_How his Highness, Duke Barnim the elder, went a-hawking at
Marienfliess--Item, of the shameful robbery at Zachan, and how
burgomaster Appelmann remonstrates with his abandoned son._
After Duke Barnim the elder had resigned the government, he betook
himself more than ever to field-sports; and amongst others,
hawking became one of his most favourite pursuits. By this sport,
he stocked his gardens at Zachan with an enormous number of
herons, and made a considerable sum annually by the sale of the
feathers. These gardens at Zachan covered an immense space, and
were walled round. Within were many thousand herons' nests; and
all the birds taken by the falcons were brought here, and their
wings clipped. Then the keepers fed them with fish, frogs, and
lizards, so that they became quite tame, and when their wings grew
again, never attempted to leave the gardens, but diligently built
their nests and reared their young. Now, though it cost a great
sum to keep these gardens in order, and support all the people
necessary to look after the birds, yet the Duke thought little of
the expense, considering the vast sum which the feathers brought
him at the moulting season.
Accordingly, during the moulting time, he generally took up his
abode at a castle adjoining the gardens, called "The Stone
Rampart," to inspect the gathering in of the feathers himself; and
he was just on his journey thither with his falconers, hunters,
and other retainers, when the robber-band caught sight of him from
the wood. His Highness was seated in an open carriage, with Trina
Wehlers, the baker's daughter, by his side; and Sidonia, who
recognised her enemy, instantly entreated Johann to revenge her on
the girl if possible; but, as he hesitated, the old gipsy mother
stepped forward and whispered Sidonia, "that she would help her to
a revenge, if she but gave her that little golden smelling-bottle
which she wore suspended by a gold chain on her neck." Sidonia
agreed, and the revenge soon followed; for the Duke left the
carriage, and mounted a horse to follow the chase, the falconer
having unloosed a couple of hawks and let them fly at a heron.
Trina remained in the coach; but the coachman, wishing to see the
sport, tied his horses to a tree, and ran off, too, after the
others into the wood. The hawk soared high above the heron,
watching its opportunity to pounce upon the quarry; but the heron,
just as it swooped down upon it, drove its sharp bill through the
body of the hawk, and down they both came together covered with
blood, right between the two carriage horses.
No doubt this was all done through the magic of the gipsy mother;
for the horses took fright instantly, plunged and reared, and
dashed off with the carriage, which was over-turned some yards
from the spot, and the baker's daughter had her leg broken.
Hearing her screams, the Duke and the whole party ran to the spot;
and his Highness first scolded the coachman for leaving his
horses, then the falconer for having let fly his best falcon,
which now lay there quite dead. The heron, however, was alive, and
his Grace ordered it to be bound and carried off to Zachan. The
baker's daughter prayed, but in vain, that the coachman might be
hung upon the next tree. Then they all set off homeward, but Trina
screamed so loudly, that his Grace stopped, and ordered a couple
of stout huntsmen to carry her to the neighbouring convent of
Marienfliess, where, as I am credibly informed, in a short time
she gave up the ghost.
Now, the robber-band were watching all these proceedings from the
wood, but kept as still as mice. Not until his Grace had driven
off a good space, and the baker's daughter had been carried away,
did they venture to speak or move; then Sidonia jumped up,
clapping her hands in ecstasy, and mimicking the groans and
contortions of the poor girl, to the great amusement of the band,
who laughed loudly; but Johann recalled them to business, and
proposed that they should secretly follow his Highness, and hide
themselves at Elsbruck, near the water-mill of Zachan, until the
evening closed in. In order also to be quite certain of the place
where his Grace had laid up all the herons' feathers of that
season, Johann proposed that the miller, Konnemann, should visit
his Grace at Zachan, giving out that he was a feather merchant
from Berlin. Accordingly, when they reached Elsbruck, the miller
put on my knave's best doublet (for he was almost naked before),
and proceeded to the Stone Rampart, Sidonia bidding him, over and
over again, to inquire at the castle when the young Lord of
Wolgast and his bride were expected at Stettin. The Duke received
Konnemann very graciously, when he found that he was a wealthy
feather merchant from Berlin, who, having heard of the number and
extent of his Grace's gardens at Zachan, had come to purchase all
the last year's gathering of feathers. Would his Highness allow
him to see the feathers?
_Summa_.--He had his wish; for his Grace brought him into a
little room on the ground-floor, where lay two sacks full of the
most perfect and beautiful feathers; and when the Duke demanded a
thousand florins for them, the knave replied, "That he would
willingly have the feathers, but must take the night to think over
the price." Then he took good note of the room, and the garden,
and all the passages of the castle, and so came back in the
twilight to the band with great joy, assuring them that nothing
would be easier than to rob the old turner's apprentice of his
feathers.
