"Come here, parson, I'll soon settle for you."
Then it cursed, swore, and blasphemed God, and raged within the poor maiden, so that the foam gathered on her pale lips. But the reverend David is not to be frightened from his duty by the foul fiend. He kneeled down first, with all present, and prayed earnestly to God; then endeavoured to make the possessed maiden repeat the Lord's Prayer and the Creed after him; but the devil would not let her. He raged, roared, laughed scornfully, and abused the priest with such unseemly words that it was a grief and horror to hear them.
"Wait, parson," it screamed, "in three days thou shalt be as I am.(Namely, a spirit; though no one knew then what the devil meant.)I will make thee pay for this, because thou tormentest me."
But neither menaces nor blasphemies could deter the good priest. He lifted his eyes to heaven, and prayed that beautiful prayer from the Pomeranian liturgy, page 244, which he had by heart:—
"O Lord Jesu Christ, Thou Son of the living God, at whose name every knee must bend, in heaven, upon the earth, and under the earth; God and man; our Saviour, our brother, our Redeemer; who hast conquered sin, and death, and hell, trod on the devil's head and destroyed his works—Thou hast promised, Thou holy Saviour, 'that whatever we ask the Father in Thy name, Thou wilt grant unto us.' Therefore, by that holy promise, we pray Thee, Lord Christ, to look with pity upon this our sister, who hath been baptized in Thy holy name, redeemed by Thy precious blood, washed from all sin, anointed by Thy Holy Spirit, and made one with Thee, a member of the living temple of Thy body. Relieve her from the tyranny and power of the devil; graciously cast out this unclean spirit, that so Thy holy name may be praised and glorified, for ever and ever. Amen."
Then he laid his hand upon the sick maiden's head, while the hellish fiend raged and roared more furiously than ever, so that all present were seized with trembling, and exclaimed—
"In the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, and in the strength of the Lord Jesus Christ, and in the power of the Lord Jesus Christ, I bid, desire, and command thee, thou unclean spirit, to come forth, and give place to the Holy Spirit of God! Amen."
Whereupon the convulsions ceased in the sick maiden's limbs, and she sank down gently on her bed, as a sail falls when the cords are loosed and the wind ceases; and thus she lay for a long time quite still.
After which, she said in her own natural voice—
"Now I see him no more!"
"Who is it that you see no more?" asked the abbess.
Illa.—"The evil spirit, my angel says. He has gone forth from me. Woe, woe, alas!"
Hæc.—"Why dost thou cry, alas, when he has in truth gone out from thee?"
_Illa.—"My angel says, he will first strangle the priest who has cast him forth, then will he return, as it is written in the Scripture (Matt. xi. 24), 'After three days I will return to my house from which I had gone forth.' Ah, look! the good priest is growing pale. But let him be comforted, for he shall have his reward in heaven, as the Lord saith (Matt, v.)."
Hæc.—"But why does the great God permit such power to the devil, if what thou sayest be true?"
Illais silent.
Hæc.—"Thou art silent; what says thy angel?"
Illa.—"He is silent also—now he speaks again."
Hæc.—"What says he then?"
Illa.—"The wisdom of God is silent."
The abbess repeats the words, while the priest falls back against the wall, as white as chalk, and exclaims—
"Your angel is right. I feel as if a mouse were running up and down through my body. Alas! now the bones of my chest are breaking. Farewell, dear sisters; in heaven we shall meet again. Farewell; pray for me. I go to lay my head upon my death-pillow."
And he was scarcely gone out at the door when a great cry and weeping arose amongst the sisters present, and the abbess asked, weeping likewise—
"Is this, too, Sidonia's work?"
Illa.—"Whose else? She hath never forgiven him because he rejected her love, and hath only delayed his death to a fitting opportunity."
Hæc.—"Merciful God! and will this murderous nun be brought to judgment?"
Illa.—"Yes, when her hour comes, she will be burned and beheaded—not many years after this."
Hæc.—"And what will become of you? Will you die, if Satan often takes up his dwelling-place in your heart?"
Illa.—"If you do not prevent him, I shall die; if he leave me, I shall grow well."
Hæc.—"What can we, miserable mortals, do to prevent him?"
Illa.—"Jobst Bork of Saatzig has three rings, which the spirits made, and gave to his grandmother in Pansin.Item, he has also a beautiful daughter called Diliana, and as no second on earth bears her name, [Footnote: In fact, I have nowhere else met with the name "Diliana," whereas that of "Sidonia" is by no means uncommon. Virgil calls Dido "Sidonia" (Æn. i, v. 446), with somewhat of poetic license, for she was not born in Sidon but in Tyre. About the time of the Reformation this name became very common in the regal houses. For example, King George of Bohemia, Duke Henry of Saxony, Duke Franz of Westphalia, and others, had daughters called "Sidonia." For this reason, therefore, the proud knight of Stramehl probably gave the same name to his daughter. In the Middle Ages I find only one Sidonia or Sittavia, the spouse of Count Manfred of Xingelheim, who built the town of Zittau, and died in the year 1021.] so is there no other who equals her in goodness, piety, humility, chastity, and courage. If this Diliana lays one of the rings on my stomach, in the name of God, the devil can no more enter in me, and I shall be healed. But what do I see?—there she comes herself."
Hæc.—"Who comes?"
Illa.—"Diliana. She has run away from her father, and will offer herself as servant to Sidonia, because old Wolde is sick."
Hæc.—"She must be foolish then, if this be true."
Illa.—"Ay, she is foolish, but it is from pure love, which indeed is a godlike folly; for Sidonia hath bewitched her poor father, and he grows worse and worse, and her prayers to the sorceress are of no avail to help him, so she hath privately left her father's castle, to offer herself as servant to Sidonia; for no wench, far or near, will be found who will take old Wolde's place, and she hopes, in return for this, that the sorceress will give her something from her herbal to cure her old father. Ha! what do I see? How her beautiful hair streams behind her upon the wind! How she runs like a deer over the heather, and looks back often, for her heart is trembling lest her father might send after her. Now she enters the wood; see, she kneels down, and prays for her father and for herself, that God will keep her steps. Let us pray also, dear sisters, for her, for the poor priest, and for the unfortunate maiden."
Whereupon they all fell upon their knees, and the possessed virgin offered up so beautiful a prayer that none had ever heard the like before, and every face was bedewed with tears. After which she awoke, and, as the first time, remembered nothing whatever of what had passed, or of what she had uttered.
Of the arrival of Diliana and the death of the convent priest—Item, how the unfortunate corpse is torn by a wolf.
Scarcely had the abbess returned to her apartment when Diliana sprang in, with flowing hair, and her beautiful, blooming face looking like a rose sprinkled with morning dew. So the worthy matron screamed first with wonder that all should be true, then taking the lovely young maiden in her arms, pressed her to her heart, and asked—
"Wherefore comest thou here, my beloved Diliana?"
Illa.—"I have run away from my father, good mother, and will serve my cousin Sidonia Bork as her waiting-maid, hoping that in return she will give him something out of her herbal to heal his poor frame, which is distracted day and night with pain, even as she healed you and Sheriff Sparling; and she will do this, I am sure, because I hear that her maid, Anne Wolde, is sick, and no one in all the country round will take service with her, they say."
Hæc.—"Poor child, thou knowest not what thou dost. She will slay thee, or ill-treat thee in her wickedness, or may be bring some worse evil than either on thee."
