Chapter XIII

Only a man, a sign, is needed; the elements of revolution are
ready. Who will be the first? So soon as there is a fulcrum,
everything will move.--BONAPARTE.

Loevig is a large town, situated on the north side of Throndhjem fjord, and sheltered by a low chain of bare hills, singularly diversified by various sorts of crops, like broad bits of mosaic resting upon the horizon. The appearance of the town is gloomy; the fishermen’s cabins, made of twigs and reeds, the conical hut, constructed of earth and stones, in which the invalid miner spends the few days which his scanty savings allow him to devote to sunshine and rest, and the frail ruin which the chamois-hunter in his turn decks with a straw roof and walls hung with skins, line streets longer than the town itself, because they are narrow and crooked. In a square where now exist only the remains of a great tower, once stood the ancient fortress built by Horda the Fine Archer, lord of Loevig, and brother-in-arms of the pagan king Halfdan, occupied in 1698 by the mayor of the town, who would have been the best-lodged citizen in the city, if it had not been for the silvery stork who every summer perched on the tip of the sharp spire of the church, like the white pearl on the top of a mandarin’s pointed cap.

On the morning of the same day that Ordener reached Throndhjem, another personage, also incognito, landed at Loevig. His gilded litter, although without armorial bearings, his four tall lackeys, armed to the teeth, instantly became the topic of every conversation, and roused the curiosity of all. The landlord of the Golden Gull, a small tavern at which the great man alighted, himself assumed an air of mystery, and answered every question with an “I don’t know,” which seemed to imply, “I know all, but you shall know nothing.” The tall lackeys were as mute as fishes, and more obscure than the mouth of a mine.

The mayor shut himself up in his tower, waiting with great dignity for the stranger to make the first visit; but the inhabitants were soon surprised to see him call twice at the Golden Gull in vain, and at evening lie in wait for a bow from the stranger, as he sat at the half-open window. From this the gossips inferred that the great man had made his high rank known to the lord mayor. They were mistaken. A messenger sent by the stranger presented himself at the mayor’s office to get his passport signed, and the mayor noticed upon the green seal two crossed hands supporting an ermine mantle, surmounted by a count’s coronet upon a shield, from which depended the collars of the Orders of the Elephant and the Dannebrog. This was enough for the mayor, who was most desirous of obtaining from the chancellor the lord mayoralty of Throndhjem. But his advances were useless, for the great man would see no one.

The second day of the traveller’s stay in Loevig was drawing to its close, when the landlord entered his room, saying with a low bow that the messenger expected by his Grace had arrived.

“Very well,” said his Grace; “let him come up.”

A moment later the messenger entered, carefully closed the door, then bowing to the ground before the stranger, who had half turned toward him, waited in respectful silence until he should be addressed.

“I expected you this morning,” said the stranger; “what detained you?”

“The interests of your Grace, Count; have I another thought?”

“How is Elphega? How is Frederic?”

“They are well.”

“Good! good!” broke in the master; “have you nothing more interesting to tell me? What is the news at Throndhjem?”

“Nothing, except that Baron Thorwick arrived there yesterday.”

“Yes, I know that he wanted to consult that old Mecklenburger, Levin, about his marriage. Do you know the result of his interview with the governor?”

“To-day at noon, when I left, he had not yet seen the general.”

“What! and he arrived last night! You surprise me, Musdœmon. And had he seen the countess?”

“Still less, sir.”

“Then you saw him?”

“No, noble master; besides, I do not know him.”

“And how, if no one has seen him, do you know that he is in Throndhjem?”

“Through his servant, who was at the governor’s palace yesterday.”

“But he,--did he go elsewhere?”

“His servant declares that as soon as he arrived, he set off for Munkholm, after first visiting the Spladgest.”

The count’s eye flashed fire.

“For Munkholm! For Schumacker’s prison! Are you positive? I always suspected that honest Levin of being a traitor. For Munkholm! What can be the attraction there? Did he want to ask Schumacker’s advice also? Did he--”

“Noble lord,” interrupted Musdœmon, “it is by no means certain that he went there.”

“What! Then why did you say so? Are you trifling with me?”

“Pardon me, your Grace! I merely repeated what the baron’s servant said. But Mr. Frederic, who was on duty yesterday at Munkholm, saw nothing of Baron Ordener.”

“That’s no proof! My son does not know the viceroy’s son. Ordener may have entered the fortress in disguise.”

“Yes, sir; but Mr. Frederic asserts that he saw no one.”

The count grew calmer.

“That’s a different matter. Did my son really say so?”

“He assured me of the fact three separate times; and Mr. Frederic’s interests in this case are identical with your own.”

This suggestion quite relieved the count.

“Ah!” said he, “I understand. The baron, on his arrival, must have wished to take a short sail on the fjord, and his servant fancied that he went to Munkholm. After all, why should he go there? I was foolish to take alarm. My son-in-law’s lack of eagerness to see old Levin proves, on the contrary, that his affection for him is not so strong as I feared. You will hardly believe it, my dear Musdœmon,” added the count, “but I actually imagined that Ordener was in love with Ethel Schumacker, and I constructed a romance and an intrigue out of this journey to Munkholm. But, thank God, Ordener is not such a fool as I am. By the way, my friend, how fares it with that young Danaë in Frederic’s hands?”

