The Historical Nights' Entertainment: First Series
Page 15
XIII. THE NIGHT OF MASQUERADE--The Assassination Of Gustavus III OfSweden
Baron Bjelke sprang from his carriage almost before it had come to astandstill and without waiting for the footman to let down the steps.With a haste entirely foreign to a person of his station and importance,he swept into the great vestibule of the palace, and in a quiveringvoice flung a question at the first lackey he encountered:
"Has His Majesty started yet?"
"Not yet, my lord."
The answer lessened his haste, but not his agitation. He cast off theheavy wolfskin pelisse in which he had been wrapped, and, leaving it inthe hands of the servant, went briskly up the grand staircase, a tall,youthful figure, very graceful in the suit of black he wore.
As he passed through a succession of ante-rooms on his way to theprivate apartments of the King, those present observed the pallor of hisclean-cut face under the auburn tie-wig he affected, and the feverishglow of eyes that took account of no one. They could not guess thatBaron Bjelke, the King's secretary and favourite, carried in his handsthe life of his royal master, or its equivalent in the shape of thesecret of the plot to assassinate him.
In many ways Bjelke was no better than the other profligate minions ofthe profligate Gustavus of Sweden. But he had this advantage over them,that his intellect was above their average. He had detected the firstsigns of the approach of that storm which the King himself had soheedlessly provoked. He knew, as much by reason as by intuition, that,in these days when the neighbouring State of France writhed in thethroes of a terrific revolution against monarchic and aristocratictyranny, it was not safe for a king to persist in the abuse of hisparasitic power. New ideas of socialism were in the air. They werespreading through Europe, and it was not only in France that menaccounted it an infamous anachronism that the great mass of a communityshould toil and sweat and suffer for the benefit of an insolentminority.
Already had there been trouble with the peasantry in Sweden, and Bjelkehad endangered his position as a royal favourite by presuming to warnhis master. Gustavus III desired amusement, not wisdom, from thoseabout him. He could not be brought to realize the responsibilities whichkingship imposes upon a man. It has been pretended that he was endowedwith great gifts of mind. He may have been, though the thing has beenpretended of so many princes that one may be sceptical where evidenceis lacking. If he possessed those gifts, he succeeded wonderfully inconcealing them under a nature that was frivolously gay, dissolute, andextravagant.
His extravagance forced him into monstrous extortions when only amadman would have wasted in profligacy the wealth so cruelly wrung fromlong-suffering subjects. From extortion he was driven by his desperateneed of money into flagrant dishonesty. At a stroke of the pen he hadreduced the value of the paper currency by one-third--a reduction soviolent and sudden that, whilst it impoverished many, it involvedsome in absolute ruin--and this that he might gratify his appetitefor magnificence and enrich the rapacious favourites who shared hisprofligacy.
The unrest in the kingdom spread. It was no longer a question of theresentment of a more or less docile peasantry whose first stirrings ofrevolt were easily quelled. The lesser nobility of Sweden were angeredby a measure--following upon so many others--that bore peculiarlyheavily upon themselves; and out of that anger, fanned by one man--JohnJacob Ankarstrom--who had felt the vindictive spirit of royal injustice,flamed in secret the conspiracy against the King's life which Bjelke haddiscovered.
He had discovered it by the perilous course of joining the conspirators.He had won their confidence, and they recognized that his collaborationwas rendered invaluable by the position he held so near the King. Andin his subtle wisdom, at considerable danger to himself, Bjelke had kepthis counsel. He had waited until now, until the moment when the blow wasabout to fall, before making the disclosure which should not only saveGustavus, but enable him to cast a net in which all the plotters must becaught. And he hoped that when Gustavus perceived the narrowness of hisescape, and the reality of the dangers amid which he walked, he wouldconsider the wisdom of taking another course in future.
He had reached the door of the last ante-chamber, when a detaininghand was laid upon his arm. He found himself accosted by a page--theoffspring of one of the noblest families in Sweden, and the son of oneof Bjelke's closest friends, a fair-haired, impudent boy to whom thesecretary permitted a certain familiarity.
"Are you on your way to the King, Baron?" the lad inquired.
"I am, Carl. What is it?"
