Now when twelve o'clock struck, and mid-day shone on the blessed land, all the nuns proceeded in their long black habits and white veils to Sidonia's apartment, each with her beer-can in her hand (woe is me! how soon they rushed back again in storm and anger).
Then they sat down to the sausages and other good morsels, while Anna Apenborg was on tiptoe of expectation to see what would happen; and old Wolde was there quite well again (for ill weeds never die—no winter is cold enough for that). And she filled each of their cans with the beer which Sidonia had brewed, after a new formula; but, lo! no sooner had they tasted it than first Dorothea Stettin starts up, and Sidonia asks what ails her.
To which she answers: "She is not superstitious, but there was surely something wrong in the beer. She felt quite strange." And she left the room, then another, and another—in fine, all who had tasted the beer started up in like manner and followed Dorothea. Only the abbess and some others who had not partaken of it remained. Anna Apenborg had disappeared amongst the first, and presently a terrific cry was heard from the courtyard, as if not alone the cloister, but the whole world was in flames. Curses, cries, menaces, threats, screams, all mingled together, and shouts of "Run for a broomstick! the accursed witch! the evil hag! let us punish her for this!"
Whereupon the abbess jumps up, flings open the window, and beholds Dorothea Stettin so changed in mien, voice, gestures—in fine, in her whole being—that she was hardly to be recognised. She looks black and blue in the face, has her fists clenched, stamps with her feet, and screams.
"For God's sake! what ails you, Dorothea?" asked the alarmed abbess. But no answer can she hear; for all the virgins scream, roar, howl, and curse in one grand chorus, as if indeed the last day itself were come. So she runs down the steps as quick as she can, while Sidonia looks out at the window, and laughing, said, "Eh, dear sisters, this is a strange pastime you have got; better come up quickly, or the pudding will be cold."
At this the screeching and howling were redoubled, and Dorothea spat up at the window, and another flung up a broomstick, so that my hag got a bloody nose, and drew in her head screaming now likewise.
Then they all wanted to rush up into the refectory, each armed with a broomstick to punish Sidonia, and they would not heed the abbess, who still vainly asked what had angered them? but the other sisters who were descending met them half way, and prevented their ascent; whereupon the abbess raised her voice and called out loud: "Whoever does not return instantly at my command as abbess, shall be imprisoned forthwith, and condemned to bread and water for a whole day! Item, whoever speaks until I address her, shall be kept half-a-day on bread and water. Now Dorothea, speak—you alone, and let every one of you descend the steps and return here to the courtyard." This menace availed at last, and with many sobs and groans, Dorothea at last told of Sidonia's horrible plot, as Anna Apenborg had explained to them. How she had invited them on purpose to disgrace them for ever in the eyes of the Prince and of the whole world, and the abbess could now judge herself, if they had not a right to be angry. But she must have her sub-prioret back again, out of which the scandalous witch had tricked her, and the abbess must forthwith despatch a messenger to his Highness, praying him to chase this unclean beast out of the convent, and into the streets again, from which they had taken her; for neither God nor man had peace or rest from her.
Sidonia overhearing this from the window, stretched out her grey head again, wiped away with her hand the blood that was streaming from her nose, and then menacing the abbess with her bloody fist, screamed out, "Write if you dare! write if you dare!" So the curses, howls, yells, screeches, all break loose again; some pitch their shoes up at the windows, others let fly the broomsticks at the old hag, and Dorothea cried out, "Let all pure and honourable virgins follow me!" Yet still a great many of the sisters gathered round the abbess, weeping and wringing their hands, and praying for peace, declaring they would not leave her; but all the younger nuns, particularly they who had drunk of Sidonia's accursed beer, followed the sub-prioress, and as the discontented Roman people withdrew once to the Aventine mount, so the cloister malcontents withdrew to the Muhlenberg, howling and sobbing, and casting themselves on the ground from despair. In vain the abbess ran after them, conjuring them not to expose themselves before God and man: it was all useless, my virgins screamed in chorus—"No, that they would never do, but to the cloister they would not return till the princely answer arrived, expelling the dragon for ever. Let what would become of them, they would not return. The jewel of their honour was dearer to them than life."
Now Sidonia was watching all this from her window, and as she justly feared that now in earnest the wrath and anger of the two Princes would fall on her, she goes straight to the abbess, who sits in her cell weeping and wringing her hands, menaces her again with her bloody fist, and says, "Will you write? will you write? ay, you may, but you will never live to hear the answer!" Upon which, murmuring to herself, she left the chamber. What can the poor abbess do? And the cry now comes to her, that not only the miller and his men, but half the town likewise, are gathered round the virgins. Oh, what a scandal! She wrings her hands in prayer to God, and at last resolves to lay down her poor life, so that she may fulfil her hard duty bravely as beseems her, goes then straight to the Muhlenberg and arranges the evil business thus:—Let the virgins return instantly to the cloister, and she would herself write to the Duke, and despatch the messenger this very night. But she begged for just two hours to herself, that she might make her will, and send for the sheriff's secretary to draw it up properly; also to search for her shroud which lay in her chest. For since her cruel children demanded her life, she would give it to them. The Duke's answer she would never live to hear. So Sidonia had prophesied just now.
Then she descended the hill, chanting that beautiful hymn of Dr. Nicolai's, while the virgins followed, and some lifted up their weeping voices in unison with hers:—