Such, indeed, was the truth; for at midnight my knave Johann, with
Konnemann and a few chosen accomplices, carried away those two
sacks of feathers; and no one knew a word about the robbery until
the next morning, when the band were far off in the forest, no one
knew where. But a quarrel had arisen between my knave and Sidonia
over the feathers: she wanted them for herself, that she might
turn them into money, and so be enabled to get back to her own
people; but Johann had no idea of employing his booty in this way.
"What was she thinking of? If those fine stallions, indeed, had
not been stolen from him, he might have given her the feathers;
but now there was nothing else left wherewith to pay the band--she
must wait for another good prize. Meantime they must settle
accounts with the young Lord of Wolgast, who, as Konnemann had
found out, was expected at Stettin in seven days."
Now, the daring robbery at Zachan was the talk of the whole
country, and as the old burgomaster, Appelmann, had heard at
Friedrichswald about the horses and waggon, and his son's shameful
knavery, he could think of nothing else but that the same rascal
had stolen the Duke's feathers at So he took some faithful
burghers with him, and set off for the forest, to try and find his
lost son. At last, after many wanderings, a peasant, who was
cutting wood, told them that he had seen the robber-band encamped
in a thick wood near Rehewinkel; [Footnote: Two miles and a half
from Stargard, and the present dwelling-place of the editor.] and
when the miserable father and his burghers arrived at the place,
there indeed was the robber-band stretched upon the long grass,
and Sidonia seated upon the stump of a tree--for she must play the
lute, while Johann, his godless son, was plaiting the long black
hair of the handsome Sioli.
Methinks the knave must have felt somewhat startled when his
father sprang from behind an oak, a dagger in his hand, exclaiming
loudly, "Johann, Johann, thou lost, abandoned son! is it thus I
find thee?"
The knave turned as white as a corpse upon the gallows, and his
hands seemed to freeze upon the fair Sioli's hair; but the band
jumped up and seized their arms, shouting, "Seize him! seize him!"
The old man, however, cared little for their shouts; and still
gazing on his son, cried out, "Dost thou not answer me, thou
God-forgetting knave? Thou hast deceived and robbed thy own
Prince. Answer me--who amongst all these is fitter for the gallows
than thou art?"
So my knave at last came to his senses, and answered sullenly,
"What did he want here? He had done nothing for him. He must earn
his own bread."
_Ille_.--"God forgive thee thy sins; did I not take thee back
as my son, and strive to correct thee as a true and loving father?
Why didst thou run away from my house and the writing-office?"
_Hic._--"He was born for something else than to lead the life
of a dog."
_Ille_.--"He had never made him live any such life; and even
if he had, better live like a dog than as a robber wolf."
_Hic_.--"He was no robber. Who had belied him so? He and his
friends were on their way to Poland to join the army."
_Ille_.--"Wherefore, then, had he tricked his Highness of
Stettin out of the horses?"
_Hic_.--"That was only a revenge upon the equerry, to pay him
back in his own coin, for he was his enemy, and had broken faith
with him."
_Ille_.--"But he had robbed his Grace Duke Barnim, likewise,
of the herons' feathers. No one else had done it."
_Hic_.--"Who dared to say so? He was insulted and belied by
every one." Then he cursed and swore that he knew nothing whatever
of these herons' feathers which he was making such a fuss about.
Meanwhile the band stood round with cocked muskets, and as the
burghers now pressed forward, to save their leader, if any
violence were offered, Konnemann called out, "Give the word,
master--shall I shoot down the churl?"
Here Johann's conscience was moved a little, and he shouted,
"Back! back!--he is my father!"
But the old gipsy mother sprang forward with a knife, crying, "Thy
father, fool?--what care we for thy father? Let me at him, and
I'll soon settle thy father with my knife."
When the unfortunate son heard and saw this, he seized a heavy
stick that lay near him, and gave the gipsy such a blow on the
crown, that she rolled, screaming, on the ground. Whereupon the
whole band raised a wild yell, and rushed upon the burgomaster.
Then Johann cried, almost with anguish, "Back! back! he is my
father! Do ye not remember your oaths to me? Spare my father!
Wait, at least; he has something of importance to tell me."
And at last, though with difficulty, he succeeded in calming these
children of Belial. Then drawing his father aside, under the shade
of a great oak, he began--"Dearest father mine, it was fear of
you, and despair of the future, that drove me to this work; but if
you will now give me three hundred florins, I will go forth into
the wide world, and take honourable service, wherever it is to be
had, during the wars."
_Ille_.--"Had he yet married that unfortunate Sidonia, who he
observed, to his surprise, was still with him?"