"A letter for His Majesty--a note fragrant as a midsummer rose--which aservant has just delivered to me. Will you take it?"
"Give it to me, impudence," said Bjelke, the ghost of a smile lightingfor a moment his white face.
He took the letter and passed on into the last antechamber, which wasempty of all but a single chamberlain-in-waiting. This chamberlain bowedrespectfully to the Baron.
"His Majesty?" said Bjelke.
"He is dressing. Shall I announce Your Excellency?"
"Pray do."
The chamberlain vanished, and Bjelke was left alone. Waiting, he stoodthere, idly fingering the scented note he had received from the page.As he turned it in his fingers the superscription came uppermost, andhe turned it no more. His eyes lost their absorbed look, their glancequickened into attention, a frown shaped itself between them like ascar; his breathing, suspended a moment, was renewed with a gasp. Hestepped aside to a table bearing a score of candles clustered in amassive silver branch, and held the note so that the light fell fullupon the writing.
Standing thus, he passed a hand over his eyes and stared again, twohectic spots burning now in his white cheeks. Abruptly, disregardingthe superscription, his trembling fingers snapped the blank seal andunfolded the letter addressed to his royal master. He was still readingwhen the chamberlain returned to announce that the King was pleased tosee the Baron at once. He did not seem to hear the announcement. Hisattention was all upon the letter, his lips drawn back from his teeth ina grin, and beads of perspiration glistening upon his brow.
"His Majesty--" the chamberlain was beginning to repeat, when he brokeoff suddenly. "Your Excellency is ill?"
"Ill?"
Bjelke stared at him with glassy eyes. He crumpled the letter in hishand and stuffed one and the other into the pocket of his black satincoat. He attempted to laugh to reassure the startled chamberlain, andachieved a ghastly grimace.
"I must not keep His Majesty waiting," he said thickly, and stumbledon, leaving in the chamberlain's mind a suspicion that His Majesty'ssecretary was not quite sober.
But Bjelke so far conquered his emotion that he was almost his usualimperturbable self when he reached the royal dressing-room; indeed, heno longer displayed even the agitation that had possessed him when firsthe entered the palace.
Gustavus, a slight, handsome man of a good height, was standing beforea cheval-glass when Bjelke came in. Francois, the priceless valetHis Majesty had brought back from his last pleasure-seeking visitto pre-revolutionary Paris some five years ago, was standing backjudicially to consider the domino he had just placed upon the royalshoulders. Baron Armfelt whom the conspirators accused of wielding themost sinister of all the sinister influences that perverted the King'smind--dressed from head to foot in shimmering white satin, lounged on adivan with all the easy familiarity permitted to this most intimate ofcourtiers, the associate of all royal follies.
Gustavus looked over his shoulder as he entered.
"Why, Bjelke," he exclaimed, "I thought you had gone into the country!"
"I am at a loss," replied Bjelke, "to imagine what should have givenYour Majesty so mistaken an impression." And he might have smiledinwardly to observe how his words seemed to put Gustavus out ofcountenance.
The King laughed, nevertheless, with an affectation of ease.
"I inferred it from your absence from Court on such a night. What hasbeen keeping you?" But, without waiting for an answer, he fired anotherquestion. "What do you say to my domino, Bjelke?"
"Your Majesty will have a great success," said Bjelke, and to himselfrelished the full grimness of his joke. For a terrible joke it was,seeing that he no longer intended to discharge the errand which hadbrought him in such haste to the palace.
"Faith, I deserve it!" was the flippant answer, and he turned again tothe mirror to adjust a patch on the left side of his chin. "There isgenius in this domino, and it is not the genius of Francois, for thescheme of flames is my very own, the fruit of a deal of thought andstudy."
There Gustavus uttered his whole character. As a master of the revels,or an opera impresario, this royal rake would have been a completesuccess in life. The pity of it was that the accident of birth shouldhave robed him in the royal purple. Like many another prince who hascome to a violent end, he was born to the wrong metier.
"I derived the notion," he continued, "from a sanbenito in a Goyapicture."
"An ominous garb," said Bjelke, smiling curiously. "The garment of thesinner on his way to penitential doom."
