King Eric and the Outlaws Volume I Part 1

King Eric and the Outlaws.

Vol. 1.

by Bernhard Severin Ingemann.

PREFACE.

The historical records and traditions of Denmark, as well as the modern productions of Danish genius, are almost equally unknown to the general reader is England. While German, Swedish, and Italian works of any recognised merit, readily find translators, and the ancient ballads of Spain have received their English dress from an able and poetic pen, it appears somewhat singular that so little notice has. .h.i.therto been bestowed on the literature of a country, whose rich historical recollections are so closely interwoven with those of Anglo-Saxon England.

Though but little known in other lands, the ancient traditional lore of Scandinavia is nevertheless the source from which some of the most distinguished Danish writers of the present day, have selected their happiest themes, and drawn their brightest inspiration. The influence of the Saga, or traditional romance of Scandinavia, and of the "Kj[oe]mpe Vise," or heroic ballad, is peculiarly apparent in the works of M. Ingemann.

The close adherence to historic outline--the development of character by action and dialogue--the delineation of scenery by brief though vivid sketches, in preference to elaborate description, are characteristics of Saga romance which M. Ingemann has been eminently successful in imparting to his own delineations of the chivalrous age of Denmark.

The Kj[oe]mpe Vise, or heroic ballads which succeeded to the Saga in the North, and bear the impress of a kindred spirit, contain a store of historic tradition, and poetic incident, equally valuable to the antiquary who delights to trace the customs and manners of a remote age, and to the poet who seeks his inspiration from the historic muse of his Fatherland.

These vivid and truthful records of the middle ages of Denmark are to the modern writer of romance, what the oral traditions of the heroic age were to the chronicler of the Saga. They relate not only the exploits of northern warriors in their own, and in distant lands, but are also especially interesting, from the light they throw on the personal history of Denmark's most chivalrous monarchs. Their joys and sorrows, their sterner pa.s.sions and gentler affections, are described by the national minstrel in a strain of simple and touching earnestness, which wins the full sympathy of the reader. This power of delineating human pa.s.sion lends a charm even to some ballads, handing down the wildest superst.i.tions of a superst.i.tious age. In Germany the Danish ballads are known through the translations of Professor Grimm, who has entered with the enthusiasm both of an antiquary and a poet, into the spirit of Scandinavian lore. In the preface to his version of the "Kj[oe]mpe Vise," M. Grimm dwells with peculiar pleasure on those ballads which have not only supplied M. Ingemann with much of the incident, but have also suggested the individual colouring of the historic portraits of "Eric and the Outlaws." All the prominent characters introduced into this romance from King Eric himself, down to Morten the cook, are historical, and enacted scarcely less romantic parts in the drama of real life, than those a.s.signed them by M.

Ingemann.

The struggle with papal authority--the encroachments of the Hanse towns--and the invidious attempts of the "Leccarii," (the socialists of the 13th century) were important features of that interesting period which this work is designed to ill.u.s.trate.

The translator is aware of the difficulty of attracting attention to a romance drawn from Danish history; the work also makes its appearance without any of those advent.i.tious advantages which sometimes ensure a favourable introduction to the public--it is translated by an unknown pen--is unaided by patronage of any kind--and has solely its own merits to rely on for success. It would afford no slight gratification to the translator were these to be appreciated by the reading public of a nation, which not only in its early history, is closely connected with Denmark, but which has inherited from Scandinavian ancestors, that indomitable spirit which rendered them in olden time masters of the seas.

KING ERIC AND THE OUTLAWS.

CHAPTER I.

On the north-eastern coast of Zealand, about two miles from Gilleleie, is situate the village of Sjoberg, where the spade and the ploughshare occasionally strike against the foundations of ancient buildings, and traces yet remain of the paved streets of towns, the names of which are no longer known, and over which the corn now grows or the cattle graze.

Towards the close of the thirteenth century there was still standing a small town, built on the ruins of the ancient Sjoberg. On a hill, surrounded by the water-reeds of the now nearly dried-up lake, fragments of walls of hewn free-stone lie buried in the earth, and mark the site of the strong and well fortified castle, which in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries served as a place of confinement for state prisoners of importance. The spot on which the castle stood was then entirely surrounded by the lake, which thus formed a natural fastness, rendering artificial moats superfluous. The castle was surrounded by ramparts. It was built of ma.s.sive free-stone, and had a strong square tower, in which the most dangerous state prisoners were confined. The air was close and bad in the subterranean dungeon of the tower, where no ray of light could enter; but the upper dungeon, at the height of thirty-six feet from the ground, admitted light and air through a small round grated window. In this upper prison, towards the close of the year 1295, was still confined one of the chief accomplices in Marsk[1] Stig's conspiracy[2], the turbulent and imperious Archbishop Iens Grand. He had been imprisoned here during the minority of Eric Menved, as an accomplice in the murder of Eric Glipping, and as the protector of the outlawed regicides.