_Hic_.--"No; he could never marry the harlot now, for she had
run away from old Duke Barnim, and followed him here to the
forest."
_Ille_.--"What would become of her, then, when he joined the
army?"
_Hic_.--"That was her look-out. Let her go to her farm at
Zachow."
Hereupon the old man held his peace, and rested his arm against
the oak, and his grey head upon his arm, and looked down long upon
the grass without uttering a word; then he sighed deeply, and
looking up, thus addressed Johann:--
"My son, I will trust thee yet again; but it shall be the last
time; therefore take heed to what I say. Between Stargard and
Pegelow there stands an old thorn upon the highway; there,
to-morrow evening, by seven of the clock, my servant Caspar, whom
thou knowest, shall bring thee three hundred florins; but on this
one condition, that thou dost now swear solemnly to abandon this
villainous robber-band, and seek an honourable living far away, in
some other country, where thou must pray daily to God the Lord, to
turn thee from thy evil ways, and help thee by His grace."
So the knave knelt down before his father, wept, and prayed for
his father's forgiveness; then swore solemnly to abandon his
sinful life, and with God's help to perform all that his father
had enjoined. "And would he not give his last farewell to his
dear, darling mother?" "Thy mother!--ah, thy mother!" sighed the
old man; "but rise, now, and let me and mine homewards. God grant
that my eyes have beheld thee for the last time. Come, I will take
this Sidonia back with me."
So they forthwith joined the robber crew again, who were still
making a great uproar, which, however, Johann appeased, and after
some time obtained a free passage for his father and the burghers;
but Sidonia would not accompany them. The upright old burgomaster
admonished first, then he promised to drive her with his own
horses to her farm at Zachow; but his words were all in vain, for
the knave privately gave her a look, and whispered something in
her ear, but no one knew what it was.
Nor did the old man omit to admonish the whole band likewise,
telling them that if they did not now look up to the high God,
they would one day look down from the high gallows, for all
thieves and robbers came to dance in the wind at last: ten hung in
Stargard, and he had seen twenty at Stettin, and not even the
smallest town had its gallows empty. Hereat Konnemann cried out,
"Ho! ho! who will hang us now? We know well the courts of justice
are closed in all places." And as the old man sighed, and prepared
to answer him, the whole band set up such a shout of laughter that
he stood silent a space; then turning round, trod slowly out of
the thick wood with all his burghers, and was soon lost to view.
The next evening Johann received the three hundred florins at the
thorn-bush, along with a letter from his father, admonishing him
yet again, and conjuring him to fulfil his promise speedily of
abandoning his wicked life. Upon which, my knave gave some of the
money to a peasant that he met on the highway, and bid him go into
the town, purchase some wine and all sorts of eatables, and fetch
them to the band in the wood, that they might have a merry carouse
that same night. This very peasant had been one of their
accomplices, and great was his joy when he beheld them all again,
and, in particular, the gipsy mother. He told her that all her
prophecy had come out true, for his daughter had been deserted,
and her lover had taken Stina Krugers to wife; could she not,
therefore, give him something that would make Stina childless, and
cause her husband to hate her?
"Ay, if he crossed her hand with silver."
This the peasant did. Whereupon she gave him a padlock, and
whispered some words in his ear.
When Sidonia heard that the man could be brought to hate his wife
by some means, her eyes flashed wildly, and she called the
horrible old gipsy mother aside, and asked her to tell her the
charm.
_Illa_.--"Yes; but what would she give her? She had two
pretty golden rings on her finger; let her give them, and she
should have the secret."
_Hæc_.--"She would give one ring now, and the other if the
charm succeeded. The peasant had only given her a few groschen."
_Illa_.--"Yes; but she had only given him half the charm."
_Hæc_.--"Was it anything to eat or drink?"
_Illa_.--"No; there was no eating or drinking: the charm did
it all."
_Hæc_.--"Then let her teach it to her, and if it succeeded by
the young Lord of Wolgast, she would have both rings; if not, but
one."
_Illa_.--"It would succeed without doubt; if his young wife
had no promise of offspring as yet, she would remain childless for
ever."
_Summa_.--The old gipsy taught her the charm, the same with
which she afterward bewitched the whole princely Pomeranian race,
so that they perished childless from off the face of the earth;
[Footnote: Marginal note of Duke Bogislaff XIV.--"O ter quaterque
detestabilem! Et ego testis adfui tametsi in actis de industria
hand notatis. (Oh, thrice accursed! And I, too, was present at
this confession, although I am not mentioned in the protocol.)"]
and this charm Sidonia confessed upon the rack afterwards, in the
Great Hall of Oderburg, July 28, A.D. 1620.