ACT THIRD.
A room in the Bishop’s Palace at Oslo.1 On the right is the entrance door. In the back, a small door, standing open, leads into the Chapel, which is lighted up. A curtained door in the left wall leads into the Bishop’s sleeping room. In front, on the same side, stands a cushioned couch. Opposite, on the right, is a writing-table, with letters, documents, and a lighted lamp.
At first the room is empty; behind the curtain on the left, the singing of monks is heard. Presently Paul Flida, in travelling dress, enters from the right, stops by the door, waits, looks around, and then knocks three times with his staff upon the floor.
Sira Viliam.
[Comes out from the left, and exclaims in a hushed voice.] Paul Flida! God be praised;—then the Earl is not far off.
Paul Flida.
The ships are already at Hoved-isle; I came on ahead. And how goes it with the Bishop?
Sira Viliam.
He is even now receiving the Extreme Unction.
Paul Flida.
Then there is great danger.
Sira Viliam.
Master Sigard of Brabant has said that he cannot outlive the night.
Paul Flida.
Then meseems he has summoned us too late.
Sira Viliam.
Nay, nay,—he has his full senses and some strength to boot; every moment he asks if the Earl comes not soon.
Paul Flida.
You still call him Earl; know you not that the King has granted him the title of Duke?
Sira Viliam.
Ay, ay, we know it; ’tis but old custom. Hist!
[He and Paul Flida cross themselves and bow their heads. From the Bishop’s door issue two acolytes with candles, then two more with censers; then priests bearing chalice, paten, and crucifix, and a church banner; behind them a file of priests and monks; acolytes with candles and censers close the procession, which passes slowly into the chapel. The door is shut behind them.
Paul Flida.
So now the old lord has made up his account with the world.
Sira Viliam.
I can tell him that Duke Skule comes so soon as may be?
Paul Flida.
He comes straight from the wharf up here to the Palace. Farewell!
[Goes.
[Several priests, among them Peter, with some of the Bishop’s servants, come out from the left with rugs, cushions, and a large brazier.
Sira Viliam.
Why do you this?
A Priest.
[Arranging the couch.] The Bishop wills to lie out here.
Sira Viliam.
But is it prudent?
The Priest.
Master Sigard thinks we may humour him. Here he is.
Bishop Nicholas enters, supported by Master Sigard and a priest. He is in his canonicals, but without crozier and mitre.
Bishop Nicholas.
Light more candles. [He is led to a seat upon the couch, near the brazier, and is covered with rugs.] Viliam! Now have I been granted forgiveness for all my sins! They took them all away with them;—meseems I am so light now.
Sira Viliam.
The Duke sends you greeting, my lord; he has already passed Hoved-isle!
Bishop Nicholas.
’Tis well, very well. Belike the King, too, will soon be here. I have been a sinful hound in my day, Viliam; I have grievously trespassed against the King. The priests in there averred that all my sins should be forgiven me;—well well, it may be so; but ’tis easy for them to promise; ’tis not against them that I have trespassed. No no; it is safest to have it from the King’s own mouth. [Exclaims impatiently.] Light, I say! ’tis so dark in here.
Sira Viliam.
The candles are lighted——
Master Sigard.
[Stops him by a sign, and approaches the Bishop.] How goes it with you, my lord?
Bishop Nicholas.
So-so—so-so; my hands and feet are cold.
Master Sigard.
[Half aloud, as he moves the brazier nearer.] Ha—’tis the beginning of the end.
Bishop Nicholas.
[Apprehensively, to Viliam.] I have commanded that eight monks shall chant and pray for me in the chapel to-night. Have an eye to them; there are idle fellows among them.
[Sira Viliam points silently towards the chapel, whence singing is heard, which continues during what follows.
Bishop Nicholas.
So much still undone, and to go and leave it all! So much undone, Viliam!
Sira Viliam.
My lord, think of heavenly things!
Bishop Nicholas.
I have time before me;—till well on in the morning, Master Sigard thinks——
Sira Viliam.
My lord, my lord!
Bishop Nicholas.
Give me mitre and crozier!—’Tis very well for you to say that I should think——[A priest brings them.] So, set the cap there, ’tis too heavy for me; give me the crozier in my hand; there, now am I in my armour. A bishop!——The Evil One dare not grapple with me now!
Sira Viliam.
Desire you aught beside?
Bishop Nicholas.
No. Stay—tell me:—Peter, Andres Skialdarband’s son,—all speak well of him——
Sira Viliam.
In truth, his is a blameless soul.
Bishop Nicholas.
Peter, you shall watch beside me until the King or the Duke shall come. Leave us, meanwhile, ye others, but be at hand.
[All except Peter go out on the right.
Bishop Nicholas.
[After a short pause.] Peter!
Peter.
[Approaches.] My lord?
Bishop Nicholas.
Hast ever seen old men die?
Peter.
No.
Bishop Nicholas.
They are all afeard; that I dare swear. There on the table lies a large letter with seals to it; give it to me. [Peter brings the letter.] ’Tis to your mother.
Peter.
To my mother?
Bishop Nicholas.
You must get you northward with it to Halogaland. I have written to her touching a great and weighty matter; tidings have come from your father.
Peter.
He is fighting as a soldier of God in the Holy Land. Should he fall there, he falls on hallowed ground; for there every foot’s-breadth of earth is sacred. I commend him to God in all my prayers.
Bishop Nicholas.
Is Andres Skialdarband dear to you?
Peter.
He is an honourable man; but there lives another man whose greatness my mother, as it were, fostered and nourished me withal.
Bishop Nicholas.
[Hurriedly and eagerly.] Is that Duke Skule?
Peter.
Ay, the Duke—Skule Bårdsson. My mother knew him in younger days. The Duke must sure be the greatest man in the land!
Bishop Nicholas.
There is the letter; get you northward with it forthwith!—Are they not singing in there?
Peter.
They are, my lord!
Bishop Nicholas.
Eight lusty fellows with throats like trumpets, they must surely help somewhat, methinks.
Peter.
My lord, my lord! Why not pray yourself!
Bishop Nicholas.
I have too much still undone, Peter. Life is all too short;—besides, the King will surely forgive me when he comes——[Gives a start in pain.
