Bartholomew Sastrow: Being the Memoirs of a German Burgomaster. Bartholomäus Sastrow
to seal the act with him. "No," exclaimed the latter, "I shall not sign your dishonour." But his two sons-in-law, overcome by the tears of their mother-in-law, affixed their seals. Thereupon the burgomaster, escorted by the two councillors, his two sons-in-law and my father, repaired to the Town Hall. On their way, he went into the St. Nicholas' Church, knelt down in the stall near the great St. Christopher, and said a short prayer.
The council of the Forty-Eight was holding its meeting in the summer council-room. Requested by Christopher Lorbeer to resume his usual seat, Smiterlow refused. "I cannot do so," he said, "after the document I have just signed." Nevertheless, they insisted until he took his seat. Then he addressed them, reminding them that he had travelled in the city's service a hundred and odd days (I have forgotten the exact number, for I was only sixteen years old). "If it can be proved that I have spent one florin unnecessarily, been guilty of one neglect or caused a single prejudice, I am ready to yield all I possess and my life besides. If, on the other hand, I can show my innocence, then can I count upon the same protection as that enjoyed by the other citizens; that is, frequent the churches, cross the bridges, appear in the market place, and attend to my business in all freedom and security." The reply being affirmative, he rose from his seat, wished the council a peaceful term of administration, and, followed by his nearest relatives, went back to his home.
The situation remained the same until 1537. Strong in the consciousness of his own honesty, and leaving the Forty-Eight to govern at their own sweet will, Smiterlow remained perfectly tranquil in his retirement. He was an assiduous churchgoer, and when the weather was fine, took excursions into the country accompanied by his daughters, his sons-in-law, my parents and their family. His jovial disposition delighted them all.
On the other hand, the Forty-Eight were constantly assailed by fear. The success of the war became more and more doubtful, in spite of the sacrifice of hundreds of lives, in spite of the pillaging of the Town Hall, in spite of the enormous sums wasted--thrown into the water, it would be more correct to say. They converted the bells of the city and of the villages into money; all these took the road to Lubeck, where, to our disgrace be it said, the mark of Stralsund can still be seen on a bronze pile-driver. Twice did the citizens, from the highest to the lowest, pay the tax of the hundredth halfpenny on the strength of their oath.
When they saw their power tottering, the Forty-Eight imitated the unjust steward of St. Luke, and compelled the community to confirm, renew and extend the infamous declaration violently dragged from the council of 1522. The new act had apparently some good in it. It enjoined upon the magistrates judicious rules of conduct which, however, were not at all within their competence. In reality, the ancient council acknowledged to have incurred by its resistance a fine which was remitted to them by their magnanimous successors. It took the engagement to favour the cause of the Forty-Eight. No dissension, misunderstanding, accusation or recrimination, whether relating to the past or the present, would in future be tolerated. Any contravention to that effect entailed upon the councillors the loss of their dignities; upon other citizens, the loss of their civic rights; upon women and children, a fine of fifty florins, payable by the father or husband, and going to the fund for public buildings.
That much was decided on the Friday after Candlemas, 1535. Nevertheless, the Forty-Eight kept trembling in their shoes. The very next year witnessed the promulgation of another decree, threatening with the utmost bodily penalty any and every one, young or old, rich or poor, magistrate or simple burgher who should decline the responsibility of the expedition to Denmark, or should influence others on the subject. This act was transcribed sequentially to that of 1535, with the formula: Given under our administration anno and day as above. Hence it was antedated. It was a clumsy trick, for a unique act does not admit of a codicil. But does the ass ever succeed in hiding its ears?
In 1536, on the day of Esto Mihi, Duke Philip married, at the Castle of Torgau, Fräulein Marie, sister of the Duke of Saxony, Johannes Friedrich. The marriage rites were performed by Dr. Martin Luther, who after the ceremony said to the husband: "Gracious prince and lord, Should the event so much desired be somewhat tardy in coming, let not your Highness be discouraged. Saxum means stone, and nothing can be drawn from a rock without time or patience. Your Highness shall be included in my prayers: semen tuum non deficit." The duchess, in fact, gave birth to her first child only about four years later.
