By the first peep of dawn, all was joyous commotion at Helsingborg
Castle. Every Danish courtier and knight knew the punctuality and
impetuosity of the young king, when it was necessary to be stirring at
an early hour, even only on occasion of a hunting expedition. Every
knight and squire who had not foot in stirrup, when the king was in the
saddle, might expect a stern glance or a serious rebuke. On this solemn
and important day, to which the attention of both kingdoms was turned,
and which had been so ardently desired by Eric, it seemed as if the sun
alone dared to put his patience to the proof. Ere day-break, the king's
handsome horses, with their silken coverings and caparisons, stood
already saddled in the court-yard of the castle; the richly-attired
knights, clad in silk or plush, thronged gaily together, and hardly had
the sun-beams of the first day of June shone upon the glittering bridal
train, before Eric, leading his royal mother by the hand, stepped forth
on the staircase of the upper story, and bowed courteously on all
sides. He followed Countess Agnes to the ladies' car, with his head
uncovered, and then vaulted into the saddle. His handsome and youthful
countenance beamed with hope and heartfelt joy, and he seemed to have
slept off every gloomy and disquieting thought. Arrayed in his most
splendid knight's attire, with a rose-coloured shoulder-scarf over his
shoulder, and with white ostrich feathers in his hat, he rode a
spirited milk-white palfrey. His blithe stepfather, Count Gerhard, rode
at his right hand, and Junker Christopher at his left. Even the junker
seemed in a gay mood, but became grave, and coloured when the king
waved his hand and greeted him with a cordiality of look and gesture
which appeared to surprise and humble him. The gilded car, drawn by six
iron-grey Andalusian horses, in which sat the king's dignified mother,
with her ladies, rolled over the castle bridge at the head of the
train, but the king soon rode impatiently past it, with a courteous
apology, which was gladly received. Count Henrik accompanied him with
the half of the knightly train, while the ladies' car and the rest of
the numerous cavalcade found it difficult to keep up with the hastening
bridegroom. All the pathways and banks on the road to Stockholm were
crowded with a countless concourse of people, who shouted with joy at
the splendid procession, and greeted the king with sympathising homage.
While the king thus rode to meet his bride, the most magnificent
preparations were made at Helsingborg for the reception of the royal
bridal pair. St. Mary's church was decorated with garlands and
carpetted with flowers; the provincial prior of the Dominicans already
officiated at early mass, as well as the venerable bishop of Aarhuus
and Ribe, who with calm courage had supported the king in his bold
strife with the archbishop and the papal court. They had been standing
at the high altar since daybreak, in readiness to preside over the
sacred ceremonial of the day, and were accompanied by a great number of
monks, canons, and priests from all the parishes of the kingdom, who
intended by their united prayers and benedictions to consecrate this
day as an auspicious festival for two nations and two royal houses.
On the greensward below the castle hill, lists and galleries were
erected for the tournament, and tents were pitched with refreshments
for the spectators. The whole household of the castle was in full
activity; tables were spread in the lofty halls, and barrels with mead,
ale, and wine were hoisted from the cellars. The cooks were busily
employed in the kitchen. A number of musicians tuned and tried their
instruments; pipers, lute-players, fiddlers and trumpeters, were
stationed upon the balcony of the upper story, from whence they were to
greet the bridal guests, and enliven the thronging crowds. In the
spacious gardens on the rocky steep overlooking the Sound, the trees of
the long avenues had been hung at an early hour with coloured lamps,
for the evening festivity. In a separate part of the gardens
preparations were making for exhibiting the hitherto unknown art of
fire-works, with which the mysterious Thrand Fistlier purposed to
surprise the king and court, and with which he himself and his
amanuensis, the youthful Master Laurentius, were zealously busied;
while Master Rumelant and Master Poppe wandered among the tall
yew-hedges, and practised their festal lays. The concourse of curious
guests and spectators was constantly increasing. All the ships in the
harbour were hung with wreaths and flags, and the Sound was almost
hidden by the fleet of ships arriving from Zealand and the isles. On
the quay, in the town, and on the road to Stockholm, crowds of knights,
priests, and town's-people, mingled with fishermen and Scanian peasants
with their families--there were national costumes to be seen from the
farthest Danish isles, and from many Swedish provinces. The streets
were strewed with flowers. All the windows were hung with garlands and
silken carpets, and occupied by gaily-dressed ladies. There was a
continued murmur from the many thousand voices, and a general gaze of
expectation towards that quarter from whence the bridal procession was
expected. At last it was echoed from mouth to mouth, "The procession!
