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Among the towns of Jutland, Viborg

Among the towns of Jutland, Viborg justly holds a high place. It is the seat of a bishopric; it has a handsome but almost entirely new cathedral, a charming garden, a lake of great beauty, and many storks. Near it is Hald, accounted one of the prettiest things in Denmark; and hard by is Finderup, where Marsk Stig murdered King Erik Glipping on St Cecilia's Day, in the year 1286. Fifty-six blows of square-headed iron maces were traced on Erik's skull when his tomb was opened in the seventeenth century. But I am not writing a guide-book.

There are good hotels in Viborg--Preisler's and the Phoenix are all that can be desired. But my cousin, whose experiences I have to tell you now, went to the Golden Lion the first time that he visited Viborg. He has not been there since, and the following pages will, perhaps, explain the reason of his abstention.

The Golden Lion is one of the very few houses in the town that were not destroyed in the great fire of 1726, which practically demolished the cathedral, the Sognekirke, the Raadhuus, and so much else that was old and interesting. It is a great red-brick house--that is, the front is of brick, with corbie steps on the gables and a text over the door; but the courtyard into which the omnibus drives is of black and white wood and plaster.

The sun was declining in the heavens when my cousin walked up to the door, and the light smote full upon the imposing facade of the house. He was delighted with the old-fashioned aspect of the place, and promised himself a thoroughly satisfactory and amusing stay in an inn so typical of old Jutland.

It was not business in the ordinary sense of the word that had brought Mr Anderson to Viborg. He was engaged upon some researches into the Church history of Denmark, and it had come to his knowledge that in the Rigsarkiv of Viborg there were papers, saved from the fire, relating to the last days of Roman Catholicism in the country. He proposed, therefore, to spend a considerable time--perhaps as much as a fortnight or three weeks--in examining and copying these, and he hoped that the Golden Lion would be able to give him a room of sufficient size to serve alike as a bedroom and a study. His wishes were explained to the landlord, and, after a certain amount of thought, the latter suggested that perhaps it might be the best way for the gentleman to look at one or two of the larger rooms and pick one for himself. It seemed a good idea.

The top floor was soon rejected as entailing too much getting upstairs after the day's work; the second floor contained no room of exactly the dimensions required; but on the first floor there was a choice of two or three rooms which would, so far as size went, suit admirably.

The landlord was strongly in favour of Number 17, but Mr Anderson pointed out that its windows commanded only the blank wall of the next house, and that it would be very dark in the afternoon. Either Number 12 or Number 14 would be better, for both of them looked on the street, and the bright evening light and the pretty view would more than compensate him for the additional amount of noise.

Eventually Number 12 was selected. Like its neighbours, it had three windows, all on one side of the room; it was fairly high and unusually long. There was, of course, no fireplace, but the stove was handsome and rather old--a cast-iron erection, on the side of which was a representation of Abraham sacrificing Isaac, and the inscription, 'I Bog Mose, Cap. 22,' above. Nothing else in the room was remarkable; the only interesting picture was an old coloured print of the town, date about 1820.

Supper-time was approaching, but when Anderson, refreshed by the ordinary ablutions, descended the staircase, there were still a few minutes before the bell rang. He devoted them to examining the list of his fellow-lodgers. As is usual in Denmark, their names were displayed on a large blackboard, divided into columns and lines, the numbers of the rooms being painted in at the beginning of each line. The list was not exciting. There was an advocate, or Sagfoerer, a German, and some bagmen from Copenhagen. The one and only point which suggested any food for thought was the absence of any Number 13 from the tale of the rooms, and even this was a thing which Anderson had already noticed half a dozen times in his experience of Danish hotels. He could not help wondering whether the objection to that particular number, common as it is, was so widespread and so strong as to make it difficult to let a room so ticketed, and he resolved to ask the landlord if he and his colleagues in the profession had actually met with many clients who refused to be accommodated in the thirteenth room.