This dangerous prelate had many adherents in the country, and possessed powerful friends among the potentates of Europe, as well as at the papal see. According to the famous const.i.tution of Veile (_c.u.m ecclesiae Dacianae_), which had been the cause of such dangerous disputes between the kings and clergy of Denmark, the nation was immediately laid under an interdict prohibiting the performance of divine worship throughout the kingdom, on the seizure and imprisonment of a bishop by the king or any temporal authority. This, however, was not carried into effect on the seizure and imprisonment of Archbishop Grand. Not only love of their country and dread of the unG.o.dliness, profligacy, and confusion, the certain consequences of a national punishment of this nature, had prompted the greater part of the Danish clergy to appeal to the pope against the enforcement of this penalty, but also their fears of temporal power and the people's wrath. The closing of the churches might have been followed by perilous consequences to the clergy themselves, at a time when the agitation caused by a regicide had not yet subsided, and the excited pa.s.sions of the populace often broke out in scenes of blood and violence. This important question remained undecided at the court of Rome. Divine worship meanwhile was continued as usual, but fears were reasonably entertained, that, should the archbishop not speedily be set at liberty, the interdict would be confirmed by the pope, and the nation consequently plunged into a state of the greatest misery.

King Eric Menved had attained his majority, having completed his twenty-first year. The circ.u.mstances under which he had pa.s.sed his childhood had conduced to the early formation of manly character, and to the development of his intellectual qualities. The outrage committed on the royal person, to which he had been witness in his childhood, had early awakened the consciousness of authority within his breast, and imparted something of pa.s.sionate earnestness to his zeal in the administration of justice. He was deeply imbued with the chivalrous spirit of the age. The care with which he upheld the dignity of the crown was deemed by many a necessary policy in so perilous a time, but this anxiety for the maintenance of royal splendour, joined to his natural gaiety of disposition, had inspired the young monarch with a love of pomp and outward show, which was often censured as ostentatious vanity. The earnest solemnity with which he a.s.sumed the regal sceptre indicated a manly and resolute temper, early disciplined to firmness in the school of adversity; and the boldness with which he issued his first royal mandates bespoke a master spirit, conscious of kindred affinity with Waldemar the Victorious, the model as well as the ancestor of the young king,[3] Eric's first exercise of royal power was a bold attempt to a.s.sert the authority of his crown against the mightiest of earthly potentates, who from St. Peter's chair swayed kings as well as people in all Christian lands. This the young monarch dared to do, even at a time when his personal happiness was in a great measure dependent on the favour of the papal see. He had despatched his oldest and most experienced councillor of state, Ion Little, as well as Drost Hessel[4], to Rome, to justify as an act of lawful self-defence the proceedings against the archbishop, contrary to ecclesiastical law, and to demand his condemnation as a traitor to the crown. But besides this important mission, the aged councillor was entrusted with another, which at any other time would not have been attended with difficulty, although at the present juncture its favourable issue seemed doubtful, in proportion to its being of moment to the king. Little had been commissioned to obtain from the pope, and forward to Denmark with all possible dispatch, the long promised dispensation, empowering Eric to wed the beautiful princess Ingeborg of Sweden, to whom he had been betrothed in infancy, and had long loved as the companion of his childhood, and whom he now adored with all the devotedness and fervour of first and youthful love.

While the Danish emba.s.sy was detained at the papal court by all the artifices of tedious investigation and diplomatic ambiguity, the papal nuncio, Cardinal Isarnus, had been dispatched to Denmark, for the purpose of threatening the young Danish sovereign with excommunication in case he should refuse to release the archbishop unconditionally from imprisonment. The wily cardinal brought with him no letter from the pope touching the dispensation and permission for the royal marriage; but expressed himself on the subject in so dubious and enigmatical a manner, that it was evident the court of Rome designed to work upon the inexperienced monarch's feelings in a matter so nearly concerning his personal happiness, in order the more effectually to secure his submission to papal authority and his clemency towards the ecclesiastical offender at Sjoberg.

