"O, it was lanky Berner Rise,Grew so tall that none could find him:He was mad, and never wise;Not a man could hold or bind him.But the wood stands all in flowers."
"O, it was lanky Berner Rise,Grew so tall that none could find him:He was mad, and never wise;Not a man could hold or bind him.
But the wood stands all in flowers."
Next morning, when Duke Waldemar awoke, a silver cup of warm ale was already on the table by his bedside. He arose hastily, and dressed himself. As soon as he had done so, he raised the silver cup to his lips, as usual, by the handle; but set it down again with surprise, on observing in his hand a summer-fool[22]that had come off, and which appeared to have been loosely attached to the handle.
"Who wants to make a fool of me here?" said he, angrily, throwing the flower on the table; but, at the same instant, he perceived a little slip of parchment, which stuck out from its beautiful chalice. He seized the tiny flower-letter, and read the single word, "Subscribe." He gazed for some time on the mysterious billet, and fell into deep thought.
"What means this?" he exclaimed, at length, as if awoke from a dream. "Who sends me this mysterious advice? Is it friend or foe? Subscribe! That is easily said: but if it concerns my honour--if it concerns my heart and soul, and the great aim of my life, I would rather subscribe my own death-warrant than the terms I may expect to-day." He gazed, once more, upon the slip, and sank into a reverie.
"Already in the council-chamber, noble sir?" exclaimed his lively fellow-prisoner, who now entered. "If I am not mistaken, you have had a morning visit from your wise and entertaining spirit. Methinks you were just now talking with some one--perhaps with your good friend in the chest?"
"Nay, Tuko," replied the duke; "but watchful spirits are near us. It is not the dead bishop alone who speaks to me from these walls: living beings also take an interest in my fate, and would control my will ere I know it myself. See what I found in this flower." He handed him the flower and the scrap of parchment.
"A summer-fool! That you must beware of, noble sir, if it comes not from a pretty little hand, who will only joke in disguise, to make its winter-fool happy in earnest. Subscribe! Short and good advice, i'faith, in the tone of a dominant mistress. Had it been in German, I know whom I should have guessed."
"So, so! think you my unseen protecting spirit is German? Say, whom mean you?"
"Eh! whom other should I mean than the Duke of Saxony's little saintly daughter, who was more concerned about your faith and salvation than your ducal crown and all your proud expectations. You still wear, in secret, her invisible chains."
"Sophia--the good, pious child?" exclaimed the duke, raising his hands to his brow. "Do you believe she still thinks of me and my fate? Nay, Tuko; that I cannot desire: it would unpleasantly vex me. The last half year has erased that wonderful image from my heart: I have had more important matter to think of than the little daughter of a duke, and her pious, circumscribed religion. I have, happily, torn myself from that foolishness. I cannot now suffer myself to be dazzled or impeded by a pair of loving saintly eyes, that have their home in a convent or on an altar-table. Speak no more of her, Tuko. You know it only serves to grieve me; and, truth to say, since our plans drew us to the high Dane-court, I have blushed for myself when I thought of her. But you are right," he continued, with emotion: "these chaste and lovely flowers, that for almost an entire year have so kindly and gently reminded us of spring and summer, and of life's calm joys, in our prison--they might well have reminded me of her; and this white and innocent spring-flower, that has now found a voice, and begs of me to accede and subscribe----Ha! subscribe an agreement that may perhaps render me a pious slave to my own conscience, to the day of my death--and then----There was a time when such thraldom appeared to me real liberty." He was silent, and again relapsed into deep thought.
"That was a sad time, sir," resumed Tuko, hastily: "they had nearly converted you into a hang-the-head. I also say, subscribe, whatever the deuce it may be. Freedom cannot be purchased too dearly. But be not therefore the slave of a pen's stroke. The pretty little enthusiast will, at last, transform you into a quiet complaisant duke of South Jutland, who, in this life, will never think of being anything more, but, renouncing all his daring schemes, take to himself a quiet and pious wife, say good-night to this world's fleeting dreams of sovereignty, and sleep soundly in a Sleswick castle, like a true and loyal Danish vassal. That must be a charming life, sir! What we have here suffered, we shall not think of taking revenge for. Fie! that were ignoble and unchristian: we must kiss the rod like good children, and be gentle and amiable. And what a beautifully peaceful life! Your highest office will be to protect the goslings from the fox, or to strike down, with your own illustrious hand, a savoury roe for the frugal ducal table, where the pious house-mother sits, with folded hands, while the well-behaved amiable children say grace."
"Ha, nay, Tuko!" exclaimed the duke, vehemently, waking up as from a dream: "I shall show thee that Waldemar Seier was mine ancestor. He, too, sat once in prison; but he forgot not vengeance until he was old and gray; and, in misfortune, he forgot not his crown and his royal dignity!"
At that instant, a knocking was heard at the prison-door, and the conversation was broken off. In obedience to their request, the polite castellan now entered, and inquired whether it was convenient for the illustrious duke to receive Drost Hessel?
"Drost Hessel?" repeated the duke, with bitter indignation--"well, let him enter;" and he seated himself, proudly and calmly, by the table, whilst Sir Abildgaard took upon himself the office of a respectful servant, and stationed himself, with a cunning smile, behind the chair of his princely master.
The castellan bowed respectfully, and retired; and immediately after, Drost Peter entered. He made his salutation courteously and gravely.
The duke half rose from his seat, and sat down again. "What has Drost Hessel to submit to the Duke of South Jutland?" said he, in a calm voice, but with suppressed indignation.
"Illustrious sir," began Drost Peter, "my master, the king, listening to the representations of your friends, has resolved to offer you reconciliation and freedom, if you will subscribe and confirm the terms which I have, in the king's name, to lay before you." So saying, he drew forth a large parchment-deed, and, with a polite inclination, handed it to the duke.
"Read it for me, my drost," said the duke, carelessly handing the deed to Sir Abildgaard, and leaning back on his chair with an air of indifference.
Sir Abildgaard stepped firmly before his lord, and read. The deed had been prepared by the chancellor in Danish, and in the usual stiff and pedantic style of such documents. Drost Peter remained standing at a respectful distance, and closely observing the duke's manner. The duke did not appear to notice him, but gazed, gloomily and thoughtfully, on the dingy prison-wall, covered with writing.
The introduction to the agreement recited the names of the duke's friends who had procured it, and among these he seemed particularly interested to find the Duke of Saxony, of whose daughter he had just been talking. The name of the good-natured Count Gerhard of Holstein seemed also to surprise him; the more so, perhaps, as he remembered that he had endeavoured to turn this brave gentleman into ridicule, at the Dane-court of Nyborg. The introduction ran as follows:--
"To all who see or hear read the present letter: Herman, by the grace of God, Bishop of Schwerin; Johannes, Duke of Saxony; Gerhard, Johannes, and Adolph, Counts of Holstein; Helmold, Claus, Counts of Schwerin; Geert, Count of Hoya; Johannes and Henrik, Counts of Meeklinburg; eternal health with God. That all may be witness, that on account of Duke Waldemar of Sleswick, it was humbly desired by us, that we might be permitted to promise for him, that he should hold to the articles of the under-written letter, which is a deed of agreement between King Erik of Denmark and him."
"Who has requested these good lords to promise, on my behalf, that which I do not yet know?" asked the duke. "But this may be merely the usual form. To the point, then."
