_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.