Complete Works of Henrik Ibsen (76 page)

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 Hevoldene; ‘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 Saltosund, 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 dow?i 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 our 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 housefolk 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; infront, on the right, a window. Flung 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 Hâkon
On dream-wings through the sky.

There mounts a mighty stairway
From earth to God’s own land;
There Hâkon with the angels
Goes climbing, hand in hand.

God’s angel-babes are watching
Thy cot, the still night through;
God bless thee, little Hâkon,
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?