Sir Abildgaard now read the agreement itself, which, in the duke's name, began as follows:--
"Waldemar, by God's grace, Duke of South Jutland, eternal health with God. It is the glory and honour of princes, that they hear and grant the prayers of their petitioners; and thus, by augmenting the loyalty and affection of their subjects, they augment and strengthen the ruler's name, honour, and title--"
"This is Drost Hessel's pretty thought, and Master Martin's pretty style," said the duke, interrupting the reading, with an air of mockery. "But continue, drost."
"Therefore shall it be made manifest to all," continued Sir Abildgaard, with a suppressed smile, and in an humble tone, "that we were led, by youthful inexperience and childish counsel, to claim that, respecting Alsen, which belongs to the crown, contrary to the injunction of our lord, King Erik; wherein we acknowledge to have done wrong, as it appeared to us, and others our friends, that the laws of our country were too stringent and severe: wherefore, the before-mentioned king, after our humble supplication, his prelates' and other trusty men's counsel, hath remitted us all blame and crime, which we have imprudently committed against him."
Then followed everything relating to the dispute concerning Alsen, the mint privileges, and the king's right to wage war for South Jutland: at all which the duke smiled carelessly, and seemed to think it scarcely worth his attention; although, at the same time, he gave the closest heed to every word. But his assumed indifference was changed into evident uneasiness, as Sir Abildgaard read--"We promise, therefore, that we shall never plot or contrive the king's death or imprisonment, nor counsel or demand that he should be deprived of his lands, towns, cities, or fortresses; nor league, conspire, or practise aught against him or the kingdom; nor instigate, or take part with, any one incrimen læsæ majestatis; but shall show him all honour, subjection, reverence, and fealty. And if we do anything against him, or if it can be proved against us, according to the laws and usages of the country, that we have secretly done so, then shall all our fief and estates thereby become forfeited, so that our lord and king, of his own authority, may seize them for the use of the crown, and do therewith, as a lasting possession, as to his grace may seem fit; also, that he may punish us in the body, or spare us, as his grace may pronounce."
Here Sir Abildgaard paused, and regarded his master with astonishment. But the duke's uneasiness had disappeared, and a proud defiance sparkled in his eyes, whilst he raised his head haughtily and boldly.
"Now know I both your word and spirit, Drost Hessel," he said. "To this extent you gladly carry the point, when a blinded king gives you authority."
Drost Peter gravely shook his head, and was silent.
"Continue," said the duke; and Sir Abildgaard proceeded:--
"We consent, moreover, that the prelates of Denmark may proclaim the ban of the Church against us, without previous warning, if it so happens, (which God forbid,) that we do anything contrary to the tenor of the foregoing." Sir Abildgaard again paused, and observed his lord with an inquiring look.
"Exactly so," said the duke; "do not forget the holy letters of excommunication: they may be required. Is there anything further?"
Sir Abildgaard now read a few articles relating to the obligations of the duke to stand by the king in his wars, and to attend the assemblies of the estates; which he appeared to care little about. But it farther recited--"We shall not maintain outlawed people. Item, for this our imprisonment we shall not wage war against the king, his sons, or any one, within or without the kingdom, or cause any evil, on account thereof, to any person, but hold them free and blameless. We shall not make any covenant or alliance with any person whatsoever, from whom his majesty and the realm may suffer damage; and if we have already made any such alliance, shall renounce the same."
Lastly, to the duke's great astonishment, it thus proceeded--"And, that there should not be any doubt concerning what is now promised, we have, by a solemn oath upon the holy Gospels, sworn and pledged ourselves that we shall adhere to all that is above written, without fraud or guile; renouncing every exception, device, force, threat, aid of secular or spiritual jurisdiction, law, or custom, whereby the foresaid letter may be infringed."
The duke became pale. He did not hear the conclusion, which contained the names of the bishops and princes who had witnessed the articles, and had attached their seals thereto; and he appeared to regain his self-possession only as he heard the last words--"And we shall seal this at the first opportunity."
"Yes, truly, as soon as the opportunity occurs," exclaimed he, with the utmost bitterness, and rising from his seat. "And such is the agreement you dare to bring me, Drost Hessel? And you fancied that I was coward and fool enough to sign and seal it? You have a worthy pattern for this precious document, in black Count Henry's devilish paction with the captured King Waldemar. But I shall not tread in my great ancestor's footsteps, and purchase my freedom so dearly. If you think to compel me, try. If you have chains with you, out with them! Call your hangman, and see if I shall shrink, or debase myself."
"You mistake me grievously, highborn sir," said Drost Peter, with wounded feelings. "Think not that I am pleased to see a noble-born gentleman, like yourself, in this prison. Believe, least of all, that I am so base-hearted that I would see your free will constrained by unworthy means. Not from hatred or revenge, but for the security of the crown and kingdom, are you bereft of freedom. The moment you give up the unwarrantable and sufficiently evident objects that have rendered your imprisonment here necessary, you again stand free, in the exalted station whereto you were born and bred. You will retain, without abatement, all your legal privileges as Duke of South Jutland, and, all will be forgotten. The moment you subscribe this covenant, the castellan has orders to open these prison-doors, and to conduct you, with safe escort, to my master the king; and, as soon as you have publicly acknowledged your subscription, before the estates of the realm, and confirmed it with your seal and oath, you can retire, unmolested, to your dukedom; and neither my master the king, nor any other right-minded man in Denmark, will in future doubt your fidelity towards your king and country."
So saying, Drost Peter laid his silver style upon the table, together with the parchment, which Sir Abildgaard had delivered back to him.
The duke, however, stood unmoved, and gazed upon the wall, without deigning the king's messenger a word or look.
"My lord," continued Drost Peter, "take counsel, now, with the all-knowing God and your own conscience. I leave the agreement in your hands: you may destroy or subscribe it, as you think best. Till the sun goes down, I may await your determination; and, in twenty-four hours, the doors of your prison stand open on these terms. The moment you have subscribed, pull the bell-string there, and your prison will be opened. Meantime I leave you, with the hope that you will consider your temporal, as you would your eternal welfare. Mistake not, in this matter, either my master the king, or myself. The all-knowing God and all holy men are my witnesses, that nothing is here done out of hatred of yourself. I dare witness before God, at the last day, that I have only dealt towards you according to my oath, and my duty to the crown and kingdom." So saying, Drost Peter bowed, and hastily left the turret-chamber, not without emotion, and a strong feeling of melancholy interest in the imprisoned duke.
The prison-door was again closed and locked. On the table lay the important parchment, and by its side the silver style, which Drost Peter had left for the purpose of signing.
Sir Abildgaard regarded his master with a disturbed and inquiring look. The duke was pacing the floor with agitated steps: his eyes rolled wildly, and his cheeks were flashed with anger.
"Never, never shall I subscribe this hellish paction!" he exclaimed, "if I must sit here till the day of my death. If I subscribe, with a solemn oath, what stands here, I must either renounce the great object of my life, or become a perjurer and a nidding to all the world. Nay, nay, never shall this be so! I will show them that Duke Waldemar does not value his miserable dukedom higher than his honour and free unconstrained will. I will not foully and basely sell them my soul and my will's freedom, to breathe the air in a larger prison, like a debased, mean-spirited slave. Now, Tuko, now is the time to think seriously of escape, and to burst these walls by craft or violence, or any other possible mode. Let me once stand free, beyond this infernal prison--beyond the bounds of Denmark, and I shall no longer hesitate about what, in my sickly humour, I was well nigh on the point of relinquishing. I shall then shake the dust from my feet, and never more place them on Danish ground until I stand here at the head of an army that shall overthrow the tyrant's throne, crushing beneath it him and all his wretched advisers."
