Chapter V: Part 5

The princess returned the greeting and enthusiastic acclamations of the people with the kindliest expression in her countenance and deportment. Each time she turned her joyous glance to the right from the car it met the king's; he rode by the side of the ladies' car on his white steed, with his plumed hat in his hand, and, almost overwhelmed with joy, appeared to divide his affection between his loyal people and his bride, while his whole soul's happiness seemed to beam forth from his eye, whether it rested on the car or on the acclaiming crowds. Yet even in this happy mood it was not possible for him to repress a fleeting sigh, and a cloud seemed as it were to pass over the clear heaven in his face whenever he heard his brother's hollow voice from the opposite side of the ladies' car, and discerned a manifest expression of rancour and wounded pride in the restless look and passionate glow of Junker Christopher's countenance. Christopher rode between the brothers of the Swedish King Birger, the brave, chivalrous Duke Eric of Sudermania, and Duke Valdemar of Finland, who both attracted much attention by their manly beauty, their courteous bearing, and splendid attire. Each time Christopher heard them addressed by the title of duke, and himself only as the "high-born junker," he apparently strove, but in vain, to hide, by a bitter smile, how deeply he felt himself aggrieved and neglected by his brother, who had not raised him in rank and title, although he stood in the same relative position to the King of Denmark as the Swedish dukes[6] to the King of Sweden.

The young King Birger himself, who could as little vie with his chivalrous brothers in presence and dignity as in mind and bodily strength, followed the queen's car in an easy travelling vehicle, in which he sat, in his costly purple mantle, by a young lady's side. It was his betrothed bride, Princess Merete of Denmark, King Eric's sister, who, according to the early contract of betrothal, had, while yet a child, been received into the royal family of Sweden as Queen Helvig's foster-daughter, and had not seen her mother or brothers since the marriage of Queen Agnes with Count Gerhard. The Danish princess now spoke the Swedish language like her mother tongue, and appeared already conscious of her dignity as Sweden's future queen; she possessed, however, neither the beauty nor the attractive mildness of Princess Ingeborg, and it was remarked she bore a greater resemblance to the junker and her unhappy father than to King Eric and the fair Queen Agnes.

The Swedish regent, Marsk Thorkild Knudsen, accompanied his sovereign on horseback with almost regal splendour. He rode between Drost Aage and Count Henrik of Mecklenborg, who often nodded gaily to each other; and the festive rejoicing of the fair summer's day was not less evident among the gallant train of knights which followed the Swedish monarch.

At the head of the Danish chivalry rode the powerful, but little popular, Marsk Oluffsen. With his rough austere visage and blunt bearing he formed a striking contrast to the agile, slender knight Helmer Blaa, who gaily bestrode his favourite re-found Arabian, and often unconsciously nodded assent, by way of confirmation, when he heard the populace laud him or his horse; occasionally, however, he glanced rather doubtfully towards the king, as if he desired not as yet to be noticed by him, and occasionally gave Drost Aage a monitory look. Beside him rode a quiet ecclesiastic on a palfrey; it was the king's confessor. Master Petrus de Dacia; his eye often dwelt on the cloudless summer heaven, and he seemed, in his calm satisfaction, to think more of heavenly and godly things, and of a distant unseen beauty, than of the worldly pomp by which he was surrounded.

Helsingborg castle could hardly accommodate the numerous trains and wedding guests. A couple of hours after the entrance of the procession the bridal train was seen to proceed with still greater splendour to the church. Before the six white horses of the princess's gilded car pranced the two white tournament steeds which the king had been so displeased at missing from Sorretslov castle. The two stable boys who had unweariedly tracked the steps of the horses down to Stockholm, now skipped joyously by the side of the noble animals. When the king beheld the two well-known palfreys perform their trained step before the bride's car, he was heartily pleased and surprised. Drost Aage instantly informed him, in a few words, of Sir Helmer's bold adventure in Copenhagen, and that he was here among his bridegroom's-men. The king looked back, and recognised his briskest knight. "In the saddle he rides so free," he said, with a menacing gesture, to Sir Helmer, but with a gay smile and a nod of approbation.

In the church the marriage was solemnised, with all the rites of the Romish church, by the Bishops of Aarhuus and Ribe, while the provincial prior Olaus, together with the assembled monks, chaunted with their deep-toned voices in full chorus a "Gloria in excelsis." While the one bishop joined the hands of the royal pair, and pronounced upon them the church's benediction, the other placed the queenly crown of Denmark on the light, beautiful tresses of the bride, and now a mighty tide of trumpet sound poured into the choral song, and the people joined in the solemn chorus. A fairer sight had never been beheld by Danish or Swedish man than when the royal pair, with tears of devotion and joy in their eyes, and hand in hand, sank down, kneeling on the bridal stool before the high and brilliantly-lighted altar, and nearly the whole bridal train, together with the enthusiastic crowd of spectators, knelt down, as if moved by one common impulse, in audible prayer and devotion.

The trumpets ceased and there was a breathless silence, while the bridal pair, in clear and distinct tones, pronounced the vow of unalterable love and constancy to the end of their lives. The deep amen of the aged provincial prior was re-echoed by the monks and by many among the people. A "Te Deum," with an accompaniment of bassoons and trumpets, concluded the church's festival.

After the blessing, the deeply affected pair were embraced by their nearest relatives in the high choir. At last Prince Christopher also approached his royal brother, and seemed preparing for a cold and forced salutation; but at this moment it seemed as if the spirit of darkness which had so long threatened the brothers from afar had suddenly come between them, and shot up into a giant. They gazed in silence, almost in dismay, upon each other, and let their arms sink; it seemed as though the gentle tear in the king's eye congealed and froze at his brother's frightful coldness.

