The king listened with pleasure to the lay, and talked with Aagé of his beloved Drost Peter Hessel, of whom this song always reminded him; and when Count Gerhard heard the ballad of Ribéhuus, 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:

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

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 Aagé 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 Aagé, 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 Aagé 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 Aagé 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. Aagé 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:

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 Kaggé. 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 Agneté" 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,

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 Poppé 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 Skänor 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 Ingé. 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 Aagé!"

"Did he entreat thee to ask that boon?"

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

"Hum! Aagé! 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 Aagé 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, Aagé 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. Aagé took the mask from his face, and recognised the notorious deserter--the one-eyed Johan Kysté, who was known to have assisted the archbishop in his flight from Sjöberg. "God mend his soul!" said Aagé, 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, Aagé 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.

"Aagé! 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 Aagé; "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 Aagé, 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."

Aagé 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 Aagé; 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 Aagé!---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 Papæ----"

"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 Aagé'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."

None were injured but the hapless artist, and the company soon returned composed and thoughtful to the illuminated avenues in the garden. Ingeborg's fears were calmed and she clung tenderly to her bridegroom's arm. It appeared to her and to all, as if an inconceivable miracle had saved the king's life and crushed his treacherous foes. The report of the king's peril had interrupted the bridal festivities; but wherever he showed himself the music and merriment again commenced, and the royal bridal pair were followed back to the castle, with almost deafening acclamations.

While the bridemaids conducted the bride to the bridal chamber the king repaired to his private apartment. He went in silence to his prie-dieu, bent his knee before the holy crucifix, and became absorbed in silent prayer. He had shut the door after him, and believed he was alone with God on this spot, to which none beside himself and his confessors had access; but he presently heard some one moving behind him, and he arose. Junker Christopher stood before him, with his wild countenance bathed in tears. "My brother!" he exclaimed, with outstretched arms, "I have sinned against the Lord and against thee; I am not worthy to be called thy brother. Canst thou forgive me what I cannot name? Canst thou forgive me for the sake of our murdered father's soul, and for the sake of the All-merciful, who blots out every transgression?"

"Christopher!" said the king, in a tone of the greatest consternation, gazing fixedly on him with a piercing look, "thou wouldest--thou knewest----"

"Say not what I willed--say not what I knew!" interrupted the junker, in a choking voice, and covering his face with both his hands; "but give me thy hand, if thou canst, and say.--'I am reconciled,' and by the Almighty, who hath struck me with horror, thou shalt see this face no more ere I can say, 'Brother! now hath the great and terrible God forgiven me, as thou hast forgiven me!'"

"Christopher! brother! my father's son!" exclaimed Eric; the tears gushed from his eyes, and he hastened towards his humbled brother with open arms. "Come to my heart! may the merciful Lord forgive thee as I have forgiven thee!" and the brothers sank in each other's arms. "Amen!" said a friendly voice beside them. The king's confessor, the pious Master Petrus de Dacia, who had led the despairing Christopher hither, stepped forth from a niche in the chamber, and laid his hand on their heads in token of blessing.

"This day hath now become the happiest of my life," said Eric, and went arm-in-arm with the junker out of the private chamber.

CONCLUSION.

Among the crowd of knights and courtiers who waited the next morning in the antechamber of Helsingborg castle to offer their congratulations to the king and the young queen, were present two influential and well known persons, who had recently landed on the quay. The one was an aged personage of short stature, with an extraordinary degree of energy and determination in his stern yet animated countenance; he was the renowned statesman John Little, who had made so long a sojourn at the Romish court. A tall powerful man stood at his side, in a splendid knight's dress, with a roll of documents in his hand. He was the king's former master in arms, Drost Peter Hessel. They had both arrived from Rome, with important tidings for the king. They were instantly admitted, and those without heard that they were most joyously welcomed. Among the glad voices in the king's chamber were recognised those of the queen and the Drost's noble consort, the Lady Ingé.

Close to the door of the antechamber stood Morten the cook, in his pilgrim's dress, with old Jeppé the fisherman and his daughter at his side. He was regarded with curiosity. At first he appeared somewhat uneasy and dejected; but when the king was heard to speak with animation, and in a tone of satisfaction, Morten drew himself up fearlessly, and paced up and down with an air of importance among the distinguished assemblage.

