Nothing unseemly in word or deed had ever been heard of him."

_Haec_.--"Then he must have some private love-affair."

_Illa_.--"Some said he was paying court to Bamberg's sister there in Jacobs.h.a.gen."

_Haec_.--"Ha! very probable. But was it true? for otherwise he should never go about amongst the nuns the way he did. It was quite abominable: an unmarried man; Dorothea Stettin was right.

But how could they ascertain the fact?"

_Illa_.--"That was easily done. She was going next morning to Jacobs.h.a.gen, and would make out the whole story for her. Indeed, she herself, too, was curious about it."

_Haec_.--"All right. This must be done for the honour of the cloister. For according to the rules of 1569, the court chaplain was to be an old man, who should teach the sisters to read and write. Whereas, here was a fine carl with red lips and a black beard--unmarried too. Did he perchance ever teach any of them to read or write?"

_Illa_.--"No; for they all knew how already."

_Haec_.--"Still there was something wrong in it. No, no, in such matters youth has no truth; Dorothea Stettin was quite right.

Ah, what a wonderful creature, that excellent Dorothea! Such modesty and purity she had never met with before. Would that all young maidens were like her, and then this wicked world would be something better."

_Illa_ (sighing).--"Ah, yes; but then sister Dorothea went rather far in her notions."

_Haec_.--"How so? In these matters one could never go too far."

_Illa_.--"Why, when a couple were called in church, or a woman was churched, Dorothea nearly fainted. Then, there was a niche in the chancel for which old Duke Barnim had given them an Adam and Eve, which he turned and carved himself. But Dorothea was quite shocked at the Adam, and made a little ap.r.o.n to hang before him, though the abbess and the whole convent said that it was not necessary. But she told them, that unless Adam wore his ap.r.o.n, never would she set foot in the chapel. Now, truly this was going rather far. _Item_, she has been heard to wonder how the Lord G.o.d could send all the animals naked into the world; as cats, dogs, horses, and the like. Indeed, she one day disputed sharply on the matter with the chaplain; but he only laughed at her, whereupon Dorothea went away in a sulk."

Here Sidonia laughed outright too; but soon said with grave decorum, "Quite right. The excellent Dorothea was a treasure above all treasures for the convent. Ah, such chast.i.ty and virtue were rarely to be met with in this wicked world."

Now Anna Apenborg had hardly turned her back, to go and chatter all this back again to the sub-prioress, when Sidonia proceeded to tap some of her beer, and called the convent porter to her, Matthias Winterfeld, bidding him carry it with her greetings to the chaplain, David Ludeck. (For her own maid, Wolde, was lame, ever since the racking she got at Wolgast. So Sidonia was in the habit of sending the porter all her messages, much to his annoyance.) When he came now he was in his shirt-sleeves, at which Sidonia was wroth--"What did he mean by going about the convent in shirt-sleeves? Never let him appear before her eyes in such unseemly trim. And was this a time even for shirt-sleeves, when they were in the month of November? But winter or summer, he must never appear so,"

Hereupon the fellow excused himself. He was killing geese for some of the nuns, and had just put off his coat, not to have it spoiled by the down; but she is nothing mollified--scolds him still, so the fellow makes off without another word, fearing he might get a touch of the rheumatism, like the abbess and his worship the sheriff, and carries the beer-can to the reverend chaplain; from whom he soon brings back "his grateful acknowledgments to the Lady Sidonia."

Two days now pa.s.sed over, but on the third morning Anna Apenborg trotted into the refectory full of news. She was quite tired from her journey yesterday; for the snow was deep on the roads, but to pleasure sister Sidonia (and besides, as it was a matter that concerned the honour of the convent) she had set off to Jacobs.h.a.gen, though indeed the snow lay ankle-deep. However, she was well repaid, and had heard all she wanted; oh, there was great news!

_Illa_.--"Quick! what? how? why? Remember it is for the honour and reputation of the entire convent."

