[Looks out after him, nods slowly, and says:] Ay—ay—’tis in this mood I like the Earl!

A room in the Bishop’s Palace at Oslo.^[33] 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.

[Comes out from the left, and exclaims in a hushed voice.] Paul Flida! God be praised;—then the Earl is not far off.

The ships are already at Hoved-isle; I came on ahead. And how goes it with the Bishop?

He is even now receiving the Extreme Unction.

Then there is great danger.

Master Sigard of Brabant has said that he cannot outlive the night.

Then meseems he has summoned us too late.

Nay, nay,—he has his full senses and some strength to boot; every moment he asks if the Earl comes not soon.

You still call him Earl; know you not that the King has granted him the title of Duke?

Ay, ay, we know it; ’tis but old custom. Hist!

So now the old lord has made up his account with the world.

I can tell him that Duke Skule comes so soon as may be?

He comes straight from the wharf up here to the Palace. Farewell!

Why do you this?

[Arranging the couch.] The Bishop wills to lie out here.

But is it prudent?

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.

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.

The Duke sends you greeting, my lord; he has already passed Hoved-isle!

’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.

The candles are lighted——

[Stops him by a sign, and approaches the Bishop.] How goes it with you, my lord?

So-so—so-so; my hands and feet are cold.

[Half aloud, as he moves the brazier nearer.] Ha—’tis the beginning of the end.

[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.

So much still undone, and to go and leave it all! So much undone, Viliam!

My lord, think of heavenly things!

I have time before me;—till well on in the morning, Master Sigard thinks——

My lord, my lord!

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!

Desire you aught beside?

No. Stay—tell me:—Peter, Andres Skialdarband’s son,—all speak well of him——

In truth, his is a blameless soul.

Peter, you shall watch beside me until the King or the Duke shall come. Leave us, meanwhile, ye others, but be at hand.

[After a short pause.] Peter!

[Approaches.] My lord?

Hast ever seen old men die?

No.

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.

To my mother?

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.

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.

Is Andres Skialdarband dear to you?

He is an honourable man; but there lives another man whose greatness my mother, as it were, fostered and nourished me withal.

[Hurriedly and eagerly.] Is that Duke Skule?

Ay, the Duke—Skule Bårdsson. My mother knew him in younger days. The Duke must sure be the greatest man in the land!

There is the letter; get you northward with it forthwith!—Are they not singing in there?

They are, my lord!

Eight lusty fellows with throats like trumpets, they must surely help somewhat, methinks.

My lord, my lord! Why not pray yourself!

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.

You are suffering?

I suffer not; but there is a ringing in mine ears, a twinkling and flickering before mine eyes——

’Tis the heavenly bells ringing you home, and the twinkling of the altar-lights God’s angels have lit for you.

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.

Shall I not first——?

Nay, go; I fear not to be alone.

Well met again, then, what time the heavenly bells shall sound for me too.

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!

[Starts.] Who is that?

A woman from Varteig in Borgasyssel, my honoured lord.

The King’s mother!

So was I called once.

Go, go! ’Twas not I counselled Håkon to send you away.

What the King does is well done; ’tis not therefore I come.

Wherefore then?

Gunnulf, my brother, is come home from England——

From England——!

He has been away these many years, as you know, and has roamed far and wide; now has he brought home a letter——

[Breathlessly.] A letter——?

From Trond the Priest. ’Tis for you, my lord.

Ah, truly;—and you bring it?

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——

There was no such haste, Inga!

God’s peace, my honoured lord!

Comes the King?

He is now riding down the Ryen hills, with the Queen and the King-child and a great following.

[Rushes up to Dagfinn.] The King,—the King! Comes he hither?

Inga! You here, much-suffering woman!

She is not much-suffering who has so great a son.

Now will his hard heart be melted.

Not a word to the King of me. Yet, oh, I must see him!—Tell me,—comes he hither?

Ay, presently.

And it is dark evening. The King will be lighted on his way with torches?

Yes.

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.

I have fulfilled mine errand; I go to meet the King.

Bear him most loving greeting, good Dagfinn!

[As he goes out to the right.] I would not be Bishop Nicholas to-morrow.

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!

What is it that whistles and howls so grimly?

’Tis the storm; it grows fiercer.

The storm grows fiercer! Ay truly, I will keep my promise! The storm, say you——? Are they singing in there?

Yes, my lord.

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!

My lord, shall I not fetch Master Sigard?

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!

[From the right.] How goes it, honoured lord!

Master Sigard—sell me three days’ life!

I have told you——

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!

Though I myself were to die in the same hour as you, yet could I not add three days to your span.

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?

[Rising.] I have no time, my lord. I must prepare you a draught that may ease you somewhat at the last.

Nay, wait with that! Wait,—and answer me!

I have no time; the draught must be ready within an hour.

Within an hour! [Knocks wildly.] Viliam! Viliam!

Call more to help in there! The eight are not enough!

My lord——?

More to help, I say! Brother Kolbein has lain sick these five weeks,—he cannot have sinned much in that time——

He was at shrift yesterday.

[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.

My lord, shall I then——?

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——

[Goes to the writing-table.] Which, my lord?

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——

[Enters from the right and advances towards the Bishop.] Peace and greeting, my honoured lord! I hear it goes ill with you.

I am a corpse in the bud, good Duke; this night shall I break into bloom; to-morrow you may scent my perfume.

Already to-night, say you?

Master Sigard says: within an hour.

And Trond the Priest’s letter——?

Think you still upon that?

’Tis never out of my thoughts.

The King has made you Duke; before you, no man in Norway has borne that title.

’Tis not enough. If Håkon be not the rightful king, then must I have all!

Ha, ’tis cold in here; the blood runs icy through my limbs.

Trond the Priest’s letter, my lord! For Almighty God’s sake,—have you it?

At least, I know where it may be found.

Tell me then, tell me!

Wait——

Nay, nay—lose not your time; I see it draws to an end;—and ’tis said the King comes hither.

Ay, the King comes; thereby you may best see that I am mindful of your cause, even now.

What is your purpose?

Mind you, at the King’s bridal—you said that Håkon’s strength lay in his steadfast faith in himself?

Well?