Peter.
You are suffering?
Bishop Nicholas.
I suffer not; but there is a ringing in mine ears, a twinkling and flickering before mine eyes——
Peter.
’Tis the heavenly bells ringing you home, and the twinkling of the altar-lights God’s angels have lit for you.
Bishop Nicholas.
Ay, sure ’tis so;—there is no danger if only they lag not with their prayers in there——Farewell; set forth at once with the letter.
Peter.
Shall I not first——?
Bishop Nicholas.
Nay, go; I fear not to be alone.
Peter.
Well met again, then, what time the heavenly bells shall sound for me too.
[Goes out on the right.
Bishop Nicholas.
The heavenly bells,—ay, ’tis easy talking when you still have two stout legs to stand upon.—So much undone! But much will live after me, notwithstanding. I promised the Duke by my soul’s salvation to give him Trond the Priest’s confession if it came into my hand;—’tis well I have not got it. Had he certainty, he would conquer or fall; and then one of the twain would be the mightiest man that ever lived in Norway. No no,—what I could not reach none other shall reach. Uncertainty serves best; so long as the Duke is burdened with that, they two will waste each other’s strength, wheresoever they may; towns will be burnt, dales will be harried,—neither will gain by the other’s loss—[Terrified.] Mercy, pity! It is I who bear the guilt—I, who set it all agoing! [Calming himself.] Well, well, well! but now the King is coming—’tis he that suffers most—he will forgive me—prayers and masses shall be said; there is no danger;—I am a bishop, and I have never slain any man with mine own hand.—’Tis well that Trond the Priest’s confession came not; the saints are with me, they will not tempt me to break my promise.—Who knocks at the door? It must be the Duke! [Rubs his hands with glee.] He will implore me for proofs as to the kingship,—and I have no proofs to give him!
Inga of Varteig enters; she is dressed in
black, with a cloak and hood.
Bishop Nicholas.
[Starts.] Who is that?
Inga.
A woman from Varteig in Borgasyssel, my honoured lord.
Bishop Nicholas.
The King’s mother!
Inga.
So was I called once.
Bishop Nicholas.
Go, go! ’Twas not I counselled Håkon to send you away.
Inga.
What the King does is well done; ’tis not therefore I come.
Bishop Nicholas.
Wherefore then?
Inga.
Gunnulf, my brother, is come home from England——
Bishop Nicholas.
From England——!
Inga.
He has been away these many years, as you know, and has roamed far and wide; now has he brought home a letter——
Bishop Nicholas.
[Breathlessly.] A letter——?
Inga.
From Trond the Priest. ’Tis for you, my lord.
[Hands it to him.
Bishop Nicholas.
Ah, truly;—and you bring it?
Inga.
It was Trond’s wish. I owe him great thanks since the time he fostered Håkon. It was told me that you were sick; therefore I set forth at once; I have come hither on foot——
Bishop Nicholas.
There was no such haste, Inga!
Dagfinn the Peasant enters from the right.
Dagfinn.
God’s peace, my honoured lord!
Bishop Nicholas.
Comes the King?
Dagfinn.
He is now riding down the Ryen hills, with the Queen and the King-child and a great following.
Inga.
[Rushes up to Dagfinn.] The King,—the King! Comes he hither?
Dagfinn.
Inga! You here, much-suffering woman!
Inga.
She is not much-suffering who has so great a son.
Dagfinn.
Now will his hard heart be melted.
Inga.
Not a word to the King of me. Yet, oh, I must see him!—Tell me,—comes he hither?
Dagfinn.
Ay, presently.
Inga.
And it is dark evening. The King will be lighted on his way with torches?
Dagfinn.
Yes.
Inga.
Then will I hide me in a gateway as he goes by;—and then home to Varteig. But first will I into Hallvard’s church; the lights are burning there to-night; there will I call down blessings on the King, on my fair son.
[Goes out to the right.
Dagfinn.
I have fulfilled mine errand; I go to meet the King.
Bishop Nicholas.
Bear him most loving greeting, good Dagfinn!
Dagfinn.
[As he goes out to the right.] I would not be Bishop Nicholas to-morrow.
Bishop Nicholas.
Trond the Priest’s confession——! So it has come after all—here I hold it in my hand. [Muses with a fixed gaze.] A man should never promise aught by his soul’s salvation, when he is as old as I. Had I years before me, I could always wriggle free from such a promise; but this evening, this last evening—no, that were imprudent.—But can I keep it? Is it not to endanger all that I have worked for, my whole life through? [Whispering.] Oh, could I but cheat the Evil One, only this one more time! [Listens.] What was that? [Calls.] Viliam, Viliam!
Sira Viliam enters from the right.
Bishop Nicholas.
What is it that whistles and howls so grimly?
Sira Viliam.
’Tis the storm; it grows fiercer.
Bishop Nicholas.
The storm grows fiercer! Ay truly, I will keep my promise! The storm, say you——? Are they singing in there?
Sira Viliam.
Yes, my lord.
Bishop Nicholas.
Bid them bestir themselves, and chiefly brother Aslak; he always makes such scant prayers; he shirks whenever he can; he skips, the hound! [Strikes the floor with his crozier.] Go in and say to him ’tis the last night I have left; he shall bestir himself, else will I haunt him from the dead!
Sira Viliam.
My lord, shall I not fetch Master Sigard?
Bishop Nicholas.