_Haec_.--"She had first gone to one person, who pretended not to know anything at all of the matter; but then another person had told her the whole story--under the seal of the strictest secrecy, however."

_Illa_.--"What is it? what is it? How she went on chattering of nothing."

_Haec_.--"But will the dear sister promise not to breathe it to mortal? She would be ruined with her best friend otherwise."

_Illa_.--"Nonsense, girl; who could I repeat it to? Come, out with it!"

So Anna began, in a very long-winded manner, to explain how the burgomaster's wife in Jacobs.h.a.gen said that her maid said that Provost Bamberg's maid said, that while she was sweeping his study the other morning, she heard the provost's sister say to her brother in the adjoining room, that she could not bear the chaplain, David Ludeck, for he had been visiting there off and on for ever so long, and yet never had asked her the question. He was a faint-hearted coward evidently, and she hated faint-hearted men.

Sidonia grew as red as a lire-beacon when she heard this, and walked up and down the apartment as if much perturbed, so that Anna asked if the dear sister were ill? "No," was the answer. "She was only thinking how best to get rid of this priest, and prevent him running in and out of the convent whenever he pleased. She must try and have an order issued, that he was only to visit the nuns when they were sick. This very day she would see about it.

Could the good Anna tell her what the sheriff had for lunch to-day?"

_Illa_.--"Ay, truly, could she; for the milk-girl, who had brought her some fresh milk, told her that he had got plenty of wild fowl, which the keeper had snared in the net; and there was to be a sweetbread besides. But what was the dear sister herself to eat?"

_Haec_.--"No matter--but did she not hear a great ringing of bells? What could the ringing be for?"

_Illa_.--"That was a strange thing, truly. And there was no one dead, nor any child to be christened, that she had heard of.

She would just run out and see, and bring the dear sister word."

_Illa_.-"Well then, wait till evening, for it is near noon now, and I expect a guest to lunch."

_Haec_.--"Eh? a guest!--and who could it be?"

_Illa_.--"Why, the chaplain himself. I want to arrange about his dismissal."

So, hardly had she got rid of the chatterbox, when Sidonia called the porter, Matthias, and bid him greet the reverend chaplain from her, and say, that as she had somewhat to ask him concerning the invest.i.ture on Sunday, would he be her guest that day at dinner?

She hoped to have some game with a sweetbread, and excellent beer to set before him.

When the porter returned with the answer from his reverence, accepting the invitation, she sent him straight to the sheriff with a couple of covered dishes, and a message, begging his worship to send her half-a-dozen brace or so of game, for she heard that a great many had been taken in his nets; and a sweetbread, if he had it, for she had a guest to-day at dinner.

So the dishes came back full--everything just ready to be served; for the cunning hag knew well that he dare not refuse her; and immediately afterwards the priest arrived to dinner. He was very friendly, but Sidonia caught him looking very suspiciously at a couple of brooms which she had laid crosswise under the table. So she observed, "I lay these brooms there, to preserve our dear mother and the sheriff from falling again into this sickness. It is part of the doctrine of sympathies, and I learned it out of my Herbal, as I can show you." Upon which she went to her trunk and got the book for the priest, whose fears diminished when he saw that it was _printed_; but he could not prevail on her to lend it to him.

_Summa_.--The priest grew still more friendly over the good eating and drinking; and she, the old hypocrite, discoursed him the while about her heavenly bridegroom, and threw up her eyes and sighed, at the same time pressing his hand fervently. But the priest never minded it, for she was old enough to be his mother, and besides, he remembered the Scripture--"No man can call Jesus Lord, except through the Holy Ghost." So as her every third word was "Jesus," he looked upon her as a most discreet and pious Christian, and went away much satisfied by her and the good dinner.

CHAPTER III.