"Were only the first step taken," replied the knight, with a shrug--"were we once our own masters, I should heartily admire your lofty thoughts and brave conclusions; but so long as your great adviser can only speak to you from these walls, and cannot, as a potent spirit should, blow them away like cobwebs, so long, gracious sir, are all your heroic schemes but castles in the air--mere beautiful dreams, which but poorly compensate the loss of a free joyous life and Sleswick's ducal crown."
"How, Tuko! Wouldst thou not despise me were I to subscribe this agreement?"
"Far be such a thought from me, sir. It is a foolish bird that will not fly when the cage is open. See: there lies the crowbar, that, without witchcraft, can break these walls. The good drost has left you here his silver style: a single stroke on the parchment with this enchanter's wand, and our prison is open; the fair, wide world lies before us; we withdraw from this unfortunate country, till we can say thanks to the King of Denmark for this last good turn. We shall find a welcome with the Duke of Saxony, and how will not the fair Princess Sophia be rejoiced--"
"Hold, tempter, hold!" exclaimed the duke, advancing towards him. "Is this thy constancy, Tuko? this thy inspiration for my lofty, distant aim? What matters it that the bird is free, when its wings are clipped for life? If thou art weary of sharing my lot, I can easily set thee free. Swear thyself to the foul fiend, and go! I shall remain."
"You mistake me, my noble duke," replied Tuko, seriously. "I have shared your captivity, and been happy, even to this hour. I shall furthermore share it, without complaining, as long as you please. The main point I have not lost sight of. You have yourself discovered how you can reach it without moving a hand; and your conscience can be easily reconciled to your freedom. Will you hear me?"
"Nay, nay--not one word will I hear. Leave me now, Tuko: to-morrow thou shalt know my determination. This concerns myself, and my whole future life, and I will myself cast the die that is to decide it. Neither thou nor any other man shall guide my will in this matter."
Sir Abildgaard was silent, and retired to his own cell. The duke closed the intermediate door, and barred it with the stone. He then threw himself upon his chair, and indulged in gloomy thought. Thus he sat, motionless, the whole day, and without allowing any one to enter, or partaking of any refreshment. In the fortress, all was quiet as usual. Before the sun went down, his cogitations were disturbed for a moment by the sound of horses' feet in the castle-court. It was Drost Peter and his squire leaving the castle. The duke rose, and went to the grating. His hand was clenched convulsively, when he saw, in the rays of the setting sun, the young drost, free and vigorous, managing his brown steed. The princely prisoner heaved a deep sigh, closed the shutter before the grating, and, turning into the darkest nook of his cell, he threw himself upon his unmade bed.
The inside shutter of the iron grating, which the prisoner could open or shut at pleasure, was provided with a thin plate of horn, through which the daylight could scarcely penetrate. This shutter he usually allowed to remain open, unless the night was very cold, and the wind blew in that direction; for it had frequently happened to him, when it was closed, that he had started at midnight from a dreamy sleep, and fancied himself buried alive in the old chapel of his ancestors. But, now, life and every gleam of light and cheerfulness had become hateful to him; and, with a sort of spiteful pleasure, he had deprived himself of the scanty glimmer of daylight that still remained.
"Come forth, my brother in misfortune, and teach me to look into the night of my futurity with thy glowing eyes," he muttered. "Let them call thee death's-bird, and corpse-bird, as they will: thou still seest clearly, when we and others are blind; and if thou shouldst now screech of death and misfortune, so much the better! that song now pleaseth me best."
Whilst, with subdued voice, he thus gave expression to his gloomy thoughts, he opened the box, and took out the great night-bird, which perched itself familiarly upon his arm, and allowed itself to be caressed. The duke leant back on his pallet, and continued absorbed in moody reveries. The stillness of death reigned throughout the castle.
By the faint light through the pane of horn, the prisoner was aware that the moon was shining. He at length closed his eyes, and fell into a slumber, without having first, as usual, shut up the owl. He wist not that he had been asleep, when the same fearful idea, that had before awoke him at midnight, again overwhelmed him: he fancied that he lay in his coffin, in the tomb of his fathers, and, in a kind of agony, half rose on his couch. He was not yet fully awake, when a frightful screech completely aroused him from his dream: he opened his eyes, and, in a ledge of the wall, near the mysterious inscriptions, he again saw the glowing eyes of the corpse-bird. It again screamed, and far more hideously than it was wont, at the same time staring at the dim light through the horn of the closed shutter. The duke looked in the same direction, and, to his astonishment, fancied he caught a glimpse of a face, half concealed in a hat, before the grating. A singular terror seized him, and he remained motionless, half erect, in bed. He now heard a gentle tap on the shutter, and sprang up.
"Who is there?" he cried. "If you are human, speak!"
The knocking at the shutter became a little louder, and a low, mysterious voice whispered--"Open, Duke Waldemar: a good friend would speak with you."
"Is it possible?" he exclaimed: "a man? a good friend? Ha! be thou the Evil One himself, I fear not."
He hastily opened the shutter. A human countenance, sufficiently palpable, met his eyes at the grating, but so thoroughly shaded, the moon falling only on the outlines, that it was impossible for him to perceive a single feature.
"You know me not, Duke Waldemar?" said the unexpected night-guest. "I risk my life, perhaps, to speak with you. You must subscribe, or all is lost."
"Grand! Master Grand!" exclaimed the duke, astonished. "Are you a wizard, and can fly? What stand you on?"
"A storming-ladder," replied the daring ecclesiastic. "Cook Morten steadies it, and keeps watch. The time is precious, fair duke--subscribe!"
"From you, then, pious sir, came the good advice this morning. But I do not thus, even were both heaven and hell to shout--subscribe! Shall I forswear every thought of my high vocation--shall I forswear even vengeance? For what, then, have I dared so much? For what have I sustained so much? I will not subscribe. If you would free me, let it be by craft or force, and I am yours: I will then place myself openly at the head of the conspiracy, and it shall succeed or perish."
"In this way all would be lost, sir. Nothing can be undertaken until you are legally free and secure. Your imprisonment binds up every hand; but subscribe, and all are as free as your own. If you do not wish to abide by your oath, the holy father can relieve you from it, as he did your ancestor. If you wish to keep it, it is well: you can stand aloof, and still be the head. The marsk and his friends will act alone--of that you need know nothing--and the vacant place becomes yours. You understand, sir? You can keep your oath, and, with a sound conscience, come forward when the time arrives. Then, with law and justice, you can seize the minor's sceptre; and when you have won the people's hearts, and shown that you are worthy of the crown, it will fall of its own accord upon your head; whilst you will have broken neither oath nor bond."
"Ha! is it you, yourself, sagacious Master Grand? or is it the dead bishop, who has lent you voice and form to teach me wisdom? You are right: thus may I grasp the sceptre that constrains spirits, and win the crown that shines pure as the sun. Now, know I what I will. You are not the first who has taught me this. You have only told me how. Good: I subscribe. From the hour I have subscribed, I know nothing, and will know nothing, of your projects. Do what you will and defend it as best you can. I go my own way; and when we meet at the goal--then--then first I know you, and dare name you my friend. You understand me, Grand?"
