (it was no thunder-clap, however, but an explosion of powder, which the traitor had laid down all round the shed, for we found the trace of it next day).

"And as we all sprang up, in strode the devil himself bodily, with his horse's foot and cocks' feathers, and a long calf's tail, making the most horrible grimaces, and shaking his long hair at us. Fire came out of his mouth and nostrils, and roaring like a wild boar, he seized the little dwarf (whom you may remember, Sidonia), tucked him under his arm like a cock—and just as he was uttering a curse over his good game being interrupted—and cut his head clean off; then, throwing the head at me, growled forth—

  "'Every day one,
  Only Sundays none"

and disappeared through the door like a flash of lightning, carrying the headless trunk along with him.

"When my comrades heard that the devil was to carry off one of them every day but Sunday, they all set up a screaming, like so many rooks when a shot is fired in amongst them, and rushed out in the night, seizing hold of horses or waggons, or whatever they could lay their hands on, and rode away east and west, and west and east, or north and south, as it may be.

"Summa.—When I came to my senses (for I had sunk down insensible from horror, when the head of the dwarf was thrown at me), I found that the said head had bit me by the arm, so that I had to drag it away by force; then I looked about me, and every knave had fled—even my waggon had been carried off, and not a soul was left in the place of all these fine fellows, who had sworn to be true to me till death.

"This base desertion nearly broke my heart, and I resolved to change my course of life and go to some pious priest for confession, telling him how the devil had first tempted me to sin, and then punished me in this terrible manner (as, indeed, I well deserved).

"So next morning I took my way to the town, after observing, to my great annoyance, that the castle could have been as easily taken as a bird's nest; and seeing a beer-glass painted on a sign-board, I guessed that here was the inn. Truth to say, my heart wanted strengthening sorely, and I entered. There was a pretty wench washing crabs in the kitchen, and as I made up to her, after my manner, to have a little pastime, she drew back and said, laughing, 'May the devil take you, as he took the others last night in the barn!' upon which she laughed again so loud and long, that I thought she would have fallen down, and could not utter a word more for laughing.

"This seemed a strange thing to me, for I had never heard a Christian man, much less a woman, laugh when the talk was of the bodily Satan himself. So I asked what there was so pleasant in the thought? whereupon she related what the young knight Dinnies Kleist had done to save his castle from the robbers. I would not believe her, but while I sat myself down on a bench to drink, the host comes in and confirmed her story. Summa, I let the conversion lie over for a time yet, and set about looking for my comrades, but not finding one, I fell into despair, and resolved to get into Poland, and take service in the army there—especially as all my money had vanished."

Here the old parson said that Sidonia cried out, "How now, sir knave, you are going to buy castle and lands forsooth, and have no money? Truly the base villain is deceiving me yet again."

But my knave answered, "Alas! woe that thou shouldst think so hardly of me! Have I not told thee that my father is going to give me my heritage? So listen further what I tell thee:—In Poland I met with Konnemann and Stephen Pruski, who had one of my waggons with them, in which all my gold was hid, and when I threatened to complain to the authorities, the cowards let me have my own property again, on condition that I would take them into my service, when I went to live at my own castle. This I promised; therefore they are here with me, as you see. And Konnemann went lately to my father at my request, and brought me back the joyful intelligence that he would assign me over my portion of his goods and property."

So far the Pastor Rehewinkelensis heard. What follows concerning the wicked knave was related by his own sorrowing father to my worthy father-in-law, along with other pious priests, and from him I had the story when I visited him at Marienfliess.

For what was my knave's next act? When he returned to the town, and heard from his comrades that the coachman of Saatzig was snoring away there in the stable with open mouth, he stuffed in some hay to prevent him screaming, and tied him hands and feet, then drew his horses out of the stall, yoked them to the carriage, and drove it himself a little piece out of the town down into the hollow, then went back for Sidonia, telling her that her stupid coachman had made some mistake and driven off without her, but he had put all her baggage on his own carriage, which was now quite ready, if she would walk with him a little way just outside the town. Hereupon she paid the reckoning, mine host troubling himself little about the affair of the waggon, and they set off on foot.

When they reached the carriage, Sidonia asked if all her baggage were really there, for she could not see in the darkness. And when she felt, and reckoned all her bundles and trunks, and found all right, my knave said, "Now, she saw herself that he meant truly by her. Here was even a nice place made in the straw sack for her, where he had sat down first himself, that she might have an easy seat. Item, she now saw his own carriage which he had fished up in Poland and kept till now, that he might travel in it to Bruchhausen to receive his heritage, and he was going there this very night. She saw that he had lied in nothing."

