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123

(1860) [MARC] Author: Horace Marryat
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Chap. IX.

THE CITY.

123

“ No, no,” replied the chamberlain, horrified at the idea
of being associated with the condemned archbishop,
“ No, no; the punishment of your sins—the punishment
of your sins.” If he began life as a barber, he died like
a prelate, clad in robes of velvet and scarlet hose. On
mounting the scaffold he was fastened to a ladder, and
then turned off into the flames. King Christian, not
quite at his ease as regards the justice of the sentence,
drove out of town for a day’s change of air, and Sigbrit
herself never opened her window during the whole day,
which made folks remark, “ it was queer she, who had
been brought up to fried herrings, salt fish, and such
like, should be squeamish concerning the smell of a
roasted archbishop.”

On we continue down a street gayer and more
frequented than the last, till we arrive at the
Høibro-plads, commonly called Amagertorv, where the
vegetable market is held, and the Amak and Zealand
peasants may be seen in their pretty costumes—some at
their stalls, others mounted on their rustic carts.

The shops are in no way remarkable; but you will
admire the poulterers’ cellars, hung with a grand display
of stag, chevreuil, black game, and capercailzie.

The lofty embattled tower of St. Nicholas overlooks
this square. On it the watchmen keep nightly guard, and
give the alarm in case of fire; nor is this service a
sinecure, for scarce three days elapse without a conflagration
breaking out in some quarter of the town or other, and
oft in the dead of night the slumberers are awakened by
a loud shrill whistle and the repeated cry of “ Brand—
brand—brand ” along the street. Then each window
opens in succession, and people inquire “ Where ?” and
if in the neighbourhood, they turn out of bed and

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