end comes? Or have you raised your son so poorly that he is still a child and needs your guidance? If you want gratitude, come and look for it, but not in this way. Or do you think it is the destiny of a child to sacrifice its own life merely to show you gratitude? His mission is calling: “Go!” And you cry to him: “Come to me, you ingrate!” Is he to go astray–is he to waste his powers, that belong to his country, to mankind–merely for the satisfaction of your private little selfishness? Or do you imagine that the fact of having borne and raised him does even entitle you to gratitude? Did not your life’s mission and destiny lie in that? Should you not thank the Lord for being given such a high mission? Or did you do it only that you might spend the rest of your life clamoring for gratitude? Don’t you see that by using that word “gratitude” you tear down all that you have built up before? And what makes you presume that you have rights over me? Is marriage to mean a mortgaging of my free will to anybody whom nature has made the mother or father of my husband–who unfortunately could not exist without either? You are not _my_ mother. My troth was not pledged to you when I took Olof as my husband. And I have sufficient respect for my husband not to permit anybody to insult him, even if it be his own mother. That’s why I have spoken as I have!
Mother. Alas, such are the fruits borne by the teachings of my son!
Christine. If you choose to revile your son, it had better be in his presence. (She goes to the door and calls.) Olof!
Mother. Such guile already!
Christine. Already? It’s nothing new, I think, although I didn’t know I had it until it was needed.
[Enter Olof.]
Olof. Mother! I am right glad to see you!
Mother. Thanks, my son–and good-bye!
Olof. Are you going? What does that mean? I wish to talk to you.
Mother. No need! She has said all there is to say. You will not have to show me the door.
Olof. In God’s name, mother, what are you saying? Christine, what does this mean?
Mother (about to leave). Good-bye, Olof! This is more than I can ever forgive you!
Olof (trying to hold her back). Stay and explain, at least!
Mother. It was not worthy of you! To send her to tell me that you owe me nothing and need me no more! Oh, that was cruel! [Exit.]
Olof. What did you say, Christine?
Christine. I don’t remember, because there were so many things which I had never dared to think, but which I must have dreamt while father kept me still enslaved.
Olof. I don’t know you any more, Christine.
Christine. No, I begin to feel a little lost myself.
Olof. Were you unkind to mother?
Christine. I suppose I was. Does it seem to you that I have grown hard, Olof?
Olof. Did you show her the door?
Christine. Forgive me, Olof! I was not kind to her.
Olof. For my sake you might have made your words a little milder. Why didn’t you call me at once?
Christine. I wished to see if I had the strength to take care of myself. Olof, would you sacrifice me to your mother, if she demanded it?
Olof. I cannot answer such a question offhand.
Christine. I’ll do it in your place. It pleases you to submit willingly to your mother’s will and wish because you are strong– and I, on the other hand, feel hurt by doing so, for I am weak. I will never do it!
Olof. Not if I ask you?
Christine. That’s more than you can ask. Or would you have me hate her?–Tell me, Olof, what is meant by a “harlot”?
Olof. You ask such strange questions.
Christine. Will you please answer me?
Olof. Will you forgive me if I don’t?
Christine. Always this unending silence! Do you not yet dare to tell me all? Am I to be a child forever? Then you had better put me in a nursery and talk baby-talk to me.
Olof. It means an unfortunate woman.
Christine. No, it means something more than that.
Olof. Has anybody dared to use that word to you?
Christine (after a pause). No.
Olof. Now you are not telling the truth, Christine.
Christine. I know I lie! Oh, since yesterday I have grown very wicked!
Olof. You are hiding something that happened yesterday!
Christine. I am–I thought that I could keep it to myself, but it has grown too much for me.
Olof. Speak–I beg you!
Christine. But you mustn’t call me silly! A crowd of people pursued me all the way to our door and called after me that horrible word which I don’t understand. People do not laugh at an unfortunate woman–
Olof. Yes, dear, that’s just what they do.
Christine. I didn’t understand their words, but their actions were plain enough to make me wicked!
Olof. And yet you were so kind to me! Forgive me if I have been hard to you!–It is a name given by brute force to its own victims. Sooner or later, you’ll learn more about it, but never dare to defend an “unfortunate woman”–for then they will throw mud at you! (A messenger enters and hands him a letter.) At last! (After a glance at the letter.) You read it to me, Christine! It is from your lips I want to hear the glad tidings.
Christine (reading). “Young man, you have conquered! I, your enemy, desire to be the first to tell you so, and I address myself to you without any sense of humiliation because, in speaking for the new faith, you have wielded no weapons but those of the spirit. Whether you be right, I cannot tell, but I think you have deserved a piece of advice from an older man: stop here, for your enemies are gone! Do not wage war on creatures made of air, for that will lame your arm and you will die of dry rot. Do not put your trust in princes–is another piece of advice given you by a once powerful man who has now to step aside and leave to the Lord to settle what is to become of his prostrated Church. Johannes Brask.” (Speaking.) You have conquered!
Olof (joyfully). I thank Thee, Lord, for this hour. (Pause.) No, it scares me, Christine! This fortune is too great. I am too young to have reached the goal already. To have no more to do– oh, what a frightful thought! No further fighting–that would be death!
Christine. Oh, rest a moment, and be happy that it is over.
Olof. Can there be an end to anything? An end to such a beginning? No, no!–Oh, that I could begin it all anew! It wasn’t the victory I wanted, but the fight!
Christine. Olof, do not tempt the Lord! I have a feeling that much remains undone–very much, indeed!
[Enter Courtier.]
Courtier. Good-day to you, Secretary! And pleasant news! [Exit Christine.]
Olof. Be welcome! Some of it I have heard already.
Courtier. Thanks for your splendid answering of that stupid Galle. You went after him like a man. A little too fiercely, perhaps–not quite so much fire, you know! And a little venom doesn’t hurt.
Olof. You have news from the King?
Courtier. Yes, and you shall have a brief summary of the conditions agreed on: First, mutual support for the resistance and punishment of all rebellions.
Olof. Go on, if you please.
Courtier. Second, the King shall have the right to take possession of the palaces and fortified places of the bishops, as well as to fix their incomes–
Olof. Third–
Courtier. Now comes the best of all–the principal point of the whole undertaking: Third, the nobility shall have the right to claim whatever of its properties and inheritances have fallen to churches and cloisters since the revision by King Carl Knutsson in 1454–
Olof. And fourth?
Courtier. Provided the heir can get twelve men under oath to attest his right of inheritance at the assizes. (He folds the document from which he has been reading.)
Olof. Have you finished?
Courtier. Yes. Isn’t that pretty good?
Olof. Nothing more?
Courtier. Oh, there are a few minor points of no special importance.
Olof. Let me hear them.
Courtier (reading again). There is a fifth point about the right of preachers to preach the word of God, but, of course, they have had that all the time.
Olof. Nothing more?
Courtier. Yes, then comes the ordinance: a register is to be established showing the amount of tithes collected by all bishops, chapters, and canons, and the King shall have the right to prescribe–
Olof. Oh, that’s neither here nor there!
