WHEN the company was assembled, the major laid before them all the
particulars of the scheme for Christian’s assassination. The prisoners
were summoned to appear, and comprehending that their cause was lost,
in consequence of Johan’s imprisonment and the baron’s death, they
defended themselves so poorly, that their denials were equivalent to a
confession. Puffo acknowledged frankly that he had been commissioned to
put the gold goblet in his master’s baggage, and that M. Johan had paid
him to do it.
“At present,” said the avaricious and haughty Baron de Lindenwald, who
was the nearest cousin of the deceased, “we are quite willing to sign a
formal report, declaring the truth of the accusations brought against
M. Johan; but on condition that we are excused from judging the conduct
and intentions of the baron, his master. There is something barbarous
and impious in making these investigations for the purpose of bringing
a suit against a man who has not yet been laid in the tomb, and who,
stretched upon his death-bed, cannot reply to any accusations. In my
opinion, gentlemen, it is too late, or too soon, for such measures,
and we ought to refuse to hear anything more. What, to us, is the
individual who is taking all these precautions to satisfy his vengeance
against servants, for whom nobody cares, and the memory of a man of
whom we can each of us entertain his own opinion, without, I trust,
being called upon to revile him in public? We were told about a will,
of which nothing more is said; and as it is easy to see that we have
been intentionally deceived in this matter, I, for one, am resolved to
withdraw, and no longer to submit to the authority usurped by a petty
officer of the indelta. I am not the only one here whose privileges are
disregarded at the present moment; and when such things happen, you
know as well as I do, gentlemen, what is the right thing to do.”
While speaking, the Baron de Lindenwald laid his hand upon the hilt
of his sword; and as the other heirs followed his example, a fight
seemed inevitable, when the minister, with much vigor of speech
and ecclesiastical dignity, interposed, calling earnestly upon all
disinterested and honest persons to lend him their support. Almost
every one present responded to his appeal, and by their bearing and
remarks condemned the baron’s attempt so unequivocally, that the
refractory were obliged to submit, and the major was spared the painful
duty of using harsh measures against them.
It was perfectly evident to him, and to all the witnesses of this
scene, that the heirs were unwilling to inquire into the causes
of the baron’s hatred against Christian, because they felt a
presentiment of the truth. M. Goefle had placed him designedly under
his father’s portrait, and every one had instantly remarked the
striking resemblance. But there were no words in the Swedish language
bitter and sarcastic enough to express the aversion with which the
_presumptuous_ were beginning to regard this juggler, whom Johan
had denounced, and whom M. Goefle (whose natural son he was) wished to
establish as the baron’s heir, by means of an improbable romance and
forged proofs.
M. Goefle remained impassible and smiling. Christian found it difficult
to contain himself; but Margaret’s tender and supplicating glance
enabled him to accomplish this miracle.
“Now,” said the minister, when silence was restored, “introduce M.
Adam Stenson, who has been kept secluded in his apartment since he was
released from prison.”
Adam Stenson appeared. He was dressed with care, and his sweet and
noble face, worn with fatigue, but still dignified and serene, produced
a most favorable impression. M. Goefle begged him to sit down, and
proceeded to read the declaration written by his hand, and confided to
Manasses, at Perugia. This document, which had not yet been brought
forward, was listened to by some of the company with the greatest
surprise and interest, and by others in sullen and gloomy silence.
The Russian ambassador, who had no such views for Christian as the
Countess Elveda pretended, perhaps because she was trying to put them
into his head, but who felt a genuine interest in the young man, on
account of his handsome face and determined manner, began to express
his approbation of the way in which this investigation was conducted,
so as to do away with the necessity of a lawsuit, or, if there should
be a suit, so as to throw all possible light upon the subject. It ought
to be mentioned that Christian’s friends had persuaded this dignitary
to be present, by urgent solicitations. The respect that M. Goefle
took pains to show him, in spite of his prejudices against his policy,
flattered the ambassador, who liked to be mixed up in the affairs of
private individuals, as well as in public matters, in Sweden.