The procession! now they are come! There they are!" The multitude moved
onward in one vast wave, and the provost with his men found it
difficult to keep a space clear for the entrance of the train.
Upon a large kerb stone, in the vicinity of the drawbridge beside the
southern gate of the castle, stood a strongly-built man, in a coarse
pilgrim's cloak, with muscle shells on the cape over his broad
shoulders, and with his broad-brimmed hat, half slouched over a pair of
round sun-burnt cheeks. At his side stood an old fisherman, and a
pretty little fishermaiden in a north Zealand costume, from the
district of Gilleleie. The pilgrim was Morten the cook, who, with his
betrothed and her father, had just landed from a fishing yawl, on a
remote spot under the sand-stone cliff. The day preceding, Morten had
been set on shore at Gilleleie, from a foreign vessel, with a red sail,
which had suffered damage at sea, and had been compelled to put in
under the Kohl for repairs; of which he talked in a mysterious manner.
Although, as a party to the archbishop's flight from Sjoeborg, he had
been outlawed by the king, he had not only succeeded in quieting
the fears of old Jeppe, the fisherman, and his daughter, at his
re-appearance in the country, but had even prevailed on them to
accompany him hither, where he meant to show them, he said, that, by
his pilgrimage, he had obtained peace both with God and man, and that
he now, with a bran new and clean conscience, could dare to face the
king on his bridal day.
"Come hither. Father Jeppe! Come little Karen! let me lift thee up
here!" said Morten, jumping down from the stone--"now ye can see all
the finery and splendour. _I_ shall do most wisely in keeping within my
pilgrim's skin at first, on account of my bit of a head and neck."
"Alack, yes! for the Lord's sake, dearest Morten!" whispered the
fishermaiden, anxiously, patting his cheek while she suffered his
strong arm to lift her, like a puppet, upon the kerb stone; "hide
thyself behind my back and my father's! I shall die of fear, if the
king sees thee!"
"Trouble not thyself about anything, and look cheerfully at the fine
doings, little sweetheart," whispered the blithe pilgrim; "he hath but
seen me once in his life and hardly knows me; to-day he hath also
something else to think of than of hanging his dear faithful subjects."
"He is a scoundrel who says he hath ever done _that!_" exclaimed old
Jeppe, the fisherman, with repressed vehemence. "Should he cause _thee_
now to be hanged, thou knave! thou hast, doubtless, honestly deserved
it. If thou canst not speak and clear thyself like an honest fellow and
as thou gavest me hand and word thou wouldst ere thou left the country,
then didst thou journey to Rome like a fool, and art come home like a
simpleton."
"Come, come, Father Jeppe!" continued Morten, "let's see the finery in
peace! Whether I am to be hanged or no can be settled time enough
to-morrow; there is no need to hurry the matter."
"Thou art a desperate rogue, Morten!" growled the old man--"hast thou
'ticed us hither that we might have the sorrow to see thee dangle? Then
thou shalt never have my daughter--I had well nigh said--but that
follows of itself, I trow. What hath got the great lords who were to
help thee? 'Tis all chatter and bragging, we shall find, and thou art
as yet but an impudent madcap, as thou ever wast."
"Hush, Father Jeppe! Look! yonder come great lords and knights enow;
who knows whether one of them will not break a lance with the king in
honour of Morten the cook?--And look--there he comes himself."
"Out of the way, madcap! _him_ thou art not worthy to look on," said
the fisherman, pushing back the outlawed pilgrim with violence, while
he carefully concealed him. "_I_ dare, the Lord be thanked and praised
for it, look our noble king in the face without creeping to hide behind
an honest fellow's back."
All eyes were now turned only upon the procession, and the air rang
with loyal acclamations for the king and his beautiful bride.
However high expectation had been raised, and however greatly report
had exalted the beauty and loveable deportment of the noble Princess
Ingeborg, all who now beheld her seemed to be struck with her
appearance, even in a greater degree than they had anticipated. She sat
between her own mother. Queen Helvig, and the king's mother, Countess
Agnes, in the large, open ladies' car; she was as yet only attired in a
simple but tasteful travelling dress; no showy pomp and splendour
heightened her beauty; but none inquired who was the bride.
