barber, and proposed to her mother that Herr Karl should be taken into
the concern, as he would be useful to stretch the ropes, and go round
for coppers. Sophie was nothing loth to have her inn bill paid on these
terms, but when finally the bouncing mother announced that her
daughter's hand was at the disposal of Karl, then the situation became
even more embarrassing than that at home from which Sophie had run away.
The barber maintained her place as long as she could, but at last, when
the endearments of the daughter became oppressive, and the urgency of
the mother for speedy nuptials became vexatious, she pretended that the
father, who was represented as a well-to-do citizen of Hamburg, must
first be consulted. On this plea Sophie borrowed of Mother Franke the
requisite money for her journey and departed, promising to return in a
few weeks. Instead of fulfilling her promise, Sophie wrote to ask for a
further advance of money, and when this was refused, disappeared
altogether from the knowledge of the athlete and her daughter.
On this second flight from marriage, Sophie Apitzsch met with an
armourer named Karl Marbitz, and by some means or other contrived to get
possession of his pass, leaving him instead a paper of legitimation made
out under the name of Karl Gottfried, which old Mother Franke had
induced the police to grant to the young barber who was engaged to marry
her daughter.
In June 1714, under the name of Marbitz, Sophie appeared among the
Erz-Gebirge, the chain of mountains that separate Saxony from Bohemia,
and begged her way from place to place, pretending to be a schoolmaster
out of employ. After rambling about for some time, she took up her
quarters with a baker at Elterlein. Here it was that for the first time
a suspicion was aroused that she was a person of greater consequence
than she gave out. The rumour reached the nearest magistrate that there
was a mysterious stranger there who wore a ribbon and star of some
order, and he at once went to the place to make inquiries, but found
that Sophie had neither ribbon nor order, and that her papers declared
in proper form who and what she was. At this time she fell ill at the
baker's house, and the man, perhaps moved by the reports abroad
concerning her, was ready to advance her money to the amount of £6 or
£7. When recovered, she left the village where she had been ill, and
went to another one, where she took up her abode with another baker,
named Fischer, whom she helped in his trade, or went about practising
upon the huntsman's horn.
This amusement it was which brought her into trouble. Possibly she may
not have known that the horn was a reserved instrument that might not be
played by the ignoble.
At the time that Volkmar took her out of the lockup, and carried her off
to his mansion in his carriage, she was absolutely without money, in
threadbare black coat, stockings ill darned, and her hair very much in
want of powder.
Hitherto her associates had been of the lowest classes; she had been
superior to them in education, in morals, and in character, and had to
some extent imposed on them. They acknowledged in her an undefined
dignity and quiet reserve, with unquestioned superiority in attainments
and general tone of mind, and this they attributed to her belonging to a
vastly higher class in society.
Now, all at once she was translated into another condition of life, one
in which she had never moved before; but she did not lose her head; she
maintained the same caution and reserve in it, and never once exposed
her ignorance so as to arouse suspicion that she was not what people
insisted on believing her to be. She was sufficiently shrewd never by
word to compromise herself, and afterwards, when brought to trial, she
insisted that she had not once asserted that she was other than Karl
Marbitz the armourer. Others had imagined she was a prince, but she had
not encouraged them in their delusion by as much as a word. That, no
doubt, was true, but she accepted the honours offered and presents made
her under this erroneous impression, without an attempt to open the eyes
of the deluded to their own folly.
Perhaps this was more than could be expected of her. "Foolery," said the
clown in "Twelfth Night," "does walk about the orb, like the sun; it
shines everywhere"--and what are fools but the natural prey of the
clever?
Sophie had been ill, reduced to abject poverty, was in need of good
food, new clothes, and shelter; all were offered, even forced upon her.
Was she called upon to reject them? She thought not.
Now that Volkmar had a supposed prince under his roof he threw open his
house to the neighbourhood, and invited every gentleman he knew--except
the von Günthers. He provided the prince with a coat of scarlet cloth
frogged and laced with gold, with a new hat, gave him a horse, filled
his purse, and provided him with those identical boots in which a
century later a Cossack marched into Paris.