The punishment of the wicked and the triumph of the just marched abreast, inclusio unius est exclusio alterius et e contra. Amidst the torments of hell the damned watch the bliss of the happy ones whom they have persecuted on earth. I am bound to insist upon this antithesis while pursuing my narrative. I expect no thanks, for men are so thin-skinned as to cause them to quiver at the slightest touch; and that is the reason why all those who have written on Stralsund, such as Thomas Kantzow, Valentin Eichstedt,[24] and Johannes Berckmann passed their pens to their successors when they got as far as 1536. I have no desire to flatter or to find fault, but I intend to speak the real truth, however disagreeable it may turn out to be. My sole concern is to preserve the dignity of history. If people will take the trouble to read carefully the authors just named, and especially Berckmann, otherwise the Augustine monk, his impertinent libels will enable them to appreciate the usefulness of the present pages. The approval of honest folk is the only reward I care for; the rest is of no consequence.
It is almost incredible that the Duke of Mecklenburg should have committed the blunder of yielding to the suggestions of Wullenweber, whom all good citizens virtually disavowed. Never was there a more unjust war. In disposing of a country which, on no assumption whatever, could possibly belong to them, the cities caused an incalculable prejudice to the Duke of Holstein, the Lord's anointed, the legitimate, well-beloved, and expected sovereign. He showed great firmness. The leader of a powerful army, and master of its communications by sea and by land, he was fully aware of his superiority to an adversary who, shut up in Copenhagen, only thought of pleasure, hunts and banquets. In spite of his just resentment, magnanimous Christian obtained a victory over himself, and while the surrender of the city was being negotiated, he sent provisions to the Duchess of Mecklenburg, at that time in childbed. This was tantamount to giving her charity. After the retreat of Duke Albrecht, Charles made a triumphal entry into Copenhagen, where he was crowned in 1537, and the presence at the pomp and ceremony of the coronation of the ambassadors of the cities was calculated to give him complete satisfaction. As for the Duke of Mecklenburg, he had learned to his cost the folly of disregarding the words of the Holy Spirit: "My son, fear thou the Lord and the king, and meddle not with them that are given to change: for their calamity shall rise suddenly; and who knoweth the ruin of them both?" (Proverbs xxiv. 21, 22).
At Lubeck the pitiful collapse of the council brought about the reinstatement of the old magistracy. In a spirit of pacification they gave Wullenweber the captaincy of Bergendorf; but Wullenweber, while crossing the territory of the Abbey of Werden, was seized by order of Christopher, bishop of Bremen, who handed him over to his brother, Duke Heindrich of Brunswick. After a cruel captivity at Wolfenbüttel, and in consequence of indictments as numerous as they were grave (especially from Lubeck, represented by his secretary), he was sentenced to death in September, 1537, and his body quartered. At the taking of the fortress of Wardenburg, Duke Christian captured Marx Meyer, his brother Gerard Meyer, and a notorious Danish priest. These three were executed by the sword, quartered, and their bodies shown on the rack to the great satisfaction of the Danish people and the honest Lubeckenaars so long oppressed.
Nicholas Nering, a citizen of those parts, had sold to Johannes Krossen a farm with all its live stock and belongings, but, according to him, he had reserved for himself the foal of a handsome mare, if it should happen to be a colt, and a colt it turned out to be. At the period of its weaning, in 1535, he claimed the young animal. Krossen contested the claim. Thereupon, according to the evidence of his step-son, Peter Klatteville, who was about fifteen, and whose evidence was recorded in the black register of the court, Nering, not to be outdone, mounted his black horse, the lad trotting barefooted by his side, and both went at five a.m. to Krossen's farm. Nering got the colt out of the stables while the youngster kept watch. Nering hid his spoil for three weeks at Schwartz's, at the new mill, and after having made Peter promise to keep the secret on the penalty of the most terrible punishment.
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