By the side of the two elder ladies (who both, however, inspired
respect, and attracted the attention of the people, by their dignified
mien), youthful beauty still maintained its supremacy, and awakened an
admiration, which, associated with the idea of her being the king's
bride, and of her becoming, this day, Denmark's queen, asked not for a
more majestic presence. By the side of her mother, the sister of the
noble Count Gerhard, it might be seen from whom she had inherited the
innocent, good-natured smile, and the engaging expression of heartfelt
kindliness which was the very essence of her nature; and those who had
seen her renowned father. King Magnus Ladislaus, could account for the
dignity and ingenuous frankness which was combined with so much
mildness and condescension in the countenance of the lovely princess.
Opposite the princess and the two royal mothers sat two younger ladies,
belonging to the train of the princess and the Swedish queen dowager;
the younger was the fair lady Christine, Thorkild Knudsen's daughter,
who had lately been betrothed to King Birger's younger brother, Duke
Valdemar of Finland; the elder was the instructress of the princess's
childhood, and her faithful friend, the Lady Inge. This noble lady,
next to the pious, benevolent Queen Helvig, had exercised a real
influence on the formation of the princess's character, and early
awakened in her heart a warm affection for Denmark. She had made the
future queen of the Danes acquainted with the spirit and usages of the
nation; with its past achievements, its national ballads, and noble
traditions; and she had seen, with pleasure and enthusiasm, how the
spirit of a whole nation seemed to breathe forth from the innocent and
pious mind of Princess Ingeborg, in the tenderest affection for the
young Danish king.
The Lady Inge was still a young and very attractive woman, with much
determination and energy in her look and deportment; she was known and
appreciated by the people, but now seemed to rejoice at being eclipsed
by the radiance of that youthful beauty, which justly rendered Princess
Ingeborg the queen of the day and the festival.
The princess returned the greeting and enthusiastic acclamations of the
people with the kindliest expression in her countenance and deportment.
Each time she turned her joyous glance to the right from the car it met
the king's; he rode by the side of the ladies' car on his white steed,
with his plumed hat in his hand, and, almost overwhelmed with joy,
appeared to divide his affection between his loyal people and his
bride, while his whole soul's happiness seemed to beam forth from his
eye, whether it rested on the car or on the acclaiming crowds. Yet even
in this happy mood it was not possible for him to repress a fleeting
sigh, and a cloud seemed as it were to pass over the clear heaven in
his face whenever he heard his brother's hollow voice from the opposite
side of the ladies' car, and discerned a manifest expression of rancour
and wounded pride in the restless look and passionate glow of Junker
Christopher's countenance. Christopher rode between the brothers of the
Swedish King Birger, the brave, chivalrous Duke Eric of Sudermania, and
Duke Valdemar of Finland, who both attracted much attention by their
manly beauty, their courteous bearing, and splendid attire. Each time
Christopher heard them addressed by the title of duke, and himself only
as the "high-born junker," he apparently strove, but in vain, to hide,
by a bitter smile, how deeply he felt himself aggrieved and neglected
by his brother, who had not raised him in rank and title, although he
stood in the same relative position to the King of Denmark as the
Swedish dukes[6] to the King of Sweden.
The young King Birger himself, who could as little vie with his
chivalrous brothers in presence and dignity as in mind and bodily
strength, followed the queen's car in an easy travelling vehicle, in
which he sat, in his costly purple mantle, by a young lady's side. It
was his betrothed bride, Princess Merete of Denmark, King Eric's
sister, who, according to the early contract of betrothal, had, while
yet a child, been received into the royal family of Sweden as Queen
Helvig's foster-daughter, and had not seen her mother or brothers since
the marriage of Queen Agnes with Count Gerhard. The Danish princess now
spoke the Swedish language like her mother tongue, and appeared already
conscious of her dignity as Sweden's future queen; she possessed,
however, neither the beauty nor the attractive mildness of Princess
Ingeborg, and it was remarked she bore a greater resemblance to the
junker and her unhappy father than to King Eric and the fair Queen
Agnes.
The Swedish regent, Marsk Thorkild Knudsen, accompanied his sovereign
on horseback with almost regal splendour. He rode between Drost Aage
and Count Henrik of Mecklenborg, who often nodded gaily to each other;
and the festive rejoicing of the fair summer's day was not less evident
among the gallant train of knights which followed the Swedish monarch.
