It was a beautiful, calm summer evening. The dance and the mask were
confined to the antechamber and the knights' hall. The national
festival was celebrated with bonfires and torch-lights, with music and
feasting, in the court-yard of the castle and the orchard, in the chase
and on the tournament ground. The king showed himself wherever there
was a joyous group assembled, most frequently conducting his lovely
bride by the hand, and accompanied by his princely guests and several
courtiers. They were everywhere welcomed with festive songs and
acclamations. In the castle garden they were greeted by Master Rumelant
and Master Poppe the strong, who, with solemn pathos, recited an
elaborate and carefully-composed poem, in which they praised by turns
the royal bridegroom and his bride, with the royal relatives of both,
and all the nobles there present. The king thanked them with kindness
for this well-meant homage, although the exaggerated praise and trite
compliments did not suit his taste. But they were now surprised by a
new and splendid spectacle--the bridal pair, and a number of children
with wings fastened to their shoulders, who were to represent genii or
angels, were led through the illuminated avenues to a remote part of
the garden, from whence there was the most beautiful prospect over the
Sound; here many hundred vessels burst on the sight, hung with lights
in the form of crowns upon the masts. All that had excited so much
astonishment at Skaenor fair, and had been regarded by the people as the
work of witchcraft and sorcery, was also to be seen here, but exhibited
with far more dazzling effect. Superstitious fear was banished by the
report of the innocence of these artists, and all were prepared to view
the spectacle as a display worthy of the festival. A number of rockets
of different and beautiful colours were let off from boats and floating
rafts; the air glittered with artificial suns, stars, and flaming
wheels, which were mirrored in the calm expanse of the sea.
It was a new and wonder-stirring sight, and afforded great delight to
the spectators. All ceremony and court etiquette were forgotten; each
one eagerly sought that place from whence he could best behold the
dazzling pageant.
Eric had retired with his bride to a shady spot in the garden, where
the fair aerial spectacle appeared to the greatest advantage. The
number of guests he had to entertain, as well as the festivities, had
had hitherto prevented him from exchanging a single word with her
without witnesses, and it was more than a year since they had last met.
He now found himself for a moment alone with her, under the mild and
lovely summer sky, in which the flaming stars seemed to dance round
them in the air, while the festive din was hushed, and nothing was
heard but the deep solemn notes of the horn-players, floating over the
Sound from a distant hill. A torrent of thought and feeling seemed
ready to gush from the king's heart. "My Ingeborg! my soul's beloved!"
he exclaimed, embracing her, "now hath the merciful Lord heard my
inmost prayer; he hath himself united us with an inviolable sacrament;
no power in heaven or earth can part us now. I am indeed the happiest
of human beings; were I omnipotent I would this hour make every soul
around me happy."
"Eric! my beloved Eric!" answered Ingeborg, throwing her arms around
his neck, "I have this day seen with thee into the Lord's clear heaven;
the troth I plighted thee at the altar I shall repeat in my dying hour;
my angel shall wake me with it at the last day----"
"Think not now of death," interrupted Eric, tenderly: "our life begins
but now."
"One moment may contain a thousand lives," she continued, with,
heartfelt emotion; "even were one of yon flying stars to crush me in
thine arms I still should deem myself happy; thou wouldest still be
mine, although mine eyes should close upon all the glories of this
world."
They thus talked confidentially together, and poured out their inmost
souls to each other, undisturbed by their princely guests, whose whole
attention was turned upon the aerial spectacle. The happy bridal pair
sank, with deep emotion, into each other's arms, and appeared to forget
themselves and the whole world in a silent embrace. They were suddenly
aroused by a loud explosion and a hissing sound in the air; they raised
their eyes and saw with astonishment the mild beams of the star-light
dimmed by the brightness of a large ball of fire, which ascended
hissing in the air as though it would reach the heavens. It shone clear
and bright above their heads; but as they were looking at it with
admiration it exploded, and dispersed into many thousand small stars,
which gradually waned and disappeared.
"Noble! beautiful!" said the king. "What cannot human wisdom and art
effect! The learned artist who hath prepared us this show is certainly
right in some things; the deep insight into human nature, which the
great Pater Roger hath attained unto in our time, will probably in
after times actually change the aspect of the world, and all which we
now deem great and noble will perhaps seem but as dreaming and child's
play to posterity: but how mutable all things are, my Ingeborg!" he
added, almost with melancholy; "even the surpassing splendour of this
evening will soon fade and vanish like yon dazzling aerial vision."