Go in, I say! [Viliam goes into the chapel.] It must doubtless be heaven’s will that I should reconcile the King and the Duke, since it sends me Trond’s letter now. This is a hard thing, Nicholas; to tear down at a single wrench what you have spent your life in building up. But there is no other way; I must e’en do the will of heaven this time.—If I could only read what is written in the letter! But I cannot see a word! Mists drive before my eyes; they sparkle and flicker; and I dare let none other read it for me! To make such a promise——! Is human cunning, then, so poor a thing that it cannot govern the outcome of its contrivances in the second and third degree? I spoke so long and so earnestly to Vegard Væradal about making the King send Inga from him, that at length it came to pass. That was wise in the first degree; but had I not counselled thus, then Inga had not now been at Varteig, the letter had not come into my hands in time, and I had not had any promise to keep—therefore ’twas unwise in the second degree. Had I yet time before me——! but only the space of one night, and scarce even that. I must, I will live longer! [Knocks with his crozier; a priest enters from the right.] Bid Master Sigard come! [The priest goes; the Bishop crushes the letter in his hands.] Here, under this thin seal, lies Norway’s saga for a hundred years! It lies and dreams, like the birdling in the egg! Oh, that I had more souls than one—or else none! [Presses the letter wildly to his breast.] Oh, were not the end so close upon me,—and judgment and doom I would hatch you out into a hawk that should cast the dreadful shadow of his wings overall the land, and strike his sharp talons into every heart! [With a sudden shudder.] But the last hour is at hand! [Shrieking.] No, no! You shall become a swan, a white swan! [Throws the letter far from, him, on to the floor, and calls:] Master Sigard, Master Sigard!
Master Sigard.
[From the right.] How goes it, honoured lord!
Bishop Nicholas.
Master Sigard—sell me three days’ life!
Master Sigard.
I have told you——
Bishop Nicholas.
Yes, yes; but that was in jest; ’twas a little revenge on me. I have been a tedious master to you; therefore you thought to scare me. Fie, that was evil,—nay, nay—’twas no more than I deserved! But, now be good and kind! I will pay you well;—three days’ life, Master Sigard, only three days’ life!
Master Sigard.
Though I myself were to die in the same hour as you, yet could I not add three days to your span.
Bishop Nicholas.
One day, then, only one day! Let it be light, let the sun shine when my soul sets forth! Listen, Sigard! [Beckons him over, and drags him down upon the couch.] I have given well-nigh all my gold and silver to the Church, to have high masses sung for me. I will take it back again; you shall have it all! How now, Sigard, shall we two fool them in there? He-he-he! You will be rich, Sigard, and can depart the country; I shall have time to cast about me a little, and make shift with fewer prayers. Come, Sigard, shall we——! [Sigard feels his pulse; the Bishop exclaims anxiously:] How now, why answer you not?
Master Sigard.
[Rising.] I have no time, my lord. I must prepare you a draught that may ease you somewhat at the last.
Bishop Nicholas.
Nay, wait with that! Wait,—and answer me!
Master Sigard.
I have no time; the draught must be ready within an hour.
[Goes out to the right.
Bishop Nicholas.
Within an hour! [Knocks wildly.] Viliam! Viliam!
[Sira Viliam comes out from the chapel.
Bishop Nicholas.
Call more to help in there! The eight are not enough!
Sira Viliam.
My lord——?
Bishop Nicholas.
More to help, I say! Brother Kolbein has lain sick these five weeks,—he cannot have sinned much in that time——
Sira Viliam.
He was at shrift yesterday.
Bishop Nicholas.
[Eagerly.] Ay, he must be good; call him! [Viliam goes into the chapel again.] Within an hour! [Dries the sweat off his brow.] Pah—how hot it is here!—The miserable hound—what boots all his learning, when he cannot add an hour to my life? There sits he in his closet day by day, piecing together his cunning wheels and weights and levers; he thinks to fashion a machine that shall go and go and never stop—perpetuum mobile he calls it. Why not rather turn his art and his skill to making man such a perpetuum mobile? [Stops and thinks; his eyes light up.] Perpetuum mobile,—I am not strong in Latin—but it means somewhat that has power to work eternally, through all the ages. If I myself, now, could but——? That were a deed to end my life withal! That were to do my greatest deed in my latest hour! To set wheel and weight and lever at work in the King’s soul and the Duke’s; to set them a-going so that no power on earth can stop them; if I can but do that, then shall I live indeed, live in my work—and, when I think of it, mayhap ’tis that which is called immortality.—Comfortable, soothing thoughts, how ye do the old man good! [Draws a deep breath, and stretches himself comfortably upon the couch.] Diabolus has pressed me hard to-night. That comes of lying idle; olium est pulvis—pulveris—pooh, no matter for the Latin——Diabolus shall no longer have power over me; I will be busy to the last; I will——; how they bellow in yonder——[Knocks; Viliam comes out.] Tell them to hold their peace; they disturb me. The King and the Duke will soon be here; I have weighty matters to ponder.
Sira Viliam.
My lord, shall I then——?
Bishop Nicholas.
Bid them hold awhile, that I may think in peace. Look you, take up yonder letter that lies upon the floor.—Good. Reach me the papers here——
Sira Viliam.
[Goes to the writing-table.] Which, my lord?
Bishop Nicholas.
It matters not——; the sealed ones; those that lie uppermost—So; go now in and bid them be silent. [Viliam goes.] To die, and yet rule in Norway! To die, and yet so contrive things that no man may come to raise his head above the rest. A thousand ways may lead towards that goal; yet can there be but one that will reach it;—and now to find that one—to find it and follow it——Ha! The way lies so close, so close at hand! Ay, so it must be. I will keep my promise; the Duke shall have the letter in his hands;—but the King—he shall have the thorn of doubt in his heart. Håkon is upright, as they call it; many things will go to wreck in his soul along with the faith in himself and in his right. Both of them shall doubt and believe by turns, still swaying to and fro, and finding no firm ground beneath their feet—perpetuum mobile!—But will Håkon believe what I say? Ay, that will he; am I not a dying man?—And to prepare the way I will feed him up with truths.—My strength fails, but fresh life fills my soul;—I no longer lie on a sick-bed, I sit in my workroom; I will work the last night through, work—till the light goes out——
Duke Skule.
[Enters from the right and advances towards the Bishop.] Peace and greeting, my honoured lord! I hear it goes ill with you.
Bishop Nicholas.
I am a corpse in the bud, good Duke; this night shall I break into bloom; to-morrow you may scent my perfume.
Duke Skule.
Already to-night, say you?
Bishop Nicholas.
Master Sigard says: within an hour.
Duke Skule.
And Trond the Priest’s letter——?
Bishop Nicholas.
Think you still upon that?
Duke Skule.
’Tis never out of my thoughts.
Bishop Nicholas.
The King has made you Duke; before you, no man in Norway has borne that title.
Duke Skule.
’Tis not enough. If Håkon be not the rightful king, then must I have all!