She was addressed by her host and hostess as "Your Highness," and "Your
Serenity," and they sought to kiss her hand, but she waived away these
exhibitions of servility, saying, "Let be--we will regard each other as
on a common level." Once Volkmar said slyly to her, "What would your
august father say if he knew you were here?"
"He would be surprised," was all the answer that could be drawn from
her. One day the newspaper contained information of the Crown Prince's
doings in Paris with his tutor and attendants. Volkmar pointed it out to
her with a twinkle of the eye, saying, "Do not suppose I am to be
hoodwinked by such attempts to deceive the public as that."
In the mornings when the pseudo prince left the bedroom, outside the
door stood Herr Volkmar, cap in hand, bowing. As he offered her a pinch
of snuff from a gold _tabatière_ one day, he saw her eyes rest on it; he
at once said, "This belonged formerly to the Königsmark."
"Then," she replied, "it will have the double initials on it. 'A' for
Aurora."
Now, argued Volkmar, how was it likely that his guest should know the
scandalous story of Augustus I. and the fair Aurora of Königsmark,
mother of the famous French marshal, unless he had belonged to the royal
family of Saxony?[14] He left out of account that Court scandal is
talked about everywhere, and is in the mouths of all. Then he presented
her with the snuff-box. Next he purchased for her a set of silver plate
for her cover, and ordered a ribbon and a star of diamonds, because it
became one of such distinguished rank not to appear without a
decoration! As the girl said afterwards at her trial, she had but to
hint a desire for anything, and it was granted her at once. Her host
somewhat bored her with political disquisitions; he was desirous of
impressing on his illustrious guest what a political genius he was, and
in his own mind had resolved to become prime minister of Saxony in the
place of the fallen Beichlingen, who was said to have made so much money
out of the State that he could buy a principality, and who, indeed,
struck a medal with his arms on it surmounted by a princely crown.
But Volkmar's ambition went further. As already stated he had a
daughter--the modest Joanna; what a splendid opportunity was in the
hands of the scheming parents! If the young prince formed an attachment
for Joanna, surely he might get the emperor to elevate her by diploma to
the rank of a princess, and thus Volkmar would see his Joanna Queen of
Poland and Electress of Saxony. He and Frau Volkmar were far too good
people to scheme to get their daughter such a place as the old
Königsmark had occupied with the reigning sovereign. Besides, Königsmark
had been merely created a countess, and who would crave to be a countess
when she might be Queen? and a favourite, when, by playing her cards
well, she might become a legitimate wife?
So the old couple threw Joanna at the head of their guest, and did their
utmost to entangle him. In the meantime the von Günthers were flaming
with envy and rage. They no more doubted that the Volkmars had got the
Crown Prince living with them, than did the Volkmars themselves. The
whole neighbourhood flowed to the entertainments given in his honour at
Hetzdorf; only the von Günthers were shut out. But von Günther met the
mysterious stranger at one or two of the return festivities given by the
gentry who had been entertained at Hetzdorf, and he seized on one of
these occasions boldly to invite his Highness to pay him also a visit at
his "little place;" and what was more than he expected, the offer was
accepted.
In fact, the Apitzsch who had twice run away from matrimony, was
becoming embarrassed again by the tenderness of Joanna and the ambition
of the parents.
The dismay of the Volkmars passes description when their guest informed
them he was going to pay a visit to the hated rivals.
Sophie was fetched away in the von Günther carriage, and by servants put
into new liveries for the occasion, and was received and entertained
with the best at Jägerhof. Here, also, presents were made; among others
a silver cover for table was given her by the daughter of her host, who
had married a major, and who hoped, in return, to see her husband
advanced to be a general.
She was taken to see the royal castle of Augustusburg, and here a little
difference of testimony occurs as to the observation she made in the
chapel, which was found to be without an organ. At her trial it was
asserted that she had said, "I must order an organ," but she positively
swore she had said, "An organ ought to be provided." She was taken also
to the mansion of the Duke of Holstein at Weisenburg, where she
purchased one of his horses--that is to say, agreed to take it, and let
her hosts find the money.