Courtier. –how much of those may be retained, and how much shall be surrendered to him for the use of the Crown; furthermore, all Appointments to spiritual offices–and this ought to interest you–to spiritual offices, minor as well as major, can hereafter be made only with the sanction of the King, so that–
Olof. Will you please read me the point dealing with the faith–
Courtier. The faith–there is nothing about it. Oh, yes, let me see–from this day the Gospel is to be read in all schoolhouses.
Olof. Is that all?
Courtier. All? Oh, no, I remember! I have a special order from the King to you–and a most sensible one–that, as the people are stirred up over all these innovations, you must by no means disturb the old forms; must not abolish masses, holy water, nor any other usage, nor furthermore indulge in any reckless acts, for hereafter the King will not close his eyes to your escapades as he has had to do in the past, when he lacked power to do otherwise.
Olof. I see! And the new faith which he has permitted me to preach so far?
Courtier. It is to ripen slowly.–It will come! It will come!
Olof. Is there anything more?
Courtier (rising). No. If you will only keep calm now, you may go very far. Oh, yes–I came near forgetting the best part of all. My dear Pastor, permit me to congratulate you! Here is your appointment. Pastor of the city church, with an income of three thousand, at your age–indeed, you could now settle down in peace and enjoy life, even if you were never to get any further. It is splendid to have reached one’s goal while still so young. I congratulate you! [Exit.]
Olof (flinging the appointment on the floor). So this is all that I have fought and suffered for! An appointment! A royal appointment! I have been serving Belial instead of God! Woe be to you, false King, who have sold your Lord and God! Alas for me, who have sold my life and my labors to mammon! O God in Heaven, forgive me! (He throws himself, weeping, on a bench.)
[Enter Christine and Gert. Christine comes forward, while Gert remains in the background.]
Christine (picks up the appointment and reads it; then she runs to Olof, her face beaming). Now, Olof, I can wish you joy with a happy heart! (She starts to caress him, but he leaps to his feet and pushes her away.)
Olof. Leave me alone! You, too!
Gert (coming forward). Well, Olof, the faith–
Olof. The lack of faith, you mean!
Gert. The Pope is beaten, isn’t he? Hadn’t we better begin with the Emperor soon?
Olof. We began at the wrong end.
Gert. At last!
Olof. You were right, Gert! I am with you now! It’s war, but it must be open and honest.
Gert. Until to-day you have been dreaming childish dreams.
Olof. I know it. Now the flood is coming! Let it come! Alas for them and for us!
Christine. Olof, for Heaven’s sake, stop!
Olof. Leave me, child! Here you will be drowned, or you will drag me down.
Gert. What made you venture out in the storm, my child?
[Exit Christine.]
(The ringing of bells, the joyful shouting of crowds, and the sounding of drums and trumpets become audible.)
Olof (going to the window). What has set the people shouting?
Gert. The King is providing them with a maypole and music outside North Gate.
Olof. And are they not aware that he will chasten them with swords instead of rods?
Gert. Aware? If they were!
Olof. Poor children! They dance to his piping and follow his drums to their death! Must all die, then, in order that one may live?
Gert. No, one shall die that all may live!
(Olof makes a gesture dismay and repugnance.)
ACT IV
(A Room in the House of Olof’s Mother. At the right stands a bedstead with four posts, in which the Mother is lying sick. Christine is asleep on a chair. Lars Pedersson is renewing the oil of the night-lamp and turning the hour glass.)
Lars (speaking to himself). Midnight–Now comes the critical time. (He goes to the bed and listens. At that moment Christine moans in her sleep. He crosses the room and wakens her.) Christine! (She wakes with a start.) Go to bed, child; I will watch.
Christine. No, I will wait. I must speak to her before she dies– I think Olof should be here soon.
Lars. It is for his sake you are watching!
Christine. Yes, and you mustn’t say that I have slept. Do you hear?
Lars. Poor girl!–You’re not happy!
Christine. Who says one should be happy?
Lars. Does Olof know that you are here?
Christine. No, he would never permit it. He wants to keep me like the carved image of some saint standing on a shelf. The smaller and weaker he can make me, the greater is his pleasure in placing his strength at my feet–
Mother (waking). Lars! (Christine holds back Lars and steps forward.) Who is that?
Christine. The nurse.
Mother. Christine!
Christine. Do you want anything?
Mother. Nothing from you.
Christine. Dame Christine!
Mother. Don’t make my last moments more bitter. Go away from here!
Lars (coming forward). What do you want, mother?
Mother. Take away that woman! And bring the father confessor–I shall soon die.
Lars. Is not your own son worthy of receiving your last confidences?
Mother. No, he has done nothing to deserve them. Has Marten come yet?
Lars. Marten is a bad man.
Mother. O Lord, how terrible Thy punishment! My children standing between myself and Thee! Am I then to be denied the consolations of religion in my last moments? You have taken my life–do you want to destroy my soul, too–the soul of your mother? (She falls into a faint.)
Lars. Do you hear that, Christine! What are we to do? Shall we let her die in the deception practised on her by a miserable wretch like Marten–and perhaps get her thanks for it–or shall we turn her final prayer into a curse? No, let them come, rather! Or what do you think, Christine?
Christine. I dare not think at all.
Lars (goes out for a moment, but returns quickly). Oh, it is horrible! They have fallen asleep over their dice and their tumblers. And by such as those my mother is to be prepared for her death!
Christine. But why not tell her the truth?
Lars. She won’t believe it, and it is cast back on us as a lie.
Mother. My son, won’t you listen to your mother’s last request?
Lars (going out). May God forgive me!
Christine. Olof would never have done that!
(Lars returns with Marten and Nils, whereupon he leads Christine out of the room.)
Marten (going up to the bed). She’s sleeping.
Nils (places a box on the floor, opens it, and begins to take out aspersorium, censer, chrismatory, palms, and candles). That means we can’t go to work yet.
Marten. If we have waited all this time, we can afford to wait a little longer–provided that damned priest doesn’t show up.
Nils. Master Olof, you mean?–Do you think that fellow out there noticed anything?
Marten. What do I care? As soon as the old woman gives up the coin, I am free.
Nils. You ‘re a pretty thorough-paced rascal, you are!
Marten. Yes, but I am getting tired of it. I am beginning to long for peace. Do you know what life is?
Nils. No.
Marten. Pleasure! “The flesh was God!” Isn’t that the way it’s written somewhere?
Nils. “The Word became flesh,” you mean?
Marten. Oh, yes–of course!
Nils. You might have been it pretty big man, with your head!
Marten. Yes, indeed! That’s what they feared, and that’s why they whipped the soul out of my body in the convent–for after all I had a soul once! But now there’s nothing but body left, and now the body is going to have its turn.
Nils. And I suppose they whipped all conscience out of you at the same time?
Marten. Well, practically.–But now I want that recipe for spiced Rochelle which you were talking of when we fell asleep out there.
Nils. Did I say Rochelle? I meant claret. That is, it can be either the one or the other. Well, you take a gallon of wine and half a pound of cardamom that has been well cleaned–
Marten. Hush–damn you! She is moving. Out with the book!
Nils (keeps on reading in an undertone during the following scene).