Illa.—"And I will do as the Lord commanded—if she strike me on one cheek, I will turn to her the other also, whereby she will be softened, and consent to help my poor father."
Hæc.—"She will help him in nothing, and then how wilt thou bear the disgrace of servitude?"
Illa.—"Disgrace? If the soul suffer not disgrace, the body, methinks, can suffer it never."
Hæc.—"But how canst thou do the duties of a serving-wench? Thou, brought up the lady of a castle!"
Illa.—"I have learned everything privately from Lisette; trust me, I can feed the pigs and sheep, milk the cow, and wash the dishes, &c."
Hæc.—"But what put it into thy head, child, to serve her as a maid?"
Illa.—"When I last entreated my cousin Sidonia to help my poor father, she said, 'Get me a good maid who will do my business well, and then I shall see what can be done to help him. Now, as no one will take service with her, what else can I do, but play the trencher-woman myself, and thus save my poor father's life?"
Hæc.—"Thou hast saved it once before, as I have heard."
Illais silent.
Hæc.—"How was it? Tell me, that I may see if they told me the story truly."
Illa.—"Ah, good mother, speak no more of it. It was as you have heard, no doubt."
Hæc.—"People say that a horse threw your father, dragged him along, and attempted to kick him, upon which, while all the men-folk stood and gaped, you flew like the wind, seized the bridle of the animal, and held him fast till your father was up again."
Illa.—"Well, mother, there was nothing very wonderful in that."
Hæc.—"Also, they tell that one day at the hunt you came upon a part of the wood where two robbers were beating a noble almost to death, after having plundered him. You sprang forward, menaced them, and finally made them take to their heels, after which you helped the poor wounded man upon your own palfrey, like a good Samaritan indeed, and without thought of the danger or fatigue, walked beside him, leading the horse by the bridle until clear out of the wood, and thus——"
Illa.—"Ah, good mother, do not make me more red than I am; for know, the poor wounded noble thought so much of what I had done, that he must needs ask me for his bride, though truly I would have done the like for a beggar."
Hæc.—"Then it was George Putkammer, and thou wilt not have him?"
Illa.—"I may say with Sara (Tobias iii.), 'Thou knowest, Lord, that I have desired no man, and have kept my soul pure from all evil lusts;' but indeed to save my father's life is more to me than a bridegroom. A bridegroom may be offered many times in life to a young thing like me, but a father comes never again."
Hæc.—"God grant that thou mayest save him, but never tell thy cousin Sidonia of George Putkammer's love, else, methinks, it will be all over with thee."
Illa.—"But if she ask me, I cannot lie unto her——"
Just then the cry was heard, "The priest is dying;" whereupon the abbess, Diliana, indeed the whole convent, rushed out to visit him at the glebe-house. The priest, however, was dead when they arrived, and his corpse had the same signature of Satan as the others who died before him, save only that his right hand was uplifted, and had stiffened into the same position in which he held it when he exorcised the evil spirit out of Dorothea.
So they all stood around pale and trembling, while they listened to his poor widow telling how his breast-bone rose up higher and higher, until at length he died in horrible agony.
But behold, the door flies open, and Sidonia, who had just returned from her long journey, enters, with her long black habit trailing after her through the chamber. Whereupon they all become dumb with horror and disgust, and stand there like so many marble or enchanted figures.
"Ah, what is this I hear," exclaimed the accursed sorceress, "just on my return home? Is the worthy and upright man really dead? Woe! alas, that I could have saved him from this! How did it happen? Thank God that I was not here at the time, or the wicked world, which lays all manner of crimes upon me falsely, might have accused me of this likewise. Yes, I thank God a thousand times that I was absent! Speak, poor Barbara! how did it happen that your dear spouse fell so suddenly ill?"
But the poor wife only trembled, and sank powerless against the bed where the corpse of her husband lay stretched; for when Sidonia advanced close to it, the red blood oozed from the mouth of the dead man, as if to accuse his murderess before God and man.
And no one could speak a word, not even a sob was heard in answer to her questions; whereupon the sorceress spake again—
"Alas, what is all this which has happened in my absence! Good Dorothea, they tell me, is possessed by a devil; but, at least, people can see now that I am as innocent as a new-born infant; though, assuredly, some terrible sinner must be lurking amongst us, though we know it not, or all this judgment would not come upon the convent. I would not willingly condemn any Christian soul; but, if I err not, the old dairy-woman is the person!"
This she said from revenge, because the woman had refused to give her seven cheeses for a florin, when she was on her way to Stettin. Of the misfortunes which grew out of these same cheeses for the poor dairy-woman, we shall hear more in due time.
At this horrible hypocrisy and falsehood the abbess could no longer hold her peace, and cried, "In my opinion, sister, you err much; the old dairy-mother is a pious and honest woman, as all the convent can testify, and attended diligently on our dead pastor here to be catechised."
Illa.—"Who then, else? It was incomprehensible. A thousand times thank God that she had been away during it all. Now they must hold their tongues, they who had blackened her to the Prince; but his Grace had done her justice, and dismissed her honourably from the trial at Stettin."
Hæc.—"I have a different version of the story; for his Highness has commanded you to resign the sub-prioret to Dorothea Stettin forthwith—item, you are to be kept close within the convent walls, for which purpose I shall order the great padlock to be placed again upon the gates. Thus his Grace commands; and as we have a chapter assembled here already, I may announce the resolve with all due form."
Illa.—"What! you tell me this, in the presence of the priest's wife and your serving-wenches? Do they belong to the chapter of noble virgins? I shall forward aprotocollumto his Highness, setting forth all that has happened in my absence, and get all the sisterhood to sign it, that the Duke may know what kind of folk the abbess summons to her chapter; but as touching the sub-prioret, it is well known to you all how it was forced upon me by Dorothea, as I fully explained to the princes in council. However, speak, sisters; if ye indeed wish this light, silly creature, this devil-possessed Dorothea Stettin, for your sub-prioress again, take her, and welcome—I will not prevent you. She can teach you all the shameful words which, as I hear, flow so liberally from her lips—eh, sisters, will ye have the wanton or not?"
And when the nuns all cried "No, no!" the accursed witch went on—
"Well, then, I bid ye all to assemble instantly in my apartment, to testify the same to his Highness; also to bear witness of the evil deeds done in my absence, for that the poor priest has died no natural death, is evident; therefore his Grace, I trust, will probe the business to the uttermost, and find out who is the evil Satan amongst us—ay, and tear off the deceitful mask, that my good name thereby may be justified before the Prince and the whole world."
Diliana now stepped forward from amidst a crowd of serving-women among whom she had concealed herself, and bowed low in salutation to Sidonia; but the witch laughed scornfully, and cried, "What! has your worthy father sent you to me?"
Illa.—"Ah, no; she came out of her own free will, to serve her good cousin Sidonia, for she heard that no maid could be found to hire with her, therefore she would play the serving-wench herself, and ask no other wages but a cure from her receipt-book for her dear father, who was daily growing worse and worse."
Hæc.—"She required much from her maid; and on her way home she had bought six little pigs—item, she had a cow, cocks and hens, geese, and seven sheep. All these the maid must feed and look after, besides doing all the indoor work."
Illa.—"She could do all that easily, for old Lisa had instructed her in everything."
Hæc.—"But how was it that she was not ashamed to play the serving-wench—she, a castle and land dowered maiden, with that illustrious name she bore?"