When the document had been read, the minister turned to Stenson, and
asked him whether he could hear the questions that were addressed to
him.
“Yes, Monsieur Minister,” replied Stenson; “I am very deaf, it is true,
but sometimes I recover my hearing almost entirely, and I often hear
things to which I do not wish to reply.”
“Will you answer to-day?”
“Yes, monsieur, I wish to do so.”
“Do you recognize your writing in this document?”
“Yes, monsieur, perfectly.”
“The reasons of your long silence are indicated in it,” resumed the
minister; “but before being accepted as true, they must be more clearly
explained. The manner in which the baron has treated you up to the
present time does not seem compatible either with the fear with which
you have regarded him, or with the terrible designs upon other persons
attributed to him in this declaration.”
Stenson’s only answer was to lift up the sleeve of his coat. Every one
could see, upon his thin and trembling arms, the marks of the cords
that had been tied so tightly about his wrists as to draw blood.
“See,” he said, “with what sort of sport the baron was amusing himself,
when the agony of death closed his eyes, and terminated my torture; but
I did not acknowledge anything. They might have broken my old bones! I
would not have said a word. What is it to die at my age?”
“You shall not die yet, Stenson!” cried M. Goefle; “you shall live to
experience a great joy. You can speak freely now; Baron Olaus is no
more.”
“I know it, monsieur,” said Stenson, “since I am here; but there is no
more happiness for me in this world, for he whom I saved has perished!”
“Are you quite sure of that, Stenson?” said Monsieur Goefle.
Stenson looked through the room, which was very brilliantly lighted. He
fixed his eyes upon Christian, who repressed every sign of emotion, so
as to avoid attracting his attention in any way, and who even pretended
not to see him, although he was burning to throw himself into his arms.
“Well!” said M. Goefle to the old man, “what is the matter, Stenson?
Why do you weep?”
“Because I fear that I am dreaming,” said Stenson, “because I believed
I was dreaming two days ago, when I saw him here; because I do not know
him any longer, and yet I recognize him.”
“Remain where you are, M. Stenson,” said the minister to the old man,
who wanted to go up to Christian; “a resemblance, however striking,
is not a sure indication, for it may be the result of chance. The
facts advanced by you in the document that has just been read must be
established.”
“That can easily be done,” said Stenson. “M. Goefle has only to read
the paper which I confided to him yesterday. The identity between
Christian Goffredi and Christian de Waldemora can then be established
by means of the letters from Manasses, which I also placed in his hands
this very day.”
“I took a solemn oath,” said M. Goefle, “not to open this paper until
after the baron’s death. I opened it two hours ago, and these are the
few words that it contains:
“‘Examine the wall behind the portrait of Baroness Hilda, at Stollborg,
to the right of the window of the bear-room.’
“Ah! ah!” whispered the major to M. Goefle, while the minister
caused the portrait to be taken down, and proceeded, under Stenson’s
direction, to open the secret aperture behind it; “I had supposed that
the proof would be found in the walled-up room.”
“No, God be praised!” replied the lawyer, in the same tone; “for it
would have been seen, in that case, that we had been there beforehand,
and we might have been accused of having placed false proofs there
ourselves. Now, thanks to the great maps that have been put back into
their places, no one here has heeded or remarked the breach in the
wall. It was because I looked into Stenson’s mysterious warning at the
new chateau, that I advised you to bring a great many witnesses here
without fear.”
When the hiding-place had been opened, the minister took out, with his
own hands, a metal casket, in which was found a decisive document,
which he read aloud.
This document had been written by the Baroness Hilda, and was a clear
and detailed account of the sad days that she had passed at Stollborg
in the custody of the odious Johan, and of the persecutions that she
had undergone, together with her faithful friends and servants, Adam
Stenson and Karine Bœtsoi.