"No falsehood in this holy hour, Christopher, if thy soul and thy salvation are dear to thee!" he whispered in a tone of stern admonition; "brothers now in the sight of God! or--may God forgive me!--enemies to death!"

Christopher bowed in silence, and turned pale; his lips appeared to move, but no sound issued from them. The king turned from him with a flashing glance; but it seemed as if a glimpse in the open heaven suddenly extinguished the fearful gleam of rising wrath and grief in the king's expressive countenance as he turned round and beheld his gently agitated bride tenderly stretch out her arms towards him; he pressed her eagerly to his heart, and the mild tear again glistened in his eye. "This heart, however, thou hast given me, all-merciful Creator!" he whispered, "and I have a brother at thy right hand who hates me not."

"My Eric! what is this?" asked the bride in astonishment, and gazing into his eyes; but she observed his uplifted eye resting in confidence on the crucifix over the door of the choir, and proceeded in silence and in tranquil joy through the aisle of the church, leaning on Eric's arm at the head of the bridal train. The king was afterwards calm and cheerful, but unusually pensive. No one, however, appeared to have remarked the painful feeling which had disturbed his happiness.

CHAP. XI.

The attention of the people, was now turned to the tournament, which was to commence a few hours after the ceremonies of the church were ended. The spacious lists were surrounded by a countless crowd, and the whole castle-hill was equally thronged with spectators. The raised benches placed in the form of stairs around the lists were occupied with gaily-attired ladies, rejoicing in eager anticipation of the spectacle. At last the clang of trumpets announced the arrival of the royal party. All the royal ladies, with their distinguished train, took their seats in the gallery, which was hung with scarlet. There the queen of the feast, the lovely and royal bride, again appeared, with the diadem encircling her fair tresses; she took her place on the seat of honour, between her mother and Queen Helvig, amid the joyous acclamations of the people. King Birger sat at his mother's side beside Princess Merete; he was present only as a spectator of the tournament, in which he purposed not to take a part. Thorkild Knudsen and a number of elderly Swedish courtiers stood near him, with Count Gerhard, who no longer partook in this diversion; but the young Danish sovereign, with the Swedish dukes and other princely guests, remained on horseback without the lists among the knights of the tournament. On a raised seat under the royal gallery sat the judges of the combat, who were all old and experienced knights; and within the lists walked the heralds and pursuivants in their festal attire, with white staves in their hands, to watch over the observance of order and usage. A large band of trumpeters and horn-players opened the chivalrous diversion with the music of the national tournament song.

Amid the chorus in which the people joined,

"When the Danish knights ride o'er the ground,
Their horses tramp with a thund'ring sound."

all the knights galloped briskly into the lists, and ranged themselves for the encounter. The tournament then commenced. Many lances were broken amid the shouts of the bystanders. Dangerous accidents seldom occurred in this combat with blunt lances, although a knight might easily indeed sprain an arm or a leg by a too headlong fall from the saddle. Many knights displayed great agility and dexterity in the management of horse and lance; but Marsk Oluffsen, Count Henrik of Mecklenborg, and Sir Helmer Blaa, bore off every prize. A veiled lady often waved encouragement and approbation to Sir Helmer; she threw gloves, kerchiefs, and silk ribands down to him from the ladies' gallery. He bowed courteously. His shield bore the motto, "For St. Anna and St. Eric," the guardian saints of his beloved wife and his sovereign, in whose honour he wielded his lance on this occasion. In his last career he unhorsed the Marsk;--the lady now threw her veil down to him. It was his young and beautiful wife, the Lady Anna, who, by her unlooked-for presence here, surprised and delighted him beyond expression; as soon as he recognised her he flung up his lance high in the air in a transport of joy. He forgot to receive the prize he had won, but rushed like the stormer of a castle up into the gallery to embrace her, to the great amusement of the spectators, and even of the grave judges of the tournament, who readily forgave him this little deviation from due order and usage.

Among the Swedish nobles and knights who took a part in the tournament, Duke Eric of Sudermania was pre-eminent; no knight could keep his seat before his lance; and his sister, the young queen of the festival, rejoiced greatly at the honour won here by her best-loved and most chivalrous brother. Duke Valdemar of Finland also shone in this diversion, and especially sought to display his boldness and daring when the fears of Thorkild Knudsen's fair daughter were excited for him. Each time a combatant fell on the sand the trumpets sounded in honour of the victor, and the people shouted, while the vanquished knight hastened to salute his conqueror with a courteous bow, without complaining or showing any sign of vexation. Drost Aage, who was wont to be a victor at all these sports of arms, had not as yet sufficiently recovered his strength, after his dangerous fall at Kallundborg, to be able to take a share in this day's tournament; he was besides, even amid his joy, at the king's successful love, in an unusually pensive mood; he had now renounced all hope of seeing Marsk Stig's unfortunate daughters released from their state imprisonment. The king appeared also remarkably thoughtful, although deep and heart-felt joy beamed in his countenance each time his eye met Queen Ingeborg's loving glance from the gallery. His thoughts seemed often to wander from the scene before him, and he looked not with his customary eagerness and interest on this his favourite diversion, at which he this day, as bridegroom and awarder of the prizes, only purposed to be a spectator. Duke Eric of Langeland, who was celebrated as one of the most invincible tournament knights, appeared not to have found any opponent among the younger lords and knights against whom he cared to enter the lists since Duke Eric of Sudermania had quitted them, having already broken the full number of lances necessary for gaining the highest prize. Junker Christopher looked, with gloomy disdain, on a spectacle which he regarded as the worn-out pastime of childish vanity. He knew himself how to wield his lance with power and skill, but seemed to consider it beneath his dignity to contend for a tournament prize, which was to be awarded by his brother, or to measure himself with any one below the rank of king. By degrees King Eric's youthful countenance became animated as he looked on the encounters. His white steed curvetted under him; and as soon as the last prize was awarded he briskly seized a gilded lance, and cleared the lists by a daring leap, to the great delight of the admiring spectators. "Shall we venture a tilt together in honour of our ladies, sir cousin?" he called gaily to Duke Eric of Langeland. The gigantic Duke of Langeland bowed courteously, and rode into the lists.