Illa.—"There was but one thing of which men need be ashamed, and that was sin; but this was not sin."
Hæc.—"She was very sharp with her answers. Why did she not talk to her father, who had made her brother's son, Otto of Stramehl, give up to him her two farm-houses in Zachow, with all the rents appertaining; but Otto had been justly punished by the good God, for she had just got tidings of his death."
Illa.—"But my father will restore you all, good cousin, as he wrote to you himself."
Hæc.—"Ay, the old houses, may be, he'll give back, but will he restore the rents that have been gathering for fifty years? No, no, he refuses the money, even as my nephew Otto refused it (but God has struck him dead for it, as I said before). [Footnote: He died suddenly just at this time; and Sidonia confessed, at the eleventh torture question, that she had caused his death, (Dähnert, p. 430.)] Oh, truly these proud knights of my own kin and name stood bravely for me against the world! ay, I owe them many thanks for turning me out, a poor young maiden, unfriended and alone, till I became a world's wonder, and the scorn of every base and lying tongue; but persecution was ever the lot of the children of God."
Illa.—"Her poor father had not the gold; for five rix-dollars a year would amount in fifty years to five hundred rix-dollars, and such a sum her father could not command."
Hæc.—"Yet he had enough to spend on horses, falcons, hunting, and the like; only for her he had naught."
Illa(kissing her hand).—"Ah, good cousin, leave him in peace, and help him if you can; I will serve thee as well as I am able—my life long, if you ask it of me."
Hæc.—"Away! thou silly, childish thing; how should the meek Sidonia ever bear to be served by a noble lady as thou art? If the world had not blackened me before, it might begin now in earnest, and justly."
Illa.—"Ah, good, kind cousin, will you then heal my father for nothing?"
Hæc.—"Well, I shall see about it, if, perchance, it be God's will."
Illa(kissing her hand again).—"Dear cousin, how good you are! Now see, all of ye, what a kind cousin I have in Sidonia, who has promised to cure my loved father" (dancing for joy like a child).
Hæc.—"Come, then, all present, to my apartment; thou, Diliana, mayest draw up theprotocollum, and better, perhaps, than a bad notary. Come!"
So they all proceeded to the refectory, and theprotocollum, was drawn up and signed, and Sidonia compelled the new convent porter to carry it off, that very night, to his Highness at Stettin.
Meanwhile the poor widow, along with some other women, including the old dairy-mother, prepared the poor priest's corpse for burial, and they put on him his black Geneva gown—item, black plush breeches, which his brother-in-law in Jacobshagen had made him a present of. I note the plush breeches especially, for what reason my readers will soon see; and because the parsonage swarmed with rats, they had the corpse carried before nightfall into the church, and set down close beside the altar; and by command of the sheriff the windows were thrown open to admit fresh air, on account of the dead body lying there.
An hour after the poor widow went into the church, to see if the blood yet flowed from the mouth of her dear murdered husband. But what sees she?—the corpse is lying on its face in the coffin in place of on its back. She calls the dairy-mother in, trembling with horror, and they turn him between them. Then they go forth, but return in a little while again, and see, the corpse is again turned upon its face. And no one is able to comprehend how the corpse can turn of itself, or be turned by any one, for the widow has one key of the church and the abbess has the other; therefore the poor wife, simple as she is, resolves to hide herself in the church for the night, and light the altar candles, that she might see how it happened that the corpse turned in the coffin. And the dairy-mother agreed to watch with her;item, Anna Apenborg, who heard the story from them;item, Diliana, for as Sidonia had no bed to give her, the young maiden had gone to sleep with Anna, and there the priest's maid told them of the horrible way her poor master's corpse had turned in the coffin. So the weeping widow let them all watch with her gladly, for she feared to be alone, but warned them to speak no word, lest the evil-doer, whoever it might be, should perceive them, and keep away. There was no man within call, either, to help them, for the porter had gone away to Stettin; so they four, after commending themselves to God, went secretly into the church at ten of the clock, laid the corpse right upon its back, and lit candles round it, as the custom is. Item, they lit the candles on the altar, and then hid themselves in the dark confession-box, which lay close by the altar, and from which they could see the coffin perfectly.
After waiting for an hour or more, sighing and weeping, and when the hour-glass which they had brought with them showed it was the twelfth hour—hark! there was a noise in the coffin that made them all start to their feet, and at the same instant the private door of the nuns' choir opened gently, and something came down the steps of the gallery, step by step, on to the coffin, and the blood now froze in their veins, for they perceived that it was a wolf; and he laid his paws upon the corpse, and began to tear it.
At this sight the poor widow screamed aloud, whereupon the wolf sprang back and attempted to make off, but Diliana bounded on its track, crying, "A wolf! a wolf!" and seeing upon the altar an old tin crucifix, which some of the workmen who had been opening the vault had brought up from below, she seized it and pursued the wolf out of the great gate into the churchyard, while the rest followed screaming. And as the wolf ran fast, and made for the graves, as if to hide itself, the daring virgin, not being able to get near enough to strike it, flung the crucifix at the unclean beast, when lo! the wolf suddenly disappeared, and nothing was to be seen but Sidonia in the clear moonlight, standing trembling beside a grave.
"Good cousin!" exclaimed Diliana in horror, "where has the wolf gone? we were pursuing a wolf." Upon which the horrible and accursed night-raven recovered herself quickly, and pointing with her finger to the crucifix which lay upon the ground, said with a tone of mingled scorn and anger, "There, thou stupid fool! he sank beneath that cross!"
The poor innocent child believed her, and ran forward to pick up the crucifix, looking in every direction around for the wolf; but the others, who were wiser, saw full well that the wolf had been none other than Sidonia herself, for her lips were bloody, and round them, like a beard, were sticking small black threads, which were indeed from the black silk hose of the poor corpse. And when they looked at her horrible mouth they trembled, but were silent from fear; all except the inquisitive Anna Apenborg, who asked, "Dear sister, what makes you here at midnight in the churchyard?"
Here the horrible witch-demon mastered her anger, and answered in a melancholy, plaintive tone, "Ah, good sister Anna! I had a miserable toothache, so that I could not sleep, and I just crept down here into the fresh air, thinking it might do me good. But what are you all doing here by night in the churchyard?"
No one replied; indeed, she seemed not to care for an answer, but put up her kerchief to her horrible and traitorous mouth, and turned away whimpering. The others, however, went back to the church, where the corpse truly lay upon its back as they had left it, but the hose were rent at the knee, and the flesh torn and bloody.
How can I tell now of the poor widow's screams and tears?
Summa.—The corpse was buried the next day, and as no man had been a witness of the night-scene, only the weeping women, no one would believe their strange story, neither on the last trial would the judges even credit so wild a tale as that Sidonia could change herself into a wolf, and pronounced as their opinion, that fear must have made the women blind, or distracted their heads, and that no doubt a real wolf had attacked the corpse, which was by no means a strange or unusual occurrence. (But I have my own opinion on the subject, and many who read this will think differently from the judges, I warrant.)