The unhappy widow declared, and took her oath “upon her eternal
salvation, and upon the soul of her husband and of her first child,
both of them assassinated by the order of a man whom she did not wish
to name, but whose crimes would some day be known,” that she had given
birth to a second son, fruit of her legitimate union with the Baron
Adelstan de Waldemora, on the eighteenth of September, 1746, at two
o’clock in the morning, in the bear-room, at Stollborg. She related,
in a manner at the same time modest and dramatic, with what courage
she had repressed her cries, so that the suspicions of the jailers,
who were installed close by her in the chamber called the guard-room,
should not be aroused. Karine had assisted her in her time of trial,
and had sung constantly, to keep the feeble wailing of the new-born
infant from being heard. Stenson did not quit the room during the birth
of the child, and immediately afterwards he had tried to carry it off
by the secret door, but the existence of this door had become known
to the jailers, and, to his dismay, he had found it fastened on the
outside, and guarded. On the failure of his first attempt, Stenson
made some excuse for going out--it was not thought necessary to keep
him a prisoner, but he was always strictly searched whenever he left
the tower--and went in search of a boat, which, under cover of the
darkness, he succeeded in introducing into the passages between the
rocks and boulders of the lake, when Karine, who had prepared a basket
and cord for the purpose, let down the child to him from the window.
All this took some time, and day was beginning to appear. The window
of the guard-room opened at the very moment when Stenson received the
child into his trembling hands. Fortunately he was protected by the
vault of overhanging rocks, and had been able to keep hidden until the
men above withdrew, whereupon, with many prayers to God, he had crossed
the short space between the lake and the shore behind the _gaard_.
The romance that Christian had imagined, on exploring this strange
site, had therefore reproduced, in some respects, the facts of his own
history.
The child had been confided to Anna Bœtsoi, the mother of Karine and
Danneman Joë. It had been suckled by a tame doe in one of the chalets
of Blaakdal, and every now and then the imprisoned baroness received
information about it by means of signal fires lighted on the mountains.
Reassured as to the fate of her child, the baroness hoped to join him
and fly into Denmark; but the baron refused to restore her to liberty,
unless she would consent to sign a declaration that her pregnancy had
been simulated. This she refused to do, saying that she was willing
to admit having fallen into an error, but not to accuse herself of
imposture; whereupon he began to seem strangely suspicious of the event
which she had it so much at heart to conceal. Then, trembling lest the
birth and retreat of her child should be discovered, and he destroyed,
she had signed the document drawn up by Pastor Mickelson.
“But, before God and man,” she said, in this new declaration, “I
protest here against my own signature, and take my oath that it was
extorted from me by violence and terror. If, under these circumstances,
I denied the truth for the first time in my life, all mothers will
understand my fault, and God will pardon me.”
Once in possession of this terrible declaration, the baron, fearing,
perhaps, a recantation, or the exposure of his crimes, formally refused
to restore his victim to freedom, declaring that she was mad, and doing
his best to make her so, by a system of harsh captivity, privations,
insults and intimidations. Some peasants who were courageous enough to
express a sympathy for her, and to try and set her free, he had beaten
after the Russian fashion, in the guard-room, where she could hear
their cries. Stenson and Karine he threatened with the same treatment
if they continued to urge that the baroness should be set at liberty,
and these faithful friends had been obliged to feign compliance with
his wishes, so as not to be separated from their unfortunate mistress.
At last, suffering and grief did their work upon the poor victim.
She sank into a rapid decline, and, feeling that she was soon to
die, she wrote out for her son this account of her sorrows; wherein,
however, she implored him never to seek revenge, in case circumstances
impossible to foresee should make him acquainted with the mystery
of his birth before the baron’s death. She was convinced that this
implacable, rich, and powerful man would pursue her son, if he knew
of his existence, in whatever corner of the earth he might be hidden.
She prayed, therefore, that he might live a long time “in a humble
station, in ignorance of his rights, and that he might rather love
the arts or sciences than be ambitious of wealth and power, source of
so many evils, and of such cruel passions, on the earth.” The poor
mother added, notwithstanding, in anticipation of a future discovery,
that her son, to whom she had given the name Adelstan-Christian, had,
at his birth, black hair, and “fingers made like those of his father
and his ancestors.” Finally she gave him her supreme benediction, and
enjoined upon him to believe implicitly, and to regard as sacred, all
the statements of Stenson and Karine--the witnesses of the sufferings
of her captivity, and of the constant and unalterable lucidity of her
mind in spite of the calumnious reports that had been spread abroad as
to her pretended state of madness and fury.
