“1. The Rev. Dr. Anglyvius prays that a substitute may be provided for
the Rev. Dr. Foxtipp, the head of the Episcopal library, on account of
his incompetency. The petitioner does not know who should take the place
of the said incompetent doctor; he would merely state that he, Dr.
Anglyvius, has for a long time exercised the functions of librari--”
“Send the rascal to the bishop,” interrupted the general.
“2. Athanasius Munder, priest and chaplain to the prisons, asks pardon
for twelve penitent convicts on the occasion of the glorious marriage of
his Grace, Ordener Guldenlew, Baron Thorwick, Knight of the Dannebrog,
son of the viceroy, and the noble lady Ulrica d’Ahlefeld, daughter of
his Grace the lord high chancellor of the two kingdoms.”
“Lay it on the table,” said the general. “I pity convicts.”
“3. Faustus-Prudens Destrombidès, Norwegian subject and Latin poet, asks
leave to write the epithalamium for the said noble pair.”
“Ah, ha! The worthy man must be growing old, for he is the same man who
wrote an epithalamium in 1674, for the marriage planned between
Schumacker, then Count of Griffenfeld, and Princess Louisa Charlotte of
Holstein-Augustenburg,--a marriage which never took place. I fear,”
muttered the governor, “that Faustus-Prudens is destined to be the poet
of broken matches. Lay his petition on the table, and go on. Inquire, on
behalf of the said poet, if there be not a vacant bed at the Throndhjem
hospital.”
“4. The miners of Guldbrandsdal, the Färöe Islands, Sund-Moer, Hubfallo,
Roeraas, and Kongsberg, petition to be released from the costs of the
royal protectorate.”
“These miners are restless. I hear that they are even beginning to
grumble at our long delay in answering their petition. Let it be laid
aside for mature consideration.”
“5. Braal, fisherman, declares, in virtue of the Odelsrecht,[6] that he
persists in his intention of buying back his patrimony.
“6. The magistrates of Nœs, Loevig, Indal, Skongen, Stod, Sparbo, and
other towns and villages of Northern Throndhjem, pray that a price may
be set upon the head of the assassin, thief, and incendiary, Hans, said
to be a native of Klipstadur, in Iceland. Nychol Orugix, executioner for
the province of Throndhjem, who claims that Hans is his property,
opposes the petition. Benignus Spiagudry, keeper of the Spladgest, to
whom the corpse should belong, supports the petition.”
“That robber is a very dangerous fellow,” said the general,
“particularly now that we are threatened with trouble among the miners.
Issue a proclamation offering a thousand crowns reward for his head.”
“7. Benignus Spiagudry, doctor, antiquary, sculptor, mineralogist,
naturalist, botanist, lawyer, chemist, mechanic, physicist, astronomer,
theologian, grammarian--”
“Why,” broke in the general, “is not this the same Spiagudry who keeps
the Spladgest?”
“Yes, to be sure, your Excellency,” replied the secretary,--“keeper, for
his Majesty, of the institution of the Spladgest, in the royal city of
Throndhjem, sets forth that he, Benignus Spiagudry, discovered that the
stars called fixed are not lighted by the star called the sun; _item_,
that the real name of Odin is Frigg, son of Fridulf; _item_, that the
marine lobworm feeds on sand; _item_, that the noise of the inhabitants
drives the fish away from the coast of Norway, so that the means of
subsistence are growing less in proportion to the increase of the
population; _item_, that the fjord known as Otte-Sund was formerly known
as Limfjord, and only took the name of Otte-Sund after Otho the Red cast
his spear into it; _item_, he sets forth that it was by his advice and
under his direction that an old statue of Freya was changed into the
statue of Justice, which now adorns the market-place in Throndhjem, and
that the lion found at the feet of the idol has been turned into a
devil, symbolizing crime; _item_--”
“Oh, spare me the rest of his eminent services! Let me see,--what does
he want?”
The secretary turned over several pages, and went on:
“Your most humble petitioner feels that he may justly petition your
Excellency, in return for so many useful labors in the domain of science
and literature, to increase the reward to ten escalins for every corpse,
male or female, which cannot but be gratifying to the dead, as proving
the value set upon their bodies.”
Here the door opened, and the usher in a loud voice announced, “The
noble lady, Countess d’Ahlefeld.”
At the same time a tall woman, wearing the small coronet of a countess,
richly dressed in scarlet satin trimmed with gold fringe and ermine,
entered, and accepting the hand which the general offered her, seated
herself beside him.
The countess was perhaps fifty years old. Age had added little to the
furrows with which pride and ambition had long since marked her face.
She looked at the old governor haughtily, and with an artificial smile.
“Well, General, your ward delays. He should have been here before
sunset.”
“He would have been here, my lady Countess, if he had not gone to
Munkholm upon his arrival.”
“To Munkholm! I hope it was not to see Schumacker?”