For no more horrible vengeance could have been devised by Beelzebub himself, the chief of the devils, than this of the she-wolf Sidonia Bork (for Bork means wolf in the Gothic tongue), to revenge herself on the priest because he disdained her love. But why and wherefore the unfortunate corpse was found so often turned upon its face, that I cannot explain, and it must ever remain a mystery, I think. However, I shall pass on now to other matters, for truly we have had enough of these disgusting horrors. [Footnote: One of the most inveterately rooted of our superstitions is this belief in the existence of man-wolves. Ovid mentions it in hisLycaon, and even Herodotus. Many modern examples are given in Dr. Weggand's natural history, which book I recommend to all lovers of the marvellous, for they will find much in it which far surpasses what we have related above concerning Sidonia. The belief in a vampire, which Lord Byron has clothed with his genius, belongs to the same order of superstitions; and Horst, in his Magic Library, furnishes some very curious remarks concerning it. Even Luther himself believed in the possibility of such existences.]
How Jobst Bork has himself carried to Marienfliess in his bed, to reclaim his fair young daughter Diliana—Item, how George Putkammer threatens Sidonia with a drawn sword.
Now Jobst Bork of Saatzig had but this one daughter, the fair Diliana, whom he loved ten times more than his life; and no sooner had he heard of her flight than he guessed readily whither, and for what cause, she had flown; for, that day and night her thoughts were bent on how to help him, he knew well; also, the teachings of old Lisa were not unknown to him. So he resolved to go and seek her, and sent for twelve peasants to carry him, as he was, in his bed, to Marienfliess, for his limbs were so contracted from gout that he could neither ride, walk, nor stand.
Accordingly, next morning early, the twelve peasants bearing the couch on which lay the poor knight, entered the great gate of the convent, and they set down the bed, by command of the knight, just beneath Sidonia's window. Whereupon the miserable father stretched forth his right hand, and cried out, as loud as he was able, "Sidonia Bork, I conjure you by the living God, give me my child again!"
Three times he repeated this adjuration. So we may imagine how the whole convent ran together to see who was there. Anna Apenborg and Diliana were, however, not amongst them, for they had been up late watching by the corpse, and were still fast asleep;item, Sidonia, I think, was snoring likewise, for she never appeared, until at last she threw up the window, half-dressed, and screamed out, "What wants the cursed knave? Hath the devil possessed you, Jobst, in earnest? Good people, take the fellow to Dorothea's cell—they are fit company for one another!"
But the knight again stretched forth his trembling arm from the bed, and repeated his adjuration solemnly, using the same words.
At this, Sidonia's face glowed with anger; and seizing her broom-stick, she rushed out of the room, down the steps, and into the courtyard, while her long, thin, white hair flew wildly about her face and shoulders, and her red eyes glared like two red coals in her head. (I have omitted to notice that this horrible Satan's hag had long since got his signature in her red eyes; for, as the slaves of vice are known by their ash-pale colour, and theblackcircle round their eyes, so the slaves of Satan are known by theredcircle.) But when the evil witch reached the spot where the sick knight lay on his bed, and saw the crowd standing round him, she changed her demeanour, and leaning on the broom-stick, exclaimed, "Methinks, Jobst, you are mad; and you and your daughter ought to be put at once into a mad-house; for, judge all of ye who stand here round us, how unjustly I am accused. Yesterday this man's daughter comes to me, and says she will play my serving-wench, if I promise to cure her father; just as if I were the Lord God, and could heal sickness as I willed; but I refused to take her, as was meet, and the whole convent can testify this of me; when, see now, here comes this fool of a father, and, taking the Lord's name in vain, demands his daughter of me, though I never had her, nor detained her; and she can go this moment whither she likes, as ye all know."
Hereupon the abbess herself advanced to the bed, and spake—"In truth, you err, sir knight. Sidonia hath refused to accept your daughter's service! But here comes the fair maiden herself—ask her if it is not so."
And Diliana, who had thrown on her clothes in haste, and ran with Anna out of her cell, sprang forward, and fell sobbing upon her father's bosom, who sobbed likewise, and cries, in an agitated voice, "God be thanked, I have thee again; now I shall die happy! Ah! silly child, how couldst thou run away from me! Dearest!—my heart's dearest!—my own joy-giving Diliana! ah, leave me not again before I die—it will not be long, perhaps."
Here the weeping of the peasants interrupted him, for they loved the good knight dearly, and the rude boors sobbed, and blew their noses, in great affliction, like so many children. But the knight was too proud to beg a cure from Sidonia; he would rather die—better death than humiliation. So he spake—"Children, lift me up again, in the name of God, and bear me home; and thou, my Diliana, walk thou by my side, sweet girl, that my eyes may not lose thee for an instant."
So the peasants lifted up the bed again on their shoulders; but Diliana exclaimed, "Wait, ah, my heart's dearest father, you do our good cousin Sidonia sore injustice. Only think, she has promised to cure you, without any recompense at all! Is it not true, dear cousin? Set the bed down again, good vassals! Is it not true, dear cousin?"
As she thus spoke, and kissed the claws of the horrible hell-wolf with her beautiful bright lips, such an expression of rage and unutterable hatred passed over Sidonia's face, that all, even the peasants, shuddered with horror, and nearly let the bed fall from their trembling hands; but the fair young girl was unaware of it, for she was bending down upon the hand of the evil sorceress.
However, my hag soon composed herself; and, no doubt, fearing the vengeance of Duke Francis, or hoping perhaps to cover her evil deeds by this one public act of charity, and so gain a good name before the world, and the fair opinion of their Highnesses, to whom she had written the day previous, she rested her arm once more upon the broom-stick, and turning to the crowd, thus spake—
"Ye shall see now that Sidonia hath a truly Christian heart in her bosom; for, by the help of God, I will try and heap coals of fire upon mine enemy's head. Yes, he is mine enemy. None have persecuted me more than he and his race, though, God be good to me, it is my own race likewise. His false father was the first to malign me, and yet more guilty was his still falser mother; but God punished her hypocrisy with a just judgment, for she died in child-birth of him, so true is it what the Scripture says, 'The Lord abhors both the bloodthirsty and deceitful man.' Ah, she was deceitful beyond all I have met with upon earth—also, this her son, the false Clara's son, hath made my nephew, Otto of Stramehl, in a traitorous and unknightly manner, give him up my two farm-houses at Zachow, and he now refuses to restore me either my farms or the rents thereto belonging."
Here Jobst cried out, "'Tis false, Sidonia! I shall say nothing of thy statements respecting my parents, for all who knew them testify that they were righteous and honourable their life long, therefore let them rest in their graves; but as touching thy farm-houses, thou shalt have them back, as I have already written to thee. The accumulated rents, however, thou canst not have, for it were a strange and unjust thing, truly, to demand fifty years' rent from me, who have only been in possession of the farms for half a year."
"What! thou unjust knave," screamed Sidonia furiously; but then suddenly strangled the wrath in her throat with a convulsion, as if a wolf were gulping a bone, and continued—"It may be a hard struggle to help one of thy name, but I remember the words of my heavenly Bridegroom (oh, that the horrible blasphemy did not choke her), 'I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you;' and so, Jobst Bork, I will do good to thee out of my herbal, if the merciful God will assist my efforts, as I hope."
Then she turned her hypocritical, Satanic eyes up to heaven, sighed, and stepping to the bed, murmured some words; then asked, "How is it with thee now, Jobst? is there ease already?"
"Oh yes, good cousin," he answered, "I am better, much better, thanks, good cousin! Lift me up again, children, and bear me homeward—I thank thee, cousin!" and with these words he was borne out of the convent gates, the fair young Diliana following him closely; and scarcely had they left the town and reached the moor, when the knight called out from the bed, "Oh, it is true, my own dear daughter—praise be to God, I am indeed better; but I am so weary!"