Armfelt cried out in a protest of mock horror, but Gustavus laughedcynically.
"Oh, I confess that it would be most apt. I had not thought of it."
His fingers sought a pomatum box, and in doing so displaced atoilet-case of red morocco. An oblong paper package fell from the top ofthis and arrested the King's attention.
"Why, what is this?" He took it up--a letter bearing the superscription:
To His MAJESTY THE KING SECRET AND IMPORTANT
"What is this, Francois?" The royal voice was suddenly sharp.
The valet glided forward, whilst Armfelt rose from the divan and, likeBjelke, attracted by the sudden change in the King's tone and manner,drew near his master.
"How comes this letter here?"
The valet's face expressed complete amazement. It must have been placedthere in his absence an hour ago, after he had made all preparations forthe royal toilette. It was certainly not there at the time, or he musthave seen it.
With impatient fingers Gustavus snapped the seal and unfolded theletter. Awhile he stood reading, very still, his brows knit.
Then, with a contemptuous "Poof!" he handed it to his secretary.
At a glance Bjelke recognized the hand for that of Colonel Lillehorn,one of the conspirators, whose courage had evidently failed him in theeleventh hour. He read:
SIRE,--Deign to heed the warning of one who, not being in your service,nor solicitous of your favours, flatters not your crimes, and yetdesires to avert the danger threatening you. There is a plot toassassinate you which would by now have been executed but for thecountermanding of the ball at the opera last week. What was not donethen will certainly be done to-night if you afford the opportunity.Remain at home and avoid balls and public gatherings for the rest of theyear; thus the fanaticism which aims at your life will evaporate.
"Do you know the writing?" Gustavus asked.
Bjelke shrugged. "The hand will be disguised, no doubt," he evaded.
"But you will heed the warning, Sire?" exclaimed, Armfelt, who had readover the secretary's shoulder, and whose face had paled in reading.
Gustavus laughed contemptuously. "Faith, if I were to heed everyscaremonger, I should get but little amusement out of life."
Yet he was angry, as his shifting colour showed. The disrespectful toneof the anonymous communication moved him more deeply than its actualmessage. He toyed a moment with a hair-ribbon, his nether lip thrust outin thought. At last he rapped out an oath of vexation, and proffered theribbon to his valet.
"My hair, Francois," said he, "and then we will be going."
"Going!"
It was an ejaculation of horror from Armfelt, whose face was now aswhite as the ivory-coloured suit he wore.
"What else? Am I to be intimidated out of my pleasures?" Yet that hisheart was less stout than his words his very next question showed."Apropos, Bjelke, what was the reason why you countermanded the balllast week?"
"The councillors from Gefle claimed Your Majesty's immediate attention,"Bjelke reminded him.
"So you said at the time. But the business seemed none so urgent when wecame to it. There was no other reason in your mind--no suspicion?"
His keen, dark blue eyes were fixed upon the pale masklike face of thesecretary.
That grave, almost stern countenance relaxed into a smile.
"I suspected no more than I suspect now," was his easy equivocation."And all that I suspect now is that some petty enemy is attempting toscare Your Majesty."
"To scare me?" Gustavus flushed to the temples. "Am I a man to bescared?"
"Ah, but consider, Sire, and you, Bjelke," Armfelt was bleating. "Thismay be a friendly warning. In all humility, Sire, let me suggest thatyou incur no risk; that you countermand the masquerade."
"And permit the insolent writer to boast that he frightened the King?"sneered Bjelke.
"Faith, Baron, you are right. The thing is written with intent to make amock of me."
"But if it were not so, Sire?" persisted the distressed Armfelt. Andvolubly he argued now to impose caution, reminding the King of hisenemies, who might, indeed, be tempted to go the lengths of which theanonymous writer spoke. Gustavus listened, and was impressed.
"If I took heed of every admonition," he said, "I might as well becomea monk at once. And yet--" He took his chin in his hand, and stoodthoughtful, obviously hesitating, his head bowed, his straight, gracefulfigure motionless.
Thus until Bjelke, who now desired above all else the very thing he hadcome hot-foot to avert, broke the silence to undo what Armfelt had done.