“That may be.”
“Could Baron Thorwick’s first visit be to Schumacker!”
“Why not, Countess? Schumacker is unfortunate and unhappy.”
“What, General! Is the viceroy’s son on familiar terms with a prisoner
of state?”
“When Frederic Guldenlew confided his son to my care, he begged me,
noble lady, to bring him up as if he were my own. I thought that an
acquaintance with Schumacker might be useful to Ordener, who is destined
some day to wield such power; consequently, with the viceroy’s
permission, I obtained from my brother, Grummond de Knud, a permit to
enter all the prisons, which I gave to Ordener. He often uses it.”
“And how long, noble General, has Baron Ordener had the pleasure of this
useful acquaintance?”
“Rather more than a year, Countess. It seems that Schumacker’s society
pleased him, for it kept him at Throndhjem for a long time; and it was
only reluctantly, and by my express request, that he left the city last
year to visit Norway.”
“And does Schumacker know that his comforter is the son of one of his
greatest enemies?”
“He knows that he is a friend, and that is enough for him, as for us.”
“But you, General,” said the countess, with a searching look, “when you
tolerated--nay, encouraged--this connection, did you know that
Schumacker had a daughter?”
“I knew it, noble Countess.”
“And this fact seemed to you of no importance to your pupil?”
“The pupil of Levin de Knud, the son of Frederic Guldenlew, is an honest
man. Ordener knows the barrier which separates him from Schumacker’s
daughter; he is incapable of winning the affection, unless his purpose
was upright, of any girl, above all the daughter of an unfortunate man.”
The noble Countess d’Ahlefeld blushed and paled. She turned away her
head to avoid the calm gaze of the old man, as if it were that of an
accuser.
“But,” she stammered, “this connection strikes me, General,--let me
speak my mind,--as strange and imprudent. It is said that the miners and
tribes of the North are threatening to revolt, and that the name of
Schumacker is mixed up with the affair.”
“Noble lady, you surprise me!” exclaimed the governor. “Schumacker has
hitherto borne his misfortunes calmly. The report is doubtless
ill-founded.”
At this moment the door opened, and the usher announced that a messenger
from his Grace the lord high chancellor wished to speak with the noble
countess.
The lady rose hurriedly, took leave of the governor, and while he
continued his inspection of the petitions she hastened to her apartments
in a wing of the palace, directing that the messenger should follow her.
She had been seated on a rich sofa in the midst of her women for a few
instants only, when the messenger entered. The countess on seeing him
made a slight gesture of aversion, which she hid at once by a friendly
smile.
And yet the messenger’s appearance was not at all repulsive. He was a
man of somewhat diminutive stature, whose plumpness suggested anything
else rather than a messenger. Still, a close study of his face showed it
to be frank to the point of impudence, and his look of good-humor had a
spice of deviltry and malice. He bowed low to the countess, and offered
her a package sealed with silk thread.
“Noble lady,” said he, “deign to permit me to venture to lay at your
feet a precious message from his Grace your illustrious husband, my
revered master.”
“Is he not coming himself? And why did he choose you as his messenger?”
inquired the countess.
“Important business delays the coming of his Grace, as this letter will
inform you, Madam. For myself, I am by the orders of my noble master to
enjoy the distinguished honor of a private interview with you.”
The countess turned pale, and exclaimed in a trembling voice, “With
me,--me, Musdœmon?”
“If it distresses the noble lady in the slightest degree, her unworthy
servant will be reduced to despair.”
“Distress me! No, of course not,” returned the countess, trying to
smile. “But is this conversation so essential?”
The messenger bowed down to the ground.
“Absolutely essential. The letter which the illustrious countess has
deigned to receive from my hands probably contains a formal order to
that effect.”
It was strange to see the proud Countess d’Ahlefeld tremble and turn
pale before a servant who paid her such profound respect. She slowly
opened the package and read its contents. After a second reading she
turned to her women, and said in a faint voice: “Go; leave us alone.”
“I hope the noble lady,” said the messenger, bending his knee, “will
deign to pardon the liberty which I venture to take and the trouble
which I seem to cause her.”
“On the contrary,” replied the countess, with a forced smile, “I assure
you that I am very happy to see you.”
The women withdrew.
“Elphega, have you forgotten that there was a time when you were not
averse to being alone with me?”
It was the messenger who addressed the noble countess, and the words
were accompanied by a laugh like that uttered by the Devil, at the
instant that his compact expires and he seizes the soul which sold
itself to him.
The great lady bowed her humbled head.
“Would that I had indeed forgotten it!” she murmured.
“Poor fool! Why should you blush for things which no human eye ever
saw?”
“God sees what men do not see.”
“God, weak woman! You are not worthy to deceive your husband, for he is
less credulous than you.”
“Your insults to my remorse are scarcely generous, Musdœmon.”
“Well, if you feel remorse, Elphega, why insult it yourself by daily
committing fresh crimes?”