Aufer immensam, Deus aufer iram; Et cruentatum cohibe flagellum
Nec scelus nostrum proferes ad aequam Pendere lancem.
Mother. Is that you, Marten?
Marten. It’s Brother Nils praying to the Holy Virgin. (Nils lights the censer without interrupting his reading.)
Mother. What a precious boon to hear the word of the Lord in the sacred tongue!
Marten. No sweeter sacrifice is known to God than the prayers of pious souls.
Mother. Like the incense, my heart is set on fire with holy devotion.
Marten (sprinkling her with holy watter). The stains of sin are by your God washed off!
Mother. Amen!–Marten, I am passing away–The godlessness of the King makes it impossible for me by earthly gifts to strengthen the Holy Church in her power of saving souls. You are a pious man–take my property and pray for me and for my children. Pray that the Almighty may turn their hearts away from all lies, so that some time we may meet again in heaven.
Marten (taking the bag of money she hands him). Goodwife, your sacrifice is acceptable to the Lord, and for your sake my prayers will be heard by God.
Mother. I want to sleep awhile in order to be strong enough to receive the last sacrament.
Marten. No one shall disturb your final moments–not even those who were your children once.
Mother. It seems cruel, Father Marten, but it’s the will of God. (She falls asleep; Marten and Nils withdraw from the bed.)
Marten (opening the bag and kissing the gold coins). What stores of pleasure lie hidden beneath the hardness of this gold–Ah!
Nils. Are we going now?
Marten. Oh, we might, as our errand here is done, but I think it would be a pity to let the old woman die unsaved.
Nils. Unsaved?
Marten. Yes!
Nils. Do you believe in that?
Marten. It’s hard to know what one is to believe nowadays. One dies happily in this faith, and another in that. All assert that they have found the truth.
Nils. And if you were to die now, Marten?
Marten. That’s out of the question!
Nils. But if?
Marten. Then I suppose I should go to heaven like the rest. But I should prefer to settle a small account with Master Olof first. You see, there is one pleasure that surpasses all the rest, and that’s the pleasure of revenge.
Nils. What has he done to you?
Marten. He has dared to see through me; he has exposed me; he can read what I am thinking–Oh!
Nils. And that’s why you hate him?
Marten. Isn’t that enough? (Somebody is heard knocking on the door leading to the street.) Somebody is coming! Read, damn you!
(Nils begins to drone out the same verse as before. The sound of a key being inserted in the lock is heard. The door is opened from the outside.)
[Enter Olof, looking greatly agitated.]
Mother (waking up). Father Marten!
Olof (goes to the bed). Here is your son, mother! Why didn’t you let me know that you were sick?
Mother. Farewell, Olof! I forgive you all the evil you have done to me, if you will not disturb the few moments I need to prepare myself for heaven. Father Marten! Bring here the sacred ointment, so that I may die in peace.
Olof. So that’s why you didn’t call me! (He catches sight of the money bag which Marten has forgotten to hide, and snatches it away from the monk.) Oh, souls are being bartered here! And this was to be the price! Leave this room and this death-bed! Here is my place, not yours!
Marten. You mean to prevent us from fulfilling our office?
Olof. I am showing you the door!
Marten. As long as we are not suspended, we are doing our duty here by the King’s authority, and not by the Pope’s.
Olof. I shall cleanse the Church of the lord without regard to the will of King or Pope.
Mother. Will you plunge my soul into perdition, Olof? Will you let me die with a curse?
Olof. Calm yourself, mother! You are not going to die in a lie. Seek your God in prayer, He is not so far away as you believe.
Marten. A man who won’t save his own mother from the pangs of purgatory must be the Devil’s prophet indeed.
Mother. Christ Jesu, help my soul!
Olof. Will you leave this room, or must I use force? Take away that rubbish! (He kicks the ritual accessories across the floor.)
Marten. I’ll go if you’ll let me have the money your mother has given to the Church.
Mother. So that’s why you came, Olof? You wanted my gold! Let him have it, Marten. I’ll let you have all of it, Olof, if you will only leave me in peace! I’ll give you more than that! I’ll let you have everything!
Olof (driven to despair). In God’s name, take the money and go! I beg you!
Marten (grabbing the bag and going out with Nils). Where the Devil is abroad, there our power ends, Dame Christine! (To Olof.) As a heretic you are lost for all eternity! As a law-breaker you will get your punishment right here! Beware of the King! [Exeunt.]
Olof (kneeling beside his mother’s bed). Mother, listen to me before you die! (The Mother has lost consciousness.) Mother, mother, if you are alive, speak to your son! Forgive me, but I could not act except as I have done. I know you have been suffering all your life for my sake. You have been praying to God that I should keep His paths. The Lord has heard your prayer. Do you want me now to render your whole life futile? Do you want me now, by obeying you, to destroy that structure which has cost you so much in toil and tears? Forgive me!
Mother. Olof, my soul is no longer of this world–it’s out of another life I speak to you: turn back! Break that unclean bond which ties your body only. Take back the faith you got from me, and I will forgive you!
Olof (weeping bitterly). Mother! Mother!
Mother. Swear that you will do it!
Olof (after long silence). No!
Mother. The curse of God is upon you–I see Him–I see His angry look–Help me, Holy Virgin!
Olof. That is not the God of love!
Mother. It is the God of retribution!–It is you who have provoked His ire–and it is you who now cast me into the flames of His wrath!–Cursed be the hour when I bore you! (She dies.)
Olof. Mother! Mother! (He takes her hand.) She’s dead! And she has not forgiven me!–Oh, if your soul be still within this room, behold your son: I will do your will, and what was sacred to you shall be sacred to me! (He lights the tall wax candles left behind by the friars and places them around the bed.) You shall have the consecrated candles that are to light your road. (He puts a palm leaf in her hand.) And with this palm of peace shall come forgetfulness of that last struggle with what was earthly. Oh, mother, if you see me now, then you must forgive me! (In the meantime the sun has risen, and the red glow of its first rays lights up the curtains; at the sight of it, Olof leaps to his feet.) You make my candles fade, O morning sun! You have more love than I! (He goes to the window and opens it.)
Lars (entering softly and looking around surprised). Olof!
Olof (putting his arms around him). Brother, all is over! Lars (goes to the bed and kneels for a moment; then he rises again). She is dead! (He prays silently.) You were here alone?
Olof. It was you who let in the monks.
Lars. And you who drove them out.
Olof. That should have been your task.
Lars. She forgave you?
Olof. She died with a curse on her lips. (Pause.)
Lars (pointing to the candles). Who arranged these ceremonies? (Pause.)
Olof (irritated and humiliated). I weakened for a moment.
Lars. So you are human, after all? I thank you for it!
Olof. Are you mocking my weakness?
Lars. I am praising it.
Olof. And I am cursing it!–God in heaven, am I not right?
Lars. No, you are wrong.
[Enter Christine while Lars is still speaking.]
Christine. You are too much in the right!
Olof. Christine, what are you doing here?
Christine. It was so silent and lonesome at home.
Olof. I asked you not to come here.
Christine. I thought I might be of some use, but I see now– Another time I shall stay at home.