He had nothing to tell me (I am giving the story as I heard it from him) about what passed at supper, and the evening, which was spent in unpacking and arranging his clothes, books, and papers, was not more eventful. Towards eleven o'clock he resolved to go to bed, but with him, as with a good many other people nowadays, an almost necessary preliminary to bed, if he meant to sleep, was the reading of a few pages of print, and he now remembered that the particular book which he had been reading in the train, and which alone would satisfy him at that present moment, was in the pocket of his great-coat, then hanging on a peg outside the dining-room.

To run down and secure it was the work of a moment, and, as the passages were by no means dark, it was not difficult for him to find his way back to his own door. So, at least, he thought; but when he arrived there, and turned the handle, the door entirely refused to open, and he caught the sound of a hasty movement towards it from within. He had tried the wrong door, of course. Was his own room to the right or to the left? He glanced at the number: it was 13. His room would be on the left; and so it was. And not before he had been in bed for some minutes, had read his wonted three or four pages of his book, blown out his light, and turned over to go to sleep, did it occur to him that, whereas on the blackboard of the hotel there had been no Number 13, there was undoubtedly a room numbered 13 in the hotel. He felt rather sorry he had not chosen it for his own. Perhaps he might have done the landlord a little service by occupying it, and given him the chance of saying that a well-born English gentleman had lived in it for three weeks and liked it very much. But probably it was used as a servant's room or something of the kind. After all, it was most likely not so large or good a room as his own. And he looked drowsily about the room, which was fairly perceptible in the half-light from the street-lamp. It was a curious effect, he thought. Rooms usually look larger in a dim light than a full one, but this seemed to have contracted in length and grown proportionately higher. Well, well! sleep was more important than these vague ruminations--and to sleep he went.

On the day after his arrival Anderson attacked the Rigsarkiv of Viborg. He was, as one might expect in Denmark, kindly received, and access to all that he wished to see was made as easy for him as possible. The documents laid before him were far more numerous and interesting than he had at all anticipated. Besides official papers, there was a large bundle of correspondence relating to Bishop Joergen Friis, the last Roman Catholic who held the see, and in these there cropped up many amusing and what are called 'intimate' details of private life and individual character. There was much talk of a house owned by the Bishop, but not inhabited by him, in the town. Its tenant was apparently somewhat of a scandal and a stumbling-block to the reforming party. He was a disgrace, they wrote, to the city; he practised secret and wicked arts, and had sold his soul to the enemy. It was of a piece with the gross corruption and superstition of the Babylonish Church that such a viper and blood-sucking _Troldmand_ should be patronized and harboured by the Bishop. The Bishop met these reproaches boldly; he protested his own abhorrence of all such things as secret arts, and required his antagonists to bring the matter before the proper court--of course, the spiritual court--and sift it to the bottom. No one could be more ready and willing than himself to condemn Mag Nicolas Francken if the evidence showed him to have been guilty of any of the crimes informally alleged against him.

Anderson had not time to do more than glance at the next letter of the Protestant leader, Rasmus Nielsen, before the record office was closed for the day, but he gathered its general tenor, which was to the effect that Christian men were now no longer bound by the decisions of Bishops of Rome, and that the Bishop's Court was not, and could not be, a fit or competent tribunal to judge so grave and weighty a cause.

On leaving the office, Mr Anderson was accompanied by the old gentleman who presided over it, and, as they walked, the conversation very naturally turned to the papers of which I have just been speaking.

Herr Scavenius, the Archivist of Viborg, though very well informed as to the general run of the documents under his charge, was not a specialist in those of the Reformation period. He was much interested in what Anderson had to tell him about them. He looked forward with great pleasure, he said, to seeing the publication in which Mr Anderson spoke of embodying their contents. 'This house of the Bishop Friis,' he added, 'it is a great puzzle to me where it can have stood. I have studied carefully the topography of old Viborg, but it is most unlucky--of the old terrier of the Bishop's property which was made in 1560, and of which we have the greater part in the Arkiv--just the piece which had the list of the town property is missing. Never mind. Perhaps I shall some day succeed to find him.'