"But what there hath been of life and truth and soul, my Eric,"
answered Ingeborg, looking tenderly into his eyes; "is it not so, my
heart's beloved? All which love hath brightened will surely never seem
but as an idle dream. The world will surely never be so changed that
all which is sacred and divine shall fade away like an airy vision."
"No assuredly, by all the holy men, no sound wisdom can ever lead to
_that!_" said the king eagerly, and gazed awhile in thoughtful reverie
on the serene and unchanging heaven. "Tell me, my beloved Ingeborg," he
resumed again with tenderness, as he looked with calm delight on his
lovely bride, and pressed her hand to his lips, "wilt thou not miss thy
mother and thy brothers sadly here?"
"My mother and my brother Eric, most----," answered Ingeborg, with a
gentle sigh; "but I am still with thee and my dear faithful Inge. My
mother and brothers will often visit us, and we them--Shall we not? and
thou wilt aid me and my mother in preserving love and peace between the
brothers?"
"Truly! This I know," said the king, pressing her hand warmly; "love
and peace between brothers are precious jewels, my Ingeborg; no crown
outweighs their loss." He paused suddenly, as though he would not
grieve his bride by uttering what clouded his happiness, even in this
moment of bliss.
"Thou wouldest this day make every one happy if thou couldst,"
continued Ingeborg; "grant, then, in this fair hour, the first boon I
would ask of thy heart!"
"Name it, my Ingeborg, and it is granted," said the king. "What
couldest _thou_ ask of me which I could deny thee? What is thy
wish?--say on!"
"Freedom for every sorrowing captive in thy kingdom who at this hour
repent their crime, or suffer while innocent."
"Innocent!" repeated the king hastily; "none who are innocent suffer in
chains and in prison here--that I know. What can inspire thee with such
thoughts?"
"Guilty or guiltless!" answered Ingeborg, taking his hand. "In the
sight of the All-righteous no one is wholly guiltless, and yet he
pardons us all for his dear Son's sake, and for the sake of his eternal
mercy. Pardon thy foes, my Eric--pardon them for the sake of God's
infinite love! Give the unhappy captives freedom for the sake of
eternal freedom! Give peace to the outlaws for the sake of everlasting
peace in God's kingdom!"
There was a crimson flush on the king's cheek--his eyes flashed--his
breast heaved violently--he abruptly dropped the hand of his bride, and
clenched his own, almost convulsively, against his breast. "I swore an
oath, by my father's bloody head, in Viborg church," he said, in a
deep, low tone, "that oath I must keep, or perish eternally; my
father's murderers I can never pardon--to none of _them_ can I grant
peace while mine eyes behold the light of day!"
"Not even their kindred and children, who have had no share in their
crime?" asked Ingeborg, anxiously. "Be not severe! be not unmerciful!
Liberate Marsk Stig's daughters from the prison at Wordingborg, for my
prayers' sake!"
"Thou hast named a name which stirs up my inmost soul, from whomsoever
I may hear it," said the king gloomily, with his eyes fixed on the
ground; "the offspring of that traitor are my deadly foes as he was my
father's; yet," he continued, and raised his head, "for my _own_ sake I
will not hate and persecute any one; for thy prayers' sake, I can show
mercy to those who do but hate and conspire against _me_; but, by all
that is holy! those who laid bloody hands on my father, yon dark St.
Cecilia's night, may God forgive if it be possible--_I_ never can!"
Ingeborg stood almost dismayed at his vehemence, and scarcely dared to
look at him.
"Have I frighted thee, my Ingeborg!" continued Eric, with more
calmness, again taking her hand. "Forgive me! There is one chord in my
soul which sounds terrible when struck, wake it not again! Marsk Stig's
daughters shall be liberated tomorrow, at thy entreaty; but Denmark
they must leave.--Come, let us join the others!"
"Thanks, thanks! Thou dear, impetuous Eric!" exclaimed Ingeborg,
joyfully, once more throwing her arms tenderly and confidingly around
his neck; "they may then wend free out of thy kingdom? They look not
for aught beside. More no one can reasonably demand. Thou dost not only
gladden me by this on my bridal day; but a noble and faithful soul
besides, whom thou truly lovest."
"Who?"
"The Drost, the quiet, melancholy Aage!"
"Did he entreat thee to ask that boon?"
"Yes!--but he entreated me not _exactly_ to tell thee he had."
"Hum! Aage! should he?--yet no! in love he can scarcely be--he dreams
more of heavenly angels than earthly ones--and truly! for _that_
description of angels he is too good. Come, my Ingeborg! They will have
missed us!"