“My soul is calm,” she said, at the approach of death. “I am prepared
to depart, full of resignation, of hope, and confidence, to a better
world. I pardon my executioners, and I have only one regret in leaving
this sad life--that of abandoning my son; but the unexpected success
of his flight has taught me to rely upon Providence, and the devoted
friendship of those who have saved him.”
The signature was large and firm, as if a last effort of life had
warmed the heart of the poor dying woman at this supreme hour. It was
dated, “This 15th of December, 1746.”
Besides the declaration of the baroness, the casket contained a sort of
formal report, drawn up by Stenson, of the last moments and death of
his unfortunate mistress. This report, which the minister also read,
was dated the twenty-eighth of December of the same year, and was as
follows:
“They deprived her of sleep up to her last hour. Johan and his gang,
who occupied the guard-room, kept on night and day swearing, yelling,
and blaspheming in her very ears, and the baron, her brother-in-law,
came every day, under the pretence of seeing that she was well-treated,
to tell her that she was mad, and overwhelm her with insults and
reproaches, because of the pretended plot which he had defeated. The
only plot--and with the help of God it succeeded!--was, by patience
and silence, to persuade this persecutor that madame had really been
mistaken about her condition, and that he had nothing to fear in the
future.
“Upon his side, Pastor Mickelson, not less cruel and importunate, came
even to madame’s death-bed to tell her that, having lived in a land
of papists, she was imbued with false doctrines, and to threaten her
a hundred times with hell, instead of giving her the consolations and
hopes to which every Christian soul has a right.
“At last he went out, only an hour before she breathed her last, and
she expired in our arms, on the fourth day of the Christmas holidays,
at four o’clock in the morning, with these words upon her lips:
“‘My God! bestow a mother upon my son!’”
“We testify that she died like a saint, without having had a single
moment of anger, of delirium, or even of religious doubt.
“After closing her eyes, we stopped the clock, and blew out the
Christmas candle which was burning in the chandelier, with the prayer
to God that we might see this clock set in motion, and the candle
lighted, by the hand of our future young master.
“After which, we have drawn up this writing which we are going to hide
and seal up, together with that of our well-beloved mistress, in the
wall of her chamber, in the place which she herself indicated, all
things being prepared to that end.
“And, with many tears, we both of us sign our names, swearing that we
have certified only to the exact truth.
“ADAM STENSON,
“KARINE BŒTSOI.”
The pastor read these simple pages with so much feeling and pathos,
that the women wept, and the men, touched and convinced, gave three
cheers for Christian de Waldemora, and crowded around him, eager to
shake hands with him and to offer him their congratulations. The heirs,
however (from this malignant set the old Count de Nora and his son must
always be excepted), declared that they should require the appearance
of Karine Bœtsoi; having gathered, probably, from the reports in
circulation about her, that this woman was still alive, and was mad.
They hoped that they could object to her as a witness; and the major
also dreaded exceedingly the effect of her appearance, and hastened
to say that she was ill, and lived at a considerable distance. He was
interrupted by a rough, although kindly voice: that of Danneman Joë
Bœtsoi.
“Why do you say what is not so, Monsieur Major?” cried the honest man.
“Karine Bœtsoi is neither so ill nor so far away as you suppose. She
has had her sleep here, and now that she has rested, her mind is as
clear as your own. Do not be afraid to call Karine Bœtsoi. It is true
that the poor soul has suffered, above all since the day when she had
to be separated from the child, and that she says things that cannot
be understood; but, for all that, her head is good and her will firm.
What proves it is, that nobody has been able to find out her secret,
not even myself, who knew the child, and who have just learned his name
and history for the first time in my life. Now, a woman who can keep
a secret is not like an ordinary woman, and what she says ought to be
believed.”
Rising, he went to the door of the guard-room, and threw it open.
“Come, my sister!” he said to the seeress; “you are wanted here.”