And he sank back almost immediately into a deep sleep, which continued till they reached the castle of Saatzig, and the bearers laid the bed down again in its old place in the knight's chamber—still he woke not.
Then Diliana kneeled down beside him, and thanked the Lord with burning tears; sprang up again quickly, and bade them saddle her palfrey, for she must ride away, but would return again before a couple of hours. If her father woke up in the meantime, let them say he must not be uneasy, for that she would return soon and tell him herself whither and on what errand she had been.
Hereupon she went to a large cabinet that stood in her father's chamber, took out a little casket containing three golden rings, mounted her palfrey, and rode back with all speed on the road to Marienfliess. But I must here relate how these magic golden rings came into possession of the family; the tradition runs as follows:—
A long while ago the castle of Pansin, which had originally belonged to the Knights Templars, became a fief of the Bork family, and the Count who was then in possession went to the wars in the Holy Land, leaving his fair young wife alone in her sorrow: and lo! one night, as she was weeping bitterly, a spirit appeared in her chamber, and motioned her to rise from bed and follow him to the castle garden. But she was horror-struck, and crept trembling under the quilt. Next night the ghost again stood by her bed, made the same gestures even menacingly, but she was frightened, and hid her head beneath the clothes.
The third night brought the ghost likewise; but this time the fair lady took courage, rose from bed, and followed him in silence down the steps into the castle garden, on to a small island, where the two streams, the Ihna and the Krampehl, meet. Here there was a large fire, and around it many spirits were seated. Hereupon her ghost spake—
"Fear nothing, but fill thy apron with coals from the fire, and return to the castle; but, I warn thee, do not look back."
The fair chatelaine did as she was desired, filled her apron, and returned to the castle; but all the way, close behind her, there was a terrible uproar, and the rushing and roaring as of many people. However, she never looked back, only on reaching the castle gates she thought she might take one peep round just as she was closing them; but, lo! instantly her apron was rent, and the coals fell hither and thither on the ground, and out of all she could only save three pieces, with which she rushed on to her own apartment, never again looking behind her, though the uproar continued close to her very heels all the way up to her chamber door; and trembling with dread, and commending herself to all the saints, she at last threw herself on her bed once more in safety. But next morning, on looking for the coals, she found three golden rings in their stead bearing strange inscriptions, which no man hath been able to decipher until this day. As to those she had dropped at the castle gate, they were nowhere to be seen; and on the fourth night the ghost comes again, and scolds her for disobeying his orders, but admonishes her to preserve the three rings safely, for if she lost one, a great misfortune would fall upon the village, and the castle be rent violently—item, but two of her race would ever be alive at the same time; if the second were lost, her race would be reduced to direst poverty; and if the third ring were lost, the race would disappear entirely from the earth.
After this, when her knightly spouse returned from Jerusalem, and she told him the wonderful story of the three rings, he had a costly casket made for them, in which they were safely locked, with a rose of Jericho placed above them, which he had himself brought from the Holy Land; and this wonderful treasure has been preserved by the Count's descendants with jealous care, even until this day. I have said that no man could read the inscriptions on the rings: they were all the same—the three as like as the leaves of a trefoil. They were all large enough for the largest man's thumb, and made of the purest crown gold: the shield was of a circular form, bearing in the centre the figure of a Knight Templar in full armour, with spur and shield, keeping watch before the Temple at Jerusalem; but what the characters around the figure signified, I leave unsaid, and many, I am thinking, will leave unsaid likewise. [Footnote: It is a fact, that no one up to the present time has been able to decipher this very remarkable inscription, not even Silvestre de Sacy himself, to whom it was sent some years ago. Dreger's reading, given in Dähnert's Pomeranian Library, iv. p. 295, is manifestly wrong—Ordo Hierosolymitamis. But two of the rings are forthcoming now; and in fulfilment of the tradition, a tremendous rent really followed the loss of the first in the old castle of Pansin, which may yet be seen in this fine ruin, whose like is not to be found in all Pomerania, nor, indeed, in the north of Germany. The two remaining rings, with the rose of Jericho, are still to be seen in the original casket, which is of curious and costly workmanship, and this casket is again enclosed in another of iron, with strong hoops and clasps. Should any of my readers desire to discover the meaning of the inscription, he will do me the highest favour by communicating the same to me.]
In summa.—When Diliana arrived with these rings, the poor Dorothea lay again in the devil's fetters. She roared, and screamed, and raged horribly, and tore her bed-clothes, and foamed at the mouth, and even abused and reviled the beautiful young virgin, who took, however, no heed thereof, but with permission of the abbess laid the three rings upon the stomach of the sick nun, who immediately became quite still, and so lay for a little while, after which, with a loud roar, Satan went out of her, while the windows clattered and the glasses rang upon the table. Then she fell into a deep sleep, and on awakening remembered nothing of what had happened, but seeing Diliana prepared to set out on her homeward ride, asked with wonder, "Who is this strange young maiden, and what does she here?"
After this, as I may as well briefly notice here, Dorothea became quite well, and by the mercy of God remained for ever after untouched by the demon claws of the great enemy of mankind.
Meanwhile the good Diliana felt it to be her duty to descend to the refectory, and thank the hell-dragon for the refreshing sleep which her father, Jobst, had obtained by her means. But, ah! how does she find my dragon? Her eyes shoot fire and flame, and in an instant she flew at poor Diliana on the subject of marriage—
"What! she wanted to marry too! She was scarcely out of school, and yet already was thinking about marriage!"
"Good cousin," answered the other, "I have indeed no thoughts of marriage, and no desire for it has ever entered my heart."
"What!" screamed my dragon; "you lie to me, child! The whole convent talks of it; and Anna Apenborg herself told me that you are betrothed to that beardless boy George Putkammer. Fie! a fellow without a beard."
Hereupon she began to spit out. But George Putkammer that instant clattered up the steps; for the news had come to Pansin, of which castle Jobst Bork had made him castellan, seeing that he set much store by the brave young knight, and would willingly have had him for his son-in-law, if his fair little daughter Diliana had not resisted his entreaties,bis dalo; the news came, I say, now that Diliana had run away from her father, and gone to play the serving-wench to Sidonia. So the knight seized his good sword, and went forth, like another Perseus, to save his Andromeda, and deliver her from the dragon, even if his own life were to pay the cost. He knew not that the damning dragon despised the service of the mild, innocent girl, nor that Jobst Bork had gone to offer himself as a sacrifice in her place.
So he clattered up the steps, dashed open the door, and finding Sidonia in the very act of spitting out, he drew his sword, and roared—
"Dare to touch even a finger of that angel beside thee, and thy black toad's blood shall rust upon this sword."
And when Sidonia started back alarmed, he continued—
"O Diliana, much loved and beautiful maiden, what does my queen here? Where have you heard that the angels of God seek help and shelter from the devil, as you have done here? Return with me to Saatzig, and, by my faith, some other means shall make this vile wretch help your poor father."
Sidonia now screamed with rage—
"What wants this silly varlet here, this beardless young profligate? Ha, youngster, thou shalt pay for thy bold, saucy tongue!"
