The Amber Witch

W >> Wilhelm Meinhold >> The Amber Witch

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15

When the worthy young lord had stated this before _Dom. Consul_ and all
the people, which flocked together on hearing that the young lord was no
ghost, I felt as though a millstone had been taken off my heart; and
seeing that the people (who had already pulled the constable from under
the cart, and crowded round him, like a swarm of bees) cried to me that he
was dying, but desired first to confess somewhat to me, I jumped from the
cart as lightly as a young bachelor, and called to _Dom. Consul_ and the
young lord to go with me, seeing that I could easily guess what he had on
his mind. He sat upon a stone, and the blood gushed from his side like a
fountain (now that they had drawn out the sword); he whimpered on seeing
me, and said that he had in truth hearkened behind the door to all that
old Lizzie had confessed to me, namely, that she herself, together with
the Sheriff, had worked all the witchcraft on man and beast, to frighten
my poor child, and force her to play the wanton. That he had hidden this,
seeing that the Sheriff had promised him a great reward for so doing; but
that he would now confess it freely, since God had brought my child her
innocence to light. Wherefore he besought my child and myself to forgive
him. And when _Dom. Consul_ shook his head, and asked whether he would
live and die on the truth of this confession, he answered, "Yes!" and
straightway fell on his side to the earth and gave up the ghost.

Meanwhile time hung heavy with the people on the mountain, who had come
from Coserow, from Zitze, from Gnitze, etc., to see my child burnt, and
they all came running down the hill in long rows like geese, one after the
other, to see what had happened. And among them was my ploughman, Claus
Neels. When the worthy fellow saw and heard what had befallen us, he began
to weep aloud for joy; and straightway he too told what he had heard the
Sheriff say to old Lizzie in the garden, and how he had promised a pig in
the room of her own little pig, which she had herself bewitched to death
in order to bring my child into evil repute. _Summa_: all that I have
noted above, and which till _datum_ he had kept to himself for fear of the
question. Hereat all the people marvelled, and gently bewailed her
misfortunes; and many came, among them old Paasch, and would have kissed
my daughter her hands and feet, as also mine own, and praised us now as
much as they had before reviled us. But thus it ever is with the people.
Wherefore my departed father used to say:

The people's hate is death,
Their love a passing breath!

My dear gossip ceased not from fondling my child, holding her in his lap,
and weeping over her like a father (for I could not have wept more myself
than he wept). Howbeit she herself wept not, but begged the young lord to
send one of his horsemen to her faithful old maid-servant at Pudgla, to
tell her what had befallen us, which he straightway did to please her. But
the worshipful court (for _Dom. Gamerarius_ and the _scriba_ had now
plucked up a heart, and had come down from the coach) was not yet
satisfied, and _Dom. Consul_ began to tell the young lord about the
bewitched bridge, which none other save my daughter could have bewitched.
Hereto the young lord gave answer that this was indeed a strange thing,
inasmuch as his own horse had also broken a leg thereon, whereupon he had
taken the Sheriff his horse, which he saw tied up at the mill; but he did
not think that this could be laid to the charge of the maiden, but that it
came about by natural means, as he had half discovered already, although
he had not had time to search the matter thoroughly. Wherefore he besought
the worshipful court and all the people, together with my child herself,
to return back thither, where, with God's help, he would clear her from
this suspicion also, and prove her perfect innocence before them all.

Thereunto the worshipful court agreed; and the young lord, having given
the Sheriff his grey charger to my ploughman to carry the corpse, which
had been laid across the horse's neck, to Coserow, the young lord got into
the cart by us, but did not seat himself beside my child, but backward by
my dear gossip: moreover, he bade one of his own people drive us instead
of the old coachman, and thus we turned back in God his name. _Custos
Benzensis_, who, with the children, had run in among the vetches by the
wayside (my defunct _Custos_ would not have done so, he had more courage),
went on before again with the young folks, and by command of his reverence
the pastor led the Ambrosian _Te Deum_, which deeply moved us all, more
especially my child, insomuch that her book was wetted with her tears, and
she at length laid it down and said, at the same time giving her hand to
the young lord, "How can I thank God and you for that which you have done
for me this day?" Whereupon the young lord answered, saying, "I have
greater cause to thank God than yourself, sweet maid, seeing that you have
suffered in your dungeon unjustly, but I justly, inasmuch as by my
thoughtlessness I brought this misery upon you. Believe me that this
morning when, in my donjon-keep, I first heard the sound of the dead-bell,
I thought to have died; and when it tolled for the third time, I should
have gone distraught in my grief, had not the Almighty God at that moment
taken the life of my strange father, so that your innocent life should be
saved by me. Wherefore I have vowed a new tower, and whatsoe'er beside may
be needful, to the blessed house of God; for nought more bitter could have
befallen me on earth than your death, sweet maid, and nought more sweet
than your life!"