After taking some exercise--I forget exactly how or where--Anderson went back to the Golden Lion, his supper, his game of patience,
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Among the towns of Jutland, Viborg justly holds a high place. It is the seat of a bishopric; it has a handsome but almost entirely new cathedral, a charming garden, a lake of great beauty, and many storks. Near it is Hald, accounted one of the prettiest things in Denmark; and hard by is Finderup, where Marsk Stig murdered King Erik Glipping on St Cecilia's Day, in the year 1286. Fifty-six blows of square-headed iron maces were traced on Erik's skull when his tomb was opened in the seventeenth century. But I am not writing a guide-book.There are good hotels in Viborg--Preisler's and the Phoenix are all that can be desired. But my cousin, whose experiences I have to tell you now, went to the Golden Lion the first time that he visited Viborg. He has not been there since, and the following pages will, perhaps, explain the reason of his abstention.The Golden Lion is one of the very few houses in the town that were not destroyed in the great fire of 1726, which practically demolished the cathedral, the Sognekirke, the Raadhuus, and so much else that was old and interesting. It is a great red-brick house--that is, the front is of brick, with corbie steps on the gables and a text over the door; but the courtyard into which the omnibus drives is of black and white wood and plaster.The sun was declining in the heavens when my cousin walked up to the door, and the light smote full upon the imposing facade of the house. He was delighted with the old-fashioned aspect of the place, and promised himself a thoroughly satisfactory and amusing stay in an inn so typical of old Jutland.It was not business in the ordinary sense of the word that had brought Mr Anderson to Viborg. He was engaged upon some researches into the Church history of Denmark, and it had come to his knowledge that in the Rigsarkiv of Viborg there were papers, saved from the fire, relating to the last days of Roman Catholicism in the country. He proposed, therefore, to spend a considerable time--perhaps as much as a fortnight or three weeks--in examining and copying these, and he hoped that the Golden Lion would be able to give him a room of sufficient size to serve alike as a bedroom and a study. His wishes were explained to the landlord, and, after a certain amount of thought, the latter suggested that perhaps it might be the best way for the gentleman to look at one or two of the larger rooms and pick one for himself. It seemed a good idea.The top floor was soon rejected as entailing too much getting upstairs after the day's work; the second floor contained no room of exactly the dimensions required; but on the first floor there was a choice of two or three rooms which would, so far as size went, suit admirably.The landlord was strongly in favour of Number 17, but Mr Anderson pointed out that its windows commanded only the blank wall of the next house, and that it would be very dark in the afternoon. Either Number 12 or Number 14 would be better, for both of them looked on the street, and the bright evening light and the pretty view would more than compensate him for the additional amount of noise.Eventually Number 12 was selected. Like its neighbours, it had three windows, all on one side of the room; it was fairly high and unusually long. There was, of course, no fireplace, but the stove was handsome and rather old--a cast-iron erection, on the side of which was a representation of Abraham sacrificing Isaac, and the inscription, 'I Bog Mose, Cap. 22,' above. Nothing else in the room was remarkable; the only interesting picture was an old coloured print of the town, date about 1820.Supper-time was approaching, but when Anderson, refreshed by the ordinary ablutions, descended the staircase, there were still a few minutes before the bell rang. He devoted them to examining the list of his fellow-lodgers. As is usual in Denmark, their names were displayed on a