During the whole day an anxious stillness prevailed in the town. The
crowds indeed still continued to pour like a tide through the streets,
but with order, and in silent expectation. The sun was about to set,
and, as yet, no tidings had been received of the issue of the royal
negociation. Meanwhile, an unusual procession attracted the attention
of the restless and fickle populace. A funeral train proceeded past St.
Clement's church down to the old Strand, but without chaunting and
ringing of bells, and without being accompanied by any choristers or
ecclesiastics. This procession consisted of a great number of foreign
merchants and skippers, and all the pepper 'prentices, who (several
hundreds in number, and clad in precise and rich mourning attire)
followed two large coffins covered with costly palls of black velvet.
The coffins were borne by Hanseatic seamen; over them waved the Rostock
and Visbye flags. The train halted at the church of St. Nicholas. They
would have pursued their way across the church-yard, and requested to
have a mass chaunted over the dead in the church; but this was denied.
The bishop's servants shut the gates of the church-yard and forbade the
corpse-bearers to approach the church, or tread on consecrated ground,
as one of the coffins they carried contained the body of a man who had
been slain in the ale-house at the draught board. Amid wrathful
muttering against the hard-hearted prelatical government, the
procession proceeded past the outside of the church-yard wall to the
quay on Bremen Island, where a number of boats with rowers, clad in
white, received the coffins and the whole troop of mourners. They
landed on the island, and here, where the Hanseatic merchants alone
governed, the train burst forth into a solemn German funeral hymn,
while the bodies of Berner Kopmand and Henrik Gullandsfar were carried
on board two Hanseatic vessels, which were to convey them to Christian
burial in Rostock and Visbye. As soon as the ships were under
weigh the funeral train was received in a large warehouse, where three
ale-barrels and two keys over a cross were carved in stone over the
door. Here the whole party of seamen and trading agents were served out
of huge barrels of the famous Embden ale, the intoxicating properties
of which soon changed the funeral feast into a wild and mirthful
carouse. There was no lack either of wine or mead, and the large dish
of salted meat, which was constantly replenished, increased the thirst
of the funeral guests. The rabble who had followed the train through
the streets, long remained standing on the beach and the quay to hear
and watch the intoxicated pepper 'prentices, who here, with none but
countrymen and boon companions beside them, seemed determined to
indemnify themselves for the restraint to which they were subjected in
the foreign town. Some wept, while they reeled, and held moving
discourses on the mournful fate of the rich Berner Kopmand and Henrik
Gullandsfar, and on the mutability of all power and wealth in this
world; while others sung drinking songs and piping love-ditties by way
of accompaniment to the pathetic funeral speeches.
At last, attention was withdrawn from these riotous revels by the cry
of "The herald! The herald!" and the people thronged in dense crowds
down towards the north gate. A herald with a large sheet of parchment
and a white staff in his hand, rode, accompanied by a halberdier and a
numerous troop of horsemen, through the gate. The train halted at the
corners of all the streets, and at all the public squares; two
trumpeters on white horses made a signal for silence, whereupon the
herald read aloud a treaty between the lord of the town, Bishop Johan,
and the council and congregation of Copenhagen. The burghers admitted
in this treaty that they had, as well in deed as in word, grossly
misbehaved towards their spiritual and temporal lord the bishop, and
that they had been implicated in an unlawful and criminal insurrection,
the circumstances of which were enumerated. Meanwhile the bishop
pardoned them these trespasses at the king's intercession, in return
for which the deputies of the council and congregation promised, on the
part of the town and of the burghers, that each burgher should
instantly return to his duty, and obey all the laws and regulations
which the bishop, "_with consent of the chapter_," had given or
hereafter might give them, which they would publicly and solemnly swear
to do at the council-house, with laying on of hands on the holy
Gospels. No one dared to protest against the validity of this treaty;
as the herald displayed the round seal of the town with the three
towers, which was suspended to the document by a green silken string,
together with the seal of the Copenhagen chapter.
As soon as the inhabitants of the town were informed of this treaty,
and it was understood what had thereby been tacitly conceded to them,
and with how much leniency this untoward affair had been adjusted,
alarm and anxiety were succeeded by still greater and more general
satisfaction; but the guild-brethren were displeased and murmured.
At the market-place without the east gate, where the herald had read
the treaty for the last time, the numbers of the mob which had followed
the procession through the town were considerably augmented, chiefly by
day-labourers and ale-house frequenters, who felt that the treaty was
an obstacle to the disorder and licentious liberty for which the revolt
had given them opportunity. Here discontent was openly manifested; and
it was muttered aloud that the bishop after all had got justice in
everything, and that the burghers had suffered injustice. But a man now
stepped forward who was held in high esteem among these people; he was
a remarkably fat and sturdy ale-house keeper, with a large red nose and
a pair of hands like bears paws; he was known as the greatest toper and
brawler in the town, and his tavern was the resort of the wildest and
most turbulent revellers. He mounted upon the great ale barrel which
stood before his door, and which served the house for a sign.