Olof. You have been awake all night?
Christine. That is nothing! I will go now if you tell me to!
Olof. Go in there and rest a little while we talk. (Christine begins absentmindedly to extinguish the candles.)
Olof. What are you doing, dear?
Christine. Why, it is full daylight.
(Lars gives Olof a significant glance.)
0lof. My mother is dead, Christine.
Christine (as she goes to Olof to let him kiss her on the forehead, the look on her face is compassionate but cold). I am sorry for your loss. [Exit Christine.]
(Pause. The brothers look for a moment in the direction where she disappeared, then at each other.)
Lars. I beg you, Olof, as your friend and brother, don’t go on as you have been doing.
Olof. The old story! But he who has put his axe to the tree cannot draw back until the tree is down. The King has betrayed our cause. Now I will see what I can do for it.
Lars. The King is wise.
Olof. He is a miser, a traitor, and a protector of the nobility. First he uses me to hunt his game, and then he wants to kick me out.
Lars. He sees farther than you do. If you were to go to three million people, telling them: “Your faith is false; believe my words instead” –do you think it possible that they would at once cast aside their most intimate and most keenly experienced conviction, which until then had been a support to them in sorrow as well as in joy? No, the life of the soul would be in a bad condition, indeed, if all the old things could be disposed of so quickly.
Olof. But it is not so. The whole people is full of doubt. Among the priests there is hardly one who knows what to believe–if he cares to believe anything at all. Everything is ready for the new, and it is only you who are to blame–you weaklings whose consciences will not permit you to sow doubt where nothing but a feeble faith remains.
Lars. Look out, Olof! You wish to play the part of God.
Olof. Well, that is what we must do, for I don’t think that He Himself intends to conic down to us any more.
Lars. You are tearing down and tearing down, Olof, so that soon there will be nothing left, and when people ask, “What do we get instead?” you always answer, “Not this,” “Not that,” but never once do you answer, “This.”
Olof. Presumptuous man! Do you think faith can be given by one to another? Do you think that Luther has given us anything new? No! He has merely torn away the screens that had been placed around the light. The new that I want is doubt of the old, not because it is old, but because it is decaying. (Lars points toward their mother’s body.) I know what you mean. She was too old, and I thank God that she is dead. Now I am free–only now! God has willed it!
Lars. Either you have lost your senses, or you are a wicked man!
Olof. Don’t reproach me! I have as much respect for our mother’s memory as you have, but if she had not died now, I don’t know how far my sacrifices might have gone. Have you noticed in the springtime, brother, how the fallen leaves of yesteryear cover the ground as if to smother all the young; things that are coming out? What do these do? They push aside the withered leaves, or pass right through them, because they must get up!
Lars. You are right to a certain extent.–Olof, you broke the laws of the Church during a time of lawlessness and unrest. What could be forgiven then must be punished now. Don’t force the King to appear worse than he is. Don’t let your scorn for the law and your wilfulness force him to punish a man to whom he acknowledges himself indebted.
Olof. Nothing is more wilful than his own rule, and he must learn to tolerate the same thing in others. Tell me you have taken service with the King–are you going to work against me?
Lars. I am.
Olof. Then we are enemies, and that is what I need, for the old ones have disappeared.
Lars. But the tie of blood, Olof–
Olof. I know it only in its source, which is the heart.
Lars. Yet you wept for our mother.
Olof. Weakness, or perhaps a touch of old devotion and gratitude, but not because of the tie of blood. What is it, anyhow?
Lars. You are tired out, Olof.
Olof. Yes, I feel exhausted; I have been awake all night.
Lars. You were so late in coming.
Olof. I was out.
Lars. Your doings seem to shun the daylight.
Olof. The daylight shuns my doings.
Lars. Beware of false apostles of freedom!
Olof (struggling with sleepiness and fatigue). That’s a self-contradictory term. Oh, don’t talk to me–I can’t stand any more. I spoke so much at our meeting–But you don’t know about our society–Concordia res parvae crescunt–We mean to continue the Reformation–Gert is a farsighted man–I seem so small beside him–Good-night, Lars! (He falls asleep on a chair.)
Lars (stands looking at him with solicitude). Poor brother–may God protect you! (Resounding blows on the street door are heard.) What’s that? (He goes to the window.)
Gert (outside). For God’s sake, open!
Lars. Why, it isn’t a matter of life and death, Father Gert. [Exit.]
Gert (outside). In God’s name, let me in!
[Enter Christine with a blanket.]
Christine. Olof, why are they knocking like that? He’s asleep! (She wraps him up in the blanket.) Oh, that I were Sleep, so that you might flee to me when tired out by your struggles!
(The rattle of a heavy cart is heard; then the cart comes to a stop outside the house.).
0lof (waking up with a start). Is it five already?
Christine. No, it is only three.
Olof. Wasn’t that a baker’s cart I heard?
Christine. I don’t know, but I don’t think it would make such a noise. (She goes to the window.) Look, Olof! What can this he?
Olof (going to the window). The headsman’s cart!–No, it isn’t that.
Christine. It is a hearse!
[Enter Lars and Gert.]
Lars. The plague!
All. The plague!
Gert. The plague is here! Christine, my child, leave this house! The angel of death has put his mark upon the gate.
Olof. Who sent the cart?
Gert. The man who put the black cross on the door. No dead body must be left a moment in the house.
Olof. Then Marten was the angel of death–and all is nothing but a lie.
Gert. Look out of the window, and you’ll see that the cart is loaded full. (Blows are heard at the street door again.) You hear! They’re waiting!
Olof. Without proper burial? That shall never be!
Lars. Without ceremonies, Olof!
Gert. Come away with me, Christine, from this dreadful place! I’ll take you out of the city to some healthier spot.
Christine. I will stay with Olof after this. If you, father, had loved me a little less, you would not have done so much harm.
Gert. Olof, you who have the power, command her to follow me
Olof. I set her free from your tyranny once, you selfish man, and she shall never return to it again.
Gert. Christine, get out of this house, at least!
Christine. Not a step until Olof orders me.
Olof. I will no longer order you at all, Christine–remember that!
[Enter several Buriers.]
Burier. I’ve come for a body. No time to spare!
Olof. Begone from here!
Burier. The King’s order!
Lars. Consider what you do, Olof! The law demands it!
Gert. This is no time to hesitate! The crazy mob is aroused against you. This house was the first one to be marked, and they are crying: “God’s punishment upon the heretic!”
Olof (kneeling beside the bed). Mother, forgive! (Rising.) Do your duty!
(The Buriers come forward and begin to get their ropes ready.)
Gert (aside to Olof). “God’s punishment upon the King” is our cry!
ACT V
SCENE I
(The Cemetery of the Convent of St. Clara. In the background appears a partly demolished convent building, from which a gang of workmen are carrying out timber and debris. At the left is a mortuary chapel. Its windows are lighted from within, and whenever the door is opened, a brilliantly illuminated crucifix on the chancel wall, with a sarcophagus standing in front of it, becomes visible. A number of the graves have been opened. The moon is just rising from behind the ruined convent. Windrank is seated outside the chapel door. Singing is heard from within the chapel.)