"Zounds! Longshanks! Longshanks!" was re-echoed from one to the other, among the curious bystanders, and all stood in breathless expectation. The king caused his helmet and cuirass to be brought; a rose-coloured silk riband fluttered down to him from the queen's gallery; he fastened it to his helmet, gaily waved his hand to his young queen, and gallopped to his station. The Duke fastened a knot of blue riband on his helmet. With great dexterity and martial skill the two royal combatants now rushed towards each other, lance in rest, at full gallop. The king wielded his lance adroitly and parried his adversary's thrust. The Duke's lance flew from his hand, and was driven far forward on the course; but the king's lance broke against the duke's breastplate, without shaking his seat in the saddle.

The duke's as well as the king's skill and dexterity were greatly admired; but many expressions of the people's partiality for their chivalrous young monarch were distinctly heard. "Had but the king's lance stood the shock," said one young fellow, "we should surely have seen Longshanks bite the dust."

"No wonder yon fellow kept his seat," growled a seaman, "he can well-nigh anchor in the sand with his long shanks."

The trumpets sounded, the combatants saluted each other with courtesy, and the diversion now seemed to be ended; but the music continued, amid general acclamation and a hum of voices.

"See whether the junker dares risk his jerkin! No, _he_ does wisest in looking on," said a bold, loud-tongued voice close behind Junker Christopher.

"_He_ Would sooner let his true men break their necks in earnest, than venture his own in jest," muttered another.

Junker Christopher appeared to have heard these speeches, for his face flushed crimson. While the trumpets were still sounding, and the king was about to quit the lists, the junker suddenly set spurs to his heavy horse, and rode towards him, with lance in hand.

"If I see aright, my brother would also try a tilt with me," said the king starting, "Well then, strike up the tournament song, herald!--a new lance, pursuivant!--but not of glass like the first!"

The horn-players struck up the ancient, well-known strain. The pursuivant presented the king a lance with a broad piece of board at the end. Attention was again anxiously excited, and the young queen appeared somewhat uneasy. The king had taken his place; his countenance was not so placid and cheerful as before; his white steed snorted and pranced impatiently. The junker had retired to some distance, and seemed not as yet to have completed his preparations.

"Now haste, Christopher!" called the king; "let us be brisk, as beseems our festival!" They now quitted their respective stations. The king rode forward in a stately ambling pace, apparently that he might not avail himself of his superiority and greater experience; but the junker dashed his spurs into his horse's side, and rushed forward with wild impetuosity. The king stood almost still, on perceiving with astonishment that his brother's lance was couched directly against his uncovered face. "Where would'st thou strike? against the breast! between the four limbs!" he shouted, but it seemed as though the junker neither heard nor saw; he continued to rush forward in the same direction, with flushed cheek and staring eye. But it was now remarked that the king became greatly incensed,--"Down then!" cried Eric, and at the same moment Christopher's lance was dashed aside, and the junker himself fell backwards out of the saddle. The king instantly sprang from his horse, and assisted him to rise, while the trumpets sounded and the air re-echoed with the shouts of the exulting spectators--"Thou art not bruised?" asked the king. "In what fashion dost thou couch thy lance?"

"Ill against you my mighty liege and vanquisher!" muttered Christopher, "but that is all in due order--hear how the people screech for joy at the fair spectacle you have afforded them," he added with bitterness and in a lowered tone, "had I broken my neck the festivity would have been complete."

"Let not this little mischance vex thee," said the king, "such may happen to the best of us--another time I may have a worse fate."

"That is very possible, your grace!" answered the junker in a deep and almost choking voice, greeting the king with measured courtesy, as he retreated and retired. He instantly vaulted upon his horse, and rode off through the noisy crowds, who laughed loudly, and made merry over the ridiculous position in which the junker had thrown his legs in the air, on receiving the thrust of the king's lance.

Thus ended the tournament; but the acclamations with which the king was followed to the castle bridge, appeared this time to please him but little. He thought he had seen a fire in his brother's eye which filled him with horror.

CHAP. XII.

After the tournament, the king bestowed in the knights' hall, with the usual ceremonies, the honour of knighthood on some squires, who had distinguished themselves in Marsk Stig's feud, and the Norwegian war. Palfreys, splendid aims, and other honourable gifts, were also distributed to the princely wedding guests, and some of the Swedish nobles who had accompanied Princess Ingeborg from Stockholm. The king was particularly desirous on this occasion to give Marsk Thorkild Knudsen a proof of his special regard, and presented him with the knightly sword of state, which he had this day worn himself. "Wear this at your country's high festivals, noble Sir Marsk," he said, "but should I ever--which the Almighty forbid!--forget the compact and the friendship with the noble Swedish nation and its king, of which this day hath given me and Denmark the fairest pledge! then turn it against me, as you turned your own good sword against the heathen Kareles." Thorkild[7] acknowledged this mark of royal favour, in an animated and enthusiastic speech; he congratulated Denmark, as well as Sweden, on a new and happy era, when the swords of their princes and knights should only be drawn on each other in the honourable rivalry of the tilt and tournay, but when required, flash like the northern lights and flaming comets, against the common foes of the north.