Whereupon Sidonia got into the carriage with him, never discovering his knavery on account of the darkness, and about midnight they reached the inn at Bruchhausen.

CHAPTER XVIII.

How a new leaf is turned over at Bruchhausen in a very fearful manner—Old Appelmann takes his worthless son prisoner, and admonishes him to repentance—Of Johann's wonderful conversion, and execution next morning in the churchyard, Sidonia being present thereby.

My knave halted a little way before they reached the inn, for he had his suspicions that all was not quite right, and sent on the forenamed Pruski to ascertain whether the money was really come for him. For there was a bright light in the tap-room, and the sound of many voices, which was strange, seeing that it was late enough for every one to be in bed. Pruski was back again soon—yes, it was all right. There were men in there from Stargard, who said they had brought gold for the young burgomaster.

Marry! how my knave jumped down from the carriage, and brought Sidonia along with him, bidding Pruski to stay and watch the things. But, behold, as my knave entered, six men seized him, bound him firmly, and bid him sit down quietly on a bench by the table, till his father arrived. So he cursed and swore, but this was no help to him; and when Sidonia saw that she had been deceived again, she tried to slip out and get to the carriage, but the men stopped her, saying, unless she wished a pair of handcuffs on, she had better sit down quietly on another bench opposite Johann. And she asked in vain what all this meant. Item, my knave asked in vain, but no one answered them.

They had not long been waiting, when a carriage stopped before the door, more voices were heard, and, alas! who should enter but the old burgomaster himself, with Mag. Vito, Diaconus of St. John's. And after them came the executioner, with six assistants bearing a black coffin.

My knave now turned as white as a corpse, and trembled like an aspen leaf; no word could he utter, but fell with his back against the wall. Then a dead silence reigned throughout the chamber, and Sidonia looked as white as her paramour.

When the assistants had placed the coffin on the ground, the old father advanced to the table, and spake thus—"Oh, thou fallen and godless child! thou thrice lost son! how often have I sought to turn thee from evil, and trusted in thy promises; but in place of better, thou hast grown worse, and wickedness has increased in thee day by day, as poison in the young viper. On thy infamous hands lie so many robberies, murders, and seductions, that they cannot be reckoned. I speak not of past years, for then truly the night would not be long enough to count them; I speak only of thy last deeds in Poland, as old Elias von Wedel related them to me yesterday in Stargard. Deny, if thou darest, here in the face of thy death and thy coffin, how thou didst join thyself to the Lansquenets in Poland, and then along with two vile fellows got entrance into Lembrowo, telling the old castellan, Elias von Wedel, that thou wast a labourer, upon which he took thee into his service. But at night thou (O wicked son!) didst rise up and beat the old Elias almost unto death, demanding all his money, which, when he refused, thou and thy robber villains seized his cattle and his horses, and drove them away with thee. Item, canst thou deny that on meeting the same old Elias at Norenberg by the hunt in the forest, thou didst mock him, and ask, would he sell his castle of Lembrowo in Poland, for thou wouldst buy it of him, seeing thy father had promised thee plenty of gold?

"Item, canst thou deny having written me a threatening letter, declaring that if by this very night a hundred dollars were not sent to thee here at Bruchhausen, a red beacon should rise up from my sheepfolds and barns, which meant nothing else than that thou wouldst burn the whole good town of Stargard, for thou knowest well that all the sheepfolds and barns of the burghers adjoin one to the other? Canst thou deny this, O thou lost son? If so, deny it now."

Here Johann began again with his old knavery. He wept, and threw himself on the ground, crawling under the table to get to his father's feet, then howled forth, that he repented of his sins, and would lead a better life truly for the future, if his hard, stern father would only forgive him now.

But Sidonia screamed aloud, and as the burgomaster in his sorrow had not observed her before, he turned his eyes now on her, and exclaimed, "Woe, alas! thou godless son, hast thou this noble maiden with thee yet? I thought she was at Saatzig; or perchance thou hast made her thy wife?"

Ille.—"Alas, no; but he would marry her soon, to make amends for the wrong he had done her."

Hic.—"This thou hast ten times promised, but in vain, and thy sins have increased a hundredfold; because, like all profligates, thou hast shunned the holy estate of matrimony, and preferred to wallow in the mire of unchastity, with any one who fell in the way of thy adulterous and licentious eyes."