Ille.—"Hold thy accursed mouth, or I will give thee such a blow that thou shalt never need it again, but to groan. Listen, cursed beast of hell, and mark my words. Since our gracious Lord of Stettin handles thee so gently, and lets thee heap evil upon evil at thine own vile will, I and another noble have sworn solemnly to rid the land from such a curse. Let it cost our lives or not, we shall avenge our country in thy blood, unless thou ceasest to work all thy diabolical wickedness. Now, therefore, hear me. Delay one instant to heal the upright Jobst and to remove thy accursed witch-spell from off him, and this sword shall take a bloody revenge; or if but a finger ache of this beautiful maiden here, thy death is certain. Think not to escape. Thou mayst lame me, like Jobst or Wedel, or murder me as others, it will not help thee; for my friend hath sworn, if such happen, that he will ride straight to Marienfliess, and run his sword through thy body without a word. Two horses stand, day and night, ready saddled in my stall, and in a quarter of an hour we are here—he or I, it matters not, whichever is left alive, or both together, and we shall hew thee from head to foot, even as I hew this jar in two that stands upon the table, so that human hand shall never lift it more."
So saying, he struck the jar with his sword, when it flew into a thousand pieces, and the beer dashed over the hag's clothes, so that she raised a cry of terror, for such speech had no man ever yet dared to hold to her.
But the brave Diliana seized hold of the young knight's sword, crying—
"For God's sake, sir knight, what mean you? You do my good cousin sore injustice; I have never seen you thus before. Sidonia hath declined to take me for her maid, and has helped my poor father, of her own free will, for he was here yesterday, and now rests safe in Saatzig in a deep and healthful sleep; for which cause I come hither to thank my good cousin for her kindness. Where is your justice, sir knight—your honour? Bethink you how often you have extolled these noble virtues yourself to me!"
As the knight listened, and heard that her father was already cured, he marvelled greatly; inquired all the particulars, but shook his head at the end, saying—
"'A corrupt tree cannot bring forth good fruit, and figs are not to be gathered from thorns.' That she has helped your father, I take as no sign of her kindness, but of her fear; therefore my resolve stands good. Sidonia, thou accursed hag, touch but one finger of this maiden or her father, and I will hew thee in pieces, even as I cleft this jar. But you, fair lady, permit me to ride home with you to your father's castle, and see how it stands with the brave knight's health, and whether he has in truth been cured."
Meanwhile Sidonia hath spat forth again, and begins running like a wild cat in her rage round the room, so that her kerchief falls off, and her two sharp, dry, ash-coloured shoulder-bones stick up to sight, like pegs for hanging baskets on; and she curses and blasphemes the young knight and his whole race, who, however, cares little for her wrath, but gently taking Diliana by the hand, said tenderly—
"Come, dear lady, come from this hell-hole, and leave the old dragon to dance and rage at her pleasure, as much as she likes."
The lady, however, withdrew her hand, saying, "Ride back alone to Saatzig, sir knight! It is not seemly for a young maiden to ride through the wood with a young man alone. Besides, I must stay a little, and comfort my poor cousin for all your hard words—see how you have vexed her!"
But Sidonia paused, and laughed loud and long, mocking the young knight's disappointment; so after he had again prayed the maiden in vain to accompany him, he left the refectory in silence, sprang upon his barb, and rode on to the wood, resolving to wait there till Diliana came up.
And in truth he had to wait long. At last, however, she appeared through the trees, and on seeing him she was angry, and bade him ride his ways. So my knight entreats for the love of God that she will listen to him, for he can no longer live without her. By day and by night her image floats before him, and wherefore should she be so hard and cruel-hearted towards him? Better to have let him die at once under the hands of the murderers in the forest, than to let him die daily and hourly before her eyes, of the bitter love-death. Was he, then, really such an object of abhorrence to her, such a fire in her eyes? Alas! alas! could she but know his torments!"
"Sir knight," she answered, "you are no fire in my eyes, unless it be the cold fire of the moon. Have patience, sir knight; why do you press me for a promise when you have heard my resolve?"
Ille.—"Patience! How could he have patience longer? Ah! her father had long since consented, but she was but as the moon in the brook to the child who tries to lay hold of it, since she had talked of the moon."
Hæc.—"Sir knight, you compel me to a confidence."
Ille.(riding up close to her palfrey).—"Speak! dearest Diliana."
Hæc(drawing back).—"Come no nearer. What if any one saw us. Listen! Yesterday six weeks, my grandmother, Clara von Dewitz, who died, as you know, giving birth to my father, appeared to me in a dream. She was wrapped in a bloody shroud, and her eyes were starting forth horribly from her head, when I shuddered with terror, and the poor ghost spoke—'Diliana, I am Clara von Dewitz, and thou art the one selected to avenge me, provided thou dost keep thy virgin honour pure in thought, word, and deed!' With this she disappeared, and now, sir knight, judge for yourself what is henceforth my duty."
Now the knight tried to laugh her out of her belief in this ghost story, said it was all fancy, the same had often happened to himself; not once, but a hundred times, had he seen a ghost, as he thought, but found out afterwards there was no ghost at all in the business, &c. However, his words and smiles have no effect. She knew what she knew, and whether she was deceived or not about this apparition of her grandmother, time would show, andbis dalo, she would remain obedient to her commands, and preserve her virgin honour pure in thought, word, and deed, even if it were to be for her life long, until she saw clearly what purpose God destined her to accomplish.
Now as my poor knight began his solicitations again yet more earnestly, the fair maiden drew herself up gravely, and said, "Adieu! sir knight, ride your own path, I go mine! At present I shall select no spouse; but if I ever give my hand to man, you shall be the selected one, sir knight, and no other. Now return to your own castle. If you wish to see my father, come to-morrow to Saatzig, for I shall ride there alone now. Farewell!"
And off she cantered on her palfrey, hop, hop, hop, as fast as an arrow from a bow, and her red feathers gleamed through the green leaves of the forest trees, so that my knight stood watching, her, filled with as much joy as sorrow, for the maiden now seemed to him so beautiful, and he watched her as long as a glimpse of her feathers could be had through the trees, and then he listened as long as the tramp of her palfrey could be heard (for he told me this himself), then he alighted, and kneeling down, prayed to God the Lord to bless this beautiful darling of his heart, whilst he sobbed like a child, for sorrow and the sweet anguish of love. Then he rose up, and obedient to her commands, took his way back to the stately castle of Pansin.
But next morning early, he was at Saatzig, where the good knight Jobst receives him joyfully at table, quite restored to health. Nor has aught evil happened to the beautiful Diliana, as the knight feared from the spitting of Sidonia. However, he heard from the maiden, that after he left the refectory, Sidonia spat a second time, probably to remove the first witch-spell (for no doubt she feared the knight would hold his word, and hew her in pieces if aught evil happened to the fair young maiden). And for the rest, the knight ceased to trouble Diliana with his solicitations; but he made father and daughter promise to give him instant notice if but a finger ached, and he would instantly find one sure way to bind the wild beast of Marienfliess for ever, namely, with his good sword.
How my gracious Lord Bishop Franciscus and the reverend Dr. Joel go to the Jews' school at Old Stettin, in order to steal the Schem Hamphorasch, and how the enterprise finishes with a sound cudgelling.