But at these words my child only wept and sighed; and when he looked on
her, she cast down her eyes and trembled, so that I straightway perceived
that my sorrows were not yet come to an end, but that another barrel of
tears was just tapped for me, and so indeed it was. Moreover, the ass of a
_Custos_, having finished the _Te Deum_ before we were come to the bridge,
straightway struck up the next following hymn, which was a funeral one,
beginning, "The body let us now inter." (God be praised that no harm has
come of it till _datum_.) My beloved gossip rated him not a little, and
threatened him that for his stupidity he should not get the money for the
shoes which he had promised him out of the Church-dues. But my child
comforted him, and promised him a pair of shoes at her own charges, seeing
that peradventure a funeral hymn was better for her than a song of
gladness.

And when this vexed the young lord, and he said, "How now, sweet maid, you
know not how enough to thank God and me for your rescue, and yet you speak
thus?" She answered, smiling sadly, that she had only spoken thus to
comfort the poor _Custos_. But I straightway saw that she was in earnest,
for that she felt that although she had escaped one fire, she already
burned in another.

Meanwhile we were come to the bridge again, and all the folks stood still,
and gazed open-mouthed, when the young lord jumped down from the cart, and
after stabbing his horse, which still lay kicking on the bridge, went on
his knees, and felt here and there with his hand. At length he called to
the worshipful court to draw near, for that he had found out the
witchcraft. But none save _Dom. Consul_ and a few fellows out of the
crowd, among whom was old Paasch, would follow him; _item_, my dear gossip
and myself, and the young lord, showed us a lump of tallow about the size
of a large walnut, which lay on the ground, and wherewith the whole bridge
had been smeared, so that it looked quite white, but, which all the folks
in their fright had taken for flour out of the mill; _item_, with some
other _materia_, which stunk like fitchock's dung, but what it was we
could not find out. Soon after a fellow found another bit of tallow, and
showed it to the people; whereupon I cried, "Aha! none hath done this but
that ungodly miller's man, in revenge for the stripes which the Sheriff
gave him for reviling my child." Whereupon I told what he had done, and
_Dom. Consul_, who also had heard thereof, straightway sent for the
miller.

He, however, did as though he knew nought of the matter, and only said
that his man had left his service about an hour ago. But a young lass, the
miller's maid-servant, said that that very morning, before daybreak, when
she had got up to let out the cattle, she had seen the man scouring the
bridge. But that she had given it no further heed, and had gone to sleep
for another hour; and she pretended to know no more than the miller
whither the rascal was gone. When the young lord had heard this news, he
got up into the cart, and began to address the people, seeking to persuade
them no longer to believe in witchcraft, now that they had seen what it
really was. When I heard this, I was horror-stricken (as was but right) in
my conscience, as a priest, and I got upon the cartwheel, and whispered
into his ear, for God his sake, to leave this _materia_, seeing that if
the people no longer feared the devil, neither would they fear our Lord
God.

The dear young lord forthwith did as I would have him, and only asked the
people whether they now held my child to be perfectly innocent? and when
they had answered, "Yes!" he begged them to go quietly home, and to thank
God that he had saved innocent blood. That he, too, would now return home,
and that he hoped that none would molest me and my child if he let us
return to Coserow alone. Hereupon he turned hastily towards her, took her
hand and said: "Farewell, sweet maid, I trust that I shall soon clear your
honour before the world, but do you thank God therefor, not me." He then
did the like to me and to my dear gossip, whereupon he jumped down from
the cart, and went and sat beside _Dom. Consul_ in his coach. The latter
also spake a few words to the people, and likewise begged my child and me
to forgive him (and I must say it to his honour, that the tears ran down
his cheeks the while), but he was so hurried by the young lord that he
brake short his discourse, and they drove off over the little bridge,
without so much as looking back. Only _Dom. Consul_ looked round once, and
called out to me, that in his hurry he had forgotten to tell the
executioner that no one was to be burned to-day: I was therefore to send
the churchwarden of Uekeritze up the mountain, to say so in his name; the
which I did. And the bloodhound was still on the mountain, albeit he had
long since heard what had befallen; and when the bailiff gave him the
orders of the worshipful court, he began to curse so fearfully that it
might have awakened the dead; moreover, he plucked off his cap, and
trampled it under foot, so that any one might have guessed what he felt.

