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the nurse, hushed him, and coming close to the bed, gently
stroked the coverlet. “’Tis the venerable Confessionarius
of his Majesty, who has been sent hither to give you the
sacrament.”
“Gracious Sir, noble Lord Gyldenlöve!” began the
pastor, as he approached the bed. “Though ’t is known to
me that you have not been among the simple wise or the
wisely simple who use the Word of the Lord as their rod
and staff and who dwell in His courts, and although that
God whose cannon is the crashing thunderbolt likewise
holds in His hand the golden palm of victory and the
blood-dripping cypresses of defeat, yet men may understand,
though not justify, the circumstance that you, whose duty
it has been to command and set a valiant example to your
people, may for a moment have forgotten that we are but
as nothing, as a reed in the wind, nay, as the puny grafted
shoot in the hands of the mighty Creator. You may have
thought foolishly: This have I done, this is a fruit that I
have brought to maturity and perfection. Yet now, beloved
lord, when you lie here on your bed of pain, now God who
is the merciful God of love hath surely enlightened your
understanding and turned your heart to Him in longing
with fear and trembling to confess your uncleansed sins,
that you may trustfully accept the grace and forgiveness
which His loving hands are holding out to you. The
sharp-toothed worm of remorse—”
“Cross me fore and cross me aft! Penitence,
forgiveness of sins, and life eternal!” jeered Ulrik Christian and
sat up in bed. “Do you suppose, you sour-faced baldpate,
do you suppose, because my bones are rotting out of my
body in stumps and slivers, that gives me more stomach
for your parson-palaver?”
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