At last, the king produced a document, to which, by a green silken string, was attached the great royal seal in wax impression, with the three crowned leopards in the shield, on one side, and the king's image on the throne and in royal robes, on the other. Without turning to that side of the throne which was Junker Christopher's station, and towards which Eric, during the whole ceremony, had not once glanced, he said in a loud voice, and apparently with effort, "Junker Christopher Ericson of Denmark! step forth and receive a commemorative gift from my hand, on this the happiest day of my life! I have, out of sincere brotherly love and good-will, and with the assent of my council, three weeks since, signed and sealed this document, which is now for the first time made public, and which nominates thee, Duke of Estland, with all feudal rights and privileges. May the Lord grant his blessing on it!" After he had pronounced these words in a clear and audible voice, it seemed as though an oppressive weight had been removed from his spirits, and he looked calmly and cheerfully to the side from whence he expected to see his brother step forward; but the junker's place was vacant, none of those present had seen him since the tournament. The junker's master of the household, therefore, stepped forth on the part of his lord, and received the royal investiture, while he bent his knee before the king; he then rose, bowed low, and departed to seek the prince.

Prince Christopher did not appear at the marriage feast. Some reported they had seen him ride like a madman, at full gallop, through the chase, immediately after the tournament.

The prince had not returned as yet on the commencement of the evening festivities. The castle resounded with music and mirth. The doors of the knights' hall and the great antechamber were thrown open to admit persons of all ranks to the dance and masque. The amusements here, as at the merry carnival, consisted in whimsical mummings, and scenic representations, in which the spectators beheld, without displeasure, the most grotesque mixture of sacred, and profane, subjects. Even a number of disguised ecclesiastics took part in this diversion, and enacted what was called "a mystery," or a biblical farce; in which a German harlequin constantly cracked his jests, while the fight between David and Goliath was represented, to the great delight of the populace, who thought to discern, in King David, an allusion to the king, and in the gigantic Goliath recognized a resemblance, now to Duke Longshanks, now to the Junker; but as soon as the Drost noticed the unlucky interpretation of the farce, he ordered these masks away. When Eric stepped forth among the dancers in the antechamber, the young maidens sang the ballad, with which he was usually greeted, and which had now become a kind of a national song. With a feeling of enthusiasm for their youthful sovereign, and allusion to one of the most romantic adventures which had occurred in his childhood--they sang gaily:

"O'er Ribe's bridge the dance is led,
The castle it is won!
In broidered shoe the knights they tread,
For young Eric this feat is done!"[8]

The king listened with pleasure to the lay, and talked with Aage of his beloved Drost Peter Hessel, of whom this song always reminded him; and when Count Gerhard heard the ballad of Ribehuus, he tramped gaily into the ranks of the dancers, in joyous remembrance of that event, at which he had himself been present.

The king's mother and Queen Helvig now entered the antechamber, with the young and lovely bride, and the joy of the people was uttered yet more loudly. The ballad-singers instantly began the ballad of Queen Dagmar's bridal; all the maidens joined in it, and the dancers moved to the tune. The king stepped forward, with his bride, at the head of the troop of dancers. At last the maidens sang:

"'Great joy there was o'er Denmark's land,
When Dagmar stepped upon the strand;
Both burgher and peasant then lived in peace,
From tax and ploughpenny-yoke had ease,
From Bohmerland[9] the lady crossed the seas!"

But as they were going to sing the last verse, the ballad-singers took up the lay and sang:

"'Again there's joy o'er Denmark's land,'
Fair Ingeborg comes unto our strand!
Like Waldemar Seier, King Eric hath found
A Dagmar to bring us on Danish ground;
From Sweden's land so far renowned!"

This verse was repeated amid loud and joyous acclamations.

"Thanks, good people! thanks!" said the king, with pleased emotion; "if it please the Lord, and our blessed Lady, Valdemar's and Dagmar's days shall return."

The young queen feelingly greeted the many loyal persons who surrounded her.

Amid the general rejoicing and festive stir, there was no one beside Drost Aage who saw anything suspicious in the continuance of the mask; but among the great number of maskers, he had especially noticed two, who frequently made their way nearly up to the king, and disappeared again. They were dressed up according to the ideas which the lower classes entertained of mermen; their painted faces were hidden by green silken hair, and they wore coats of glittering silver scales. Their restless deportment appeared suspicious to Aage, who paid close attention to every movement of these masks--but his suspicion soon vanished; a pretty little fishermaiden came to meet the second mask and the pair soon danced so lovingly together, that Aage conjectured a little love affair was in progress. "Why cannot I thus dance here with _her_?" he sighed, and his thoughts travelled to the maiden's tower at Wordinborg. He looked with interest on the fair fisher-maiden, who with her long hair, and her joyous sparkling eyes, bore a faint resemblance to the Lady Margaretha's capricious sister Ulrica. "Alas, no! poor maidens!" sighed the Drost, stepping out into the hall balcony--"they are now in the gloomy tower over yonder; _they_ hear and see nought of these rejoicings--and yet they are innocent--it is injustice; crying injustice--in this matter he is stern and unyielding. To-night, however, he is mild, and joyous, and happy--who knows----." It seemed as if Aage was suddenly inspired by a bold hope; he returned into the antechamber, and approached the king, who took greater pleasure in being a spectator of the merriment of the lower orders in the antechamber than in looking on the more graceful and skilful dancing in the knights' hall. But the Drost presently once more beheld one of the frightful mermen figures near the king; his suspicions of this mask were again awakened, and he observed the glittering handle of a dagger between the silver scales on the merman's breast, on which his hand often rested when he approached Eric. Aage placed himself between the king and the intrusive mask, and asked, "Who art thou?"