But to return to ourselves, my child sat as still and as white as a pillar
of salt, after the young lord had left her so suddenly and so unawares,
but she was somewhat comforted when the old maid-servant came running with
her coats tucked up to her knees, and carrying her shoes and stockings in
her hands. We heard her afar off, as the mill had stopped, blubbering for
joy, and she fell at least three times on the bridge, but at last she got
over safe, and kissed now mine and now my child her hands and feet;
begging us only not to turn her away, but to keep her until her life's
end; the which we promised to do. She had to climb up behind where the
impudent constable had sat, seeing that my dear gossip would not leave me
until I should be back in mine own manse. And as the young lord his
servant had got up behind the coach, old Paasch drove us home, and all the
folks who had waited till _datum_ ran beside the cart, praising and
pitying as much as they had before scorned and reviled us. Scarce,
however, had we passed through Uekeritze, when we again heard cries of
"Here comes the young lord, here comes the young lord!" so that my child
started up for joy, and became as red as a rose; but some of the folks ran
into the buckwheat, by the road, again, thinking it was another ghost. It
was, however, in truth, the young lord who galloped up on a black horse,
calling out as he drew near us, "Notwithstanding the haste I am in, sweet
maid, I must return and give you safe-conduct home, seeing that I have
just heard that the filthy people reviled you by the way, and I know not
whether you are yet safe." Hereupon he urged old Paasch to mend his pace,
and as his kicking and trampling did not even make the horses trot, the
young lord struck the saddle-horse from time to time with the flat of his
sword, so that we soon reached the village and the manse. Howbeit, when I
prayed him to dismount a while, he would not, but excused himself, saying
that he must still ride through Usedom to Anclam, but charged old Paasch,
who was our bailiff, to watch over my child as the apple of his eye, and
should anything unusual happen he was straightway to inform the town-clerk
at Pudgla, or _Dom. Consul_ at Usedom, thereof, and when Paasch had
promised to do this, he waved his hand to us, and galloped off as fast as
he could.

But before he got round the corner by Pagel his house, he turned back for
the third time: and when we wondered thereat, he said we must forgive him,
seeing his thoughts wandered to-day.

That I had formerly told him that I still had my patent of nobility, the
which he begged me to lend him for a time. Hereupon I answered that I must
first seek for it, and that he had best dismount the while. But he would
not, and again excused himself, saying he had no time. He therefore stayed
without the door, until I brought him the patent, whereupon he thanked me
and said, "Do not wonder hereat, you will soon see what my purpose is."
Whereupon he struck his spurs into his horse's sides and did not come back
again.

_The Twenty-ninth Chapter_

OF OUR NEXT GREAT SORROW, AND FINAL JOY

And now might we have been at rest, and have thanked God on our knees by
day and night. For, besides mercifully saving us out of such great
tribulation, he turned the hearts of my beloved flock, so that they knew
not how to do enough for us. Every day they brought us fish, meat, eggs,
sausages, and whatsoe'er besides they could give me, and which I have
since forgotten. Moreover they, every one of them, came to church the next
Sunday, great and small (except goodwife Kliene of Zempin, who had just
got a boy, and still kept her bed), and I preached a thanks-giving sermon
on Job v. 17, 18, and 19 verses, "Behold, happy is the man whom God
correcteth; therefore despise not thou the chastening of the Almighty: for
he maketh sore, and bindeth up; and his hands make whole. He shall deliver
thee in six troubles, yea, in seven there shall no evil touch thee." And
during my sermon I was ofttimes forced to stop by reason of all the
weeping, and to let them blow their noses. And I might truly have compared
myself to Job, after that the Lord had mercifully released him from his
troubles, had it not been for my child, who prepared much fresh grief for
me.