They returned to the company, who were still admiring the beautiful
illumination on board the vessels, and the fireworks, which became more
and more brilliant.
While the king and his guests repaired to the gardens of the castle,
Drost Aage stood on Helsingborg quay, and beheld three large boats,
filled with maskers in the most grotesque costumes, row off with all
possible speed towards a foreign ship which lay in the harbour, and
which soon hoisted sail and disappeared in the moonlight with the
adventurous wedding guests. When the Drost afterwards joined the
company in the castle garden, he missed the king and his bride, and
searched for them in great uneasiness, in the dusky avenues. Near to
the spot where Eric stood with the princess, he saw one of the two
suspicious merman maskers lurking among the trees, with a cross-bow in
his hand. At the same moment, in which the great ball of fire had
exploded in the air, the Drost saw this mysterious personage station
himself with his cross-bow behind a tree, and take aim. In one and the
same instant, Aage had discovered the object of the assassin's aim, and
cleft his head with his sword. The dangerous bow was still drawn, when
the miscreant fell dead on the spot without uttering a sound. Aage took
the mask from his face, and recognised the notorious deserter--the
one-eyed Johan Kyste, who was known to have assisted the archbishop in
his flight from Sjoeberg. "God mend his soul!" said Aage, turning away
with horror from the fearful sight; and on seeing Eric still standing
on the same spot in confidential converse with his bride, he discreetly
withdrew.
When the king returned to the company, Aage also stepped forth from a
dark avenue. The anxiety he had undergone, and the fatal deed which he
had secretly been forced to commit in self-defence, had chased the
blood from his cheeks. He now stood in the light of the fireworks pale
as death, yet looking on the king with loving sympathy.
"Aage! what ails thee? Art thou ill?" asked the king, laying his hand
on his shoulder.
"I ail nothing on my sovereign's happiest day," answered Aage; "those
strange blue lights yonder, make us all look somewhat pale."
"If thou art well, I will encumber thee with a journey," continued the
king; "thou shalt announce to Marsk Stig's daughters that they are
free."
"My liege and sovereign!" exclaimed Aage, with heartfelt delight, and
the blood suddenly rushed back to his cheek. "Thanks! heartfelt thanks
for those words! Let me hasten even this very hour!"
"When thou wilt," continued the king, and a stern gravity was again
perceptible in his looks and deportment. "Thou wilt announce their
freedom to them, not from me, but from my queen, though with my
approbation; but within three days they must be out of my state and
kingdom. Thou may'st escort them out of the land, my Drost! I give thee
leave of absence, with full salary, as long as thou wilt, yes--even
though it should be for thy whole lifetime," he added, in a lower tone;
"but by all the holy men! ere I see thee again, Marsk Stig's race must
be beyond Denmark's boundaries."
Aage gazed on the king with a strange expression of countenance; a
whole world and a whole life seemed to pass in review before his eyes;
while a desperate struggle agitated his inmost soul. "I haste, my
liege!" he said, at last, as if starting from a dream. "I follow _her_.
I follow the defenceless sisters out of the country," he paused again,
and his voice seemed almost choked, "and--I soon return to your
service," he added, with regained firmness. "May the Lord keep his hand
over you so long!"
The king extended his hand to Aage; he pressed it with deep emotion to
his lips. "Thanks! heartfelt thanks for your clemency to the
unfortunate," he whispered, with a faltering voice, and rushed away.
"What is this?" said the king to himself, as he observed a tear on his
hand; "who claims this precious gem? my Aage!---hum! poor visionary,
what thought'st thou of!--yet--his choice is free, I cannot act
otherwise, and you, Marsk Oluffsen!" he continued aloud, turning to his
warrior-like Marsk, "the rebels you have lately captured and thrown
into prison, Niels Brock and Johan Papae----"
"Will you grant me a pleasure on your bridal day, my liege?"
interrupted the Marsk, in his rough voice, and rubbing his large hands.
"Then permit me, with my own hand, to give those fellows their
quietus."
"What! Do you rave, Marsk!" exclaimed the king, greatly incensed; "are
you my knight and Marsk, and would you turn executioner? You will lead
the captive rebels in chains out of the country, and declare them
outlawed in my name! You will not yourself appear in our sight until,
by noble deed of knighthood, you have washed out the blot which you
have cast on yourself, and on our chivalry, by your blood-thirsty
wish."
The Marsk was thunderstruck; he stood in the greatest astonishment,
with wide oped eyes. "Now, by all the martyrs!" he muttered to himself;
but he saw by the king's stern look this was no fitting time to speak:
he bowed in silence, and retired.