[Enter Nils.]
Nils (goes up to Windrank). Good evening, Windrank.
Windrank. Please don’t talk to me.
Nils. What’s the matter now?
Windrank. Didn’t you hear what I told you?
Nils. Has your scurvy ending as a skipper affected you so badly that you think of turning monk?
Windrank. 52, 53, 54, 55, 56, 57.
Nils. You haven’t lost your reason, have you?
Windrank. 58, 59, 60–In the name of Jesu, get away from here!
Nils. You had better have a little nightcap with me.
Windrank. 64, 65–That’s what I expected! Get you gone, tempter! I’ll never take a drink again–until the day after to-morrow.
Nils. But it’s a fine remedy against the plague, and with all this cadaverous stuff about, you had better be careful.
Windrank. 70–So you really think it’s good for the plague?
Nils. Excellent!
Windrank. Only a drop, then! (He drinks from the bottle offered him by Nils.)
Nils. Only a drop! But tell me, are you suffering from vertigo since you are counting to a hundred?
Windrank. Hush! Hush! There’s an epoch coming.
Nils. An epoch?
Windrank. Yes, the day after to-morrow.
Nils. And that’s why you keep counting like that?
Windrank. No, it’s only because I find it so hard to hold my tongue. Now, for heaven’s sake, keep quiet! Please go away, or you’ll get me into trouble!–71, 72, 73.
Nils. Who’s inside?
Windrank. 74, 75.
Nils. Is it a funeral?
Windrank. 76, 77.–Go to hell, won’t you!
Nils. Just another tiny drop, and the counting will be easier.
Windrank. Just a little one–I will! (He drinks. Singing is heard outside.)
Nils. Here come the nuns of St. Clara to celebrate the memory of their saint for the last time.
Windrank. That’s fine mummery in days like these when everybody is getting educated.
Nils. They have obtained the King’s permission. You see, the plague broke out in the parish of St. Clara, and some believe it was because of the godless destruction of St. Clara’s convent.
Windrank. And now they mean to drive away the plague with singing–as if that bugaboo were a hater of music. But, of course, it wouldn’t be a wonder if he did flee from their hoarse screeching.
Nils. Will you please tell me who has dared to invade this last sanctuary–for it’s here the bones of the Saint are to be deposited before the place is torn down entirely.
Windrank. Then there’ll be a fight, I fear.
[The singing has drawn nearer. A procession enters, made up of Dominican friars and Franciscan nuns, headed by Marten. They come to a halt and continue singing, while the workmen are making a great deal of noise in the background.]
Procession.
Cur super vermes luteos furorem Sunnis, O magni fabricator orbis!
Quid sumus quam fex, putris, umbra, pulvis Glebaque terrae!
Marten (to the Abbess). You can see, my sister, how the abode of the Lord has been despoiled.
Abbess. The Lord who has delivered us into the hands of the Egyptians will also set its free in due time.
Marten (to the workmen). Cease working, and do not disturb our pious task!
Overseer. Our orders are to work day and night until this den has been torn down.
Abbess. Alas, that unbelief has spread so far down among the people!
Marten. We are celebrating this feast with the permission of the King.
Overseer. Well, I don’t mind!
Marten. And therefore I command you to cease your noise. I’ll appeal directly to your workmen, whom you have forced into this shameless undertaking.–I’ll ask them if they have any respect whatever left for holy–
Overseer. You had better not, for I am in command here. Furthermore, I can tell you that they are glad enough to have a chance of tearing down these hornets’ nests for which they themselves have had to pay–and then, too, they are pretty thankful to earn something during a time of famine. (He goes toward the background.)
Marten. Let us forget the wickedness and tumult of this world. Let us enter the sacred place and pray for them.
Abbess. Lord, Lord, the cities of Thy sanctuary are laid waste! Zion is laid waste, and Jerusalem is lying desolate!
Windrank. 100.–Nobody can get in here!
The Conspirators (within the chapel). We swear!
Marten. Who has dared to invade the chapel?
Windrank. It’s no more a chapel since it has become a royal storehouse.
Abbess. That’s why the godless one gave us his permission!
[The door of the chapel is thrown open and the conspirators appear; among them Olof, Lars Andersson, Gert, the German, the Dane, the Man from Smaland, and others.]
Olof (much excited). What kind of buffoonery is this?
Marten. Make way for the handmaidens of St. Clara!
Olof. Do you think your idols can keep away the plague that God has sent you as a punishment? Do you think the Lord will find those pieces of bone you carry in the box there so pleasant that He forgives all your dreadful sins? Take away that abomination! (He takes the reliquary from the Abbess and throws it into one of the open graves.) From dust you have come, and to dust you shall return, even if your name was Sancta Clara da Spoleto and you ate only three ounces of bread a day and slept among the swine at night! (The nuns scream.)
Marten. If you fear not what is holy, fear at least your temporal ruler. Look here! He has still so much respect left for divine things that he dreads the wrath of the saint. (He shows a document to Olof.)
Olof. Do you know what the Lord did with the king of the Assyrians when he permitted the worship of idols? He smote him and all his people. Thus the righteous is made to suffer with the unrighteous. In the name of the one omnipotent God, I declare this worship of Baal abolished, even if all the kings of the earth give their permit. The Pope wanted to sell my soul to Satan, but I tore the contract to pieces–you remember? Should I then fear a King who wants to sell his people to the Baalim? (He tears the document to pieces.)
Marten (to his followers). You are my witnesses that he has defamed the King.
Olof (to his followers). And you are my witnesses before God that I have led the people of a godless King away from him!
Marten. Listen, ye faithful! It is because of this heretic that God has smitten us with the plague–it is the punishment of God, and it fell first of all on his mother.
Olof. Listen, ye faithless papists! It was the punishment of the Lord on me because I had served Sennacherib against Judah. I will atone my crime by leading Judah against the kings of the Assyrians and the Egyptians.
(The moon has risen in the meantime. It is very red, and a fiery glare pervades the place. The crowd is frightened.)
Olof (mounting one of the graves). Heaven is weeping blood over your sins and your idolatry. Punishment shall be meted out, for those in authority have fallen into wrongdoing. Can’t you see that the very graves are yawning for prey–
(Gert seizes Olof by the arm, whispers to him, and leads him down from the mound. The crowd is panic-stricken.)
Abbess. Give us back our reliquary, so that we may abandon this home of desolation.
Marten. It is better to let the bones of the Saint remain in this consecrated soil than to have them touched by the vile hands of heretics!
Olof. You are afraid of the plague, cowards that you are! Is your faith in the sacred bones no stronger?
(Gert whispers to Olof again. The procession has in the meantime scattered, so that only a part of it remains on the stage.)
Olof (to Marten). Now you should be satisfied, you hypocrite! Go and tell him whom you serve that a box of silver is about to be buried here, and he’ll dig it out of the earth with his own nails. Tell him that the moon, which is usually made of silver, has turned into gold, merely to make your master raise his eyes toward heaven for once. Tell him that you, by your blasphemous buffooneries, have succeeded in provoking an honest man’s wrath–
[Exeunt Marten and the members of the procession.]
