It was on the 4th of November—a dreary Sunday—that the tragedy began. On that day, with a great flourish of trumpets and display of power, the monarch proceeded to the Great Church to be crowned. The huge edifice was filled to overflowing. From north and south, from mountain and valley, all of note in the three kingdoms had flocked thither on this day to behold the imposing spectacle. Gustaf Trolle, now once more archbishop, stood at the high altar, lined on either side by the six Swedish bishops and the Upsala Chapter. The whole chancel was one blaze of gold and silver; and as the king marched through the main aisle with his splendid retinue, every eye was bent upon him and every whisper hushed. Proceeding straight up to the high altar, he bent his knee before the God whose name he was now so soon to desecrate. Then the archbishop raised from the altar a crown of gold glittering with precious jewels, and placed it reverently upon the monarch's brow. The sacred rite of consecration over, the monarch rose and turning was met by a herald of Charles V., who came from his master bringing a fleece which he attached with chains of gold around the monarch's neck, thus receiving him into the great Burgundian League. After this, a throne was placed before the altar, and Christiern conferred the order of knighthood on Krumpen and some of his other officers. It was observed, however, that all thus honored were of Danish birth. With this the ceremony of consecration closed, and the whole concourse poured forth once more from the house of God.[51]
During three days the whole town now was given over to mirth and merrymaking. These days seem like the lull that goes before a storm. All strife was ended, all past injuries forgotten. The future seemed full of promise, and the Swedish peasants went hurrying back to their firesides to tell their wives and children of the peace and blessings promised them by Christiern. But it was not yet. Scarce had the echo of warfare died upon the wind when a frightful tragedy took place in Stockholm which sent a thrill of horror to the heart of Europe. At noon on the Wednesday following the coronation all the Swedish magnates with the authorities of Stockholm were summoned to the citadel and ushered into the august presence of their king. As they ranged themselves about the great hall, the nobles and their wives, all wondering what this dismal summons meant, they heard the castle gates grate upon their hinges, and a cold shudder gradually spread among them, as the thought now flashed upon them for the first time that they were no longer free. They had been decoyed by the fulsome promises of their ruler into the trap which he had laid. The noose was already tightening around their necks. Before them, on the throne hallowed by memories of former rulers, sat their tyrant, grim and lowering. Not a trace of mercy was visible in his features. Through a long pause, awful in its uncertainty, they waited, the cold sweat fast gathering on their brows. At length the pause was ended. Archbishop Trolle, chuckling at the near prospect of his revenge, stepped forward and addressed the throne. He began by portraying in ardent language the sufferings he had undergone. He declared that the cathedral at Upsala had been plundered while he was being besieged in Stäket. He dwelt at great length on the wrong which had been done him in the destruction of his castle. He drew attention to the conspiracy entered into against him by certain of the magnates, and their united oath never again to recognize him as archbishop. Finally, he denounced the conspirators by name, and called upon the king to visit them with the punishment which they deserved. At this Christina was summoned before the throne and asked for an explanation of her husband's conduct. She was at first struck dumb with terror; then, recovering herself, she pleaded that her husband had been no more guilty than the other conspirators, as would appear from the document which they all had signed. Christiern, learning for the first time of this document, demanded that it be produced. When this was done, and the king had examined it to his heart's content, he gave it to his clerk to copy, and called on each of the signers in turn to answer for his act. Christiern with his Cabinet then withdrew, leaving the patriot leaders in the great hall guarded by a body of Danish soldiers. At dusk two Danish officers entered with lanterns, "like Judas Iscariot" says a contemporary, and the doomed magnates were led out to the tower and thrown into prison to await the morn. When day broke, Christiern ordered the trumpets sounded and proclamation made that no citizen should leave his house. About noon the condemned patriots were led from their dungeons to the Grand Square, and huddled together beneath the platform on which they were to bleed. The citizens had by this time been permitted to leave their houses and had gathered around the foot of the scaffold, from which they were addressed in soothing language by several of the Danish Cabinet, whose words however were interrupted by constant cries of the victims calling on their fellow-countrymen to avenge them. At last the