"Sire," he said, "you may avoid both mockery and danger, and yet attendthe masquerade. Be sure, if there is indeed a plot, the assassins willbe informed of the disguise you are to wear. Give me your flame-studdeddomino, and take a plain black one for yourself."
Armfelt gasped at the audacity of the proposal, but Gustavus gave nosign that he had heard. He continued standing in that tense attitude,his eyes vague and dreamy. And as if to show along what roads ofthought his mind was travelling, he uttered a single word a name--in aquestioning voice scarce louder than a whisper.
Ankarstrom?
Later again he was to think of Ankarstrom, to make inquiries concerninghim, which justifies us here in attempting to follow those thoughts ofhis. They took the road down which his conscience pointed. Above allSwedes he had cause to fear John Jacobi Ankarstrom, for, foully as hehad wronged many men in his time, he had wronged none more deeply thanthat proud, high-minded nobleman. He hated Ankarstrom as we must alwayshate those whom we have wronged, and he hated him the more because heknew himself despised by Ankarstrom with a cold and deadly contempt thatat every turn proclaimed itself.
That hatred was more than twenty years old. It dated back to the timewhen Gustavus had been a vicious youth, and Ankarstrom himself a boy.They were much of an age. Gustavus had put upon his young companion aninfamous insult, which had been answered by a blow. His youth andthe admitted provocation alone had saved Ankarstrom from the dreadconsequence of striking a Prince of the Royal Blood. But they had notsaved him from the vindictiveness of Gustavus. He had kept his lust ofvengeance warm, and very patiently had he watched and waited for hisopportunity to destroy the man, who had struck him.
That chance had come four years ago--in 1788--during the war withRussia. Ankarstrom commanded the forces defending the island ofGothland. These forces were inadequate for the task, nor was theisland in a proper state of defence, being destitute of forts. To havepersevered in resistance might have been heroic, but it would have beenworse than futile, for not only would it have entailed the massacre ofthe garrison, but it must have further subjected the inhabitants to allthe horrors of sack and pillage.
In the circumstances, Ankarstrom had conceived it his
duty to surrenderto the superior force of Russia, thereby securing immunity for thepersons and property of the inhabitants. In this the King perceived hischance to indulge his hatred. He caused Ankarstrom to be arrestedand accused of high treason, it being alleged against him that he hadadvised the people of Gothland not to take up arms against the Russians.The royal agents found witnesses to bear false evidence againstAnkarstrom, with the result that he was sentenced to twenty years'imprisonment in a fortress. But the sentence was never carried out.Gustavus had gone too far, as he was soon made aware. The feelingsagainst him which hitherto had smouldered flamed out at this crowningact of injustice, and to repair his error Gustavus made haste, not,indeed, to exonerate Ankarstrom from the charges brought against him,but to pardon him for his alleged offences.
When the Swedish nobleman was brought to Court to receive this pardon,he used it as a weapon against the King whom he despised.
"My unjust judges," he announced in a ringing voice, the echoes of whichwere carried to the ends of Sweden, "have never doubted in their heartsmy innocence of the charges brought against me, and established by meansof false witnesses. The judgment pronounced against me was unrighteous.This exemption from it is my proper due. Yet I would rather perishthrough the enmity of the King than live dishonoured by his clemency."
Gustavus had set his teeth in rage when those fierce words were reportedto him, and his rage had been increased when he was informed of thecordial reception which everywhere awaited Ankarstrom on his release.He perceived how far he had overshot his mark, and how, in seekingtreacherously to hurt Ankarstrom, he had succeeded only in hurtinghimself. Nor had he appeased the general indignation by his pardon.True, the flame of revolt had been quelled. But he had no lack ofevidence that the fire continued to burn steadily in secret, and to eatits way further and further into the ranks of noble and simple alike.
It is little wonder, then, that in this moment, with that warning lyingthere before him, the name of Ankarstrom should be on his lips, thethought of Ankarstrom, the fear of Ankarstrom, looming big in his mind.It was big enough to make him heed the warning. He dropped into a chair.
"I will not go," he said, and Bjelke saw that his face was white, hishands shaking.