The Countess d’Ahlefeld hid her face in her hands; the messenger
continued: “Elphega, you must choose: remorse and more crimes, or crime
and no more remorse. Do as I do: choose the second course; it is
better--at least it is more cheerful.”
“Heaven grant,” said the countess, in low tones, “that those words may
not be counted against you in eternity.”
“Come, my dear, a truce to jest.”
Then Musdœmon, seating himself behind the countess, and putting his arm
about her neck, added: “Elphega, try to be, at least in imagination,
what you were twenty years ago.”
The unfortunate countess, the slave of her accomplice, strove to respond
to his loathsome caresses. There was something too revolting, even for
these degraded souls, in this adulterous embrace of two beings who
scorned and despised each other. The illegal caresses which had once
delighted them, and which some horrible and unknown expediency compelled
them still to lavish upon each other, now tortured them. Strange but
just change of guilty affections! Their crime had become their
punishment.
The countess, to cut short this guilty torment, at last asked her odious
lover, tearing herself from his arms, with what verbal message her
husband had charged him.
“D’Ahlefeld,” said Musdœmon, “just as he was about to see his power
confirmed by the marriage of Ordener Guldenlew to our daughter--”
“Our daughter!” exclaimed the haughty countess; and she fixed her eye on
Musdœmon with a look of pride and contempt.
“Well,” coldly continued the messenger, “I think that Ulrica is at least
as much mine as his. I was saying that the match would not be wholly
satisfactory to your husband unless Schumacker could at the same time be
destroyed. In his remote prison the old favorite is yet almost as much
to be dreaded as in his palace. He has obscure but powerful friends at
court,--powerful because they are obscure; and the king, learning a
month since that the chancellor’s negotiations with the Duke of
Holstein-Ploen were at a standstill, cried out impatiently: ‘Griffenfeld
knew more than all of them put together.’ A schemer named Dispolsen,
come from Munkholm to Copenhagen, had several secret interviews with
him, after which the king sent to the chancellor’s office for
Schumacker’s patents of nobility and title-deeds. No one knows the
object of Schumacker’s ambition; but if he desire nothing but his
liberty, for a prisoner of state that is the same as to desire power! He
must therefore die, and must die by authority of justice; we are now
striving to invent a crime for him. Your husband, Elphega, on the plea
of inspecting the northern provinces incognito, will assure himself of
the result of our underhand dealings among the miners, whom we hope to
incite to rebel, in Schumacker’s name, which revolt we can easily put
down later. What troubles us is the loss of certain important papers
relating to this plot, and which we have every reason to believe have
fallen into the hands of Dispolsen. Knowing that he had set out to
return to Munkholm, carrying to Schumacker his parchments, his diplomas,
and possibly these documents which might ruin, or at least compromise
us, we posted certain faithful men in the gorges of Kiölen, directing
them to rid us of him, after robbing him of his papers. But if, as we
are assured, Dispolsen left Bergen by water, our efforts in that quarter
are in vain. However, as I came along I gathered vague reports of the
murder of a captain by the name of Dispolsen. We shall see. Meantime we
are searching for a famous bandit, Hans, called Hans of Iceland, whom we
wish to put at the head of the revolt in the mines. And you, my
dear,--what news have you for me here? Has the pretty bird at Munkholm
been caught in her cage? Has the old minister’s daughter finally fallen
a prey to our _falco fulvus_, our son Frederic?”
The countess, recovering her pride, again exclaimed: “Our son!”
“I’ faith, how old may he be? Twenty-four. We have known each other some
twenty-six years, Elphega.”
“God knows,” cried the countess, “my Frederic is the chancellor’s lawful
heir.”
“If God knows it,” laughingly replied the messenger, “the Devil does
not. Moreover, your Frederic is but a presumptuous youngster, quite
unworthy of me, and it is not worth our while to quarrel for such a
trifle. He is only fit to make love to a girl. Has he at least
succeeded?”
“Not yet, so far as I know.”
“Oh, Elphega, do try to play a less passive part in our affairs. The
count and myself, as you see, are tolerably active. I return to your
husband to-morrow. For mercy’s sake, do not confine yourself to praying
for our sins, like the Madonna whom the Italians invoke when about to
commit a murder! D’Ahlefeld, too, must see to rewarding me a little more
munificently than he has hitherto done. My fortune is closely connected
with yours; but I am tired of being the husband’s servant when I am the
wife’s lover, and of being only the tutor, the teacher, the pedagogue,
when I am almost the father.”
At this instant midnight struck, and one of the women entered, reminding
the countess that by the palace regulations all lights must be put out
at that hour.
The countess, glad to end a painful interview, recalled her attendants.
“Permit me, gracious Countess,” said Musdœmon, as he withdrew, “to
retain a hope of seeing you to-morrow, and to lay at your feet my homage
and sincere respect.”