large blackboard, divided into columns and lines, the numbers of the rooms being painted in at the beginning of each line. The list was not exciting. There was an advocate, or Sagfoerer, a German, and some bagmen from Copenhagen. The one and only point which suggested any food for thought was the absence of any Number 13 from the tale of the rooms, and even this was a thing which Anderson had already noticed half a dozen times in his experience of Danish hotels. He could not help wondering whether the objection to that particular number, common as it is, was so widespread and so strong as to make it difficult to let a room so ticketed, and he resolved to ask the landlord if he and his colleagues in the profession had actually met with many clients who refused to be accommodated in the thirteenth room.He had nothing to tell me (I am giving the story as I heard it from him) about what passed at supper, and the evening, which was spent in unpacking and arranging his clothes, books, and papers, was not more eventful. Towards eleven o'clock he resolved to go to bed, but with him, as with a good many other people nowadays, an almost necessary preliminary to bed, if he meant to sleep, was the reading of a few pages of print, and he now remembered that the particular book which he had been reading in the train, and which alone would satisfy him at that present moment, was in the pocket of his great-coat, then hanging on a peg outside the dining-room.To run down and secure it was the work of a moment, and, as the passages were by no means dark, it was not difficult for him to find his way back to his own door. So, at least, he thought; but when he arrived there, and turned the handle, the door entirely refused to open, and he caught the sound of a hasty movement towards it from within. He had tried the wrong door, of course. Was his own room to the right or to the left? He glanced at the number: it was 13. His room would be on the left; and so it was. And not before he had been in bed for some minutes, had read his wonted three or four pages of his book, blown out his light, and turned over to go to sleep, did it occur to him that, whereas on the blackboard of the hotel there had been no Number 13, there was undoubtedly a room numbered 13 in the hotel. He felt rather sorry he had not chosen it for his own. Perhaps he might have done the landlord a little service by occupying it, and given him the chance of saying that a well-born English gentleman had lived in it for three weeks and liked it very much. But probably it was used as a servant's room or something of the kind. After all, it was most likely not so large or good a room as his own. And he looked drowsily about the room, which was fairly perceptible in the half-light from the street-lamp. It was a curious effect, he thought. Rooms usually look larger in a dim light than a full one, but this seemed to have contracted in length and grown proportionately higher. Well, well! sleep was more important than these vague ruminations--and to sleep he went.On the day after his arrival Anderson attacked the Rigsarkiv of Viborg. He was, as one might expect in Denmark, kindly received, and access to all that he wished to see was made as easy for him as possible. The documents laid before him were far more numerous and interesting than he had at all anticipated. Besides official papers, there was a large bundle of correspondence relating to Bishop Joergen Friis, the last Roman Catholic who held the see, and in these there cropped up many amusing and what are called 'intimate' details of private life and individual character. There was much talk of a house owned by the Bishop, but not inhabited by him, in the town. Its tenant was apparently somewhat of a scandal and a stumbling-block to the reforming party. He was a disgrace, they wrote, to the city; he practised secret and wicked arts, and had sold his soul to the enemy. It was of a piece with the gross corruption and superstition of the Babylonish Church that such a viper and blood-sucking _Troldmand_ should