Every one bent forward with eager curiosity as Karine entered. Her
pallor, her precocious old age, her look of amazement, and uncertain,
faltering step, caused, at first, more pity than sympathy. However,
in the sight of them all, she drew herself up erect, and stood firm.
Her face assumed an expression of enthusiasm and energy. She had taken
off the poor gray dress, that precious rag in which she never allowed
herself to sleep, from over her peasant’s dress, and her hair, white as
snow, was drawn from her face and tied with red woollen cords, giving
her somewhat the appearance of an ancient sibyl.
She went up to the pastor, and without waiting to be questioned, said:
“Father and friend of the afflicted, you know Karine Bœtsoi; you
know that her soul is neither guilty nor deceitful. She asks you why
the belfry-bell of the new chateau is tolling; what you say she will
believe.”
“The belfry-bell is tolling for the dead,” replied the minister; “your
ears have not deceived you. For a long time, Karine, I have known that
you have a secret which oppresses you. You can speak now, and perhaps
you can be cured. Baron Olaus is dead!”
“I know it,” she said; “the great iarl appeared to me last night. He
said: ‘I am going away forever,’ and I felt my soul reborn. Now I will
speak, because the child of the lake is going to return. I saw him,
also, in my dream.”
“Do not talk about your dreams, Karine,” rejoined the minister, “but
try and recall what has really happened. If you wish to recover reason
and tranquillity of soul, by the grace of the Lord, make an effort
yourself to be humble and submissive; for I have often told you that
pride had a great deal to do with your madness: you pretend to read in
the future, when you are not able, perhaps, to relate the past.”
Karine remained abashed and thoughtful for an instant, and then
answered:
“If the good pastor of Waldemora, as kind and as humane as he who
preceded him was ferocious and cruel, orders me to tell the past, I
will tell the past.”
“I both command you and entreat you to do so,” said the pastor; “speak
calmly, and remember that God weighs each one of your words.”
Karine collected her thoughts, and said:
“We are in the room where our well-beloved mistress fell asleep
forever.”
“Do you mean Hilda de Waldemora?”
“Yes; she is the widow of the good young iarl, and the mother of the
child named Christian, who ought now to return to light the Christmas
candle on the hearth of his fathers. She gave birth to this child in
the full of the moon of _Hæst_,[7] here, in this bed, where she
died in the last days of the moon of _Jul_. She gave him her
blessing here, by this window, out of which he flew away, for he was
born with wings! And then she told a lie, saying in her heart: ‘God
pardon me for killing my son by my word! But it is better for him to
live among the elfs than among men.’ Then she sang to her harp, and
when she died, she said: ‘May God bestow a mother upon my son!’”
Brought back, in a measure, to a perception of real things, Karine
began to weep; then her mind became confused, and the minister, seeing
that she could no longer understand the questions that were addressed
to her, made a sign to the danneman, who quietly led the poor seeress
away, after glancing in triumph at the company, as if to challenge
their admiration of the manner in which his sister had answered.
“What would you have more?” said M. Goefle, glancing around him. “Has
not this poor enthusiast told you, in a few words of her rustic poetry,
precisely the same things that Stenson has written in this document,
with the methodical clearness of his mind? And is not her very
frenzy--the sort of continual delirium in which she lives--a proof of
what she has suffered for those she so dearly loved?”
The opportunity for pleading was too fine to be lost; M. Goefle could
not help taking advantage of it. He spoke with inspiration, summed up
the facts of the case rapidly, related portions of Christian’s life,
after having established his identity by means of Manasses’ letters to
Stenson, explained the romantic circumstances of the last two days, and
indeed succeeded so well in convincing his auditors, that they forgot
all about the lateness of the hour and their own fatigue, and asked him
question after question, so as to keep him talking. Finally, they all
signed an official report of the proceedings.
The Baron de Lindenwald made a last effort to revive the drooping
courage of the other heirs.
“No matter,” he said, rising, for the doors were open, and any one was
free to withdraw, “we shall find out the truth of all these ridiculous
fictions: we will go to law!”
“I suppose so,” replied M. Goefle, with great animation; “but we shall
await you on firm ground.”