She had wept when the young lord would not dismount, and now that he came
not again, she grew more uneasy from day to day. She sat and read first
the Bible, then the hymn-book, _item_, the history of Dido in _Virgilius_,
or she climbed up the mountain to fetch flowers (likewise sought after the
vein of amber there, but found it not, which shows the cunning and malice
of Satan). I saw this for a while with many sighs, but spake not a word
(for, dear reader, what could I say?) until it grew worse and worse; and
as she now recited her _carmina_ more than ever both at home and abroad, I
feared lest the people should again repute her a witch, and one day I
followed her up the mountain. Well-a-day, she sat on the pile, which still
stood there, but with her face turned towards the sea, reciting the
_versus_ where Dido mounts the funeral pile in order to stab herself for
love of AEneas:--

At trepida et coeptis immanibus effera Dido
Sanguineam volvens aciem, maculisque trementes
Interfusa genas, et pallida morte futura
Interiora domus irrumpit limina et altos
Conscendit furibunda rogos....

When I saw this, and heard how things really stood with her, I was
affrighted beyond measure, and cried, "Mary, my child, what art thou
doing?" She started when she heard my voice, but sat still on the pile,
and answered, as she covered her face with her apron, "Father, I am
burning my heart." I drew near to her and pulled the apron from her face,
saying, "Wilt thou, then, again kill me with grief?" whereupon she covered
her face with her hands, and moaned, "Alas, father, wherefore was I not
burned here? My torment would then have endured but for a moment, but now
it will last as long as I live!" I still did as though I had seen nought,
and said, "Wherefore, dear child, dost thou suffer such torment?"
whereupon she answered, "I have long been ashamed to tell you; for the
young lord, the young lord, my father, do I suffer this torment! He no
longer thinks of me; and albeit he saved my life he scorns me, or he would
surely have dismounted and come in a while; but we are of far too low
degree for him!" Hereupon I indeed began to comfort her and to persuade
her to think no more of the young lord; but the more I comforted her, the
worse she grew. Nevertheless I saw that she did yet in secret cherish a
strong hope by reason of the patent of nobility which he had made me give
him. I would not take this hope from her, seeing that I felt the same
myself, and to comfort her I flattered her hopes, whereupon she was more
quiet for some days, and did not go up the mountain, the which I had
forbidden her. Moreover, she began again to teach little Paasch her
god-daughter, out of whom, by the help of the all-righteous God, Satan was
now altogether departed. But she still pined, and was as white as a sheet;
and when soon after a report came that none in the castle at Mellenthin
knew what was become of the young lord, and that they thought he had been
killed, her grief became so great that I had to send my ploughman on
horseback to Mellenthin to gain tidings of him. And she looked at least
twenty times out of the door and over the paling to watch for his return;
and when she saw him coming she ran out to meet him as far as the corner
by Pagels. But, blessed God! he brought us even worse news than we had
heard before, saying, that the people at the castle had told him that
their young master had ridden away the self-same day whereon he had
rescued the maiden. That he had, indeed, returned after three days to his
father's funeral, but had straightway ridden off again, and that for five
weeks they had heard nothing further of him, and knew not whither he was
gone, but supposed that some wicked ruffians had killed him.

And now my grief was greater than ever it had been before; so patient and
resigned to the will of God as my child had shown herself heretofore, and
no martyr could have met her last hour stronger in God and Christ, so
impatient and despairing was she now. She gave up all hope, and took it
into her head that in these heavy times of war the young lord had been
killed by robbers. Nought availed with her, not even prayer, for when I
called upon God with her, on my knees, she straightway began so grievously
to bewail that the Lord had cast her off, and that she was condemned to
nought save misfortunes in this world; that it pierced through my heart
like a knife, and my thoughts forsook me at her words. She lay also at
night, and "like a crane or a swallow so did she chatter; she did mourn
like a dove; her eyes did fail with looking upward," because no sleep came
upon her eyelids. I called to her from my bed, "Dear child, wilt thou,
then, never cease? sleep, I pray thee!" and she answered and said, "Do you
sleep, dearest father; I cannot sleep until I sleep the sleep of death.
Alas, my father; that I was not burned!" But how could I sleep when she
could not? I indeed said, each morning, that I had slept a while, in order
to content her; but it was not so; but, like David, "all the night made I
my bed to swim; I watered my couch with my tears." Moreover I again fell
into heavy unbelief, so that I neither could nor would pray. Nevertheless
the Lord "did not deal with me after my sins, nor reward me according to
mine iniquities. For as the heaven is high above the earth, so great was
his mercy toward" me, miserable sinner!