This mode of proceeding, however, was so far from producing, its intended effect on the young and impetuous King Eric, that it appeared to rouse him to such a pertinacious defiance of papal authority, as might be followed by dangerous consequences both to himself and the kingdom. The affair still remained undecided--the cardinal had quitted Denmark with fearful menaces, and was now at Lubec.

The haughty Archbishop Grand, who was alone the cause of this suspense and impending danger, was detained meanwhile in close captivity. During the first thirty-six weeks of his imprisonment he was confined in chains in the dark, deep, subterranean dungeon of the tower, and was left to suffer great misery and want, although most persons acquitted the young king (then in his minority) of having been accessary to this severity of treatment. The archbishop's fellow-prisoner, the traitorous and malevolent provost Jacob, had been released from prison on the plea of illness, but had immediately availed himself of this act of clemency to hasten to Rome, where he zealously laboured to stir up hostile feelings towards the king, and neglected no means of forwarding the liberation of the archbishop and their mutual revenge.

The preceding Christmas the king had visited Sjoberg, and had himself offered to give the archbishop his freedom, on the condition of his vacating the archiepiscopal chair, of his quitting the kingdom, and swearing to renounce all revenge, and give up all connection with the enemies of the crown. Notwithstanding the haughty defiance and scorn with which the archbishop had rejected this proposition, the rigour of his captivity was mitigated by the king's command, and he was placed in the upper dungeon he now inhabited, where he wanted neither light nor air, but where, as yet, he remained closely guarded and strongly fettered as before. As soon, however, as the king had left the castle, the condition of the captive became once more extremely miserable. The steward, Jesper Mogensen, was notorious for his avarice, his cruelty, and hypocritical bearing; and the king's brother. Junker[5]

Christopher, was accused of having had a great share in the severity of the archbishop's treatment, although the prince took every opportunity of blaming the king's conduct in this matter, and counselled him to make any sacrifice and submit to any humiliation, to avoid a formal breach with the church and the papal see.

One evening in the month of October the steward of Sjoberg, accompanied by the cook and an old turnkey, ascended the winding stairs which led to the archbishop's prison and to the turnkey's chamber immediately above it. The strong light of a dark lanthorn, which the cook held up before him, fell full upon the countenance and form of the steward:--he was a short, strong-built man, with a true hangman's visage, in which the expression of ferocity and malice was combined with an air of wily hypocrisy; a s.h.a.ggy cap was slouched over his low and narrow forehead; he wore a dirty coat of sheep's skin, and tramped up the stone stairs in heavy iron-shod boots, apparently in great wrath and alarm. "That limb of Satan! that unG.o.dly priest!" he muttered, "if he hath dealings with the Evil One, chains will be of no use here."

"As I tell thee, master," answered the portly, round-faced cook, with an air of importance, "he talks with invisible spirits, and no turnkey dares any longer watch by him. He is as regularly bound to the Evil One as I am to thee, saving that _he_ cannot shift his service, and leave his master when he pleases; you remember, no doubt, I gave you warning at the right time, and am free to be off either to-day or to-morrow, if I please. The devil take me if I stay longer here, since--since he is here already, I was near saying."

"Pshaw, Morten! thou shalt stay here till I get another cook: that thou didst promise me. But what hath given rise to all this talk about his sorceries?"

"There is something in it," answered the cook. "No one knows the Black Art out and out as he does. You know yourself that Junker Christopher's folk found the book on the Black Art among the letters from the outlaws, when they ferreted the bishop's secrets out of the chest in Lund sacristy. The book burned their fingers, and vanished instantly out of their hands. Such a devil's book always comes back to its master. That he hath not got it as yet, I am certain; but I fear he has it all at his fingers' ends. They said he never wearied of studying it at Lund, and he knows all the heathen and Greek books better by heart than his Paternoster, the unG.o.dly hound!"

"Thou art right, Morten! He _is_ a limb of Satan, and one cannot watch him too narrowly. His confounded learning never hit my fancy." Here the steward paused thoughtfully near the door of the archbishop's prison.

"Yes, take care, master!" resumed the cook; "he will soon fill the house with his devilries, and set all the imps in h.e.l.l to plague us, if he doth not get his prison cleaned, and better meat and drink. It would please me right well were he to die of hunger and be eaten up of vermin. Such end would still be a thousand times too good for such an accursed traitor and wizard; but when the Evil One is in the house, it is wisest to remember one's own little transgressions, and not use a captive devil worse than we would he should use us."

"Pshaw, Morten! the devil is not our neighbour," interrupted the steward with a suspicious look. "Had I not myself heard thee curse and mock the archbishop, I should almost suspect thou wert in league with him."