Gert. Enough, Olof! (To all the conspirators except Olof and Lars.) Leave us, please!
[Exeunt the conspirators, exchanging whispers.]
Gert (to Olof and Lars). It’s too late to back down now!
Olof. What do you want, Gert–speak!
Gert (showing them a bound volume). Before you two, servants of God, a people steps forth to make its confession. Do you acknowledge your oath?
Olof and Lars. We have sworn!
Gert. This book is the result of my silent labors. On every page you will find a cry of distress, a sigh from thousands who have been blind enough to think it God’s will that they should suffer the tyranny of one man–who have thought it their duty not even to hope for liberation. (Olof takes the volume and begins to read.) You shall hear complaints all the way from the primeval forests of Norrland down to the Sound. Out of the wreckage from the churches the King is building new castles for the nobility and new prisons for the people. You shall read how the King is bartering away law and justice by letting murderers escape their punishment if they seek refuge at the salt-works. You shall read how he is taxing vice by letting harlots pay for the right to ply their traffic. Yea, the very fishes of the rivers, the water of the sea itself, have been usurped by him. But the end is in sight. The eyes of the people have been opened. There is seething and fermenting everywhere. Soon the tyranny will be crushed, and the people shall be free!
Olof. Who wrote the songs in this book?
Gert. The people! These are songs of the people–so they sing who feel the yoke pressing. I have visited city and country, asking them: “Are you happy?” These are the answers! I have held assizes. Here are the verdicts entered. Do you believe that a million wills may conquer one? Do you believe that God has bestowed this land with all its human souls and all its property upon a single man, for him to deal with as it suits his pleasure? Or do you not rather believe that he should do the will of all?– You do not answer? You are awed, I see, by the thought that it may come to an end! Listen to my confession! Tomorrow the oppressor dies, and you shall all be free!
Olof and Lars. What are you saying?
Gert. You didn’t understand what I was talking about at our meetings.
Olof. You have deceived us!
Gert. Not at all! You are perfectly free. Two voices less mean nothing. Everything is prepared.
Lars. Have you considered the consequences?
Gert. Fool! Is it not for the sake of the consequences that I have done all this?
Olof. Supposing Gert be right–what do you say, Lars?
Lars. I wasn’t born to lead.
Olof. All are born to lead, but all are not willing to sacrifice the flesh.
Gert. Only he who has the courage to face scorn and ridicule can lead. For hatred is as nothing compared with the laughter that kills.
Olof. And if it should miscarry?
Gert. Dare to face that, too! You don’t know that Thomas Munster has established a new spiritual kingdom at Muhlhausen. You don’t know that all Europe is in revolt. Who was Dacke, if not a defender of the oppressed? What have the Dalecarlians meant by all their rebellions, if not to defend their freedom against him who broke his plighted faith? He does such things and goes unpunished, but when they want to defend themselves, then he raises the cry of revolt and treason.
Olof. So this is the point to which you wanted to lead me, Gert?
Gert. Have you not been led here by the current? You will, but do not dare! To-morrow, in the church, the mine will go off, and that will be a signal for the people to rise and choose a ruler after their own heart.
Olof (turning over the leaves of the book). If it be the will of all, then nobody can stop it. Gert, let me take this book to the King and show him what is the will of his people, and he will grant them their rights.
Gert. Oh, you child! For a moment he may be scared, and perhaps restore a silver pitcher to some church. Then he’ll point toward heaven and say: “It is not by my own will that I sit here and do you wrong, but by the will of God!”
Olof. Then the will of God be done!
Gert. But how?
Olof. He must die that all may live. Murderer, ingrate, traitor– those will be my names, perchance. I am sacrificing everything, even my honor, my conscience, and my faith–could I possibly give more for those pitiable ones who are crying for salvation? Let us go ere I repent!
Gert. Even if you did, it would already be too late. Don’t you know that Marten is a spy, and perhaps sentence has already been pronounced against the rebel!
Olof. Well, I won’t repent–and why should I repent of an act that implies the carrying out of God’s own judgment? Forward, then, in the name of the Lord. [Exeunt.]
[Enter Harlot, who kneels at a grave which she has strewn with flowers.]
Harlot. Hast Thou punished me enough now, O Lord, to pardon me?
[Enter Christine quickly.]
Christine. Have you seen Master Olof, goodwife?
Harlot. Are you his friend or his enemy?
Christine. Do you mean to insult me?
Harlot. Pardon me! I haven’t seen him since the last time I prayed.
Christine. You look so sorrowful! Oh, I know you now! It was you to whom Olof was talking that night in Greatchurch.
Harlot. You mustn’t let it be seen that you are talking to me. You don’t know who I am, do you?
Christine. Oh, yes, I know.
Harlot. You know–so they have told you?
Christine. Olof told me.
Harlot. O my God! And don’t you despise me?
Christine. You are an unfortunate, down-trodden woman, Olof told me. Why should I despise misfortune?
Harlot. Then you cannot be happy yourself?
Christine. No, we have shared the same fate.
Harlot. I am not the only one, then! Tell me, who was the worthless man to whom you gave your love?
Christine. Worthless?
Harlot. Oh, pardon–to one who loves, no one seems worthless! To whom did you give your love?
Christine. You know Master Olof, don’t you?
Harlot. Oh, tell me that it is not true! Don’t rob me of my faith in him, too! It is the only thing I have left since God took my child!
Christine. You have had a child? Then you have been happy once.
Harlot. I thank God, who did not permit my son to find out the unworthiness of his mother.
Christine. Have you been guilty of any crime, that you speak so?
Harlot. I have just buried it.
Christine. Your child? How can you! And I pray God every day to grant me a little one–so that I may at least have one creature to love!
Harlot. Oh, poor child, pray to God that He preserve you from it!
Christine. I don’t understand you, goodwife!
Harlot. Don’t call me that! You know who I am, don’t you?
Christine. Well, don’t they offer prayers in the churches for those who have hopes?
Harlot. Not for such as we!
Christine. Such as we?
Harlot. They pray for the others and curse us.
Christine. What do you mean by “the others”? I don’t understand you at all.
Harlot. Do you know the wife of Master Olof?
Christine. Why, that is I!
Harlot. You? Oh, why didn’t I guess at once? Can you forgive me a moment’s doubt? How could vice look like you and him? Alas! You must leave me. You are a child, still ignorant of wickedness. You must not be talking to me longer. God bless you! Good-bye! (She starts to leave.)
Christine. Don’t leave me! Whoever you be, for God’s sake, stay! They have broken into our house, and my husband is not to be found. Take me away from here–home to yourself–anywhere. You must be a good woman–you cannot be wicked–
Harlot (interrupting her). If I tell you that the brutality of the crowd wouldn’t hurt you half so much as my company, then perhaps you will forgive me for leaving–
Christine. Who are you?
Harlot. I am an outcast on whom has been fulfilled that curse which God hurled at woman after the fall of our first parents. Ask me no more, for if I told you more, your contempt would goad me to a self-defence that would be still more contemptible.–Here comes somebody who perhaps will be generous enough to escort you, if you promise to let him have your honor and virtue and eternal peace for his trouble–for that is probably the least he will accept for his protection at such a late hour as this! Please forgive me–it is not at you that I am railing.
