Ille.—"Did she ask what had happened, when all Pomerania rung with it?—when nobles were beheaded before her face as if they were nothing more than beggars' brats?—when the delicate and high-born Lady Sidonia, who had been entrusted to her care by Duke Barnim himself, was turned out of the castle in the middle of the night as if she were a street-girl, because, forsooth, she would not learn her catechism? The world would scarcely credit such scandalous acts, and yet they were all true. But to-morrow (if this weakness which had come over him allowed of it) he would set off for Stettin, also to Berlin and Schwerin, and tell the princes there, his cousins, what government they held in Wolgast. He would soon be twenty, and would then take matters into his own hands; and he would pray his guardian and dear uncle, Duke Barnim, to pronounce him at once of age; then the devil might take Ulrich and his government, but he would rule the castle his own way."
Her Grace.—"But what did he complain of? What ailed him? She must know this first, for he was looking as pale as a corpse."
Ille.—"Did she not know, then, what ailed him? Well, since he must tell her, it was anger-anger that made him so pale and weak."
Her Grace.—"Anger, was it? Anger, because the false wanton, Sidonia, had been removed by her orders from her princely castle? Ah! she knew now what the wanton had come there for; but would he kill his mother? She nearly sank upon the ground last night when he called the impudent wench his bride. But she forgave him; it must have been the wine he drank made him so forget himself; or was it possible that he spoke in earnest?"
Ille (sighing).—"The future will tell that." "Oh, woe is me! what must I live to hear? If thy father could look up from his grave, and see thee disgracing thy princely blood by a marriage with a bower maiden!—. thou traitorous, disobedient son, do not lie to me. I know from thy sighs what thy purpose is—for this thou art going to Stettin and Berlin."
The Prince is silent, and looks down upon the ground.
Her Grace.—"Oh, shame on thee! shame on thee for the sake of thy mother! shame on thee for the sake of this servant of God, thy second father, this old man here! What! a vile knave strike thy mother, before the face of all the court, and thou condemnest him because he avenged her! Truly thou art a fine, brave son, to let thy mother be struck before thy face, for the sake of a harlot. Canst thou deny it? I conjure thee by the living God, tell me is it thy true purpose to take this harlot to thy wife?"
Ille.—"He could give but one answer, the future would decide."
Her Grace (weeping).—"Oh, she was reserved for all misfortunes! Why did Doctor Martinus let her ring fall? All, all has followed from that! If he had chosen a good, humble, honest girl, she would say nothing; but this wanton, this light maiden, that ran after every carl and let them court her!"
Here the young Prince was seized with such violent convulsions that he fell upon the floor, and her Grace raised him up with loud lamentations. He was carried in a dead faint to his chamber, and the court physician, Doctor Pomius, instantly summoned. Doctor Pomius was a pompous little man (for my father knew him well), dry and smart in his words, and with a face like a pair of nutcrackers, for his front teeth were gone, so that his lips seemed dried on his gums, like the skin of a mummy. He was withal too self-conceited and boastful, and malicious, full of gossip and ill-nature, and running down every one that did not believe that he (Doctor Pomius) was the only learned physician in the world. Following the celebrated rules laid down by Theophrastus Paracelsus, he cured everything with trash—and asses' dung was his infallible panacea for all complaints. This pharmacopoeia was certainly extremely simple, easily obtained, and universal in its application. If the dung succeeded, the doctor drew himself up, tossed his head, and exclaimed, "What Doctor Pomius orders always succeeds." But if the wretched patient slipped out of his hands into the other world, he shook his head and said, "There is an hour for every man to die; of course his had come—physicians cannot work miracles."