be patronized and harboured by the Bishop. The Bishop met these reproaches boldly; he protested his own abhorrence of all such things as secret arts, and required his antagonists to bring the matter before the proper court--of course, the spiritual court--and sift it to the bottom. No one could be more ready and willing than himself to condemn Mag Nicolas Francken if the evidence showed him to have been guilty of any of the crimes informally alleged against him.Anderson had not time to do more than glance at the next letter of the Protestant leader, Rasmus Nielsen, before the record office was closed for the day, but he gathered its general tenor, which was to the effect that Christian men were now no longer bound by the decisions of Bishops of Rome, and that the Bishop's Court was not, and could not be, a fit or competent tribunal to judge so grave and weighty a cause.On leaving the office, Mr Anderson was accompanied by the old gentleman who presided over it, and, as they walked, the conversation very naturally turned to the papers of which I have just been speaking.Herr Scavenius, the Archivist of Viborg, though very well informed as to the general run of the documents under his charge, was not a specialist in those of the Reformation period. He was much interested in what Anderson had to tell him about them. He looked forward with great pleasure, he said, to seeing the publication in which Mr Anderson spoke of embodying their contents. 'This house of the Bishop Friis,' he added, 'it is a great puzzle to me where it can have stood. I have studied carefully the topography of old Viborg, but it is most unlucky--of the old terrier of the Bishop's property which was made in 1560, and of which we have the greater part in the Arkiv--just the piece which had the list of the town property is missing. Never mind. Perhaps I shall some day succeed to find him.'After taking some exercise--I forget exactly how or where--Anderson went back to the Golden Lion, his supper, his game of patience,
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Di antara kota-kota Jutland, Viborg adil memegang tempat yang tinggi. Ini adalah kursi dari keuskupan; memiliki tampan tapi hampir seluruhnya baru Katedral, taman yang menawan, danau keindahan besar, dan banyak bangau. Dekat itu adalah Hald, menyumbang salah satu hal tercantik di Denmark; dan keras adalah Finderup, di mana Marsk Stig dibunuh Raja Erik Glipping pada Hari St Cecilia, pada tahun 1286. Lima puluh enam pukulan persegi berkepala maces besi ditelusuri pada tengkorak Erik ketika makamnya dibuka pada abad ketujuh belas. Tapi aku tidak menulis panduan-buku. Ada hotel yang baik di Viborg - Preisler dan Phoenix semua yang bisa diinginkan. Tapi sepupu saya, yang pengalaman saya harus memberitahu Anda sekarang, pergi ke Golden Lion pertama kalinya bahwa ia mengunjungi Viborg. Dia belum ada sejak, dan halaman-halaman berikut akan, mungkin, menjelaskan alasan abstain-nya. The Golden Lion adalah salah satu dari sedikit rumah di kota yang tidak hancur dalam kebakaran besar 1726, yang secara praktis menghancurkan Katedral, Sognekirke, yang Raadhuus, dan banyak lagi yang tua dan menarik. Ini adalah rumah bata merah besar - yaitu, bagian depan adalah batu bata, dengan langkah-langkah Corbie di Gables dan teks di atas pintu; tapi halaman di mana drive omnibus adalah kayu hitam dan putih dan plester. Matahari menurun di langit ketika sepupu saya berjalan ke pintu, dan cahaya memukul penuh pada fasad mengesankan rumah. Dia sangat senang dengan aspek kuno tempat, dan berjanji pada diri sendiri tetap benar-benar memuaskan dan lucu di sebuah penginapan begitu khas Jutland tua. Itu bukan urusan dalam arti biasa dari kata yang telah membawa Mr Anderson ke Viborg. Ia terlibat pada beberapa penelitian ke dalam sejarah Gereja Denmark, dan itu telah datang untuk pengetahuan yang dalam Rigsarkiv Viborg ada kertas, diselamatkan dari api, yang berkaitan dengan hari-hari terakhir Katolik Roma di negara ini. Ia mengusulkan, karena itu, untuk menghabiskan waktu yang cukup - mungkin sebanyak