"It is altogether right and reasonable, my excellent friends and
customers!--my honest and highly esteemed fellow burghers!" he shouted,
with his powerful well-known voice, and a round oath. "The bishop hath
but got justice for appearance sake; he is, besides, the lord of our
good town, and hath a right to require that one should drink one's ale
in peace, and pay every man that which is his. When he will grant us
what we need both for soul and body, we have surely nought to complain
of. When he lets priests sing mass for you, and me tap good ale for you
from morn till even, and somewhat past at times--then he is, by my
soul! as excellent a bishop and lord as we can ask for, and I will pay
without grumbling my yearly tax. For soul and salvation ye need not
hereafter to fear, comrades! That matter the king hath taken upon
himself, like an honest man. Heard ye not what he promised us
yesterday, and what there stood in the treaty? _Without consent of the
chapter the bishop_ can command us nothing, and praised be the chapter!
They are a wise set: they will just as little deny you absolution every
day, for your little bosom sins, as I would deny you what you may
stand in need of and can pay for on opportunity! Let rascals and
guild-brothers grumble as they may!" he continued, as he clenched his
broad fist, "we will keep those fellows in check;--I will wager a
drinking match to-day, with every honest man, to the king's and the
bishop's prosperity; but those who would stir up strife and wrangling
between us peaceable people shall feel our fists. Come in now,
comrades! and get something to keep up your hearts! Long live the king!
and our lord the bishop besides!"
"Long live the king and the bishop!" cried a great number of the
influential tavern-keeper's friends and customers; and the malcontents
slunk off.
"They come! they come! The king and bishop are here!" was now echoed
from mouth to mouth,--and the crowd again poured in through East
Street, towards the quarter where all the butchers of the place had
their dwellings, and where some murmurs against the treaty had also
been heard. Every burst of dissatisfaction was meanwhile kept down by
the opposite feeling which prevailed among the town's most influential
burghers, and yet more by the spectacle of the king's entry, and of the
crushed pride and dejected deportment of the little bishop Johan. With
downcast eyes and manifest signs of fear, this prelate rode, with his
ecclesiastical train, at the king's right hand, through his own town,
guarded by Count Henrik of Mecklenborg, and the knight-halberdiers. The
king met everywhere with a favourable reception; the bishop was
received with no demonstrations of welcome, but there was order and
peace;--no agitator dared to scoff at him by the king's side, and
no voice of discontent was heard. The procession stopped at the
council-house, where the treaty was solemnly ratified.
The public tranquillity was thus restored. The dignity of the
prelatical government was upheld, and the arrogance of the insurgents
subdued. The turbulent guild-brethren had dispersed, and there was no
reason to apprehend a fresh outbreak of the revolt, as the burghers
themselves, with the permission of the bishop, had agreed with the
provost's men and the bishop's retainers to observe the treaty and
prevent all disturbances. Despite this apparent victory, the bishop was
notwithstanding extremely pensive and taciturn. The king's generous
protection appeared to have confounded him, and he seemed to experience
a feeling of painful humiliation, by the side of his temporal
protector. The revolt, and the danger which had menaced his life, had
taught him to know his own powerlessness. The king had indeed treated
him, while at Sorretslov castle, as a distinguished guest, but with
cold courtesy, without even giving vent to his displeasure by a
single word; it was those words only in the treaty relating to the
bishop's dependence on the assent of the chapter, which the king had
ordered to be inserted, in an emphatic tone (with the approval of the
general-superior there present), and in a voice of command, which
admitted of no contradiction. The bishop of Roskild, lately so
confident and haughty, who a few days since sat between a cardinal and
an archbishop in his fortified castle, and had, for the first time,
issued the exasperating church interdict in his own town, was now
forced to acknowledge, in silent anger, that since, the cardinal's
departure, the banishment of the archbishop, and his having himself
been subjected to the scoffs of the lowest rabble, he would be able to
maintain the authority of the church in Denmark only so far as the
Danish clergy considered it expedient, and as the king himself would
support ecclesiastical government.
During the whole of the transaction at the council-house, the bishop
was quiet and dejected. The king treated him here also with cold
courtesy. His looks were stern and grave; another important and serious
matter seemed to have weighed on his heart since he heard the last
words of the archbishop to Count Henrik.
