TWO OLD ACQUAINTANCES.
When the autumn sun on the following morning spread its first rays into
the turret room, Bertel arose and looked out of the iron-barred window.
It was a beautiful view that here met his eye. Underneath the turret
wound a lovely river, and on the other side of it lay a town with
thirty spires, and beyond were seen a number of still verdant vineyards.
Bertel at once recognised Würzburg. The castle of Marienburg, where
the prisoners were confined, had at the retreat of the Swedes fallen
back into the bishop's hands; but his grace, on account of the
insecurity of the times, did not return there himself, but remained in
Vienna. The castle had suffered much, from the last conquest, and the
consequent plundering; one tower had been destroyed, and the moat was
filled up in several places. At present there were only fifty men in
the garrison, guarding the sisters of charity from the cloisters in the
town, and many sick and wounded.
When Bertel had carefully examined his prison, he thought he recognised
Regina's room, the same in which that beautiful young lady with her
maids in waiting had watched the battle, and where the image of the
Holy Virgin had been broken into fragments by the splinters from the
cannon-shot.*
* The surgeon forgets that this room was totally destroyed.--Author.
"Here," thought the dreaming young man, "she slept the last night
before the storm."
For Bertel this room was sacred; when he pressed his lips against the
cold walls, he thought he kissed the marks of Regina's tears.
A wonderful thought struck him like lightning. If the nun that visited
them yesterday was a princess ... if the white hand belonged to Regina!
It would be a miracle, but ... love believes in miracles. Bertel's
heart beat fast.
His neglected wounds had greatly improved under the gentle hands of his
nurse. He now felt much stronger. His unfortunate comrades were still
asleep after their terrible journey. Then the door was quietly opened,
and the nun softly entered with a drink for the wounded prisoners.
Bertel felt his head swim. Overcome by his violent emotions, he fell
on his knees before her.
"Your name, you kind angel, who remembers the prisoners!" he cried.
"Tell me your name, let me see your face ... Ah! I should have known
you amongst thousands ... you are Regina, yourself!"
"You make a mistake," said the same kind voice that Bertel had heard
the day before. It was not Regina's voice, and still he knew the
tones. To whom then did it belong?
Bertel rushed forward and pulled the veil from the nun's head. In
front of him stood the beautiful mild Ketchen with a smiling face. The
surprised Bertel drew back.
"Imprudent one," she said, covering her face with her hands. "I wished
to have you in my care, but now you make me leave the place to another."
Ketchen disappeared. On the evening of the same day another nun
entered the room.
Larsson addressed a long speech to her, and put her hand to his lips,
and impressed on it a loud kiss. He then swore fearfully.
"Millions of devils!" he said, "that I should kiss an old shrivelled
hand like that. The skin was like a century-old parchment."
"Verily, my dear Bertel," continued the chagrined captain with
philosophical resignation, "there are secrets in nature which will for
ever remain concealed from human sagacity. This hand, for
example--_manus mana, manum_--hand, as the old Roman used to say: this
hand, my friend, would undoubtedly occupy a shining place in the Greek
poet Ovid's 'Metamorphoses,' which we formerly studied in the Cathedral
School at Abo, the time my father wanted to make me a priest.
Yesterday I could have sworn that it was the beautiful white hand of a
young girl, and to-day I will be shaved as bare as a monk it it was not
a hand that belongs to a seventy-year-old washerwoman. _Sic unde ubi
apud unquam post_, as the ancients used to say. That is, so can a
pretty girl be changed into a witch before anyone knows it."
The prisoners' wounds healed rapidly under the care of the nuns. The
fierce autumn storms whistled around the castle turrets, and the heavy
rain beat against the small panes. The verdure of the vineyards faded,
and a thick, heavy mist rose from the Main, and obscured the view of
the town.
"I cannot stand it any longer," growled Larsson. "The wretches! they
do not give us either wine or dice. And forgive me, Saint, the devil
may kiss their hands or lips, not I. No. I have a great respect for
old women. I cannot stand this. I will jump out of the window."