"I understand you, sir. It is certain, then, that you subscribe, and withdraw from this place to-morrow. At the Dane-court of Nyborg, you can confirm the agreement, and calmly await what shall come to pass."
This secret conversation was here interrupted by a sudden uproar in the court-yard of the castle.
"I have him, master--I have him, the crafty clerk!" cried the voice of cook Morten; "he shall not escape now. I guessed at once what he bore on his shield, and helped him up the storming-ladder myself. Shall I now pull it down, and let him break his neck? or will you have him alive?"
"I am betrayed!" exclaimed Master Grand, with alarm: "the infernal cook has betrayed me. Now for it." He descended the ladder, and was immediately surrounded by ten house-carls bearing torches, in the midst of whom stood the castellan, half-dressed, with a large sword in his hand.
"Can I believe my own eyes, sir dean?" cried the honest Poul Hvit. "Have you come hither to baffle my vigilance, and to assist an important state-prisoner to escape?"
"Hear me, worthy Poul Hvit," replied Master Grand, with a bold, authoritative voice, "and you shall not mistake a servant of the Lord, who, in this secret and unusual way, has been on the service of his Heavenly King. That it was not my intention to liberate your prisoner, contrary to the laws of the country, you can satisfy yourself by searching my clothes and the prison. I have neither file nor other tool about me, with which it were possible to open the grating or assist the prisoner to escape."
The castellan seemed perplexed and undecided.
"I demand this search for my own honour's sake," continued Master Grand, throwing aside his cloak, and turning out his pockets. "If you are now convinced of my innocence in this respect, you may with reason demand to know my intentions in making this night visit. I was aware that admission to the prisoner was denied me; but I knew, at the same time, that a powerful word from God, spoken at the right time, might effect much in a bewildered sinner's heart. The haughty young duke, as you know, would not subscribe the agreement with the king, and relinquish his rebellious projects; but I have now so spoken to him, with the mighty power of God's word, that he has repented, and has penitently acknowledged his great sin. He has consented to subscribe the agreement, and will henceforth become the king's faithful subject. This have I done, and this is my offence. If you see reason to make me answerable for this Christian undertaking, I am then your prisoner. But if, as I presume, you are a god-fearing man, uniting respect for my station and sacred office with strict fidelity to your king, you will only suffer me to remain guarded here, until you have searched the prison, and satisfied yourself of the truth of my statement; when you will allow me to depart, in the peace of the Lord, within an hour."
"Guard him!" said the castellan, as he went hastily to the tower with a light. He opened the prison-door, and found all right in the first apartment, occupied by Sir Abildgaard. At his request, the duke opened his barred door. The castellan entered, and, without saying a word, examined the grating narrowly. He then placed the light on the table, and observed the duke attentively. "Tell me, highborn sir," he inquired, "is it truth, that Dean Grand has spoken with you, and that you have considered, and will subscribe the agreement?"
"It is the truth," replied the duke, taking up the silver style: "it shall be done instantly. See, here stands my name." He handed the castellan the document, and threw himself, thoughtfully, on his chair.
"Now I congratulate you on your restoration to freedom, and your country in having a true man restored to it," said the castellan, gladly. "I did not deceive myself, then: I know the world and mankind; and I well saw, from your nature and manner, that you were a noble young gentleman, who had only transgressed from the thoughtlessness of youth. Rest now, if it so please you, on your good and pious resolution, until it is day; and then, noble sir, I shall bring you with honour from your prison, and conduct you myself to my king and master."
"Good," said the duke. "But go now, and do not suffer the worthy Master Grand to experience any inconvenience. He only preached me a night-sermon, which, as you have seen, has converted me."
The castellan bowed, and retired. Sir Abildgaard, who had overheard what had just taken place, hastened to his master with lively satisfaction, to receive a full explanation of the reasons which had so unexpectedly decided him to subscribe.
In the meanwhile, Master Grand stood amidst the wondering house-carls, who, agreeably to the castellan's orders, guarded him closely, but with a reverence that, by his authoritative air, he knew how to obtain. Cook Morten stood, smiling, by the storming-ladder, and seemed to find amusement in the night's adventure. Master Grand directed towards him an upbraiding and disdainful look, without saying a word.
"I thought at least he would have slipped down," said the cook to the house-carls. "I had never before seen a worthy dean upon a storming-ladder, and could not resist the temptation; but I would have shunned the dangerous joke, had I not known that you and the castellan were in the neighbourhood. It will now be seen whether I have done the pious gentleman an ill turn. Nobody can find fault with me, for having taken him for a crafty cheat. Who else in the world is so zealous in the cure of souls, that he puts his neck in jeopardy to save a single couple? It was fortunate for the learned clerk that you came; for I was just on the point of drawing the ladder from under him, and then his reverence might have hung suspended by his hands on the iron bars, like a cat on a bird-cage, till I had brought you."
"Wretched, faithless soul!" exclaimed Master Grand, vehemently. "I told you that my intentions were pious and god-fearing, and yet you could conceive the idea of depriving a servant of the Lord of his life!"
"I shall answer for that to my master, and his grace our most precious king," replied Morten: "here, we have no respect of persons. We lock up princes and great lords, when we have instructions to regard them as rascals. I place the most guilty on the spit, when I have orders to regard them as capons; and, if even the pope or kaiser wills to creep through the window to them, I shall answer for it before all Christendom, if I suffer them to break their high and holy necks."
Cook Morten was becoming noisy, and the castellan, who had now returned from the prison, on hearing these insolent words, ordered him to moderate his zeal, and to talk with more reverence to the pious worthy sir dean, who was entirely innocent, and had, at the same time, done a deed for which every brave Dane ought to thank him.
"I believe I know the world and mankind tolerably well," said he, with a self-satisfied air, to Master Grand; "and I am rejoiced, your reverence, that I was not mistaken in my good opinion of you. That your intentions towards the king and country are good, I am now satisfied, albeit you spoke hard words, yesterday evening, against the sins and errors of the great. As a faithful man of God, you had a right to do so; but, Herregud! we are all human, and even the most virtuous among us may be suspected, and have appearances against him. That I have myself just experienced, pious sir. You are now free to depart, at what instant you please, but I shall be delighted if you will be my guest until it is day. Night is no man's friend; and, though you are a pious servant of the Lord, you might still go astray."
"I fear not that," replied Master Grand: "I have nothing further to do here, if you are satisfied with the deed of conveyance, my good, honest Poul Hvit?"
"Entirely so, pious sir. Bear Abbot Magnus my respectful salutations; and, since it must be so, God be with you!"
At the castellan's order, Master Grand's palfrey was immediately led out. The lofty ecclesiastic saluted the castellan with calm dignity, and gave the token of benediction, with three fingers, to the respectful house-carls; whereupon, attended by a lay-brother who acted in the capacity of his groom, he quitted Sjöborg in the quiet moonlight night.
A few hours after, and when the sun had risen, Duke Waldemar and his drost, accompanied by Poul Hvit and twelve armed troopers, rode from the castle-gates of Sjöborg, and took the road to Korsöer, in order to cross over to Nyborg, where the king and his Best Men were residing, and where the agreement, under seal and oath, was required to be ratified by the Dane-court, before the duke and his drost could obtain their full liberty.