From the council-house the whole procession rode to St. Mary's church,
where, besides the customary Ave, a Te Deum was sung on occasion of the
treaty. The king then immediately rode back to Sorretslov, from whence
he purposed to set out on his journey the following morning. The
bishop, with the abbot of the Forest Monastery, and the other
ecclesiastics, accompanied him (in compliance with customary courtesy),
besides the deputies of the town and the burghers.
The bishop desired not to return to Axelhuus ere every trace of hostile
attack on the castle was effaced, and the humiliating insurrection
forgotten. He purposed to accompany the king, the following day, to
Roskild, where some disturbances had taken place on the occasion of
their rulers' attempt to enforce the interdict.
The bishop was thus, in some sort, houseless on this evening, and
accepted, as an attention which was his due, the king's invitation to
him and his train to take up their quarters for the night at his
castle, where all who had accompanied the king were also invited to a
festive supper.
The sun had just set as the train reached Sorretslov, and Count Henrik
proposed to the king that they should now, ere it grew dark, inspect
the bishop's charitable institution at St. George's hospital, for
lepers and those who were sick of pestilential disorders, since it lay
but a stone's throw from the castle. At this proposal the bishop, and
the abbot of the Forest Monastery, became evidently uneasy; but this
was remarked by no one except Count Henrik, who watched them closely,
and had on their account proposed aloud this plan, which he readily
conjectured the king would reject.
"It is top late. Count! and I have guests besides," answered the king.
"If you desire it, inspect the hospital yourself, and describe the
establishment to me! I know it doth honour to the bishop's
philanthropy!--although I should have deemed it more fitting had that
lazzaretto been erected elsewhere. That there is no one sick of the
plague there at the present moment I know," Count Henrik bowed in
silence, and instantly rode, with a couple of young knights, across
Sorretslov meadow, towards the hospital.
"Permit me to accompany you. Sir knights! I desire also to see this
pious institution," said the abbot of the Forest Monastery,
endeavouring to overtake them on his palfrey; but they heard him not,
and ere the abbot reached St. George's hospital. Count Henrik stood
already in the chamber of the sick, gazing with a look of sharp
scrutiny on a man who seemed to sleep, but whose head was so closely
muffled that he might be considered as masked. On the upper part of the
sick man's forehead the beginning of a large scar was visible. "What is
the name of this man?" inquired Count Henrik, in a stern tone, of the
alarmed and embarrassed brethren of St. George.
"No one knows him, gracious sir!" answered the guardian; "he was
brought bruised and wounded hither yesterday, by two stranger canons
from the town; they had found him half dead on the beach: we were
forced instantly to lay a plaster over his whole face and we cannot now
remove it without endangering his life."
"As I live! it is the outlawed Kagge," said Count Henrik, and all gave
way in consternation. "You have housed and healed a regicide,"
continued the count; "they who brought him hither were traitors: all
are such who hide an outlaw."
"Outlaw or not, here he hath peace to die or recover, if it be the will
of the Lord and St. George;--that shall not be denied him by any king
or king's servant," said an authoritative voice behind them, and the
tall abbot of the Forest Monastery stood in the door-way of the
chamber. "No tyrant's hand reaches unto this sanctuary of compassion,"
continued the prelate. "I command you, brother-guardian, and every
charitable brother who here serves St. George, I command ye, in the
name of the bishop, and our heavenly Lord, to cherish this sick man as
your redeemed brother, without fear of man, and without asking of his
name and calling in the world! Perhaps he now suffers for his sins; but
of that the All-righteous must judge: if he hath fallen by the hand of
Divine chastisement he will indeed soon stand before his Judge; in such
case, pray for his soul, and give him Christian burial! but if he is
healed by the help and prayers of man, or by the merits and miracles of
any saint, then let him wander forth free in St. George's name, whether
he goes to friend or foe--whether he goes to life and happiness in the
world, or to ignominy and death on the scaffold--ye are set here to
heal and comfort;--to wound and vex the wretched, there are tyrants
enough in the world."