agony of suspense was over. One after another the condemned mounted the scaffold and were decapitated with all the refinement of cruelty that the bloodthirsty monarch and his satellites could devise. Over seventy in all were slaughtered, and their gory bodies piled up in one promiscuous mass in the centre of the square. On the following day the scene of carnage was renewed, several suspected citizens being seized in their houses and dragged to the place of blood. One poor wretch was executed for no other reason than because he was discovered weeping at the sight of his friends' death. Not till the following Saturday was the carnage over and the weltering mass conveyed outside the town. The body of Sture, together with the body of one of his babes, was dug up by Christiern's orders and burned, and the property of all who were slaughtered was seized and confiscated. Having thus effected his diabolical purpose and ridded himself of the flower of the Swedish patriots, the gory monarch set his officers at the head of affairs, and taking Christina and her two boys with him, marched through the land to Denmark, where he threw Christina and her children into prison.[52]
Through all that summer and autumn Gustavus Vasa had been cooped up in his hiding-place on the Mälar. Once, in peril of his life, he had approached the venerable Archbishop Ulfsson and solicited his advice. But he found little comfort there. Ulfsson urged him to go boldly to Christiern and beg for mercy. He even offered to intercede for the young man, and encouraged him with the assertion that he had been included among those to whom the king had promised immunity at the surrender of Christina. Gustavus, however, knew too well what reliance he could place on Christiern's word. With a downcast spirit he went back to his hiding-place, resolved to await further developments before he ventured forth. It was a time of harrowing suspense, the iron entering into his very soul. Each day brought new intelligence of the victories of Christiern and the gradual dismemberment of the Swedish forces. His hopes were already well-nigh shattered when the report was wafted across the lake that his father, along with the other patriot leaders, had been slaughtered in the capital. Horror-stricken and overwhelmed with grief, he sprang to his feet, resolved to brave death rather than prolong this agony. Buckling on his sword, he mounted one of his father's steeds, and set forth for the north, filled with the dream of rescuing his native land. It was near the 25th of November, and the scenery was well in keeping with the dreary thoughts that flooded the horseman's mind. The stern gnarled oaks along the wayside, twisting their leafless boughs athwart the sky, seemed as perverse as the Swedes whom he had vainly sought to rouse. Even the frosty soil beneath him, unyielding to his tread, recalled the apathy with which his fellow-countrymen had listened to his cries. Had he been fired solely by a love of Sweden, he would very likely long ere this have renounced his hopeless task. But a selfish purpose kept him in the path. He was a pariah, hunted down by his enemies, and driven through sheer necessity to play the patriot. It was liberty or death. And so he pushed on, resolved to mingle among the hardy mountaineers of Dalarne, and strive at all hazards to rouse the flagging pulses of their hearts.[53]
Crossing Lake Mälar about four miles from his father's house, Gustavus hurried through the forests north of the lake with all the speed that a patriot's zeal could lend. To one companioned by happier thoughts the journey in those late autumn days must have been filled with delight. Dalarne, through which his journey lay, is the paradise of Sweden. As its name imports, it is "the land of valleys." The whole province stands high above the sea, rising higher as we travel farther north. The hills which separate the valleys are mostly crowned with pine and fir, and down their sides run broad and gently sloping fields. Here and there the scenery is varied by a little hamlet nestling along the hillside. Little lakes, too, dot the surface of the land, and tiny brooks go babbling across the fields. One stream, famous in Swedish history, bisects the district from north to south, passing through various lakes, and finally pours its waters into the Baltic. This tortuous river, called the Dalelf, is in some places broad and majestic, while in others it is narrow and goes foaming like a cataract over the rocks. Along the banks of this stream Gustavus traced his steps, making first for a village on Lake Runn, where an old Upsala schoolmate dwelt. Here he arrived some five days after he left his father's house, and presenting himself in peasant's dress was given refuge. However, he declared to no one who he was, probably wishing first to learn how his host and others were affected towards the king. While yet uncertain what course he should pursue, one of the servants noticed that he wore a gold-embroidered shirt, and told her master; and this, coupled with his language and general appearance, led to his discovery. He thereupon appealed to his old schoolfellow to shield him from his enemies, but in