After an unusually severe winter, during which the Baltic had been frozen over, spring once more, with rapid steps, extended her lovely and flowery reign over the favoured plains of Denmark. In the middle of May, the beech-woods were in leaf; and, notwithstanding the miserable condition of the people, and the private discords that divided so many hearts, to those who were unacquainted with its disjointed internal condition, the country seemed a peaceful and happy paradise.
On one of the finest days of spring, a company of travellers on horseback, consisting of two distinguished knights and two ladies, together with an ecclesiastic of eminence, and accompanied by a young squire, two grooms, and two waiting-maids, rode in through the gate of Flynderborg Castle, near Orekrog. On the castle-stairs stood the commandant, Sir Lavé Little, uncovered, to receive his honoured guests with due respect. The tall Lady Ingé stood by her father's side.
Whilst the knights assisted their ladies to dismount, and conducted them up the stairs, the corpulent ecclesiastic remained quietly seated on his palfrey, reading a Latin inscription over the doorway: he was the chancellor of the kingdom, the learned Master Martinus de Dacia. The short, gray-haired, but still hale and nimble knight, who first ascended the castle-stairs, with a tall, middle-aged lady upon his arm, was Counsellor Sir John Little, with his wife, Fru Ingefried. His daughter Cecilia was accompanied by a young, knightly gentleman, in whose tall form Jomfru[23]Ingé, with blushing cheeks, immediately recognised Drost Peter Hessel.
Not without a certain degree of embarrassment and secret uneasiness did Sir Lavé receive his guests. Despite his extreme politeness, he appeared to scan, with much anxiety, his old kinsman's looks. Having saluted Drost Peter with repulsive coldness, Sir Lavé seemed to regard the learned chancellor, who had at length reached the top of the stairs with a shy, suspicious glance; but when the learned gentleman at once commenced his inquiries respecting the age of the castle and its antiquities, Sir Lavé appeared somewhat more at ease, and referred him to his daughter, who, as he said, knew better about such odd kind of things than any one else in the castle.
"You must live here like a little king, my good Lavé," observed Sir John, looking round the large arched hall, which occupied the whole breadth of the wing, and from which two large doors opened into the castle-garden, commanding a most beautiful view over the Sound.
"Yes, indeed, sir counsellor: the castle is royal enough, and your presence gives it its proper lustre," replied Sir Lavé, in a submissive tone, which showed at once the dependent relation in which he stood to his renowned kinsman, whose preponderance, both in rank and intellect, he only too oppressively felt.
"You are too polite, cousin," replied Sir John. "Lustre, you know well enough, is not my affair. But if the castle is as strong as it is fair and pleasant, I should like to be governor of it in time of war. Have you been here before, Drost Peter?"
"In my childhood I was often in these halls, and I here regain the memory of my dearest, fairest years," replied Drost Peter, with a glance at Jomfra Ingé, whom he had yet only silently saluted, and who appeared to be entirely busied with Fru Ingefried and Lady Cecilia. Her eyes now met his, and he observed, with pleasure, that this remembrance did not appear indifferent to her.
"Have you not been here since?" inquired Sir John; but Drost Peter did not hear him.
"You are under a spell, I think. Have you been here since, Peter Hessel?" he repeated.
"Last year," answered Drost Peter, somewhat embarrassed, "in the course of my unpleasant duty respecting Duke Waldemar's arrest."
At these words Sir Lavé turned, highly uneasy, towards the old counsellor, and overwhelmed him with half a score of questions at once, principally about court news, and indifferent matters.
"I do not trouble myself concerning such fooleries," replied Sir John, gravely, looking at his uneasy kinsman with a sharp, inquiring glance; "but the best and most important news is already well known to you, cousin--that, since the king has regained a faithful subject in Duke Waldemar, we may now hope for peace and unity in the country. We may therefore reasonably expect that every Danish knight who may have been mistaken, but who still means honestly towards his country, will follow the young duke's example, and sincerely forswear every thought of turbulent resistance and rebellious defiance to the laws of the kingdom. In some instances a strict inquiry may perhaps be deemed necessary," he added; "but I hope that many adherents of the audacious Marsk Andersen are not to be found in the country."
Sir Lavé had become deadly pale; and on the stern Sir John's countenance appeared a mingled expression of anger and deep sorrow, which, however, immediately disappeared, as he turned playfully to Jomfru Ingé, with reference to one of her childhood's heroines, proud Dotté, whose history was represented on the old wrought tapestry of the hall.
"Do you still hold by this proud damsel?" he inquired, pointing to the picture, representing a lady chained, on board a ship, with a little anchor in her hand. "Can you still sing about her cheese-anchors, with which she would have kept the whole of Harald Hardrada's fleet from Denmark?"[24]
"Do you still remember that, my noble kinsman?" asked Lady Ingé blushing. "When I sang that song by your side, and defended Dotté against your jokes, I was still a child, and you laughed at my zeal: but I must still defend her, my noble kinsman. Had the men of Denmark, in her time, been as brave as she calculated upon, they would have found steel enough to defend her cheese-anchors, and not have suffered the Norwegian pirate-king to carry off a Danish maiden in chains, on account of a bold word. Somewhat of haughtiness, and of childish defiance towards a superior power, there certainly was in the whole jest," she continued, with warmth; "but a little innocent boasting was still a sign that she had good faith in Danish manhood and fidelity. Had she been your daughter, I am certain that you would have gladly paid a double ransom for her freedom."
"That may well be," replied Sir John, patting his brave kinswoman on the cheek. "Right, proud Ingelil![25]Thou art thy brave mother's daughter. The girl is right in some things," he continued, turning to the learned chancellor: "she is better acquainted with these ancient heroes than I am. This Harald Hardrada was little better than a bold, skilful pirate: a lofty, kingly soul, he never had. His doings in Denmark and Myklegaard redounded not to his honour; and I look upon the daring Jarl Mindre-Alf, of our own times, as his worthy representative."
"In mind and deed, abundance of similar representatives might be mentioned, with sanguinary, heathenish souls in Christian bodies," replied Master Martin.
"Jarl Mindre-Alf!" repeated Jomfru Ingé, starting: "the coarse, rude algrev--the little, fierce, brutish sea-rover--is he a jarl?[26]I thought he was only Count of Tönsberg."
"He is a mighty jarl, and, next to King Erik the Priesthater, and Duke Hakon, the greatest man in Norway," answered Sir John. "But thou art right, child: he is a coarse, rude carl, and more like a beast than a man. Thou hast never seen him, hast thou?"
"I have heard more of him than I could have desired," she replied, hastily, avoiding the question, which occasioned her father great anguish.
Drost Peter still hoped that Sir Lavé, notwithstanding his present palpable embarrassment, had been more imprudent than guilty on the occasion of the suspicious visit to which this accidental allusion had just been made. In order, therefore, to rid him of this uneasiness, and to relieve him from every fear of being called upon to answer for that transaction, the drost turned, with perfect good nature, to Lady Ingé's father, and informed him that the real object of the present journey, which gave him an opportunity of revisiting so dear a spot, was an embassy to the Swedish court of Stockholm; and that Sir John was, at the same time, taking his family to their summer residence, Tommerup Guard, in Scania.