But when the secretary had repeated the proposal which had earlier goneunheard, Gustavus caught at it with sudden avidity, and with but littleconcern for the danger that Bjelke might be running. He sprang up,applauding it. If a conspiracy there was, the conspirators would thus betrapped; if there were no conspiracy, then this attempt to frighten himshould come to nothing; thus he would be as safe from the mockery of hisenemies as from their knives. Nor did Armfelt protest or make furtherattempts to dissuade him from going. In the circumstances proposed byBjelke, the risk would be Bjelke's, a matter which troubled Armfeltnot at all; indeed, he had no cause to love Bjelke, in whom he beheld aformidable rival, and it would be to him no cause for tears if the knifeintended for the royal vitals should find its way into Bjelke's instead.
So Baron Bjelke, arrayed in the domino copied from the penitential sack,departed for the Opera House, leaving Gustavus to follow. Yet, despitethe measure of precaution, no sooner had the masked King himself enteredthe crowded theatre, leaning upon the arm of the Count of Essen, than heconceived that he beheld confirmation of the warning, and regretted thathe had not heeded it to the extent of remaining absent. For one of thefirst faces he beheld, one of the few unmasked faces in that brilliantlylit salon, was the face of Ankarstrom, and Ankarstrom appeared to bewatching the entrance.
Gustavus checked in his stride, a tremor ran through him, and hestiffened in his sudden apprehension, for the sight of the tall figureand haughty, resolute face of the nobleman he had wronged was of moresignificance than at first might seem. Ever since his infamous trialAnkarstrom had been at pains to seize every occasion of marking hiscontempt for his Prince. Never did he fail upon the King's appearancein any gathering of which he was a member to withdraw immediately; andnever once had he been known deliberately to attend any function whichwas to be graced by the presence of Gustavus. How, then, came he hereto this ball given by the King's own command unless he came for the fellpurpose of which the letter had given warning?
The King's impulse was to withdraw immediately. He was taken by acurious, an almost unreasoning, fear that was quite foreign to him,who, for all his faults, had never yet lacked courage. But, even ashe hesitated, a figure swept past him in a domino flecked with flames,surrounded by revellers of both sexes, and he remembered that ifAnkarstrom were bent on evil his attention would be held by that figurebefore which the crowd fell back, and opened out respectfully, believingit to be the King's. Yet none the less it was Gustavus himself thatAnkarstrom continued to regard in such a way that the King had a feelingthat his mask was made of glass.
And then quite suddenly, even as he was on the point of turning, anotherwave of revellers swept frantically up, and in a moment Gustavus and theCount of Essen were surrounded. Another moment and the buffeting crowdhad separated him from his grand equerry. He found himself alone in thecentre of this knot of wild fellows who, seeming to mistake him for oneof themselves, forced him onward with them in their career. For a momenthe attempted to resist. But as well might he have resisted a torrent.Their rush was not to be stemmed. It almost swept him from his feet, andto save himself he must perforce abandon himself to the impetus. Thushe was swirled away across the floor of the amphitheatre, helpless asa swimmer in strong waters, and with the fear of the drowning clutchingnow at his heart.
He had an impulse to unmask, proclaim himself, and compel the respectthat was his due. But to do so might be to expose himself to the verydanger of whose presence he was now convinced. His only hope must liein allowing himself to be borne passively along until a chance openingallowed him to escape from these madmen.
The stage had been connected with the floor of the theatre by a broadflight of wooden steps. Up this flight he was carried by that humanwave. But on the stage itself he found an anchorage at last against oneof the wings. Breathing hard, he set his back to it, waiting for thewave to sweep on and leave him. Instead, it paused and came to rest withhim, and in that moment some one touched him on the shoulder. He turnedhis head, and looked into the set face of Ankarstrom, who was closebehind him. Then a burning, rending pain took him in his side, and hegrew sick and dizzy. The uproar of voices became muffled; the lightswere merged into a luminous billow that swelled and shrank and then wentout altogether.
The report of the pistol had been lost in the general din to all butthose who stood near the spot where it had been fired. And these foundthemselves suddenly borne backwards by the little crowd of maskers thatfell away from the figure lying prone and bleeding on the stage.
