Gert. One of our own. Let him go, friends! Over there you see the emissaries of the Devil!

(He points to Mrten and Nils, who flee through the street door, closely pursued by the Anabaptists. At the door Gert stops and turns toward Olof. The Harlot is crouching in a corner of the room. Windrank is still sleeping under one of the tables. Olof is standing in the middle of the floor, sunk in deep thought.)

Gert (exhausted, throws himself on a bench). It's heavy work, Olof.

Olof. What have you been doing?

Gert. Oh, a little house-cleaning, to begin with.

Olof. For which you will pay dearly.

Gert. So far we have the upper hand. The whole city has been roused.

Rink is at work in St. George's Chapel. Tell me, has the King sent you to oppose us?

Olof. He has.

Gert. That was a most sensible thing to do!

Olof. To-morrow I am to preach from the new pulpit.

Gert. Do you call this fulfilling your royal mission? Here you are, still standing with your arms folded.

Olof. Come to church to-morrow with your brethren.

Gert. Is it going to be an archipapal sermon?

Olof. I have been put under the ban to-day.

Gert (jumps up and puts his arms around Olof). G.o.d bless you, Olof! That is indeed the baptism of new birth!

Olof. I don't understand you yet. Why do you carry on like wild beasts?

You seem to be outraging all that is held sacred.

Gert (picking up the broken image of a saint). Do you call this fellow holy? A St. Nicolaus, I think. Can it be possible, then, that Jesus Christ has come down and lived among us to no purpose, as we are still worshipping logs of wood? Can this be a G.o.d, which I can break to pieces? See!

Olof. But he is sacred to the people.

Gert. So was the golden calf, and so was Zeus; so were Thor and Odin, too. And yet they were struck down. (Catches sight of the Harlot.) Who's that woman? Oh, the one I tried to save by sending her in here. Tell me one thing, Olof. Have you been bought by the King?

Olof. Leave me, Gert! I hate you!

Gert. Who's that pig asleep over there?

Olof. When I face you, I seem to shrink. Leave me! I want to do my own work, and not yours.

Gert. Listen!

Olof. You are trying to confuse my fate with your own.

Gert. Listen!

Olof. You have surrounded me with an invisible net. You have proclaimed me an Anabaptist. How am I going to face the King?

Gert. Which king?

Olof. King Gustaf!

Gert. Oh, that one!--Well, good-bye, then, Olof.--So you're going to preach to-morrow?--Why doesn't that woman go her way?--Good-bye! [Exit.]

Olof. Is that man running errands for G.o.d or for Satan?

Harlot (approaches Olof and kneels before him). Let me thank you!

Olof. Give thanks for G.o.d alone for having saved your soul, and don't think that all your sins have been expiated to-day. Try to find strength to live a life that will always be cursed. G.o.d has forgiven you--your fellow-men will never do so! (He takes her by the hand and leads her to the street door.)

[Enter Mrten through the doorway in the rear, followed by Olof's Mother and Christine, the daughter of Gert.]

Mrten. We're in the wrong place, I fear.

Mother (outraged at seeing Olof and the Harlot together). Olof, Olof!

Christine. Who is that woman? She looks so unhappy.

Mrten. Let us get away from this den of iniquity!

Olof (turning and running toward the iron door, which is closed in his face by Mrten). Mother! Mother!

[He runs out through the other door.]

(The stage is darkened.)

SCENE 2

(The Same Room. The door to the church is opened cautiously, and The s.e.xton, who is also the organ-blower, enters warily. He carries a lantern and is followed by his Wife.)

s.e.xton. Catherine dear, will you hold the lantern a moment while I put on the padlock?

Wife. First we must have a look at all this wretchedness, Bengt dear.

Never could I have believed that the public-house was so near to us.

It's perfectly dreadful! Look--whole barrels full of beer!

s.e.xton. And gin, too. Don't you smell it? It will give me a headache if I stay much longer.

Wife. Lord have mercy, what a sinful life they must have lived in here!

s.e.xton. Catherine dear!