The visit to the von Günthers did not last ten days, and then she was
back again with the Volkmars, to their exuberant delight. Why she
remained so short a time at Jägerhof does not appear. Possibly she may
have been there more in fear of detection than at Hetzdorf. Now that the
Volkmars had her back they would not let her out of their sight. They
gave her two servants in livery to attend her; they assured her that her
absence had so affected Joanna that the girl had done nothing but weep,
and had refused to eat. They began to press in their daughter's interest
for a declaration of intentions, and that negotiations with the Emperor
should be opened that a title of princess of the Holy Roman Empire might
be obtained for her as preliminary to the nuptials.
Sophie Apitzsch saw that she must again make a bolt to escape the
marriage ring, and she looked about for an opportunity. But there was no
evading the watch of the Volkmars, who were alarmed lest their guest
should again go to the hated von Günthers.
Well would it have been for the Volkmars had they kept the "prince"
under less close surveillance, and allowed him to succeed in his
attempts to get away. It would have been to their advantage in many
ways.
A fortnight or three weeks passed, and the horse bought of the Duke of
Holstein had not been sent In fact the Duke, when the matter was
communicated to him, was puzzled. He knew that the Crown Prince was in
Paris, and could not have visited his stables, and promised to purchase
his horse. So he instituted inquiries before he consented to part with
the horse, and at once the bubble burst. Police arrived at Hetzdorf to
arrest the pretender, and convey her to Augustusburg, where she was
imprisoned, till her trial. This was in February, 1715. In her prison
she had an apoplectic stroke, but recovered. Sentence was pronounced
against her by the court at Leipzig in 1716, that she should be publicly
whipped out of the country. That is to say, sent from town to town, and
whipped in the market-place of each, till she was sent over the
frontier. In consideration of her having had a stroke, the king commuted
the sentence to whipping in private, and imprisonment at his majesty's
pleasure.
She does not seem to have been harshly treated by the gaoler of
Waldheim, the prison to which she was sent. She was given her own room,
she dined at the table of the gaoler, continued to wear male clothes,
and was cheerful, obedient, and contented. In 1717 both she and her
father appealed to the king for further relaxation of her sentence, but
this was refused. The prison authorities gave her the best testimony for
good conduct whilst in their hands.
In the same year, 1717, the unfortunate Volkmar made a claim for the
scarlet coat--which he said the moths were likely to eat unless placed
on some one's back--the gold snuff-box, the silver spoons, dishes,
forks, the horse, the watch, and various other things he had given
Sophie, being induced to do so by false representations. The horse as
well as the plate, the star, the snuff-box, the coat and the boots had
all been requisitioned as evidence before her trial. The question was a
hard one to solve, whether Herr Volkmar could recover presents, and it
had to be transmitted from one court to another. An order of court dated
January, 1722, required further evidence to be produced before purse,
coat, boots, &c., could be returned to Volkmar--that is, _seven_ years
after they had been taken into the custody of the Court. The horse must
have eaten more than his cost by this time, and the coat must have lost
all value through moth-eating. The cost of proceedings was heavy, and
Volkmar then withdrew from his attempt to recover the objects given to
the false prince.
But already--long before, by decree of October 1717--Sophie Apitzsch had
been liberated. She left prison in half male, half female costume, and
in this dress took service with a baker at Waldheim; and we hear no more
of her, whether she married, and when she died.
FOOTNOTES:
[13] Augustus the Strong was King of Poland and Elector of Saxony.
[14] Aurora v. Königsmark went out of favour in 1698--probably then sold
the gold snuff-box. She died in 1728.
Peter Nielsen.
On the 29th day of April in the year 1465, died Henry Strangebjerg,
bishop of Ribe in Denmark, after having occupied the See for just ten
years. For some days before his decease public, official prayer had been
made for his recovery by the Cathedral Chapter, but in their hearts the
Canons were impatient for his departure. Not, be it understood, that the
Bishop was an unworthy occupant of the See of Liafdag the Martyr--on the
contrary, he had been a man of exemplary conduct; nor because he was
harsh in his rule--on the contrary, he had been a lenient prelate. The
reason why, when official prayer was made for his recovery, it was
neutralised by private intercession for his removal, was solely
this--his removal opened a prospect of advancement.