Musdœmon had shared his master’s fears regarding Ethel Schumacker, and had struggled against them without overcoming them quite so readily. However, charmed to see his master smile, he took care not to disturb his peace of mind, but rather sought to add to it, that he might increase that serene temper so necessary in the great for the well-being of their favorites.

“Noble Count, your son has failed with Schumacker’s daughter; but it seems that another has been more fortunate.”

The count interrupted him eagerly.

“Another! What other?”

“Oh, I don’t know,--some peasant, serf, or vassal.”

“Do you speak the truth?” cried the count, his stern, dark face beaming.

“Mr. Frederic declares that it is so, and he told the countess the same story.”

The count rose and paced the room, rubbing his hands.

“Musdœmon, dear Musdœmon, but one more effort, and our end is gained. The young shoot is blasted. We have only to uproot the parent tree. Have you any other good news?”

“Dispolsen has been murdered.”

The count’s features brightened.

“Ah, you see that we advance from victory to victory. Have we his papers? Above all, have we that iron casket?”

“I regret to inform your Grace that the murder was not committed by our people. He was killed and robbed upon Urchtal Sands, and the deed is attributed to Hans of Iceland.”

“Hans of Iceland!” repeated his master, his brow again clouding. “What! that famous brigand whom we meant to put in charge of our rebellion?”

“The same, noble Count; and I fear, from what I can gather, that it will be no easy task to find him. At any rate, I have secured a leader who will take his name, and can replace him if necessary,--a wild mountaineer, tall and strong as an oak, fierce and bold as a wolf in a wilderness of snow, this terrible giant must surely look much like the real Hans of Iceland.”

“Then Hans of Iceland is tall?” inquired the count.

“That is the general opinion, your Grace.”

“I cannot but admire, my dear Musdœmon, the art with which you lay your plans. When is the insurrection to break out?”

“Oh, very soon, your Grace; perhaps it is on foot even now. The royal protectorate has long been odious to the miners; they all grasped with joy at the idea of revolt. The movement will begin at Guldbrandsdal, extend to Sund-Moer, and reach Kongsberg. Two thousand miners can be raised in three days. The rebellion will be kindled in Schumacker’s name; our emissaries use no other. The reserve forces in the South and the garrisons at Throndhjem and Skongen can be called out, and you will be here on the spot most opportunely to put down the rebellion,--a fresh and significant service in the eyes of the king,--and to rid him of this Schumacker, the source of such anxiety to the throne. Upon these firm foundations will rise the structure to be crowned by the marriage of our noble lady Ulrica and Baron Thorwick.”

A private interview between two scoundrels is never long, because all that is human in their souls quickly takes alarm at the infernal qualities revealed. When two depraved spirits mutually display their naked vices, each is disgusted by the other’s iniquity. Crime itself revolts at crime; and two evil-doers conversing, with all the cynicism of intimacy, of their pleasures and their interests, are like a fearful mirror, each reflecting the other’s monstrous features. Their own degradation mortifies them when seen in another, their own pride confounds them, their own nothingness alarms them; and they cannot fly from themselves or disavow their own portrait in their fellowman; for each odious harmony, each frightful coincidence, each hideous parallel finds within them an untiring voice to denounce them in their ever-wearied ear. However secret may be their intercourse, it has always two intolerable witnesses,--God, whom they cannot see, and conscience, which they feel.

His confidential talks with Musdœmon distressed the count the more because the latter always unhesitatingly imputed to his master a good share of the crimes committed or about to be committed. Many courtiers think it wise to save great men from the appearance of wrong-doing; they assume the responsibility of evil, and often spare their patron’s blushes by allowing him to feign resistance to advantageous crime. Musdœmon, by a refinement of skill, pursued the contrary course. He wished it to seem that he seldom advised, and always obeyed. He knew his master’s soul as familiarly as that master knew his heart; therefore he never compromised himself without compromising the count. There was no head, save that of Schumacker, that the count would have been so glad to see fall; Musdœmon knew this as well as if his master had told him, and his master knew that he knew it.

The count had learned all that he wished to learn; he was satisfied; he was now eager to dismiss Musdœmon.

“Musdœmon,” said he, with a gracious smile, “you are the most faithful and most zealous of all my servants. All goes well, and I owe it to your devotion. I make you private secretary to the chancellor’s office.”

Musdœmon bowed low.

“Nor is that all,” added the count; “I will ask for you, for the third time, the Order of the Dannebrog. But I still fear that your birth, your humble relations--”

Musdœmon blushed, turned pale, and hid his change of color by another bow.

“Come,” said the count, offering him his hand to kiss, “come, Mr. Private Secretary, draw up your _placeat_! It may chance to find the king in gracious mood.”

“Whether his Majesty grant my petition or not, your Grace’s kindness overwhelms me.”

“Make haste, my dear fellow, for I am anxious to be off. We must try to get some exact information about this Hans.”

Musdœmon, with a third bow, opened the door.

“Ah!” said the count, “I forgot. In your new position as private secretary, you may write to the chancellor’s office and order them to dismiss this mayor of Loevig, who compromises the dignity of his position in the eyes of the villagers by his servility to strangers whom he does not know.”