sire to
add that the prophecy set forth in the affidavit was therein incorporated
and cited before those events which, happening in our times, would seem
subsequently to have wrought its fulfilment.

Charles XI, father of the famous Charles XII, was one of the most
despotic, yet, withal, one of the wisest, monarchs who have reigned in
Sweden.

He restricted the monstrous privileges of the nobility, abolished the
power of the senate, and enacted laws in virtue of his own sole authority;
in a word, he altered the constitution of the country, which before him
had been oligarchic, and compelled the governing bodies--composed of the
nobility, the clergy, the middle classes, and the peasants--known as the
Estates, to invest him with the supreme power. He was, moreover, an
enlightened man, brave, strongly attached to the Lutheran faith,
inflexible in character, cold, assertive, and wholly devoid of
imagination.

He had but recently lost his wife, Eleanor Ulrica. Although it was rumored
that his severity toward her had hastened her end, her death had seemingly
moved him more deeply than might have been expected of one so hard of
heart. His humor grew more somber and taciturn than ever, and he devoted
himself to his labors in behalf of his subjects with an assiduity which
bespoke an imperative need of dispelling painful thoughts.

He was seated, late one autumn evening, in dressing-gown and slippers,
before a huge fire, burning upon the hearth in his study. With him were
his chamberlain, Count Brahe, whom he honored with his good will, and his
doctor, Baumgarten, who, be it said in passing, was a man of advanced
views, something of being a free-thinker and inclined to compel the world
at large to doubt everything save the science of medicine. The king had
summoned Baumgarten that evening to consult with him upon some
indisposition of I know not what nature.

The hour waxed late, yet the king, contrary to custom, gave them no hint,
by bidding them good night, that they might withdraw. With bowed head and
eyes bent upon the embers, he remained buried in a profound silence, weary
of his guests, yet dreading, he knew not why, to be alone.

Count Brahe, keenly aware that his presence was not sovereignly welcome,
had several times expressed the fear that his majesty might stand in need
of repose. A gesture from the king held him to his place.

The physician, in turn, discoursed upon the evils wrought by late hours on
the const