"Nay, master! I can soon clear myself of that; I would sooner league with Beelzebub himself. The turnkeys can bear witness there is not one among them all that takes such delight in plaguing and vexing him as I do. When he is forced to drink muddy water, and eat mouldy bread like a swine yonder, I sing drinking songs below in the kitchen, and throw open the window that he may snuff up the scent of the roasting; and I never come nigh his door without singing one thing or another, which I know will make him turn yellow, black, and green with rage. I made a song last spring, all about freedom and fair green woods, that always enrages him. Now you shall hear, master:" and he sang loudly before the prison door,--

"A blithe bird flits round Sjoberg's tower, Right merrily sings he, Rise, captive, if thou hast the power, Rise up and flee with me; And then thou'lt breathe the fresh spring air, And roam in greenwood gay; Then speed we to thy castle fair, To Hammershuus away."

"Hast thou lost thy wits, Morten?" interrupted the steward. "Wouldst thou stir him up to flee to his castle at Bornholm?"

"He may let that alone while he is here. Heard you not how deep he sighed? It was from rage and grief to think the least spring bird can fly to its castle and build its nest, while he can stir neither hand nor foot. I made that song on purpose to plague him."

"Thou art right, Morten! it _did_ plague him," said the steward with a look of satisfaction. "Thou art an honest soul; I heard myself how deep he sighed: nevertheless, thou shalt not sing him any more such songs; they only serve to put fancies into his head. Thou art a good, well-meaning fellow, Morten! I know it well; but thou art somewhat simple. If the bishop knew the Black Art, he would not have been here so long. I rather incline to think his brain is cracked."

"Have a care, master; that fellow hath all his wits about him; there is not a bishop in all the country can beat him at Latin."

"It matters not to me whether he be mad or wise," muttered the steward, who mounted the stairs leading to the turnkey's room. He opened the door of this chamber, which was the uppermost in the tower, and directly above the archbishop's prison. Here two turnkeys were always on guard, and watched the prisoner through a c.h.i.n.k in the floor. During the night two others were usually stationed in the captive's dungeon, and sat beside his couch, when it was their wont to plague him, and by their talk often to prevent his sleeping; but the report which had recently been spread abroad of the archbishop's sorceries, had so terrified the inmates of Sjoberg, that none dared any longer remain at night in the captive's chamber. The two sentinels were seated before a backgammon board, and were throwing the dice when the steward entered.

They hastily concealed them, and rose respectfully.

"This is doing duty finely," muttered the steward: "while ye sit here and game, ye suffer him below there to play with Satan for his soul. Ye had best keep your eyes upon him, I counsel ye. If he gets loose, ye may make as sure of being hanged, as if ye had already the halter round your necks, and the clear air for a footstool. Now let's see what he is after." So saying the steward stooped down to the hole in the floor and peeped below. "He surely sleeps," he whispered; "he lies on his back without stirring."

"That he is well nigh forced to do, because of his chains and the pestilent smell," said the cook.

"Well," answered the steward, "one should not despise any means which might save an erring soul. It is for this reason, seest thou, I suffer the hardened sinner below there to lie in such swinish plight.

_Ignorant_ folk would call it cruel; it is in truth pure compa.s.sion.

How long thinkest thou the most hardened offender can hold out such captivity without repenting of his misdeeds and creeping to the cross?"

"Ay, there doubtless you are in the right, master! You have pious and fatherly manner, and even generously exposed yourself to the risk of drawing down on you the king's wrath a second time, simply for the sake of exercising true Christian compa.s.sion, and saving the sinner's soul; but he is insensible to it, the scoundrel. His obstinacy is matchless.

Could you believe it, master? Notwithstanding all you do to bring him to repentance and conversion, he curses you, nevertheless, every hour of the day, and wishes you may come to suffer a thousand times more torments in h.e.l.l than you have here caused him to undergo out of pure Christian charity!"

"I can well believe it, Morten; from such sort of folk one should never look for grat.i.tude; but the roof and ceiling are in too sorry a plight," muttered the steward looking around him: "under the blue sky he needs not to sleep, either; it might be dangerous besides."

"It was done according to your own order, master," resumed the cook in a credulous tone, and staring with an air of simplicity at the holes in the ceiling and the roof, "else it could never have rained down on that confounded Satan. Of a surety he will let alone flying with the owls through the roof; and when the nights are cold, a little rain and hail are right proper means of bringing him to reflection and confession of his sins."