At the head of the Danish chivalry rode the powerful, but little
popular, Marsk Oluffsen. With his rough austere visage and blunt
bearing he formed a striking contrast to the agile, slender knight
Helmer Blaa, who gaily bestrode his favourite re-found Arabian, and
often unconsciously nodded assent, by way of confirmation, when he
heard the populace laud him or his horse; occasionally, however, he
glanced rather doubtfully towards the king, as if he desired not as yet
to be noticed by him, and occasionally gave Drost Aage a monitory look.
Beside him rode a quiet ecclesiastic on a palfrey; it was the king's
confessor. Master Petrus de Dacia; his eye often dwelt on the cloudless
summer heaven, and he seemed, in his calm satisfaction, to think more
of heavenly and godly things, and of a distant unseen beauty, than of
the worldly pomp by which he was surrounded.
Helsingborg castle could hardly accommodate the numerous trains and
wedding guests. A couple of hours after the entrance of the procession
the bridal train was seen to proceed with still greater splendour to
the church. Before the six white horses of the princess's gilded car
pranced the two white tournament steeds which the king had been so
displeased at missing from Sorretslov castle. The two stable boys who
had unweariedly tracked the steps of the horses down to Stockholm, now
skipped joyously by the side of the noble animals. When the king beheld
the two well-known palfreys perform their trained step before the
bride's car, he was heartily pleased and surprised. Drost Aage
instantly informed him, in a few words, of Sir Helmer's bold adventure
in Copenhagen, and that he was here among his bridegroom's-men. The
king looked back, and recognised his briskest knight. "In the saddle he
rides so free," he said, with a menacing gesture, to Sir Helmer, but
with a gay smile and a nod of approbation.
In the church the marriage was solemnised, with all the rites of the
Romish church, by the Bishops of Aarhuus and Ribe, while the provincial
prior Olaus, together with the assembled monks, chaunted with their
deep-toned voices in full chorus a "Gloria in excelsis." While the one
bishop joined the hands of the royal pair, and pronounced upon them the
church's benediction, the other placed the queenly crown of Denmark on
the light, beautiful tresses of the bride, and now a mighty tide of
trumpet sound poured into the choral song, and the people joined in the
solemn chorus. A fairer sight had never been beheld by Danish or
Swedish man than when the royal pair, with tears of devotion and joy in
their eyes, and hand in hand, sank down, kneeling on the bridal stool
before the high and brilliantly-lighted altar, and nearly the whole
bridal train, together with the enthusiastic crowd of spectators, knelt
down, as if moved by one common impulse, in audible prayer and
devotion.
The trumpets ceased and there was a breathless silence, while the
bridal pair, in clear and distinct tones, pronounced the vow of
unalterable love and constancy to the end of their lives. The deep amen
of the aged provincial prior was re-echoed by the monks and by many
among the people. A "Te Deum," with an accompaniment of bassoons and
trumpets, concluded the church's festival.
After the blessing, the deeply affected pair were embraced by their
nearest relatives in the high choir. At last Prince Christopher also
approached his royal brother, and seemed preparing for a cold and
forced salutation; but at this moment it seemed as if the spirit of
darkness which had so long threatened the brothers from afar had
suddenly come between them, and shot up into a giant. They gazed in
silence, almost in dismay, upon each other, and let their arms sink; it
seemed as though the gentle tear in the king's eye congealed and froze
at his brother's frightful coldness.
"No falsehood in this holy hour, Christopher, if thy soul and thy
salvation are dear to thee!" he whispered in a tone of stern
admonition; "brothers now in the sight of God! or--may God forgive
me!--enemies to death!"
Christopher bowed in silence, and turned pale; his lips appeared to
move, but no sound issued from them. The king turned from him with a
flashing glance; but it seemed as if a glimpse in the open heaven
suddenly extinguished the fearful gleam of rising wrath and grief in
the king's expressive countenance as he turned round and beheld his
gently agitated bride tenderly stretch out her arms towards him; he
pressed her eagerly to his heart, and the mild tear again glistened in
his eye. "This heart, however, thou hast given me, all-merciful
Creator!" he whispered, "and I have a brother at thy right hand who
hates me not."
"My Eric! what is this?" asked the bride in astonishment, and gazing
into his eyes; but she observed his uplifted eye resting in confidence
on the crucifix over the door of the choir, and proceeded in silence
and in tranquil joy through the aisle of the church, leaning on Eric's
arm at the head of the bridal train. The king was afterwards calm and
cheerful, but unusually pensive. No one, however, appeared to have
remarked the painful feeling which had disturbed his happiness.