“For my part, I shall not go to law,” said the Count de Nora; “I am
convinced, and I shall sign.”
“These gentlemen will not go to law either,” said the ambassador,
pointedly.
“Oh, yes they will,” rejoined M. Goefle, “but they will lose.”
“We will attack the validity of the marriage,” cried the baron; “Hilda
de Blixen was a Catholic.”
Christian was going to reply angrily, when M. Goefle hastened to
interrupt him:
“How do you know that, monsieur?” he said to the baron. “Where are your
proofs? Where is this pretended chapel to the Virgin which she is said
to have erected? Now that the mysteries of Stollborg are disclosed to
all, what evidence remains of this ridiculous fable, which served as
a pretext to several persons here present for abandoning that unhappy
woman to persecution and to death?”
“This Christian Goffredi may be a Catholic also; he was brought up in
Italy!” muttered the heirs, as they withdrew. “Patience! we will know
the truth of it, and will see whether a man who cannot have a seat
in the Diet, nor be appointed to any office, is to inherit a domain
entitling him to all the privileges of the nobility.”
“Be quiet, Christian, hold your tongue!” said M. Goefle, in a low
voice, holding Christian back with all his force, as the latter started
up to follow his adversaries out and defy them to their faces. “Remain
where you are, or all is lost. Be a dissenter, if you choose, when you
have inherited; but, for the present, keep quiet about it. No one has
remarked that the bear-room has become square again.”
“What do you mean?” inquired the major of M. Goefle. “Why should we
hesitate to admit every one freely into the upper room, since the
pretended chapel does not exist?”
“We could do so,” replied M. Goefle, “if we had not already broken into
it. As it is, they would accuse us of having removed the evidences of
the prohibited worship.”
Countess Elveda now approached Christian, and said to him, with her
most gracious air:
“At present, baron, I sincerely trust that I shall have the pleasure of
seeing you in Stockholm--”
“Will you still consent to receive me,” he replied, “only on condition
that I am to start for Russia?”
“No,” she said, “I leave you free to select her to whom you have given
your heart.”
“Will Countess Margaret accompany you to Stockholm?” said Christian, in
a low voice.
“She may join me, perhaps, when you have gained your lawsuit, if
lawsuit there is to be. In the meanwhile, she must return to her
chateau. It is all settled, and prudence requires it. For my part, I
hold to my promise, and am still ready to carry you to Stockholm,
where you will be obliged to go to have your affairs settled.”
“I thank you, madame; but I am entirely under the control of my lawyer,
who has further use for me here.”
“Au revoir, then!” replied the countess, taking the arm of the
ambassador, who said to her, as they went out:
“I am quite as well pleased to have that handsome young baron decline
travelling with you!”
Margaret bade adieu to her aunt at the door of Stollborg, and started
with her governess and the Akerstrom family for the parsonage, where
she was to take some rest before returning to Dalby. She did not
exchange a word, or even a glance, with Christian, but it was none the
less tacitly understood between them that she was not to leave the
neighborhood until they had seen each other again.
The major returned, with his soldiers and his prisoners, to the new
chateau, where he was to await the receipt of orders as to whether he
was to continue the exercise of his authority. The danneman and his
family returned to their mountain, Karine, to the last, being unable
to comprehend that she beheld in Christian the child of the lake. Her
mind could not so readily be brought back, from the fantasies in which
she lived, to a perception of real things. And indeed, even in after
years, although her condition was very much ameliorated, although she
felt instinctively that she was freed from a great trouble, she never,
while she lived, really succeeded in identifying Christian, and she
very often confounded him with his father, the young Baron Adelstan.
It was four o’clock in the morning; and though it was the custom of the
country to go to bed very late, at a time of the year when the nights
are so long, the principal persons of our story had passed through such
a series of vehement emotions, that they were all overwhelmed with
fatigue. They all retired, therefore, and slept profoundly, being more
fortunate in this, probably, than Johan and his gang, shut up in the
tower of the new chateau, where they had imprisoned and tortured so
many people.