Bishop Nicholas.
Ha, ’tis cold in here; the blood runs icy through my limbs.
Duke Skule.
Trond the Priest’s letter, my lord! For Almighty God’s sake,—have you it?
Bishop Nicholas.
At least, I know where it may be found.
Duke Skule.
Tell me then, tell me!
Bishop Nicholas.
Wait——
Duke Skule.
Nay, nay—lose not your time; I see it draws to an end;—and ’tis said the King comes hither.
Bishop Nicholas.
Ay, the King comes; thereby you may best see that I am mindful of your cause, even now.
Duke Skule.
What is your purpose?
Bishop Nicholas.
Mind you, at the King’s bridal—you said that Håkon’s strength lay in his steadfast faith in himself?
Duke Skule.
Well?
Bishop Nicholas.
If I confess, and raise a doubt in his mind, then his faith will fall, and his strength with it.
Duke Skule.
My lord, this is sinful, sinful, if he be the rightful king.
Bishop Nicholas.
’Twill be in your power to restore his faith. Ere I depart hence, I will tell you where Trond the Priest’s letter may be found.
Sira Viliam.
[From the right.] The King is now coming up the street, with torch-bearers and attendants.
Bishop Nicholas.
He shall be welcome. [Viliam goes.] Duke, I beg of you one last service: do you carry on my feuds against all mine enemies. [Takes out a letter.] Here I have written them down. Those whose names stand first I would fain have hanged, if it could be so ordered.
Duke Skule.
Think not upon vengeance now; you have but little time left——
Bishop Nicholas.
Not on vengeance, but on punishment. Promise me to wield the sword of punishment over all mine enemies when I am gone. They are your foemen no less than mine; when you are King you must chastise them; do you promise me that?
Duke Skule.
I promise and swear it; but Trond’s letter——!
Bishop Nicholas.
You shall learn where it is;—but see—the King comes; hide the list of our foemen!
[The Duke hides the paper; at the same moment Håkon enters from the right.
Bishop Nicholas.
Well met at the grave-feast, my lord King.
Håkon.
You have ever withstood me stubbornly; but that shall be forgiven and forgotten now; death wipes out even the heaviest reckoning.
Bishop Nicholas.
That lightened my soul! Oh how marvellous is the King’s clemency! My lord, what you have done for an old sinner this night shall be tenfold——
Håkon.
No more of that; but I must tell you that I greatly marvel you should summon me hither to obtain my forgiveness, and yet prepare for me such a meeting as this.
Bishop Nicholas.
Meeting, my lord?
Duke Skule.
’Tis of me the King speaks. Will you, my lord Bishop, assure King Håkon, by my faith and honour, that I knew nought of his coming, ere I landed at Oslo wharf?
Bishop Nicholas.
Alas, alas! The blame is all mine! I have been sickly and bedridden all the last year; I have learnt little or nought of the affairs of the kingdom; I thought all was now well between the princely kinsmen!
Håkon.
I have marked that the friendship between the Duke and myself thrives best when we hold aloof from one another; therefore farewell, Bishop Nicholas, and God be with you where you are now to go.
[Goes towards the door.
Duke Skule.
[Softly and uneasily.] Bishop, Bishop, he is going!
Bishop Nicholas.
[Suddenly and with wild energy.] Stay, King Håkon!
Håkon.
[Stops.] What now?
Bishop Nicholas.
You shall not leave this room until old Bishop Nicholas has spoken his last word!
Håkon.
[Instinctively lays his hand upon his sword.] Mayhap you have come well attended to Viken, Duke.
Duke Skule.
I have no part in this.
Bishop Nicholas.
’Tis by force of words that I will hold you. Where there is a burial in the house, the dead man ever rules the roost; he can do and let alone as he will—so far as his power may reach. Therefore will I now speak my own funeral-speech; in days gone by, I was ever sore afraid lest King Sverre should come to speak it——
Håkon.
Talk not so wildly, my lord!
Duke Skule.
You shorten the precious hour still left to you!
Håkon.
Your eyes are already dim.
Bishop Nicholas.
Ay, my sight is dim; I scarce can see you where you stand; but before my inward eye, my life is moving in a blaze of light. There I see sights——; hear and learn, O King!—My race was the mightiest in the land; many great chieftains had sprung from it; I longed to be the greatest of them all. I was yet but a boy when I began to thirst after great deeds; meseemed I could by no means wait till I were grown. Kings arose who had less right than I,—Magnus Erlingsson, Sverre the Priest——; I also would be king; but I must needs be a chieftain first. Then came the battle at Ilevoldene; ’twas the first time I went out to war. The sun went up, and glittering lightnings flashed from a thousand burnished blades. Magnus and all his men advanced as to a game; I alone felt a tightness at my heart. Fiercely our host swept forward; but I could not follow—I was afraid! All Magnus’s other chieftains fought manfully, and many fell in the fight; but I fled up over the mountain, and ran and ran, and stayed not until I came down to the fiord again, far away. Many a man had to wash his bloody clothes in Trondheim-fiord that night;—I had to wash mine too, but not from blood. Ay, King, I was afraid;—born to be a chieftain—and afraid! It fell upon me as a thunderbolt; from that hour I hated all men. I prayed secretly in the churches, I wept and knelt before the altars, I gave rich gifts, made sacred promises; I tried and tried in battle after battle, at Saltösund, at Jonsvoldene that summer the Baglers lay in Bergen,—but ever in vain. Sverre it was who first noted it; he proclaimed it loudly and with mockery, and from that day forth, not a man in the host but laughed when Nicholas Arnesson was seen in war-weed. A coward, a coward—and yet was I filled with longing to be a chief, to be a king; nay, I felt I was born to be King. I could have furthered God’s kingdom upon earth; but ’twas the saints themselves that barred the way for me.
Håkon.
Accuse not heaven, Bishop Nicholas! You have hated much.
Bishop Nicholas.
