Lady Regina took the paper, and leaned her curly head against the window-frame, and she hardly seemed to have taken any notice of the Jesuits terrible injunction. An entirely new thought had seized this ardent soul, and was working itself to clearness. The Jesuit misunderstood her; he supposed that her silence proceeded from submission to his despotism, from fanatic ecstasy over the martyr-crown he had held up to her.
"Have you understood me, my daughter?" asked he.
"Yes, my father."
"You will, then, this evening, ask the king for a private audience? You will..."
"Yes, my father."
"Benedicta, ten benedicta, thou thrice-blessed instrument, go to thy heavenly glory!" And the Jesuit disappeared in the throng.
The large clock in the coronation chamber pointed to midnight. Through an ingenious mechanism, invented by a Nuremberger, two immense tables, set with elegant silver service, rolled out from an adjoining room at the twelfth stroke, and stood at once, as if risen from the floor, in the centre of the saloon. Upon a given sign from the master of the ceremonies, the king and queen placed themselves before two crimson chairs at the middle of the upper table, and all the guests in rows, according to rank and dignity, around the festive boards. One of the prelates present said grace in a loud voice, after which the king himself recited a short psalm, and the rest with practised voices joined in. They now seated themselves with considerable bustle, and once arrived so far, they did not allow themselves to be too much incommoded by ceremony. The courses were both many and savoury. Richelieu had sent Gustaf Adolf a French cook; but the king, far from spoiled by good living, only employed the fine Frenchman for ornamental dishes on occasions like this; perhaps he did not rely fully upon the cardinal's gift, for it was said that Richelieu's dinners were scarcely less dangerous than those of the former Borgias. And besides, the Netherland and German cooking was at that time more praised than the French. The tables' greatest ornaments at this banquet were a wild boar roasted whole, decorated with flowers and laurel leaves, and a piece of pastry, presented by a baker of Frankfurt, and representing the triumphant march of a Roman Emperor. Everyone believed that they recognised in this small hero, Gustaf Adolf's features, and many jesting words were exchanged, when each found a resemblance between the attending Romans and his neighbour. The queen, whose delicate hand was destined to break this masterpiece of culinary art, with a smile put one of the last slaves in the triumphal march on her silver plate; but Gustaf Adolf, generally endowed with a good appetite, seized the great pastry hero rather ungently with his warrior hand, and placed a considerable portion of his person upon his plate.
In the meantime the goblets were filled with the best Rhenish and Spanish wines, and the king drank the queen's health in a plain simple manner, and all the other guests followed his example. At the top of the table stood the royal pages in glittering uniforms, one behind each chair, and at the lower end one stood behind every other chair. They refilled the goblets, and the king then drank to Frankfurt's welfare; immediately afterwards he rose from the table and left the room with the queen on his arm, and they retired to their own apartments. Gustaf Adolf always lived as a plain soldier ought to do, and was generally quick at his meals, but under favourable circumstances would stay an hour at the table. The king, however, did not ask the others to follow his example, and left in his place as host a high officer of the court.
This time it was the old Scotchman, Patrick Ruthwen, who was a good boon companion, and he filled his post with great credit. Oxenstjerna left the room with the king. The ladies also left the hall, but the gentlemen remained behind enjoying themselves over their wine and the nuts which had been handed round on silver dishes; amongst the latter were artificial ones made of stone, which looked so natural that they were constantly mistaken for real From this joke came the saying, "it is a hard nut to crack." The heroes of the Thirty Years' War were nearly all great topers; to empty at a draught one of the large beakers of Rhenish wine was a small matter to them. But on this occasion they had to restrain themselves, because they all knew the high moral principles of the king, and hence did not dare to turn their goblets upside down too often. They did not break up until a late hour, and some of the commanders treated each other to a rare product just imported from the Low Countries, and it was passed from hand to hand in small boxes; each man bit off a piece, and some with frightful grimaces spat it out again, whilst others kept it in their mouths with evident enjoyment. Doubtless, the reader has already guessed, this was tobacco.
While this feasting was going on in the hall, the queen had gone to rest with her ladies in waiting, but the king was still talking to Axel Oxenstjerna. What these two great men were conversing about is easier to guess than to tell. Perhaps it was about Sweden's poverty, or the Emperor's power, or the power of God, which is still greater, or the victory of the Light, or the crown of the Roman kingdom, or a German Protestant empire in the future. No one knows this for certain; for after the king's death all his secrets followed Oxenstjerna to the grave.