Arrival at Greifswald--Betrothal and Marriage--An old Custom--I am in Peril--Martin Weyer, Bishop

I reached Greifswald on January 1, 1551, at nightfall. I was thirty years old. After I had written to Stralsund for my parents' consent, and had conferred with my Greifswald relatives and those of my future wife, the invitations for the betrothal were sent out on both sides. On January 5, in the chapel of the Grey Friars, at eight in the morning, Master Matthew Frubose made a solemn promise to give me his daughter, in the presence of the burgomasters, councillors, and a large number of notable burghers. Burgomaster Bunsow gave me a loan of two hundred florins.

The worshipful council had been obliged to suppress the dances at weddings, because the manner in which the men whirled the matrons and damsels round and round had become indecent. Those who infringed the order, no matter what was their condition, were cited before the minor court. It so happened that a week after our betrothal my intended and I were invited to a wedding at one of the principal families. When the wedding banquet was over, my betrothed came back to me, and, being ignorant of the council's orders, I danced with her, but most quietly, and a very short time. Notwithstanding this, an officer of the court came the next morning and summoned me to appear. At the first blush I could scarcely credit such an instance of incivility. Moreover, it boded ill, and I could not help foreseeing struggles, animosities, and persecution in this manner of bidding me welcome by a satellite of the hangman after an absence of eight years. Does not the poet say, Omina principiis semper inesse solent? I was very indignant, and ran to the eldest of the burgomasters. He pointed out to me that urgent and severe proceedings were necessary against the coarse licence of the students and others, but my case being entirely different, he promised to stay all proceedings.

I had not said a word about the dowry, and least of all had I inquired as to its amount; but my sister told me that my father-in-law gave his daughter two hundred florins. I made no answer. My chief concern was to get a wife. According to my brother's calculations, one hundred marks yearly would suffice to keep the house. Experience told me a different story.

I went to Stralsund for my wedding clothes and other necessary things. My father gave me some sable furs he had had for many years. I bought the cloth for the coat as well as the rest of my marriage outfit. My father had put in pledge the things I intended offering to my bride. I was obliged to redeem them. Among several other objects there was a piece of velvet for collarettes for my betrothed and my sister. At Frankfurt-on-the-Main I had bought a dagger ornamented with silver. Those various purchases exhausted my stock of money.

Although I had invited my numerous Stralsund relatives on both sides in good time, only Johannes Gottschalk, my old schoolfellow and colleague at the chancellerie of Wolgast, came to my wedding. He made me a present of a golden florin of Lubeck.

My marriage took place at Greifswald on February 2, 1551. As I was one of the last to "mount the stone," it may be interesting to give an account of that old custom. At three in the afternoon, and just before the celebration of the marriage service, the bridegroom was conducted to the market place between two burgomasters, or, in default of these, between the two most prominent wedding guests. At one of the angles of the place there was a square block of stone, on which the bridegroom took up his position, the guests ranging themselves in good order about fifty paces away. The pipers gave him a morning greeting lasting about five or six minutes, after which he resumed his place in the wedding procession. The purpose of the ceremony, according to tradition, was to give everybody an opportunity of addressing some useful remark to the bridegroom at that critical moment. These remarks were often more forcible and outspoken than flattering, and were not always distinguished by their strict adherence to the truth.

Johannes Bunsow, the son of the burgomaster, had been a suitor for my wife's hand; the preliminary arrangements to the marriage were as good as completed, and the invitations to the betrothal festivities were about to be sent out when everything was broken off, in consequence of the exacting demands of the proud wife of the burgomaster from the parents of the girl. The burgomaster's wife was considerably upset about all this. It so happened that on the wedding-day at the breakfast my wife was seated between the dames Bunsow and Gruwel. My father, who was her cavalier, sat opposite. All at once, the burgomaster's wife said to the bride, "Eat, my girl, eat, for this is the happiest day of thy life. I had made other plans for thy happiness, but thou didst not fall in with them. The culprit is either thy brother or his wife. Keep thy husband at a distance, for if thou givest him an inch he will take an ell; therefore, be 'stand-offish' with him in the beginning." At these words Dame Gruwel exclaimed: "Good heaven, what sad advice! Make thy mind easy, child; there are many happy days in store for thee."