Ay, I have hated much; hated every head in this land that raised itself above the crowd. But I hated because I could not love. Fair women,—oh, I could devour them even now with glistening eyes! I have lived eighty years, and yet do I yearn to kill men and clasp women;—but my lot in love was as my lot in war: nought but an itching will, my strength sapped from my birth; dowered with seething desire—and yet a weakling! So I became a priest: king or priest must that man be who would have all might in his hands. [Laughs.] I a priest! I a churchman! Yes, for one clerkly office Heaven had notably fitted me—for taking the high notes—for singing with a woman’s voice at the great church-festivals. And yet they up yonder claim of me—the half-man—what they have a right to claim only of those whom they have in all things fitted for their life-work! There have been times when I fancied such a claim might be just; I have lain here on my sick-bed crushed by the dread of doom and punishment. Now it is over; my soul has fresh marrow in its bones; I have not sinned; it is I that have suffered wrong; I am the accuser!
Duke Skule.
[Softly.] My lord—the letter! You have little time left.
Håkon.
Think of your soul, and humble you!
Bishop Nicholas.
A man’s life-work is his soul, and my life-work still shall live upon the earth. But you, King Håkon, you should beware; for as Heaven has stood against me, and reaped harm for its reward, so are you standing against the man who holds the country’s welfare in his hand——
Håkon.
Ha—Duke, Duke! Now I see the bent of this meeting!
Duke Skule.
[Vehemently, to the Bishop.] Not a word more of this!
Bishop Nicholas.
[To Håkon.] He will stand against you so long as his head sits fast on his shoulders. Share with him! I will have no peace in my coffin, I will rise again, if you two share not the kingdom! Neither of you shall add the other’s height to his own stature. If that befell, there would be a giant in the land, and here shall no giant be; for I was never a giant!
[Sinks back exhausted on the couch.
Duke Skule.
[Falls on his knees beside the couch and cries to Håkon.] Summon help! For God’s pity’s sake; the Bishop must not die yet!
Bishop Nicholas.
How it waxes dusk before my eyes!—King, for the last time—will you share with the Duke?
Håkon.
Not a shred will I let slip of that which God gave me.
Bishop Nicholas.
Well and good. [Softly.] Your faith, at least, you shall let slip. [Calls.] Viliam!
Duke Skule.
[Softly.] The letter! The letter!
Bishop Nicholas.
[Not listening to him.] Viliam! [Viliam enters; the Bishop draws him close down to him and whispers.] When I received the Extreme Unction, all my sins were forgiven me?
Sira Viliam.
All your sins from your birth, till the moment you received the Unction.
Bishop Nicholas.
No longer? Not until the very end?
Sira Viliam.
You will not sin to-night, my lord!
Bishop Nicholas.
Who can tell——? Take the golden goblet Bishop Absalon left me—give it to the Church— and say seven high masses more.
Sira Viliam.
God will be gracious to you, my lord!
Bishop Nicholas.
Seven more masses, I say—for sins I may commit to-night! Go, go! [Viliam goes; the Bishop turns to Skule.] Duke, if you should come to read Trond the Priest’s letter, and it should mayhap prove that Håkon is the rightful king—what would you do then?
Duke Skule.
In God’s name—king he should remain.
Bishop Nicholas.
Bethink you; much is at stake. Search every fold of your heart; answer as though you stood before your Judge! What will you do, if he be the rightful king?
Duke Skule.
Bow my head and serve him.
Bishop Nicholas.
[Mumbles.] So, so: then bide the issue. [To Skule.] Duke, I am weak and weary; a mild and charitable mood comes over me——
Duke Skule.
It is death! Trond the Priest’s letter! Where is it?
Bishop Nicholas.
First another matter;—I gave you the list of my enemies——
Duke Skule.
[Impatiently.] Yes, yes; I will take full revenge upon them——
Bishop Nicholas.
No, my soul is filled with mildness; I will forgive, as the Scripture commands. As you would forgo might, I will forgo revenge. Burn the list!
Duke Skule.
Ay, ay; as you will.
Bishop Nicholas.
Here, in the brazier; so that I may see it——
Duke Skule.
[Throws the paper into the fire.] There, then; see, it burns. And now, speak, speak. You risk thousands of lives if you speak not now!
Bishop Nicholas.
[With sparkling eyes.] Thousands of lives. [Shrieks.] Light! Air!
Håkon.
[Rushes to the door and cries.] Help! The Bishop is dying!
Sira Viliam and several of the Bishop’s men enter.
Duke Skule.
[Shakes the Bishop’s arm.] You risk Norway’s happiness through hundreds of years, mayhap its greatness to all eternity!
Bishop Nicholas.
To all eternity! [Triumphantly.] Perpetuum mobile!
Duke Skule.
By your soul’s salvation,—where is Trond the Priest’s letter?
Bishop Nicholas.
[Calls.] Seven more masses, Viliam!
Duke Skule.
[Beside himself.] The letter! The letter!
Bishop Nicholas.
[Smiling in his death-agony.] ’Twas it you burned, good Duke!
[Falls back on the couch and dies.
Duke Skule.
[With an involuntary cry, starts backwards and covers his face with his hands.] Almighty God!
The Monks.
[Rushing in flight from the chapel.] Save you, all who can!
Some Voices.
The powers of evil have broken loose!
Other Voices.
There rang a loud laugh from the corner!—A voice cried: “We have him!”——All the lights went out!
Håkon.
Bishop Nicholas is even now dead.
The Monks.
[Fleeing to the right.] Pater noster—Pater noster
Håkon.
[Approaches Skule, and says in a low voice.] Duke, I will not question what secret counsel you were hatching with the Bishop ere he died;—but from to-morrow must you give up your powers and dignities into my hands; I see clearly now that we two cannot go forward together.
Duke Skule.
[Looks at him absently.] Go forward together——?
Håkon.
To-morrow I hold an Assembly in the Palace; then must all things be made clear between us.
[Goes out to the right.
Duke Skule.
The Bishop dead and the letter burnt! A life full of doubt and strife and dread! Oh, could I but pray!—No—I must act; this evening must the stride be taken, once for all! [To Viliam.] Whither went the King?
Sira Viliam.
[Terrified.] Christ save me,—what would you with him?
Duke Skule.
Think you I would slay him to-night?
[Goes out to the right.
Sira Viliam.
[Looks after him, shaking his head, while the house-folk bear the body out to the left.] Seven more masses, the Bishop said; I think ’twere safest we should say fourteen.