The Cathedral Chapter of Ribe consisted of fifteen Canons, and a Dean or
Provost, all men of family, learning and morals. Before the doctors had
shaken their heads over the sick bed of Henry Strangebjerg, it was known
throughout Ribe that there would be four candidates for the vacant
throne. It was, of course, impossible for more than one man to be
elected; but as the election lay entirely and uncontrolledly in the
hands of the Chapter, it was quite possible for a Canon to make a good
thing out of an election without being himself elected. The bishops
nominated to many benefices, and there existed then no law against
pluralities. The newly chosen prelate, if he had a spark of gratitude,
must reward those faithful men who had made him bishop.
At 4 p.m. on April 29th the breath left the body of Henry Strangebjerg.
At 4.15 p.m. the Chapter were rubbing their hands and drawing sighs of
relief. But Thomas Lange, the Dean, rubbed his hands and drew his sigh
of relief ten minutes earlier, viz., at 4.5 p.m., for he stood by the
bed of the dying bishop. At 3.25 p.m. Thomas Lange's nerves had received
a great shock, for a flicker as of returning life had manifested itself
in the sick man, and for a few minutes he really feared he might
recover. At 4.10 p.m. Hartwig Juel, the Archdeacon, who had been
standing outside the bishop's door, was seen running down the corridor
with a flush in his cheeks. Through the keyhole he had heard the Dean
exclaim: "Thank God!" and when he heard that pious ejaculation, he knew
that all dread of the Bishop's restoration was over. It was not till so
late as 4.20 p.m. that Olaf Petersen knew it. Olaf was kneeling in the
Cathedral, in the Chapel of St. Lambert, the yellow chapel as it was
called, absorbed in devotion, consequently the news did not reach him
till five minutes after the Chapter, twenty minutes after the vacation
of the See. Olaf Petersen was a very holy man; he was earnest and
sincere. He was, above everything, desirous of the welfare of the Church
and the advancement of religion. He was ascetic, denying himself in
food, sleep and clothing, and was profuse in his alms and in his
devotions. He saw the worldliness, the self-seeking, the greed of gain
and honours that possessed his fellows, and he was convinced that one
thing was necessary for the salvation of Christianity in Ribe, and that
one thing was his own election to the See.
The other candidates were moved by selfish interests. He cared only for
true religion. Providence would do a manifest injustice if it did not
take cognizance of his integrity and interfere to give him the mitre. He
was resolved to use no unworthy means to secure it. He would make no
promises, offer no bribes--that is, to his fellow Canons, but he
promised a silver candlestick to St. Lambert, and bribed St. Gertrude to
intervene with the assurance of a pilgrimage to her shrine.
We have mentioned only three of the candidates. The fourth was Jep
Mundelstrup, an old and amiable man, who had not thrust himself forward,
but had been put forward by his friends, who considered him sufficiently
malleable to be moulded to their purposes.
Jep was, as has been said, old; he was so old that it was thought (and
hoped), if chosen, his tenure of office would be but brief. Four or five
years--under favourable circumstances, such as a changeable winter, a
raw spring with east winds--he might drop off even sooner, and leave the
mitre free for another scramble.
The Kings of Denmark no longer nominated to the Sees, sent no _congé
d'élire_ to the Chapter. They did not even appoint to the Canonries.
Consequently the Canons had everything pretty much their own way, and
had only two things to consider, to guide their determination--the good
of the Church and their own petty interests. The expression "good of
the Church" demands comment. "The good of the Church" was the motive,
the only recognised motive, on which the Chapter were supposed to act.
Practically, however, it was non-existent as a motive. It was a mere
figure of speech used to cloak selfish ambition.
From this sweeping characterisation we must, however, exclude Olaf
Petersen, who did indeed regard pre-eminently the good of the Church,
but then that good was, in his mind, inextricably involved with his own
fortunes. He was the man to make religion a living reality. He was the
man to bring the Church back to primitive purity. He could not blind his
eyes to the fact that not one of the Canons beside himself cared a
farthing for spiritual matters; therefore he desired the mitre for his
own brows.
The conclave at which the election was to be made was fixed for the
afternoon of the day on which Henry Strangebjerg was to be buried, and
the burial was appointed to take place as soon as was consistent with
decency.
The whole of the time between the death and the funeral was taken up by
the Canons with hurrying to and from each other's residences, canvassing
for votes.