vain. The danger was too great; and though full of sympathy for the young refugee, he told him he must leave the place. Thus once more an outcast, Gustavus hurriedly skirted the south shore of the lake, and after a narrow escape by breaking through the ice, reached the house of another schoolmate, who offered him protection and then went off to inform the Danish officers. From this catastrophe Gustavus was rescued by a warning from his betrayer's wife, and had fled ere the officers appeared. His next asylum was some twenty miles farther north, where he found protection at the hands of the parish priest. The king's officers were now upon the scent. The whole province was alive to the fact that it was harboring within its borders the regent's ward. The strictest vigilance was therefore necessary in order to save his life. So the priest kept him but a week, and then hurried him some thirty miles farther through the woods to Rättvik, a hillside village at the eastern extremity of Lake Siljan. There he tarried several days, talking with the peasantry, and urging them to rebel against the tyranny of their Danish ruler. He was now on ground to be ever afterwards famous in Swedish history. Here for the first time his words were heard with some degree of favor. The proud spirits of these mountain peasants had been already often roused by evidences of foreign usurpation, and it needed little to induce them to rebel. But their isolated position in a measure saved them from the burdens of the Danish yoke, and they answered they could venture nothing till they had held a conference with their neighbors. The disheartened outlaw therefore set forth once more. He traversed the icy meadows that lie along the eastern side of Lake Siljan, and after a journey of about twenty-five miles reached the village of Mora, lying at the head of the lake. It was on Christmas day that he addressed the people of this village. Knowing this to be his last hope of success, he took his stand on an elevated mound, and gazed over the white fields, dotted here and there with little hamlets, and to the snow-clad hills beyond. The surroundings added even to the zeal with which his own needs made him speak. He portrayed in burning terms the wrongs and insults that had been heaped upon the Swedish people. He alluded to his own affliction and to the general scene of carnage that had taken place in Stockholm. He pictured the evils in store for the proud highlanders before him, and appealed to them in the name of Almighty God to join him in a war for liberty. But all this eloquence was wasted. His appeal struck no responsive chord. The people flatly refused to give him their assistance. He had, therefore, but one course left. With no further hope of keeping his whereabouts unknown, he hastened with all speed from the town, and fled over the ice-bound hills of the west, to seek a last asylum in the wilds of Norway.[54]
Black indeed were the clouds now gathering over the head of Sweden. Even the liberty-loving province of Dalarne had refused to strike a blow for freedom. Soon, it seemed, the whole of Sweden would be groaning under the burden of a foreign despotism. Yet such an issue was by the design of Providence to be averted. But a few days after the flight of Gustavus out of Mora news arrived that Christiern was preparing a journey through the land, and had ordered a gallows to be raised in every province. Rumor was rife, too, with new taxes soon to be imposed. Nor was it long before a messenger arrived who confirmed the words of Gustavus as to the cruelties in Stockholm, and added further that there were many magnates throughout the realm who not only had not bowed the knee to Christiern, but had declared that rather than do so they would die with sword in hand. Then the blood of the villagers of Mora boiled within them. Post-haste, and trembling lest it were now too late, they put men on the track of the young fugitive with orders to push on by day and night and not rest till they had found Gustavus and brought him back. They found him on the very frontier of Norway, and announced to him that their people were ready to join his banner and with him pour out their blood for freedom. With a joyous heart he turned about and hurried back to Mora. The whole province was now awake. Rättvik had already had a conflict with a body of Danish horsemen; and when the outcast hero appeared once more at Mora, he found a vast throng of peasants flocking from every side to join his ranks. By common consent he was chosen to be their leader and a body of sixteen stout highlanders selected to be his guard. This was in the early days of 1521. The perseverance of the stanch young outlaw was rewarded, and the supremacy of Gustavus Vasa had begun.[55]
FOOTNOTES:
[36] Svaning, Christ. II., p. 387; and Svart, Gust. I.'s krön., p. 8.
[37] Rensel, Berättelse, p. 17; Svaning, Christ. II., pp. 387-388; and Svart, Gust. I.'s krön., pp. 8-9.
[38] Svenska medeltid. rim-krön., vol. iii. pp. 210-212; Olaus Petri, Svenska krön., pp. 316-317; Johannes Magni, De omn. Goth., p. 780; Svaning, Christ. II., pp. 173, 279, and 281-299; and Laurent. Petri, Then Svenska chrön., p. 144.
[39] Ibid.