[Follows the others.
A room in the Palace. In the back is the entrance door; in each of the side walls a smaller door; in front, on the right, a window. Hung from the roof, a lamp is burning. Close to the door on the left stands a bench, and further back a cradle, in which the King-child is sleeping; Margrete is kneeling beside the child.
Margrete.
[Rocks the cradle and sings.]
Now roof and rafters blend with
the starry vault on high;
now flieth little Håkon
on dream-wings through the sky.
There mounts a mighty stairway
from earth to God’s own land;
there Håkon with the angels
goes climbing, hand in hand.
God’s angel-babes are watching
thy cot, the still night through;
God bless thee, little Håkon,
thy mother watcheth too.
A short pause. Duke Skule enters from the back.
Margrete.
[Starts up with a cry of joy and rushes to meet him.] My father!—Oh, how I have sighed and yearned for this meeting!
Duke Skule.
God’s peace be with you, Margrete! Where is the King?
Margrete.
With Bishop Nicholas.
Duke Skule.
Ha,—then must he soon be here.
Margrete.
And you will talk together and be at one, be friends again, as in the old days?
Duke Skule.
That would I gladly.
Margrete.
’Twould rejoice Håkon no less; and I pray to God every day that so it may be. Oh, but come hither and see——
[Takes his hand and leads him to the cradle.
Duke Skule.
Your child!
Margrete.
Ay, that lovely babe is mine;—is it not marvellous? He is called Håkon, like the King! See, his eyes—nay, you cannot see them now he is sleeping—but he has great blue eyes; and he can laugh, and reach forth his hands to take hold of me.—and he knows me already.
[Smoothes out the bed-clothes tenderly.
Duke Skule.
Håkon will have sons, the Bishop foretold.
Margrete.
To me this little child is a thousand times dearer than all Norway’s land—and to Håkon too. Meseems I cannot rightly believe my happiness; I have the cradle standing by my bedside; every night, as often as I waken, I look to see if it be there—I am fearful lest it should prove to be all a dream——
Duke Skule.
[Listens and goes to the window.] Is not that the King?
Margrete.
Ay; he is going up the other stair; I will bring him. [Takes her father’s hand and leads him playfully up to the cradle.] Duke Skule! Keep watch over the King-child the while—for he is a King-child too—though I can never remember it! Should he wake, then bow deeply before him, and hail him as men hail kings! Now will I bring Håkon. Oh, God, God! now at last come light and peace over our house. [Goes out to the right.
Duke Skule.
[After a short and gloomy silence.] Håkon has a son. His race shall live after him. If he die, he leaves an heir who stands nearer the throne than all others. All things thrive with Håkon. Mayhap he is not the rightful king; but his faith in himself stands firm as ever; the Bishop would have shaken it, but Death gave him not time, God gave him not leave. God watches over Håkon, and suffers him to keep the girdle of strength. Were I to tell him now? Were I to make oath to what the Bishop told me? What would it avail? None would believe me, neither Håkon nor the others. He would have believed the Bishop in the hour of death; the doubt would have rankled poisonously in him; but it was not to be. And deep-rooted as is Håkon’s faith, so is my doubt deep-rooted; what man on earth can weed it out? None, none. The ordeal has been endured, God has spoken, and still Håkon may not be the rightful king, while my life goes to waste. [Seats himself broodingly beside a table on the right.] And if, now, I won the kingdom, would not the doubt dwell with me none the less, gnawing and wearing and wasting me away, with its ceaseless icy drip, drip.—Aye; but ’tis better to sit doubting on the throne than to stand down in the crowd, doubting of him who sits there in your stead.—There must be an end between me and Håkon! An end? But how? [Rises.] Almighty, thou who hast thus bestead me, thou must bear the guilt of the issue! [Goes to and fro, stops and reflects.] I must break down all bridges, hold only one, and there conquer or fall—as the Bishop said at the bridal-feast at Bergen. That is now nigh upon three years since, and through all that time have I split up and spilt my strength in trying to guard all the bridges. [With energy.] Now must I follow the Bishop’s counsel; now or never! Here are we both in Oslo; this time I have more men than Håkon; why not seize the advantage—’tis so seldom on my side. [Vacillating.] But to-night——? At once——? No, no! Not to-night! Ha-ha-ha—there again!—pondering, wavering! Håkon knows not what that means; he goes straight forward, and so he conquers! [Going up the room, stops suddenly beside the cradle.] The King-child!—How fair a brow! He is dreaming. [Smoothes out the bed-clothes; and looks long at the child.] Such an one as thou can save many things in a man’s soul. I have no son. [Bends over the cradle.] He is like Håkon——[Shrinks suddenly backwards.] The King-child, said the Queen! Bow low before him and hail him as men hail kings! Should Håkon die before me, this child will be raised to the throne; and I—I shall stand humbly before him, and bow low and hail him as king! [In rising agitation.] This child, Håkon’s son, shall sit on high, on the seat that should in right, mayhap, be mine—and I shall stand before his footstool, white-haired and bowed with age, and see my whole life-work lying undone—die without having been king!—I have more men than Håkon—there blows a storm to-night, and the wind sweeps down the fiord——! If I took the King-child? I am safe with the Trönders.2 What would Håkon dare attempt, were his child in my power? My men will follow me, fight for me and conquer. Their reward shall be kingly, and they know it.—So shall it be! I will take the stride; I will leap the abyss, for the first time! Could I but see if thou hast Sverre’s eyes—or Håkon Sverresson’s——! He sleeps. I cannot see them. [A pause.] Sleep is as a shield. Sleep in peace, thou little Pretender! [Goes over to the table.] Håkon shall decide; once again will I speak with him.
Margrete.
[Enters, with the King, from the room on the right.] The Bishop dead! Oh, trust me, all strife dies with him.
Håkon.
To bed, Margrete! You must be weary after the journey.
Margrete.
Yes, yes. [To the Duke.] Father, be kind and yielding—Håkon has promised to be the like! A thousand good-nights, to both of you!
[Makes a gesture of farewell at the door on the left, and goes out; two women carry out the cradle.
Duke Skule.