Voices were raised, shouting "Fire! Fire!" Thus the conspirators soughtto create confusion, that they might disperse and lose themselves in thegeneral crowd. That confusion, however, was very brief. It was stemmedalmost immediately by the Count of Essen, who leapt up the steps to thestage with a premonition of what had happened. He stooped to rip awaythe mask from the face of the victim, and, beholding, as he had feared,the livid countenance of his King, he stood up, himself almost as pale.
"Murder has been done!" he roared. "Let the doors be closed and guarded,and let no one leave the theatre." Instantly was his bidding done by theofficers of the guard.
Those of the King's household who were in attendance came forward nowto raise Gustavus, and help to bear him to a couch. There presently herecovered consciousness, whilst a physician was seeing to his hurt, andas soon as he realized his condition his manner became so calm that,himself, he took command of the situation. He issued orders that thegates of the city should be closed against everybody, whilst himselfapologizing to the Prussian minister who was near him for issuing thatinconvenient but necessary order.
"The gates shall remain closed for three days, sir," he announced."During that time you will not be able to correspond with your Court;but your intelligence, when it goes, will be
more certain, since by thattime it should be known whether I can survive or not."
His next order, delivered in a voice that was broken by his intensesuffering, was to the chamberlain Benzelstjerna, commanding that allpresent should unmask and sign their names in a book before beingsuffered to depart. That done, he bade them bear him home on the couchon which he had been placed that he might be spared the agony of moremovement than was necessary.
Thus his grenadiers bore him on their shoulders, lighted by torches,through the streets that were now thronged, for the rumour had now goneforth that the King was dead, and troops had been called out to keeporder. Beside him walked Armfelt in his suit of shimmering white satin,weeping at once for his King and for himself, for he knew that he was ofthose who must fall with Gustavus. And, knowing this, there was bitterrage in his heart against the men who had wrought this havoc, a ragethat sharpened his wits to an unusual acuteness.
At last the King was once more in his apartments awaiting the physicianswho were to pronounce his fate, and Armfelt kept him company amongothers, revolving in his mind the terrible suspicion he had formed.
Presently came Duke Charles, the King's brother, and Benzelstjerna withthe list of those who had been present at the ball.
"Tell me," he asked, before the list was read to him, "is the name ofAnkarstrom included in it?"
"He was the last to sign, Sire," replied the chamberlain.
The King smiled grimly. "Tell Lillesparre to have him arrested andquestioned."
Armfelt flung forward. "There is another who should be arrested, too!"he cried fiercely. And added, "Bjelke!"
"Bjelke?"
The King echoed the name almost in anger at the imputation. Armfeltspoke torrentially. "It was he persuaded you to go against your ownjudgment when you had the warning, and at last induced you to it byoffering to assume your own domino. If the assassins sought the King,how came they to pass over one who wore the King's domino, and topenetrate your own disguise that was like a dozen others? Because theywere informed of the change. But by whom--by whom? Who was it knew?"
"My God!" groaned the unfortunate King, who had in his time broken faithwith so many, and was now to suffer the knowledge of this broken faithin one whom he had trusted above all others.
Baron Bjelke was arrested an hour later, arrested in the very act ofentering his own home. The men of Lillesparre's police had preceded himthither to await his return. He was quite calm when they surged suddenlyabout him, laid hands upon him, and formally pronounced him theirprisoner.
"I suppose," he said, "it was to have been inferred. Allow me to take myleave of the Baroness, and I shall be at your disposal."
"My orders, Baron, are explicit," he was answered by the officer incharge. "I am not to suffer you out of my sight."
"How? Am I to be denied so ordinary a boon?" His voice quivered withsudden anger and something else.
"Such are my orders, Baron."
Bjelke pleaded for five minutes' grace for that leavetaking. But theofficer had his orders. He was no more than a machine. The Baron raisedhis clenched hands in mute protest to the heavens, then let them fallheavily.
"Very well," he said, and suffered them to thrust him back into hiscarriage and carry him away to the waiting Lillesparre.
He found Armfelt in the office of the chief of the police, haranguingAnkarstrom, who was already there under arrest. The favourite broke offas Bjelke was brought in.