However, before day-break, Stenson glided softly to Christian’s
bedside, and after gazing upon him with rapture for a few seconds, he
waked him, without arousing M. Goefle.
“Rise, my master!” he whispered in his ear, “I have something to say
to you which must be heard by yourself alone! I will await you in the
inner room.”
Christian dressed himself quickly and silently, and closing the
doors behind him, followed Stenson into the deserted and dilapidated
apartment into which he had penetrated on the previous evening. The old
man uncovered his head with reverence.
“Here, Monsieur Baron,” he said, “behind this wainscot, where you see a
dove carved in marble, a mystery is hidden, that ought to be revealed
to you alone. Here it is that your mother had secretly erected an
altar to the Virgin; for she was a Catholic, the fact is too certain.
The exercise of her worship being forbidden in her husband’s country,
madame was obliged to conceal her faith, so as not to draw down
persecution upon his head.
“Pastor Mickelson could never prove this. The altar was brought and
placed in this hiding-place by Italian workmen, travelling through the
country, who had executed other commissions in marble, and in wood, at
the new chateau. I was the only person in her confidence. There was a
learned old Frenchman among the retainers of the chateau, who was a
Catholic priest, unknown to every one, and who said mass here secretly;
but he had died, and the Italian workmen had departed at the time of
the persecution of your poor mother. You must see this altar, Monsieur
Baron, and, whatever may be your own religion, you must regard it with
respect. Help me to move the spring in the wainscot, which is probably
very rusty.”
“You mean that your poor arms are swollen and aching,” said Christian,
kissing the old man’s tortured hands.
“Ah! do not pity me,” said Stenson, “my hands will get well; I do not
feel them, all that I have suffered is as nothing in comparison with my
present happiness.”
Christian opened the wainscot as Stenson directed, and after drawing a
curtain of gilt leather, he saw a white marble altar, in the form of a
sarcophagus. Stenson, who was deeply agitated, fell upon his knees.
“Are you a Catholic also, my friend?” Christian asked.
Stenson shook his head in the negative, but without seeming offended by
the question. Tears rolled slowly over his pallid cheeks.
“Stenson!” cried Christian, “my mother reposes here. This altar became
her tomb!”
“Yes,” said the old man, almost suffocated by his sobs; “here it is
that Karine and I buried her, in her white robe, and crowned with a
cypress wreath, for it was not the season of flowers. We laid her
in a coffin filled with aromatics, and the coffin we placed in this
sepulchre, stainless as that of Christ. I sealed it up myself, and
afterwards I walled up the room, so that the tomb of the victim should
not be profaned. Your enemy never knew why I was so anxious to suppress
the door. He thought I was afraid of ghosts. When the minister refused
to bury a _pagan_ with religious services, and in sacred ground,
he thought I obeyed his orders, and threw the poor body into the bottom
of the lake; but whatever Pastor Mickelson may have said, it was the
body of a saint. Whatever her worship may have been, the baroness loved
God, did good, and respected the faith of others. She is in heaven, and
prays for us now, and her soul is happy in beholding her son where he
is, and such as he is.”
“Ah!” said Christian, “happiness does not belong, then, to this world,
for I should have made her happy, and she is dead.”
He kissed the tomb with respect and fervor, and having reinclosed it
behind the curtain and the panel of the wainscot, he went down with
Stenson into the bear-room.
“I do not know,” the old man resumed, “how much trouble and delay there
may be before your rights are acknowledged; but I hope you will empower
me to restore the partition before this chamber. When you are master
here, we can carry the tomb to the chapel in the new chateau.”
“Place my mother’s tomb by that of Baron Olaus!” cried Christian.
“Oh no, never! Since Sweden refused her a plot of ground to cover her
bones, after having refused her air and liberty, I will carry off these
precious remains, and deposit them under a more clement sky. Whether
rich or poor, I will procure enough to bear this relic with me to the
shore of the Italian lake, where sleeps my second mother; she who
fulfilled the last prayer of her who gave me birth, and who, although
herself most unhappy, had at least a son to close her eyes.”