"Do it," said Bertel, provoked.
"No, I will not jump out of the window," said the captain. "No, my
dear friend--_micus ameus_, as we learned people used to express
ourselves--I will instead honour our companion with a game."
And the inventive captain for the thirtieth time summoned Pekka to a
game of pitch and toss. This uninteresting game, which was his only
diversion, was played with a Carl IX. six-öre piece.
"Tell me what they are building over there on the square of Würzburg,
just opposite the bank of the Main?" said Bertel.
"An ale-house," said Larsson. "Crown!"
"It looks to me like a pyre."
"Tail!" repeated Larsson monotonously. "Dash it, what ill luck I have;
this damned Limingo peasant will win my horse, my saddle, and my
stirrups."
"The first morning after we were taken prisoners, I heard something
about an _auto-de-fé_, to celebrate the battle of Lützen. What do you
think of it?"
"I? What should I care; they might burn a dozen witches for our
amusement."
"But if we are concerned in it? If they are waiting for the bishop's
arrival?"
Larsson dilated his small grey eyes, and took hold of his goatee.
"Blitz-donner-kreutz ... the wretched Jesuits! They would cook us like
turnips ... we ... the conquerors of the Holy Roman Empire ... I mean,
my friend Bertel, that in such desperate straits, an honest soldier
would not be to blame if he tried to escape in silence--for example,
through the window..."
"There is a fall of seventy feet to the Main underneath."
"The door," said the thoughtful captain.
"Is guarded night and day by two armed men."
The captain fell into some melancholy reflections. Time passed on; it
was evening; it became night. The nun with their suppers did not
appear.
"The festival begins with a fast," muttered the captain in a gloomy
tone. "I am shaped like a fish, if I do not wring the head off our
neglectful nun as soon as she appears."
At this moment the door opened, and the nun entered alone. Larsson
exchanged a glance with his companions, suddenly approached the nun,
caught her round the neck, and held her against the wall.
"Be still, like a good child, highly honoured abbess," mockingly said
the captain; "if you make a sound you are lost. By right I ought to
throw you out of the window and let you have a swim in the Main, to
teach you _punctum preciosum_, that is, a precise punctuality in your
attendance. But I will give you grace for this night. Tell me, you
most miserable of meal bringers, what is the meaning of that fire which
they are preparing on the square; who is going to be roasted there?"
"For the sake of all the saints, speak low," whispered the nun. "I am
Ketchen, and have come to save you. A great danger threatens you.
To-morrow the bishop is expected, and Father Hieronymus, the implacable
enemy of all the Finns, has sworn to burn you alive for the glory of
the saints."
"My fine little soft hand!" cried Larsson delighted. "Upon my honour,
I am a fool not to recognise it at once. Well, my beautiful friend,
for the glory or St. Brita I will take a kiss on the spot..."
The captain kept his word. But Ketchen freed herself, and said quickly:
"If you do not behave yourself, young man, you will afford fuel for the
flames. Hurry! bind me to the bedpost, and tie a handkerchief over my
mouth.
"Bind you..." replied the captain; "explain yourself."
"Make haste! the guard are drunk and asleep, but in twenty minutes they
will be inspected by the pater himself. Seize their cloaks and hurry
to get out. The passwords are Petrus and Paulus."
"And yourself?" said the captain.
"They will find me bound. I have been overpowered, and my mouth
stopped."
"Noble girl! The crown of all Franconia's sisters of charity; had I
not sworn never to marry.... Very well, hasten, Bertel! hurry, Pekka,
you lazy dog! Farewell, little rogue! another kiss ... Good-bye!"
The three prisoners hastened out. But scarcely were they outside the
door when they were seized by iron fists, thrown down, and bound.
"Take the dogs down into the treasury," said a well-known voice. It
was Father Hieronymus.