Olaf Petersen alone refrained from canvassing, he spent his whole time
in fasting and prayer, so anxious was he for the welfare of the Church
and the advancement of true religion.
At length--Boom! Boom! Boom! The great bell of the minster tower
summoned the Chapter to the hall of conclave. Every Canon was in his
place, fifteen Canons and the provost, sixteen in all. It was certain
that the provost, although chairman, would claim his right to vote, and
exercise it, voting for himself. It was ruled that all voting should be
open, for two reasons--that the successful candidate might know who had
given him their shoulders on which to mount, and so reward these
shoulders by laying many benefices upon them, and secondly, that he
might know who had been his adversaries, and so might exclude them from
preferments. Every one believed he would be on the winning side, no one
supposed the other alternative possible.
The candidates, as already intimated, were four. Thomas Lange, the Dean,
who belonged to a good, though not wealthy family. He had been in
business before taking orders, and brought with him into the Church
practical shrewdness and business habits. He had husbanded well the
resources of the Chapter, and had even enlarged its revenue by the
purchase of three farms and a manor.
The second candidate, Hartwig Juel, was a member of a powerful noble
family. His brother was at Court and highly regarded by King Christian.
His election would gratify the king. Hartwig Juel was Archdeacon.
The third candidate was the good old Jep Mundelstrup; and the fourth was
the representative of the ascetic, religious party, which was also the
party of reform, Olaf Petersen.
The Dean was, naturally, chairman. Before taking the chair he announced
his intention of voting. The four candidates were proposed, and the
votes taken.
The Dean numbered 4.
Hartwig Juel numbered 4.
Jep Mundelstrup numbered 4.
Olaf Petersen numbered 4.
Moreover, each candidate had voted for himself.
What was to be done? The Chapter sat silent, looking about them in each
others' faces.
Then the venerable Jep Mundelstrup, assisted by those who sat by him,
staggered to his feet, and leaning on his staff, he mumbled forth this
address: "My reverend brothers, it was wholly without my desire and not
in furtherance of any ambition of mine, that my name was put up as that
of a candidate for the vacant mitre of the Holy See of Ribe. I am old
and infirm. With the patriarch Jacob I may say, 'Few and evil have been
the days of the years of my life.' and I am not worthy to receive so
great an honour. Evil my days have been, because I have had only my
Canonry and one sorry living to support me; and there are comforts I
should desire in my old age which I cannot afford. My health is not
sound. I shrink from the responsibilities and labours of a bishopric. If
I withdraw my candidature, I feel confident that the successful
candidate will not forget my infirmities, and the facility I have
afforded for his election. I decline to stand, and at the same time,
lest I should seem to pose in opposition to three of my excellent
brethren, I decline also to vote." Then he sat down, amidst general
applause.
Here was an unexpected simplification of matters. The Dean and Hartwig
Juel cast kindly, even affectionate glances at those who had previously
voted for Jep, Olaf Petersen looked up to heaven and prayed.
Again, the votes were taken, and again the chairman claimed his right to
vote.
When taken they stood thus:
The Dean, 5.
Hartwig Juel, 5.
Olaf Petersen, 5.
What was to be done? Again the Chapter sat silent, rubbing their chins,
and casting furtive glances at each other. The Chapter was adjourned to
the same hour on the morrow. The intervening hours were spent in
negociations between the several parties, and attempts made by the two
first in combination to force Olaf Petersen to resign his candidature.
But Olaf was too conscientious a man to do this. He felt that the
salvation of souls depended on his staying the plague like Phinehas with
his censer.
Boom! Boom! Boom! The Cathedral bell again summoned the conclave to the
Chapter House.
Before proceeding to business the Dean, as chairman, addressed the
electors. He was an eloquent man, and he set in moving words before them
the solemnity of the duty imposed on them, the importance of considering
only the welfare of the Church, and the responsibility that would weigh
on them should they choose an unworthy prelate. He conjured them in
tones vibrating with pathos, to put far from them all self-seeking
thoughts, and to be guided only by conscience. Then he sat down. The
votes were again taken. Jep Mundelstrup again shaking his head, and
refusing to vote. When counted, they stood thus.
Thomas Lange, 5.
Hartwig Juel, 5.
Olaf Petersen, 5.