“Act with calmness and prudence,” replied Stenson, “or your rights
will be denied. Some day you will be free to do as you choose; for
the present, do not allow even your best friends, even the worthy M.
Goefle, to know that your mother was a dissenter. He will argue your
cause with more hope and confidence, believing that she was not so; and
if you yourself are a dissenter, do not acknowledge it, or you will not
be able to triumph over your enemies.”
“Alas!” said Christian, “are riches worth the trouble I must take
to acquire them? can they repay me for practising dissimulation and
repressing my just indignation, as I am urged and forced to do? I had
nothing, Stenson, not even an obole, when I came here three days ago,
but my heart was light, my mind was free! I felt no hatred to any human
being, no one hated me, and now--”
“And now you will be less free and less happy, I know,” replied the
sweet and austere old man, gravely; “but you will have power to comfort
and console the poor and suffering. Think of that, and it will give you
strength to struggle for your rights.”
“Well said, my dear Stenson!” cried M. Goefle, who had just risen, and
who heard the last words of the pious old retainer. “Whoever meets as
he ought the duties and responsibilities which life imposes, rivets
chains upon his feet, and insures for himself many bitter hours. It
remains to be seen whether the man who, in the glory of his youth and
strength, finds himself confronted with a plain duty, and who turns
away to escape from it, can still be happy in heedless indifference,
and can venture to claim that he is contented with himself.”
“You are right, my friend,” said Christian; “do what you choose with
me. I promise to be guided by your advice.”
“And then,” added M. Goefle, lowering his voice, “our sweet Margaret
ought, I think, to be a sufficient compensation for enduring the life
of a grand seigneur!”
It was decided by M. Goefle that Christian should leave Waldemora,
where he could exert no authority until his inheritance should be
secured to him by the decision of the special committee of the Diet,
a mysterious, special, and privileged tribunal, which claimed the
right of removing suits pending in ordinary courts, especially those
in which the nobility were interested. It was necessary for Christian
to accompany his lawyer to Stockholm, so as to demand and solicit a
decision.
Before bidding farewell to Stollborg, both of them, however, went to
the parsonage, where Christian, after thanking Minister Akerstrom
respectfully and affectionately, appointed him guardian of his estates,
in so far as it depended upon him, and in the very just anticipation
that his choice would be ratified by the house of nobles. He had
no opportunity of being alone with Margaret; and even if he could
have spoken to her freely, he would not have wished to draw her into
an engagement until he was sure that he would not become Christian
Waldo again. But Margaret felt no doubt either of his intentions or
his success, and returned to her retreat with her heart full of the
blissful hopes of youth, and the faith of a first love.
Christian refused to go and breakfast at the new chateau with the major
and his friends. They understood his repugnance, and dined with M.
Goefle and the young baron in Stenson’s _gaard_. In the evening
they were all invited to supper at the parsonage. Margaret was not to
start until the next day. On the following day Christian also took
his departure with M. Goefle, who amused himself by driving Loki, to
the great satisfaction of Nils, who slept soundly during the whole
journey, never waking up at all, except to eat.
After passing two weeks at Stockholm, where Christian conducted himself
with great prudence, reserve, and dignity, M. Goefle, who was very
impatient to return to Gevala, invited him to go there, while awaiting
the decision of the supreme court, especially as there was every
reason to believe that there would be a great deal of delay in the
matter, since, in consequence of the death of the king, and succession
of Prince Henry (now become Gustavus III.), the ruling powers were
unusually busy and preoccupied. But Christian, foreseeing that he would
be left in uncertainty for an indefinite period, did not feel willing
to live at M. Goefle’s expense during all this time, and resolved to
carry out his plan of taking a journey with Danneman Bœtsoi into the
savage and frozen regions in the northern part of Norway. Equally
unwilling to be a burden to the brave peasant, he accepted from M.
Goefle a very moderate advance upon his inheritance, or upon his future
labor; and, after embracing his friends at Waldemora and at Stollborg,
he set off with Bœtsoi, once more leaving his dear Jean under the
charge of Stenson.
[Footnote 7: _Hæst_, September; _Jul_, December.]