The papers which Drost Hessel had under his arm contained proofs of Archbishop Grand's treachery and connection with the outlaws; they were copies of the same important documents which Junker Christopher, at the time of the archbishop's imprisonment, had removed from the sacristy chest of Lund and brought to Wordingborg. There the dexterous cook had contrived to possess himself of them shortly before he abetted the archbishop's flight from Sjöborg. His object had been to restore them to Grand; but as the archbishop had broken the promise he had made to his deliverer while on the rope-ladder of freeing the king and country from ban and interdict, Morten determined to retain these documents, and while on his pilgrimage to bring them to Chancellor Martinus and the Danish embassy at Rome, where they mainly contributed to justify, or at least excuse the king's conduct towards Grand, and ultimately to depose him from the Archbishopric of Lund.

Morten was soon summoned to the king. When he returned he gaily threw aside his pilgrim's mantle, seized the pretty fishermaiden with the one hand and Jeppé with the other, and skipped with them down the hall staircase, as a free and wealthy man, to celebrate his wedding at Gilléleié.

Notwithstanding that the suit against Archbishop Grand, and the dangerous differences with the Romish see, were not adjusted until after the lapse of several years, and at the cost of considerable sacrifices, King Eric succeeded at length in obtaining the deposition of Grand, and the instalment of another and more peaceable prelate in the archiepiscopal chair of Lund; in the person of the formerly dreaded Isarnus, who had now, however, learned from the fate of his predecessor how to use his spiritual authority with moderation, and wisely refrained from all interference with state affairs. By the final treaty with the papal court the wanting dispensation of kindred was granted to the king, and his marriage with the noble Princess Ingeborg of Sweden declared to be perfectly valid.

Three weeks after the king's nuptials, the faithful Drost Aagé was again seen at his side; but he was unalterably grave and pensive. It was not until some years afterwards that he was freed from the ban, together with the king. He never alluded to his journey with Marsk Stig's daughters. Some affirmed that he had only found the elder sister in the prison-tower of Wordingborg, but that the younger had fled. Others insisted they had seen her among the masquers at Helsingborg castle, on the evening of the king's bridal. It was also rumoured that she had been carried off by a merman. A ballad, relating this supposed adventure, has been preserved among the people. The merman was affirmed by some to have been the outlawed Kaggé, who was shortly afterwards seized and slain by the burghers at Viborg. Meanwhile the beautiful and pathetic ballad, which still preserves the memory of these sisters, bears witness to their having traversed Sweden as fugitives, and having found protection, for the first time, at the court of Norway. According to this ballad the youngest of these exiled sisters was afterwards married to a Norwegian prince; probably an illegitimate son of King Haco.

This popular ballad, as well as many obscure traditions, and what the chronicles record of the latter part of the thirteenth century, bear striking testimony to that troublous time, in which the unhappy consequences of the last regicide in Denmark, hovered, like restless demons, over throne and country, and cast so deep a shade even over the happiest days of the upright King Eric Ericson.

FOOTNOTES

Footnote 1: Pebersvend (literally pepper 'prentice) is the term still jocosely applied to elderly bachelors in Denmark.

Footnote 2: The name of a part of Russia in the middle ages.

Footnote 3: Frodé according to the Icelandic historians, the third king of Denmark, surnamed "The Peaceful," although he seems rather to have deserved the title of "The Victorious," as he is said to have brought Sweden, Hungary, England, and Ireland under his sway. The history of Frodé as related by the marvel-loving Saxo Grammaticus, contains, as might be expected from the writer and the age, no slight mixture of fable.--Translator.

Footnote 4: Snorro Sturlesen, born 1178, died 1241, the author of the "Heims Kringla," or the history of the Norwegian kings, and the compiler of the Younger Edda, also called "Snorro's Edda." The Elder Edda is the compilation of Sæmund Frodé, or "the learned," who was born in Iceland, 1054, and died a priest at Oddé, in his 78th year. Both the Eddas are collections of religious and mythic poems, and the chief sources whence the knowledge of the northern mythology is derived. The Elder Edda was first known in the middle of the 17th century. It has been translated into Danish by Professor Finn Magnussen.--Translator.