"Rosmer[10]," said a strange, unknown voice--"ho, ho, ho!"--and the merman now sang in a hoarse tone:

"Home came Rosmer from the sea,
To curse he did begin:
My right hand's scent it warneth me
A christian man's within."

He then once more seized the hand of the fisher-maiden, and joined in the dance. The Drost looked after him with suspicion; he thought of the outlaws, and of the dishonoured Knight Kagge. The idea of this dangerous and audacious miscreant became so vivid in his imagination, that he seemed to recognise him in the merman, and almost in every mask. He made a signal to some halberdiers to keep an eye on the mask, and followed the king into the knights' hall. Here he also gave Count Henrik a hint of what he dreaded, and a numerous troop of halberdiers was soon stationed near the king; but neither he nor any of his guests observed that this was done with any special design. The Drost's scrutinising looks and the precautions which had been taken, did not, however, seem to have escaped all the guests. Shortly afterwards the well-known ballad of the "Merman and Agnete" was heard in the antechamber, and a dance was performed to it, in which the merman mask and the fisher-maiden were the principal performers. The merman only chimed in with the burden of the song, and repeated, in a wild, hoarse voice,

"Ho! ho! ho!
To the depths of the sea then lead her did he."

At last this masker and his partner departed: they danced out of the door, and down the great staircase into the court-yard of the castle, amid a crowd of disguised personages, who belonged to their party, and represented all kinds of sea-monsters. No one knew what had become of them: another dance began, and none concerned themselves any longer about these unsocial maskers; but the report afterwards spread among the people, that the masker was a real merman, who had carried off a maiden. Some even would have it that they had seen the glittering merman swim off with the maiden in his arms, in the clear moonlight.

CHAP. XIII.

It was a beautiful, calm summer evening. The dance and the mask were confined to the antechamber and the knights' hall. The national festival was celebrated with bonfires and torch-lights, with music and feasting, in the court-yard of the castle and the orchard, in the chase and on the tournament ground. The king showed himself wherever there was a joyous group assembled, most frequently conducting his lovely bride by the hand, and accompanied by his princely guests and several courtiers. They were everywhere welcomed with festive songs and acclamations. In the castle garden they were greeted by Master Rumelant and Master Poppe the strong, who, with solemn pathos, recited an elaborate and carefully-composed poem, in which they praised by turns the royal bridegroom and his bride, with the royal relatives of both, and all the nobles there present. The king thanked them with kindness for this well-meant homage, although the exaggerated praise and trite compliments did not suit his taste. But they were now surprised by a new and splendid spectacle--the bridal pair, and a number of children with wings fastened to their shoulders, who were to represent genii or angels, were led through the illuminated avenues to a remote part of the garden, from whence there was the most beautiful prospect over the Sound; here many hundred vessels burst on the sight, hung with lights in the form of crowns upon the masts. All that had excited so much astonishment at Skaenor fair, and had been regarded by the people as the work of witchcraft and sorcery, was also to be seen here, but exhibited with far more dazzling effect. Superstitious fear was banished by the report of the innocence of these artists, and all were prepared to view the spectacle as a display worthy of the festival. A number of rockets of different and beautiful colours were let off from boats and floating rafts; the air glittered with artificial suns, stars, and flaming wheels, which were mirrored in the calm expanse of the sea.

It was a new and wonder-stirring sight, and afforded great delight to the spectators. All ceremony and court etiquette were forgotten; each one eagerly sought that place from whence he could best behold the dazzling pageant.

Eric had retired with his bride to a shady spot in the garden, where the fair aerial spectacle appeared to the greatest advantage. The number of guests he had to entertain, as well as the festivities, had had hitherto prevented him from exchanging a single word with her without witnesses, and it was more than a year since they had last met. He now found himself for a moment alone with her, under the mild and lovely summer sky, in which the flaming stars seemed to dance round them in the air, while the festive din was hushed, and nothing was heard but the deep solemn notes of the horn-players, floating over the Sound from a distant hill. A torrent of thought and feeling seemed ready to gush from the king's heart. "My Ingeborg! my soul's beloved!" he exclaimed, embracing her, "now hath the merciful Lord heard my inmost prayer; he hath himself united us with an inviolable sacrament; no power in heaven or earth can part us now. I am indeed the happiest of human beings; were I omnipotent I would this hour make every soul around me happy."

"Eric! my beloved Eric!" answered Ingeborg, throwing her arms around his neck, "I have this day seen with thee into the Lord's clear heaven; the troth I plighted thee at the altar I shall repeat in my dying hour; my angel shall wake me with it at the last day----"

"Think not now of death," interrupted Eric, tenderly: "our life begins but now."