Meanwhile my gracious Duke Francis was puzzling his brain, day and night, how best to bind this malicious dragon, and hinder her from utterly destroying his whole race. He wanted to effect, by the agency of spirits, what George Putkammer had already effected by his good sword, as we have related before. So his Highness must needs send for Dr. Joel, in all haste, to Old Stettin, to ask him whether it were not possible to break the power of the evil witch by spiritual agency; for as to human, it was out of the question, since no one could be found to lay hands on her. They would as soon touch the bodily Satan himself.
Whereupon mymagisteranswered, that he had already, to serve his Grace, consulted divers spirits as to what could be done in this sore strait, but none would undertake a contest with Sidonia's spirit, which was powerful and strong, and, acting in concert always with the spirit of old Wolde, had the might in himself, as it were, of two demons. For this reason they must try two modes of casting out the evil thing. The first was to exorcise the sun-spirit, according to the form in theClavicula Salomonis, for he was the most powerful of all the astral spirits, and question him as to what should be done. But for this conjuration a pure young virgin was necessary, not merely pure in act, but in thought, in soul. Even her very garments must be woven by a virgin's hands, otherwise the holy angels, who neither marry nor are given in marriage, would not appear. For they obey only the summons of one who is as pure as themselves, in body and in soul. Such a being he had once possessed in his only little daughter, a virgin of eighteen years. All her clothes had been spun and woven by virgin hands, and as she had a brave spirit, she had often helped him to cite the astral angelOch. But the last time she had assisted at the conjuration, the angel himself had strangled her with his own hands, twisting her neck so horribly that her tongue hung out of her mouth. And thus she died before his very face. The cause was, as he, poor father, had heard afterwards, that she had suffered a young student to kiss her, and so the pure virginity of her soul was lost. Now if the gracious Prince knew of any such pure virgin, who besides must be brave and courageous as an amazon, matters would proceed easily, they would make an end of the demon Sidonia without the least difficulty. He had the clothes ready, all spun by virgins;item, all the necessaryinstruments.
So my gracious Prince sits and thinks awhile, then shakes his head, and says, laughing, "Methinks such a virgin were rarer than a white raven. It would be easy to find one pure in form, but a virgin pure in soul—and then as brave as Deborah and Judith. Mag. Joel, such a virgin, methinks, is not to be had, and you did evil to put your poor little daughter to such a test. For woman-flesh is a weak flesh since the day of Eve, as we all know. But you talked of a second mode: what is it? Let me hear."
Hereupon themagistersighed for grief, wiped his eyes, and spake—"Ah, yes! you are right, my good lord. Fool that I was, I might have had my little daughter still, for though she only allowed the student to kiss her, yet by that one kiss the pure mirror of her soul was dimmed, and before the angels of God she was henceforth unholy. However, as touching the second method, it is the Schem Hamphorasch, through which all things are possible."
The Duke.—"What is the Schem Hamphorasch?"
Ille.—"The seventy names of the Most High and ever-blessed God, according to the seventy nations, and the seventy tongues, and the seventy elders of Moses, and the seventy disciples of Christ, and the seventy weeks of Daniel. To him who knows this name, the holy God will appear again as He did aforetime in the days of the patriarchs."
The Duke.—"You are raving, good Joel; yet—but how can this be possible?"
Ille.—"I am not raving, gracious Prince; for tell me, wherefore is it that the great God does not appear to men now as He did in times long past? I answer, because we no longer know His name. This name, or the Schem Hamphorasch, Adam knew in Paradise, and therefore spake with God, as well as with all animals and plants. Noah, Abraham, Moses, Elijah, &c.—all knew this name, and performed their wonders by it alone. But when the beastly and idolatrous Jews gave themselves over to covetousness and all uncleanness, they forgot this holy name; so, as a punishment, they endured a year of slavery for each of the seventy names which they had forgotten; and we find them, therefore, serving seventy years in Babylonian bonds. After this they never learned it again, and all miracles and wonders ceased from amongst them, until the ever-blessed God sent His Son into the world, to teach them once more the revelation of the Schem Hamphorasch; and to all who believed on Him He freely imparted this name, by which also they worked wonders; and that it might be fixed for ever in their hearts, He taught them the blessed Pater Noster, in which they were bid each day to repeat the words, 'Hallowed be Thy name.' Yea, even in that last glorious high-priestly prayer of His—in face of the bitter anguish and death that was awaiting Him, He says, 'Father, keep them in Thy name;' or, as Luther translates it, 'Keep them above Thy name.' For how easily this name is lost, we learn from David, who says that he spelt it over in the night, so that it might not pass from his mind (Psalm cxix. 55).Item, after the resurrection, He gave command to go and baptize all nations-not in the name of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost, as Luther has falsely rendered the passage, butfor, orby, the name-that such might always be kept before their eyes, and never more pass away from the knowledge of mankind. And the holy apostles faithfully kept it, and St. Paul made it known to the heathen, as we learn (Acts ix, 15). And all miracles that they performed were by this name. Now the knowledge remained also with the early Christians, and each person was baptizedbythis name; and he who knew it by heart could work miracles likewise, as we know by Justin Martyr and others, who have written of the power and miraculous gifts of the early Church. But when the pure doctrine became corrupted, and the Christian Church (like the Jewish of former times) gave itself up to idolatry, masses, image-worship, and the like, the knowledge of the mystic name was withdrawn, and all miracles have ceased in the Church from that up to this day."
While Magister Joel so spake, his Highness Duke Francis fell into a deep fit of musing. At last he exclaimed, "Good Joel, you are a fanatic, an enthusiast—surely we know the name of God; or what hinders us from knowing it?"
Ille.—"You err, my gracious Prince, for this name is the holy and mysticTetragrammaton, 'Jehovah,' which is the chief and highest name of God, and which truly is found written in the Scriptures; but of the true pronunciation of the name no man knoweth at this day, for the letters J H V H are wanting in all the old manuscripts." [Footnote: For those who are unacquainted with Hebrew, I shall just observe here, that, in fact, the proper pronunciation of the name "Jehovah" is a vexed question with the learned up to this hour. Ewald, one of the latest authorities, and who has taken much trouble in investigating the subject, says, that there is the highest probability that the word should be pronounced "Jahve," signifying, He who should come (hoxrcho'menos), for which reason the Baptist's disciples asked Christ (Matt. xi. 13), "Art Thou He who should come?"—namely, the Messias, Jahve, or, as we call it, Jehovah. Compare Heb. x. 37; Hagg. ii. 6, 7; Rev. i. 8. I must observe, next, that all the Theophanisms (God manifestations) recorded in the Old Testament, to which the theosophistic, cabalistic Dr. Joel refers, were considered by the earty Christian fathers as manifestations to the senses, not ofGod—whom no man hath seen or can see—but of the asarchos Christ. Even the elder rabbins understand, in these Theophanisms, notGod, but the Mediator between God and the world—the angel Metatron. For the rest, I need scarcely remark that the exegesis of Dr. Joel is false throughout. The Bible has been so tortured to support each man's individual, strange, crude dogma, that it is no wonder even Protestants are falling back upontraditionas the best and surest interpreter of Scripture, and the clearest light to read it by.]
Magister Joel continues—"But be comforted; there were some faithful souls on the earth, who did not entirely lose the remembrance of the Schem Hamphorasch; and your Highness will wonder to hear, that even in this very town the secret exists, in the possession of an old man, who has it, really and truly, locked up in his trunk, though, I confess, he is as great a rogue himself as ever breathed."
Hereupon his Grace jumped up, and embraced themagister. "Let him not spare the gold; only bring him this treasure. How could it be done? How did the man get it? Let him tell the whole story."