"You were privy to this infamy, Bjelke," he cried. "If the King does notrecover--"
"He will not recover." It was the cold, passionless voice of Ankarstromthat spoke. "My pistol was loaded with rusty nails. I intended to makequite sure of ridding my country of that perjured tyrant."
Armfelt stared at the prisoner a moment with furious, bloodshot eyes.Then he broke into imprecations, stemmed only when Lillesparre orderedAnkarstrom to be removed. When he was gone, the chief of police turnedto Bjelke.
"It grieves me, Baron, that we should meet thus, and it is withdifficulty that I can believe what is alleged against you. Baron Armfeltis perhaps rendered hasty by his grief and righteous anger. But I hopethat you will be able to explain--at least to deny your concern in thishorrible deed."
Very tense and white stood Bjelke.
"I have an explanation that should satisfy you as a man of honour," hesaid quietly, "but not as chief of the police. I joined this conspiracythat I might master its scope and learn the intentions of the plotters.It was a desperate thing I did out of love and loyalty to the King, andI succeeded. I came to-night to the palace with information which shouldnot only have saved the King's life, but would have enabled him tosmother the conspiracy for all time. On the threshold of his room thisletter for the King was delivered into my hands. Read it, Lillesparre,that you may know precisely what manner of master you serve, that youmay understand how Gustavus of Sweden recompenses love and loyalty. Readit, and tell me how you would have acted in my place!"
And he flung the letter on to the writing-table at which satLillesparre.
The chief of police took it up, began to read, turned back to thesuperscription, then resumed his reading, a dull flush overspreading hisface. Over his shoulder Armfelt, too, was reading. But Bjelke carednot. Let all the world behold that advertisement of royal infamy,that incriminating love-letter from Bjelke's wife to the King who haddishonoured him.
Lillesparre was stricken dumb. He dared not raise his eyes to meet theglance of the prisoner. But the shameless Armfelt sucked in a breath ofunderstanding.
"You admit your guilt, then?" he snarled.
"That I sent the monster to the masquerade, knowing that there theblessed hand of Ankarstrom would give him his passport out of a world hehad befouled--yes."
"The rack shall make you yield the name of every one of theconspirators."
"The rack!" Bjelke smiled disdainfully, and shrugged. "Your men,Lillesparre, were very prompt and very obdurate. They would not allow meto take leave of the Baroness, so that she has escaped me. But I am notsure that it is not a fitter vengeance to let her live and remember.That letter may now be delivered to the King, for whom it is intended.Its fond messages may lighten the misery of his remaining hours."
His face was contorted, with rage, thought Armfelt, who watched him, butin reality with pain caused by the poison that was corroding his vitals.He had drained a little phial just before stepping into the presenceof Lillesparre, as they discovered upon inquiries made after he hadcollapsed dead at their feet.
This caused them to bring back Ankarstrom, that he might be searched,lest he, too, should take some similar way of escaping them. When hesearch was done, having discovered nothing, Lillesparre commanded thathe should not have knife or fork or metal comb, or anything with whichhe might take his life.
"You need not fear that I shall seek to evade the sacrifice," he assuredthem, his demeanour haughty, his eyes aglow with fanatic zeal. "It isthe price I pay for having rid Nature of a monster and my country of afalse, perjured tyrant, and I pay it gladly." As he ceased he smiled,and drew from the gold lace of his sleeve a surgeon's lancet. "This wassupplied me against my need to open a vein. But the laws of God and manmay require my death upon the scaffold."
And, smiling, he placed the lancet on Lillesparre's table.
Upon his conviction execution followed, and it lasted three days--fromApril 19th to 21 st--being attended by all the horrible and gradualtorturings reserved for regicides. Yet possibly he did not suffer morethan his victim, whose agony had lasted for thirteen days, and whoperished miserably in the consciousness that he deserved his fate,whilst Ankarstrom was uplifted and fortified by his fanaticism.
The scaffold was erected on the Stora Torget, facing the Opera Houseof Stockholm, where the assassination had taken place. Thence thedismembered remains of Ankarstrom were conveyed to the ordinary gallowsin the suburb of Sodermalm to be exhibited, the right hand being nailedbelow the head. Under this hand on the morrow was found a tablet bearingthe legend:
Blessed t
he hand That saved the Fatherland.