"One moment may contain a thousand lives," she continued, with, heartfelt emotion; "even were one of yon flying stars to crush me in thine arms I still should deem myself happy; thou wouldest still be mine, although mine eyes should close upon all the glories of this world."

They thus talked confidentially together, and poured out their inmost souls to each other, undisturbed by their princely guests, whose whole attention was turned upon the aerial spectacle. The happy bridal pair sank, with deep emotion, into each other's arms, and appeared to forget themselves and the whole world in a silent embrace. They were suddenly aroused by a loud explosion and a hissing sound in the air; they raised their eyes and saw with astonishment the mild beams of the star-light dimmed by the brightness of a large ball of fire, which ascended hissing in the air as though it would reach the heavens. It shone clear and bright above their heads; but as they were looking at it with admiration it exploded, and dispersed into many thousand small stars, which gradually waned and disappeared.

"Noble! beautiful!" said the king. "What cannot human wisdom and art effect! The learned artist who hath prepared us this show is certainly right in some things; the deep insight into human nature, which the great Pater Roger hath attained unto in our time, will probably in after times actually change the aspect of the world, and all which we now deem great and noble will perhaps seem but as dreaming and child's play to posterity: but how mutable all things are, my Ingeborg!" he added, almost with melancholy; "even the surpassing splendour of this evening will soon fade and vanish like yon dazzling aerial vision."

"But what there hath been of life and truth and soul, my Eric," answered Ingeborg, looking tenderly into his eyes; "is it not so, my heart's beloved? All which love hath brightened will surely never seem but as an idle dream. The world will surely never be so changed that all which is sacred and divine shall fade away like an airy vision."

"No assuredly, by all the holy men, no sound wisdom can ever lead to _that!_" said the king eagerly, and gazed awhile in thoughtful reverie on the serene and unchanging heaven. "Tell me, my beloved Ingeborg," he resumed again with tenderness, as he looked with calm delight on his lovely bride, and pressed her hand to his lips, "wilt thou not miss thy mother and thy brothers sadly here?"

"My mother and my brother Eric, most----," answered Ingeborg, with a gentle sigh; "but I am still with thee and my dear faithful Inge. My mother and brothers will often visit us, and we them--Shall we not? and thou wilt aid me and my mother in preserving love and peace between the brothers?"

"Truly! This I know," said the king, pressing her hand warmly; "love and peace between brothers are precious jewels, my Ingeborg; no crown outweighs their loss." He paused suddenly, as though he would not grieve his bride by uttering what clouded his happiness, even in this moment of bliss.

"Thou wouldest this day make every one happy if thou couldst," continued Ingeborg; "grant, then, in this fair hour, the first boon I would ask of thy heart!"

"Name it, my Ingeborg, and it is granted," said the king. "What couldest _thou_ ask of me which I could deny thee? What is thy wish?--say on!"

"Freedom for every sorrowing captive in thy kingdom who at this hour repent their crime, or suffer while innocent."

"Innocent!" repeated the king hastily; "none who are innocent suffer in chains and in prison here--that I know. What can inspire thee with such thoughts?"

"Guilty or guiltless!" answered Ingeborg, taking his hand. "In the sight of the All-righteous no one is wholly guiltless, and yet he pardons us all for his dear Son's sake, and for the sake of his eternal mercy. Pardon thy foes, my Eric--pardon them for the sake of God's infinite love! Give the unhappy captives freedom for the sake of eternal freedom! Give peace to the outlaws for the sake of everlasting peace in God's kingdom!"

There was a crimson flush on the king's cheek--his eyes flashed--his breast heaved violently--he abruptly dropped the hand of his bride, and clenched his own, almost convulsively, against his breast. "I swore an oath, by my father's bloody head, in Viborg church," he said, in a deep, low tone, "that oath I must keep, or perish eternally; my father's murderers I can never pardon--to none of _them_ can I grant peace while mine eyes behold the light of day!"

"Not even their kindred and children, who have had no share in their crime?" asked Ingeborg, anxiously. "Be not severe! be not unmerciful! Liberate Marsk Stig's daughters from the prison at Wordingborg, for my prayers' sake!"

"Thou hast named a name which stirs up my inmost soul, from whomsoever I may hear it," said the king gloomily, with his eyes fixed on the ground; "the offspring of that traitor are my deadly foes as he was my father's; yet," he continued, and raised his head, "for my _own_ sake I will not hate and persecute any one; for thy prayers' sake, I can show mercy to those who do but hate and conspire against _me_; but, by all that is holy! those who laid bloody hands on my father, yon dark St. Cecilia's night, may God forgive if it be possible--_I_ never can!"

Ingeborg stood almost dismayed at his vehemence, and scarcely dared to look at him.

"Have I frighted thee, my Ingeborg!" continued Eric, with more calmness, again taking her hand. "Forgive me! There is one chord in my soul which sounds terrible when struck, wake it not again! Marsk Stig's daughters shall be liberated tomorrow, at thy entreaty; but Denmark they must leave.--Come, let us join the others!"

"Thanks, thanks! Thou dear, impetuous Eric!" exclaimed Ingeborg, joyfully, once more throwing her arms tenderly and confidingly around his neck; "they may then wend free out of thy kingdom? They look not for aught beside. More no one can reasonably demand. Thou dost not only gladden me by this on my bridal day; but a noble and faithful soul besides, whom thou truly lovest."

"Who?"

"The Drost, the quiet, melancholy Aage!"

"Did he entreat thee to ask that boon?"

"Yes!--but he entreated me not _exactly_ to tell thee he had."