This explanation instantly brightened up Sir Lavé's features. He seemed at once to comprehend the drost's good-natured intention in this communication, and held out his hand to him with unrestrained emotion. "You are welcome to me, sir drost," he said, with a trembling voice, and drawing him aside to the open garden-door. "What has occurred between us concerns nobody," he continued, anxiously, descending the garden-steps with him. He cast back a look towards the saloon, and perceiving old Sir John in lively conversation with the chancellor and the ladies, he drew Drost Peter hastily into a by-path in the garden. "A word in confidence, Drost Hessel," he continued, in a fatherly tone, that reminded the drost of his childhood: "what occurred when you were last here, might be misinterpreted in a manner dangerous to my honour and rank; but I have sufficient confidence in your integrity to rest assured that you will not abuse the advantage which circumstances gave you over me, to ruin and destroy me. Will you give me your word of honour thereupon?"
"By my knightly honour!" answered Drost Peter, much affected, and giving him his hand. "God be praised, I have never deemed myself bound to come forward as your accuser; and Heaven forbid that I should ever be obliged to do so."
"Good," exclaimed Sir Lavé, reassured: "I only desired to know that I was safe in your hands as regards the past; and for that, your honour is now my pledge: the future, I shall myself take care of. Our old relationship is now dissolved, and a new one cannot be formed between us. We two can now be as if dead to one another."
He turned to depart; but Drost Peter retained him. "Hear me, Sir Lavé," he exclaimed, warmly. "I have also an important word to say to you. I do not regard that relationship as dissolved, which I first learned to prize highly at the moment it appeared to be torn asunder. That which estranges you from me, binds me to your house and noble race still more firmly, and with a bond that no earthly power can dissolve. It is the same bond that unites Denmark's crown and Denmark's hearts together. In this, your noble-hearted daughter shares my views, and that, too, with an ardour and animation that have enchained my soul irrevocably with her's, spite of every opposing or doubtful circumstance. I have not spoken a word to her but what you have yourself heard, and what I now with certainty know I feel for her. Whether she entertains the same feelings towards me, I dare not yet say; but I have a great and fond hope, which I will not relinquish while I live, unless she herself, which God forbid! should rob me of it."
"Every word of this is now superfluous, sir drost," interrupted Sir Lavé, coldly and strangely. "For me, you may hope and feel what you will. My will, as her father, you know. Your connections and principles render me, and every open-minded Dane, common heretics in your eyes; and, for the future, I can never think of any union with you. Let us mutually esteem each other's hearts and good intentions, however dissimilar, in other respects, we may be in our views," he added, with less coldness: "let us not, as professors of a different political faith, condemn one another for the sake of our opinions. So, let us bid each other a peaceful farewell--for ever!" With these words, and with averted face, he extended his hand to Drost Peter.
"This, then, is the last time you give me your hand, Sir Lavé?" exclaimed Drost Peter, with subdued grief. "Oh, that I could hold fast by this hand, and drag you from the uncertain, tortuous path on which you falter--"
"Unhand me, man! and be silent!" whispered Sir Lavé, looking uneasily about him. "Would you bring me to misfortune by your discourse? My way is not your's; but I had learnt to go alone, before you were born. Unhand me! We belong not to each other."
"Pity 'tis that you are right!" sighed Drost Peter, with secret horror, as he relinquished the cold, trembling hand.
Without again looking at him, Sir Lavé hastily returned to his other important guests; whilst Drost Peter, violently agitated, took his way along a gloomy arched walk in the garden.
In the garden-hall, to his great comfort, Sir Lavé found old Sir John still engaged in jocular conversation with Master Martinus; whilst Fru Ingefried and her daughter, in company with Lady Ingé, were about leaving it, to view the castle-garden.
"Drost Hessel is already outside, enjoying the beautiful prospect," said the commandant, bowing to the stranger ladies. "My daughter will conduct you to some of those remarkable spots where the clear waters and the green trees furnish abundant themes for the most passionate admirers of their country's beauties. I am not so fortunate as to appreciate these things myself."
The ladies smiled courteously at these careless remarks, and descended the garden-steps. Sir Lavé cast an inquiring look at the weathercock over the castle-gate, and then approached the two gentlemen, without disturbing their conversation.
"You astonish me, learned sir chancellor," said Sir John, laughing heartily. "Who could have believed that dry philosophy should be so amusing? And this is altogether your own discovery?"
"Certainly, sir counsellor," replied the learned chancellor, gravely, with a self-satisfied air: "it is the fruit of many a waking night's inquiries. I had already thought of it before I took degrees at Paris; but it first became quite clear to me in my peacefulotiumat Antvorskov, and now it is taught in all the universities of Europe."
"And this is the famous Martinian mod--mod--what do you call it?"
"Modi significandi Martiniani," said the chancellor, correcting him. "It is a treasury of learning, and a fund of science, which I ought not to boast of; but I still hope, in all humility, that, with God and the Holy Virgin's aid, this important discovery in logic will preserve my name in the history of philosophy, and be remembered as long as solid learning and universities exist."
"Now, indeed, that I can understand," replied Sir John, with a suppressed smile. "Sooth to say, it must be learned and philosophic, for I will give you my head if I can understand a word of it. But what can a layman, and others like myself, know of such things?"
"How, sir counsellor!" exclaimed the chancellor, astonished, and wiping the perspiration from his bald forehead. "Is it not as clear and evident as God's daylight? and have I not taken pains to translate for you all the Greek and Latin terms, which are a great ornament in such matters, though, perhaps, dark to the uninitiated? Allow me, and I will again explain to you the whole system from the beginning. Bymodus significandi, is to be understood, in logic--"
"Nay, for heaven's sake--nay, best of chancellors!" interrupted Sir John, hastily; "plunge me no deeper into the science. I have every respect for it, and believe that it will immortalise you, among the learned, to the end of time; but, if I cannot become immortal by other means, my memory must perish, and I must be contented, in God's name, to do the best I can when living, and leave our Lord to care for the rest. Seriously speaking, sir chancellor: if a man cannot become wise and intelligent without all this vexatious trouble, and if I must twist and turn my thoughts by this method, before I can know whether they are wise or foolish--by the Lord's truth! I should be a hundred years old before I could master a single common thought, and should require the lifetime of three men before I could put an excellent thought into practice. Nay: I must make use of another method. When I know what I wish to say, I say it; and when I know what I wish and ought to do, I do it; and do not trouble myself whether the world stands or falls. There you have the whole of my system. It is not so learned as your's; but that you also follow it, in the main, you have given me excellent proof, for which I have every esteem and honour."
So saying, he shook the learned chancellor heartily by the hand, and cast a look towards Sir Lavé. "See, there stands my cousin, the commandant," he continued, gaily: "he is nearly five years younger than I, and can perhaps still learn something in the world. If you can bring him to see how we should think justly and reasonably, in these crazy times, it may not perhaps be out of the way. But I must out, and draw a breath of fresh air in the garden."
Surrendering Sir Lavé to the somewhat tiresome, philosophic chancellor, he made his exit hastily by the garden-door, and was soon plunged in serious thought in the arched walk.
