Windrank. Mercy! Ghosts! Jesu Maria, help!

s.e.xton (rising and picking up the image). Well, if that isn't enough to make your hair stand on end! Here's St. Nicolaus broken all to pieces and swimming in the beer. It has come to a fine pa.s.s when divine things are defiled like that--I don't think the world will last much longer--when such things can be done in the dry tree--

Windrank (having recovered). In the wet one, you mean.

s.e.xton. Keep still, blasphemer! St. Nicolaus is my patron saint. I was born on his day.

Windrank. That's probably why both of you like beer.

s.e.xton. Yes, it's in the fashion now to be heretical!

Windrank. It's in the air, I think, for otherwise I'm a most G.o.d-fearing man. But never mind, I'll have St. Nicolaus glued together for you.

s.e.xton (calling into the church). Catherine!

Windrank. Hush, hush, man! You'll make the ghosts appear!

s.e.xton. A plague on your tongue! [Exeunt.]

SCENE 3

(The Sacristy of the Church of St. Nicolaus. There is a door leading to the church, and another, smaller one, leading to the pulpit. The walls are hung with chasubles and surplices. Priedieus and a few small chests are standing about. The sunlight is pouring in through a window. The church bells are heard ringing. Through the wall at the left can be heard a constant murmuring. The s.e.xton and his Wife enter, stop near the door, and pray silently.)

s.e.xton. That's enough! Now, Catherine dear, you'd better hurry up and do some dusting.

Wife. Oh, there's no special occasion. It's n.o.body but that Master Olof who's going to preach to-day. Really, I can't see why the Chapter allows it.

s.e.xton. Because he's got permission from the King, you see.

Wife. Well, well!

s.e.xton. And then he has had a sort of basket built out from the wall--nothing but new-fangled tricks! It's all on account of that man Luther.

Wife. I suppose we'll have the same kind of trouble that we had yesterday. I thought they were going to pull the whole church down.

s.e.xton (carrying a gla.s.s of water up to the pulpit). I'm sure the poor fellow will need something to wet his whistle to-day.

Wife. Well, I shouldn't bother, if I were you.

s.e.xton (speaking from the pulpit). Catherine--here he comes!

Wife. Goodness gracious, and the sermon bell hasn't rung yet! Well, I suppose they won't ring it for a fellow like him.

[Enter Olof, looking serious and solemn. He crosses to one of the prie-dieus and kneels on it. The s.e.xton comes down from the pulpit and takes from the wall a surplice which he holds out to Olof.]

Olof (rising). The peace of the Lord be with you!

[The Wife curtseys and leaves the room. The s.e.xton holds out the vestment again.]

Olof. Leave it hanging!

s.e.xton. Don't you want any robe?

Olof. No.

s.e.xton. But it's always used. And the handkerchief?

Olof. Never mind.

s.e.xton. Well, I declare!

Olof. Will you please leave me alone, my friend?

s.e.xton. You want me to get out? But as a rule, I--

Olof. Do me the favor, please!

s.e.xton. Oh, well! Of course! But first I want to tell you that you'll find the missal to the right of you as you get up, and I have put in a stick so you'll know where to open it, and there is a gla.s.s of water beside the book. And you mustn't forget to turn the hour-gla.s.s, or it may chance you'll keep it up a little too long--

Olof. Don't worry! There will be plenty of people to tell me when to quit.

s.e.xton. Mercy, yes--beg your pardon! But you see, we've got our own customs here.

Olof. Tell me, what is that depressing murmur we hear?

s.e.xton. It's some pious brother saying prayers for a poor soul. [Exit.]

Olof. "Thou therefore gird up thy loins and arise, and speak unto them all that I command thee."--G.o.d help me! (He drops on his knees at a prie-dieu; there he finds a note, which he reads.) "Don't preach to-day; your life is in danger."--The Tempter himself wrote that! (He tears the note to pieces.)

[Enter Olof's Mother.]

Mother. You are straying from the right path, my son.

Olof. Who knows?

Mother. I know! But as your mother I reach out my hand to you. Turn back!

Olof. Where would you lead me?

Mother. To G.o.dliness and virtue.

Olof. If G.o.dliness and virtue are vested in papal decrees, then I fear it is too late.

Mother. It isn't only a question of what you teach, but of how you live.

Olof. I know you are thinking of my company last night, but I am too proud to answer you. Nor do I think it would do any good.