dua minggu atau tiga minggu - dalam memeriksa dan menyalin ini, dan ia berharap bahwa Golden Lion akan mampu memberinya ruang yang cukup besar untuk melayani sama sebagai kamar tidur dan studi. Keinginannya dijelaskan kepada pemilik, dan, setelah sejumlah pemikiran, yang terakhir menyarankan bahwa mungkin mungkin cara terbaik bagi pria untuk melihat satu atau dua kamar yang lebih besar dan memilih satu untuk dirinya sendiri. Tampaknya ide yang baik. Lantai atas segera ditolak sebagai yang melibatkan terlalu banyak mendapatkan lantai atas setelah bekerja hari itu; lantai dua terdapat ada ruang persis dimensi yang diperlukan; tapi di lantai pertama ada pilihan dari dua atau tiga kamar yang akan, sejauh ukuran pergi, setelan mengagumkan. Pemilik adalah sangat mendukung Nomor 17, tapi Mr Anderson menunjukkan bahwa jendela yang diperintahkan hanya dinding kosong rumah berikutnya, dan bahwa hal itu akan sangat gelap di sore hari. Entah Nomor 12 atau Nomor 14 akan lebih baik, bagi mereka berdua tampak di jalan, dan lampu malam yang cerah dan pemandangan yang cantik akan lebih dari kompensasi dia untuk jumlah tambahan kebisingan. Akhirnya Nomor 12 terpilih. Seperti tetangganya, ia memiliki tiga jendela, semua pada satu sisi ruangan; itu cukup tinggi dan luar biasa panjang. Ada, tentu saja, tidak ada perapian, tapi kompor tampan dan agak lama - ereksi besi, di sisi yang merupakan representasi dari Abraham mengorbankan Ishak, dan prasasti, 'I Bog Mose, Cap. 22, "di atas. Tidak ada yang lain di ruangan itu luar biasa; satu-satunya foto yang menarik adalah cetak berwarna tua kota, tanggal sekitar 1820. Supper waktu sudah dekat, tapi ketika Anderson, refresh dengan wudhu biasa, menuruni tangga, masih ada beberapa menit sebelum bel berbunyi. Ia mengabdikan mereka untuk memeriksa daftar sesama-tumpangan. Seperti biasa di Denmark, nama mereka ditampilkan pada papan tulis besar, dibagi menjadi kolom dan baris, jumlah kamar yang dicat pada awal setiap baris. Daftar itu tidak menarik. Ada advokat, atau Sagfoerer, Jerman, dan beberapa bagmen dari Kopenhagen. Satu-satunya titik yang menunjukkan makanan untuk berpikir adalah tidak adanya Nomor 13 dari kisah kamar, dan bahkan ini adalah hal yang Anderson telah melihat setengah lusin kali dalam pengalamannya hotel Denmark. Dia tidak bisa membantu bertanya-tanya apakah keberatan ke nomor tertentu, yang umum seperti itu, itu begitu luas dan begitu kuat untuk membuat sulit untuk membiarkan ruang jadi ditilang, dan ia memutuskan untuk meminta pemilik jika ia dan rekan-rekannya di profesi telah benar-benar bertemu dengan banyak klien yang menolak untuk ditampung di ruang ketiga belas. Dia tidak ada untuk memberitahu saya (saya memberikan cerita yang saya dengar dari dia) tentang apa yang berlalu di makan malam, dan malam hari, yang dihabiskan di membongkar dan mengatur pakaiannya, buku, dan kertas, tidak lebih penting. Menuju 11:00 ia memutuskan untuk pergi ke tempat tidur, tapi dengan dia, seperti dengan baik banyak orang lain saat ini, sebuah awal yang hampir diperlukan untuk tidur, jika ia dimaksudkan untuk tidur, adalah pembacaan beberapa halaman cetak, dan dia sekarang diingat bahwa buku tertentu yang ia telah membaca di kereta api, dan yang saja akan memuaskan dia pada saat itu hadir, berada di saku besar-mantelnya, kemudian tergantung di pasak luar ruang makan. Untuk lari ke bawah dan aman adalah karya sesaat, dan, sebagai bagian yang tidak berarti gelap, itu tidak sulit baginya untuk menemukan jalan kembali ke pintu sendiri. Jadi, setidaknya, pikirnya; tetapi ketika ia tiba di sana, dan berbalik pegangan, pintu sepenuhnya menolak untuk membuka, dan ia menangkap suara gerakan tergesa-gesa ke arah itu dari dalam. Dia telah mencoba pintu yang salah, tentu saja. Apakah kamarnya sendiri ke kanan atau ke kiri? Dia melirik nomor: itu 13. Kamarnya akan berada di sebelah kiri; dan jadi itu. Dan tidak sebelum ia berada di tempat tidur selama beberapa menit, telah membaca terbiasa nya tiga atau empat halaman bukunya, ditiup lampu, dan diserahkan kepada pergi tidur, apakah