Ille.—"Alas! his heart's dearest father was right; but he would amend his evil life; and, in proof of it, let the reverend deacon, M. Vitus, here present, wed him now instantly to Sidonia."

Hic.—"It is too late. I counsel thee rather to wed thy poor soul to the holy Saviour, like the repentant thief on the cross. See—here is a priest, and there is a coffin."

Here the executioner broke in upon the old, deeply afflicted father, telling him the coffin was too short, as, indeed, his worship had told him, but he would not believe the young man was so tall. Where could he put the head? It must be stuck between his feet, or under his arm, cried out another. So some proposed one thing and some another, till a great uproar arose.

Upon which the old mourning father cried out—"Do you want to break my heart? Is there not time enough to talk of this after?"

Then he turned again to his profligate son, and asked him—

"Would he not repent, and take the holy body and blood of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, as a passport with him on this long journey? If so, let him go into the little room and pray with the priest, and repent of his sins; there was yet time."

Ille.—"Alas, he had repented already. What had he ever done so wicked that his own bodily father should thirst after his blood? The courts were all closed, and law or justice could no man have in all Pomerania. What wonder then if club-law and the right of the strongest should obtain in all places, as in the olden time?"

Hic.—"That law and justice had ceased in the land was, alas! but too true. However, he was not to answer for this, but his princely Grace of Stettin. And because they had ceased in the land, was he, as an upright magistrate, called upon to do his duty yet more sternly, even though the criminal were his own born son. For the Lord, the just Judge, the Almighty and jealous God, called to him daily, from His holy Word—'Ye shall not respect persons in judgment, nor be afraid of the face of man; for the judgment is God's.' [Footnote: Deut. i. 17.] Woe to the land's Prince who had not considered this, but compelled him, the miserable judge, to steep his father's hands in the blood of his own son. But righteous Abraham conquered through faith, because he was obedient unto God, and bound his own innocent son upon the altar, and drew forth his knife to slay him. Therefore he, too, would conquer through faith, if he bound his guilty son, and drew out the sword against him, obedient to the words of the Lord. Therefore let him prepare himself for death, and follow the priest into the adjoining little chamber."

When Johann found that his father could in no wise be softened, he began horribly to curse him and the hour of his birth, so that the hair of all who heard him stood on end. And he called the devil to help him, and adjured him to come and carry away this fierce and unnatural father, who was more bloodthirsty than the wild beasts of the forest—for who had ever heard that they murdered their own blood?

"Come, devil," he screamed; "come, devil, and tear this bloodthirsty monster of a father to pieces before my eyes, so will I give myself to thee, body and soul! Hearest thou, Satan! Come and destroy my father, and all who have here come out to murder me, only leave me a little while longer in this life to do thy service, and then I am thine for eternity!"

Now all eyes were turned in fear and horror to the door, but no Satan entered, for the just God would not permit it, else, methinks, he would have run to catch such a morsel for his supper. However, the old man trembled, and seemed dwindling away into nothing before the eyes of the bystanders as his son uttered the curse. But he soon recovered, and laying his quivering hands upon the head of the imprecator, broke forth into loud weeping, while he prayed thus—

"O Thou just and Almighty God, who bringest the devices of the wicked to nought, close Thine ears against this horrible curse of my false son; remember Thine own word—'Into an evil soul wisdom cannot enter, nor dwell in a body subject unto sin.' [Footnote: Wisdom i. 4.] Thou alone canst make the sinful soul wise, and the body of sin a temple of the Holy Ghost. O Lord Jesus Christ, hast Thou no drop of living water, no crumb of strengthening manna for this sinful and foolish soul? Hast Thou no glance of Thy holy eyes for this denying Peter, that he may go forth and weep bitterly? Hast Thou no word to strike the heart of this dying thief—of this lost son, who, here bound for death, has cursed his own father, and given himself up, body and soul, to the enemy of mankind? O blessed Spirit, who comest and goest as the wind, enter the heavenly temple, which is yet the work of Thy hands, and make it, by Thy presence, a temple of the Most High! O Lord God, dwell there but one moment, that so in his death-anguish he may feel the sweetness of Thy presence, and the heaven-high comfort of Thy promise! O Thou Holy Trinity, who hast kept my steps from falling, through so much care and trouble, through so much shame and disgrace, through so much watching and tears, and even now through these terrible curses of my son, come and say Amen to this my last blessing, which I, poor father, give him for his curse.

"Yes, Johann; the Lord bless thee and keep thee in the death hour. The Lord shed his grace on thee, and give thee peace in thy last agonies!