Footnote 5: Snorro Sturlesen, the Norwegian historian, thus pourtrays the character of this monarch,--"King Olaf was a noble prince, possessed of shining virtues and great piety. When driven by Knud (Canute the Great) from Norway, and compelled to take refuge with Jarislaf of Moscow, he bore his exile with patience, and spent his time in prayer and acts of devotion. While in this situation his peace of mind was only disturbed by the apprehension lest the Christian faith, which he had so carefully implanted in Norway, should suffer from the kingdom having passed into the hands of other rulers, and it was chiefly on this account that he made an attempt to regain his crown, and with that purpose once more repaired to Norway, where he was received by many good and true men who desired his return, and were ready to sacrifice their lives in his service. The armies of Canute and Olaf met at Sticklestad in the year 1030. Ere the engagement began, Olaf addressed his troops in a pious and touching discourse. He ordered them to make use of one common watchword, and shout when they attacked the enemy, 'On! Christian men! Chosen men! Kings men!' The battle was fought with equal bravery and obstinacy on both sides, but at last Olaf was slain by one of his own traitorous subjects, who had deserted to Canute's army. Vide Holberg's Hist. of Denmark, vol. i.--Translator.

Footnote 6: An old Danish ballad entitled "King Birger and his brothers," records the crimes of the former, and the melancholy fate of the Swedish dukes. After years of strife between the brothers, Sweden was at last partitioned off into three kingdoms, and possessed three sovereigns and three distinct courts. In 1317, King Birger invited his brothers to visit him at the castle of Nykioping, on the plea of renewing the fraternal intercourse which had been so unhappily interrupted, and the dukes unsuspectingly accepted the king's invitation. On the evening of their arrival, however, after being received with the greatest cordiality by the king, and sumptuously entertained, they were seized by his order, bound hand and foot, and thrown into the dungeon of the castle. This act of treachery soon became known, and the king, fearing the interference of the people in behalf of the dukes, fled from the castle, having first thrown the keys of the dungeon into the deepest part of the river, and given orders that the doors of the dungeon should not be opened until he returned. On his departure Nykioping was instantly besieged, and crowds flocked thither from all quarters, but ere the castle was taken the dukes had expired. Eric died on the third day of his captivity, from the wounds he had received in defending himself against his captors; but Valdemar lived till the twelfth day without food.--Translator.

Footnote 7: Holberg thus relates the fate of this able and upright statesman:--"After a long period of civil war and discord, the feud between King Birger and his brothers was at last accommodated, through the mediation of their mutual counsellors; but on the conclusion of the treaty, the Swedish dukes did their utmost to bring Thorkild Knudsen into discredit with the king, to whom he was represented by them as having been the instigator of the disturbances which had prevailed throughout the country, as well as having stirred up strife among the members of the royal family, and as having abused the confidence of the crown. King Birger, who was glad of any pretext for escaping the blame he himself deserved, turned his back upon his faithful servant, and permitted him to be brought to trial. Thorkild ably defended his rightful cause, but his innocence and eloquence were of no avail. He had been marked out as a victim, was doomed to death as a traitor, and beheaded at Stockholm in the year 1306. It was not without difficulty that his friends obtained permission to inter the body in consecrated ground. Thorkild's treacherous foe, Drost Johan Brunké, continued his career of political intrigue until the year 1318, when he and his partizans were seized in the king's absence, by the opposite faction, and put to death. Brunké's body was exposed on the wheel on a hill without the city, which since that time has borne the name of Brunké's Hill." Vide Holberg's Hist. of Denmark, vol. i.--Trans.

Footnote 8: The subject of the ballad of Ribéhuus is the taking of the castle of Ribé, which had fallen into the hands of the outlaws during the minority of Eric, by a party of fifty loyal knights, headed by Count Gerhard and Drost Hessel. In the middle ages it was not unusual for the knights to join in the public festivities of the burghers. At one of these, the king's knights took the opportunity of joining a dance by torch lights to be led according to usage through the streets up to the castle. The ballad describes the long row of dancers, as being kept in a straight file by a chain of wreathed green leaves and roses. Each knight held a lady in his left hand and a lighted torch in the right, their drawn swords being carefully concealed under their scarlet mantles. The castle bridge was lowered and the gates thrown open to admit the dancers by permission of the commandant, who in a few minutes found himself a prisoner, and the castle (which was wholly unprepared for the attack) in the hands of King Eric's adherents. The ballad concludes as follows;--