At ten o'clock in the evening, which, however, was no evening there,
the whole party found themselves assembled in the church of Tornea. The
governor was standing near the altar in earnest contemplation of a
suspended tablet which narrated in golden letters how Charles XI had
observed the midnight sun from the tower of that church, in the year
1694. At the same time the pastor of the church, a venerable old man,
was calling the attention of Christine to a medal which had been struck
upon that occasion. Looking over her shoulder Arwed read the
inscription: _Soli inocciduo sol obvius alter_,--and asked if this
metaphor were not too much in the oriental style for Charles XI.
'Charles XI,' answered Megret, approaching the group, 'left to his son
a throne well supported at home and respected abroad; with a full
treasury, and many flourishing provinces, besides the hereditary
states. How happy would it have been for Sweden had his son been
willing to rest contented with the glory of having preserved his
paternal inheritance.'
The uncle and nephew simultaneously turned towards the speaker, with
noble indignation, to defend the character of their adored king against
his foreign traducer;--but before they could find words, the pastor,
accustomed to speak in that house, and stirred by the occasion, took
the answer upon himself. 'The judgment,' cried he, in his deep,
resounding voice, 'which you have passed upon our immortal king is as
unjust as it is harsh. You forget that his first wars were purely
defensive; that even his victories, which rendered Sweden illustrious
in the eyes of all Europe, involved him in circumstances which at last
brought misfortunes upon his head. You judge him by the situation in
which he left his realm when God removed him from it in the bloom of
manhood, and entirely overlook what he would have accomplished for
Sweden had he been allowed time for the fulfilment of his designs for
her prosperity. It is a sad truth that the country now finds itself on
the brink of misery; but far be it from us to complain of our immortal
king, on that account. Let us rather curse the murderous villain whose
bullet ended that great man's life before Frederickshall! Him, him
alone, has the kingdom to thank for its calamities; and may all the
tears and blood which have flowed since that black night, and which
must flow hereafter, be poured into the balance of his sins, until he
may sink down to the regions of everlasting torment, overborne by their
weight!'
'So you are one of those,' said Megret, with embarrassed mockery, 'who,
from your passion for the romantic and marvellous, will have it that no
man of consequence can die except by assassination! In consequence of
the rashness with which the king exposed himself to the fire of the
enemy, it would rather have been matter of astonishment had he escaped
alive. The balls flew so thick, that the agency of assassins was not
necessary to account for his death.'
'I have my convictions!' cried the pastor, in the heat of his
indignation, 'and those convictions are neither to be sneered nor
subtilized away! God, however, who proves the heart and the reins, must
pass judgment upon the concealed guilt, and punish the murderer
according to his deserts--here, through the worm that never dies, and
there, in the fire that is never quenched! Amen.'
'You are pale, colonel!' cried Arwed, suddenly giving Megret a
searching look. 'Are you ill?'
'I was heated when I entered the church,' answered Megret in a faint
voice, placing his hand upon his forehead; 'and this place seems to me
to be very cold. I feel as though suffering from an ague fit, which
however a few moments in the open air will dissipate.'
He retired with uncertain steps. All followed him with looks of
surprise and inquiry, and a long pause ensued.
'Is it now your excellency's pleasure,' said the pastor to the
governor, 'to ascend the church tower and thence, like Charles XI,
observe the circular course of the day-star?'
'I thank you, sir pastor,' answered the governor. 'I have already
looked me out a place upon the level ground, where we can better enjoy
the beauties of nature together with this rare spectacle, than from so
high a point of view, and you will do me a pleasure by accompanying
us.'
The pastor accepted the invitation. The party left the church, and,
without encountering Megret on their way, entered a boat in readiness
for the occasion, and were conveyed to a small island which appeared to
swim in the stream, opposite the town of Tornea. A solitary house,
surrounded by some small huts, and a wind-mill, stood near the
landing-place. The travelers, ascending, laid themselves upon the bank,
their faces turned towards the sun, and silently enjoyed the view, at
once attractive and awful, there presented to them.
The still, clear waters of the Tornea and Munio, upon which white
fishing sails were gliding here and there, blushed in the rays of the
evening sun, and were adorned on either side by high bushy banks. In
the middle ground, the city, with its spires, was sweetly reflected in
the peaceful waters. The back ground was closed by bare and sterile
heights which were linked into each other like a chain, and concealed
the opening through which the united streams rolled on in their course
toward the sea.
At the edge of the horizon, behind the city, shone the nocturnal sun
with rays that with difficulty dissipated the vapors collected by the
evening air, as the forerunners of a night, which, on this occasion,
was not permitted to make its appearance. The illumination had
something dismal about it, for the magnificent sphere seemed to have
lost the substance of its splendor as at the time of an annular
eclipse, and threw, but a pale light upon land and water. The silence
of death prevailed over the face of all nature. The mills upon the
height behind Tornea, as well as that upon the island, were standing
still,--the bewildered birds had flown to their roosts,--and the whole
less resembled an actual world, than a landscape in a magic glass,
lighted by a magic sun, which lacked the powerful life of nature.
Meanwhile Tornea's church bell tolled the midnight hour.
'Great and wonderful are the works of the Lord!' suddenly exclaimed the
devout pastor; 'and he, who considers them aright, has great pleasure
therein.'
'I also adore the great Creator in the exhibition of his terrors,' said
Arwed. 'But I must acknowledge that the silent, friendly, and dusky
star-lit night of my own Upland, is dearer to me than this wonderful
day. A sun which seems always to approach its setting, and yet never
sets, but remains mournfully suspended between life and death, is in
truth no joyous sight.'
'An image of my poor native country!' said the governor, soliloquising.
'And of my fate!' whispered Christine, almost inaudibly, as she leaned
her weeping face upon Arwed's shoulder.
At this moment a row-boat from Tornea approached the island. Megret
sprang out of it. 'Despatches from Umea!' cried he. 'The courier
appeared to come in great haste; wherefore I took it upon myself to
bring them directly to you.'
'You bring me nothing good,' said the governor, forebodingly, as he
hastily opened the letter. 'As I conjectured! Let us start! We must
this night commence our homeward journey.'
'In heaven's name, father, what is the matter?' asked Christine, in
sympathy with her father's alarm.
'The Danes have invaded Bahuslehn,' answered the governor; 'the
Russians have landed in Upland. Unless God perform miracles in our
favor, Sweden is lost. Let us hence to Umea.'