Eighteen months later, as we were standing talking in the street, Peter and Matthew Schwarte and I, Dame Bunsow who went by, spoke to us. With the admirable volubility that distinguishes the women of Greifswald, she had a word for all of us. "Dear cousins," she said to the Schwartes, "how do you do? how are your wives? and how are your children?" Then, turning to me, "And how are you, cousin? How is your wife? I need not ask you about the children. You are having a good year of it. In these hard days one may as well save the bread." "That's farthest from our thoughts," I answered, "but that's because my wife is not 'stand-offish' enough with me." She knew what I was driving at, turned crimson, and went away without saying another word.

A week after my marriage, on the Sunday, I returned to Stettin, as had been agreed upon. It was a fatiguing, not to say dangerous journey, because of the inundations. From the moment of my marriage the devil seemed to have declared war against me. It was, I suppose, his revenge for my having disappointed him by leaving the court, where I might have proved of great service. On the other hand, his Master, our Lord and Saviour, took me under His protection. A very heavy snowfall had been succeeded by a sudden thaw, the effect of a warm and continuous rain. As a consequence, the overflowing of banks everywhere, the mill-stream near UkermÜnde had swept away the roadway at several spots. On the very day of my departure, a van laden, among other things, with a case of sealed letters, registers, documents and parchments, had passed that way, coming from Wolgast. Our travellers, knowing that they were on the high road, went ahead. Suddenly the horses fell into a deep rut; the cart was overturned, and only by a mighty effort did beasts and men escape drowning. They had to spend the night at UkermÜnde to dry the letters.

I came to the spot of the accident in the afternoon. I was gaily trotting along, for I was following the highway and the fresh traces of the vehicle from Wolgast. My good fortune befriended me in the shape of a miller's lad who was standing by the water. He called out and showed me a little lower down, to the right, the way to a small burgh, having passed which I should find a long road and a bridge, the only available passage left. Though night was gathering fast, I ventured into the sodden road, beaten by big muddy waves. My horse was soon breast deep in the water, the force of the current threatening at every moment to sweep it off its legs. The poor beast was perfectly conscious of its danger, and reared whenever it felt the ground slipping away. Finally, the journey was accomplished without serious mishap, though it was completely dark when I got to the inn at UkermÜnde, where the travellers from Wolgast and the host himself could scarcely believe their eyes.

I felt confident of having faithfully served Duke Barnim; I was, therefore, justified in my expectation of a princely remuneration. Heaven forbid that I should impute unfairness to this excellent gentleman, but part of the counsellors connected by birth with the people of Stolpe, were dissatisfied with the issue of the lawsuit, while others, such as Martin Weyer, had disgraced themselves by assisting Schwallenberg in his intrigues. In short, they discussed me so well that the prince only allowed me five and twenty florins as a gratification, while Duke Philip, whose business had not given me a hundredth part of the worry, presented me with five and twenty crowns. The court at Wolgast had waited to see what Stettin should do. Later on it employed me in a great many cases yielding large fees and spreading my name throughout the country. From Wolgast they sent me for my wedding a wild boar and four deer; at Stettin, the marshal told me that they intended to do likewise, but no one had paid any further attention to the matter.

On returning from Stettin night overtook me on the heath. It was infested with wolves, boars, and other dangerous animals; moreover, strange apparitions and terrible noises were often seen and heard there. I saw nothing; I heard nothing; and, besides, felt not in the least afraid.

