Jatgeir—I know not.
King Skule—Have you never had another skald for your friend, and has he never unfolded to you a great and noble song he thought to make?
Jatgeir—Yes, lord.
King Skule—Did you not then wish that you could slay him, to take his thought and make the song yourself?
Jatgeir—My lord, I am not barren: I have children of my own; I need not to love those of other men. [Goes.]
King Skule [after a pause]—The Icelander is in very deed a skald. He speaks God's deepest truth and knows it not. I am as a barren woman. Therefore I love Hakon's kingly thought-child, love it with the warmest passion of my soul. Oh that I could but adopt it! It would die in my hands. Which were best, that it should die in my hands or wax great in his? Should I ever have peace of soul if that came to pass? Can I forego all? Can I stand by and see Hakon make himself famous for all time? How dead and empty is all within me—and around me. No friend—ah, the Icelander! [Goes to the door and calls.] Has the skald gone from the palace?
A Guard [outside]—No, my lord: he stands in the outer hall talking with the watch.
King Skule—Bid him come hither. [Goes forward to the table; presently Jatgeir enters.] I can not sleep, Jatgeir: 'tis all my great kingly thoughts that keep me awake, you see.
Jatgeir—'Tis with the king's thoughts as with the skald's, I doubt not. They fly highest and grow quickest when there is night and stillness around.
King Skule—Is it so with the skald's thoughts?