Count Henrik looked in astonishment at the dignified prelate, who spoke
with authoritative firmness, and really seemed actuated by pious zeal
and compassion; a transient flush passed over the countenance of the
proud warrior; it seemed as though he blushed at having persecuted this
miserable being, who appeared unable to move a limb, and looked more
dead than alive. "In the name of the Lord and St. George," he said,
stepping back, "fulfil your duty to the criminal as unto my saint, and
the saint of all knights! I require not you nor any one to be
merciless; but this I will say once again, you shelter an outlawed and
dishonoured traitor. You must yourselves be answerable for the
consequences." He cast another glance at the object of his suspicions,
who lay immovable, and without any discernible expression in his
frightful and shrouded countenance. The count then quitted the
hospital, and allowed the abbot to precede him. On the way back to the
king's castle he exchanged not a word with the ecclesiastic, who,
haughty and silent, gazed on him with a triumphant mien. Count Henrik
said nothing of his discovery to the king; he was not, indeed,
perfectly certain that he had not been mistaken; but during the whole
evening he was in an unusually silent and thoughtful mood. The unhappy
criminal now appeared to him so wretched and insignificant that he
began to regard all dread of such a foe as contemptible. At the evening
repast the king principally conversed with the deputies of the council
and the burghers of Copenhagen. It was the first time they sat at the
table with the king and their ruler the bishop, and at the commencement
of the repast appeared somewhat abashed by this unwonted honour. The
king repeated his commendation of the loyalty and bravery of the
Copenhageners in Marsk Stig's feud, and the war with Norway; he
promised them compensation for every loss they might sustain hereafter
for his and the kingdom's sake, so long as the outlaws disquieted the
country, and soon contrived to induce the plain, straight-forward
citizens to express themselves freely and frankly respecting the
advantages and disadvantages of their town in regard to its trade
and commerce. They thanked the bishop and the king for their wise
town-laws, and for the many liberties and privileges which the town
already enjoyed; but they hesitated not to mention how important it
might be for the public revenue if the monopolies of the towns could be
curtailed, and the burghers allowed at least the same privileges as
those granted to foreigners.
"Truly! I have long thought of that," said the king; "this matter
deserves to be thought upon. I shall await further proposals and
consideration of the subject from your Lord the bishop and your
assembled council."
Great joy was manifest in the countenances of the burgers at this
speech; but the bishop appeared little pleased with the king's zealous
interest in the town and its concerns. The conversation between the
ecclesiastics from Axelhuus was reserved and laconic. The king himself
was often silent and abstracted; at times he appeared striving to
repress the expression of his wrath against the bishop, and the abbot,
who he knew, was one of the most devoted friends of Grand. After the
repast the burghers took a cheerful and hearty farewell of the king,
whom they once more thanked for the rescue and peace of their good
town; after which they returned to Copenhagen, with high panegyrics on
the king's mildness and favour. Count Henrik and the knights repaired
to the chess-table in the upper hall, and Eric remained almost alone
among the ecclesiastics. With an air of mysterious confidence the abbot
and the provincial prior drew closer to the bishop, whose authority and
drooping courage they strove to sustain in the king's presence.
The two ecclesiastics who had principally conducted the treaty, and had
impartially defended the rights of the bishop, as well as the liberties
of the people, kept nearest the king, and strove furthermore to prevent
every outbreak of his anger against the friends of the banished
archbishop: they were the provincial prior of the Dominicans, Master
Olans (who, as the king's counsellor in this important affair, had
accompanied him from Wordingborg), and the general-superior of the
Copenhagen chapter, who belonged to the bishop's train, but was
secretly devoted to the king, and had even dared to protest against the
interdict. To these personages the king, shortly before retiring to
rest, addressed a question which had been weighing on his heart the
whole day, and which he seemed desirous should be answered in the
presence of the bishop, ere he retired to rest.
"Tell me, venerable sirs," said Eric, "how far the canonical law
reasonably extends with regard to marriage within the ties of
consanguinity, and how far the dispensation of the church can really be
consisted as necessary, according to the law of God, when the
relationship is so distant that it is hardly remembered?"
"It is a prolix and difficult question, your grace," answered the
general-superior of the chapter, evasively, with a dubious side-glance
at the bishop and the abbot of the Forest Monastery. "I must crave some
time for reflection in order to answer it rightly."
"If the prevailing senseless law is followed," said the aged provincial
prior in a firm tone, and with an undaunted glance at the attentive
prelates, "almost every computable degree of relationship may be an
impediment, and may call for an indulgence; but when this is carried
out too far I believe the church's holy father will agree with me that
such an extreme doth but uselessly burden the conscience, just as it
also may lightly become a subject for scoffing and scandal, instead of
being a means of edification to Christian and reasonable persons. If
one were to be consistent in these matters, no marriage would at last
take place in Christendom without dispensation from the papal see,
seeing that all persons are kindred in the flesh, inasmuch as they all
descend from old Adam and Eve."
"That is precisely my own opinion," said the king, with a smile of
satisfaction; "it would take a tolerably long reckoning.--What is
_your_ opinion of this, pious Bishop Johan?"
