ARFI No; I dreaded to rouse up The old, jealous hate; for since my wound has healed, He seems to have forgotten that old feud, And looks on you and me no more, methinks, As keepers of his prison-house, but rather As his accomplices, that smuggle in Subtle devices for his liberation, To comprehend the use of which he expends All of his time and powers.
THORDIS Accomplices: It may be so; for he, that used to hang With looks of fire upon my merest motion, Will gaze beyond me now with eyes that gloat Blank as a miser’s on some buried hoard.
ARFI The gold he hoards is knowledge, and ’tis well, For that preoccupation may assuage The pain he else might feel, when he shall learn Our joy to-morrow.
[Egil cries out again.]
THORDIS Yearning heart! how deep It labours still in pain! Let us take care To acquaint him gently with our happiness. We must divert him.—Why, what’s here?
ARFI [Smiling.] A temple; We’re architects.
THORDIS He helped you build it?
ARFI I Am helping him.
THORDIS But how shall this avail To tame the wolf?
ARFI His genius is destruction; His breath and bondage—to annihilate; And therefore Egil must be shown to build And not destroy; of mean, chaotic things— These blocks—to make admired harmony, And shape, however rude, some tangible Earnest of his constructive will.