_Sidonia tries another way to catch the priest, but fails through a mistake--Item, of her horrible spell, whereby she bewitched the whole princely race of Pomerania, so that, to the grievous sorrow of their fatherland, they remain barren even unto this day._ [Footnote: Note of Duke Bogislaff XIV.--"Ay, and will to the last day, _vaeh mihi_."]

As soon as the pious abbess was able to leave her bed, she sent for the priest, for she had strange suspicions about Sidonia, and asked the reverend clerk, if indeed her cure could have been effected by sympathy? and were it not rather some work of the bodily Satan himself? But my priest a.s.sured her concerning Sidonia's Christian faith; _item_, told, to the great wonderment of the abbess, that she no longer cared for the sub-prioret (we know why--she would sooner have the priest than the prioret), but was content to let Dorothea Stettin keep it or resign it, just as she pleased.

After this, the invest.i.ture of Sidonia took place, and the priest blessed her at the altar, and admonished her to take as her model the wise virgins mentioned Matt. xxv. (but G.o.d knows, she had followed the foolish virgins up to that period, and never ceased doing so to the end of her days).

Even on that very night, we shall see her conduct; for she bid her maid, Wolde, run and call up the convent porter, and despatch him instantly for the priest, saying that she was very ill, and he must come and pray with her. This excited no suspicion, since she herself had forbade the priest entering the convent, unless any of the sisters were sick. But Anna Apenborg slipped out of bed when she heard the noise, and watched from the windows for the porter's return. Then she tossed up the window, though the snow blew in all over her bed, and called out, "Well, what says he? will he come?

will he come?"

And when the fellow grunted in answer, "Yes, he's coming," she wrapped a garment round her, and set herself to watch, though her teeth were chattering from cold all the time. In due time the priest came, whereupon the curious virgin crept out of her garret, and down the stairs to a little window in the pa.s.sage which looked in upon the refectory, and through which, in former times, provisions were sometimes handed in. There she could hear everything that pa.s.sed.

When the priest entered, Sidonia stretched out her meagre arms towards him, and thanked him for coming; would he sit down here on the bed, for there was no other seat in the room? she had much to tell him that was truly wonderful. But the priest remained standing: let her speak on.

_Illa_.--"Ah! it concerned himself. She had dreamt a strange dream (G.o.d be thanked that it was not a reality), but it left her no peace. Three times she awoke, and three fell asleep and dreamt it again. At last she sent for him, for there might be danger in store for him, and she would turn it away if possible."

_Hic_.--"It was strange, truly. What, then, had she dreamed?"

_Illa_.--"It seemed to her that murderers had got up into his room through the window, and just as they were on the point of strangling him, she had appeared and put them to flight, whereupon--" (here she paused and sighed).

_Hic _(in great agitation).--"Go on, for G.o.d's sake go on--what further?"

_Illa_.--"Whereupon--ah! she must tell him now, since he forced her to do it. Whereupon, out of grat.i.tude, he took her to be his wife, and they were married" (sighing, and holding both hands before her eyes).

_Hic_ (clasping his hands).--"Merciful Heaven! how strange! I dreamt all that precisely myself." [Footnote: The power of producing particular dreams by volition, was recognised by the ancients and philosophers of the Middle Ages. _Ex._ Albertus Magnus relates (_De Mirabilibus Mundi_ 205) that horrible dreams can be produced by placing an ape's skin under the pillow.

He also gives a receipt for making women tell their secrets in sleep (but this I shall keep to myself). Such phenomena are neither physiologically nor psychologically impossible, but our modern physiologists are content to take the mere poor form of nature, dissect it, anatomise it, and then bury it beneath the sand of their hypotheses. Thus, indeed, "the dead bury their dead," while all the strange, mysterious, inner powers of nature, which the philosophers of the Middle Ages, as Psellus, Albertus Magnus, Trithemius, Carda.n.u.s, Theophastus, &c., did so much to elucidate, are at once flippantly and ignorantly placed in the category of "Superst.i.tions," "Absurdities," and "Artful Deceptions."]