Ille.—"It was a long story; but he would just give it in brief:—A Jew out of Anklam, named Benjamin, went on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem; and having suffered great hardships and distress by the way, was taken in and sheltered by a hermit, in the desert, who converted and baptized him. The Jew stayed with the old hermit till he died; and the old man, as a costly legacy, left him the Schem Hamphorasch, written on seventy palm-leaves. But as Benjamin could not read a word of Hebrew, he resolved to return home to Pomerania, where his mother's brother lived-the Rabbi Reuben Ben Joachai, of Stettin. However, when he presented himself, poor and naked as he was, at his uncle's door, the rabbi pushed him away, and shut the door in his face the moment he said he had a favour to ask of him. This treatment so afflicted Benjamin that he took ill on his return to the inn; but having nothing wherewith to pay the host, he sent a message to his uncle, the rabbi, bidding him come to him, as he had a secret to impart.
"When the rabbi arrived, Benjamin asked, 'What he would give for the Schem Hamphorasch, for people told him that it was the greatest of all treasures?—to him, however, it was useless, since he could not read Hebrew.'
"Hereat the rabbi's eyes sparkled; he took the palm-leaves in his hand, and seeing that all was correct, offered a ducat for the whole; this Benjamin refused. Whereupon, after many cunning efforts to possess himself of it, which were all in vain, the rabbi had to depart without the treasure. However, Benjamin, suspecting that he would come back for it in a little while, cut out two of the leaves from revenge, and when my knave of a rabbi returned, he sold him the incomplete copy for five ducats at last.
"This same Benjamin I (themagister) attended afterwards in hospital when he was dying, and as the poor wretch had no money, he gave me himself, upon his death-bed, the two abstracted palm-leaves out of gratitude, being all he had to offer. These two are now in my possession, and if we could only obtain the other portion, your Highness would have the holy and mystic Schem Hamphorasch complete. But how to get it? Gold he had already offered in vain to the Jew, Rabbi Reuben, who even denied having the Schem Hamphorasch at all; but his servant, Meir, for a good bribe, told him in confidence that his master, the rabbi, really and in truth had this treasure, though the knave denied the fact to him. It lay in a drawer in the Jewish school, beside the book of the law or theThora, and my magister thought they might manage to gain admittance some night into the Jews' school by bribing the man Meir well. Then they could easily possess themselves of the Schem Hamphorasch (which indeed was of no use to the old knave of a rabbi), for the drawer could be known at once by the tapestry which hung before it, in imitation of the veil of the Temple. If they once had the treasure, the angel Metatron would appear to them, the mightiest of all angels, and his Highness could not only obtain his protection against the devil's magic of the sorceress of Marienfliess, but also induce him to look graciously upon his Grace's dear spouse, whom this evil dragon had bewitched, as all the world saw plainly, so that she remained childless, as well as all the other dukes and duchesses of dear Pomerania land, who were rendered barren and unfruitful likewise by some demon spell."
Hereupon his Grace cried out with joy, "True, true! I will make him do all that; and when I obtain the Schem Hamphorasch I will learn it myself by heart, and repeat it day and night like King David, so that it never shall go out of my head—item, all priests in the land shall learn it by heart; and I will gather them together three times a year at Camyn, and hear them myself, man by man, repeat this said Schem Hamphorasch, so that never more can it pass from the memory of our Church, as it did from that of the filthy Jews, or the impure Christians of the Papacy."
Summa.—The rabbi's servant, Meir, is bribed, and he promises to admit them both next night into the Jews' school, for there was to be a meeting there of the elders, and his master, the said Rabbi Reuben Ben Joachai, was to examine amoranuor teacher. They could conceal themselves in the women's gallery, where no one would discover them, and after every one had gone, slip down and take what they pleased out of the drawer, then make off, for he would leave the door open for them—that was all he could do—his master might come, &c.
So all was done as agreed upon; the Prince and Mag. Joel crept up to the women's gallery, in which were little bull's-eyes, through which they could see clearly all that was going on; and scarcely were the candles lit when my knave of a rabbi enters (he was a long, dry carl, with a white beard, and ragged coat bound round the waist with a girdle);item, the candidate, I think he was called David, a little man, with curly red beard, and long red locks falling down at each side upon his breast;item, seven elders, and they place themselves in their great hats round a table. Then the Rabbi Reuben demands of the candidate to pay his dues first, for a knave had lately run away without paying them at all; the dues were ten ducats.
When the candidate had reckoned down the gold, Rabbi Reuben commenced to question him in Hebrew; whereupon the other excused himself, said he knew Hebrew, but could not answer in it; prayed, therefore, the master would conduct the examination in German. Hereupon my knave of a rabbi looked grave, seemed to think that would be impossible, consulted with the elders, and finally asked them, if the candidate David paid down each of them two ducats, and ten to himself, would they consent to have the examination conducted in the language of the German sow? Would they consent to this, out of great charity and mercy to the candidate David?
"Yea, yea—even so let it be," screamed the elders; "God is merciful likewise."
So my David again unbuttoned his coat, and reckoned down the fine; whereupon the examination began in German, and I shall here note part of it down, that all men may know what horrible blindness and folly has fallen upon the Jews, by permission of the Lord God, since they imprecated the blood of Christ upon their own heads. Not even amongst the blindest of the heathen have such base, low, grovelling superstitions and dogmas been discovered as these accursed Jews have forged for themselves since the dispersion, and collected in the Talmud. Well may the blessed Luther say, "If a Christian seeks instruction in the Scripture from a Jew, what else is it than seeking sight from the blind, reason from the mad, life from the dead, grace and truth from the devil?"
And this madness and blindness of the accursed race would never have been fully known, only that the examination was held in German (for in general it is conducted in Hebrew, to please the vain Jews), by which means the Prince and Doctor Joel heard every word, and wrote it all down on their return home; and when afterwards his Highness Duke Francis succeeded to the government, he banished this rabbi and the elders, with their whole forge of blasphemy and lies, for ever from his capital.
Here, therefore, are some of the most remarkable questions; but I must premise that K. means my Knave, namely, the rabbi, and C. theCandidates. [Footnote: Lest my reader might think that what follows is a malicious invention of my own to bring the Jews into disrepute, I shall add the precise page of the Talmud from which each question is taken (from Eisenmenger's "Judaism Unveiled," Königsberg, 1711, and other sources). The Jews, I know, endeavour to deny that they hold these doctrines; but it is nevertheless quite true that all their learned men who have been converted to Christianity since the time of the Reformation confessed that these dogmas were intimately woven into their belief, and formed its groundwork.]
K.—"Which is holier, the Talmud or the Scriptures?"
C.—"I think the Talmud."
K.—"Wherefore, wherefore?"
C.—"Because Raf Aschi hath said, he who goes from the Hálacha (the Talmudical teaching) to the Scripture will have no more luck; [Footnote: Talmud, tract. Chagiga, fol. X. col. I. Raf Aschi, the author the Gemara, a portion of the Talmud.] and good luck we all prize dearly above all things—eh, my master?"
K.—"Right, right. Who is he like who reads only in the Scripture, and not in the Talmud? What say our fathers of blessed memory?"
C.—"They say that he is like one who has no God." [Footnote: Talmud, tract. Eruvin.]
K.—"Can the holy and ever-blessed One sin? What is the greatest sin He has committed?"