For mark what happened on the very next Saturday! Behold, our old
maid-servant came running in at the door, quite out of breath, saying that
a horseman was coming over the Master's Mount, with a tall plume waving on
his hat, and that she believed it was the young lord. When my child, who
sat upon the bench combing her hair, heard this, she gave a shriek of joy,
which would have moved a stone under the earth, and straightway ran out of
the room to look over the paling. She presently came running in again,
fell upon my neck, and cried without ceasing, "The young lord! the young
lord!" whereupon she would have run out to meet him, but I forbade her,
saying she had better first bind up her hair, which she then remembered,
and laughing, weeping, and praying, all at once, she bound up her long
hair. And now the young lord came galloping round the corner, attired in a
green velvet doublet with red silk sleeves, and a grey hat with a heron's
feather therein; _summa_, gaily dressed as beseems a wooer. And when we
now ran out at the door, he called aloud to my child in the Latin, from
afar off, "_Quomodo stat dulcissima virgo?_" Whereupon she gave answer,
saying, "_Bene te aspecto._" He then sprang smiling off his horse, and
gave it into the charge of my ploughman, who meanwhile had come up
together with the maid; but he was affrighted when he saw my child so
pale, and taking her hand spake in the vulgar tongue, "My God! what is it
ails you, sweet maid? you look more pale than when about to go to the
stake." Whereupon she answered, "I have been at the stake daily since you
left us, good my lord, without coming into our house, or so much as
sending us tidings of whither you were gone."

This pleased him well, and he said, "Let us first of all go into the
chamber, and you shall hear all." And when he had wiped the sweat from
his brow, and sat down on the bench beside my child, he spake as
follows:--That he had straightway promised her that he would clear her
honour before the whole world, and the self-same day whereon he left us he
made the worshipful court draw up an authentic record of all that had
taken place, more especially the confession of the impudent constable,
_item_, that of my ploughboy, Claus Neels; wherewith he rode throughout
the same night, as he had promised, to Anclam, and next day to Stettin, to
our gracious sovereign Duke Bogislaw: who marvelled greatly when he heard
of the wickedness of his Sheriff, and of that which he had done to my
child: moreover, he asked whether she were the pastor's daughter who once
upon a time had found the signet-ring of his Princely Highness Philippus
Julius of most Christian memory in the castle garden at Wolgast? and as he
did not know thereof, the Duke asked, whether she knew Latin? And he, the
young lord, answered yes, that she knew the Latin better than he did
himself. His Princely Highness said, "Then, indeed, it must be the same,"
and straightway he put on his spectacles, and read the _acta_ himself.
Hereupon, and after his Princely Highness had read the record of the
worshipful court, shaking his head the while, the young lord humbly
besought his Princely Highness to give him an _amende honorable_ for my
child, _item, literas commendatitias_ for himself to our most gracious
Emperor at Vienna, to beg for a renewal of my patent of nobility, seeing
that he was determined to marry none other maiden than my daughter so long
as he lived.

When my child heard this, she gave a cry of joy, and fell back in a swound
with her head against the wall. But the young lord caught her in his arms,
and gave her three kisses (which I could not then deny him, seeing, as I
did with joy, how matters went), and when she came to herself again, he
asked her, whether she would not have him, seeing that she had given a cry
at his words? Whereupon she said, "Whether I will not have you, my lord!
Alas! I love you as dearly as my God and my Saviour! You first saved my
life, and now you have snatched my heart from the stake, whereon, without
you, it would have burned all the days of my life!" Hereupon I wept for
joy, when he drew her into his lap, and she clasped his neck with her
little hands.

They thus sat and toyed a while, till the young lord again perceived me,
and said, "What say you thereto; I trust it is also your will, reverend
Abraham?" Now, dear reader, what could I say, save my hearty good-will?
seeing that I wept for very joy, as did my child, and I answered, how
should it not be my will, seeing that it was the will of God? But whether
the worthy, good young lord had likewise considered that he would stain
his noble name if he took to wife my child, who had been habit and repute
a witch, and had been well-nigh bound to the stake?

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15