King Håkon, this time we must not part as foes. All evil will follow; there will fall a time of dread upon the land.
Håkon.
The land has known nought else through many generations; but, see you, God is with me; every foeman falls that would stand against me. There are no more Baglers, no Slittungs, no Ribbungs; Earl Jon is slain, Guthorm Ingesson is dead, Sigurd Ribbung likewise—all claims that were put forth at the folkmote at Bergen have fallen powerless—from whom, then, should the time of dread come now?
Duke Skule.
Håkon, I fear me it might come from me!
Håkon.
When I came to the throne, I gave you the third part of the kingdom——
Duke Skule.
But kept two-thirds yourself!
Håkon.
You ever thirsted after more; I eked out your share until now you hold half the kingdom.
Duke Skule.
There lack ten ship-wards.3
Håkon.
I made you Duke; that has no man been in Norway before you.
Duke Skule.
But you are king! I must have no king over me! I was not born to serve you; I must rule in my own right!
Håkon.
[Looks at him for a moment, and says coldly:] Heaven guard your understanding, my lord. Good night.
[Going.
Duke Skule.
[Blocking the way.] You shall not go from me thus! Beware, or I will forswear all faith with you; you can no longer be my overlord; we two must share!
Håkon.
You dare to say this to me!
Duke Skule.
I have more men than you in Oslo, Håkon Håkonsson.
Håkon.
Mayhap you think to——
Duke Skule.
Hearken to me! Think of the Bishop’s words! Let us share; give me the ten ship-wards; let me hold my share as a free kingdom, without tax or tribute. Norway has ere this been parted into two kingdoms;—we will hold firmly together——
Håkon.
Duke, you must be soul-sick, that you can crave such a thing.
Duke Skule.
Ay, I am soul-sick, and there is no other healing for me. We two must be equals; there must be no man over me!
Håkon.
Every treeless skerry is a stone in the building which Harald Hårfager and the sainted King Olaf reared; would you have me break in twain what they have mortised together? Never!
Duke Skule.
Well, then let us reign by turns; let each bear sway for three years! You have reigned long; now my turn has come. Depart from the land for three years;—I will be king the while; I will even out your paths for you against your home-coming; I will guide all things for the best;—it wears and blunts the senses to sit ever on the watch. Håkon, hear me—three years each; let us wear the crown by turns!
Håkon.
Think you my crown would fit well on your brow?
Duke Skule.
No crown is too wide for me!
Håkon.
It needs a God-sent right and a God-sent calling to wear the crown.
Duke Skule.
And know you so surely that you have a God-sent right?
Håkon.
I have God’s own word for it.
Duke Skule.
Rest not too surely on that. Had the Bishop had time to speak—but that were bootless now; you would not believe me. Ay, truly you have mighty allies on high; but I defy you none the less! You will not reign by turns with me? Well—then must we try the last resort;—Håkon, let us two fight for it, man to man, with heavy weapons, for life or death!
Håkon.
Speak you in jest, my lord?
Duke Skule.
I speak for my life-work and for my soul’s salvation!
Håkon.
Then is there small hope for the saving of your soul.
Duke Skule.
You will not fight with me? You shall, you shall!
Håkon.
Oh blinded man! I cannot but pity you. You think ’tis the Lord’s calling that draws you toward the throne; you see not that ’tis nought but pride of heart. What is it that allures you? The royal circlet, the purple-bordered mantle, the right to be seated three steps above the floor;—pitiful, pitiful: Were that kingship, I would cast it into your hat, as I cast a groat to a beggar.
Duke Skule.
You have known me since your childhood, and you judge me thus!
Håkon.
You have wisdom and courage and all noble gifts of the mind; you are born to stand nearest a king, but not to be a king yourself.
Duke Skule.
That will we now put to the proof!
Håkon.
Name me a single king’s-task you achieved in all the years you were regent for me! Were the Baglers or the Ribbungs ever mightier than then? You were in ripe manhood, yet the land was harried by rebellious factions; did you quell a single one of them? I was young and untried when I came to the helm—look at me—all fell before me when I became king; there are no Baglers, no Ribbungs left!
Duke Skule.
Beware how you boast of that; for there lies the greatest danger. Party must stand against party, claim against claim, region against region, if the king is to have the might. Every village, every family, must either need him or fear him. If you strike at the root of faction, at the same stroke you kill your own power.
Håkon.
And you would be king—you, who think such thoughts! You had been well fitted for a chieftain’s part in Erling Skakke’s days; but the time has grown away from you, and you know it not. See you not, then, that Norway’s realm, as Harald and Olaf built it up, may be likened to a church that stands as yet unconsecrate? The walls soar aloft with mighty buttresses, the vaultings have a noble span, the spire points upward, like a fir-tree in the forest; but the life, the throbbing heart, the fresh blood-stream, is lacking to the work; God’s living spirit is not breathed into it; it stands unconsecrate.—I will bring consecration! Norway has been a kingdom, it shall become a people. The Trönder has stood against the man of Viken, the Agdeman against the Hordalander, the Halogalander against the Sogndalesman; all shall be one hereafter, and all shall feel and know that they are one! That is the task which God has laid on my shoulders; that is the work which now lies before the King of Norway. That life-work, Duke, I think you were best to leave untried, for truly it is beyond you.
Duke Skule.
[Impressed.] To unite——? To unite the Trönders and the men of Viken,—all Norway——? [Sceptically.] ’Tis impossible! Norway’s saga tells of no such thing!
Håkon.
For you ’tis impossible, for you can but work out the old saga afresh; for me, ’tis as easy as for the falcon to cleave the clouds.
Duke Skule.
[In uneasy agitation.] To unite the whole people—to awaken it so that it shall know itself one! Whence got you so strange a thought? It runs through me like ice and fire. [Vehemently.] It comes from the devil, Håkon; it shall never be carried through while I have strength to buckle on my helm.
Håkon.
’Tis from God the thought comes to me, and never shall I let it slip while I bear St. Olaf’s circlet on my brow!
Duke Skule.
Then must St. Olaf’s circlet fall from your brow!
Håkon.
Who will make it fall?
Duke Skule.
I, if none other.
Håkon.
You, Skule, will be harmless after to-morrow’s Assembly.