"Hum! Aage! should he?--yet no! in love he can scarcely be--he dreams more of heavenly angels than earthly ones--and truly! for _that_ description of angels he is too good. Come, my Ingeborg! They will have missed us!"

They returned to the company, who were still admiring the beautiful illumination on board the vessels, and the fireworks, which became more and more brilliant.

While the king and his guests repaired to the gardens of the castle, Drost Aage stood on Helsingborg quay, and beheld three large boats, filled with maskers in the most grotesque costumes, row off with all possible speed towards a foreign ship which lay in the harbour, and which soon hoisted sail and disappeared in the moonlight with the adventurous wedding guests. When the Drost afterwards joined the company in the castle garden, he missed the king and his bride, and searched for them in great uneasiness, in the dusky avenues. Near to the spot where Eric stood with the princess, he saw one of the two suspicious merman maskers lurking among the trees, with a cross-bow in his hand. At the same moment, in which the great ball of fire had exploded in the air, the Drost saw this mysterious personage station himself with his cross-bow behind a tree, and take aim. In one and the same instant, Aage had discovered the object of the assassin's aim, and cleft his head with his sword. The dangerous bow was still drawn, when the miscreant fell dead on the spot without uttering a sound. Aage took the mask from his face, and recognised the notorious deserter--the one-eyed Johan Kyste, who was known to have assisted the archbishop in his flight from Sjoeberg. "God mend his soul!" said Aage, turning away with horror from the fearful sight; and on seeing Eric still standing on the same spot in confidential converse with his bride, he discreetly withdrew.

When the king returned to the company, Aage also stepped forth from a dark avenue. The anxiety he had undergone, and the fatal deed which he had secretly been forced to commit in self-defence, had chased the blood from his cheeks. He now stood in the light of the fireworks pale as death, yet looking on the king with loving sympathy.

"Aage! what ails thee? Art thou ill?" asked the king, laying his hand on his shoulder.

"I ail nothing on my sovereign's happiest day," answered Aage; "those strange blue lights yonder, make us all look somewhat pale."

"If thou art well, I will encumber thee with a journey," continued the king; "thou shalt announce to Marsk Stig's daughters that they are free."

"My liege and sovereign!" exclaimed Aage, with heartfelt delight, and the blood suddenly rushed back to his cheek. "Thanks! heartfelt thanks for those words! Let me hasten even this very hour!"

"When thou wilt," continued the king, and a stern gravity was again perceptible in his looks and deportment. "Thou wilt announce their freedom to them, not from me, but from my queen, though with my approbation; but within three days they must be out of my state and kingdom. Thou may'st escort them out of the land, my Drost! I give thee leave of absence, with full salary, as long as thou wilt, yes--even though it should be for thy whole lifetime," he added, in a lower tone; "but by all the holy men! ere I see thee again, Marsk Stig's race must be beyond Denmark's boundaries."

Aage gazed on the king with a strange expression of countenance; a whole world and a whole life seemed to pass in review before his eyes; while a desperate struggle agitated his inmost soul. "I haste, my liege!" he said, at last, as if starting from a dream. "I follow _her_. I follow the defenceless sisters out of the country," he paused again, and his voice seemed almost choked, "and--I soon return to your service," he added, with regained firmness. "May the Lord keep his hand over you so long!"

The king extended his hand to Aage; he pressed it with deep emotion to his lips. "Thanks! heartfelt thanks for your clemency to the unfortunate," he whispered, with a faltering voice, and rushed away.

"What is this?" said the king to himself, as he observed a tear on his hand; "who claims this precious gem? my Aage!---hum! poor visionary, what thought'st thou of!--yet--his choice is free, I cannot act otherwise, and you, Marsk Oluffsen!" he continued aloud, turning to his warrior-like Marsk, "the rebels you have lately captured and thrown into prison, Niels Brock and Johan Papae----"

"Will you grant me a pleasure on your bridal day, my liege?" interrupted the Marsk, in his rough voice, and rubbing his large hands. "Then permit me, with my own hand, to give those fellows their quietus."

"What! Do you rave, Marsk!" exclaimed the king, greatly incensed; "are you my knight and Marsk, and would you turn executioner? You will lead the captive rebels in chains out of the country, and declare them outlawed in my name! You will not yourself appear in our sight until, by noble deed of knighthood, you have washed out the blot which you have cast on yourself, and on our chivalry, by your blood-thirsty wish."

The Marsk was thunderstruck; he stood in the greatest astonishment, with wide oped eyes. "Now, by all the martyrs!" he muttered to himself; but he saw by the king's stern look this was no fitting time to speak: he bowed in silence, and retired.

CHAP. XIV.

The fireworks were now ended, and much admiration was expressed by the spectators. The king roused himself from the mood into which he had been thrown by the faithful Aage's farewell, and the Marsk's sternness.

"Where is the master of that fair pageant?" he said aloud; "where is the learned Thrand Fistlier?"

"Here, most gracious sovereign!" said a discordant self-satisfied voice, close beside the king; and Master Thrand stepped forth from the dark avenue, with his amanuensis, the youthful Master Laurentius, by his side--

"If my poor skill hath pleased the royal and lordly company, I esteem it a high pleasure and honour."

"You have surprised us in the most agreeable manner;" said the king, "but what I have seen will please me still more, if you will explain to us the ways and means by which such beautiful results are produced."