On a green knoll, commanding a magnificent view over the Sound, Drost Peter stood, meanwhile, between Jomfru Ingé and Lady Cecilia, in lively conversation respecting those notable events of olden times, of which the traditions and supposed memorials were still preserved in this glorious region. Contrary to Jomfru Ingé's opinion, Drost Peter maintained that these events must be referred to other, and, to him, well-known spots in Jutland. The subject of their conversation was the great tragical legend of Hamlet. Fru Ingefried listened with interest, whilst the animated, patriotic Jomfru Ingé enlivened her description of these events by traditions and snatches of popular ballads, and pointed to every spot where, as a child, she had heard and believed that they must have happened. Fru Ingefried now perceived her husband by the end of the arched walk, and went to meet him; while Drost Peter and Jomfru Ingé continued to converse of Hamlet and his daring plans, the sagacity of which Drost Peter admired, but maintained that they still wanted truth, justice, and noble grandeur.
"This knavish cunning," he said--"this merely apparent love of truth, by means of which the real truth is concealed, when it is spoken ambiguously and figuratively--this crafty play with sound sense and madness, with jest and cruel earnest, is to me sufficiently detestable; but these features of the tradition, however un-Danish they may appear, are still founded on a remarkable peculiarity in the character of our people."
"What mean you, Drost Peter?" inquired Lady Ingé, with wounded pride. "Do you accuse yourself, and all of us, with a base proneness to craft and falsehood?"
"Understand me rightly, noble lady. The craft of Hamlet is, in the main, completely Danish, though I cannot prize it as in anywise great and noble. This kind of craft ever betrays itself in a respect for truth, even when it may not and dare not be spoken openly. Every period of disquiet and internal disturbance in Denmark will show us that, with the best and noblest of the people, our honesty, justice, and love of truth never entirely disappear, but reveal themselves where the mere semblance of truth is used as a cloak to deceit. The greatest deceiver and nidding amongst us will always blush to deny or disguise the truth openly: he is too proud to lie, even were it to save his life; and he will speak the truth even where it may endanger him, but so darkly and figuratively, that himself only and his friends can understand it, while his foes receive it in an opposite sense."
"Therein, perhaps, you maybe right," said Jomfru Ingé, gravely; "but a wish to wrest and distort the truth does not, in consequence, lie in the people's mode of thinking.
"Far be it from me to assert that it does," replied Drost Peter; "but I have observed that even the most upright of our commoners take a singular pleasure, whilst jesting, in striving to tack something on a person's sleeve, as they term it, strictly, however, without telling an untruth. In this consists a great portion of the craft and wit of our common people. It may be highly good-natured and innocent; but, in times like these, it is still a dangerous quality, which renders it extremely difficult to distinguish the true friends of the crown from its secret enemies."
"Nay, nay," exclaimed Jomfru Ingé, gladly; "in this you greatly err, Drost Peter. You know our brave and trusty countrymen better. I often see and converse with the poorest and humblest of them. They speak openly and impatiently of their burdens, and, in their language, do not spare the great and powerful. They are not afraid to utter the boldest truths, even as regards the king and his favourites; but, when I speak to them of the crown and kingdom, with the view of ascertaining their opinions respecting an illegally imposed king, you should see how readily they forget their own grievances, and how uprightly they express their devoted attachment to the ancient, legitimate, royal family. It is true that, when jesting, they often find great amusement in figurative language, and in befooling each other with old proverbs, and suchlike; but this good-natured sort of waggishness I rather admire, and certainly think there is nothing wrong in it."
"I do not blame that which is so natural to the people, and, in a manner, born with them," replied Drost Peter. "None of us are entirely free from it," he added. "We have both, perhaps, to-day, noble Jomfru Ingé, and even at this very hour, concealed what we know, and avoided the truth, to spare ourselves or others, without having said an untrue word."
Lady Ingé blushed. "Every one has a right to do so," she said, earnestly. "What I will not and ought not to say, no power on earth shall compel me to speak. If we could not be veracious and upright, without telling everything we know, there would be few honest men in existence. You shall judge between us, good Cecilia," she continued, turning playfully to her relation, who had hitherto been a silent listener. "Think you Drost Peter himself is so upright, that he would tell us truly, were we to ask him, which colour he esteems most highly?"
"We need not ask him that," replied Cecilia: "the colour you now wear in your hairband, is that worn by the drost--last year, at least."
Drost Peter blushed deeply. "I wore it last year, because it was the queen's colour," he replied. "I won the right to do so at the Helsingborg tourney. But for twelve months before last May I have not worn it; although it has, since then, become dearer to me than ever. I fancy I have known from my childhood that crimson band, with the small pearl-lilies, and it is the only band I would suffer to bind me prisoner; but were Jomfru Ingé even now to present me with it, I dare not openly wear it. The reason, too, must remain a secret."
Lady Ingé had hastily raised her hand to the crimson fillet, as if she would remove it; but, on hearing Drost Peter's latter words, she only secured it more firmly, and changed the conversation to another subject.
"Look at my handsome, watchful bird," she said, merrily. "Had Hamlet possessed him, he would certainly have known how to make use of him." As she said this, she patted a large tame fowl that had flown towards her, alarmed, as it appeared, by Claus Skirmen, who was in search of his master, to inform him, as he had been ordered, of the state of the wind.
Drost Peter paid no attention to his squire's announcement. He praised the noble bird, and looked at his mistress with a singularly blended sentiment of joy and melancholy, while many fond memories of childhood flitted across his soul, and mingled with his feelings of the present moment. It almost seemed to him as if he were in a dream, and that the knight's tall, fair daughter was again changed into the child-bride of former days.
In the meantime Sir John, with his wife, was leisurely approaching the knoll. He stopped, and gazed at the young man on the green strand-height. "A fine, brave, excellent young man," he said, pointing to Drost Peter; "he is quite another drost than Sir Abildgaard. Our Cecilia's interest in that subtle knight does not please me. The suspicions that have attached to him, since his imprisonment, ought to have cured her of her whimsy. Has she not determined yet?"
"Your silence has made her anxious," replied the mother, with concern; "and, without your consent, she gives him no decisive answer."
"She is free; but from me, she shall not hear a syllable on the matter. What I think of him, she well knows."
"Then she never becomes Drost Abildgaard's wife. God strengthen her!"
"Drost Peter takes his time," interrupted Sir John, hastily.
"His childhood's bride no longer hates him," replied Fru Ingefried; "he does not delay thus merely on account of the wind."
Sir John cast a look at the vane on the turret. "You are right," he observed: "we must away. If our good Drost Peter means to jest with us, he shall have the worst of it."
They were now close to the knoll.
"Drost Peter!" shouted Sir John, "the wind is fair, and we are ready to set sail. If you will with us, come quickly." Whereupon, the old gentleman hastily returned to the garden-hall, and the whole company followed him.
When Sir John entered the great hall, he found the learned chancellor alone, deeply engrossed in a small, neat manuscript.
"Up to the ears in study again?" said Sir John. "Is that your Logica?"
"Nay, nay, noble sir," exclaimed the learned chancellor, as his eyes sparkled with almost youthful liveliness. "See, here I have found some of the glorious old Danish ballads I heard in my childhood, besides many excellent national ones I never knew of. Your cousin, the commandant, must be a brave, patriotic-souled man, and well versed in our old legends and histories. There are some capital notes in the margin of the songs; and here, of a truth, pour living fountains from the people themselves.
"That is brave!" exclaimed Sir John, with singular interest: "that is more than I could have imagined of my good sir cousin, and I like him all the better. The ballads themselves may be pretty enough. I do not understand much of these wares; but, when they are sung, I listen to them willingly. One half of these ballads are fictions and fables, I doubt not; but their intention is good, and they must have been a brave Danish people who made them."
Jomfru Ingé, with the other ladies and Drost Peter, now entered.