I have already mentioned that the discussion with regard to the bishopric of Cammin had been brought before the Imperial Diet.^[65] Canon Martin Weyer, the delegate of the chapter, was on most friendly terms with the Bishop of Arras; they had studied together at Bologna. In the course of their discussions on the subject, they put themselves this question: If the deposition of the bishop is to be persisted in, where can we find a candidate agreeable to the emperor, and not too antipathetic to the dukes of Pomerania? Thereupon his Grace of Arras conceived the idea of proposing Weyer himself. At first, the latter opposed the project altogether, objecting that he was not of the popish religion. His interlocutor assured him, however, that there was a means of arranging with the legate to obtain a dispensation. Briefly, when restored to favour, the dukes of Pomerania asked the emperor to accept as Bishop of Cammin Martin Weyer, their faithful subject, servitor and counsellor, and besides, a saintly man, almost an angel. He soon laid bare the bottom of his heart, honores enim mutant mores et magistratus virum docet. At the manifest instigation of the legate and of the Bishop of Arras, the new prelate sent his secretary to Rome to render homage to the pope, who afterwards granted the bulls in optim formÂ.

I fancied the time had come for Martin Weyer largely to remunerate the services I had rendered him as his solicitor at the Imperial Chamber during two years, but to my written requests he answered with very bad grace when he answered at all. I must admit that having been for a twelvemonth or so Weyer's companion at Augsburg, and during the journey to the Low Countries, I did, perhaps, not treat him with sufficient ceremony according to his taste. I deemed it sufficient to address him as "Your Grace," without the "serenissime," and that vexed him. Besides, he failed to digest the defeat of Schwallenberg and his gang, not the least accessory to which he had been.

I have seen at the chancellerie of Wolgast a missive from Weyer to Duke Philip couched in the following terms: "From the authentic copy herewith of the papal bulls, your Grace" (he did not add "serenissime") "will perceive that his Holiness, yielding to his inclination for my person even more than to your Grace's recommendation, has entrusted me with the spiritual government of Cammin." The affair ended in a convocation of one day at Cammin, where Weyer was assisted by Dr. Tauber, of Wittenberg, invested with the title of chancellor. It was positively stated that he had promised him fifteen hundred golden florins. I went to the convocation with the delegates of Greifswald to try to drag something from the new bishop, and finally, Canon von Wolde succeeded in getting thirty crowns for me. I had therefore an opportunity of witnessing a sitting of the diet.

Two tables covered with black velvet cloths had been placed in the hall fifteen paces apart. At the one sat Duke Bogislaw, acting for himself and in the name of his brothers, at that time absent from the country. Standing before him were the Marshal Ulrich Schwerin, the Chancellor Citzewitz, and several counsellors and delegates of the States. The bishop occupied the other table, Tauber standing by his side; and in front the episcopal counsellors and the delegates of the chapter. Each party exposed at length the rights with which it was invested. Citzewitz having said, "The princes are lords of the chapter," Dr. Tauber replied, "Yes, sed secundum quid? His Grace," turning towards the bishop, "is in plenary possession of the right of administration of the chapter." Ulrich Schwerin, who was not well versed in letters, asked the meaning of secundum quid. "It's a term of contempt," said Citzewitz; "it's tantamount to saying that the dukes are princes like those on the playing cards." Schwerin's angry face was worth watching. "A plague upon the scoundrel for treating our princes like playing card personages." From that time Tauber was known throughout the land as the doctor secundum quid.

After a most lengthy disputation, each party presented its formula for the convocation of the bishop to the diets and sittings. That of the princes was as follows:

"To our venerable chief prelate, counsellor, dear and faithful Seignor Martin, Bishop of Cammin. Our greetings, dear, venerable and beloved! The welfare of our countries and of the common fatherland forbidding us from further delay in the convocation of a diet, we have decided to hold it on the ... in our city of Stettin, where we graciously request you to be present on the said day, to hear our intentions."

As for the bishop, his formula was indited somewhat differently:

"To the high and venerable in God, the Seignor Martin, Bishop of Cammin, our signal friend. Our friendly greeting, high and venerable in God, and signal friend. The welfare of our countries and of our common fatherland forbidding us from further delay in the convocation of a diet, we have decided to hold it on the ... in our city of Stettin, where we amicably request you to be present on the said day."

I never knew the issue of the debate, and took no trouble to find out, as at the conclusion of the first sitting I embraced an opportunity of returning home by carriage. I am disposed to think that the chapter had better remain under the authority of the House of Pomerania. Princely titles are best suited to born princes; people of mediocre condition do not know how to bear them. They carry their heads too high, and their would-be magnificence exceeds all bounds.