Duke Skule.
Håkon! Tempt not God! Drive me not out upon the last ledge of the deep!
Håkon.
[Points to the door.] Go, my lord—and be it forgotten that we have spoken with sharp tongues this night.
Duke Skule.
[Looks hard at him for a moment, and says:] Next time, ’twill be with sharper tongues we speak.
[Goes to the back.
Håkon.
[After a short pause.] He threatens! No, no, it cannot come to that. He must, he shall give way and do my will; I have need of that strong arm, that cunning brain.—Whatsoever courage and wisdom and strength there maybe in this land, all gifts that God has endowed men withal, are but granted them to my uses. For my service did all noble gifts fall to Duke Skule’s share; to defy me is to defy Heaven; ’tis my duty to punish whosoever shall set himself up against Heaven’s will—for Heaven has done so much for me.
Dagfinn the Peasant.
[Enters from the back.] Be on your guard to-night, my lord; the Duke has surely evil in his mind.
Håkon.
What say you?
Dagfinn.
What may be his drift, I know not; but sure am I that something is brewing.
Håkon.
Can he think to fall upon us? Impossible, impossible!
Dagfinn.
No, ’tis something else. His ships lie clear for sailing; he has summoned an Assembly on board them.
Håkon.
You must mistake——! Go, Dagfinn, and bring me sure tidings.
Dagfinn.
Ay ay, trust to me.
[Goes.
Håkon.
No,—’tis not to be thought of! The Duke dare not rise against me. God will not suffer it—God, who has hitherto guided all things for me so marvellously. I must have peace now, for ’tis now I must set about my work!—I have done so little yet; but I hear the unerring voice of the Lord calling to me: Thou shalt do a great king’s-work in Norway!
Gregorius Jonsson.
[Enters from the back.] My lord and King!
Håkon.
Gregorius Jonsson! Come you hither?
Gregorius Jonsson.
I offer myself for your service. Thus far have I followed the Duke; but now I dare follow him no further.
Håkon.
What has befallen?
Gregorius Jonsson.
That which no man will believe, when ’tis rumoured through the land.
Håkon.
Speak, speak!
Gregorius Jonsson.
I tremble to hear the sound of my own words; know then——
[He seizes the King’s arm and whispers.
Håkon.
[Starts backwards with a cry.] Ha, are you distraught?
Gregorius Jonsson.
Would to God I were.
Håkon.
Unheard of! No, it cannot be true!
Gregorius Jonsson.
By Christ’s dear blood, so is it!
Håkon.
Go, go; sound the trumpet-call for my guard; get all my men under arms.
[Gregorius Jonsson goes.
Håkon.
[Paces the room once or twice, then goes quickly up to the door of Margrete’s chamber, knocks at it, takes one or two more turns through the room, then goes again to the door, knocks, and calls.] Margrete!
[Goes on pacing up and down.
Margrete.
[In the doorway, attired for the night, with her hair down; she has a red cloak round her shoulders, holding it close together over her breast.] Håkon! Is it you?
Håkon.
Yes, yes; come hither.
Margrete.
Oh, but you must not look at me; I was in bed already.
Håkon.
I have other things to think of.
Margrete.
What has befallen.
Håkon.
Give me a good counsel! I have even now received the worst tidings.
Margrete.
[Alarmed.] What tidings, Håkon?
Håkon.
That there are now two kings in Norway.
Margrete.
Two kings in Norway!—Håkon, where is my father?
Håkon.
He has proclaimed himself king on board his ship; now he is sailing to Nidaros to be crowned.
Margrete.
Oh God, thou almighty——!
[Sinks down on the bench, covers her face with her hands and weeps.]
Håkon.
Two kings in the land!
Margrete.
My husband the one—my father the other!
Håkon.
[Pacing restlessly up and down.] Give me a good counsel, Margrete! Should I cross the country by way of the Uplands, come first to Nidaros, and prevent the crowning? No, it may not be done; My men are too few; there in the north he is more powerful than I.—Give me counsel; how can I have the Duke slain, ere he come to Nidaros?
Margrete.
[Imploringly, with folded hands.] Håkon, Håkon!
Håkon.
Can you not hit upon a good device, I say, to have the Duke slain?
Margrete.
[Sinks down from the bench in agony and remains kneeling.] Oh, can you so utterly forget that he is my father?
Håkon.
Your father——; ay, ay, it is true; I had forgotten.
[Raises her up.] Sit, sit, Margrete; comfort you; do not weep; you have no fault in this. [Goes over to the window.] Duke Skule will be worse for me than all other foemen! God, God,—why hast thou stricken me so sorely, when I have in nowise sinned! [A knock at the door in the back; he starts, listens, and cries:] Who knocks so late?
Inga’s Voice.
[Without.] One who is a-cold, Håkon!
Håkon.
[With a cry.] My mother!
Margrete.
[Springs up.] Inga!
Håkon.
[Rushes to the door and opens it; Inga is sitting on the doorstep.] My mother! Sitting like a dog outside her son’s door! And I ask why God has stricken me!
Inga.
[Stretches out her arms towards him.] Håkon, my child! Blessings upon you!
Håkon.
[Raising her up.] Come—come in; here are light and warmth!
Inga.
May I come in to you?
Håkon.
Never shall we part again.
Inga.
My son—my King—oh, but you are good and loving! I stood in a corner and saw you, as you came from the Bishop’s Palace; you looked so sorrowful; I could not part from you thus.
Håkon.
God be thanked for that! No one, truly, could have come to me more welcome than you. Margrete—my mother—I have sorely sinned; I have barred my heart against you two, who are so rich in love.
Margrete.
[Falls on his neck.] Oh, Håkon, my beloved husband; do I stand near you now?
Håkon.
Ay, near me, near me; not to give me cunning counsels, but to shed light over my path. Come what will, I feel the Lord’s strength within me!
Dagfinn the Peasant.
[Enters hastily from the back.] My lord, my lord! The worst has befallen!
Håkon.
[Smiles confidently while he holds Margrete and Inga closely to him.] I know it; but there is nought to fear, good Dagfinn! If there be two kings in Norway, there is but one in Heaven—and He will set all straight!