Sigurd has made his last stand, his Danish allies have deserted
him, and he well knows what will be the next day's issue.
And here we have one of the noblest illustrations in all
literature of that _Versohnung_ which is the last word of
tragic art. For in this supreme hour the peace of mind which
he has sought for so many years comes to him when least expected,
and all the tempests of life are stilled. That reconciliation
which the hour of approaching death brings to men whose lives
have been set at tragic pitch, has come to him also; he now
sees that this was the inevitable end, and the recognition
of the fitness with which events have shaped themselves brings
with it an exaltation of soul in which life is seen revealed
in its true aspect. No longer veiled in the mists which have
hitherto hidden it from his passionate gaze, he takes note of
what it really is, and casts it from him. In this hour of
passionless contemplation such a renunciation is not a thing
torn from the reluctant soul, but the clear solution, so long
sought, of the problem so long blindly attempted. That which
his passion enslaved self has so struggled to avert, his
higher self, at last set free, calmly and gladly accepts.

"What miracle is this? for in the hour I prayed, the prayer
was granted! Peace, perfect peace! Then I will go to-morrow
to my last battle as to the altar; peace shall at last be mine
for all my longings.
"How this autumn evening brings reconciliation to my soul!
Sun and wave and shore and sea flow all together, as in the
thought of God all others; never yet has it seemed so fair to
me. But it is not mine to rule over this lovely land. How
greatly I have done it ill! But how has it all so come to