[Enter Windrank, intoxicated.]
Windrank. Why the devil can’t a fellow be left alone, even here among the corpses? See here, my good ladies, please don’t ask me anything, for now I can’t guarantee that I won’t answer. The day after to-morrow I’ll tell you all about it, for then it’ll be too late. Perhaps you’re some of those nuns that have been made homeless? Well, although women are nothing but women, I don’t think I have any right to be impolite, for all that the sun set long ago. Of course, there is an old law saying that nobody can be arrested after sunset, but though the law is a bugbear, I think it’s too polite to insist on anything when it’s a question of ladies. Hush, hush, tongue! Why, the old thing is going like a spinning-wheel, but that comes from that infernal gin! Why should I be dragged into this kind of thing? Of course, I’ll get well paid and be a man of means, but don’t believe that I am doing it for the sake of the money! It’s done now, but I don’t want to–I don’t want to! I want to sleep in peace nights and have no ghosts to trouble me. Suppose I goo and tell? No, then they’ll arrest me. Suppose somebody else would go and tell? Perhaps one of you nuns might be so kind as to do it?
Christine (who has been conferring with the, Harlot). If you have anything on your conscience that troubles you, please tell us.
Windrank. Am I to tell? That’s just what I want to get out of, but this is horrible, and I can’t stand it any longer. I am forced to do it. Why should I be the one? I don’t want to.
Christine. My dear man, you mean to commit–
Windrank. A murder. Who told you? Well, thank God that you know! By all means, go ahead and tell about it–at once–or I’ll have no peace–no peace in all eternity!
Christine (recovering from the first shock). Why should you murder him?
Windrank. Oh, there are such a lot of reasons. Just look at the way he is tearing down your nunneries.
Christine. The King?
Windrank. Yes, of course! The father and liberator of his country! Of course, he’s an oppressor, but that’s no reason why he should be murdered.
Christine. When is it going to happen?
Windrank. Why, to-morrow–in Greatchurch–right in church! [At a signal from Christine, the Harlot leaves.]
Christine. How could they pick you for such a deed?
Windrank. Well, you see, I gave a connection or two among the church attendants, and then I am poor, of course. What the devil does it matter who puts the match to the powder, if only some shrewd fellow is pointing the gun? And then we have several other little schemes in reserve, although I’m to fire the first shot. But why don’t you run off and tell about it?
Christine. It has already been done.
Windrank. Well, God be thanked and praised! Goodbye, there goes all my money!
Christine. Tell me who you are, you conspirators.
Windrank. No, that I won’t tell!
[Enter Nils. He crosses the stage followed by a troop of soldiers and a crowd of people.]
Christine. Do you see that they are already looking for you?
Windrank. I wash my hands of it.
Nils (goes up to Windrank without noticing Christine). Have you seen Olof Pedersson?
Windrank. Why?
Nils. Because he is wanted.
Windrank. No, I haven’t seen him. Are there others wanted?
Nils. Yes, many.
Windrank. No, I haven’t seen any of them.
Nils. Well, it will soon be your turn. [Exit.]
Christine. Are they looking for the conspirators?
Windrank. What a question! Now I’m going to clear out. Good-bye!
Christine. Tell me before you go–
Windrank. Haven’t time!
Christine. Is Master Olof one of them?
Windrank. Of course! (Christine sinks down unconscious on one of the graves. Windrank is suddenly sobered and genuinely moved.) Good Lord in heaven, it must be his wife! (He goes to Christine.) I think I’ve killed her! Oh, Hans, Hans, all you can do now is to get a rope for yourself! What business did you have to get mixed up with the high and mighty?–Come here, somebody, and help a poor woman!
[Enter Olof, led by soldiers carrying torches as he catches sight of Christine, he tears himself loose and throws himself on his knees beside her.]
Olof. Christine!
Christine. Olof! You’re alive! Come away from here and let us go home!
Olof (overwhelmed). It’s too late!
SCENE 2
(Within Greatchurch. Olof and Gert, dressed as penitents, stand in the pillory near the entrance. The organ is playing and the bells are ringing. The service is just ended, and the people are leaving the church. The Sexton and his wife are standing by themselves in a corner near the footlights.)
Sexton. Lars the Chancellor, he was pardoned, but not Master Olof.
Wife. The Chancellor has always been a man of peace and has never stirred up any trouble, so I can’t understand how he could want to have anything to do with such dreadful things.
Sexton. The Chancellor has always had a queer streak, although he has never said much, and though he was pardoned, it cost him everything he had. I can’t help being sorry for Master Olof; I have always had a liking for him, even though he has been a fire-brand.
Wife. Well, what’s the use of making a young fellow like that pastor?
Sexton. Of course, he’s rather young, and that has been his main fault, but I’m sure time will cure it.
Wife. What nonsense you are talking, seeing that he’s going to die to-day.
Sexton. Well, Lord, Lord, if I hadn’t clean forgotten about it! But then it doesn’t seem quite right to me, either.
Wife. Do you know if he has repented?
Sexton. I doubt very much, for I am sure his neck is just as stiff as ever.
Wife. But I suppose he’ll thaw out a little now, when he sees his class of children whom they wouldn’t let him prepare for confirmation.
Sexton. Well, I must say that the King can be pretty mean when he turns that side to. Now he is making the pastor do church penance the very same day his children are being confirmed. It’s almost as bad as when he made the dean drink with the headsman, or when he sent those two prelates riding through the city with crowns of birch bark on their heads.
Wife. And his own brother Lars has been sent to shrive him.
Sexton. See, here come the children! How sad they’re looking– well, I don’t wonder. I think I’ll have to go in and have a cry myself–
(Enter the children about to be confirmed, boys and girls. They begin to march past Olof, carrying bunches of flowers in their hands. They look sad and keep their eyes on the ground. A number of older people accompany the children. A few curious persons point out Olof and are rebuked by others. Last of all the children in the procession comes Vilhelm, one of the scholars with whom Olof was seen playing in the First Act. He stops timidly in front of him, kneels, and drops his bunch of flowers at the feet of Olof, who does not notice it because he has pulled down the hood of his penitential robe so that it hides his face. Some of the people mutter disapprovingly, while others show signs of pleasure. Marten comes forward to take away the flowers, but is pushed back by the crowd. Soldiers clear a path for Lars Pedersson, who appears in canonicals. The crowd disappears gradually, leaving Lars, Olof, and Gert alone on the stage. The playing of the organ ceases, but the bells continue to toll.)
Lars. Olof, the King has refused to listen to the petition for pardon submitted by the City Corporation. Are you prepared to die?
Olof. I am not able to think so far.
Lars. I have been ordered to prepare you.
Olof. That will have to be done in haste, for my blood is still running quickly through my veins.
Lars. Have you repented?
Olof. No!
Lars. Do you want to pass into eternity with an unforgiving mind?
Olof. Oh, put aside the formulas, if you want me to listen to you. I can’t think that I am going to die now–there ‘s far too much of life and strength left in me.