itu terjadi padanya bahwa, sementara di papan tulis dari Hotel belum ada Nomor 13, ada tidak diragukan lagi ruang bernomor 13 di hotel. Dia merasa agak menyesal ia tidak memilih untuk sendiri. Mungkin ia mungkin telah melakukan pemilik layanan sedikit demi menduduki itu, dan memberinya kesempatan untuk mengatakan bahwa seorang pria Inggris yang lahir telah tinggal di dalamnya selama tiga minggu dan itu sangat digemari. Tapi mungkin itu digunakan sebagai ruang hamba atau sesuatu semacam itu. Setelah semua, itu kemungkinan besar tidak begitu besar atau baik ruang sebagai miliknya. Dan ia tampak mengantuk tentang ruang, yang cukup jelas dalam setengah cahaya dari jalan-lampu. Itu efek penasaran, pikirnya. Kamar biasanya terlihat lebih besar dalam cahaya redup dari satu penuh, tapi ini tampaknya telah dikontrak panjang dan tumbuh secara proporsional lebih tinggi. Well, well! tidur adalah lebih penting dari ini perenungan samar - dan untuk sleep ia pergi. Pada hari setelah kedatangannya Anderson menyerang Rigsarkiv Viborg. Dia, seperti yang sudah diduga di Denmark, silakan diterima, dan akses ke semua bahwa ia ingin melihat dibuat sebagai mudah baginya mungkin. Dokumen-dokumen diletakkan di depannya jauh lebih banyak dan menarik daripada dia sama sekali diantisipasi. Selain surat-surat resmi, ada bundel besar korespondensi yang berkaitan dengan Uskup Joergen Friis, Katolik Roma yang terakhir memegang tahta, dan ini ada dipotong banyak lucu dan apa yang disebut rincian 'intim' kehidupan pribadi dan karakter individu. Ada banyak pembicaraan tentang rumah milik Uskup, tapi tidak dihuni oleh dia, di kota. Tenant tampaknya sedikit dari skandal dan batu sandungan bagi partai reformasi. Dia memalukan, mereka menulis, ke kota; dia berlatih seni rahasia dan jahat, dan telah menjual jiwanya kepada musuh. Itu sepotong dengan korupsi kotor dan takhayul Gereja Babylonish bahwa ular tersebut dan penghisap darah _Troldmand_ harus dilindungi dan memendam oleh Uskup. Uskup bertemu celaan ini berani; ia memprotes kebencian sendiri segala sesuatu seperti seni rahasia, dan diperlukan antagonis untuk membawa masalah ini di hadapan pengadilan yang tepat - tentu saja, pengadilan spiritual - dan menyaring ke bawah. Tidak ada yang bisa lebih siap dan bersedia daripada dirinya untuk mengutuk Mag Nicolas Francken jika bukti menunjukkan dia telah bersalah atas kejahatan yang dituduhkan terhadap dirinya informal. Anderson tidak waktu untuk melakukan lebih dari melirik huruf berikutnya Protestan Pemimpin, Rasmus Nielsen, sebelum kantor catatan ditutup untuk hari, tapi dia mengumpulkan tenor umum, yang yang menyatakan bahwa orang-orang Kristen sekarang tidak lagi terikat oleh keputusan Uskup Roma, dan bahwa Uskup Agung tidak , dan tidak bisa, cocok atau pengadilan yang kompeten untuk menilai begitu serius dan berat penyebabnya. Saat meninggalkan kantor, Mr Anderson didampingi oleh pria tua yang memimpin itu, dan, saat mereka berjalan, pembicaraan sangat alami berpaling ke makalah yang saya baru saja berbicara. Herr Scavenius, si Pengarsip Viborg, meskipun sangat baik informasi untuk jangka umum dokumen di bawah tanggung jawabnya, bukan spesialis pada mereka dari periode Reformasi. Dia tertarik pada apa yang telah Anderson mengatakan kepadanya tentang mereka. Dia memandang ke depan dengan senang hati, katanya, untuk melihat publikasi di mana Mr Anderson berbicara tentang mewujudkan isinya. "Ini rumah Uskup Friis," tambahnya, "itu adalah teka-teki besar bagi saya di mana ia dapat berdiri. Saya telah mempelajari dengan hati-hati topografi Viborg tua, tetapi yang paling sial - dari terrier lama properti Uskup yang dibuat pada tahun 1560, dan yang kita miliki sebagian besar di Arkiv - hanya bagian yang memiliki daftar properti kota yang hilang. Udah lah. Mungkin aku akan suatu hari berhasil menemukannya '. Setelah mengambil beberapa latihan - Saya lupa persis bagaimana atau di mana - Anderson kembali ke Golden Lion, makan malamnya, permainan kesabaran,





























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