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The incense rises in clouds, and the monks chant the funeral hymn. It sounds like a wail it sounds like a sentence of wrath and condemnation, that must be heard far over the land, carried by the wind sung by the wind the wail that sometimes is silent, but never dies; for ever again it rises in song, singing even into our own time this legend of the Bishop of Borglum and his hard nephew.
The idea is that Hercules, riding his steed bareback, guides it in a circle. He is fascinating the horses he has been told to capture. They are held by the mesmerism of the circular path and follow him round and round till they finally fall from exhaustion. Thus the Indians of the West capture wild ponies, and Borglum, a far western man, imputes the method to Hercules.
It has struck, and is fast embedded in the sand; but the rocket apparatus has thrown a rope on board, and formed a bridge from the wreck to the mainland; and all on board are saved, and reach the land, and are wrapped in warm blankets; and to-day they are invited to the farm at the convent of Borglum. In comfortable rooms they encounter hospitality and friendly faces.
Some examples are in rather low relief, portraits approximating certain painters. But if they are on sculptural terms, and are studies of the faces of thinking men, let the producer make a pilgrimage to Washington for his precedent. There, in the rotunda of the capitol, is the face of Lincoln by Gutzon Borglum.
The stranded goods belong to the bishop, and there is a store of goods here. The sea casts up tubs and barrels filled with costly wine for the convent cellar; and in the convent is already good store of beer and mead. There is plenty in the kitchen dead game and poultry, hams and sausages; and fat fish swim in the ponds without. The Bishop of Börglum is a mighty lord.
Icy winter comes again, and the "white bees" are swarming, and sting the traveller's face till they melt. "Keen weather to-day!" say the people, as they step in. Jens Glob stands so deeply wrapped in thought, that he singes the skirt of his wide garment. "Thou Borglum bishop," he exclaims, "I shall subdue thee after all!
The long wicks of the altar lights glimmer red; but there is a redder gleam upon the pavement, where the bishop lies with cloven skull, and his dead warriors around him, in the quiet of the holy Christmas night. And four days afterwards the bells toll for a funeral in the convent of Börglum.
"Thou Börglum bishop," he exclaims, "I shall subdue thee after all! Under the shield of the Pope, the law cannot reach thee; but Jens Glob shall reach thee!" Then he writes a letter to his brother-in-law, Olaf Hase, in Sallingland, and prays that knight to meet him on Christmas Eve, at mass, in the church at Widberg.
The widow had never been disobedient to the law, and was strong in her just rights. Bishop Olaf, of Börglum, what dost thou purpose? What writest thou on yonder smooth parchment, sealing it with thy seal, and intrusting it to the horsemen and servants, who ride away far away to the city of the Pope? It is the time of falling leaves and of stranded ships, and soon icy winter will come.
Under the shield of the Pope, the law cannot reach thee; but Jens Glob shall reach thee!" Then he writes a letter to his brother-in-law, Olaf Hase, in Sallingland, and prays that knight to meet him on Christmas eve, at mass, in the church at Widberg. The bishop himself is to read the mass, and consequently will journey from Borglum to Thyland; and this is known to Jens Glob.
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