The bishop appeared confused, at the half-jesting tone with which the
king asked his opinion; he was not prepared for this, and seemed to
wish just as little to tread on the heels of papal authority, as to
dare at this moment to rouse the anger of the king--he stammered out a
few words, and strove to evade a decided declaration.
"Permit me, venerable brother! To answer this question," began the
abbot, with a proud and collected deportment:--"an example will best
explain the case," he continued, addressing himself to the king; "no
case is more in point than that of your grace's relationship to your
young kinswoman, Princess Ingeborg of Sweden."
"Truly!" exclaimed the king, with a start, "you use no circumlocution,
Sir Abbot! you go straight to the point. It suits me best, however. Let
us keep to that example! I am more, every way, interested in it than in
any other!"
"Ere the church can bless your meditated marriage union with this your
high-born relative," continued the abbot, with calm coldness, "the holy
father's dispensation and indulgence are altogether necessary, and this
on a two-fold account; pro primo,--because of the tie of relationship
by marriage; and pro secundo,--because of the taint of relationship by
blood. As regards the first point, royal sir! the aforesaid Princess
Ingeborg's uncle, Count Gerhard of Holstein, is, as is well known, by
his marriage with your most royal mother, the dowager Queen Agnes, your
grace's present step-father. Count Gerhard's fatherly relationship, as
well to that noble princess, as to your Grace! causes an almost
brotherly and sisterly connection between you and the young
princess;--and marriage between brother and sister, or between those
who may be considered as such, is sternly forbidden by every law of God
and man----"
"You have made us out brother and sister in a trice; it is a singular
way of bringing people into near relationship," interrupted the king,
"yet pass but over the relationship by marriage, with my stepfather's
niece, venerable sir!--there is not a single drop of the same blood
therein. Nought but a near and actual blood relationship do I
acknowledge to be so real a hindrance that it can only be removed by
God's vicegerent upon earth."
"Your grace is right in some respects," answered the abbot, "inasmuch
as it _is_ the tie of blood, which in this instance constitutes the
sin, and makes every marriage union between relations, which hath not
been sanctified by the indulgence of the church, an unholy act, a
deadly sin, and a damnable connection."
"Ha! do you rave?" cried the king: his brow flushed; anger glowed in
his cheek and on his lofty brow, but he subdued his rising ire. "If
terrible words, without truth or reason, had power to slay the soul, I
should long since have been spiritually murdered," he continued in a
lower tone. "Now, say on, Sir Abbot!--how near reckon you, then, the
blood relationship, which, according to your bold assertion, may plunge
me into deadly sin, and into a gulf of horror and ignominy, if I await
not a permit from Rome to perpetrate such crime?"
"It is easy to reckon up the degrees of forbidden affinity," answered
the abbot, with imperturbable coolness. "The high-born Princess
Ingeborg is, as is known, a legitimate daughter of King Magnus, who was
a legitimate son of the high-born Birger Jarl, whose consort, the lady
Ingeborg, was a legitimate daughter of King Eric the tenth, whose Queen
Regize was, lastly, a legitimate daughter of your grace's departed
royal father's--father's--father's father;--ergo, the princess is a
great-great grandchild of your grace's grandfather's departed royal
father, Waldemar the Great, of blessed memory!"
"Perfectly right, grand-children's grand-children's children then, of
my great-great grandfather--a near relationship, doubtless!" said the
king, bursting into a laugh. "I now wish you a good and quiet night,
venerable and most learned sirs!" he added, apparently with a lightened
heart, and with a cheerful and determined look: "I never rightly
considered the matter before; now it is perfectly clear to me; I can
sleep as quietly as in Abraham's bosom, when I think on the sin which I,
with mature deliberation and full resolve, purpose to perpetrate as
soon as possible. I could wish no one among you may ever have a heavier
sin on his conscience." So saying, he bowed with a smile, and departed.
The king's eager talk with the ecclesiastics had attracted the
attention of Count Henrik and his companions, who had approached, and
heard the subject of the conversation. On the king's laughingly
repeating the abbot's calculation, some of the young knights had
laughed right heartily also. The abbot was crimson with rage. "It is
the mark of eye-servants," he said aloud, "to vie with each other in
laughing at what their gracious lords consider to be absurd, even
though such merriment doth but disgrace them and their short-sighted
masters. This scoffing and contempt shall be avenged, my brother," he
whispered in the bishop's ear, with a significant look. The bishop
started, and looked anxiously around; he winked at his incensed
colleague, and observed aloud, that it was high time to retire to rest,
and bid good-night to all discord and worldly thoughts. The master of
the household now appeared with a number of torch-bearers, and the
knights, as well as the ecclesiastics, repaired to the chambers
assigned to them, in the knights' story in the western wing of the
castle.