"The whole is insignificant, in comparison with what I yet purpose, according to promise, to show your grace!" answered the artist, bowing humbly; "it is a masterpiece that requires but a moment's time. The ways and means by which I produce it belong partly to one of my great Master Bacon's most important discoveries, which he hath indeed named in his writings, but hath not clearly and minutely explained. It is a discovery which may easily be abused, and therefore can only be entrusted to the initiated. I am the only one of his pupils who fully comprehend it. I have myself considerably extended and substantiated what was to my master rather a profound conjecture, than an actual discovery, and I trust I shall not be deemed vain, if I expect, even in preference to my great master, to be immortalised by it in the history of science----"

"Well, well!" interrupted the king, "what is it?"

"The only person to whom I have imparted something of this important secret," continued Master Thrand, with a proud look, without suffering himself to be abashed, "is my pupil Master Laurentius; but I have not as yet been able to initiate him in the deepest mysteries of an art which will perhaps require centuries ere it be fully revealed to the prejudiced human race. With you wise king! and with these enlightened nobles and scholars, I make honourable exception, in showing you what I have not even as yet shown my pupil, and what I now, for the first time, and in an altogether novel manner, am about to reduce from theory to a decisive practical result. If this marvellous art is not to die with me----"

"You expect to become immortal, no doubt. Master Thrand!" interrupted the king again, somewhat impatiently, "and if I understand you aright, even in the proper signification of the word; if your art enables you to set even death at defiance, your important invention can never be in danger of perishing from the world. Let us now see what you laud so highly, and keep not our expectation longer on the stretch! You diminish by it even the surprise you have perhaps intended us."

"Instantly! most mighty king!" answered the artist in a lowered tone, and produced a calf-skin, which he rolled up and placed on the ground. He then took out of his pocket a small, unknown substance, of some few inches thickness, which he placed under it, and commenced several other preparations, seemingly just as simple and trivial. "Now place yourself there, your grace!" he resumed, "and give close heed! Quit not your place until you see me withdraw. Let the ladies step aside, it might perhaps alarm those who are weakly, although there is no danger whatever. As soon as I light this torch and bring it into contact with this simple apparatus, you will hear a voice like that which nature's great spirit sends forth from the clouds of heaven, to announce his sovereignty over all the earth, as lord of life and death; but _this_ voice obeys _my_ bidding and _my_ will--now mark!" The ladies stepped aside and looked inquisitively towards the artist. Some of the noble guests drew nearer; others drew back with suspicion. The king stood silent and attentive, on the spot assigned him. The learned Master Petrus de Dacia stood nearest him; his eyes were raised towards the clear bright stars, and he appeared occasionally to look on the little mountebank and his whole proceedings, with a kind of contemptuous pity. Count Henrik was not present; at the Drost's suggestion he had employed himself in securing the castle against every possible attack of the outlaws, some of whom were supposed to have been recognised among the masked wedding guests who, however, had already escaped.

The expectation of the whole assemblage was now turned towards the exhibition of art, which had been so pompously announced. The mysterious artist was still busied with his preparations, and appeared himself somewhat thoughtful and hesitating. He lighted a torch at some distance, and took a book out of his pocket, which he appeared to consult. He had placed a pair of large spectacles before his eyes, and as he thus stood in the torch-light, with his deformed figure and fiery red mantle, he resembled a goblin or a fire-gnome, rather than a human being. He presently replaced the book in his pocket, and lighted another torch.

"Stop your ears with this, your grace!" whispered the considerate Master Laurentius, handing a couple of wax-balls to the king, "from what I know of this specimen of art, it may have a stunning and injurious effect on the hearing." The king nodded and followed his advice. The artist now held the lighted torch in his hand; the red flame lit up his face--it was expressive of a fearful degree of agitation--every muscle was horribly, almost convulsively, distorted--He approached slowly with the torch towards the mysterious apparatus, and most of the spectators drew back with apprehension. The king stood calm and attentive in his place, by the side of Master Petrus de Dacia, with his foot on the rolled-up hide.

"Hence! back! life is at stake!" said a voice behind him in a frantic tone. The king felt himself forcibly grasped by a powerful hand, and at the same moment a fearful explosion, resembling a clap of thunder, was heard, with a flash as of a thousand combined lightnings; many persons fell to the ground with a cry of horror. The ladies swooned--a cloud of smoke encompassed them, with a suffocating sulphureous vapour. The terrible artist himself lay mangled and lifeless on the grass, with the extinguished torch in his hand. Master Laurentius threw himself upon the body in grief; there was a fearful panic and confusion.

The king stood unscathed a few steps from the corpse of the wretched Thrand, and now first perceived who had dragged him from his dangerous position. It was his own brother Christopher, who, with his Duke's diploma crumpled in his left hand, and with his right still convulsively grasping the king's arm, stood pale as death gazing on the lifeless philosopher. "The judgment of God!" he said in a deep and scarcely audible voice. He quitted his hold of his brother's arm, and then, as if pursued by evil spirits, rushed into the dark avenue, and disappeared.

"Christopher! What is this?" said the king in a low voice, as he looked after him, with a horrible conjecture, but he quickly recovered himself, and hastened to attend his bride and the terrified ladies. "The danger is over," he said with calmness, "but this specimen of art hath cost the artist his life. If he hath spoken truth, his dangerous art hath perished with him, and the whole world is lapsed into barbarism and ignorance. He was a wise and learned man," he added, as he saw most of the company tranquillised, but heard the suspicion of treachery loudly expressed--"Let us not judge his intentions! perhaps he hath sacrificed life as a martyr to his science--'twas pity, however, he would personate our Lord; the Almighty lets himself not be mocked."