Lars. I must tell you that I don’t think so either, and that it is for a new life in this world I am trying to prepare you.
Olof. Then I may live?
Lars. If you will admit that you were mistaken in the past, and if you will take back what you have said about the King.
Olof. How could I? That would be to die indeed!
Lars. This was what I had to tell you. Now you must decide for yourself.
Olof. One doesn’t parley about one’s convictions.
Lars. Even a mistake may turn into conviction. I shall leave you to think the matter over. [Exit.]
Gert. Our harvest wasn’t ready. It takes a lot of snow to make the fall crops ripen–nay, centuries must pass before you will even see the first shoots. All the conspirators are under arrest, they say, and te deums are sung on that account. But they are mistaken; conspirators are abroad everywhere–in the royal apartments, in the churches, and in the market-places–but they dare not do what we have dared. And yet they’ll reach that point some time. Good-bye, Olof! You must live a little longer, for you are young. I shall die with the utmost pleasure. The name of every new martyr becomes the rallying-cry for a new host. Don’t believe that a human soul was ever set on fire by a lie. Don’t ever distrust those feelings that shake you to your inmost soul when you have seen some one suffer spiritual or physical oppression. If the whole world tell you that you are wrong, believe your own heart just the same–if you are brave enough to do so. The day when you deny your self–then you are dead, and eternal perdition will seem a mercy to one who, has been guilty of the sin against the Holy Ghost.
Olof. You speak of my release as though it were a certainty.
Gert. The Corporation has offered 500 ducats for your ransom, and if it cost only 2000 to get Birgitta declared a saint, then 500 should suffice to get you declared guiltless. The King doesn’t dare to take your life!
[Enter the Lord High Constable, followed by the Headsman and soldiers.]
Constable. Take away Gert the Printer.
Gert (to Olof, as he is being led away). Good-bye, Olof! Take care of my daughter, and don’t ever forget the great Whitsunday!
Constable. Master Olof, you are a young man who has been led astray. The King will pardon you for the sake of your youth, but as a safeguard he demands a retraction wherein you take back whatever you have ventured beyond and against his orders.
Olof. Then the King is still in need of me?
Constable. There are many more who need you, but don’t rely on his mercy until you have fulfilled his condition. Here is the King’s warrant. In a moment your fetters may be shed, if so be your will, but it will be just as easy to tear up this sheet of paper.
Olof. One who contents himself with 500 ducats is not likely to care very much for a retraction–
Constable. That is a lie! The headsman is waiting for you. But pray listen to a few words from an old man. I, too, have been young, and moved by strong passions. They belong to youth; but those passions are meant to be killed. I did as you do. I went around telling the truth, and all I got in return was ingratitude, or, at the best, a smile of derision. I, too, wanted to build a little heaven here on earth–(speaking with marked emphasis) of course, on other foundations than yours–but soon I came to my senses, and the chimeras were sent packing. I have no desire to make you out a man wishing to gain notoriety by getting himself talked about–I don’t believe anything of the kind. You are moved by good intentions, but they are such as must cause harm. Your blood is hot, and it blinds you because you exercise no self-control. You preach freedom, and you are plunging thousands into the slavery of license. Retrace your steps, young man, and make atonement for your errors! Restore what you have torn down, and your fellow-men will bless you!
Olof (agitated to a point of desperation). It is the truth you speak; I hear it, but who taught you to speak like that?
Constable. Experience–that which you lack!
Olof. Can I have lived and fought for a lie? Must I now declare my whole youth and the best part of my manhood lost, useless, wasted? Oh, let me rather die together with my mistake!
Constable. You should have broken loose from your dreams earlier. But calm yourself! Your life is still ahead of you. The past has been a school–hard, to be sure, but all the more wholesome. Hitherto you have given your life to whims and follies. Now you have some inkling of what reality demands of you. Outside that door your creditors are waiting with their claims. Here are their bills. The clergy of the young Church demand that you live to finish what you have begun so splendidly. The City Corporation demands its secretary for the Council. The congregation demands its shepherd. The children of the confirmation class demand their teacher. Those are your legal creditors. But there is one more waiting outside, to whom perhaps you owe more than all the rest, and who yet demands nothing at all–your young wife. You have torn her from her father’s side and set her adrift in the storm. You have broken down her childhood faith and filled her mind with restlessness. Your reckless deeds have goaded the brutal mob into driving her out of her own home. Yet she does not even demand your love: all she asks of you is permission to spend a life of suffering by your side.–Now you can see that we, too, give a little consideration to other people, although you call us selfish.–Let me open this door, which will lead you back into the world. Discipline your heart before it hardens, and thank God for granting you more time to work for mankind.
Olof (breaking into tears). I am lost!
(Constable gives a sign to the Headsman, who removes the fetters and the garb of penitence from Olof; then the Constable opens the door to the sacristy, and delegates from the lords, the clergy, and the city guilds enter.)
Constable. Olof Pedersson, formerly pastor of the city church at Stockholm, do you hereby repent of your misdeeds and retract what you have said beyond and against the King’s order? Do you declare your willingness to keep your oath to the sovereign of this realm, and to serve him faithfully?
(Olof remains silent. Lars Pedersson and Christine approach him, while many of those present make pleading gestures.)
Olof (in a cold and determined voice). Yes!
Constable. In the name of the King, I set you free!
(Olof and Christine embrace. A number of persons come forward to press his hand and utter words of congratulation.)
Olof (in the same cold voice). Before I leave this room, let me be alone a moment with my God. I need it! Once upon a time I struck the first blow right here, and here–
Lars. Right here you have won your greatest victory this very day!
(All leave the room except Olof, who falls on his knees.)
[Enter Vilhelm cautiously. He looks very much surprised at seeing Olof alone and free.]
Vilhelm. I come to bid you farewell, Master Olof, before you pass on to another life.
Olof (rising). You have not deserted me, Vilhelm! Help me, then, to mourn those happy moments of my youth that are now nothing but a memory!
Vilhelm. Before you die I want to thank you for all that you have done for us. It was I who gave you those flowers, which you haven’t noticed.–They have been trampled on, I see. I wanted to bring you a reminder of the days when we were playing under the lindens in the convent close at Strangnas. I thought it might do you good to hear that we have never thanked God, as you said we would, because you didn’t return to us. We have never forgotten you, for it was you who relieved us of those cruel penances, and it was you who flung open the heavy convent doors and gave us back our freedom and the blue sky and the happiness of living. Why you must die, we do not know, but _you_ could never do anything wrong. And if you die because you have rendered help to some of those that were oppressed, as they tell us, then you should not be sorry, although it hurts very, very much. Once you told us how Hus was burned because he had dared to tell the truth to those in power. You told us how he went to the stake and joyfully commended himself into the hands of God, and how he prophesied about the swan that should come singing new songs in praise of awakened freedom. That’s the way I have thought that you would meet your death–with your head thrown back, and your eyes toward the sky, and the people crying: “So dies a witness!”
(Olof leans against the pillory, his face showing how the words of Vilhelm strike home to him.)
Gert (his voice heard from a distant part of the church.) Renegade!
(Olof sinks down overwhelmed at the foot of the pillory.)