"PHILIPPUS, manu sua."
When the herald had finished reading, and shown the princely signature and seal to the ringleaders, a great murmur arose among the crowd, of which, however, the herald took no heed, but rode on to the horse-market, where he likewise read the proclamation, and so on through the principal thorough-fares. Then he returned to the grass-market, but lo! not a soul was to be seen; the crowds had all dispersed, and quietness reigned everywhere. Whereupon the herald rode joyfully to the horse-market, to see if the like had happened there, and truly peace had returned here too. And all along the principal streets where the proclamation had been read, the people were thoroughly subdued by this princely clemency and authority.
So when the herald returned to the castle, and related the success of his mission, the tears filled the eyes of his Grace Duke Philip, and taking his lord brother by the hand, he exclaimed, "See, dear Francis, how true are the words of Cicero, 'Nihil tam populare quam bonitas.'" [Footnote: (Nothing so popular as kindness.)] Then they both went forth and walked arm in arm throughout the town, and wherever his Grace saw any group still gathered round the beercans, he told them to be content, for the beer should be sold to them at the Stralsund shilling. And thus the riot was quelled, and the town returned to its accustomed quietness and order.
Now truly the same Cicero says, "In imperita muititudine est varietas et inconstantia et crebra tanquam tempestatum, sic sententiarum commutatio." [Footnote: (The senseless multitude are changeful and inconstant as the weather, and their opinions suffer as many mutations.)]
CHAPTER X.
Of the fearful events that take place at Marienfliess—Item, bow Dorothea Stettin becomes possessed by the devil.
Meanwhile Satan hath not been less busy at Marienfliess in Sidonia's absence, than at Old Stettin in her presence. But he cunningly changed his mode of action, not to be recognised, and truly Dorothea Stettin was the first he practised on. For having recovered from her sickness, she one day presented herself at church in the nun's choir as usual; but while joining in the closing hymn, she suddenly changed colour, began to sob and tremble in every limb, then continued the chant in a strange, uncertain voice, sometimes treble, sometimes bass, like that of a lad whose beard is just beginning to grow. At this the abbess and the sisterhood listened and stared in wonder, then asked if the dear sister had fallen ill again?
"No," she answered gruffly, "she only wanted to be married. She was tired of playing the virgin. Did the abbess know, perchance, of any one who would suit her as bridegroom? For she must and would be married!"
Think now of the horror of the nuns. Still they thanked God that such a scandalum had happened during the singing, and not at the blessed sermon. Then they seized her by the arms, and drew her away to her cell. But woe, alas! scarcely had she reached it, when she threw herself upon her bed in strong convulsions. Her eyes turned so that only the whites were to be seen, and her face grew so drawn and strange that it was a grief to look upon it, and still she kept on screaming in the deep, gruff man's voice—"For a bridegroom! a bridegroom!" she that was so modest, and had such a delicate, gentle voice. Whereupon all the sisters rushed in to hear her the moment the sermon was over; item, the priest in his surplice.
But the unfortunate maiden no sooner beheld him, than she cried out in the deep bass voice—"David, I must marry; wilt thou be my bridegroom?" And when he answered, "Alas, poor girl! when was such speech ever heard from you before? Satan himself must have possessed you!" she cried out again, "Hold your chatter—will you, or will you not?"