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.