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Sidonia The Sorceress
By William Mienhold
VOLUME I
BOOK I.
CHAPTER VIII.
How Sidonia rides upon the pet stag, and what evil consequences result therefrom.
When the discourse had ended, her Grace retired to her apartment and Ulrich to his, for it was their custom, as I have said, to sleep after dinner. Doctor Gerschovius returned home, and the young Prince descended to the gardens with his lute. Now was a fine time for the young knights, for they had been sadly disturbed in their carouse by that godly prophesying of the doctor's, and they now returned to their own quarter to finish it, headed by the old treasurer Zitsewitz. Then a merry uproar of laughing, singing, and jesting commenced, and as the door lay wide open as usual, Sidonia heard all from her chamber; so stepping out gently with a piece of bread in her hand, she tripped along the corridor past their door. No sooner was she perceived than a loud storm of cheers greeted her, which she returned with smiles and bows, and then danced down the steps to the courtyard. Several rose up to pursue her, amongst whom Wedig and Appelmann were the most eager.
But they were too late, and saw nothing but the tail of her dress as she flew round the corner into the second court. Just then an old laundress, bringing linen to the castle for her Highness, passed by, and told the young men that the young lady had been feeding the tame stag with bread, and then jumped on its back while she held the horns, and that the animal had immediately galloped off like lightning into the second court; so that the young knights and squires rushed instantly after her, fearing that some accident might happen, and presently they heard her scream twice. Appelmann was the first to reach the outer court, and there beheld poor Sidonia in a sad condition, for the stag had flung her off. Fortunately it was on a heap of soft clay, and there she lay in a dead faint.
Had the stag thrown her but a few steps further, against the manger for the knights' horses, she must have been killed. But Satan had not yet done with her, and therefore, no doubt, prepared this soft pillow for her head.
When Appelmann saw that she was quite insensible, he kneeled down and kissed first her little feet, then her white hands, and at last her lips, while she lay at the time as still as death, poor thing. Just then Wedig came up in a great passion; for the castellan's son, who was playing ball, had flung the ball right between his legs, out of tricks, as he was running by, and nearly threw him down, whereupon Wedig seized hold of the urchin by his thick hair to punish him, for all the young knights were laughing at his discomfiture; but the boy bit him in the hip, and then sprang into his father's house, and shut the door. How little do we know what will happen! It was this bite which caused Wedig's lamentable death a little after.
But if he was angry before, what was his rage now when he beheld the equerry, Appelmann, kissing the insensible maiden.
"How now, peasant," he cried, "what means this boldness? How dare this tailor's son treat a castle and land dowered maiden in such a way? Are noble ladies made for his kisses?" And he draws his poignard to rush upon Appelmann, who draws forth his in return, and now assuredly there would have been murder done, if Sidonia had not just then opened her eyes, and starting up in amazement prayed them for her sake to keep quiet. She had been quite insensible, and knew nothing at all of what had happened. The old treasurer, with the other young knights, came up now, and strove to make peace between the two rivals, holding them apart by force; but nothing could calm the jealous Wedig, who still cried, "Let me avenge Sidonia!--let me avenge Sidonia!" So that Prince Ernest, hearing the tumult in the garden, ran with his lute in his hand to see what had happened. When they told him, he grew as pale as a corpse that such an indignity should have been offered to Sidonia, and reprimanded his equerry severely, but prayed that all would keep quiet now, as otherwise the Duchess and the Lord Chamberlain would certainly be awakened out of their after-dinner sleep, and then what an afternoon they would all have. This calmed every one, except the jealous Wedig, who, having drunk deeply, cried out still louder than before, "Let me go. I will give my life for the beautiful Sidonia. I will avenge the insolence of this peasant knave!"
When Sidonia observed all this, she felt quite certain that a terrible storm was brewing for all of them, and so she ran to shelter herself through the first open door that came in her way, and up into the second corridor; but further adventures awaited her here, for not being acquainted with this part of the castle, she ran direct into an old lumber-room, where she found, to her great surprise, a young man dressed in rusty armour, and wearing a helmet with a serpent crest upon his head. This was Hans von Marintzky, whose brain Sidonia had turned by reading the Amadis with him in the castle gardens, and as she had often sighed, and said that she, too, could have loved the serpent knight, the poor love-stricken Hans, taking this for a favourable sign, determined to disguise himself as described in the romance, and thus secure her love.
So when her beautiful face appeared at the door, Hans screamed for joy, like a young calf, and falling on one knee, exclaimed--"Adored Princess, your serpent knight is here to claim your love, and tender his hand to you in betrothal, for no other wife do I desire but thee; and if the Princess Rosaliana herself were here to offer me her love, I would strike her on the face."
Sidonia was rather thunderstruck, as one may suppose, and retreated a few steps, saying, "Stand up, dear youth; what ails you?"
"So I am dear to you," he cried, still kneeling; "I am then really dear to you, adored Princess? Ah! I hope to be yet dearer when I make you my spouse."
Sidonia had not foreseen this termination to their romance reading, but she suppressed her laughter, remembering how she had lost her lover Uckermann by showing scorn; so she drew herself up with dignity, and said, with as grave a face as a chief mourner--
"If you will not rise, sir knight, I must complain to her Highness; for I cannot be your spouse, seeing that I have resolved never to marry." (Ah! how willingly, how willingly you would have taken any husband half a year after.) "But if you will do me a service, brave knight, run instantly to the court, where Wedig and Appelmann are going to murder each other, and separate them, or my gracious lady and old Ulrich will awake, and then we shall all be punished."