"Ingelil, child," called Sir John to her, "when did thy father become so learned, and take such pleasure in old songs and ballads? Formerly, he could never endure them."
"It is not my father's--it is my own little song-book," replied Lady Ingé. "My blessed mother wrote many of them."
"And the glosses--the marginal notes?" inquired Master Martinus.
"Oh, nothing more than what I heard from my old spinning-women, and what I sometimes thought of myself."
At this discovery, Master Martinus seemed almost to blush at his zeal for a work that he had only women and unlettered lay-people to thank for; but his true attachment to the ancient ballads overcame this shock to his learned pride, and he grasped Jomfru Ingé's hand warmly, while he returned her the manuscript. "You have rejoiced my soul, noble lady," he said, much affected; "and I could almost, in exchange for this unlearned feminine manuscript, give you my own sufficiently well-known work,De Modis Significandi."
"Such an exchange the girl would not much desire," said Sir John, interrupting him. "But where is thy father, Ingelil? We must bid him farewell, and get on board immediately."
"I will seek him," answered Ingé, as she went hastily away.
"The commandant is in his closet, in conversation with a good friend," said Master Martin: "I had forgotten him, over the book. He is travelling in great haste."
"Do you know this good friend?" inquired Sir John, with apparent indifference.
"I must relinquish this," replied the chancellor, in a half-absent manner, and still keeping his eye on the manuscript, which Lady Ingé had laid on the table. "He wore his visor down: it was a warlike figure."
"A masked warrior?" inquired Sir John, attentively.
"Probably, a coast-guardsman," answered the chancellor. "In a royal castle, one is always in a state of war. The commandant seems to be as cautious as he is vigilant; and I do not blame him, that, in these troublous times, he should avail himself of spies and disguised servitors."
Jomfru Ingé had now returned. She was deadly pale, and sought in vain to conceal her deep anguish and embarrassment. "My father," she said, with half-choked utterance--"my father will be here immediately."
Drost Peter, alarmed, advanced a step or two towards her, with an expression of deep concern; but he paused and was silent, as he suddenly guessed the cause of her perplexity.
"What ails thee, my child?" demanded Sir John, with an uneasy inquiring look. "Thou hast run too fast," he added, considerately, giving her time to answer.
"I am not quite well," she answered, as she supported herself by a chair. "He will come immediately: I have sent a message to him."
"He is engaged officially, I hear, and we will not disturb him. Salute him, and say we were in haste. God bless thee, child! Come, gentlemen."
Anger and deep sorrow were visible in the countenance of the old knight, and, as he regarded the pale Lady Ingé, a tear stole into his eye; but in another moment he was again calm, as usual. "See, here we have the vigilant sir commandant still," he said, in his customary lively tone, as Sir Lavé opened the door, and entered with a constrained but smiling countenance. "No excuses, cousin," added Sir John: "the king's service takes precedence of every other. We must, therefore, in all haste bid you farewell."
"Already, sir counsellor!" stammered Sir Lavé: "I thought the wind--"
"We have not the most favourable wind, if your weathercock may be depended on," replied the old gentleman; "but I fear a person would be misled, were he to depend upon that. I go by the king's yacht; and I know that vessel can make head against a contrary wind tolerably well. I understand a little of sailing, too; and we have, moreover, a good steersman in Drost Peter. Farewell."
These apparently indifferent words, which the old counsellor pronounced with a peculiar emphasis, had to Sir Lavé a serious and fearful signification, that deprived him of the power of utterance. He bowed civilly, though with embarrassment, as he followed his guests to the door. Old John once more gave his hand to Jomfru Ingé, with a warmth and heartiness unusual in him. Drost Peter bowed to her with a look that carried comfort to her soul; and Master Martinus again thanked her for the pleasure her songbook had yielded him. Fru Ingefried and Lady Cecilia, like the worthy chancellor, seemed to have no idea of the cause of her indisposition. The ladies, however, would not permit her to follow them to the door; and having embraced her with hearty affection, the mother, with kind solicitude, gave her all the domestic remedies she could think of, for sudden depression of spirits.
Scarcely had they left the door, before Lady Ingé burst into a flood of tears, and sank into a chair, with her hands before her eyes. She sat thus, immovable, for some minutes. When she took her hands from her eyes, her father stood before her.
"What is this? What means this conduct, child?" he inquired, in tones that sounded almost harshly. "Dear, best Ingé!" he added, with greater mildness, "compose yourself. What is the matter?"
"Father, father!" she exclaimed, eagerly, as she rose, "is the strange knight still in your closet?"
"What leads thee to trouble thyself about my official business?" inquired the father, perplexed: "I do not permit this interference in my affairs. Go to thy chamber, and make ready my travelling-wallet. I journey from hence in half an hour."
"Thou travellest, father? and leavest me behind alone? How long remainest thou away?"
"But a few days: it is on important business. When wert thou wont to be afraid of being alone? I shall provide for the safeguard of the castle during my absence. Thou canst therefore be calm."
"For thee, too, father? Nay, nay, I cannot maintain this painful silence: thou must know the truth, father. I tremble for thy secret schemes--I tremble for thy terrible friends--I am tortured by the most dreadful anguish for thy soul!"
"Art thou mad, girl?" exclaimed the uneasy father, exasperated, and stamping violently. "Hast thou, too, conspired against me? Is it not enough that my own tyrannical kinsman and his understrappers must torture me in my own house, and threaten me, covertly, with the despotic kingly power? Shall my own child be my betrayer? Must I not converse with a trusty friend in my closet, without being suspected and betrayed by my own? Get thee to thy apartment, child, and weep not; or, if thou must weep, let it be only in private. Guard thy tongue, also, that thou betrayest not thy father's life with thy childish nonsense. My affairs thou understandest not; and for my soul thou needest not care. I know what I dare do: my confessor is a man who better understands my salvation than thou and the conscientious Drost Peter. Do as I say, my good child, and be reasonable. I shall not have time, after this, to bid thee farewell. The gentleman I travel with is my friend, and a man I can depend upon. Farewell."
With these words he hastily departed. The unhappy daughter wept no longer: she appeared calm, almost to indifference, and proceeded to her chamber to execute her father's orders.
Scarcely had she finished packing her father's portmanteau, ere a trooper appeared, to take it to him. He was a tall, strange carl, in complete iron mail, and with a wild, audacious countenance.
"What is thy name, and who is thy master, countryman?" asked Lady Ingé, as she looked at him calmly and keenly.
"I need not conceal my honest name here," replied the man, with a Jutland accent: "people call me long Mat Jute. My master has a better name, but I dare not mention it on Zealand's ground. The three rogues who have just left, are not worthy to see his face. He never sets foot on shore here, without being cased in steel from top to toe; and whoever merely catches a glimpse of his eyes, through the bars of his helmet, is seized--with decency be it spoken--with the gripes, on the spot. But with your father it is quite another matter, fair jomfru: he is a brave man, I wot."
"Mat Jute!" repeated Jomfru Ingé: "my little maiden Elsie's sweetheart?"
"O yes, fair jomfru," smirked the man, stroking his beard: "a little sweethearting one must have, wherever he goes: it never binds him, and it is good for both man and beast. But there goes my master to the skiff. Farewell, fair jomfru." And seizing the tolerably heavy portmanteau by the thongs, with two of his fingers he swang it on his shoulder.