CHAPTER VI.

THE LOVE OF THE NORTH AND THE SOUTH.

When the lonely singer approached one could gradually understand the import of the song. It was a gentle heart, which sang in uneven but impressive numbers, its longings and its sorrows on the shore in the glow of a beautiful August evening far off in the north country.

"The sun shines bright and clear O'er the waters far and near, And the moon wanders in the night Above in the heavenly sphere. But never again will the sun supreme Shine down on the forgotten troth, And never again shall the gentle moon's beam Illumine the brave knight's holy oath.

"The only one I loved so dear Lives far away in a palace fine, Surrounded by splendour he leaves me here Alone with grief and sorrow mine. He is served by many, I have but one knight, He has castles, towns, and land. I spread my pearls in the evening light And sing to the waves on the strand.

"The bird flies to the south so fair, Far away to the castle grand, And sings on the tree a sorrowful air, As I in my lonely land. The brave knight listens to the song, How strangely his heart doth beat, And before one knows the evening long Hath gone like the joys that never repeat."

The more Lady Regina listened to the simple strains, which to her were foreign and strange, and yet appealing through their deep melancholy, the more she was affected by this sorrow so like her own. She wished to breathe the fresh evening air; the little window, however, long resisted her attempts to open it, but all Lady Marta's prudence could not prevent the hinges from being old and rusty, and at last they yielded to the young girl's persistent efforts. She had only been a guest in this castle for a few hours, and yet she inhaled the evening fragrance as a prisoner for long years finally breathes the air of his freedom. Her heart expanded and her eyes regained their fire; her mind became filled with a dreamy ecstasy, and she sang softly, so as not to be heard by her custodian, but clearly and melodiously.

REGINA'S SONG.

"Great as my sufferings are Still to thee I will repair. Holy Virgin, wilt thou bless What to thee I now confess, My soul's desire sincere To die without fear.

"Amongst the kings of the earth My loved one hath his birth, Far flash his dread strokes As the Almighty's lightnings rend the oaks. But victor and conqueror tho' he be Yet mild and merciful is he.

"I'll all forget, and firmly stand, If you give me the dread command To stop the hero's great career. O holy Virgin, bright and dear, God's mother, thou me hear, Spare the noble heart that knows no fear.

"Make the heretic king his faults forswear, And that he will our glorious faith declare. Then my weary heart will gain its rest. O Mary, grant me this request, Spare his life, his throne, Let me with my death for his crime atone."

The solitary figure which had sung the first song now slowly approached the castle walls; it was a woman of the people, with once beautiful features, now pale and expressing a winning and sympathetic heart. She tried to listen to the strange girl's song, but could not succeed on account of the foreign language and suppressed tones. She then seated herself on a stone a short distance from the castle, and fixed her mild gaze on the prisoner at the window. In her turn, Regina also fastened her dark penetrating eyes on the visitor. One would think that they perfectly understood each other, for the language of songs needs no other lexicon than the heart. Or did a presentiment tell them, the girl of seventeen and the woman of thirty-six, that their loves were concentrated on the same object, and that both sang their shipwrecked hopes on the lonely shore, but in an infinitely differing way?

Up in the north the summer nights are clear until the beginning of August, then a light veil spreads itself over land and sea as soon as the sun goes down. By the middle of August this veil has already become thicker, and casts a mild soft shade over the summer leaves and grass. When the moon rises upon this world of vanishing green, then there is nothing more sadly beautiful to be found in all nature than one of these lovely evenings in August. Then the eye accustomed to three months unbroken day, shrinks from the darkness and yet sees this darkness in its loveliest aspect, like a mild sorrow softened by a ray of heavenly glory. This impression would return every year even if one lived for centuries; it is light and darkness which at the same moment are struggling in the world and in the human heart.

The two lonely singers felt the power of this impression; they both sat fixed and mute, quietly regarding each other in the twilight; neither of them spoke, and yet they understood each other's inmost thoughts.

Then the pale woman suddenly rose and turned her face towards the town. She seemed to be listening to a noise which disturbed the holy peace of the evening.

Lady Regina followed every movement of the stranger, and leaned out of the window so as to be able to see better. All nature was calm and silent, only the strokes of oars were heard from the sea, or the melancholy prolonged note from some shepherd's horn. This stillness increased by the first darkness of the autumn, had something solemn and inviting to worship about it, and made the noise which now came from the distant town still more singular. It was not the surges of the sea, or the roar of the fors,* or the crackling of a fire in the wood. Although it resembled all these. It was more like the murmur of an enraged populace, at once actuated by rage and want. Directly afterwards the reflection of a fire was seen afar off in the northern portion of the town.

* Fors, a stream peculiar to the north, like rapids.

With the speed of the wind the lonely woman outside the wall hurried away in the direction of the sounds and light .... We will now precede her for a moment.

The arrival of the man-of-war, which was destined to transport the conscripts, had placed the latter in a state of excitement much augmented by sorrow, pride, and ale. With their under officers at their head, they had thronged around the ale-shops, and at this time, when the soldier was all important, one was often obliged to overlook his irregularities and keep him in a good humour. The superior officers consequently pretended not to notice that 200 young men, with the combative temperament of East Bothnia, were in a state of intoxication more or less; and it is possible that this policy might have been the right one at the time, had not a special circumstance detrimental to peace brought their unrestrained passions into full play.

The brave sergeant, Bengt Kristerson, did not neglect this opportunity to do himself every possible justice. Filled with a sense of his own great importance, he had jumped on a table and easily demonstrated to the crowd of conscripts: first, that he especially had conquered Germany; secondly, that long before this he would have driven the Emperor Ferdinand into the River Danube, had not the latter been in league with Satan and bewitched the whole Swedish army, and the king himself first of all; thirdly, that Bengt, on the night of the Frankfurt ball, was on guard outside the king's bed-chamber, and there he had plainly seen Beelzebub in the form of a young girl, who then made a terrible commotion; fourthly--this thought naturally struck him during his inspired address--that the weal or woe of the country, yes, of the whole world, depended upon the witch, who was a prisoner at Korsholm...

"You will see that the black-haired witch will bring the plague to the town," observed thoughtfully a Malax peasant, with very fair hair and shabby appearance.

"The wolf-cub!"

"The king's murderess!"

"Shall we allow her to sit in peace and destroy both king and country with her witch-shots?" cried a drunken clerk of assizes, who had just joined the company.

"Let us duck her in the sea!" shrieked a Nerpes peasant.

"Let us club her on the spot!" yelled a Lappo cottager, with an eagle nose and dark bushy eyebrows.

"And if they do not give her into our hands, we will set fire to Korsholm and burn the owl and the nest at the same time," said a ferocious Laihela peasant.

"Better that, than to have the kingdom ruined," remarked a grave-looking seal-hunter from Replot.

"Here, take brands!" shouted a Worä peasant.

"To Korsholm!" cried the whole crowd. And stimulated as usual by their own clamour, they rushed to the big open fire-place in the large room, and pulled out all the brands from it. But, unfortunately, there was a lot of hemp hanging in bundles on the wall in the room. One of the conscripts in the scramble swung his brand too high, and the hemp caught fire; the strong draught from the open door fanned the flame, and in a few minutes the ale-house was in full blaze.

All inside rushed out, and no one had time to realise how it happened.

"It is a witch-shot!" cried some of them.

"The witch at Korsholm will have to pay for all this!" shouted the others.

And the whole raging mass rushed off at full speed towards the old castle.