The poor fool jumped up instantly, and exclaiming, "Death for my adored princess!" he sprung down the steps, though rather awkwardly, not being accustomed to the greaves; and rushing into the middle of the crowd, with his vizor down, and the drawn sword in his hand, he began making passes at every one that came in his way, crying, "Death for my adored princess! Long live the beautiful Sidonia! Knaves, have done with your brawling, or I shall lay you all dead at my feet."
At first every one stuck up close by the wall when they saw the madman, to get out of reach of his sword, which he kept whirling about his head; but as soon as he was recognised by his voice, Wedig called out to him--
"Help, brother, help! Will you suffer that this peasant boor Appelmann should kiss the noble Sidonia as she lay there faint and insensible? Yet I saw him do this. So help me, relieve me, that I may brand this low-born knave for his daring."
"What? My adored princess!" exclaimed the serpent knight. "This valet, this groom, dared to kiss her? and I would think myself blessed but to touch her shoe-tie;" and he fell furiously upon Appelmann.
The uproar was now so great that it might have aroused the Duchess and Ulrich even from their last sleep, had they been in the castle.
But, fortunately, some time before the riot began, both had gone out by the little private gate, to attend afternoon service at St. Peter's Church, in the town. For the archdeacon was sick, and Doctor Gerschovius was obliged to take his place there. No one, therefore, was left in the castle to give orders or hold command; even the castellan had gone to hear service; and no one minded Prince Ernest, he was so young, besides being under tutelage; and as to old Zitsewitz, he was as bad as the worst of them himself.
The Prince threatened to have the castle bells rung if they were not quiet; and the uproar had indeed partially subsided just at the moment the serpent knight fell upon Appelmann. The Prince then ordered his equerry to leave the place instantly, under pain of his severe displeasure, for he saw that both had drunk rather deeply.
So Appelmann turned to depart as the Prince commanded, but Wedig, who had been relieved by Hans the serpent, sprung after him with his dagger, limping though, for the bite in his hip made him stiff. Appelmann darted through the little water-gate and over the bridge; the other pursued him; and Appelmann, seeing that he was foaming with rage, jumped over the rails into a boat. Wedig attempted to do the same, but being stiff from the bite, missed the boat, and came down plump into the water.
As he could not swim, the current carried him rapidly down the stream before the others had time to come up; but he was still conscious, and called to Hans, "Comrade, save me!" So Hans, forgetting his heavy cuirass, plunged in directly, and soon reached the drowning man. Wedig, however, in his death-struggles, seized hold of him with such force that they both instantly disappeared. Then every one sprang to the boats to try and save them; but being Sunday, the boats were all moored, so that by the time they were unfastened it was too late, and the two unfortunate young men had sunk for ever.
What calamities may be caused by the levity and self-will of a beautiful woman! From the time of Helen of Troy up to the present moment, the world has known this well; but, alas! this was but the beginning of that tragedy which Sidonia played in Pomerania, as that other wanton did in Phrygia.
Let us hear the conclusion, however. Prince Ernest, now being truly alarmed, despatched a messenger to the church for her Highness; but as Doctor Gerschovius had not yet ended his exordium, her Grace would by no means be disturbed, and desired the messenger to go to Ulrich, who no sooner heard the tidings than he rushed down to the water-gate. There he found a great crowd assembled, all eagerly trying, with poles and hooks, to fish out the bodies of the two young men; and one fellow even had tied a piece of barley bread to a rope, and flung it into the water--as the superstition goes that it will follow a corpse in the stream, and point to where it lies. And the women and children were weeping and lamenting on the bridge; but the old knight pushed them all aside with his elbows, and cried--"Thousand devils! what are ye all at here?"
Every one was silent, for the young men had agreed not to betray Sidonia. Then Ulrich asked the Prince, who replied, that Marintzky, having put on some old armour to frighten the others, as he believed, they pursued him in fun over the bridge, and he and another fell over into the water. This was all he knew of the matter, for he was playing on the lute in the garden when the tumult began.
"Thousand devils!" cries Ulrich; "I cannot turn my back a moment but there must be a riot amongst the young fellows. Listen! young lord--when it comes to your turn to rule land and people, I counsel you, send all the young fellows to the devil. Away with them! they are a vain and dissolute crew. Get up the bodies, if you can; but, for my part, I would care little if a few more were baptized in the same way. Speak! some of you: who commenced this tavern broil? Speak! I must have an answer."
This adjuration had its effect, for a man answered--"Sidonia made the young men mad, and so it all happened." It was her own cousin, Marcus Bork, who spoke, for which reason Sidonia never could endure him afterwards, and finally destroyed him, as shall be related in due time.
When Ulrich found that Sidonia was the cause of all, he raged with fury, and commanded them to tell him all. When Marcus had related the whole affair, he swore by the seven thousand devils that he would make her remember it, and that he would instantly go up to her chamber.
But Prince Ernest stepped before him, saying, "Lord Ulrich, I have made you a promise--you must now make one to me: it is to leave this maiden in peace; she is not to blame for what has happened." But Ulrich would not listen to him.
"Then I withdraw my promise," said the Prince. "Now act as you think proper."
"Thousand devils! she had better give up that game," exclaimed Ulrich. However, he consented to leave her undisturbed, and departed with vehement imprecations on her head, just as the Duchess returned from church, and was seen advancing towards the crowd.